The Fort

XII

PHILO WORRIED BECAUSE never before had he been responsible for entertaining such a prestigious guest and everything had had to be done in such a hurry. Ferox had not returned, and from what the Lord Sabinus had said, this was also worrying, although Philo had waited too long and too often for his master to return to give the matter much thought. Even if the centurion had been here, the real work would have fallen to him, for Ferox had little sense of what was proper and had far too casual an approach to food, furnishings and those little touches that showed true respect for the guests and reflected honour to the host. In some ways, the centurion’s absence was for the best.

The ladies had helped, and it was fine to see them both, and even more the staff they had brought with them. Privatus, the chamberlain of the noble Sulpicia Lepidina and her husband Cerialis, was an old friend from Vindolanda, and had been a wonderful and very practical help, as well as having the sense to step back and assist rather than try to take charge. In haste they had unpacked some of their finest tableware, to add to the items produced by the queen. To the three new slaves purchased by his master were added his pick of the other households – or at least those travelling with their mistresses.

The legatus had naturally occupied a number of rooms in the praetorium, just as Ferox had ordered. His stay was to be a short one, perhaps no more than a single night, and the modest number of slaves and freedmen travelling with the noble senator were under strict instructions to make no fuss or demands and to obey Philo’s orders on domestic matters. It was courteous and a great condescension, since even Philo had to admit that his own master was of minor importance compared to a former praetor and relation of the emperor himself. It also made it easier to ignore the thinly veiled arrogance of the legatus’ staff, especially his bald freedman, Sosius.

Sulpicia Lepidina supplied the clue to one of the guest’s favourite foods, while Privatus had heard of this from one of the legatus’ staff and was able to offer the recipe. Thus, Philo was able to watch as the slaves carried a tray to place in front of each couch. Apparently it was called tetrafarmacum, and he prayed that they had put in the right mix of ham, pheasant and sows udders and baked the pastry as it should be. The whole mixture was outlandish and the name had puzzled Privatus until Philo wondered whether it was meant as a joke at the expense of the Epicureans, and Sulpicia Lepidina had nodded in approval.

Philo stood apart from the diners, and part of him enjoyed the sheer responsibility of presiding over the occasion, directing the slaves and arranging every detail like a general with an army. Once Indike passed him, carrying a small jug of sauce to garnish the meats, and as she passed she pressed his hand for a moment and smiled. It was going well, but the ‘battle’ was not yet won and the ‘enemy’ willing to acknowledge that they had been well entertained.

They had lamps on high brass stands, but not too many. Overzealous efforts to clean the walls on the part of one of the new slaves had smeared the paintings and broken off whole pieces of plaster. As a result, one nymph had only one leg left to her, while in the scene where a shepherd surprised another group of nymphs bathing, he no longer had a head, which may have helped to explain their distress. Nearby a city appeared to have suffered an earthquake, so much had fallen away. The shadows offered some protection, and only one of the guests had commented so far. For a timber fort this was a decent enough dining room, even if it could not compare to some of the ones in the stone houses in forts they had visited on the long journey from Britannia. This room was a good size, had a flagstone floor, plaster walls, and just one high window, the window closed and shutters drawn to keep out the noises and odours of the fort. Yet it had not been well maintained, and the painted walls were cracked and had damp patches even before they were attacked in an effort to clean. Nor was the place ideal, for the ceiling was lower than it should be, so that the music of the lyre player and even the diners’ conversations echoed uncomfortably.

There were eight guests, for the ninth place was reserved for Ferox, should he have appeared in time. Philo was relieved that he had not arrived at the last moment, no doubt filthy from travel and truculent in his refusal to be made acceptable for the occasion. The two ladies sat, one on either side of Hadrian, for one was a senator’s daughter and the other in a sense their hostess. Apart from that, Hadrian appeared to enjoy their conversation, no doubt because both were well able to make themselves entertaining. Sabinus, Dionysius and the senior decurion were on one couch, and Piso and an equestrian tribune from I Minervia on the third. Hadrian had sent word that this was to be the seating order, and this had been his only intervention. Piso was the one who had seen the headless shepherd and pointed it out to the other diners.

All in all, Philo was pleased so far, while remaining intensely nervous. He watched every step taken by the girls as they carried the pies to the table, his mind racing with nightmares of someone slipping and dropping their precious cargoes. Thankfully, they arrived safely, were placed without fuss, but in the most convenient places, and then their carriers gave the slightest bow and retired.

Hadrian was in mid flow, speaking of the genius of poets and slipping easily between Latin and Greek and back again as he quoted. Now and again the ladies said a line or two, and Philo noted that Claudia Enica tended to get the words slightly wrong, no doubt deliberately for this permitted the legatus to correct her. This was always done with good humour and better manners – or almost always. Piso tried to take the lady’s side more than once, saying that her change was an improvement. The others said little, and if Philo had not been so occupied he would dearly have loved to listen to the legatus, for he seemed a man of immense learning and considerable insight. He was also obviously fond of all things Greek, unlike so many Roman lords who privately were Hellenes, but paraded in public a boorish disdain.

The conversation seemed to be nearing a natural break, for they had moved on to descriptions of food, with Sulpicia Lepidina saying that at last they were eating their tables, which Philo remembered as an allusion to Virgil, when Privatus came to his side and whispered a message.

Philo sighed, but orders were orders and he did not feel that he could ignore them. Privatus waved a questioning hand, indicating that he was willing to do the fell deed, but Philo stilled him.

He tapped his staff – another item borrowed for the night – on the flagstone floor. ‘Noble lords and great ladies,’ he said. ‘Please beg my pardon for interrupting.’

‘Not at all, Philo,’ Hadrian said. ‘Do go on.’ There were not many senior officers – or junior for that matter – who would have learned his name and used it, and Philo was impressed.

‘I am pleased to announce that Flavius Ferox, praepositus of the numerus Brittanorum and curator of the praesidium has returned. He apologises profusely for his absence on duty at the time of your arrival and thus for his inability to greet you in a fitting manner.’ Ferox had never apologised profusely for anything in his entire life, but Philo was not about to let the truth get in the way of fitting words.

‘He also apologises for the limitations imposed on his hospitality in this desolate outpost, but hopes that the humble hospitality his household was able to offer such distinguished guests did at least do a little to refresh them after the rigours of their journey.’ Philo considered this to contain the essence of his master’s ‘I bet the mongrels are complaining.’

‘It has indeed, dear Philo,’ Sulpicia Lepidina replied.

‘Quite so,’ Hadrian added. ‘And tetrafarmacum, if I am not very much mistaken. My four-fold medicine never disappoints. You must try it, dear ladies, you really must. But where is the centurion? Surely he will join us.’

‘My lord Ferox begs to excuse himself from attending on his esteemed guests. Stained as he is from a long ride.’ Philo’s tone implied a level of unutterable filth. ‘He does not wish to interrupt or spoil his guests’ enjoyment of their meal. He will refresh himself and bathe.’ Philo almost regretted not being able to supervise and chivvy his master into performing these tasks properly. ‘And will then be ready to wait upon the noble legatus later tonight or in the morning, as most suits my lord.’

‘He should come,’ Hadrian said mildly.

‘My lord,’ Philo said, surprised by his own boldness, ‘my master fears that he is scarcely presentable.’

‘He rarely is,’ Claudia Enica commented. Philo saw Lepidina’s lips purse in disapproval, although since Hadrian reclined between the two ladies, Claudia did not notice.

Hadrian smiled. ‘This is the praetorium, not a villa in Baiae. I do not think anyone would be offended by the honest sweat of a good soldier doing his duty.’

‘We are not all soldiers,’ Lepidina suggested.

‘And you have not smelled my husband.’ Claudia wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust.

‘Indeed we are not,’ Piso said, speaking loudly, his voice a little slurred from wine. ‘And may Venus and all the nymphs be praised that there is beauty among us.’

Julius Dionysius wriggled his shoulders and moved his head from side to side, as if preening. ‘Well it’s nice of someone to notice.’

‘Send for the centurion,’ Hadrian ordered.

‘Are you sure, my lord?’ Philo said before he had time to think.

‘My husband is not the finest companion at a table,’ Claudia said quickly to cover the freedman’s embarrassment at having doubted so distinguished a guest. ‘His manners are…’ she paused in thought, ‘at times a little rough. And apart from that I…’ She trailed off into silence, dropped her head and blushed.

‘They have been apart for a long time,’ Sulpicia Lepidina whispered into Hadrian’s ear. Less discreet, and just audible was Piso’s muttered, ‘Don’t worry, he can rape you later.’

‘Please ask the centurion to join us as soon as possible, and not to worry about his appearance.’ Hadrian reached over to pat Claudia on the hand. ‘I am sorry, my dear, but this is a matter of duty and the good of the res publica. You may have a proper reunion later.’ Hadrian caught Piso’s smirk and glared at him.

‘My lord,’ Philo said and bowed his head in obedience. Privatus caught his eye, nodded and left the room to seek Ferox.

Hadrian reached for the plate with the pies. ‘Let me offer you some, dear ladies? Four-fold medicine,’ he said happily, ‘is the cure for all ills and every woe.’

‘Is it filling?’ Claudia asked. ‘I have eaten a good deal.’

‘You need have no fear – not least because your figure is that of a goddess.’

‘Well yes,’ she conceded. ‘However, dear Lepidina, do you not realise the implication of that compliment.’

‘Dear Claudia, I am sure that Aelius was not in any way contrasting us.’

Hadrian’s smile broadened. ‘Tis as well you two are not generals, for I am already outmanoeuvred. But have a taste, I beg you both.’

Philo’s nervousness returned as Hadrian cut small slices to serve each of the ladies. On the other tables, the guests were devouring the pie, but that was only to be expected when it was known to be a favourite of so senior an officer, who might notice their reaction. Only Piso remained disinterested, picking at his food with no sign of emotion just as he had done with every course. Philo jerked his head to Indike, who now had an amphora of wine, which she took over to refill the senior tribune’s cup. Piso made no effort to hide his scrutiny of the young woman, especially as she leaned forward.

Hadrian did not watch as the ladies nibbled, instead focusing on the whole pie he had served himself. Philo could barely breathe as the legatus cut into it and began spooning up the contents. The first mouthful was chewed and swallowed and the legatus paused and looked straight at Philo, his face rigid.

‘This is good,’ Hadrian said at long last and smiled. ‘My compliments to your chef.’

Philo breathed out. ‘I will pass them on, my lord.’

Privatus returned, walking quickly to pass on the message.

‘Well, what’s this?’ Hadrian said, his tone sharp. ‘Where is Ferox?’

‘The centurion regrets that he is unable to join his guests,’ Philo began.

‘Hercules’ balls, he’d better have a damned good excuse,’ Hadrian cut in.

‘Yes, my lord, he feels that he has.’

‘Well?’

‘My master begs to report that the fort is on fire.’

The granary was blazing furiously, and all was chaos, with alarm bells ringing and men shouting. Ferox felt his skin scorching with the heat and coughed as smoke blew towards him. That was at least a consolation, for it was blowing away from the other buildings and towards the intervallum, the wide road running around the camp inside the rampart. Hopefully, that would give them a little time.

‘Keep moving! Keep moving!’ he yelled at the men carrying all that they could from the granary beside the one on fire. There was barely a yard between the two buildings and it was amazing that the flames had not already spread.

‘What’s this lot?’ Vindex and another of the Carvetii staggered as they carried a big amphora.

‘Olive oil.’

‘Shit!’ They hurried away to add their burden to the piles of stores a hundred yards away.

‘Optio!’ Ferox shouted as he saw one of the men from I Minervia. ‘Where are those tools and ropes?’

‘Coming, sir!’

‘Get a move on!’ More men were arriving, summoned by the bells and the noise, and he was pleased to see a group of men with a long ladder because he had not thought to ask for one. ‘Up on the roof,’ he called, pointing at the third granary, which was separated from the first pair by a wider alley. ‘Use anything you can to prise off the shingles. As many as you can as quick as you can.’

The soldier, who looked like one of the auxiliaries, nodded in understanding. Before he left, Ferox put his hand on the man’s shoulders. ‘Do what you can, but no silly heroics, eh?’ The response was a grin, and then the man started shouting at the others.

At last the tools were arriving from the workshops, and he saw axe blades and saws gleaming red in the firelight. He needed them, but most of all he needed heavy hammers, and then he saw Naso with a group of bearded veterans coming with half a dozen. Ferox’s voice was hoarse, the smoke thicker than ever and carrying with it odd scents of roasts from the barrels of salted meat and the rancid smell of burning oil, but he kept on shouting and chasing. Dividing the men with tools into two groups, he sent Naso with one to start pulling down the barrack block on the far side of the burning building, while the rest were to work on the third granary. There was not the slightest hope of water dousing these flames, even if they had had a good supply and pumps and hoses, which meant that the only way to stop the whole fort from going up was to make a firebreak on either side of the blaze – and to pray.

Any Brigantes he saw went to the walls if they were carrying weapons, and to help saving anything they could from the second granary if they were not. Ferox doubted that there was much risk of a surprise attack under cover of night and the confusion, but there was no sense in taking the chance, so Cunicius was at the main gate and told to keep a good watch. Many men he half knew or did not recognise at all had arrived with the legatus and most of these had their arms handy as they had not yet settled down to barrack life. There was another centurion with them and Ferox had told him to take all the men he could find and obey Cunicius, whoever was the senior. At a time like this, it was better to have someone who knew the layout of the fort.

‘Oh bugger,’ Vindex said, and pulled the wheel of Taranis he wore around his neck up to his lips to kiss it. The wind had shifted, and gusts were blowing the flames against the second granary. ‘Won’t be long now.’

‘Hurry!’ Ferox yelled at the men carrying sacks out of the building. One swayed as he watched, eyes gleaming in the red light, and then passed out, falling off the platform. The sack burst, grain spilling out. Ferox darted forward, starting to lift the man and then Vindex was with him and they dragged the soldier away. It was Vepoc. ‘Get some water!’ Ferox told another of the Britons.

‘Can I help?’ A man appeared, wearing an unbelted tunic which hung down past his knees. Ferox did not recognise him, but he spoke in Latin and had a beard and thick mop of hair so must be one of the veterans of I Minervia.

‘Take that axe.’ Ferox had spotted the tool lying a few yards away. ‘And go and help chopping down that granary!’ He pointed at the third one in the line, just visible. As he looked he saw a man prising a wooden shingle off the roof and throwing it down. If they were falling into the alley then they might burn there and spread the flames, so he turned to find someone to organise a party and make sure they were moved.

‘What?’ the man stared open mouthed.

‘That humping great building over there!’ Vindex shouted angrily, realising that the centurion was not listening. ‘The one we don’t want to burn down.’ He grabbed the axe and placed it in the man’s hand. ‘Well you take your chopper like a good little boy and chop the humping thing down!’

‘I am Aelius Hadrianus, legatus legionis.’

‘Oh shit.’

‘Quite.’ Hadrian was shouting over the roaring of the flames. ‘Is that Ferox?’

Ferox had heard. ‘My lord!’ He raised his arm in salute. ‘Now if you would be so good, please take charge of the men working to pull down the granary. It’s our best chance of stopping the fire spreading that way.’

Hadrian stared for a moment, then his beard split as he grinned. ‘Right.’ The grin widened. ‘And I’ll take my little chopper.’

‘Omnes ad stercus,’ Ferox whispered, knowing the sound would be lost with all the other noise.

‘Oh double shit!’ Vindex yelled as flames leapt up from the shingles on the roof of the second granary.

‘Get them out!’ Ferox screamed as he ran towards the loading platform of the building. Brigantes came tumbling out of the open double doors, some with sacks and some with barrels. Three men passed him, then two more. ‘Quickly!’ The heat was appalling, stinging his eyes so sharply that he struggled to keep them open. Another man appeared, panting hard and dropping an amphora to shatter on the planks. ‘You the last?’

The man shook his head, then shrugged. Ferox helped him out. ‘Take him!’ he ordered Vindex. ‘Forget it!’ he called past the scout to a handful of men, including a recovered Vepoc, who were coming to save more of the stores. ‘Help with pulling the buildings down!’

Ferox went to the doorway and looked in, crouching and trying to shield his eyes from the savage heat. He started to shout, but could only cough until he managed to spit. ‘Anyone left?’

There were dozens of amphorae of olive oil stacked at the far end of the building. Some had been brought out, and another dropped so that it shattered and the thick liquid spread. As the roof caught fire, sparks and bits of burning wood dropped down, setting off the oil. Inside the amphorae the oil began to bubble as it heated up.

Ferox saw the silhouette of a man against the sudden flame and then the blaze exploded and a wave of air flung him back out to fall flat on the platform. Someone lifted him, and he recognised Dionysius.

‘You all right, sir?’

Ferox gasped for breath and nodded as he was helped away. Sabinus was there, and more men milling around. ‘Get them to work,’ he just managed to say. ‘Sabinus, take a dozen more men and all the equipment you have and tear down that barrack block. Julius, you help the legatus with the granary.’ He stood up, pulling free and waving them away. ‘I’m fine. Now go!’

He doubled up, panting for breath, and heard the roaring as the second granary was devoured and some of the roof collapsed in a great flurry of sparks. Looking past it, he could see a wide stretch of bare rafters where the men were yanking off as many of the shingles as they could. That reminded him and he headed off to make sure that they were not simply building a bridge for the flames. He was relieved when he reached the alleyway to see that men were already clearing it of the tiles and other debris pushed out as men hammered and hacked at the side wall. There were great gaps in this already, and another team was fastening hooks around one of the timber uprights, while a dozen others waited at the ropes to pull it down.

‘All clear,’ a deep voice shouted from inside.

‘All clear,’ a man answered.

‘Then one, two, three, pull!’

Ferox joined the men on the ropes as they hauled. The rope took the strain, and men grunted as they used all their strength without shifting the timber again.

‘Again! One, two, three!’ Two more men added their weight and at last there was the slightest of movements.

‘Nearly there, boys.’ Hadrian joined them, and Ferox realised that he had been the one giving the orders. ‘One more time. One, two, three, heave!’ The timber cracked and with a jerk they almost fell as the top half pulled away from the rest.

‘Come on, we’re winning.’ They dragged again and pulled the timber free. ‘Get the axes.’ The legatus of I Minervia seemed to be enjoying himself, and Ferox noticed for the first time that he was wearing delicate sandals, suitable for dining, but not for demolition. ‘We’ll be fine,’ Hadrian told the centurion. ‘You check on the others.’

‘Sir.’ The alley was fiercely hot as the fire spread throughout the second granary and he wondered whether the firebreak would work. The third building was one of the ones packed with artillery, which meant plenty of wood, ropes and grease to burn if the fire got a hold. He was pleased to see that they had already started to pull down the end of the barrack block opposite the second granary, while the one opposite the first was now a ruin. Barracks always tended to be less sturdily built than the towering granaries, whose raised floors only seemed to fuel the fires once they started.

Something fell onto the top of his head. He stared up at the clouds and another drop of rainwater splashed onto his chin. More came, pattering all around him.

‘We’re winning,’ he said as the downpour grew heavier.

Some sense, some glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye warned him, and he threw himself down as something small whizzed through the air and banged into the wall behind him. He struggled to get up, exhaustion swamping him, so he pushed on his hands to force himself and just caught a glimpse of a figure running far down one of the alleys.

‘Centurion?’ It was Dionysius’ voice. ‘Can you get me more men?’

The rain was still driving down and if it kept on they should be safe as long as they could all keep working. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said and lurched into a run to find them. Turning a corner, Ferox tripped and fell headlong, landing with a grunt as the air was knocked from him. He pushed himself up and saw that he had tripped over a body.

‘Dionysius!’ he shouted, hoping that the auxiliary centurion was close enough to hear him over the noise. It was a man’s body, well dressed with fancy shoes, although the once-bright white tunic was smudged with ash and grime. He was not dead, for there was the faintest gasp when he pulled the man by the shoulders out of the shadows. Ferox stopped, worrying that he had done the poor fellow additional harm, so started to search for signs of injury. The rain was still falling, although the nearest roof gave a little shelter and there was more light from the fires here. The man was a stranger. Ferox tried lifting the head slightly and at once his hand was sticky with blood.

‘Sir?’ Dionysius appeared and then saw the body. ‘Holy Isis, it’s Piso.’