Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘Why didn’t we scrag him?’

‘Mongrel was up a tree. Remember Mona?’

Vindex sucked in a deep breath, his big teeth making his face more horse-like than ever. ‘It gets worse. Why bring up that dark place? Of course I remember, no matter how hard I try to forget. You kill the last great druid, so that’s bound to bring us all wonderful luck!’

‘You helped,’ Ferox said, ‘and we are all still here.’

‘Here – in this fort you reckon is on the brink of being overwhelmed by hordes of enemies! That’s good luck!’

‘Perhaps,’ Ferox spread his hands. ‘I may be wrong.’

‘Aye, but when it comes to predicting misery you have a knack of being right, don’t you?’

‘It’s usually a safe bet. At least it has been in my life so far.’

‘All right, I’ll bite,’ Vindex said. ‘What has the sacred and terrible island of Mona got to do with a Dacian bugger hiding in a tree?’

‘Back on Mona I had to climb that big oak, remember? On my own because you reckoned you couldn’t climb. … So I don’t reckon you’ve been practising much in the last five years. Which meant I’m on my own, trying to find and kill or catch him without falling out and breaking my neck. Let’s say I didn’t like the odds and did not feel my story should end that way.’

Vindex again sucked in air through the gaps in his teeth. ‘Aye, suppose so. More likely to end when a close friend bludgeons you to death in frustration.’

‘No doubt about it,’ Ferox agreed.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Sabinus and Dionysius, followed by one of the veterans. At morning orders, Ferox had outlined his suspicions, and changed the routine, so that patrols would regularly go up as far as the abandoned Dacian tower and fort, just to check that it was abandoned in accordance with the treaty. Although he had seen nothing when they had taken a look, Ferox’s instincts told him that someone had been in the place, and not simply wanderers or hunters looking for shelter. He had carved another symbol in the wooden frame around a doorway just in case.

‘Well,’ Ferox began once the other three had joined them. ‘Let’s try to imagine that we are the enemy.’ Vindex pulled a face and the others grinned. ‘That should make it easier. But let’s say we have ten thousand prime warriors at our command and our king has ordered us to capture Piroboridava or face his wrath.’

‘Why?’ Sabinus asked.

‘Probably wants Venus!’ Dionysius quipped.

‘Does not matter why,’ Ferox told them. ‘Not for the moment. What matters is how – and what we can do to make their life hard. You’re Fulvius Naso?’ he asked the soldier.

‘Sir.’ The veteran’s beard was more white than grey, his voice hoarse but steady, giving nothing away.

‘Spent a lot of your service with Minervia’s engines? Good. I want your thoughts on how best we can use artillery from the towers and even the walls, if practical. But let’s start with the basics – walls, towers and ditches. How can we improve them?’

Sabinus coughed. ‘Excuse me, sir, but should we not advance to meet the enemy in the open?’ His voice quavered, but that was the way the army was taught to operate. Dominate the enemy. Always attack regardless of odds, because you are Roman and you have discipline and they are just rabble.

‘Let’s say they surprise and attack before we are ready or there are too many to beat in the open. Somehow or other we are inside and there are a lot of them outside trying to get in. Our problem is stopping them.’

‘What about the bridge?’ Dionysius asked.

‘Could be the reason they come, but let’s think about that later. How do we stop them pouring over these walls like a wave.’ So they talked of ditches and obstacles, of the height of the rampart and towers and how far a man could throw a missile. Ferox ordered Dionysius to set the workshop to making as many things to throw as they could.

‘ Pila muralia ,’ Naso said. ‘Nasty things at close range, but they’re worth the effort of making. They can start with any ordinary pila we have that are broken. Bend the shaft back at an angle and sharpen it.’

‘You’ve made them before?’ Ferox asked. Naso nodded. ‘And we want stones for throwing, as many as we can find. Chip up any building material left over. They have to fit in a man’s hand. Once we have them we practise – all of us – throwing as far as the outer ditch.’ Ferox grinned. ‘Then we go down and pick them up for next time – and keep the ditches clear while they’re at it.’

‘That’ll make you even more popular, sir?’ Sabinus said, and then looked embarrassed.

‘Nothing new there,’ Vindex commented. He had said almost nothing during the discussion up to this point.

‘They already call me “the Bastard”, don’t they?’ Sabinus blushed. It had taken some cajoling to get him to admit to knowing the nickname. Ferox had already known, but wanted to see how honest his subordinates would be when asked a direct question.

‘Among other things, sir,’ Naso added.

‘Hmmm. Well, let’s turn to the engines. There is a scorpio in each of the gate towers. Do we have any more?’

‘Half a dozen in the workshops that could be decent given a little work. As many more if we could get new washers and frames.’

‘That’s something. See to it.’ Dionysius nodded as Ferox glanced at him. ‘And they’ll need plenty of ammunition. What about the trophies?’ Sabinus showed his surprise. When Ferox had first arrived he had done no more than point at the buildings, but had seen no useful purpose in going inside. They were a pair of former granaries, left empty of food during the last campaign of the war and empty until the Dacians handed over dozens of war engines as part of the peace treaty. Why they had been brought to Piroboridava no one seemed to know and Sabinus could not guess, but here they were, slowly rotting away and no doubt forgotten by everyone. He had kept quiet about them rather than have Ferox create even more tasks cleaning and maintaining what was probably no more than junk. They said more than half were local made rather than machines captured from the Romans or donated by the Emperor Domitian when he had bought peace with Decebalus so that he could go off and fight the Suebi.

‘Don’t know, sir.’

‘We’ve kept them locked up as ordered,’ Sabinus said, unwilling to let the old soldier take responsibility for something over which he had had no control. ‘But no one has told us what to do with them.’

‘Then no harm in taking a look to see what we have.’

‘Waggons coming, sir!’ one of the sentries shouted out his report.

Ferox had seen the dust a while ago, and turned back to see the five brightly painted waggons, each with a high cover, as many more ox carts, a single coach and long lines of pack mules.

‘That’s Tettius Crescens, sir,’ Dionysius said. ‘Almost to the day he came last year. The lads will be pleased.’ Even from this distance women’s voices could be heard from the passengers in the waggons, even if little could be seen under the vehicles’ covers. Vindex was leering, and Naso barely less interested.

Ferox was unimpressed. ‘I’ll see this merchant later. He asked for an appointment to see the commander, but not until it is convenient for me.’

‘He does have friends, sir,’ Sabinus reminded him. ‘Who wrote on his behalf.’

‘I’ll see him, but first I want to look at these Dacian catapults and see if there is anything worthwhile stored in those halls. If nothing else, there may be timber we can use or iron and bronze to melt down. Dionysius, you stay and keep an eye on things. Tell this Tettius that he is invited to dine with me.’