Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘Good.’ In the past the man had done little to conceal his hatred of Ferox and Vindex, but there was no trace of that now, only anger at the enemy outside.

If bolt or stone from an engine struck a defender then the man had little chance, even if he did not die instantly. Arrows flew with less force, but because his soldiers stood behind a parapet, the odds were high that whenever they were hit it would be in the head or chest. A lot of the wounds were bad, and as the morning wore on dozens were carried down from the walls. The centurion Dionysius had been hit in the eye, fortunately by an arrow that was almost spent, and he was not the only one. Helmets gave decent protection, but always left the face and ears vulnerable, for the army wanted its soldiers to be able to see what was going on and listen for orders. There were few orders to give at the moment, only encouragement, so Ferox toured the walls, smiling, praising and sharing the danger. He began to wonder whether he ought to relieve the men on the walls with some of the ones sitting in groups down in the intervallum and streets. It was a risk, because he wanted and needed reserves who were fresh to take any breakthrough head on and drive the Dacians back. On the other hand, it would not do to have all the men on the ramparts exhausted before the attack came. Ferox spotted Sabinus, walking up and down in front of one party of reserves and saw him look up expectantly.

‘Another hour, maybe less!’ Ferox shouted down loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. ‘They’ll come by then and then we’ll slaughter them like sheep!’

Sabinus did not look convinced, and was obviously eager to do something, and at least to see more of what was happening. It was tough for the reserves to watch men being flung from the ramparts by the missiles from ballistae or be carried down wounded. Waiting was harder on the mind than doing, but that was just as true for the enemy as well. So far the Dacians were doing what he would have done in their place, wearing the defenders down, weakening them, always knowing that they could send plenty of fresh men forward whenever they wanted. It was about a half hour to noon, and Ferox knew that the enemy would be nervous. Attacking a rampart, any rampart, even one like this built by an army who always expected to fight on the fields outside, was hard. No doubt there were warriors waiting away from the fighting, ready to come up and launch the attack. You could not stop them thinking and worrying, and there was the danger that they would drink too much or just lose the edge to their courage as the hours passed.

Ferox was approaching the east gate when he heard the singing.

‘Oh the raven, oh the wolf, come to me and I will give you flesh.’

Ferox smiled. It was the old war song of the Brigantes and it was good to hear the verses rising as more and more men took them up and the singing spread along the ramparts. Well done, Petrullus, he thought, for it was a good way to lift spirits.

As he reached the gate tower and began to climb, he heard a familiar laugh.

‘Hello, husband.’ Claudia Enica was dressed for riding, with loose Parthian trousers tucked into the top of her boots. Bran and Minura were with her, and he had insisted that they stay at her side, even though the boy had wished to serve as his personal guard. ‘I doubt that the Silures can sing, but you can always mime the words.’

‘You should be at your post, my queen,’ Ferox spoke mildly. Outside the principia, Maximus was in charge of the remaining auxiliary horsemen and the queen had a band of thirty Brigantes with their horses ready. Their job was to rush to any weak spot, especially if the enemy made it through one of the gates. Vindex was in charge of a score of Carvetii stationed so that they could cover the rear gate, which it was hard for the rest to reach. Ferox missed having his old friend beside him, but wanted someone he could rely upon to do the job.

As he glanced away to smile at the other men, the queen stuck her tongue out at him like a little girl. Men sniggered, especially when he turned back and she took on a look of studied innocence.

‘Shall we all go and sleep, while those cowards outside pluck up the courage to attack us?’ she asked.

‘Soon, lads, they are coming soon,’ Ferox happened to look as the big engine the Dacians had placed behind a mound of sacks some two hundred paces away loosed with a sharp crack. After a moment there was a pounding thump below them and the boards underneath his feet quivered.

‘They are shooting at the gate,’ the queen told him. ‘Have been at it for an hour. There are cracks, but for the moment it is holding.’

Petrullus shook his head. ‘The Romans should learn from the Brigantes. Even your people would not build a fort whose gate could be approached – or be shot at – in a straight line. The army would do the same in a marching camp, so why not here?’

The answer was that the Romans never expected to defend a fort like this, least of all against an enemy with artillery and some knowledge of siege craft. That was why the towers were set back and did not project outwards and no one worried too much about defending gateways.

‘Send men to bring up the carts from the fabricae,’ Ferox said. ‘And anything else to make a barricade in case they do smash the gates.’

There was silence and Petrullus broke into a grin. ‘The queen has already given the orders.’

Enica made a show of preening. ‘I do have my uses, you know.’ She paused. ‘Of course, I had forgotten that Vindex was not with us.’

Ferox was not listening. As he watched, some of the Dacians around the ballista turned and ambled away. Others appeared to take their place.

‘Lady.’ Ferox bowed his head. ‘It is time. I ask you to return to your men and wait. If you see the men bringing the waggons then tell them to hurry.’

For once she did not say anything, and just inclined her head slightly.

‘Petrullus, they will come soon. First they will blow all their horns and trumpets and raise a great shout. The gate still holds, but they may have a ram. Get your men to carry up the oil and he ready to use it.’ Several small cauldrons and buckets were boiling over a fire down below them. ‘Watch out for ladders as well. I shall be at the porta praetoria, so send word if you need anything. The supports know what to do.’

The men in the tower were a mixture of warriors loyal to the queen and those who had fought for her brother. Ferox tried to think of anything he might say to make them all trust him and trust that they would live through this and win. A true Roman would no doubt have made a great speech and perhaps the honeyed words would have moved spirits.

‘Good fortune. For Brigantia, for the queen, for our oaths.’ He feared this was too much and might seem false. ‘Let’s make some food for the ravens!’

Petrullus raised his arm in salute. The rest grunted. As Ferox went down through the trapdoor he just caught another inspiring cry. ‘For the tits!’

A lot of Brigantes were like Vindex, for they were still cheering and laughing as he made his way along the intervallum, warning the commander of each group of reserves that the attack was coming soon. There was no way of controlling them, so he patted each one on the shoulder.

‘Use your judgement, and when you hit, hit ’em hard.’ Half the reserves were veterani because they were the best suited to heavy fighting, and ought to be confident. Bronzed and lined faces, beards flecked with grey, they waited, making the most of rest as old soldiers could. They would be nervous like everyone else, some because they had done this many times before and knew what was coming, and a fair few because in decades of service they had never gone toe to toe with an enemy.