Eagles of Dacia

by S. J. A. Turney

  He grinned. Now there was a thought.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ she snapped.

  ‘You, Senova. You know, I think I love you.’

  ‘Think?’ she said in a dangerous tone, which just made him laugh all the more.

  They awoke the next morning to a world that had clouded over and settled in with constant drizzle, but it did little to dampen Rufinus’ spirits, and his newfound enthusiasm seemed to have infected the other two as well. They broke their fast at leisure, Rufinus clean and neat, dressed once more in his red military tunic. By mid-morning they departed Durostorum and heeded the instructions of the innkeeper. The main arterial road followed the bank of the Danuvius all the way to the capital and major port of Tomis, and they would follow it for some distance, though over the previous evening Rufinus and Senova had settled on a different plan.

  While it appeared that they were not being sought in Moesia Inferior, it was still tempting the Fates to head to the city in which both the governor and procurator lived. If word of the praetorian had reached anywhere in Moesia, it would be that city. Of course, Senova had pointed out, if Daizus had reported what he saw back to Albinus, which he most certainly would have done, then Rufinus would be presumed dead and of no further interest. Still, Rufinus knew Clodius Albinus and he wouldn’t pin all his hopes on that – the man was devious and careful. Despite the turnout of events in Dacia, Rufinus could still feel the influence of Fortuna over their journey and, having been delivered somewhere other than expected by chance, he was content to trust to this change and forego the great port of Tomis. They would, instead, make for the lesser provincial port of Callatis, avoiding the dangers of the governor’s city.

  They followed the river in the drizzle on a road full of other travellers both rich and poor – many more of the latter – for more than twenty miles, arriving at the town of Altenum, nestled on the south bank beneath another fort. Altenum hosted a small naval station of the regional fleet, the classis Moesica, so the party of travellers stayed on the landward edge of town in a pleasant little local inn, keeping clear of both soldiers and sailors just in case. They arrived sodden and chilled to the bone and spent the evening by a fire drying out and listening to local music that Rufinus declared ‘provincially cacophonic’ but which Senova rather liked.

  The next morning they set off once more and turned away from the river, heading southeast for the city of Tropaeum Traiani and the coast beyond. The rain had let up some time during the night but struck again mid-morning at a time when the travellers were in the most exposed territory possible. Despite the shortness of the day, they stopped mid-afternoon at the next town for the sheer convenience of having baths and comfortable inns. They shivered their way into town, cloaks saturated, hair plastered to skin. Senova was interested to find, in what seemed to her, to be a rather out of the way location on a more minor road, a fairly grand and well-fortified city with some impressive monuments.

  ‘It’s a statement,’ Rufinus replied. ‘Back when Trajan fought his first campaign there was a massive battle here, nearly ninety years ago now. Dacians and Roxolani against several legions. Trajan won, of course. Trajan always won. The city was founded in memory of the victory, even the place’s name: Tropaeum Traiani. Trajan’s trophy. Look.’

  He gestured up to the hill opposite the town and Senova followed his gaze to a grand, white edifice on the peak. A glowing drum of stone with some complex sculpture atop it.

  ‘That’s the trophy the place is named after.’

  ‘Romans,’ sniffed Senova. ‘You’re not the most gracious of winners, are you?’

  It stopped raining briefly again at Tropaeum Traiani, though the sky was still dull grey and the weather cold. They spent a comfortable night and then set off in the morning as the clouds decided to open once more and water the world. The landscape here became rolling green hills and fertile valleys, and they turned off even the lesser Roman road now, since that here veered north again to head for Tomis. Instead, they followed a native road of dirt and cobbles with a half-broken wooden sign suggesting that Callatis was forty miles from here.

  The road was slower going and though Rufinus had hoped to press on and reach the coast by sunset, the combination of road surface – or lack thereof – winding route, terrain and constant requests for a halt meant that there was clearly no chance of that. They stopped for the night in some tiny native hamlet without a name, where there was no inn, but a friendly farmer donated his barn and invited them to his family meal. The night was pleasant and easy enough, and they dried out fast enough, setting off the next morning into the ever-present rain with lighter hearts.

  One more day.

  They reached the Euxine Sea the next afternoon, and Rufinus ran through some calculations in his head. He made it sixty six days since they had crossed the bridge at Drobeta and entered Dacia. Over two months. He might be wrong, of course. He’d been quite turned around temporally between the endless marching, time spent in captivity and then journeying half-conscious at best for the latter part. But that would make it sometime in mid Junius now. Should be quite warm, though present conditions suggested otherwise. But at least it was the height of the sailing season and there would be plenty of ships.

  The sea was hard to make out. The sky was grey and wet, the town was grey and wet, and much of the land was grey and wet, so the sea sort of blended in all too well. Callatis was a smaller port, more like some of the ones Rufinus had grown up with in Hispania: Barcino and Baetulo, for example. It sat on a bluff, all wet gleaming stone and shiny tile roofs, walled and filled with tightly-crammed housing. The harbour itself sat off to the south on lower land, and was thriving. Ships filled most of the jetties and others were coming and going. Rufinus was pleased to note both fishing vessels and private traders but none of the grand vessels you’d expect to see if the Moesian fleet were in port. Good.

  With plenty of daylight left, they found a comfortable inn on the southern side of the town, close to the port, and left their horses in the stable while they made their way down to the waterfront. In many respects, Callatis was much the same as any other port. The inns became dirtier and more raucous the nearer they came to the water. Lewd women called out things that made Rufinus blush. Two sailors were engaged in beating seven shades of shit out of each other in an alleyway. A dog was busy eating a purloined fish. Crates, barrels, boxes and coils of rope seemed to be stacked everywhere in a haphazard manner.

  Rufinus peered along the lines of vessels and then made his way, with the others in tow, to the port official’s offices. Acheron managed to acquire a stinking fish corpse from somewhere on the way and was carrying it as they entered. The smell of fish had been pretty intense outside but at least somewhat suppressed by the rain, though in this enclosed space Acheron’s rotting prize reached a new level of eye-watering. As they made their way in, Rufinus could see mouths opening to complain until they caught sight of the dog from which the odour arose and hurried away, bulge-eyed.

  A clerk waved them over as they entered the public enquiry office.

  ‘Sailors or passengers?’

  Rufinus frowned, looking at his companions and wondering in what odd world Luca and Senova might be mistaken for Sailors. ‘Passengers,’ he said in a baffled tone.

  ‘Destination?’

  ‘Ultimately Rome,’ he said, though he’d not settled on that yet, in truth.

  The clerk tutted and ran down the pile of tablets representing the ships in port, setting some aside.

  ‘Ready to sail in the morning? Do you have animals? Cargo? Any other special requirements?’

  Rufinus nodded. ‘Yes. Four horses and a dog. No. No.’

  The clerk simply tutted again and pushed away more than half of the ships from his pile. Another pass and he rejected more. Eventually there were two tablets remaining before him. ‘Nothing in port that’s Rome-bound and has room for animals. You won’t contemplate selling the horses before travel?’

  Rufinus and Senova both
shook their heads.

  ‘Very well. The best I can suggest is either the captain of the Isis, out of Alexandria, or the Pinnata from Athens. The Isis is bound for Rhodos next, where you could pick up another vessel. Plenty of ships dock at Rhodos going in all directiona. The Pinnata is heading back to Athens, though he might be expensive for the animals and he might not have quite enough room. Isis is at jetty twelve. Pinnata is at four.’

  Rufinus thanked the man and led the others out again. ‘I have no idea where those places are,’ Senova said as they emerged into the rain once more.

  ‘Rhodos is an island off the Asian coast, more or less south of here and on the way to Aegyptus. Athens is in Greece, on the way back west. That’s our best bet, even if it’s more expensive. As long as he can fit us in.’

  The others deferred to his decision and they sloshed through the puddles of the dock-side down to the fourth jetty, marked well on a sign at the end. The Pinnata was a good sized vessel of old-fashioned Greek style. It was in fine condition and had been recently repainted with a pair of great white wings arcing back from the bow along the sides. Men were busy rolling barrels up a plank and onto the deck in pairs with a great deal of effort and no small amount of invective as they slipped and slid in the wet. Rufinus approached the ramp and stepped back in sudden alarm as a barrel broke free of the men’s grip and rolled back down, almost knocking him flat.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, morons,’ shouted a voice from above, and a big, red-faced and bushy bearded sailor appeared at the rail, waving his arms. ‘If one of those barrels goes in the water, so do you, with an anchor tied to your neck.’

  His gaze strayed from the work and alighted on the small party.

  ‘And what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m told you might have room for us and our four horses as far as Athens?’

  The man huffed irritably and brushed back his wet hair, blinking away the water in his eyes. ‘Just about, I reckon. It’ll be cramped, though. And it won’t be cheap, neither. Animal fodder is at a premium at the moment, and I’d have to devote one of my lads to keeping them fed and cared for. Hope you’re not on a tight budget.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ Rufinus answered.

  ‘Journey takes fourteen days,’ the captain announced, as though trying to put them off. He might indeed be doing just that, since his eyes kept narrowing and flicking to Acheron, who lay on the wet boards of the jetty consuming the last of his stinking piscine treat. ‘Twelve hundred denarii for the lot.’

  Rufinus sagged. He’d expected it to be expensive, but that was quite something.

  ‘Can we afford it?’ Senova asked quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘But it will wipe out most of our funds and only gets us as far as Athens. Still, from there we’re well away from Dacia and can probably travel by land. And we don’t have much choice.’ He glanced sidelong at Luca, who was busy watching a gull standing on a wooden post. ‘If we left the boy and two of the horses it would be half the price at most.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Senova, the boy is the property of a legion. If he gets caught and that comes out he’ll be killed for running away, and we’ll get similar treatment.’

  ‘If the legion was still interested in Luca they could have taken him back at any time until Potaissa. In fact, Daizus could have claimed him in the mountains after you died. No. Luca is with us now. And if we move on foot from Athens we’ll still need the horses.’

  Rufinus rolled his eyes. ‘If we sold the horses we wouldn’t need to move on foot. We could afford another ship.’

  ‘The answer is no.’

  Again, Rufinus sighed. He still had papers in his bag from Cleander that could secure him accommodation in mansios, in theory, but he doubted orders for him to travel from Rome to Dacia would get him far while he was in Greece and going the other way. And it wouldn’t cover Senova and the boy anyway.

  He looked up at the captain. ‘A thousand and some work on the passage?’

  The man gestured at his slung arm. ‘Fat lot of good you’d be.’

  ‘I meant the boy.’

  Senova glared at him, and he sagged again. He was sure he could negotiate if only Senova weren’t so damned protective over her pet slave boy. ‘Twelve hundred, then. You sail on the morning tide?’

  The captain nodded. ‘That we do. I need you here with all animals and kit by dawn. And the money, of course.’

  They returned to the inn and settled in for a meal, with Rufinus counting out each coin for payment with a dejected sigh.

  ‘We will manage, Gnaeus. When we get back to Rome we will have your wage with the Guard.’

  ‘If I get it,’ he grumbled. ‘News of my demise will reach the praetorian fortress long before I do. Even if I’m reinstated and all goes back to normal, given the speed of the bureaucracy I’ll be a grey-beard before I get any more pay. Senova, I’m stumped.’

  ‘Why?’

  He leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. ‘I failed to come away from Dacia with any evidence since Celer took it off me. I’m been coasting ever since on the notion that the accusation alone will still carry some weight, but the longer we go on the less convinced I am of that. After all this trouble and pain and struggle, I’m no closer to stopping Cleander, no closer to helping Publius, and no more likely to save the family property from my father’s position-seeking madness. I am looking at potentially being broke, I am slightly more disfigured, I’ve acquired a runaway slave that could get us into trouble, and I might not even have a livelihood any more, since I am officially dead. And if I suddenly come back to life, I’ll attract the attention of one of the most powerful men in the empire who currently thinks I’m safely dead, but will do his best to make it true at his earliest opportunity if he discovers I’m not. Essentially, this past two months has only served to make things a little bit worse.’

  Senova chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘I believed you were brightening up after all that grumping in the mountains. We got away, Gnaeus. We’re back in your precious empire. We can afford to get as far as Athens in reasonable comfort. You have Atalanta and Acheron, and me. And in Rome we still have friends. Cestius and Pompeianus, for example. Fortuna has brought you through the worst of times – you still need to set up that altar, by the way – and delivered you here with us. She will see you the rest of the way. And if she falters, Brigantia will protect you, since you’re with me.’

  Rufinus gave a humourless snort and then sank into silence.

  ‘What names shall we travel under?’ she asked, brightening again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well it would seem dangerous to use our real names, just in case. They’ll go on manifests and these ships could dock in port anywhere. Maybe even somewhere our names are known. We should adopt a pseudonym. Like spies.’

  ‘You’re mad, you know that?’

  ‘I could be Astarte, an exotic dancer from Syria.’

  ‘You look about as Syrian as my left foot.’

  Senova nudged him. ‘It’s true though. We need new names for now. Just in case. Something we’ll remember, too.’

  Rufinus had been idly ruffling the hair on Acheron’s back with his good hand and he stopped, looking down. ‘Then I’ll be Aulus Junius Dionysus.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dis. The frumentarius who owned Acheron before me. You remember Dis.’

  She shuddered. ‘I don’t like to think on dark days like that.’

  ‘But Dis was not what he appeared. He was a good man. I shall be him. Aulus Junius Dionysus’

  Senova frowned. ‘Very well, if we’re playing people we know, I shall be Septimia Apera.’

  ‘The girl you met in Porolissum?’

  ‘Yes. Lovely girl. I shall be her.’

  ‘Alright.’ Rufinus sagged again, and Senova frowned her irritation. ‘While you’re wallowing in self-pity, try and remember that there are always positives. I love you, for one, Gnaeus. With that she left the room and went for a short walk wit
h Luca around the southern edge of town and down to the water. When she returned an hour later, she found Rufinus in their room and her eyes widened.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Rufinus hissed in pain as he gripped the window sill with his left hand and tried to put his weight on it. It held for a moment and then he fell back with a yelp. She snatched up the sling from the bed and hurried over to him, but he waved her away with his right arm.

  ‘Putting myself in the hands of the gods,’ Rufinus said. ‘Enough moping. You were right about a number of things. Fortuna has watched over me. But the gods always favour a man who tries. The physician back in Durostorum said six days for my arm.’

  ‘Six or seven you told me.’

  ‘Well, yes. But it’s been four now already. I’m about there. It’s healed. It can hold my weight. The only reason I fell was because the muscle’s atrophied after all this time. I’m going to build it back up. No more sling. No more slouching and grumbling. Luca and I are going to work some of the passage to Athens. I’m sure I can negotiate with the captain. He needn’t put a sailor onto looking after the horses. Luca can do that. And I can do a few things. And we’ll sell the two donkeys – just take Atalanta and your Damara. With the money we’ll save on all that, we’ll be able to take a second ship from Athens to Rome. I still don’t know what we’ll do when we get there, mind.’

  ‘We will set up an altar to Fortuna,’ Senova smiled. ‘A big one.’

  ‘Right. I am going to try and sell the two donkeys. You re-pack and get rid of anything we don’t need.’ He turned to the boy in the doorway behind her. ‘We’re taking new names for the journey. I’m Aulus Junius Dionysus and this is Septimia Apera. What was your original name?’

  ‘Luca,’ said Luca.

  ‘No, not your slave name.’

  ‘I was born a slave.’

  Rufinus shrugged. ‘Well they won’t be looking for a Luca, I guess. Alright. Let’s get ready. On the morning tide we wave goodbye to Dacia and Moesia and head for the civilised world again.’