The Fort

by Adrian Goldsworthy

  ‘Among other things, sir,’ Naso added.

  ‘Hmmm. Well, let’s turn to the engines. There is a scorpio in each of the gate towers. Do we have any more?’

  ‘Half a dozen in the workshops that could be decent given a little work. As many more if we could get new washers and frames.’

  ‘That’s something. See to it.’ Dionysius nodded as Ferox glanced at him. ‘And they’ll need plenty of ammunition. What about the trophies?’ Sabinus showed his surprise. When Ferox had first arrived he had done no more than point at the buildings, but had seen no useful purpose in going inside. They were a pair of former granaries, left empty of food during the last campaign of the war and empty until the Dacians handed over dozens of war engines as part of the peace treaty. Why they had been brought to Piroboridava no one seemed to know and Sabinus could not guess, but here they were, slowly rotting away and no doubt forgotten by everyone. He had kept quiet about them rather than have Ferox create even more tasks cleaning and maintaining what was probably no more than junk. They said more than half were local made rather than machines captured from the Romans or donated by the Emperor Domitian when he had bought peace with Decebalus so that he could go off and fight the Suebi.

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘We’ve kept them locked up as ordered,’ Sabinus said, unwilling to let the old soldier take responsibility for something over which he had had no control. ‘But no one has told us what to do with them.’

  ‘Then no harm in taking a look to see what we have.’

  ‘Waggons coming, sir!’ one of the sentries shouted out his report.

  Ferox had seen the dust a while ago, and turned back to see the five brightly painted waggons, each with a high cover, as many more ox carts, a single coach and long lines of pack mules.

  ‘That’s Tettius Crescens, sir,’ Dionysius said. ‘Almost to the day he came last year. The lads will be pleased.’ Even from this distance women’s voices could be heard from the passengers in the waggons, even if little could be seen under the vehicles’ covers. Vindex was leering, and Naso barely less interested.

  Ferox was unimpressed. ‘I’ll see this merchant later. He asked for an appointment to see the commander, but not until it is convenient for me.’

  ‘He does have friends, sir,’ Sabinus reminded him. ‘Who wrote on his behalf.’

  ‘I’ll see him, but first I want to look at these Dacian catapults and see if there is anything worthwhile stored in those halls. If nothing else, there may be timber we can use or iron and bronze to melt down. Dionysius, you stay and keep an eye on things. Tell this Tettius that he is invited to dine with me.’

  ‘Poor devil,’ Vindex muttered.

  ‘Well, I need to do something about that as well, with our distinguished guests coming before too long. But that’s for later. Now let’s see what the Dacians pretended was their best artillery when they handed it over.’

  There was far more equipment than Ferox had expected, but it was hard to make much sense of it. Both granaries were crammed with artillery and machines of one sort or another, all swathed in dust and cobwebs, arms and beams overlapping or piled in heaps. Beneath the filth some of them were painted red, blue or green, something he had never seen done on artillery before. He saw a good few scorpiones, some other bolt shooters that seemed to be of a different pattern, but similar size, and many more larger pieces, some of them truly huge. Naso whistled as he reached up to touch the huge bronze washers and the ends of twisted sinew on one piece two or three times taller than he was.

  ‘Throw a three mina stone at the very least,’ he said. ‘Not sure about the cord though – looks half rotted away. Like a lot of the others. Not sure how many ever worked in the first place, come to that.’

  ‘Any idea what these are?’ Ferox gestured at a couple of strange devices that were more like cranes than catapults, each with a thick boom pointing upwards.

  Naso shook his head. ‘Buggered if I know, sir.’

  ‘They’re big whatever they are,’ Sabinus said, and then broke down coughing as he swallowed dust. Ferox patted the centurion on the back.

  ‘I want a full inventory. There must be more veterani who have at least a little experience of artillery or who can learn fast. Find as many as you can, Naso. Tell them the Bastard wants this lot sorted out – and then point out that it’s lighter work than clearing ditches and digging pits. But I want to know if there is anything that we can put to use. So tell me what works, if any of it still does, what could do with a little attention, anything else that might be made to shoot and then whether there are parts or scrap we can use for anything else.’

  ‘I have a book about engines,’ Sabinus said, finally recovered from his bout of coughing. His tone was apologetic. ‘My father presented me with a small travelling library of military manuals before I set out for the army. To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention. All seemed a bit dry and abstract when I tried.’

  ‘I would appreciate a loan, if I may,’ Ferox said.

  ‘Of course.’ Sabinus hesitated. ‘Do you really think we will be attacked, sir?’

  Ferox doubted that the man would understand about instincts. He had already explained what he knew and what he thought it meant that morning and if that did not convince the man, then saying that he ‘knew’ it would happen was not likely to make a difference. Yet he did, and the feeling grew stronger every moment. ‘Yes,’ he said in the end. ‘I hope that I am wrong, but I am sure I am not.’

  Sabinus was saved from answering by another bout of coughing. Vindex patted him this time. ‘The centurion tends to be right about things like that,’ he said as Sabinus recovered. ‘But also has a way of winning when all the odds are stacked high against him. And usually those of us with him get through as well.’

  ‘Begging your pardons, my lords,’ Naso said, his rough voice a croak in this dusty atmosphere, ‘but if the commander is right then we are royally humped. No way in the world that less than six hundred of us can hold a place as big as this against two or three thousand let alone ten. Not if they’re determined.’

  ‘Dacians usually are,’ Ferox said. ‘And they’re not just barbarians when it comes to sieges.’ He waved a hand around the great hall with its piles of artillery. ‘They’ve learned too much.’

  ‘Then should we hold at all, when…’ Sabinus swallowed. ‘If they come.’

  ‘And go where, sir?’ Naso was like a father talking to a nervous child. ‘There’s nowhere to go. Only thing between us and the Ister is a lot of nothing.’

  ‘That’s why we’ve got to try,’ Ferox said. ‘We’ve got time, so let’s use it.’

  As they walked out onto the loading platform at the front of the granary and turned for the steps at the side leading down to ground level, Vindex walked alongside Sabinus and gave one of his sinister grins. ‘If it’s any help, since I’ve known the centurion I have expected to die more than a score of times. But as he says, I’m still here after all that. He’s a hard man to kill, and there’s a lot to be said for having him around.’

  Sabinus managed a thin smile.

  *

  The dinner was a poor affair. As commander, Ferox occupied the big praetorium, but he had not brought a great household to run the place. There was just Philo, his wife Indike, and a rather slow Brigantian boy, an orphan, who had nowhere else to go. In the past, even this modest staff had seemed excessive, not least because of Philo’s relentless pursuit of cleanliness and determination to make something better of his master. The boy – and Ferox still thought of him as a boy, even though he was now twenty-five and his freedman rather than slave – was a Jew from Alexandria. He was slim, dark skinned, dark eyed, and always immaculate, somehow bleaching his tunics until they were whiter than even the most eager candidatus standing for election at Rome. Indike was smaller, even slimmer and darker, and had come originally from India even though she had been sold into slavery and shipped to the empire when she was an infant. A former dancer, most recently in Londinium,
she had ended up being looked after by Philo, and the pair had fallen in love, so that Ferox had let them marry and then given both their freedom. If anything this increased their devotion and determination to run his life if possible, and at the very least turn him into a respectable, well dressed and groomed officer. It was an uphill struggle, but both had as much patience as willpower. Even so, there was only so much they could do with the limited help offered by the boy and fatigue parties of soldiers. Philo’s expression was a constant reminder that Ferox had ignored his advice to acquire more help before they came to Piroboridava.

  Lucius Tettius Crescens registered no more than mild surprise at the modest array of dishes on the table between the couches, and even less at the absence of anyone else to occupy the triclinia. From his paunch, heavy neck and jowls, this was a man who enjoyed his food, but his tone was practical, and neither ingratiatingly humble or with the excessive pride of a man who had made his fortune. Dionysius had told Ferox that the merchant was a Sardinian, that he had undertaken contracts to supply the army during the last war, had bought large numbers of the prisoners taken to sell on, and had done a lot of business in the Dacian capital Sarmizegethusa, even with Decebalus himself. Tettius knew a lot of people, and plenty of them had written recommending him and asking good Romans to assist him. To his surprise, a few letters addressed directly to Ferox had preceded the man’s arrival.

  ‘I plan to stay for a few days, if that is acceptable,’ the merchant said after brief pleasantries. He spoke loudly and his voice echoed around the big, almost empty dining room. ‘My apologies.’

  ‘None needed.’

  Indike appeared, bearing piping hot stew on a tray. Tettius watched her, as most men would, for she had a rare, delicate beauty and even her slightest movement had grace. The man watched, but did nothing gross, whether from respect for his host or innate decency, and Ferox was glad because he did not wish to have to rebuke a guest. ‘Would you care to stay inside the garrison? I am sure that we could find some rooms, although they may be a little basic in their comforts.’

  Tettius’ eyes flicked around the room. ‘I do not need much, but would be grateful for what you can offer. Most of my people will remain outside in the carts or stay in the vicus.’ The collection of a few decent buildings and plenty of shacks outside the fort was scarcely worthy of the term, which was usually reserved for the more formal and organised communities around a base. ‘Some of the carts are well suited to our business.’

  ‘You will not be short of customers, especially for your girls. I trust that the prices are clear and fair.’

  ‘Of course. All as they should be, approved by the legatus Augusti, and all recorded so that taxes will be paid. After a few days I intend to press on with some of my people, but wondered whether ten of the girls should remain? I would wish my property to be under your protection.’

  ‘Give a statement at the principia, with witnesses to vouch for its truthfulness.’ Ferox was relieved that this was a straightforward request, easy to grant. ‘Will they stay at the tavern?’ In smaller outposts, it was common enough to hire a prostitute and give her a room in a barrack block to ply her trade. Men in a bigger base liked the relief offered by walking out through the gates to take their pleasure, where they felt free of the army for just a short while.

  ‘Yes. The owner will watch them – after all he works for me.’ Tettius gave a thin smile. He had thick hair, which hung down almost to his eyebrows. Once or twice he brushed it with his hand and touched a pale scar that was concealed the rest of the time. He did so now, and Ferox could not decide whether this was sheer habit or a mark of nervousness. ‘You have had trouble I hear.’ The change of subject was abrupt. ‘Men killed, I mean.’ Again his fingers pushed hair out of the way and scratched the scar.

  ‘There has been an incident,’ Ferox conceded, wondering how the man had learned of this.

  ‘Julius Dionysius told me,’ Tettius explained. ‘Do not blame him, I beg you. I am going that way so naturally I asked if all was safe. I have a few men in case of trouble, but no real protection against bandits or worse.’

  ‘You travel over the pass and to Sarmizegethusa?’

  ‘Yes. My girls will find plenty of work with the garrison there and I have luxuries for the officers and the royal courts – as well as other business. It is a great deal to ask, but I wondered whether an escort might be possible?’

  That was it then. It was a significant favour, although not an unreasonable one for a man with so many friends willing to speak on his behalf. ‘Certainly. Although they must rest at Sarmizegethusa for no more than a day before they return. Unless you are ready by that time, you shall have to find other protection for your return journey.’

  ‘That is more than generous, and I thank you.’ The merchant raised his hand and pressed it against his own mouth, presumably a gesture from his homeland, for Ferox had never seen it before.

  ‘In turn, I hope to purchase a few things from you,’ Ferox said, ‘for as you may have noticed, my hospitality is meagre.’

  Tettius made a dismissive gesture. ‘I assumed merely the disdain for luxury of a simple soldier.’

  Ferox began to explain what he wanted. ‘All in all, something more appropriate for my rank and responsibilities is now necessary, not least because a senior officer is soon to pass this way.’

  ‘The legatus of I Minervia? Do not show surprise, it is my business to know things, so that I am best placed to provide services and goods as they are needed.’ He scratched the scar again, as if in thought. ‘Yes, yes, and it is no ordinary senator, but Publius Aelius Hadrianus, cousin to our princeps. You did not realise?’ Tettius must have sensed the surprise although Ferox did not think he had betrayed it. ‘Well, once again it is good for my trade to know such things. He is a man with high standards, although not too demanding beyond the requirements of military discipline. Is there good hunting at this season? I hear that he is fond of the chase. Well, well, I am glad to repay your services to me so easily. Let us consider what you need. How well do you wish to entertain the noble legatus?’

  ‘Sufficient for courtesy,’ Ferox said. ‘And please understand that I mean to pay. Your escort was a duty, not a favour.’

  ‘I would not insult you by suggesting otherwise, noble Flavius Ferox. But I can give my personal attention to this matter, so tell me what precisely you want.’

  IX

  Among the Marcomanni

  Eighth day before the Ides of April

  THEIR LITTLE CAMP was a shambles when they returned, the blankets scattered, bits of food everywhere and the horses wandered off to crop the grass. In the centre the girl sat by the dying fire, staring out blankly. She had a thick woollen blanket pulled around her and was clutching it tight just as she clutched her own knees. She shivered even though the sun was now very warm.

  One man lay with his hand in the fire, the skin long since blackened and the smell of cooked meat heavy in the air, mingling with the reek of blood. Another corpse had its trousers down around its ankles and a great gash across the chest. The third was barely recognisable for once having been a man for it had been hacked into pieces where it lay.

  The captive tried to raise his hands to touch the amulet around his neck before remembering that they were tied to the horn on the saddle. He whistled in amazement. ‘That Chrauttius? And his brothers? They were a tough bunch of lads.’

  Three spears had been driven into the ground and on top of each one was a severed head.

  ‘You said that you trusted these men,’ Bran said bitterly.

  Sosius shrugged. ‘I was wrong. I thought that they would want what I had promised them enough not to do anything stupid. And I thought that she could handle them.’

  Bran leapt down from his horse.

  ‘We got the man we wanted, and she’s alive,’ Sosius said. ‘That is enough. It was a gamble, but no real harm done, is there? Without them we’d never have got what we wanted.’

  Bran paid no heed to the free
dman and walked slowly towards Minura as she sat. She gave not the slightest sign that she saw him or the others, so he sat down beside her.

  Minura stopped shivering and became still, and that was almost more unnerving, as she stared out at something no one else could see. Bran could see that she had bitten her lip and the blood had dried on her chin.

  ‘I am here, sister,’ he spoke each word softly, as if to a child, although the woman was a fearsome warrior and older than he was by several years.

  ‘Reckon he might kill you,’ the captive said, watching them. ‘The lad’s good with a sword.’

  ‘She’s better,’ Sosius said, knowing that it was best to keep back for the moment.

  Bran reached over and touched Minura’s hand softly.

  ‘I am here, sister, you are not alone anymore.’

  Her hand moved and her fingers closed tightly around his.

  ‘And you are avenged on them,’ he said.

  ‘The joy of revenge is brief.’ Minura did not look at him, but her words were steady. ‘I am glad that I killed them, but I should not have been taken off guard. They were bad men, and such men never believe that a woman can fight and at first I could not.’ The words started to pour out and Bran sensed that she was on the verge of tears. ‘One was joking, trying to get me to drink with them while we waited and he seemed a harmless fool. Then another grabbed my arms from behind, and although I jumped and kicked the one in front, the other then caught my legs and they wrestled me down.’ Bran could see her torn tunic lying on the ground. ‘They took me, one after the other and I screamed and screamed for my courage left me, and when they were done, they cast me aside and sat around the fire as if nothing was happened.’

  ‘Warriors can be cruel,’ Bran said. ‘But they have paid. There is only one more to punish.’

  ‘Not yet, brother,’ she said, knowing what he meant. Sosius had brought the men to their camp, spoken to them and then left her here with them as they went to catch the man he had come for. The freedman cared for no one, but used others as counters in some game which only he – and perhaps his distant master – understood. They had seen his ruthlessness many times since they were sent off with him.