Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘Beautiful!’ he had shouted down. ‘Another one!’

The second hit the rail of the bridge, breaking the wood apart and sent big splinters slashing into the men trying to cut the dead ox and its mutilated companion free from the yoke. Ten more shots followed, and a couple splashed into the river, but the rest slammed onto the bridge itself, shattering the cart and killing men. After that they stopped shooting.

‘Tell Ephippus that he could not have done better,’ Ferox said to Sabinus. ‘And tell him that I will do what he wants.’

Claudia Enica arched an eyebrow at him as the centurion left. ‘Please tell me that you are not changing your inclinations, husband? Not after all this time.’

‘Such vulgarity would be more becoming from Achilles,’ he said. ‘You have spent too much time with him.’ Claudia’s dwarf was also a fine book-keeper, and was now helping Dionysius manage the provisions. With Sulpicia Lepidina ‘assisting’ – which meant taking over, but doing it politely – the sole surviving medicus ran the hospital; this was becoming a truly unorthodox garrison.

‘One needs intelligent conversation sometimes,’ the queen said. ‘But tell me then, if it is not shameful, what is it our Greek engineer desires?’

‘He wants to build an acropolis.’

‘Typical Greek. It will be a gymnasium next, have no doubt, and then a theatre.’

Ferox explained that Ephippus believed he could build them an inner stronghold, based around the stone buildings where they could hold out for at least a while if the enemy came over or through the walls.

‘Seems wise,’ she allowed.

‘Yes, it is. But I do not want to start planning for retreat too early. Not good for the men’s spirits.’

‘I see, although I am not sure that you are right. Their spirits are high, all of them, and from what I hear of the hospital none will want to give up. You should trust them more.’

‘And you should wear trousers when you climb up here.’

‘It’s good for the men’s spirits,’ Claudia Enica said dismissively. ‘You should trust me. Have I ever been wrong in the past?’

‘Well that could just be fluke.’

‘It is the blood in my veins and the souls reborn in mine. We will win and that is all there is to it.’

‘Yes, my queen. Now, let us take a tour round the walls – and I am going first down the ladder and you follow me.’

‘Lecher.’

A few hours later the Dacians had cleared the debris and tried again to cross the bridge, this time with pack mules. Six shots maimed several beasts, made one jump into the river and scattered the rest. That was the end of it for the day, but Ferox was pretty sure that they would try again overnight and was absolutely certain when he heard the Dacians chanting, no doubt to cover the noise. The mist had risen again, the first time since the attack, so that they could not see anything, but Ephippus aligned the frame with the paint marks, made the same adjustments to the machine, and then lobbed a stone.

‘Four more!’ Ferox told him as the chanting broke down and they heard screams.

Throughout the rest of the night, he had them shoot the monâkon every half hour or so and sometimes there were screams and sometimes the distant thud of the stone landing. During the course of the day and night they used a third of the rocks prepared as ammunition, but Ferox reckoned that if he could convince the enemy that the defenders could always pound the bridge whether or not they could see it, then they would believe that trying to cross was hopeless until the monâkon was destroyed. They used ten more stones at dawn, before the mist cleared and by the time he had gathered the others for his morning orders Ferox was convinced that they had frightened the enemy.

‘We’ve made them angry, so it’s just a question of when they attack,’ he told them. ‘They’ll want to get on and not waste time here. In the bigger scheme of things, we don’t matter, but we are stopping them and the longer we can do that the more secure Dobreta becomes and the more chance there is that they will gather a relief force. The noble Hadrian promised to do everything in his power – and he is a capable and influential man.

‘So that means we have to hold and keep on holding until help comes. The more they hurry the more likely they are to make a mistake. I’d love them to attack today, but I don’t think they are that stupid. Instead they’ll start digging and building cover, so that they can bring up their own engines and maybe build some more. All the while they use their archers to nibble at us, but we must not waste all our arrows and bolts chasing them away. Unless they are covering an assault party or workers doing something we don’t like, then ignore them. Tell the men to keep their heads down and let the fools waste their arrows – which we can collect and shoot back at them when it matters. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

As predicted, the Dacians sent several hundred archers, some on each side of the fort, but at first they did not shoot. At noon trumpets blared and three horsemen rode slowly up the track to the porta praetoria. One carried a vexillum, with an image of a galloping horseman on it barely visible because it was draped in ivy. Beside him was a man with an ox horn trumpet and in the lead a young warrior, wearing a scale cuirass, but with a high red cap instead of a helmet, marking him out as a nobleman.

‘They want to talk,’ Ferox said, waving down the crew itching to shoot the scorpio. ‘No shooting!’ he shouted. If the enemy wanted to waste time, then that was no concern of his. ‘No shooting! Let them come on.’

‘I suppose they’re giving in,’ Claudia Enica said quietly as she stood beside him. For some reason she had one of the Brigantes carrying their vexillum standing behind her.

‘Bet the goddess has ’em terrified,’ Ferox whispered.

‘Pig.’

The Dacian nobleman was either new to his horse or not the best of riders, for the animal shied, turned half sideways and took the last few steps crabwise. Then it tried to turn away and he had to drag it back with the reins. Ferox watched, not wanting to interrupt.

‘In the name of Decebalus, King of Dacia, Lord of these lands, the god’s prophet on this earth and master of the pure.’ The nobleman managed well, speaking decent Latin, until the horse spun around so he was facing away from them.

Claudia Enica laughed, an oddly light and feminine sound in such a place. Finally, with brutal use of the animal’s bit, the Dacian brought himself and his horse back around. Even at this distance Ferox saw the man’s eyes widen when he saw a woman standing above the gateway, her polished armour glinting in the sun. Then his gaze went higher and his mouth fell open when he saw the flag, with its bare-breasted goddess. He stared, as if mesmerised.

‘Was there more?’ Ferox called down.

Snapping out of his surprise, the man coughed and then resumed. ‘The king wishes to avoid war and needless bloodshed. Although he can no longer permit the pollution of our lands by the presence of unbelievers, he wishes for peace with Rome and its emperor. If all the Roman soldiers leave our lands they may go free and safe and we shall have peace.’ The words sounded rehearsed, and probably those of someone more senior for the young aristocrat did not look or sound stupid enough to be so tactless in negotiation. ‘You may all go free and march away with your pride and honour intact, taking all your possessions. That is the promise of the king.’

Ferox stared down, saying nothing. The Dacian waited, his horse now happy to stand where it was. There was muttering behind him, and he caught a ‘Tell him and his king to go hump themselves,’ no doubt from Vindex.