Eagles of Dacia Read online

  Senova was stretching. ‘Eleven,’ she said, gesturing to where their guard was returning from the darkness, dragging the body of the wood-gatherer.

  ‘Yes. Three got away. We’ll have to be careful. They might think twice about coming back, but they’re legionaries and all their kit is here. They can’t go back to their units without their gear, or they’ll be deep in the shit. But I think we scared them properly. They’ll wait until we’re gone, then come for their stuff.’

  ‘Will you be in trouble in Porolissum?’ she asked in a concerned tone.

  Rufinus shook his head. ‘There’s no way any survivor will own up to this. Rape and murder’s bad enough, but being resoundingly beaten by a bunch of villagers, a woman, a boy and a dog? They’d never live it down. This’ll get blamed on rebels or Sarmatians.’

  He gestured to the two remaining guards and their guide. ‘We need a constant watch tonight, though. We sleep in the bath house. It’s the only fully stone building, so it can’t just be fired by unseen hands in the night. Two men on watch at any given time, and I’ll join the rota.’

  ‘What of not-killed?’ the guide murmured, pointing at the man whose face Rufinus had ruined, who was lying on the floor, whimpering. There were three or four men who would live, though they might regret doing so.

  ‘The survivors? I’m not killing legionaries in cold blood, even if they are lowlifes like this. We tie them thoroughly to the horse rail outside the bath house. Let them spend the night bound and uncomfortable. Their friends can release them when we’ve gone in the morning.’

  As the men began their work, and Luca cleaned the pugio while Senova fished out more food and began to rebuild the fire, Rufinus sighed and looked around the scene of carnage. A great start. They were one day now from the camp of the Fifth Macedonica and they’d already killed or maimed a dozen of them. He just hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come.

  XVI – Fortress at the edge of the world

  Porolissum was not what Rufinus had expected. It was no legionary fortress, just a standard auxiliary fort on the frontier of the empire, as far from civilisation as it was possible to reach and still call Roman. And yes, there was a procurator based here and one of the ‘three Dacias’ was named Porolensis, yet still Rufinus had been all over the north and had formed certain expectations of frontier auxiliary forts, and Porolissum did not match them.

  The fort itself was an imposing stone edifice on the highest point for miles, sitting like the will of gods, glaring down on the world around it, the land sloping away in every direction, sometimes quite vertiginously. And unlike Bucium’s rather small and ramshackle vicus, the town that had grown up around this bastion of Rome was a thriving metropolis. In fact, the place had grown so large and so busy that it had spread to cover the land on the slopes to the east, south and west, the north left clear, facing the barbarians. Rufinus could see as they approached just how much of a lively city Porolissum had become. Smoke from several bath houses rose into the blue grey sky, tempting further rain, though playing with sunlight for now. A sizeable amphitheatre of stone and tile and plaster rose amid the buildings, and there were seemingly games on at that very moment from the sheer noise and the cheering that rose and fell like waves in the sea, crashing into tense silence only to rise again into a deafening roar.

  It was the nundinum, he realised, peering up the slope at the town, the ninth day of the weekly cycle in which markets were held across the empire, festivals cropped up, towns filled with people and many workers downed tools for the day.

  ‘Busy,’ he noted.

  The three men still travelling with them nodded.

  ‘Is there a less hectic way in?’

  ‘This,’ replied one of them, pointing off to the left, where a rougher road skirted the edge of the town, passing close to the great curved wall of the amphitheatre where, apparently, some poor bastard had just been bloodied for the edification of the crowd, judging by the noise. The track followed a contour, and as they moved around the periphery of the busy place to the west, Rufinus was treated to a view of the other aspect of Porolissum.

  This place truly was the edge of the empire in a way Rufinus had never before contemplated. The good metalled road they had followed from Bucium entered the town from the south, and they had seen another such highway marching off slightly north of east, along the very edge of the province. But to the north and west there lay something wholly different. Rufinus could see defensive systems climbing the hills and filling the valleys. To the north and west, where the Roman world ended, there were great turf embankments and timber palisades, watch towers and fortlets in staggering quantity, cutting the landscape into manageable pieces where any incursion could be easily dealt with. Clearly some of it was already old, dating back to the early days of the province, but much of it was new, Pescennius Niger’s response to the Sarmatian attacks.

  Rufinus whistled through his teeth as he took in the complex systems crossing grey-green hills and skirting dark, looming forests, all under the watchful eye of that great square stone sentinel on the hill. Porolissum was more than a town or a fort. It was a last outpost of imperial power on the threshold of the barbarians. Moreover, Rufinus could see Niger’s army now, for the fort was not large enough to accommodate the Fifth Macedonica, let alone the numerous other units the legate had drafted in from his part of the province to secure the borders. The legion and at least a score of other auxiliary units were encamped on the slopes to the north and to the east and west, beyond the town and in the lower ground.

  They skirted the corner of the fort, where a road ran down to some sort of border control or customs house in the nearest line of defences, the paved way dotted with temples and shops. The walls of the fort towered above them now, as they passed the last of the civilian settlement. Even from this, the shallowest surrounding slope, the plateau on which the great fort was constructed added to the massive walls to create an image of unassailable power. Gleaming shapes of men moved along the top, ever-watchful, ever-alert. The huge gatehouse with solid, drum-like towers stood facing the Sarmatian world, ready to spew soldiers at a moment’s notice, the gate open with men on guard beside, within and above. A centurion stood with his men, addressing them on some matter, but the conversation halted as the small party approached the fort. The centurion stepped to the centre of the gate, vine stick grasped behind his back as his men stood straight and tall.

  Rufinus realised what they must look like after so many days of travel with few chances to bathe and even then not in a proper establishment. He was wearing the red military tunic that he’d been given in Drobeta to replace his praetorian white, but his armour was bagged up on the pack horse, and he looked dirty and drab. He had also begun to look quite fashionable, with flopping wavy hair and a burgeoning beard that was already curling naturally. The first opportunity he got to visit the baths, this lot was coming off. Beards were always too itchy, no matter how fashionable. With a travel-worn woman, a young slave, a giant black dog and three armed natives, they would make an interesting party. Rufinus decided to grasp the situation by the curlies from the outset.

  ‘Good afternoon, Centurion. I am Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus of the praetorian guard, on detached duty to Dacia’s military. The governor in Apulum assigned me to the forces of the legate Pescennius Niger here. I have here a travelling companion from Rome and her slave who will also require admittance, though our local escort will now be on their way.’

  Excellent. Sounded very official. He turned and passed over the last of the payment to the guide who, with the two remaining guards, nodded their thanks and then wandered off to amuse themselves in the thriving town, leading their horses.

  Rufinus turned back to the centurion, who was studying him as though he were something a cat had brought in and left on the rug.

  ‘Centurion Rugio, Second Dalmatian, part-mounted. Documents?’

  Rufinus fished in his bag and retrieved the two sets of papers, one from Cleander assigning him to Dacia
and the other from Clodius Albinus, sending him to Porolissum. The centurion took them, examined them carefully, and then handed them back with a nod.

  ‘Welcome to Porolissum. Lucky for you the legatus is still here and currently in the headquarters dealing with administration. I will take you to him now.’ With that, he beckoned and turned, marching through the gate and on up the slope of the fort within. Rufinus corrected himself as he passed through the gate, leading Atalanta, and took in the mass of internal buildings. This was bigger than most auxiliary forts he’d been in. It might just have fitted a legion at a push. It was well-appointed and well-kept, clean and strong. He nodded his approval as they passed a building that had the look of a granary but was being cleared out and repaired by industrious legionaries.

  ‘Given the level of destruction and ravaging I’ve seen throughout Dacia, I’m impressed at the level of control here. Your military zone is quite something.’

  The centurion drummed his fingers on his vine cane. ‘The war is over. I don’t know what the Thirteenth were doing buggering about for so long with rebels and pockets of resistance and so on. The legatus here responded quickly, gathering a huge force and securing the north, driving out the Iazyges and the Costoboci. This place has been back under proper control for months. The whole of the north, in fact. While the south have been faffing under the governor’s control, we’ve been busy rebuilding, strengthening, fortifying. We’ve put up new walls and gates across the salt road into Sarmatian lands. The big trouble has been food and harvests. Years of troubles have left the locals in dire straits and half the job of the army has been to bring in grain shipments from other parts of Dacia out east and keep the populace fed, and to help them rebuild their settlements and sort their planting and harvests. I expect the praetorians know little about that sort of thing, but a legion based out in the provinces have to turn their hands to many things to keep peace and control.’

  Rufinus felt irritated at the slight, though it contained less bile than was commonly aimed at the guard by the rest of the military.

  ‘I was formerly of the Tenth Gemina,’ he replied defensively. ‘I know the situation.’

  The centurion’s eyebrow rose for just a moment, but he simply walked on.

  ‘I see the whole army seems to still be camped here?’ Rufinus murmured conversationally. ‘Quite a few thousand eh?’

  ‘Hardly,’ the officer replied. ‘Half the army has already been sent back to their garrisons, and half what’s left are busy working on the walls and the damaged forts. But we’re nearly fully repaired now. In fact, you were lucky to catch the legate. In a day or so the Fifth will be returning to Potaissa, and the rest of the units will depart, leaving just us faithful Dalmatians in control again.’

  Rufinus felt relief flood him. The last thing he’d want was a repeat of his first few days in the east, chasing legates who had always just left to go somewhere else. They reached the heart of the fort a moment later and the arch of the headquarters stood before them, a soldier to each side. Another fort, another headquarters, another commander. Rufinus was busy listing them mentally as the centurion explained that Senova, Luca and Acheron would have to wait there with the horses.

  ‘On the assumption we are staying the night here,’ Rufinus said to Senova as he rummaged in the kit on Atalanta and found the all-important package, ‘you might want to enquire about stabling and the location of the mansio or the cheapest inn you can find.’

  Senova nodded, though Rufinus had no confidence in her sparing his purse in that regard. Still, he had more important things to think about, right now. Turning, he followed the centurion into the building, striding across the courtyard with its statues of Jupiter and of the emperor, and into the long basilica hall. The shrine of the standards was full and gleaming, a soldier on guard beside it, and he watched Rufinus suspiciously as the two men approached the other guarded door: the commander’s office. A brief exchange between the centurion and a man inside whose voice was smooth and urbane, and Rugio stepped aside and gestured for Rufinus to enter.

  The office was occupied by three men. A clerk stood to one side with an armful of tablets, looking harassed, a senior officer – an auxiliary prefect, Rufinus thought – sat in a chair in the corner with a cup of wine, and the man who could only be Pescennius Niger behind the desk in the centre of the office.

  Rufinus came to a halt, straightened and saluted.

  ‘Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus, assigned to Dacia by the imperial chamberlain and directed to your command by the governor at Apulum,’ Rufinus announced, fixing his gaze on a point just above Niger’s shoulder where he could take in everything yet remain at attention.

  Niger was tall, perhaps more than six feet. His skin was the smooth olive of a native of southern Italia, and his hair was a dark blond, wavy and short, while his long beard had been curled elegantly. He wore a well-tailored uniform that was neat and clean, almost diametrically opposite to Rufinus’ shabby, travel-worn tunic. The reason for the man’s unusual cognomen – Niger, ‘the black’ – became clear at first sight. Rufinus had known men with birthmarks before, usually the colour of old plums, which appeared as splotches on the skin like a piebald horse, but Niger’s was different. A patch of dark brown, like a giant liver spot covered the left side of his neck – so dark it was almost black. The legate had an unusually large white scarf, and between that and the beard the birthmark would be well hidden under normal circumstances, but at that particular moment, the legate had loosened the scarf with the warmth of the building and had turned toward the prefect, revealing the left side of his neck. The legate turned languidly back and regarded the visitor.

  ‘Rufinus. Praetorian guard. Man who saved the emperor,’ he said in those same, calm, urbane tones.

  ‘Yessir.’ Impressive. Rufinus had met few people who had retained that information in the years since his great moment of glory.

  ‘Gaius Pescennius Niger, legate of the Fifth Macedonica. Well met. I was at those games that day in Rome. A great achievement for a young guardsman and, if what I heard was correct, an impressive pilum throw.’

  Rufinus nodded, flushing slightly.

  ‘And now you are out here in the provinces, dirty, tired and largely unrecognised I would wager. How fickle is Rome, eh, Rufinus? Glory in one moment and obscurity the next. Take it from me, though, sometimes obscurity is to be treasured, and even sought.’

  There was something oddly wistful in the way he said it that made Rufinus frown.

  ‘So Albinus has sent you to me. No, no, no,’ he waved away the documents Rufinus was busy digging out. ‘The centurion has seen them. That will do. Let me see if I can get this right. Cleander, may the hydra rise from his latrine and stick thirteen heads up his ignoble behind, assigns you to Dacia because he doesn’t trust us. We have too much military might and too much gold and are a long way from his grasp. You arrive to take up your post with Albinus, but the old man won’t have you. Doesn’t trust you, so he sends you to me, thinking I might be able to lose you on the frontier. Am I close?’

  Rufinus blinked. ‘On the nail, in fact, Legatus. Entirely on the nail.’

  ‘And somehow you intend to earn my trust in a way that you could not with Albinus?’

  Gods, but this man was sharp.

  ‘All I can say, Legatus, is that trust engenders trust. I am in a distant land, previously unknown to me, far from my unit and any friend, sent to men that the chamberlain feels might be untrustworthy. Yet one man vouched for you. A man told me to look for you and to commend him to you. A frumentarius by the name of Vibius Cestius, who I count as a close friend.’

  Niger broke into a wide grin.

  ‘Vibius Cestius. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a year or two. How is the devious goat?’

  ‘As irascible as ever, Legatus.’

  Niger laughed aloud. ‘Very well. A friend of Vibius Cestius already comes highly recommended to me, and as I now realise he is also the man who saved Commodus, I cannot but lay a ma
ntle of trust on you. Would that you could so easily do that with me.’

  Again, there was that odd wistfulness in his tone. Rufinus became acutely aware of the fascinated stares of the other two men in the office and that there were sounds of other soldiers and officers out in the basilica hall.

  ‘Can we speak privately, Legatus? It is a matter of some importance.’

  Niger pursed his lips for a moment, as though holding an inner dialogue, and then nodded, gesturing for the prefect and the clerk to leave. The latter closed the door as he exited, leaving the two men alone in the office.

  ‘Go on,’ Niger prompted.

  ‘This might be rather hard to believe immediately, Legatus, but bear with me. I was sent by Cleander to search for signs of treachery and disloyalty to the throne in Dacia. I did not truly expect to find any. Simple hatred and defamation of Cleander is hardly a sign of treachery, for it would be hard to find a man more hated, so that could hardly be worth noting.’

  Niger smiled, and Rufinus breathed slowly, preparing himself.

  ‘However, through chance information, a little investigation and some judicious searching, I have uncovered a plot, the scale of which I find staggering.’

  Niger leaned forward now. ‘Go on?’

  ‘The governor, Clodius Albinus, is misappropriating huge quantities of gold from the mines at Alburnus Maior before they are logged and stamped by the procurator’s office. The unmarked gold he thereby acquires is being sent to Rome and to various men in power in the provinces, lining their vaults in return for favours for Albinus and for men who represent his clientele. He is using state gold to build a web of people in positions of power and influence. I can only conclude that he is preparing a coup against the emperor.’