Ferox had less than two hundred and fifty men reasonably whole, and a few dozen more who could help if they were not required to move too much. That was far too few to hold walls as long as this against any real attack, especially as there were few missiles left. Apart from the hospital many of the rooms in the principia and praetorium were filled with wounded, mainly lying on the floor, on straw where it was available and on nothing where it was not. Ephippus had almost finished his acropolis and there ought just to be room for them all to squeeze in. He had already moved half the remaining food there. They might last a day or two more or they might not, depending on how determined the Dacians were to kill them. The trick was to delay the Dacians, hold the ramparts as long as they could and then pull back to the stronghold with as little loss as they could manage.
Claudia Enica came to him as he supervised the start of the clear up and she clung to him tightly. They had given up their room and bed to the injured, and now she slept with Sulpicia Lepidina and he bedded down in his office in the principia with Vindex and several others.
‘You take risks, husband,’ she told him.
‘So do you. But I think now I have faith.’ Ferox could not explain it, but he was no longer worried. He had rarely cared that much about his own fate, and more than once had come close to welcoming death. That had changed when he became a father and even more when he came to love this woman. He did not want her to die, not here, not for many years until she had seen their children grow. The fear should now have overwhelmed him, for it had preyed on his mind so often. Yet it was gone.
‘We will be all right,’ he said. ‘I have faith in your magic.’
She stared at him, and he could not tell whether she was curious or worried. ‘Now don’t turn cheerful on me,’ she said. ‘I could not bear the shock.’
XXVI
HADRIAN PACED BACK across the great bridge. It was complete at long last, although would not be formally opened until whenever the emperor chose to come to the province. He hoped that that would be soon, but it was too early to know what reaction his own letter and the other reports from Dacia would provoke. Trajan would come, that much was sure, but how soon and with what force was hard to say. If he moved fast, as he sometimes did, the emperor might leave Rome any day now, which meant that there could be very little time and yet everything was taking too long.
His staff knew enough to hang back and let the commander of I Minervia stride ahead of them. Why he chose to walk across the bridge and back after his evening meal each night they did not know, and had sense enough not to ask. The legatus could be friendly, even considerate, but he also had a temper and one or two outbursts had been enough warning. Rarely did he need them, but half a dozen soldiers had to escort him, along with the duty tribune and centurion and a gaggle of cornicularii and other functionaries, so Hadrian paced and thought and the rest trailed along, trying to appear as if they were enjoying themselves. Two of the escort were mounted, in case the legatus decided that he needed a horse.
The bridge drew Hadrian for its craft and its beauty and because it was so dangerous. Longinus was dead, that much was certain for the news had arrived from several sources, not least an angry letter dictated by Decebalus in which he demanded the return of Sosius. The king did not choose to state his reasons, but when pressed the envoy admitted that he blamed the freedman for the death of his chief hostage and hinted at murder. Sosius had fled, escaping his pursuers, but where he was and whether or not he still lived was anyone’s guess, although Hadrian was confident that such a resourceful man would escape. Piso was alive, as far as they knew, and if Hadrian half regretted that, he was glad about the other hostages for they were decent enough men and might prove useful. So might Piso, and an idea was slowly taking shape with regard to the tribune. He would need Sosius, if the man could be found.
Hadrian had been right about the Dacians and their plans. Although they had harried the men fleeing from Sarmizegethusa and attacked most of the garrisons in lowland Dacia and those beyond the Danube, their main attack had been aimed at Dobreta and the bridge. Yet Ferox had stopped them, the gods alone knew how, and somehow he had held the fort against a great army. At least that was the latest news, admittedly days old. The centurion may even have been too successful, for if the Dacian army was stopped by the fort and never drove towards the Danube then in hindsight it might not seem to have posed a threat.
Lucius Herennius Saturninus, legatus Augusti of Moesia Superior, was a crusty old man, set in his ways and almost as suspicious of clever men as Trajan himself, but Hadrian’s reports had convinced him at last of the real threat to the bridge. Once convinced he had acted, and was busy now gathering more soldiers and riding further and faster than you would expect for a man of his age and considerable belly. He had put Hadrian in charge here, with orders worded to grant him considerable licence, while protecting Saturninus if anything went wrong.
Hadrian was almost ready, but the crucial word was almost. He had more than two thousand men from his own legion, formed into four strong cohorts, and another fifteen hundred legionaries from the other vexillations. Not all were in the best shape for campaigning after years of dull routine or building work, but even a few days in the field ought to rub off the edges. There was the bulk of three cohorts of auxiliary infantry already there, all equitata and one composed of archers. Two more, both infantry, were due to arrive within the next day or two. He also had most of an ala milliaria of cavalry and parts of two ordinary alae, as well as some irregulars, including a band of Numidians who were a nuisance in peacetime and a true blessing in any war.
That would give him a field force of six thousand men, a quarter mounted, even if he left a thousand at Dobreta and he was sorely tempted to cut the garrison to half that. Scouts reported that most of the Roxolani were far to the east, feasting and celebrating after their annihilation of the convoy. The bait had worked, and men who knew the clans well said that it would be a month or more before any chose to take the war path again. Perhaps a few score would join the Dacian army, but it was unlikely to be more and that should give him a clear advantage in cavalry. Still, he would be outnumbered by two or even three to one, so care would be needed. Roman armies had faced such odds often enough over the centuries, even here on the Danube, and they were not daunting in themselves as long as the commander knew what he was doing. Hadrian had no doubts about his own ability and was itching to be off, imagining in his mind arriving at Piroboridava having routed the enemy and hearing the cheers of the ragged garrison still clinging on to their battered ramparts.
The problem was food, as it always seemed to be in war, not so much possessing it as moving it. He had thousands of men, but only a few hundred mules, for none of the detachments had been prepared for a campaign, so lacked their own baggage trains. Again and again he ran through the figures, the weight of a daily ration for man and beast, in relation to the capacity of a pack mule. There were ox carts, but not enough of them, and taking the dumb plodding beasts along would slow him down for little substantial gain. A pair of mules or horses pulled more weight than they could carry and went far faster than oxen, so he had decided to change the teams around, only to find that there were no suitable harnesses in store. The fabricae were set to making them, which meant more time waiting. Saturninus might return any day and decide to take direct charge of the relief expedition or worse still might forbid it, reckoning that the fort must have fallen by now.