‘Speaking of swords…’ Ferox pulled her towards him and kissed her. Her lips were soft, and her arms gripped onto him pressing their mouths ever closer. He was not thinking, not worrying, for the moment all that mattered was to be with her. She moaned very softly, and their bodies started to blend into one. Ferox reached for the shoulder of her dress, feeling the silk and trying to find the catch of the little brooch.
Claudia Enica’s knee jerked up sharply and Ferox groaned with the pain, doubling up as she pulled away.
‘You have to earn more,’ his wife told him, her eyes bright. ‘Now sort yourself out and be off with you. I shall see you tomorrow, but not before. Still, it is good to see you, husband.’
Ferox’s thoughts came slowly as he left the praetorium, for part of him was happy and the fears that now almost all that he cared for in the world had come to this place of danger could not yet drive the happiness away.
‘Did she hit you?’ Vindex was waiting for him.
Ferox nodded.
‘Good lass. Kick in the balls?’
‘Used her knee.’
‘Aye, well enough. She’s a queen and no mistake.’
XIV
THE STRONGHOLD OF the Dacian king was a remarkable place, and not for the first time on this journey Hadrian had thought of all those mountain cities stormed by Alexander and his men on their long road to India. As he understood it, those were made from mud brick, as brown as the land around them, whereas the Dacians built mainly in stone, and built well. In one sense it was a pity that he had left Ephippus behind, for he had wanted the engineer to examine the towers, walls and temples, and sketch as many as he could. There was never any harm in learning from others, and indeed the Romans boasted of their willingness to copy even from enemies, which was one of the few ways they showed themselves more rational than the Greeks.
Whoever had built this fortress had understood how to use the land itself, for its walls dipped and rose over the ridges, so that slopes added to the height of the defences. Merely approaching it would be hard for a tower or ram, the assault ramps having to be made very large or precariously steep, and then there were the walls themselves. Hadrian had been told – and had glimpsed in a small outpost – of the timber boxes within the stone, stronger even than the Gallic framing that had so impressed Julius Caesar. The Dacians were no simple barbarians, and they were not afraid to learn from others any more than the Romans. Greek influence was plain, most of all in the well-cut masonry and the square towers, but here and there the curve of an arch or the tiled roof of a turret showed the work of an army engineer, whether a renegade deserter or one of the men sent by Domitian at the time of the treaty. The same was true of the artillery, well maintained and cleaned – and indeed of the soldiers, all in mail, with bronze helmets, matching oval shields and spears, guarding the fortress. At any distance they were hard to tell apart from regular auxiliaries, and only closer did the untamed beards, cloaks of all shades and patterns, and long trousers stand out.
The Roman garrison was separate, uphill of the main royal compound, not that this advantage would make any difference if there was trouble. There were just under six hundred men in the garrison, more than a third of them from I Minervia and the rest picked men from equally good units. Yet they were stale. Hadrian could tell that from the first glance and nothing he learned subsequently did anything to change his mind. By army standards the fort was crowded, partly so that it was entirely on the hillock above the royal fortress. Even though from the rampart and towers the Romans could look down on the Dacians as they went about their business, somehow this only reinforced the sense of being isolated and surrounded. Beyond the fortress there was peak after peak, some with smaller Dacian towers and forts, and the nearest help was a long way away. There was nowhere to drill or train, unless the garrison commander sought permission from the king and that always took a long time to be granted. When permission finally came it meant a long march to find a decently open and level patch of ground among all these rugged slopes and deep valleys.
By all accounts the winter had been savage up here, so bad that legionaries lost fingers and noses after standing guard on some of the worst nights and several had died. That had meant even more time inside the barracks, huddled around their fires to fight the chill in their bones. Decebalus had been generous in sending up plenty of wood to burn, as well as food and drink, even arranging with traders to buy wine that neither he nor many of his aristocrats were willing to drink. They had managed, but all the while it was a reminder that they were dependent on the king’s goodwill. There was no well or spring in the Roman fort, and little space in the modest granary. They lived at the king’s pleasure, and if ever he chose he could snuff them as easily as a slave doing the rounds of a house at night extinguishing all the lamps and torches. The men of the garrison all knew this and all lived with the knowledge and with the dullest of routines even by army standards, so that it was not surprising if they lacked spirit. They were a symbol of peace and nothing more.
‘Decebalus does not want more trouble,’ the narrow stripe tribune in command had assured him. The man was from Legio VII Claudia pia fidelis, and was supposed to be junior to a senatorial tribune from his legion, but that man had done a year and departed for home. Piso was supposed to have replaced him in the job, but now Piso was not coming and that left the equestrian tribune all the more nervous because not only had Hadrian arrived, but so had the legatus Augusti in charge of all forces in Dacia.
Cnaeus Pompeius Longinus was surprised to see Hadrian and did not bother to hide his resentment.
‘Crowded enough here already without sightseers turning up.’ Longinus was a former consul, had governed Moesia Superior under Domitian and Pannonia under Nerva and was not about to be impressed by a distant relation of the princeps. He had a high, heavily creased forehead, slightly milky eyes and the thin face of a scholar, all of which appeared to inspire him to be gruff and aggressive in speech, as if worried that no one would take him seriously as a commander.
‘The king is always happy to give rooms to distinguished visitors in one of his halls,’ the tribune suggested.
‘Sod that,’ Longinus barked. ‘Not eating meat for days and having the pious little bastards sniffing as their slaves pour you wine. You can go if you like,’ he added, gesturing at Hadrian. There was not a lot of room in the praetorium in the fort.
‘I should like to stay with my men,’ Hadrian replied mildly. ‘That is why I am here, so that I can inspect every detachment of my legion and make sure that they are ready to do their duty.’
‘Their duty is to remind Decebalus that he had better keep his word or ten thousand more just like them will turn up and drag his royal arse over the coals until he squeals – that’s their job, and they do that simply by being here, no matter whether you come to gawp at them or not. And thanks be to Jupiter, Juno and all the rest he is a smart enough barbarian to understand threats and won’t make any trouble. Oh, he will stamp his foot and have little tantrums, but in the end knows we have the bigger club and can pound him into the dust.’ Longinus sniffed. ‘Still, while you are here you may as well come along to the audience tomorrow so that we can use the language of diplomacy to lie to each other while making clear the power that lies behind us. No harm in saying that you are Trajan’s cousin either – family is important to them.’