Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘Warriors can be cruel,’ Bran said. ‘But they have paid. There is only one more to punish.’

‘Not yet, brother,’ she said, knowing what he meant. Sosius had brought the men to their camp, spoken to them and then left her here with them as they went to catch the man he had come for. The freedman cared for no one, but used others as counters in some game which only he – and perhaps his distant master – understood. They had seen his ruthlessness many times since they were sent off with him.

‘I will kill him,’ Bran whispered.

‘Not today, little brother, and when the day comes I will wield the blade.’

‘I am sorry that I was not here.’

‘We cannot change what has been done,’ she said, and leaned her head against his. Never before had she shown such intimacy, for Minura was a woman of few words and stern character. ‘We must face the truth and continue along our path. Is that not what we were taught?’

‘Yet, I long to wipe the smirk from that pig’s face.’

‘The day will come, but we were sent by the queen and must finish the task she set us.’ Her fingers tightened hard around his. ‘If I can bear to wait, then it should be a smaller deed for you.’

Minura stood, the blanket opening a little to show that she was naked underneath. At any other time Bran would have thrilled at the sight, but now he looked away. When he turned back she was covered and smiling.

‘There is a stream not far away,’ she said, ‘and I need to be clean. Stay here.’

Sosius got the captive down from his horse and told him to sit and not be a nuisance. While Bran brought in the horses and saw to them, the Freedman dragged the corpses away and then got the fire going again.

‘When she gets back you can fetch some water,’ he said to Bran. ‘Believe it or not, I started out in the kitchens and haven’t lost the touch. A hot meal will do us all good.’ The boy’s hatred was obvious. ‘Look, sonny, I’m sorry how things worked out, but I can’t change them. If you’d ever lived as a slave you’d know that life is a bastard and that no one is safe. She’s strong and brave, and she’ll learn to live with it because I don’t reckon she is the sort to give in. So we’ll all have a good meal and then decide what to do.’

Sosius was a good cook, his stew a rare treat, making Bran wonder why the slave had got either him or Minura to cook for them on all the other days. She was more herself when she returned, dressed again and skin clean, and if she sat apart and said little that was nothing unusual.

After they had eaten, Sosius told them that he must ride to see the local chieftain at his farmstead. ‘Chrauttius and the others were his cousins. Distant ones, but blood is blood and I’ll have to pay him in gold to make things right.

‘In the meantime, you take him,’ he jabbed a finger towards the captive, ‘back to the province and then south to the queen. Guess she’ll be in Moesia by then, probably the Upper province. Maybe Viminiacum, but I don’t know. The letters you have will see you through. No one will question those seals. I ought to have joined you long before then. If I can, it will be in a day or two, but it is hard to be sure.’

Sosius had ridden away almost immediately, even though night was falling.

‘Doubt that we will see that slave again,’ Bran said after he had gone.

‘We will, on the day we find him and I kill him. And he is a free man now, no longer a slave.’

They kept the prisoner tied hand and foot at night, and only released his legs when he needed to ride, and did the same on the days that followed.

‘I’m just a merchant,’ the man kept on insisting. ‘What do I know that really matters?’

Sosius had told them that the man worked for Decebalus, and that his main business was recruiting allies for the king to help him against Rome. Such great affairs did not matter to them, so they ignored him, and spoke little and then only in the language of the tribes of Britannia. If the merchant understood, he showed no sign. Their job was to take him to the queen and that was what they would do. Bran had made it clear to the man that his head would do almost as well as the rest of him, if the task proved difficult.

Sosius did not return and they were glad of that, especially as the journey was easy. They saw few people, and fewer still who wished to speak, so perhaps Sosius had cleared their path for them by speaking to the chieftain and others.

On the third night Minura came to Bran as he was swilling their pan and plates in a brook. The merchant was tied up, and fastened to a tree trunk, so did not need to be watched.

‘Am I fair to look upon?’ Minura asked.

‘You are beautiful,’ he said and it was not flattery for he did consider her among the fairest of women he had seen. ‘If it were not for our oaths…’ A brother and sister who had learned the craft of war as they had done were not supposed to lie with one another.

‘My oath means little now that my honour has been taken,’ she said.

Bran wondered when he would wake from this dream. She was taller than he was, and he had to reach up to lay his hands on her cheeks. ‘May I kiss you?’ he asked.

‘I should like that.’

He felt the cut on her lip and tried to be gentle, but she pushed her mouth closer to his.

‘I know little of the way of these things,’ Bran said, wondering that he admitted to his ignorance, but unable to boast or posture with her.

‘Nor I,’ Minura said and she ran her fingers through his short hair. ‘Perhaps we can learn together?’

IT WAS A wonder without any doubt. If he had not had good reason to be here, simply seeing this would have made the long journey worthwhile. From down here on the waters of the Ister, the long southern stretch of the Danube, the pillars reared up like man-made cliffs. There were twenty of them, each 170 feet apart, the foundations great piers of stone, curving like the prows of ships into cutwaters so that the river’s force was spread and guided around them without pressing its full weight; functional and elegant, like all good architecture. The stonework rose to a flat top, carefully levelled off, and above that was the wooden supports, five great beams supporting a regular lattice pattern like a spider’s web or even a parade of isosceles triangles. From those rose the arches, curving up, each arch identical to the next, rearing high above them. As promised, the helmsman took them between two of the pillars so that he could see the design properly and stare up at the joists on top of which were planks of the roadway itself, unfinished here, since they were at the centre of the bridge.

‘Be finished in a month at the latest,’ the architect’s assistant told him. The great man himself had claimed that he was too busy to accompany them and had sent an underling.

‘Ephippus here will be your guide. I am sure that he will be able to answer whatever you feel inclined to ask,’ Apollodorus of Damascus had assured Hadrian. The chief architect had an immensely high opinion of his own merit and little patience with others. His talent was obvious, as was the emperor’s trust in his abilities, so that for the moment his conceit was understandable, if unfortunate. Hadrian was eager to learn, and it was so rare to encounter a man who had so much to teach. So the day before he had asked questions, when the architect had shown him the work from the Pontes’ bank of the river, where the monumental arch spanning the approach road was already complete, apart from the statues to be mounted on top. There was a matching arch on the far, Dobreta shore, which was making quicker process now that the soldiers who had built the other one had joined the workers there. Hadrian was pleased to see that some of his legionaries were involved, and spent time meeting them and praising their efforts.