Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘Your commander, Longinus, is a prisoner of our king as are all his officers. They are surety for the good behaviour of their men as they retire. The men who were at the king’s stronghold have marched away and soon all the others will follow. You are the only garrison still to accept the king’s mercy. Why delay?’

Liar, thought Ferox, but still said nothing.

‘What is your answer?’ the Dacian shouted after a long silence. ‘Yes or no.’

‘Can we think about it for a few days?’ Someone behind him laughed nervously.

‘What?’

‘It’s a big decision.’

Vindex sniggered.

‘Yes or no!’ The aristocrat was growing angry. ‘If you refuse you will all die here.’

‘Ah well, you did not say that. But are not men born to die?’

‘Well they’re born stupid, at least,’ Claudia said, prompting more laughter.

The Dacian moved to say something and then stopped. His face was growing redder.

‘And when you say we can take everything with us – how about the buildings?’ Ferox was doing his best to sound serious.

The Dacian’s temper erupted. ‘So be it! You will not accept the king’s mercy so you will all die! The whore as well!’

‘Think he means you,’ Claudia told Ferox. ‘He must have heard the stories.’

Vindex doubled up as he laughed, and the mirth was infectious as the herald and his escort rode away. As they galloped past the foremost archers, the nobleman waved his hand and the first arrows took flight. The range was long, but most struck the parapet or lower down on the rampart. No one was hit. At this range there was plenty of time to see each one coming and either duck or raise a shield.

‘Remember we do not waste bolts or arrows,’ Ferox told Sabinus and the other officers once again. ‘One arrow, one dead Dacian. Anything else is a waste. Have one of the scorpiones knock one or two of them on the head every hour or so to keep them honest but that’s all.’

The men obeyed, and as the archers realised that no missiles were coming back at them they cautiously edged a little closer over the next few hours. The scorpio on the top level of the main gate spitted two archers and grazed another during the course of the day, but the few others to shoot missed as many times as they hit and Ferox sent word for the crews to calm down and wait. Instead a small number of men did duty on the walls and took care to dodge the arrows. Any looping high and coming over the top were collected and kept if they were good enough to use again. Those stuck in the timber of the ramparts and towers could wait for nightfall when it would be safer to salvage what they could. They could see the Dacians lifting artillery down from carts and working on other engines, but they were too far away to reach with anything apart from the monâkon and Ferox did not want it shifted lest they lose the concentration on the bridge, so they let the enemy work. Now and again the sound of hammering drifted over the walls. Only when some Dacians started setting up a timber palisade not far from the burnt out remains of the inn did he order the two bigger ballistae they had on the lower levels of the corner towers to lob some stones and shatter the still flimsy barricade.

Ephippus began work on his acropolis, starting with a turret in the alley behind the principia that was to be as high as the towers on the wall. He was also exercised by the thought of preparing plenty of boiling oil.

‘The fire would be dangerous, though, if we had braziers in the towers of the gates,’ he admitted.

‘If by dangerous, you mean we could easily burn ourselves to the ground, then yes,’ Claudia said.

‘Boiling water?’ Sabinus suggested.

‘Still the problem of heating it,’ Ephippus said. ‘I can rig up pulleys and ropes to haul cauldrons full of it onto the tower after it has been heated, but it will be delicate and easy to spill, so that those hauling the ropes will have to be careful. Or you could have men carry it in smaller vessels, either to pour on their own or add to a bigger one. It will lose heat all the time though.’

‘Some oil or tar to be flung down would be useful,’ Ferox said. ‘A flaming arrow would set it alight when we are ready. There is just about room for a small brazier on the walkway. If that falls back there is only turf to singe and not wood to roast.’

Ephippus snapped his fingers. ‘Hot sand!’

‘Sounds like the sort of treatment that doctors recommend for invalids,’ Claudia said. ‘Might hurt a bit, but surely would not kill.’

‘The Tyrians used it against Alexander’s men,’ Sabinus told them. He shrugged with embarrassment. ‘I do read sometimes. They say it got down tunics and inside armour, scorching men, so that they either fought on in pain or took off the armour and were vulnerable.’

‘See what you can do,’ Ferox told them. It was late, and although the arrows still thudded into the ramparts, there was no sign of an attack, and thankfully no sign of the fog that might cover one. ‘I reckon they’ll throw up some works tonight and prepare their engines, then attack tomorrow or the next day.’ He ordered most of the men to rest, but everyone knew the alarm calls and where to take their place. After going through everything one more time to make sure that all was clear, he made a final tour of the ramparts and then headed for the principia. The children were asleep, Sulpicia Lepidina visiting the hospital once again, and no sign of Claudia Enica, so Ferox asked Philo for some cold food and told the man then to get to bed. For once, Philo obeyed without prolonged resistance, leaving him to eat in silence.

‘On your own again,’ Claudia had changed from her tunic, boots and armour into one of her silken dresses.

‘I was hoping that I would not be, my queen.’

The alarm bell rang, faint, but unmistakable.

Ferox bounded to his feet, taking a bite of meat as he ran for the door.

‘I was going to be gentle,’ Claudia Enica said as he passed, and then yelped because he slapped her on the behind. ‘Pig!’ she called and then followed, hitching up her dress.

By the time Ferox was out in the street the bell had stopped, but he could see torches and activity at the east gate, not far away to his right. There was no sound, no roar of attackers, but a soldier was running towards him.

‘Wait,’ he said to the queen as she came outside.

‘Sir!’ The soldier saw him. It was one of the veterans of I Minervia, his arms pumping and legs pounding yet still moving at a slow, almost stately pace. ‘There’s a peasant turned up at the gate. Says he’s a freedman of the legatus and has news.’

‘Sosius?’ Claudia asked.

‘That’s right, lady. What he says he’s called anyroad. Says he was here before as well. Sneaked up to the gate and then called out bold as brass. Weren’t going to let him in, but he knew your name, sir, and by that time there were arrows flying, but no one too close, so we let him in.’

Sosius was filthy, unshaven and had a wild glint in his eyes. His left leg was bound up and he limped as he walked. Wine steadied him, and some food restored him, although it was still a while before he was willing to talk. Ferox sensed the veils coming back down across the man’s soul.

‘The Legatus Longinus is dead,’ he told them at last, as they sat in the principia. ‘He drank poison rather than let himself be used as a hostage.’ Ferox did not ask the obvious question of how a prisoner had obtained the means of killing himself, or voice his suspicion that there was more to it than simple suicide. ‘I got the draught for him,’ Sosius went on. ‘That was one more reason for slipping away, but Decebalus also had me carry a letter for Trajan in which he sets out peace terms, so I was able to ride out openly. That is until the legatus was dead and the king got angry.’