The Fort

V

‘PLEASE, MY LORD, read this!’ The old woman thrust a writing tablet out in her right hand, while her left elbow jabbed into a man trying to push her out of the way to present his own petition. For all her grey hairs, she was plump and powerful, and the victim dropped his rolled papyrus as he doubled over. One of the toga-clad praetorians scooped to pick the scroll up and then took the woman’s tablet as well. Other guardsmen in cloaks and tunics, but carrying big oval shields and pila, formed a cordon to mark the line beyond which the crowd was not permitted. A good princeps ought to be accessible, so like the divine Augustus, Trajan walked whenever possible, even on occasions like this when he was to dine at a friend’s house, itself another mark that he was servant of the res publica and not a tyrant. The journey was unannounced, a social call rather than for some ceremony or to attend a session of the Senate, so the crowd was not as big as on other days. These petitioners were only the ones who had waited hour after hour and sometimes day after day outside the main doors of the Domus Tiberiana, the house of the princeps, on the off-chance that he would appear.

The procession did not stop, everyone taking their cue from Trajan, who whenever he went into the city took pride in maintaining the steady, regulation drill pace of the army. Hadrian could almost hear the instructor calling out the time and tapping his stick or the butt of a spear onto the parade ground as he did so. It had amused him in Dacia to note how often all the comites, the senators like himself who accompanied Trajan to war to advise and serve him, unconsciously fell into step alongside their leader. The emperor had his toga carefully draped over his left arm, his back was as straight as a spear shaft, and you could see the effort as he forced himself to glance around him now and then rather than striding on, concentrating only on the task in hand.

Hadrian wondered whether the divine Augustus had been more affable, at least until his great age and poor health meant that he had to be carried in a litter on all save the shortest journeys. Trajan often invoked Augustus, and even when he did not acknowledge the fact tended to make the first princeps his model for his decisions and behaviour. Yet his love was for the camp rather than the city, militiae rather than domi – and deep down he wanted everyone to see this. In his youth, long before anyone could have guessed that he would be raised to the purple, Trajan had served more than the usual spell with the army, much more, but Hadrian guessed that his former guardian felt that this was not enough and still needed to prove to himself that at heart he was a soldier. Hence the steady pace, and acting always as the bluff, no nonsense military man, who demanded even greater discipline from himself than his subordinates, and pretended to less education than he possessed. Perhaps after all these years the act was all there was, and that made Hadrian wonder about the nature of a person or thing, and whether it could be changed by circumstance or desire. The deepest joy of philosophy for him was that there would never be a final answer, only further speculation. Still, one thing that was certain was that there would be another great war, and the only question now was when. Hadrian believed that he already knew where, and hoped that his own appointment had this in mind.

A slave walking behind the emperor took the petitions from the guardsman, scanning through them quickly. He whispered something to Trajan, who nodded, and a boy doubled back with a coin for one man and a little purse for the old woman. This slave was about thirteen or fourteen, with a dark complexion and smooth unblemished skin. He was also quick, moving well, if without the polish provided by training in the gymnasium. A lot of the imperial slaves were good looking like this one, and a fair few encouraged to preen and think highly of themselves.

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ a voice said from just behind his shoulder.

‘Good evening, noble Laberius,’ Hadrian replied, as the former consul came alongside. They kissed on the cheek in greeting and smiled with everything apart from their eyes. Until now Laberius Maximus had been near the rear of the little procession, talking with men of his own age.

‘We do not want any more awkwardness, do we?’ Laberius gripped Hadrian’s right arm just above the elbow, a gesture that always annoyed him. ‘Good, good,’ he went on. ‘Youthful indiscretion is one thing, but you are a praetor now.’

Hadrian smiled. Just before the first campaign in Dacia he had taken one of the imperial boys as a lover. It was not rape, or even coercion beyond the fact that one was a slave and one was an aristocrat. He had wooed the boy, given him presents as an older man should, and been kind. Yet Trajan’s rage had astounded him and for a while he feared that he might be sent home in disgrace, favour forever denied. Men closer to the emperor had placated him, mature men with good military records like Laberius, the sort of men Trajan liked and trusted, and in the end Hadrian had been forgiven, at least publicly. There was no need for reminders, for he was not a man to make the same mistake twice, but it had put him under obligation to Laberius and the rest.

The whole business was a nonsense and Trajan’s anger a mystery. The emperor must have known that gossip throughout the empire, let alone among the aristocracy, was amused by his fondness for having lots of pretty boys in his household, just as they were by his habit of drinking heavily when he was the host at a dinner. Hadrian had nursed plenty of merciless hangovers as a result, for like most guests he felt obliged to match their leader. Yet he did not know for certain that Trajan had ever used any of the boys in that way, whether casually as slaves or with kindness. It was so hard to tell. Maybe this was all part of play-acting the tough soldier, and, realising his own appetites, the emperor rigidly exercised self-control, denying himself the slightest concession to human frailty and vice. Then again, maybe he was very, very discreet. Either way, the Roman aristocracy would approve. Excesses denied were admirable, indulgences concealed were pardonable, as long as the secret never escaped for such was the hypocrisy of the senatorial class. Trajan had never done anything unwise or acted badly while drunk, so that was also no weakness or flaw, and the same attitude stretched to the boys at court. If ever anything dishonourable happened, then no one saw it.

Hadrian did not know the truth, and after all these years could not claim to understand Trajan. That, indeed, was the root of the whole problem. Hadrian’s father was the emperor’s cousin, and when both his parents died, Trajan had become Hadrian’s guardian, back in the days when he was no more than a prominent senator. He had been efficient, stern and distant, and had softened only a little in more recent years.

Laberius kept alongside him, and they exchanged the usual empty pleasantries, asking after relations and friends. Hadrian sensed that the former consul wanted something, but manners dictated that they chat about nothing first.

‘You are off to the army soon.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘I am.’ Hadrian was conscious that he slurred some words and cursed himself for doing it now, especially when Laberius gave a faint smile. Men said that it was the accent of Hispania, but since Hadrian had spent barely a year in the province and only when he was already fourteen, he doubted it.

‘You do not care for the courts?’

‘Acting as judge may teach a man something,’ Hadrian conceded, ‘although it seems largely a question of discerning which side is lying the least.’

This time Laberius’ smile had less mockery. ‘A good training for life, I should have thought. Still, soldiering may be a little more straightforward. The Minervia have earned a fine reputation in what is still a short history. It is a good command, albeit a scattered one at present, as you have no doubt learned from your investigations?’ He paused, and stared straight into Hadrian’s eyes. ‘That is unusual diligence – or something else perhaps? Still, I am sure you know your own business.’

Hadrian had expected the matter to be raised at some point during the evening, and wondered only how soon and who would bring it up. The emperor had surely learned of his visit to the camp of the foreigners before the day was out. It was probably better that someone was speaking openly to him about it.

‘I wish to serve the princeps and Rome well.’

‘Indeed, and such an honourable intent must be praised. But why talk to the frumentarii?’

This time Hadrian smiled. ‘Because I wonder whether we do not take sufficient advantage of their knowledge. Where else in Rome will you find men from every legion, recent arrivals most of them and sent back in due course? Apart from the lists of numbers, locations and supplies, those men have knowledge and news beyond the written reports of legates and procurators. They could all become eyes and ears, reaching out across the globe.’

Laberius was sceptical. ‘Common soldiers, though. I’ll grant they can all read and write in a good hand, but they are not selected for intelligence or insight.’

‘But they could be.’

The former consul nodded several times, his head moving slowly as if it confirmed an obvious truth, but Hadrian could tell that he was thinking. A lot of good ideas appeared so simple once someone had explained them, and there was no doubt that Laberius Maximus was now exploring the possibilities.

‘That is original,’ he conceded at last. ‘Although perhaps we should be cautious in turning so many simple soldiers into spies. The gods only know how much they might discover, and how inconvenient it might prove.’

‘For the good of the res publica.’

‘An expression frequently employed by the last of the Flavians – as even you may be just old enough to recall – so of meagre comfort. After all, we all have our little secrets, do we not?’ The stare was intense. ‘And would prefer that they remain just that, harmless indiscretions known only to ourselves. Trust is important. To trust the men picked by the emperor or appointed by the Senate to do their jobs to the best of their ability, without having to be told step by step how to go about them. A degree of ignorance does little harm if it fosters trust.’

The crowd had thinned and as they went downhill several senators joined them, hailing the emperor and then the rest of the party. Hadrian was always amused to see the slaves doing the same thing with the slightest of nods and gestures. Theirs was a small world as well in many ways, as attendants of great men.

‘You are in need of a new tribune,’ Laberius commented once they had resumed.

‘Yes.’ Hadrian had suspected as much, for the stripling in the post had done six months and on brief acquaintance had struck him as the sort never to do more than the barest minimum. No doubt Laberius was better informed.

‘Anyone in mind?’

That was surprisingly direct and strange for the matter was not really up to him.

‘I would guess that the legatus will find someone suitable.’ That was the usual way, with the governor of the province putting forward a name to the emperor for approval, more often than not recommending someone who had in turn been recommended to him.

‘Wouldn’t do any harm if you wrote to him with a suggestion.’

More petitioners clustered where the road turned, and this caused a little delay. In front of them, an older senator was telling a story about Augustus and a poet who had waited outside the palace for weeks, hoping that he could get the Caesar’s attention for long enough to recite a composition in his praise. ‘Well Augustus spotted the ragged fellow, and made sure to ignore him, always turning away. He wanted money, of course, they all do. When did you ever hear of a rich poet who did not inherit his wealth?’

Hadrian half listened, for the old senator had a carrying voice and either did not realise how loudly he was speaking or did not care. It took an effort not to chip in with half a dozen examples of poets whose verse had earned them considerable wealth.

‘Perhaps I could think of someone,’ Hadrian said softly. If Laberius wanted to play little games then why not make it hard for him.

‘Day after day it went on,’ the senator continued, half shouting. ‘Sun and rain, there the poor fellow was and each time the divine Augustus strode past. Took to coming earlier and earlier and finally to camping out to be closest to the edge of the road.’

‘Perhaps you could,’ Laberius said. ‘And perhaps even better you would consider Licinianus – I mean young Crassus Frugi, or Piso as he likes to be known.’

Hadrian had a good memory for names, even long names like Caius Calpurnius Piso Crassus Frugi Licinianus. It was a point of pride never to forget, especially if he had met someone, but even so it was a moment before he could picture the face. It was not a pretty face, speckled with moles, some of them large, the expression dull and sullen. ‘An admirable young man, I believe,’ he said, lying fluently. ‘I did not know that he was eager for service. He must already be twenty-two.’

They had to pause because Trajan had slowed and was showing pleasure at the story, listening as he gave instructions to the young slave to dole out more bounties to the crowd. Seeing his interest, the old senator spoke even louder. ‘So after a few more days, Caesar Augustus decides to have a game with the rogue. Next morning, instead of ignoring him, he strides right up to the little fellow and declaims a verse of his own.’

Hadrian smiled. It was a good story.

‘Maybe the man ought to have been an actor rather than a peddler of verses, for he reacts well, praising the poem to the skies. Then out with his purse, pulls the string open and pours out the contents into Caesar’s hand. Only a couple of asses there. Well, that’s why he was begging. “I wish that I had more with which to recognise your art,” he says, “but here, you must take my last coins as well as my praise and blessing!”

‘Augustus liked a joke and knew when he was beaten. Clapped the fellow on the shoulder and sent a boy to give him a full purse!’

Trajan laughed. A few began laughing at the same instant and the remainder took their cue from the master of the world. Laberius contented himself with a wry smile, but he was an especially old and trusted friend.

‘I do hope that there are no poets here today,’ the emperor declared, producing more laughter.

‘I know a good one about Priapus!’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘Quick, give him some money to keep it to himself,’ Trajan called to the boy, the loudest instruction he had given, and there were cheers.

After a few more minutes, they were almost at the house of their host, the doors of the atrium standing open and the welcoming party visible.

‘It would be a wise gesture,’ Laberius said, and the merest flick of his eyes towards the emperor’s straight back was sufficient to show that he was not speaking solely for himself.

‘And the father’s injudicious actions?’ Hadrian asked. The elder Crassus had plotted to overthrow Nerva, the old man made an emperor by the Senate after the murder of the unlamented Domitian seven years ago, who had in turn adopted Trajan and raised him to the purple. He was now in exile, albeit a comfortable one at Tarentum rather than on some bare rock out at sea.

‘Almost forgotten and not the fault of his son. Let the youngster have a chance to prove himself and redeem the family.’

‘I see.’ Hadrian thought for a moment. The father was a fool, his plot a badly run farce easily discovered and defeated. The son certainly looked a halfwit, but with the legion dispersed in so many detachments, it should be easy enough to keep him at a distance. Stupidity was tiresome to observe in detail. ‘I daresay I could find work for him somewhere.’

‘Not too far away,’ Laberius said as if reading his thoughts. ‘As you might say, keep eyes and ears on him.’ There was clearly more, but by this time they had arrived and there was no more chance to talk for some hours.

The dinner was pleasant enough. Their host, a noted epicure, knew the emperor well and had judged his tastes nicely. The food was fine, but not so fine that it was too exotic or ostentatiously expensive. The wine was decent, some of it scented as Trajan liked, and all of it plentiful. All of the guests were men, for the host’s wife had died years before and he had never taken another. Conversation flowed easily, with much merriment and jokes at the host’s and guests’ expense. A few of those present knew Trajan well enough to mock his habit of eating too fast or his abrupt, martial way of speaking and other idiosyncrasies that the emperor himself liked to laugh at. All was perfectly balanced, as was the talk, most of it innocuous, yet to the discerning observer helping to confirm the pecking order of those nearest the princeps. Little was serious, even less important, and Hadrian as the youngest man there said less than the others as was proper, refrained from correcting a number of ill-considered statements, and listened whenever there was something that truly mattered.

Another war with Dacia seemed likely, perhaps even inevitable, for there were more and more reports that King Decebalus was violating the treaty. Sosius’ most recent letters had told Hadrian even more than the emperor seemed to know, speaking of envoys of the king ranging widely to seek allies. That letter had come weeks ago, and another was surely due. Still, experience taught that it was best to trust Sosius and let the man go about his dark business without close supervision.

‘We will prepare this summer,’ Trajan said after a question from their host about the rumours. ‘Get most of the men and stores in place by the end of the year. Then next spring I will march into the mountains again and smash Decebalus if he won’t see sense. Ought to know by now that he is no longer dealing with Domitian.’

The diners voiced agreement more or less loudly. Most of them had served with the emperor in the previous war.

Hadrian, relieved to hear that there would be a campaign before his spell as commander of the legion was up, was even more pleased when Trajan followed up by addressing him.

‘My cousin will precede us all,’ he declared, voice slightly louder than necessary and words just a little slurred. Trajan rarely spoke of Hadrian as a relation, so that too was welcome. ‘I shall expect you to take a good look at the situation and report to me. Put that nosiness of yours to good use for a change, eh?’ Trajan tapped his own nose as the company laughed, and Hadrian tried to seem abashed but good humoured.

Trajan suddenly jabbed a finger towards him. ‘Find out what that Dacian bugger is up to! That’s what I want you to do!’ He turned to his host. ‘He’s a clever bastard, you know.’

Hadrian was not sure whether the emperor was referring to him or Decebalus. After that the talk drifted away to other matters, most of them trivial. There was less and less need to pay close attention as the evening wore on. A Trajan full of wine loved to tell long stories about past campaigns.

Nature called, and Hadrian was shown by a slave girl the way to the lavatory. Noticing that Laberius had risen and was following, but pretending not to have seen the other man, Hadrian slapped the girl on the rump. She gave a little squeal, but had the subdued expression of so many slaves and even this show bored him.

There were three wooden seats, the sound of water trickling constantly from below and a strong scent from incense burning around the hanging lamp to cover almost all the smell. Laberius came in, lifting his tunic to sit alongside and soon started to talk. Hadrian wondered how often matters of state were discussed by two men defecating, but paid close attention.

The next morning Laberius went to call upon the emperor and was given a private audience, rather than being received with others obeying the same courtesy.

‘You spoke to him?’ Trajan’s voice was gruff, but then it often was. There was no sign of the after-effects of last night’s wine, even though any man must have felt them.

‘I did.’

‘And explained.’

‘As much as he need know.’

‘Good.’ Trajan had a habit of rubbing his chin. His hair was dark and thick, and Laberius knew that he often was shaved more than once a day. ‘Let’s hope the little shit can do his job.’

‘You really do not like him, do you, my lord?’

Trajan shrugged. ‘Don’t have to like him, he’s family.’

‘But he is capable,’ Laberius said, ‘and very bright indeed.’

‘Exactly. How can you trust a man as clever as that?’

‘Spoken like a Roman, my lord, if you will forgive me for saying so!’

The emperor’s laugh was rich and deep. He liked that. ‘Well, thank you, but I had better get back to work being polite.’ He clapped Laberius on the shoulder. ‘You can go back to sleep again, if you like!’

‘Good advice, my lord, but I have to be at the Senate in an hour.’

‘Best place to sleep, if you ask me!’

Laberius was almost at the door, the chamberlain opening it for him, when the emperor called to him.

‘Well done,’ he boomed, before lowering his voice. ‘Old friend, I am so glad that I can trust you.’

The former consul left, wondering how he should take that.