Eagles of Dacia

by S. J. A. Turney

  He could hear the soldiers in the town calling out to their fellow legionaries arriving from their long journey, and Senova suddenly nudged him.

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I guess we see Clodius Albinus. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the meeting, though.’

  They rattled on along the street and came to a halt in a square at the centurions’ whistles. Orders were given and the men marched on to the fortress, while a small knot of riders including Tribune Celer trotted back along the column to the wagons, reining in outside the carriage.

  ‘You will come with me,’ the tribune said, pointing at Rufinus. ‘Clodius Albinus does not favour the luxury of the governor’s palace in the town. He will be in the fortress. The lady will be shown to the mansio where she may rest overnight at the expense of the administration.’

  ‘I will come too,’ Senova said defiantly.

  Rufinus put up a warning hand. ‘Take the gear, Luca and Acheron and secure a room. Depending on the outcome of this meeting I will find you soon.’

  She gave him a narrow-eyed, disapproving look, and her nod might as well have carried a threat, but with all the other threats facing him today, she would have to stand in the queue. He alighted from the carriage and made to unhitch Atalanta and mount up, but Celer shook his head. ‘You will not need a horse.’

  Feeling oddly like a captive slave at a triumph, Rufinus followed the tribune and his cronies through the fortress gate, while the carriage was led from the square along a wide street. The horsemen passed into the Thirteenth’s base with Rufinus padding along behind and looking rather out of place. All that was missing was a rope from Celer’s hand to Rufinus’ neck. He did not like the feeling, nor the sense of foreboding it brought about. He noted in passing that the stone was whitewashed, though the nooks and crannies where they had missed were still pretty white anyway.

  Through the fortress they passed, coming to a halt at the principia. Rufinus’ wandering gaze happened to catch the familiar shape of Cassius Proculeianus striding back toward the gate having dismissed his troops, though the centurion did not meet his eye. Celer sent his men off to various duties and then dismounted, handing his reins to one of the legionaries by the impressive headquarters gateway with its four grand pillars, its intricate architrave of gods and soldiers, its white stone and red-tiled roof. Once the tribune was on foot, he beckoned to Rufinus and strode inside, the men saluting as he passed.

  The great courtyard of the headquarters was much the same as any other, and they passed into the long basilica hall, making for the office of the legatus. Two men stood guard there, too, and they saluted as the two travel-worn men approached. Celer asked whether the commander was in and free and, on receiving an affirmative, rapped sharply on the door.

  A gruff voice bade them enter and Rufinus followed Celer into the office of the most powerful man in Dacia, possibly in this whole corner of the empire. Rufinus was not sure what to expect from Clodius Albinus. He was sometimes referred to as an ‘African’, hailing from the city of Hadrumetum, though his heritage had to be anything but African, to Rufinus’ mind. He had never seen so pale a figure. Albinus was almost alabaster white, though otherwise very robust in appearance. His hair and beard were dark and naturally curly, his pale skin weathered and marked by years of service. He was clearly a very military man, completely aside from the scars he bore that attested to campaigns and war, for there would be a sumptuous palace for him in the city, yet here he sat in the fortress of his legion, wearing military uniform rather than a rich toga.

  Rufinus felt an odd pull. There was something about the governor that demanded respect, and the young praetorian had to force himself to remember that this man was up to no good for some unknown, nefarious reason.

  ‘Celer,’ the cultured voice greeted the tribune. ‘Welcome back. You have a cohort of good men now?’

  The tribune made a noncommittal shrug. ‘They’re getting there, sir. A little more training to sharpen them up, but they acquitted themselves well in three separate engagements.’

  ‘You’ve cleared out the pockets of raiders, then?’

  ‘Dacia Malvensis and Dacia Apulensis are free of incursions and entirely under Roman control, governor. The province is restored.’

  Albinus nodded. ‘Good. I have had word from Niger, who is in Porolissum now. It seems he has secured the north and begun work to strengthen the borders against future troubles. It would seem that all is returning to normal. I shall prepare a missive for the emperor to ensure him that Dacia is his entire.’

  Rufinus stood silent and immobile, though he felt a flutter in his stomach as the two men turned to him.

  ‘And this is?’

  Rufinus opened his mouth to answer, but Celer held up his hand. ‘This is Rustius Rufinus, a praetorian guardsman that Cleander has seen fit to send here to spy on you. Initially I gave the man the benefit of the doubt as I needed any veteran I could get for the journey, but he has proved to be divisive, untrustworthy and dangerous, just as any follower of that imperial serpent would be.’

  Rufinus bridled, and had to fight down his denials. Arguing would not help, he suspected.

  ‘Tell me,’ Albinus said quietly, motioning to Celer.

  ‘He has been attempting to suborn men to his cause. He has been found more than once in collusion with Cassius Proculeianus. I have faith in the centurion, and now that we are in Apulum, he can be removed from this rodent’s unhealthy influence.’

  Rufinus was starting to feel truly angry now. Misrepresented and maligned, how was he supposed to defend himself?

  ‘Moreover, he accused one of my veterans of mutiny – a case for which I might note there was no evidence and no witness – and set his Sarmatian hound on the man, savaging his leg. There were, however, plenty of witnesses to that. The victim, Optio Daizus, is requesting the full weight of military law be brought down on Rufinus for the offence but, given his origins, I thought it best to leave the matter to you, sir.’

  Albinus nodded and drummed his fingers rhythmically on the table. ‘A thorny problem. I have no intention of playing host to Cleander’s spies. The chamberlain is a poison at the heart of the empire, and I will not have his black rot at work in my province.’

  Oddly, Rufinus felt a strange warming to the man at his clear hatred of Cleander, though it would be of no use to him right now.

  ‘What have you to say for yourself, soldier?’

  There was a tense silence. Rufinus took a breath. To deny his mission was pointless. It was now clearly open knowledge. He could play on his own hatred of Cleander and hope to come to better terms with Albinus but, even if that were possible, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Whether the man hated Cleander or not, there was still the accusation that he also spoke against the emperor, and then there was the knowledge imparted by Cassius that Albinus was stealing gold in large quantities for some unknown reason. Attempting to ally with the governor might just lead to even deeper trouble. All he could do, then, was tell the truth and hope that Fortuna was still watching over him.

  ‘Governor, in certain aspects, the tribune has the right of it. I was assigned to Dacia and to your forces by Cleander, who commands me to seek out subversion and sedition. I am not saying that I have found such a thing, or even that I believe there is such a thing to find,’ he added carefully, keeping his voice neutral. ‘But that is my mission. To pursue enemies of the state and report such activity. As to the matter with Optio Daizus, I recognise that the evidence of his attempt to butcher me in the midst of battle is scant and, though I believe there were witnesses, unit-loyalty will side with the optio over a recently-appointed praetorian. I maintain my innocence in the matter and that my dog merely leapt to my defence. I request only that I be allocated a position in the Dacian military until I feel that I have something worth reporting back to the chamberlain or until I become convinced that there is nothing to report.’

  Albinus’ eyes narrowed to a squint as he regarded the newcomer. Tribune
Celer cleared his throat. ‘I am personally dissatisfied with the presence of this man. I do not like him, I do not trust him and, given your authority, I would stripe the man’s back with the lash and send him back to Rome in disgrace. Better still, stripe him with the lash until he expires.’

  Rufinus blinked. Death? His heart thundered for a moment, but began to settle as the white-faced general opposite shook his head. ‘No. This is a delicate situation, Celer. Given our current position, I do not think executing or even flogging one of Cleander’s men would be a wise or popular decision. No matter how much I hate the chamberlain, he is powerful above all men in the capital now. He not only has the ear of the emperor but, if I am to believe what I am told, then he controls the administration himself, wielding Commodus’ authority. That is not a man to cross openly.’

  Rufinus nodded. An astute appraisal of the situation, and one that might just save his own skin.

  ‘What will you do, then, Governor?’ Celer asked in a hiss. ‘We cannot have this man at liberty to work his poison in Apulum. He must be removed or constrained.’

  Albinus was nodding now. ‘I will not have the snake’s men in my city or my legion. Send him to Porolissum. He can be Niger’s problem. Perhaps my esteemed colleague can lose him over the Iazyges’ border there.’

  Celer looked unhappy at the notion. ‘Respectfully, sir, that’s just brushing the problem under the rug.’

  ‘Brushing the problem under someone else’s rug,’ corrected the governor. ‘Niger can deal with it. Part of the garrison of nearby Bucium are in Apulum for a night. They can take this man back with them and deliver him to Niger. See to it, Celer.’

  The tribune, still looking decidedly unhappy at the decision, nodded and saluted, turning and motioning for Rufinus to leave. As they departed the office the tribune, lip curled, addressed Rufinus as though speaking down to a slave.

  ‘Consider yourself most fortunate. And behave yourself now. Dacia is a small world and Porolissum is but a few days’ ride. If I hear one word of you causing trouble, I will be there in the blink of an eye and I will deliver so many stripes to your back you will look like a zebra as you die. Do not doubt me on this.’

  Rufinus clenched his teeth. There was no point in snarling threats, denials or curses at the tribune. The decision had been made by a man more powerful than either of them. And if the time came when Celer sought him out, he would be damn well ready for the man.

  ‘Come with me,’ the tribune snapped, and marched from the headquarters through the extensive fortress. As they moved among the endless barracks, Rufinus tried to put things in place in his head. He was alive and had escaped punishment. That was his immediate concern and had to be considered a victory, in the circumstances. In the process he appeared to have turned Celer from a disapproving commander into a direct enemy, but at the moment a restrained and impotent one. Though that could change in time, for now the man could do nothing to him. Clodius Albinus was not going to be the ally in the great game that Rufinus had hoped and was very clearly up to something dubious. In addition to everything Rufinus already knew or suspected, he had taken careful note of the fact that Albinus had been lenient with him ‘given their current position’. He was to be sent to Pescennius Niger, which was clearly also a win. Cestius had liked Niger, and that was a good recommendation. Perhaps Niger might be the ally that Albinus could not? Perhaps he might even be the man to go to with anything Rufinus found out here. He was to travel north with a new unit, presumably an auxiliary one. Really, despite everything, he had entered Apulum smelling of shit, and would leave smelling of roses. His smile at the thought of small victories was tempered a little by the realisation that he would be saying farewell to Cassius. The centurion was home now and, given what the tribune had said, it seemed unlikely the man would be permitted to associate further with Rufinus.

  ‘There,’ Celer said, gesturing at a barrack block identical to the others. As they approached the door of the centurion’s room at the end, Rufinus noted the sign on the wall. ‘Locum Peregrinum.’ The foreigners’ barrack, where visiting troops would be quartered. It brought a wry smile to Rufinus’ face to realise that it neatly echoed the Castra Peregrina in Rome – the home of the frumentarii.

  The tribune gave a single hard knock at the door and a rough, deep voice snapped at him to wait. Rufinus almost smiled at the twitch that appeared beneath Celer’s eye at being spoken to thus. There was a long pause, accompanied by the sounds of a man fastening a belt and belching within. Rufinus couldn’t help himself. The smile emerged. It faltered a little as the door was ripped open and what appeared to be a bear in a centurion’s tunic glared out below brows that looked like small woodland animals.

  ‘What?’ His voice was oddly-accented and rough. Certainly not local.

  ‘You are bound for Bucium in the morning, I am informed.’

  ‘S’right, Tribune. Me and the lads are going home. We’ve delivered the fat pillock from Optatiana as ordered, drunk a small lake of your best wine, impregnated a few of your girlfriends, crapped in your sock drawer, and now we’re leaving.’

  Rufinus snorted, earning a black look from the tribune, who was awash in a sea of distaste right now.

  ‘I have extra orders for you, Centurion. This soldier is to be delivered to Porolissum into the hands of Pescennius Niger. I will have the orders written up for you before you depart in the morning, as well as a letter to pass to the legate there. Do you understand?’

  ‘Dropped off a fat pillock, picked up a thin one,’ confirmed the hulking, hirsute centurion with a grin missing only five visible teeth. Celer rolled his eyes. ‘I shall leave you to get acquainted. I’m sure you’re perfectly suited. Make sure Rufinus here is out of the fortress by sundown. He is staying in the mansio in town.’

  Without another word, the tribune turned and marched away. Rufinus felt his spirits lift slightly. He might be saying goodbye to Cassius, but at least he was also saying farewell to Daizus and Celer. Every cloud had a silver lining.

  ‘What are you?’ the hairy man asked in his gruff tone, ‘legionary officer?’

  Rufinus shook his head. He wasn’t sure whether the truth might damage their relationship from the outset, given how popular the praetorians were with the regular army, but he could hardly lie and claim to be with the Thirteenth now.

  ‘Praetorian,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘On detached duty.’

  The big man looked him up and down. ‘Not a painted pretty boy, though, like some of them.’ He gestured to the hand with no fingernails, his eyes tracing a route through the visible scars in Rufinus’ flesh. ‘Battle-hardened, are ye not?’

  Rufinus nodded. ‘Formerly of the Tenth Gemina up in Pannonia.’

  The big centurion nodded. ‘I remember the Tenth. Fought like lions. We were scouting out the field before the battle, and we saw the whole thing.’

  Rufinus frowned. ‘You’re scouts?’

  ‘S’right. Numerus exploratorum Germanicianorum, currently based at Bucium in the north. We ride the frontier day in, day out, and make sure no more hairy barbarians get in. There’s only room for one hairy barbarian in my fort.’

  He laughed, and the sound was like a small animal fighting against being sucked down a drain.

  ‘I am Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus. I’m travelling with a lady called Senova, formerly of Britannia, a big black dog, and a young slave lad called Luca,’ though he wondered at that moment if the tribune would remember that and take Luca off them again. ‘I hope you can accommodate all of us on the journey? We have a carriage and I have a horse.’

  The big man chuckled. ‘We’re scouts. We can adapt to anything, Rufinus. I am Pontius Narcissus, centurion of the reprobates currently quartered in this place. Frankly, I cannot wait to get back on the road. This place is too civic and too rigid for my liking. Men like the tribune there who think in straight lines and wouldn’t know a joke if it punched them in the testicles.’

  Rufinus grinned. It seemed he had fallen on his feet. Na
rcissus appeared friendly and genuine. He checked himself at that thought. So had Celer at the beginning. From compliments to death threats in mere weeks.

  ‘How long does it take to get to Porolissum?’ Rufinus asked.

  Narcissus tapped a hairy lip. ‘Three or four days by horse. Twice that with a carriage. Why. You in a hurry?’

  Rufinus shook his head, his mind whirring with possibilities, recalling Senova’s map. ‘Can we step inside?’

  Huge furry brow furrowed, the centurion stepped back into his room and gestured for Rufinus to join him. The room smelled of fart and sour wine and Rufinus’ eyes began to water as soon as the door shut. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to take a risk.

  ‘How long would the journey take if we were to go via the Ampelum valley and Alburnus Maior?’

  The big man’s frown deepened. ‘You proposing to hack out some gold on the way? A ring for your woman, perhaps? Think again. Them miners have to move a ton of rock just to find a speck of gold. They have to demolish a mountain to produce an ingot.’

  Rufinus sucked on his teeth. ‘Is it feasible, though? The detour, I mean.’

  Narcissus shrugged. ‘Anything is possible. It’s probably only about twenty or thirty miles further that way, but the terrain beyond Alburnus is hilly and forested. Going will be slower with a vehicle. Eight days to Porolissum by carriage on the main road. Fifteen or sixteen by way of Alburnus. Unless your woman will ride a horse and get rid of the carriage?’

  Rufinus pictured Senova’s face if he took away the vehicle and handed her reins. He couldn’t imagine it making him popular. That being said, the carriage had been assigned by Celer, and it was possible the tribune would take it back off them now anyway.

  ‘No. Fifteen or sixteen days is acceptable for me. Is it to you?’