The Fort

VIII

‘WHAT! BASTARD WAS up a tree all the time!’ Vindex was as angry as he was surprised. He and Ferox were up on top of the gate tower, and they spoke in the language of the tribes because the only sentries nearby were legionaries.

‘It’s an old trick in these parts. They hide scouts or archers up in the trees. They use ropes so they can stay for a long time – even tie themselves in place. Then they wait. Some of them are good at waiting.’

‘And you didn’t say anything.’

‘No point. And it took me a while to be sure. Only glimpsed him once even then. He did not try to kill either of us, so maybe he did not have a bow, or maybe the angle was wrong or he just wanted to stay hidden up there. In that case showing that I’d spotted him might just make him think a shot was worthwhile.’

‘Why didn’t we scrag him?’

‘Mongrel was up a tree. Remember Mona?’

Vindex sucked in a deep breath, his big teeth making his face more horse-like than ever. ‘It gets worse. Why bring up that dark place? Of course I remember, no matter how hard I try to forget. You kill the last great druid, so that’s bound to bring us all wonderful luck!’

‘You helped,’ Ferox said, ‘and we are all still here.’

‘Here – in this fort you reckon is on the brink of being overwhelmed by hordes of enemies! That’s good luck!’

‘Perhaps,’ Ferox spread his hands. ‘I may be wrong.’

‘Aye, but when it comes to predicting misery you have a knack of being right, don’t you?’

‘It’s usually a safe bet. At least it has been in my life so far.’

‘All right, I’ll bite,’ Vindex said. ‘What has the sacred and terrible island of Mona got to do with a Dacian bugger hiding in a tree?’

‘Back on Mona I had to climb that big oak, remember? On my own because you reckoned you couldn’t climb. … So I don’t reckon you’ve been practising much in the last five years. Which meant I’m on my own, trying to find and kill or catch him without falling out and breaking my neck. Let’s say I didn’t like the odds and did not feel my story should end that way.’

Vindex again sucked in air through the gaps in his teeth. ‘Aye, suppose so. More likely to end when a close friend bludgeons you to death in frustration.’

‘No doubt about it,’ Ferox agreed.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Sabinus and Dionysius, followed by one of the veterans. At morning orders, Ferox had outlined his suspicions, and changed the routine, so that patrols would regularly go up as far as the abandoned Dacian tower and fort, just to check that it was abandoned in accordance with the treaty. Although he had seen nothing when they had taken a look, Ferox’s instincts told him that someone had been in the place, and not simply wanderers or hunters looking for shelter. He had carved another symbol in the wooden frame around a doorway just in case.

‘Well,’ Ferox began once the other three had joined them. ‘Let’s try to imagine that we are the enemy.’ Vindex pulled a face and the others grinned. ‘That should make it easier. But let’s say we have ten thousand prime warriors at our command and our king has ordered us to capture Piroboridava or face his wrath.’

‘Why?’ Sabinus asked.

‘Probably wants Venus!’ Dionysius quipped.

‘Does not matter why,’ Ferox told them. ‘Not for the moment. What matters is how – and what we can do to make their life hard. You’re Fulvius Naso?’ he asked the soldier.

‘Sir.’ The veteran’s beard was more white than grey, his voice hoarse but steady, giving nothing away.

‘Spent a lot of your service with Minervia’s engines? Good. I want your thoughts on how best we can use artillery from the towers and even the walls, if practical. But let’s start with the basics – walls, towers and ditches. How can we improve them?’

Sabinus coughed. ‘Excuse me, sir, but should we not advance to meet the enemy in the open?’ His voice quavered, but that was the way the army was taught to operate. Dominate the enemy. Always attack regardless of odds, because you are Roman and you have discipline and they are just rabble.

‘Let’s say they surprise and attack before we are ready or there are too many to beat in the open. Somehow or other we are inside and there are a lot of them outside trying to get in. Our problem is stopping them.’

‘What about the bridge?’ Dionysius asked.

‘Could be the reason they come, but let’s think about that later. How do we stop them pouring over these walls like a wave.’ So they talked of ditches and obstacles, of the height of the rampart and towers and how far a man could throw a missile. Ferox ordered Dionysius to set the workshop to making as many things to throw as they could.

‘Pila muralia,’ Naso said. ‘Nasty things at close range, but they’re worth the effort of making. They can start with any ordinary pila we have that are broken. Bend the shaft back at an angle and sharpen it.’

‘You’ve made them before?’ Ferox asked. Naso nodded. ‘And we want stones for throwing, as many as we can find. Chip up any building material left over. They have to fit in a man’s hand. Once we have them we practise – all of us – throwing as far as the outer ditch.’ Ferox grinned. ‘Then we go down and pick them up for next time – and keep the ditches clear while they’re at it.’

‘That’ll make you even more popular, sir?’ Sabinus said, and then looked embarrassed.

‘Nothing new there,’ Vindex commented. He had said almost nothing during the discussion up to this point.

‘They already call me “the Bastard”, don’t they?’ Sabinus blushed. It had taken some cajoling to get him to admit to knowing the nickname. Ferox had already known, but wanted to see how honest his subordinates would be when asked a direct question.

‘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.’