That had been six days ago and ever since then he had worked them even harder than before. More obstacles were dug in front of the ditches, and under Ephippus’ supervision they added to the ramparts and towers, mounting as many more ballistae as could be made to work, and protecting the positions around them. A high timber wall was made in front of the monâkon, so that it could lob missiles over, but would be hard for the enemy to hit. Ephippus experimented, painting markers to allow the engine to shoot without seeing the target as long as someone called orders down from the tower.
The fort was stronger that it had been, and with more men to defend the long walls they had a better chance of holding on for a while. Yet unless Hadrian or someone else sent a big column, marching hard and quickly as soon as news reached the Danube of any attack, then it would not matter in the long run.
Desertions, which had sunk to a trickle since Enica arrived, died away altogether in the days after they came back from escorting the tribune.
‘They like the tits on the flag,’ Vindex claimed. ‘And on the…’ He gave a big and obvious wink. ‘Never mind.’
Ferox had to admit that through magic or charm the queen had changed the spirit of the Brigantes and even the other soldiers. Bran and Minura were her shadows, following her everywhere, their swords ready, and that gave him comfort. They both stood, with helmets and armour of polished scales, at the parade to wreath the standards. Claudia Enica for once was not armed, but while she wore the dress of a fine Roman lady she had her long hair unbound and falling around her shoulders. Ferox had to admit that it suited her. Seeing him staring at the vexillum with its bare-breasted goddess, she had for a moment glared in feigned disapproval.
The parade was followed by sacrifices and a day of light duties, for there was no sense in exhausting the men too soon. A few patrols went out, but since the tribune had left and the night attack on their camp, he had changed the pattern. Unless they went wholly by a route in the open, then detachments going up the valley did not go as far as before. He did not have the strength to challenge the enemy too far from the fort and did not want to lose men here and there, or have the rest depressed by casualties. The price was not knowing so much about the enemy or what they were doing, and that bothered him, but he could see no other way.
It was not a long parade, and the mood was good when he gave the order to dismiss, after small escorts of ten men from each contingent had marched the wreathed standards back to the principia.
‘Husband,’ Claudia Enica called to him as the men filed away. Bran and Minura waited a few paces behind the queen, the girl attracting a fair few admiring glances as men trudged away.
‘My lady?’
‘We would be pleased if you would dine with us in the praetorium this evening – Sulpicia Lepidina and I.’
‘It is my house, you know,’ he said.
‘Whatever has that got to do with it? I own you, so everything that is yours is mine.’
‘Then I shall be delighted.’
‘Yes, you will, otherwise I will sell you, although I doubt that I shall get much in return.’
‘Much obliged, I am sure, my queen.’
Claudia Enica cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you know, I do not believe that you have ever called me that since I arrived.’
‘I only just recognised you from the flag.’
Her green eyes flashed. ‘Huh!’ The sound was pure Brigantian, pure Enica. ‘Since there is no time for Vindex or anyone else to kill you and I cannot be bothered, you had better still come to dinner.’
Ferox bowed. He let the queen and her guards pass and stood for a while, staring up the valley and wondering who the Dacian leader was and what he was thinking.
Finally, he strolled back towards the fort, knowing that the responsibility was his and his alone for this place and all these people. The three heads he had taken were on spikes above the porta praetoria, their skins already tinged with green. Guards looked down at him from the towers. Few commanders ever wandered on their own as he sometimes did, but they were getting used to his peculiar ways. Knowing that Philo was bound to be waiting and ready to fuss, he did not hurry, but went to the principia for a while. There were reports and returns to read and some to write as there always were. If he liked some of the numbers more than he had a month or more ago they still were surely not enough. Even so he felt happier than he had for some time.
XVIII
HADRIAN LET THE masseur do his work, for this was one of his own slaves, and not one of the butchers you tended to find around army bases. He was in the praetorium at Dobreta, on the west bank of the river, and sharing the house with an equestrian tribune from I Minervia. The fellow had offered to vacate altogether, but Hadrian had insisted that he and his family stay and keep the lion’s share of the rooms. Word would spread, and it was easier to lead happy officers than sullen ones. Apart from that he did not intend to be here very long, so could put up with the tribune’s noisy and badly behaved children, and unctuous attentions of his plump little wife, who was a freedman’s daughter and absurdly excited to have a senator and relative of the emperor in her house. Thankfully she fell into mumbling incoherence whenever they met, so did not chatter away in useless flattery or irritate him too much.
An hour earlier she had come upon the legate wrestling in the courtyard garden in the middle of the house, facing off against Ajax, a former professional now in his service. They were naked and oiled, as men should be, sparring on a patch of sand set down for the purpose, and the woman had appeared from nowhere, two maids behind her with baskets of purchases from the market. The mistress had shrieked, the slaves dropped their baskets, but Ajax had not been distracted and they had held the lock until they broke apart, honours even. Hadrian had stood up straight, and greeted the woman, who was now blushing crimson. Perhaps he was cruel, although when the story spread through the ranks of the legion – as it surely would – he had little doubt that men would laugh at her rather than him. For all the mistress’ shock and embarrassment, she had lingered long enough to take a good look, and that would surely become part of the story as well. Her husband was a slight, rather weedy little man, and the sight of Hadrian’s tall, well-proportioned and highly trained body was probably a treat for her. He smiled as he lay on the table and the masseur moved on to his thighs.
The bout and the massage made him feel well, for he was getting back into a better routine than had been possible during his travels. He had told Ajax not to go easy on him, and the man knew his master well enough to do as he was told. The first few bouts had been painful, for a man lost his edge so quickly without practise, but this morning he felt that he was getting back to his peak, as muscles loosened and toned. Soon there would be no time for training, so he wanted to make the most of the chance and revel in that sense of being a fit and civilized man.
The war was coming soon. All that he had seen confirmed his suspicions, and made him realise that there was less time than he had thought. No one else of high rank seemed to see what he saw, but that was all to the good for Dacia was a bonfire waiting for the torch to ignite it. The image reminded him of the fire at Piroboridava, of those desperate hours as they brought it under control. Once it was raging you had to channel and starve a blaze, which meant sacrificing some buildings to save others, tearing them down so that there was no fuel for the flames. Now it was a question of controlling, slowing and preserving what mattered. A mere legatus legionis like Hadrian could not extinguish the inferno that was soon to erupt – nor would the emperor thank him for doing so. Dacia had been Trajan’s victory three years ago and making that success final was his task and his alone. Hadrian’s task was to prevent the start of the war being too much of a disaster.