Every year, thousands of people walk along Hadrian's Wall, yet very few are aware of its hidden secrets. Most guidebooks don't mention the significant modifications made during its construction or the formidable challenges faced by Hadrian himself.
It has long been accepted that at some point in the programme of building the wall, forts and turrets, construction was halted for a period of time. This event is referred to as “dislocation.”
The most popular explanation given is that fighting erupted within the region around the wall and the soldiers had to immediately stop building, to put down a rebellion.
This was not just an enormous civil engineering project for the Romans: it was a time of maximum danger in the province. This book is based on real events and real people who existed at the time. Whilst some of these events are fictious many are not. This book is aimed at providing the reader with a plausible explanation of what took place in Britain in summer 122 AD.
The right of Brian M Young to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act of 1988. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Photo on pvii courtesy of Andy Wallace
Formatted and printed by Beamreach Book Printing, Cheshire.
STONE BY STONE
THE SECRETS OF HADRIAN'S WALL
BRIAN M YOUNG
Rudchester VINDOBALA
South Shields ARBEIA
Wallsend SEGEDUNUM
Chesters CILURNUM
Halton Chesters ONNUM
Carrawburgh BROCOLITIA
Birdoswald BANNA Housesteads VERCOVICIUM
Castlesteads CAMBOGLANNA
Bowness on Solway MAIA
Burgh by Sands ABALLAVA
Newcastle PONS AELIUS
Benwell CONDERCUM
Chesterholm VINDOLANDA
Carvoran MAGNIS
Washing Wells Roman Fort
Corbridge CORIOSOPITUM
Brampton Church Roman Fort
Great Chesters AESICA
Drumburgh COGGABATA
Kirkbride Roman Fort
Carlisle LUGUVALIUM
Stanwix UXELODUNIUM
PREFACE
Every year, thousands of people walk along Hadrian’s Wall. Many are visitors interested in history and wish to see the incredible feat of engineering that the Romans accomplished. It was, without doubt, the single greatest defensive system ever created by the Romans. Its sheer scale is awe-inspiring.
I have a deep interest in Roman history and had purchased every book I could find about Hadrian’s Wall. However, it wasn't until I bought The Building of Hadrian's Wall by C.E. Stevens and The Handbook to the Roman Wall by Collingwood Bruce that I gained a much deeper understanding of the ‘dislocations’ and modifications along the wall that took place.
Based on these books and all the facts I could research, I thought it would engage more people by writing a fiction story about the building of Hadrian’s Wall. This story is rarely told and yet so important to our understanding of what happened during the period. Although fiction, my book is based on real people and real events that happened at the time.
I would like to thank the following people for their help: Kevin Mitchell for reading it first; Jerome Blanes for further advice; Andy Wallace for creating an incredible book cover and pictures on the website; and David Exley at Beamreach Printing for his assistance.
If you notice any obvious errors, they are oversights and I would appreciate it if you could let me know for future reference. My email is brianyoung@hadrians-wall.co.uk.
This book is dedicated to my daughters
Emma and Katie Young
PROLOGUE
Rome always needed frontiers in its provinces. Britain had caused the Romans an enormous amount of time and effort to secure its peace. Hadrian’s Wall was one part of several thousand miles of the boundary between the Roman Empire and those tribes not under direct control of Rome. What marks Hadrian’s Wall from other frontiers is the scale of the work. Its design was monumental, with an unusually thick curtain wall of 8 feet. It ran 80 Roman miles long and 17 feet high. It had 158 turrets, 81 milecastles and 17 forts and used almost 4 million tons of stone in its construction. There is one other major fact about the wall that has never really been written about and that is ‘dislocation’.
It has long been accepted that at some point in the programme of building the wall, forts and turrets, construction was halted for a period of time. This event is usually referred to as a ‘dislocation’. The evidence we have of this is that all along the wall and forts the foundations were laid by one gang of builders and then, after a while, restarted by a different gang of builders. The most popular explanation given by archaeologists is that fighting erupted within the region and the soldiers who were building the wall had to immediately stop the building to put down a rebellion.
A dedication stone found in Newcastle is explained below:
“Son of all defined Emperors, the Emperor Caesar Trajan Hadrian Augustus, after the necessity of keeping the Empire within limits had been laid upon him by divine precept, and after the barbarians had been dispersed and the province of Britannia been recovered, he added a wall between either shore
of the ocean for 80 miles. The army of the province built this defence work under the charge of Aulus Platorius Nepos, the Emperor’s Propraetorian Legate.”
The words “the barbarians had been dispersed” and “province … recovered” suggest a serious nature and that the troops would have been required to suspend building work and take up their weapons. Archaeologists have identified that the chronology of the building work also changed at an early point in the construction. Modifications were made such that the army could respond faster to threats from both north and south.
These modifications included forts that were originally planned to be behind the wall being moved up onto the wall. This would allow mobile troops to respond faster. A second modification occurred of the wall being made narrower to save time and effort in the build; and there was a third modification of the vallum being dug to the south. This is a peculiarly Roman feature, used here to keep the tribes from the south out of the military zone.
These dislocations have been calculated by archaeologists to have happened as many as six times during the construction of the wall. The exact time of the dislocation cannot be calculated. However, at some point during the massive engineering work that was taking place, the Roman frontier was attacked.
With Hadrian being present in Britain at the time, the response would have been immediate. He had brought with him three legions plus there were auxiliary soldiers from Britain – a combined force of over 20,000 soldiers who would defend the Empire.
A fragmentary tombstone found in 1997 at Vindolanda is that of a centurion and a unit based there during the reign of Hadrian, killed in a war. Unfortunately the war is not named. However, given all these facts, I have written what I believe happened at this time in 122 AD. This was not just the largest civil engineering project of its time; it was also a time of maximum danger in the province.
One final note is that the Historia Augusta records that during his visit to Britain, Hadrian made fundamental changes in the royal court immediately after building the wall.
“He removed from office Septicius Clarus, the Prefect of the Guard, and Suetonius Tranquillus, the Imperial Secretary, because without his consent … they had been conducting themselves towards his wife Sabina in a more informal fashion than the etiquette of the court demanded. And he would have sent away his wife too on the grounds of ill temper if he were a private citizen.”
On the face of it, this was a public reason to remove these men from office. However, it appears more likely that both these men were sacked for political reasons. Sacking two senior figures at the same time suggests some sort of plot was hatched during their visit here. Clearly his inspection of the province of Britannia was not an easy one. With an enormous wall of stone to design and build, securing the province against further raids, troops to oversee and a Senate that appeared unsupportive, it is no surprise he brought with him his most loyal General, Platorius Nepos. Nepos was a friend and was promoted to military Governor of Britannia to project-manage the job in hand.
Could they both deal with this enormous civil engineering project given the backdrop of other issues? What really happened? This narrative is based on real events and real people who existed at the time. Whilst some are fictitious, many are not. The book is aimed at providing the reader with a plausible explanation of what took place in Britain in 122 AD.
“The beginning is the most important part of the work ” Plato
CHAPTER 1
PROVINCE OF BRITANNIA
1 MAY 122 AD, 3PM
Festus Vibius looked up at the grey, overcast sky, trying to determine how long he and Sergius Marcius had been working. They had spent days toiling in the desolate countryside, and he couldn't shake the thoughts in the back of his mind about the warm fire and pitcher of wine waiting for him back at the camp. Festus detested Britannia, with its barren landscape battered by wind and rain, not to mention the ever-present threat posed by the wild barbarian tribes. A constant feeling of unease shadowed him, a sense that he was being watched by the unseen eyes of the savage Brigantes. Unlike other parts of the Empire, Britannia was not a place where a Roman citizen felt safe, even with four cavalry escorts.
Sergius was hammering a small yellow-painted post into the ground that would be attached by a line of hemp rope to the post that Festus was standing by. They had spent hours meticulously measuring angles, heights and distances so that each marker was not just in a straight line from its neighbour but that they were evenly spaced. This had not proved to be as easy as it seemed, as the northern reaches of Britannia were far from flat.
The two surveyors had to constantly adjust their calculations based on the topography of the land. Sergius straightened up and gazed out at the wilds that lay even further north. The two men were standing on top of a hill where there was no cover to offer shelter from the chilling wind. The lay of the land was not the only concern of Festus and Sergius; they had to also study the soil composition so that they knew how deep the foundations would have to be for this wall that the Emperor wanted to build, as well as the quantities of materials that would be needed for its construction.
Their escorts were Roman cavalry, which were stationed on either side of the hill supposedly keeping watch for danger that could be lurking in the landscape. However, two of the men were sitting by a small fire they had built, laughing, joking and drinking. The other two were watching their mounts as they grazed close to the tall grass that grew in clumps across the landscape, talking in an equally animated way. From their relaxed demeanour, it was clear to both surveyors that none of their escorts thought there was any real danger close at hand. Festus was still nervous though and would have preferred that they were slightly more attentive, but the protection that the four cavalrymen provided meant that he could push thoughts that they were not alone in this wilderness to the back of his mind. Though as he watched the scouts he felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. A clod of earth hitting the side of his head brought him back to reality.
“Thinking of wine and women again, Festus?” Sergius joked as, grinning, he wiped the earth off his hands.
“What else is there to think of?” replied Festus with a sigh. “I’d like to get back before it’s dark.” He threw the line to his friend to attach to the post that Sergius had finished setting.
“We just have another four to go and then I think we will call it a day,” Sergius said still grinning. He nodded towards the nearer group of soldiers. “I’m sure they want to be back around the campfire in the fort too.” He threw a sympathetic look at Festus.
Sergius had known him for 3 years and in all that time he had become used to Festus’s moods. The man was often nervous and Sergius often wondered why he had ended up at this cold-arse end of the Empire, instead of becoming a merchant like his father, where he could have lived a comfortable life back in Sicily.
~O~
A hundred yards away, hidden by tall grass, were two mudstreaked bodies, camouflaged so well that even a small shrew had scampered unwittingly close to where the two men were hiding.
Ortagorus, leader of the Brigantes and his friend Vordimus had been watching the Roman surveyors at their work for hours without moving and with a rising level of confusion. Neither man could understand what the Romans were doing.
Cupping a hand over his mouth, Ortagorus whispered, more to the ground than to his companion, “What in the name of the Gods are they up to then, Vordimus?”
“How the feck should I know?” breathed back Vordimus impatiently. He had been lying with a persistent itch in his leg for far too long and no amount of focusing on the Romans made it go away.
“You’re the Roman expert; you must have seen this before.” Ortagorus was equally irritable after having to lie still for so long. He had needed to empty his bladder for some time now. He turned to this side, pulling up his garments and let out a long sigh. He caught Vordimus’s eye as his companion gave him an accusatory look.
“Sorry. Couldn’t be helped,” he whispered, suppressing a shrug as Vordimus smelt the telling scent and saw the ground grow damper beside him.
“Is it religious?” ventured Ortagorus, “something to appease their Earth God perhaps?”
“Earth God? No, they usually slaughter animals for that,” replied Vordimus, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell. “But, whatever it is, mark my words, they are up to no good.”
Ortagorus grunted in reply, “So how did you know they would be here today?”
“I’ve been tracking their movements for a few days. They’re typical Romans, as predictable as the seasons. They’ve been coming out here every day and moving to a different spot that is only a little further from the last, with their damn sticks and twine.”
“Whatever they are doing, we cannot allow them to continue,” hissed Ortagorus. “It bodes ill for us if they are venturing this far out of their camp,” he said as he caught Vordimus’s eye. The two exchanged a silent agreement in an instant and nodded in unison.
Ortagorus made a small chirping noise, which was immediately answered from a little way off. Vordimus carefully watched the Romans. They continued their work, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. The ground around them slowly came alive as small groups of warriors rose and stealthily made their way, unseen, towards the Roman cavalry men. Festus looked up sharply, convinced that he had heard something. He examined the horizon nervously before looking over to the two cavalrymen who were sitting by their fire, who were still engaged in cheerful conversation. The two that had been with their horses had dropped out of sight.
“Hey!” Festus shouted to the cavalrymen he could see. “Where are the others?”
The burlier of the two escorts lifted his head. “Probably had to take a leak, they won’t be far.” He said something to his comrade, who leaned back and laughed raucously.
“Idiot,” Festus muttered under his breath. He knew the cavalrymen hated this detachment – nursemaid duty they called it – but all the same he despised their attitude and their coarse language. Maybe his family had a point; he was too soft for this life. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and he could not shake off a rising panic that he had no explanation for.
“We will be done soon enough, now pass me another stake,” Sergius slapped Festus on the arm and grinned. “Gods! You see demons in every windblown blade of grass.” He laughed before turning and pacing across the line of the hill. Festus forced a smile but was still unhappy.
“They have been gone too long. One of you should check just in case,” Festus shouted to the two escorts by the fire. Sergius had measured out the next distance with the rope and was positioning the next stake. The smaller of the two soldiers stood up with a sigh and gave Festus a weary look. Technically, Festus could not command the men, but, in truth, the young cavalryman had an uneasy feeling and wanted to know where his comrades had gone. He could hear the horses behind a small copse of trees that lay not too far from him, so he headed towards them.
“Okay, you bastards, where are you?” he shouted halfmockingly, as he reached the trees and found the horses were alone. “You know better than to go out of sight.” He tried to sound light-hearted, but there was a slight edge of panic in his voice. When there was no response, he shouted again. “Show yourselves!”
With a shaking hand, he drew his long cavalry sword from its sheath. He looked around, his eyes trying to see the danger lurking beyond the trees, and slowly started to edge towards where the others had been. There was no warning, no sandaled foot sticking out of the undergrowth, no war cry sounded. He felt an arm grab him from behind, a sharp pain cut across his throat and the world turned black.
Festus was passing the rope to Sergius, though his attention was fixed on the ground below, anxiously looking for the young soldier returning. He cast his gaze over to the burlier man, who was on his feet, looking worried, kicking out the fire as he waited.
“Something is wrong,” Festus whispered to his friend, who looked up with a raised eyebrow. “No, Sergius, I mean it! We’re in trouble. Do you have a weapon on you?”
“A small dagger, more for cutting rope than anything else.” He nodded with a frown as he continued to knot the end of the rope to the post. Festus acknowledged. He had a dagger too; if they were in danger it was better than nothing. The surveyor stood up straight, about to call out to the remaining escort when the full horror of the situation unfurled before him. Two native warriors ran full tilt at the burlier cavalryman, killing him in an instant with their crudely forged weapons before he had a chance to draw his long sword. Festus drew his little knife and stood with his back to Sergius on the hill. They could now see others, perhaps twelve scantily clad but heavily armed warriors closing in on them.
“Barbarians,” gasped Sergius, “perhaps they will let us go? Maybe they were only after the soldiers.”
Festus could hear the panic in his friend’s voice, the reasoning of a man who knew he was condemned but could not accept it. Festus looked at one of the Brigantes who was walking over to
the bottom of the hill. Although covered in dirt and bearing wild, straggly hair, he seemed to have an air of importance about him. He did not know the native tongue, but Festus hoped that this man might understand him.
“Please, we mean no harm to you. We are engineers, builders.” He gestured to the posts. “See, we only have knives to cut the rope, no battle weapons.” Festus waved the little knife in the air, causing a ripple of mirth to run through the warriors. They had assembled into a ragged circle around the two surveyors, enjoying the fear and desperation they inspired in the Romans.
“You speak their tongue, what are they saying?” Ortagorus nodded to Vordimus who was standing at the chieftain’s shoulder.
“They say they’re builders,” Vordimus spat on the ground.
“Ask them what they are building,” Ortagorus suggested, but before the Brigantine Chief could do anything, Sergius gave a scream.
Picking up a spare stake he made a dash for the horses through a gap that had been left in the circle of barbarians, dragging Festus with him.
“Run!” he shouted back at Festus. “Run for the horses!”
The young warriors looked at one another with glee, the gap having been left in their circle on purpose. Festus and Sergius raced towards their horses as they heard a cry to curdle the blood. Feet pounded the ground after them. They didn't look back now as they both headed for their tied horses only a few feet away. The cold steel of a sword ripped into their backbones. The young warriors celebrated as they cut down the surveyors, some making their first kill. Festus collapsed in agony as he felt blood oozing from his back wound and wished he’d become a merchant. As the world grew dim around him, the last thing he saw was the lifeless corpse of Sergius lying a short distance from him.
“Damn it all!” Ortagorus growled. “Now we’ll never bloody know!” He glared at the young men who stopped abruptly and looked sheepishly at their chieftain.
“Well, we know they were building something,” said Vordimus diplomatically, “although what, I will admit, still
remains a mystery.” The two of them made their way over to the yellow posts, pulling them out, breaking them and throwing them into the long grass. “A trench? A wall? Perhaps one of their bloody roads? Either way, they will be back.”
“Well, then we’d better be ready for them when they are,” Ortagorus snorted.
“We need to speak to the council of elders and see if the dreamers can give us any guidance,” Vordimus replied. Ortagorus grunted in agreement before turning to the excitable young warriors.
“Get rid of the bodies. I don’t want to find any sign that they had ever been here. Take the horses, we can trade them. Make sure you don’t leave any tracks.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode away with Vordimus at his side. ~O~
The naval fleet had carefully coasted up the North Sea, and the three smaller biremes from the Classis Britannica, the British fleet, held back at the mouth of the river. The fleet's main job was to control the waters around the Roman province of Britannia. Its job was largely the logistical movement of personnel and support. Today, however, they welcomed the most important visitor they had ever received. The great quinquereme slipped silently towards the port, across the green-blue waters off the coast. A great purple pennant flew from the top of the mainmast indicating that the Emperor was on board. The grey leaden sky was reflected in the cold waters of the bitter sea. Fast, sleek and manoeuvrable, these ships sliced through the water and when the wind billowed in their single square sail and their oarsmen bent their backs, they could make great headway.
The drizzle mixed with the spray from the rolling waves, as the men got ready to disembark into the welcoming embrace of the Britannia summer swells. The sail was unstrung from the mast and five banks of oarsmen on each side pulled hard to the commands
of the pausarius, the cox, who called out the different speeds. To keep everyone in time, the pitulus pounded a wooden block with a mallet to set the rhythm. On deck, the captain looked anxiously at the approaching river mouth. The local harbour master had just arrived by a small boat and now took over position at the bow of the ship. Like most estuaries, it could be treacherous, sands shifting with tides and silt washed down with seasonal rains. Leaning over and searching the surface of the water for telltale ripples and eddies around the hidden obstructions or shallows, the harbour master called instructions back to the captain and the men on the steering oar.
Immense care was taken to make the entrance into Britannia as impressive and comfortable as possible. Rome’s most precious cargo – the world's most important man – had arrived. Publius Aelius Hadrianus had become Emperor of Rome in 117 AD. Most of the known world was owned by him. His professional army numbered 30 legions, almost 200,000 men, and covered 36 provinces. Today, he was arriving in his northernmost province, Britannia.
The great quinquereme slipped closer now to the port wall. Sailors were throwing ropes from the port side to their opposite pairs on the ship, as flocks of seagulls cried overhead. The massive wooden figure of Neptune at the prow of the ship stared out at the crowds of Romans and Britons that stood waiting on the dock. At any other time, the local people would not have bothered to see what was happening in the port, but today was different. Cavalry units patrolled both sides of the banks of the river and, although the Romans had been here for more than 40 years, no chances would be taken with security. A massive military presence filled the area. It hadn’t taken long for the news that Caesar, Emperor of Rome, would be disembarking. Men, women, children, dogs, seagulls and soldiers were all in attendance in their thousands. Fishermen leant on the walls outside taverns and women had left their baskets of bread and figs on the sides of the streets, their deliveries waiting until the excitement of such a spectacle had passed.
A dozen merchants slowed their ships and followed the great ship closely as it came alongside the dock. In the centre of the
port, the Second Legion Augusta paraded in cohorts forming three sides of a hollow square. In the centre of the square stood a stone plinth covered in a purple cloth. It would be honourable to mark the occasion of the Emperor's first visit to Britain with a dedication stone. The legionary standard of the Second Legion, the Pegasus, fluttered proudly in the wind and surrounding it stood the officers of the legion. Roman auxiliary troops lined the streets to keep back the crowds, and all around the port, instructions were being shouted to the gathering crowds and soldiers.
The Legate of the Second Legion Augusta, Quintus Lollius Urbicus, stood at the front beside General Nepos, the new Governor of Britain. They had both been transferred to Britain 6 months earlier, with orders directly from Hadrian.
General Platorius Nepos was Hadrian's close friend and had overseen the Roman limes being built in Germania. His experience was essential and his orders had been clear. Britain was in a state of war. Order must be restored. The Second Legion had moved immediately from Isca Augusta at Caerleon to the northern frontier of Britannia.
Hadrian, Caesar, ruler of all that was Rome, now stood beside the captain of the ship, his cloak pulled around him, watching the Roman port master overseeing his men tying off the ropes that would hold the quinquereme, whilst six sailors on deck lowered the massive corvus or gangplank to allow the crew and royal court to disembark into Britannia. There was no wind to stir the sails and, as if on cue, the sun glimpsed through the broken clouds to welcome the new Emperor.
Looking out, Hadrian cast his eyes over the northernmost post of the Empire. Cold, grey and savage, he could understand why many in the army regarded this as the worst posting, and yet there was wealth here too. Britannia was rich in resources. Copper, gold, iron, lead, salt, silver and tin were all materials in high demand. It was one of the reasons for the original Roman conquest of Britain. There were artisans in metalwork that were unparalleled in any other quarter of the Empire. A brooch of exquisite design from these lands had been a gift from a good friend back in Rome, and it was so beautiful that he only wore it
for formal occasions, when he could talk of its origins to all who commented on it.
The Roman Empire had ruled this land for over 40 years and would not give it up. This time he would conquer the country for good. Peace through strength. The Praetorian Guard Prefect, Septicius Clarus, saluted as he approached the Emperor. “We shall follow you closely, sire ”
Hadrian had not brought a full company of praetorians to protect him, but only a small retinue with instructions to remain close. He stroked his beard as he nodded and watched the praetorians move with practised precision into two lines down the quinquereme so that the Emperor could move without any impediments. On each side of the corvus they held two standards: one the Imperial Eagle and the other the Praetorian Standard. The symbols of the Empire were on clear display. He stepped down to the lower deck and raised his eyes so that his gaze was fixed on the heads of the men around him. The dozen praetorians moved forward down the gangplanks and waited for the Emperor to follow. In their purple cloaks covering their shining silver armour and gilded swords, they moved forward to show their presence and strength as Caesar’s bodyguards. All around the dock, a hushed silence filled the air. Each of the legionaries was eagerly awaiting their first glimpse of the Emperor.
Suetonius, Hadrian’s secretary, was leaning over the side of the ship, the sea sickness he had been struck with being magnified by the swells of the sea in the confines of the port. Staff officers shouted commands as ‘Emperor Caesar Divi Triani Hadrianus Augustus’ was announced. Every soldier on the dock came to attention in a single, sharp movement. The people assembled in the port all bowed their heads as the trumpets and horns sounded and Caesar disembarked. The Praetorian Guards fell into place behind the Emperor as he passed, creating an impressive entourage.
Hadrian paused on the corvus and shook the water from his beard and finely curled hair. The men and women of Britannia drew a single breath as they laid eyes on the man who was Rome. He held himself with dignity and poise that demanded respect and fealty; his clothing and profile spoke of influence
and power. He looked more Grecian than Roman, a Zeus rather than a Jupiter. It was said that Hadrian was a great military man, one who knew his soldiers and cared for them despite being a strict disciplinarian. Hadrian looked at the faces of each of the soldiers who stood before him. His intelligent eyes roamed across them, taking in the surroundings and the pallor of the men he had ordered here. There was a look of awe in the faces of the local population and merchants. The people stood, watching in fascination as the ruler of the entire known world landed in Britannia.
Hadrian stepped off the corvus and the sound of the trumpets and horns stopped.
“Caesar, it is good to see you.” Nepos was the first to salute and shake his hand.
“It is good to see you again too,” Hadrian remarked to Nepos.
“Let me introduce you to Quintus Lollius Urbicus, the Legate of the Second Legion,” nodded Nepos.
“Your presence is a light that illuminates the darkness of Britannia, Caesar. To commemorate this day, I had this altar commissioned,” Urbicus said grandly as he indicated a large stone plinth, covered by a purple cloth.
After a nod from the Emperor, Urbicus signalled that two of the staff officers of the legion should step forward. The two men took hold of the cloth and carefully drew it back to reveal a stone altar. On the front was engraved a dedication: ‘To the discipline of the Emperor Caesar Hadrian Augustus, who arrived at the port named Aelius’. Hadrian smiled. Aelius was Hadrian's family name. Romans were very superstitious people and the stone would represent good fortune and safe deliverance for his visit.
“It is our honour to name this port after you, Caesar,” Urbicus announced, looking happy with himself.
“If it pleases you, Caesar, we shall have a priest perform a thanksgiving sacrifice for your safe passage across the great sea.”
Hadrian inclined his head ever so slightly to show he was agreeable to the sacrifice and a priest stepped forward with a struggling newborn lamb. As the lamb was held down and its neck
cut, the prayer to Jupiter was repeated upwards to the heavens by the priest for all to hear.
“Jupiter, greatest and best, bless our Emperor. Lead him victorious in your work, long to live over us.”
The assembled legionaries cheered in unison, “Caesar, Caesar, Caesar!”
The Emperor glanced at General Nepos, who bowed and stepped back to allow the Emperor to move forward. Clarus stayed close to the Emperor without drawing attention to himself. The Praetorian Guard had fanned out around the dock and stood to attention. Hadrian let the praise and adulation of the soldiers and citizens finish. He raised his hand to quieten the crowd. Beside the stone altar a small raised wooden dais had been constructed which Hadrian now ascended to address his people.
“Soldiers and citizens of Britannia, I have great plans for this country and its people. You are a proud people, a brave people, and I promise you that I will defend this land, as we protect all the citizens of Rome and the Empire. We shall, once and for all time, make our mark on this land.” He paused, letting the crowd mumble to one another.
“Men of the Second Augusta,” Hadrian raised his voice so that it ran off the buildings, “I, and all of Rome, salute you, the great and honoured Legion of the Second.” He paused again, smiling down benevolently at them. He caught Nepos’s eye.
The new Governor of Britannia was a hardened soldier, whose steely eyes only briefly held Caesar’s gaze before returning to watching the men of the legion with a steady stare. Nepos was a great friend to Caesar, one that Hadrian placed great trust in to carry out his new plans.
“I am here to firstly assure you of the pride in which we hold your achievements thus far, for your sacrifice and the honour that you do to the memory of all who have served this great legion.” He nodded his head towards the eagle that was held proudly at the centre of the Second Legion.
“A fine tradition from the first brave legionaries that were to land with Claudius in Britain. It is right that you are now the first legion to defend our northern frontier. You may think that what
you do here is of little importance, but Rome has charged you, I have charged you, with the hardest task of all: bringing Roman values to this wild land, whilst defending all that we hold dear from the clutches of barbarism.” The Emperor resisted the urge to pull his cloak a little closer to keep out the cold and suppressed a shiver.
“Secondly, I am here to tell you that you are to be at the forefront of a grand project to secure the borders of our Empire – a great work for which the Senate has pledged its support and for which you will share in its glory; a glory that will outlive the memory of mortal men. Can Rome count on you, men of Augusta? Can I count on you?” Hadrian raised his voice once more as he asked this question of the Second Legion.
“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!” was chanted in response, although the cry was undercut by the people whispering to each other, wondering what this great work would be. Hadrian looked at the gathered legionaries with a warm, fatherly expression.
“Every one of you shall receive extra rations to mark this blessed day. You will all receive 1 silver denarius in commemoration of our meeting and as a reminder of to whom it is you have given your oath. From today, all men, upon their honourable discharge from the legion, shall become citizens of Rome, together with their wives and children, and be given land accordingly.”
“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!” The chant was twice as loud as before as Hadrian finished his address. There was sincerity in what he had said and the Emperor smiled to himself. One of the staff officers drew up next to the dais in a chariot pulled by four horses, allowing Hadrian to step onto the chariot as he descended. The men were still cheering as the chariot was driven from the dock to the fort of Pons Aelius which had been built 12 weeks earlier
Urbicus and Nepos accompanied him, surrounded by the Praetorian Guard, whilst the auxiliary soldiers tried to keep back the watching crowds, who were still straining for another glimpse of the light that was Rome.
“It is a short journey, Caesar, to our first fort. Our hosts are expecting us,” Nepos said as he rode beside the chariot of Hadrian.
“Very well,” the Emperor replied," it’s good to be back on land again. These ships are as comfortable as possible, but I have craved a stone floor and a steady bed for days now.”
Hadrian looked back over at the giant ship berthed in the port and his secretary now on land but still sick. His face was a dull green colour as he held onto the wall, trying to keep his legs steady.
“Perhaps when Suetonius is better he will join us later,” laughed Hadrian. “We have much to discuss, Nepos, much to plan.” Smiling broadly, he raised a hand, acknowledging the soldiers and people of Britannia who lined the route as his chariot rumbled past. He was in a new land, a land of great promise and even greater dangers.
A handful of Britons dressed in rough clothing watched as the Emperor mounted the chariot and passed within a spear’s throw of them. Rumours had been circulating that the Emperor was coming to Britannia and the activity around the dock had allowed the men to go unnoticed as they slipped into the crowd. They had travelled to Port Aelius to gather information about Roman plans and movements.
“Well, this doesn't bode well. We already knew they were starting some sort of plan,” one breathed quietly to the group.
“Yes,” replied another, “but now we know it’s come from the Emperor himself. It must be very important. We must decide what we are going to do. Come on. Let’s meet with Vordimus and Ortagorus.”
They turned and made their way back through the port buildings to where they had left their horses. There was much to tell the council and none of it was good.
The praetorium at Pons Aelius was small and comfortable with a large long table placed in the middle and chairs around it. Nepos was sifting through some paperwork whilst Hadrian
sipped some of the Etruscan wine that he had brought with him from Rome. Both men had eaten well and had spent the meal discussing Hadrian’s general plans for Britannia and the issues of governance. Suetonius had recovered almost from the sea sickness and was unpacking his scrolls carefully in the corner of the praetorium. His sickly pallor was starting to return to normal, yet he had eaten nothing. Nepos held up his goblet again for a slave to fill.
“Nepos, you’ll drink my reserves dry,” Hadrian gave the general a wry smile, but the humour of his comment didn’t reach the Emperor’s eyes.
“I wonder, if you are not too tired, whether we can discuss a little more of the plans you have, Caesar?” Nepos was concerned that Hadrian would think they had not done enough since they had landed here 6 months ago.
“Sire, if I may explain to you what we have accomplished in the last 6 months. We have built the main supply fort closest to the sea, Arbeia, for the maritime supply of all goods from the navy. It was built with enlarged stone granaries to ensure we keep our stores in good condition and on the south of the river, so it guards the entrance of the river. As you are aware, the Brigantes to the south are pro-Roman."
Hadrian nodded in agreement as they looked at the map together on the table in front of them.
"After that, we built this fort, Pons Aelius, as the first of the line of defences north of the river. Again, we have given it greater storage capacity for the grain, oil, wine, wood and soldiers to arrive. It was built here to guard the new stone bridge, crossing which the road connects to the south to Eboracum. Incidentally, the bridge that was built is named after you, Caesar," added Nepos.
Hadrian looked up from the map and a smile spread across his face. "A bridge named after me? I have never had a bridge named after me before outside of Rome."
Nepos knew that Hadrian was a keen architect who liked to have places and buildings named after him.
"Furthermore, sire, we have surveyed the entire area from east
to west, for the line of a defensive wall, and sent you copies as you requested.”
Hadrian nodded his approval.
"You have done well, my friend," smiled Hadrian.
Nepos took a deep breath. “Caesar, may I be blunt?” Hadrian nodded and stretched out his long legs in front of him. “These plans for the great wall you told me of will not be easy to implement.” Nepos sighed as he noted the look of amusement on the Emperor’s face.
“I didn’t say impossible, just difficult. We still have problems with local tribes in this part of Britannia. Whereas the southern tribes are happy to trade with us and enjoy many of the benefits that the relationship brings, these northern tribes …” he paused to frown at the map on the table, “these are difficult times.” He reached again for the goblet and finished the wine in one swig. “Then there is the cost, the number of men we will need, supplies; the list goes on.”
“This decision was made after carefully considering everything, Platorius. You are right to believe you must speak the truth, which is why I placed you in charge. I chose you because you have served me well in the past,” the Emperor replied.
Nepos held out his hand towards Suetonius, who handed him a scroll. He laid it out flat on the table, using goblets to hold down the map at two corners, as he pulled his chair closer to the table.
“You’ll see,” he continued, “the wall will run from the new fort here at the port where we arrived and will end here in the west.” The Emperor ran his finger over the surface of the map. Nepos opened a second map and placed it down as Hadrian reached the edge of the first. “Thus we will be able to monitor any movement between the tribes by having forts along the wall at regular intervals.”
“This is excellent. A direct line which cuts across northern Britain at its shortest point.”
Nepos rubbed his chin, “Yes, Caesar, that’s almost 80 miles.”
“It is,” Hadrian smiled.
“Then, as it goes mainly through Brigantine territory, you will
split the tribe in two. Caesar, is this prudent?” Nepos asked with concern. Hadrian turned his eyes to Nepos, taking them off the map.
“Prudent or not, this is the only way. Besides, the tribes must know who is in charge – us, not them. I have no doubt we will face resistance at first, but I will come to that matter in a moment.”
“The breadth of this plan is enormous, Caesar. We have never completed even a military campaign this size. The organisation, time and money will be colossal.”
The Emperor motioned to Suetonius who handed him an ornate scroll with the seal of the Senate upon it. “As you can see, Nepos, the Senate has granted funds to cover the cost of this operation, and I have given them my assurances that this will succeed. No expense shall be spared. This is for the glory of the Empire – a show of our might, both here and for those back in Rome. Now, let me show you this.”
Nepos accepted the scroll from Hadrian, waiting to open it until after the Emperor had finished outlining his plans. Caesar snapped his fingers and Suetonius produced several drawings that the Emperor had done on the voyage.
“I suggest that we have small castles, placed a mile apart, along the wall. That way, if we encounter any resistance, we will have the men in place to deal with it. Also, between each milecastle we will have two turrets. These will be like observation posts, so we can cover the full distance of the wall.”
Nepos nodded in agreement, “Very good, Caesar, we can organise a communication system along the wall.”
“Do you think the Brigantes know what we are planning?”
Hadrian asked, rolling up one of the maps and handing the scroll back to Suetonius, who placed it in a large trunk.
“I have not discussed this with anyone, Caesar. However, now that you have arrived and you have spoken of your plans for Britannia, they will understand changes are coming. They will make every effort to learn about your plans.”
The Emperor stood slowly. He moved the goblets from the corners of the first map and allowed Suetonius to roll up the scroll as Hadrian stretched and yawned.
“Forgive me, Caesar, you must be weary. We can talk further about these things in the morning when you have rested.” Nepos shook his head and stifled a yawn himself.
“Yes, thank you, my old friend. Perhaps we can organise a reconnaissance trip in a few days to see the wall locations,” suggested the Emperor.
“I will ensure we take plenty of men with us as, no doubt, your presence will be known far and wide by now.” Nepos pursed his lips as Hadrian clasped a hand on his shoulder.
“Do not think that I have dismissed your comments lightly, Nepos. I do not doubt that the physical task of building this wall is well within our capabilities, but we must secure the borders of Rome from those who have not seen the light of Rome.” He shook his head. “For, if we do not, we may yet lose the whole of Britannia.”
Hadrian straightened up to his full, considerable height as he shared a look with Nepos. “There have always been reverses in Rome’s past. However, Rome has always prevailed over its enemies. Always and everywhere, Mars has changed our troubles into successes and our terrors into triumphs. Britannia was never prepared for the war here in the north. The loss of the Ninth Legion reflects badly upon us all and Rome can never afford such another loss. It is our part to restore that order to this Empire now and ensure Roman values are held high once again. Mars has blessed me with a vision of what is required for this country and I will see it fulfilled.”
Rome's prestige was now at stake. Nepos looked at Hadrian and understood. Never again would the Roman Empire allow the unruly northern tribes to rampage freely across their territory.
“I do have someone who might be of help in that respect.” The Emperor had a knowing look in his eye that Nepos would have called mischievous in any man other than Caesar.
“Oh?” Nepos replied with a frown. “Who, Caesar, if I may ask?”
“Someone who has had previous dealings with these rebellious tribes and to whom I am indebted. I expect him to arrive here within a few days. In the meantime, get some sleep, General. You will need it.”
Nepos picked up his half-drunk glass of Falernian wine and drained it.
"Goodnight, Caesar," nodded Nepos as he left Hadrian alone in the praetorium.
I know what I need, he quietly thought to himself, thinking of the jug of wine he had back in his quarters.
Nepos climbed the wall of the fort at Pons Aelius and stared out across the wide expanse of grass to the north. Was it worth it? They had invested everything the Empire had to be here and build this wall. Hadrian's Wall. His own life, the Emperor's life and thousands of soldiers. Was it worth it? He took a deep breath of the cold air and turned south. Thousands of soldiers were moving and marching to Britannia. They would build camps and construct the great wall. Definitely yes. He breathed again as he felt the power grow in him, as he surveyed the might of the Empire.
“Hope is patience with the lamp lit”
Tertullian
CHAPTER 2
PONS AELIUS
3RD MAY 122 AD, 1PM
Marcus Lusius Quietus stared silently at the shore as the ship that carried him approached the newly named Aelius Port. In his right hand he held the leather-bound scroll with the Imperial SPQR seal. Marcus unwrapped the scroll and glanced over the message once again. It had been written by Hadrian to himself – a direct request to come back to Britain and rejoin the Roman army. His advice and knowledge were essential to recover the territory. Hadrian had appointed a new Governor of Britain and had a great plan for the northern frontier.
To the casual observer, his expression betrayed nothing of his feelings about returning to Britannia, but there was at least one person who knew him better than that. She could recognise the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. Coming up alongside Marcus, as if she too wished to see the port, Cornelia slipped a gentle hand over his. The young commander turned towards her and their eyes met. Cornelia gave him just the tiniest of smiles, little more than a crinkling around the eyes, but she was pleased to see Marcus relax slightly. He clasped his other hand on top of hers with a quick pressure, then broke away.
"Novantes!" he called. "We are coming into land. Make preparations for our disembarking."
Novantes nodded his understanding and turned to find slaves to instruct them about their luggage. The arrangements did not take long to make, for his commander was a hardened soldier, not in the habit of taking mule-loads of possessions with him, while Novantes, a simple infantryman, had few possessions to call his own. The ship made port on the bank of the great river, just as the Emperor's had done a few days before. This time there was a different type of activity. Two great galleys from the Roman fleet were berthed in the port. Enormous wooden crates were being
lifted out by a giant crane erected on the port side. A stressed centurion was issuing orders to auxiliary soldiers.
Crates of amphoras of wine from Gaul and olive oil from Rome were visible. The smell of salt and fish in barrels filled the air. Fresh supplies for the army, Marcus presumed. On the other ship, several clerks were busy counting out boxes. A soldier dropped one of the crates on its side and out rolled scrolls of papyrus paper and wooden tablets. The royal court had arrived and with it the administrators of the Roman Empire. The centurion let out a roar of disapproval at the young soldier, who quickly uprighted the box and its contents and disappeared back into the boat to get more crates. Marcus smiled at the centurion, a knowing smile that said I am glad I am not doing your job.
The centurion raised his eyebrows as he saw the dark-haired young man approaching him, followed by an even younger soldier, a beautiful woman wrapped up against the cold, and a couple of slaves carrying baggage. No one else disembarked who seemed to fit the description of a Roman officer.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Marcus handed the scroll to the centurion who quickly glanced over the message.
"Marcus Lusius Quietus?" he asked, uncertainly.
"Yes," said Marcus, with a little impatience. The centurion nodded.
"The Emperor awaits you at the fort of Pons Aelius. It is an easy journey just behind these shops. Let me find you a horse, sir,” said the centurion, shouting over to another soldier. In the end, the centurion managed to find a horse, although it was little more than a pony. Cornelia and the baggage were mounted on it. It was not a very dignified start for Marcus's return to Britannia. Once again, he asked himself if he was doing the right thing in obeying the Emperor's summons – an Emperor who, some still believed, had been responsible for his father's murder. Would it not have been wiser to put this island far behind him, with its memories of shame and defeat, and start a new life as a private citizen? That had certainly been his plan, before Hadrian had let him know that his services were required once again at the windy, rainy tip of the Empire.
"Tell me, why do you think the Emperor has asked us back here again? Another fight against the hostile tribes?" questioned Novantes.
"I think so,” said Marcus. "We will have to wait to see what plans he has made. It is clear that the Emperor's policy is to consolidate the Empire – to hold what we can realistically hold, to abandon the territories that are merely a liability, and to put firm limits between them. Apparently, he built a huge wooden palisade in Germania. I'm told it stretches from the Rhenus to the Danubius – 200 miles!" Novantes whistled at the thought of such a vast structure.
"I expect this project is something along the same lines, although probably smaller in scale," Marcus continued. He stared at the land in the distance, imagining a long line of bare tree trunks in front of it, marking the limit of Roman territory.
They made their way west from the port and towards the fort of Pons Aelius. The soldiers called out for the password and Marcus gave the word he had been given by the centurion – 'Jupiter'. Slowly, the great wooden gates were opened and the three companions made their way into the courtyard. An optio came out of a nearby building and saluted Marcus.
“I am Optio Felix, second in command of the century here.”
He examined the Imperial scroll once again.
"Marcus Quietus, welcome to Pons Aelius, sir.”
“Arbus,” said Optio Felix to a soldier standing behind him, "take the horse to the stable and see that this luggage is delivered to his quarters." He ushered the three new arrivals across the courtyard and into a barracks.
"Soldier, you have to report to the auxiliary cavalry barracks over on the right," motioned the optio to Novantes. Novantes quickly shook hands with Marcus. “I will see you soon."
The optio nodded to Novantes as he disappeared in the direction of the barracks.
"Emperor Hadrian has just passed orders that wives are now allowed to stay with their husbands inside the fort." Marcus and Cornelia looked across at each other in surprise.
"She is your wife?"
"Not in name yet, but wife-to-be," said Marcus, holding the older man's gaze. The optio shrugged. This young man had been summoned by the Emperor apparently, and it was not his business to regulate the commander’s private life.
"Please follow me, sir, and I will show you where your officer’s quarters are before meeting the Emperor. He has called a meeting of all senior officers.”
Cornelia and Marcus shared a secret smile between them. Finally, now, the Roman army had allowed officers and their wives to be together in the fort. This was a great start to life in Britannia.
The praetorium in Pons Aelius had been made into a makeshift planning room. Seated around the table in the large room sat Hadrian, General Nepos, Quintus Urbicus and the other chiefs of staff. Suetonius, Hadrian's secretary, was also present, although at times he seemed to disappear behind the sheaves of paper he wielded – letters received, letters to be sent, accounts of expenses, details of military strength, and local maps of greater or lesser accuracy. In a tiny bit of clear space near him on the table lay his wax tablet and stylus, for taking permanent notes. Across the entire length of one wall was a sketch map of the territory from the western sea to the eastern, the neck of Britain. Drawn in charcoal on the whitewashed wall, with many smudges where items had been rubbed out, the map showed the proposed route, which had been surveyed for the defences. It dominated the room due to its size. Hadrian was not a particularly patient man by nature; he had spent all his adult life commanding subordinates in the military. However, he had decided that he should personally visit Britain to oversee this enormous project that would require his attention to detail. He understood how the military worked and would require them to complete this specific undertaking for the good of the Empire.
“Gentlemen, as you are aware, the insurrection in Britannia is unacceptable to me. We have not lost the complete province but we have lost face, esteem and confidence. I am determined that such a challenge to our power will never be repeated. Therefore, General Falco was replaced as the Governor of Britain by General Nepos. He reports directly to me." Hadrian stopped and looked around at the men in the room. "What is the current situation in the province?” asked Hadrian.
Nepos nodded and took the floor. “Caesar, as you are aware, the tribes to the south are allied to us and have been since Agricola’s campaign. They have lost their distinctions as tribes and now consider themselves to be Roman-British. They are urbanised, modernised and Roman. The tribes in the north are nothing like what we have seen in the south. It’s almost a different country. The Brigantes are the major tribal power in northern Britannia. Further north from here are the Votadini and the Selgovae. The Votadini trade well with us and understand the significant advantages of being an ally. The Selgovae are different. They are a warrior people and strongly independent. Fighting is their way of life. If there is no common enemy, they fight each other. This is one of the reasons why we wish to separate these tribes with a boundary. The Brigantes and the Selgovae are kin,” explained the General. “They have allied before. Fortunately, at present, the Brigantes and Selgovae hate each other almost as much as they hate us. If we can keep the Brigantes on our side, we will maintain effective control of all northern Britain.”
Hadrian nodded and thanked his General. “Tell me of the building works that have been completed since your arrival,” he demanded. Nepos nodded to Urbicus to take the floor.
“Caesar, since our arrival, we have built this fort here, Pons Aelius, as the first defence. We have examined the geography of the area and laid out a line of defences by the surveyors from here to Luguvalium fort in the west. Agricola had previously built a road which runs east to west and we have been using this to travel. Many of the fields are wet and moving about over low ground is particularly difficult. We have enlarged the fort at Vindolanda as
quarters for you, as that is halfway between both coasts and will make a central point.” Hadrian nodded in agreement. “We have found, Caesar, a great cliff in the middle area and plan to use this feature as part of the boundary. It is over 100 feet high and makes a great natural barrier.”
"Excellent," nodded Hadrian, “that is a useful feature.”
Urbicus acknowledged Andus. “Let me introduce Tribune Andus. He is our senior engineer with the Second Legion and is highly skilled in building. He has some new ideas he would like to share with you, Caesar.”
Andus stood up and, walking over, motioned to the map. “Caesar, I have examined the ground around the province and it is much more suited to building a large wide ditch. As the Brigantes are great horsemen and charioteers this would stop them moving across our boundary. It would be much cheaper and quicker for construction, sire.”
Hadrian glared at Andus as he continued. “Tribune, let me tell you, I do not want a ditch.”
“It's been quiet, Caesar, since we got here. I think they are wary of us. We could save ourselves a lot of time and trouble with a good wide ditch which would be wide enough to stop a horse and deep enough to stop a man.”
“No, you could save yourself a lot of time here,” motioned Hadrian. “I do not think digging a wide ditch will stop civil riots or raiding over northern Britannia,” he smiled. “I want a wall. There are no shortcuts here, gentlemen. We will build something better than just a ditch. We will show them the greatness of Rome.”
Silence prevailed in the room as the staff officers thought of a wall crossing coast to coast. Nepos clarified the situation. “We have to demonstrate our authority over this land.”
"The cost of a wall will be enormous," Urbicus moaned, "… the prices we currently get charged. Three or four times what is reasonable, and these are just the materials that can be acquired within Britannia. As for the horses! There are no more to be had, it seems. More will have to be sent by ship, and one can only imagine the wastage …"
“It is true,” said Veranius Ulpus, the treasurer of the Second
Legion, who had responsibility for Imperial expenses in Britannia and felt more keenly than anyone how silver had started to gush out of the treasury since they had first arrived. He felt that his hair had started to turn silver at the same rate, as if to replace it. “I wonder if it would not be wiser to go more slowly, to take it gradually. It is our urgency that inflates the prices – the local traders can feel it, they know that they can charge what they want. We should take things in stages, buy materials while they are cheaper and stockpile them for the work to come. Britannia has been a Roman province for generations without a wall – surely it can wait a little longer?”
“It will have to wait a little longer,” growled Andus. “Such a project as the one proposed would take many months of planning. It's all very well drawing a line on a map,” he gestured at the wall, “but we don't know whether the territory will support the building works, or whether building materials will be available locally. The area must be thoroughly surveyed, the wall and the buildings carefully designed for the purpose they are to serve, and that's before you even start to think about the logistics of putting one stone upon another!”
"Then there is the manpower." Urbicus pointed at the smudged shapes of the forts and the fortlets on the map. "Each of these forts will require staffing, but before we even get to that point, hundreds of men will be needed for the building work. We cannot tie up all our troops in building duties and expect the barbarians to sit idly by and fail to take advantage of our weakness! There is the navy, of course, the Classis Britannica …" he looked towards the naval tribune, Maenius Agrippa, who shrugged.
“We have men, certainly,” he said diffidently, rolling a piece of charcoal around on the table with his finger, “but with all the transportation of goods and livestock that's going to take place, I would have thought they would be better placed delivering the men and food you require.”
“We need trained men to supervise the building projects,” added Urbicus “Sailors can work as labourers, but who will oversee the work? What sailor has ever dug an earthwork? Pah, they do not do that on ships!”
“And the weather!” chipped in Suetonius. “Everything is slower here. Transport is slower, construction work will take longer, and everything is delayed in this endless rain. I thought they had exaggerated how much it rains in Britain, but here it is pouring down again!”
“ENOUGH!” The table jumped under the impact of Hadrian's fist, startling the men from their comfortable grumbling. The officers around the table looked at each other, surprised by the shift from discussion to fury. Hadrian’s rage was legendary, but until you had seen it, it was hard to imagine.
“Suetonius, did I bring you all this way across the Empire to complain about the weather? And you men, the best at what you do, men who get things done? I have been greatly deceived!”
The great voice lost nothing in volume; Hadrian's anger must have been audible throughout the whole building. The two Praetorian Guards outside looked at each other. Inside, the room went quiet. The men visibly shrank. Agrippa quietly withdrew his hand from playing with the charcoal.
"Let me tell you of my Vision. Terminus, the God of Borders, has spoken to me. He told me that our Empire needs to have limits. Where we have won and fought battles throughout our Empire, we cannot keep expanding it. There is nothing to be lost in setting a new border even if it means giving up some ground which is of no use to us. Terminus said ‘What was taken once can never be lost’. Jupiter himself cannot make Terminus change his mind; therefore, I will not change my mind. We will consolidate control over what is ours already."
Silence filled the room as Hadrian paced around the table where his senior officers sat.
“You speak of nothing but difficulties. I am Rome! The might of Rome knows no limitations! You speak of high prices, Ulpus? I have the riches of the Empire at my disposal, and I am prepared to use them! If the local merchants give you trouble, remind them who rules this land. We are not visitors to be taken for a ride, we are their masters! Urbicus, you say we will need experienced men? You will have men!” Hadrian picked up some of the papers lying next to Suetonius and threw them roughly into the middle of the
table, making the secretary cringe. Are we not the finest builders in the World? Have we not created monument after monument to our Gods and our Emperors?”
“I will authorise whatever is necessary to get this wall built. I will stamp the authority of Rome on this rebellious province! As for men,” he continued, “the Twentieth Legion stationed at Deva and the Sixth Legion based in Germania will be sent here. Conscription throughout Britain has been ordered for further auxiliary soldiers. Therefore, you will have enough soldiers to construct the wall, and it will be completed. In the meantime, I will examine the territory myself. Nepos, Urbicus and Andus, you will travel with me, along with a dozen of the Praetorian Guard. Make arrangements. Once we have surveyed the ground, we will have a clearer idea of how the work should be begun. Now, are there any other practical considerations?”
Nepos cleared his throat.
“Caesar, forgive our shortcomings. We do not have your great vision. We see difficulties where you see possibilities. However, there is one suggestion that I might make that would alleviate some of the difficulties I foresee. I understand all that you say about the need to place a limit on the Empire, to confound our enemies, and to quash the rebellious tribes. A wall is by all means an excellent idea. It will achieve many important aims. It seems to me that these aims can be achieved with a large wooden wall. I assisted you directly in the construction of the palisade in Germania, which our legions were involved in building. A magnificent structure. As Britannia is heavily wooded, it is the natural solution.”
“That is true,” came the reply in Andus's gruff voice. “The territory lends itself to a wooden wall. Clearing the forest around the wall would supply the necessary building materials automatically. The natural resources of Britannia in terms of stone have not yet been explored. Perhaps new quarries will yield enough stone – perhaps they won't. This way, we don't even have to find out.”
“And it would solve the problem of the production of stone and mortar,” added Nepos, thoughtfully, “and the difficulty of getting mortar to set in cold or wet weather. It would considerably
reduce the time required to build such a wall – we could complete the work in one year instead of six. It is an excellent solution.” He turned hopefully to look at the Emperor, but the black expression on Hadrian's face wiped the tentative smile from his own. Slowly, like a thundercloud forming, Hadrian rose to his feet.
“A wooden palisade would be cheaper, you say? It would be easier. It would be quicker. Yes?” There were hesitant nods from the chiefs of staff.
CRASH! Hadrian's fist once again descended on the table. “I do not want something cheap, easy and quick! I want something Roman! Our Empire is going to last forever. FOREVER!” shouted Hadrian.
"Terminus has given me the vision of setting our Empire's boundaries and I will have them built here in stone!"
Silence once again filled the praetorium. Hadrian's anger was quickly over. He looked around the faces in the room and spoke quietly.
“I want this wall to be a permanent reminder that we are the power in the Empire. I want Rome in this rebellious backwater, where the people don’t forget they have an Emperor! I want the people to tremble as they see what we are capable of!” His piercing gaze swept around the room. “When Romulus struggled to build his wall of stone to found our great city, when his brother mocked it, did he give up and build a fence instead?” remarked Hadrian. “This wall is more than a border, more than a limes. This is a sign to make the barbarians shudder! Something to make them think twice about crossing us. This wall is the power of Rome written across this barbaric land – and it will be written in letters of stone!”
“This wall will be the height of three men. We will create a defence of the likes that they have never seen before. It will be taller than the limes in Germania and wider than any other wall we have ever made. It will be the greatest wall in the Roman Empire.” The men around him nodded in agreement.
“Yes, Caesar, we understand. We will make it so,” motioned the officers around the table.
An hour later, once Hadrian's storm had passed, the staff officers left. Marcus waited awkwardly outside the planning room
where the turbulent meeting had taken place. The centurion who had summoned Marcus had made it very clear that the audience was for him alone, not for Novantes, still less Cornelia. After spending all his time with one or both of his companions, for the duration of the journey to Britannia, Marcus felt a little strange and nervous to be facing the Emperor alone. When the call came for him to enter, he swallowed and stood to attention.
"Hail, Caesar!"
"Welcome, Marcus Lusius Quietus.”
“Nepos, this is the young man I told you of.”
“Quietus, General Nepos is the commander of all the Roman forces in Britannia. He is therefore in charge of the great building project that I am sure you have now heard of."
"Yes, Caesar," replied Marcus. He tried not to be too distracted by the massive drawing on the whitewashed wall that stretched the entire length of one of the room. It looked something like a map, but not of the fort, and if it was a map of the local area, he could not place the landmarks.
Nepos looked sceptically at the young man gawking at the plans for the wall. Hadrian seemed to place great faith in Marcus’s experience, but this former cavalry officer did not look old enough to have much useful experience of anything, to Nepos's mind. Hadrian could see the doubt in his General's eyes.
"Quietus," he said, jerking Marcus's attention away from the drawings, "are you aware of why I called you here?"
"No, Caesar, I'm afraid not."
"You have experience with the British tribes – direct, painful experience from your service with the auxiliary cavalry in the Ninth Legion. You know their ways, you know their territories, you know their weaknesses. Many of our troops will be fully committed to building this great stone wall that will stretch from coast to coast," he gestured at the wall behind him. "I want to put you in charge of assuring their security. I want you to command all cavalry units here in Britannia and quell the British tribes until the work is done. Are you willing?" Marcus hardly heard the question. Suddenly, the map on the wall swam into place. That was the Aelius Port, there on the right; the thin lines
were the major Roman roads that met at Coria, slightly to the east; and the thick line in the middle, studded with squares that could only represent forts, that was the wall! The scale of it was breathtaking.
"Quietus?" nudged Hadrian. Nepos looked on, unimpressed.
"My apologies, Caesar. Yes, I am more than willing to fight against the barbarian tribes. There is nothing I desire more than to avenge the deaths of my comrades in the Ninth Legion and to serve you. Thank you for this opportunity!" Hadrian smiled warmly at the passion evident in Marcus's voice and face.
"I am glad. General Nepos and I will depart tomorrow on an expedition to survey the land where the wall will be built. I would like you to join us. It will take around 7 days. Nepos will discuss the specifics of your command upon our return. In the meantime, reacquaint yourself with the area and the troops, start thinking about what you will require for this command and prepare a report for the General. However, for today, all I require of you is the answer you have given. You have had a long journey and must be tired." It was clear that Marcus was being dismissed, but he felt he had a duty to speak on behalf of his companions. He was not the only one with friends to avenge and honour to reclaim.
"Caesar, if I may?" Hadrian turned back to face him, his expression quizzical. "I have two companions with me, who were both involved along with me in the struggle against the Brigantes last year. Novantes is an infantryman, formerly of the First Cohort Gallorum, which was destroyed at Bremenium. He would like to re-enlist. I know that his exit from the army was somewhat irregular, but I will vouch for him. I would trust him with my life."
"Certainly," said Hadrian. "And the other?"
"The other," said Marcus with a hint of hesitation, "is my wifeto-be, Cornelia. She is skilled in the healing arts and speaks fluent Latin and some Celtic."
Hadrian stroked his beard. "I see."
He was not inclined to give a lecture on moral standards to a serving soldier far from his homeland. "Well, married officers are
allowed to keep their wives within the fort now, Quietus. Perhaps you should get married? In the meantime, she is welcome to the Roman army's hospitality, such as it is."
"Thank you, Caesar!" said Marcus, and snapped out a salute.
After Marcus had left, Hadrian turned to Nepos.
"Well, Nepos, say what is on your mind. I can see that you are uneasy."
"I am uneasy, Caesar, it is true. This Quietus, how old is he? Twenty-seven, perhaps? Very young for such responsibility. And then his experience: he has been a Prefectus alae, yes, but his short and premature career ended ingloriously, to say the least! I would not place so much faith in such a man."
"You have spoken freely, Nepos, and that is one of the reasons that I value your advice so much. However, in this case I think you fail to see the other side of the coin: a young man, promoted early because of ability, robbed of glory by misfortune, full of zeal and ambition. And then, his father, of course …" Hadrian said no more on that subject. Marcus's father and three other senators had been unfairly executed as traitors by Attianus at the start of Hadrian's reign. The Emperor had only found out when it was too late. However, the damage had been done with the Senate, and from then on they had eyed Hadrian with suspicion.
"For the very reasons you doubt Quietus, I have complete faith in him. There is no one in the whole of the Roman Empire more determined to serve me well and restore his family's good name. He will not let me down."
Nepos bowed acquiescence, although a deep line of doubt still lingered between his eyebrows. Still, after Hadrian's uncompromising words in the meeting this afternoon, he had other things to worry about than his choice of cavalry commander. He turned back to the intimidating maps on the wall, his hand unconsciously returning to raking his hair.
He picked up another goblet of wine and drained it into his mouth. Just before he had left for Britain, a strange story had begun to circulate. It was said that when in Athens, Hadrian had put a man to death in a demonstration of power. Hadrian had killed him not for acting against him, but simply for keeping
silent. The story had been told to him by a reliable source and this bothered Nepos now. This was the greatest military project he had ever been given. Hadrian would not forgive him for keeping silent upon this great commission.
“Marriage is not about the bride and groom; it is about political consolidation.”
Cicero
CHAPTER 3
TEMPLE OF VENUS, ROME
MAY 4TH 122 AD, 2PM
Senator Blandus Secundus had to pause momentarily as he entered the temple. The light outside had been blinding, bathing the Roman architecture of the city in an idyllic golden haze. The temple, by contrast, was dim, lit only by a handful of candles. As his eyes adjusted, he could drink in the details of his surroundings. The Temple of Venus was all but deserted except for a lone woman who knelt at the foot of a statue of the goddess. The woman was pouring out an offering of wine as she knelt in prayer. Her slaves lined the walls of the temple, as unmoving as the statues that decorated the holy place.
“Vibia Sabina,” Blandus murmured, “forgive the intrusion of a fellow worshipper.” He had covered his head with a fold of his toga as he approached and knelt beside the woman without waiting for an invitation.
Sabina did not shift her gaze from the statue of Venus. She was an attractive woman; her hair was thick and glossy, and her rich garments that cascaded over her curves not only spoke of her status but also showed off her figure in a way that made the statue look inadequate by comparison.
“You worship Venus, senator?” she asked sweetly, her voice ringing out like a silver bell in the silence of the temple.
“I worship all the Gods. One can never be too careful.” He smiled. She turned her head sharply and regarded the senator for a moment before turning her attention back to her libation, mouthing ancient prayers.
Blandus watched, his lips remaining still. One of the priestesses of the temple appeared, as if from nowhere, shadowed by two acolytes. The Senator watched the virgins with a rising hunger as they moved gracefully across the marble.
“I must say,” he said, turning his attention back to Sabina, “it makes a wonderfully appropriate scene. A beautiful woman, married to the esteemed Emperor, who worships a beautiful goddess married to the God of war.”
“Venus was married to Vulcan, the elderly, limping blacksmith, senator. She and Mars were in love but were never married,” Sabina replied, with an air of irritation.
“Ah, of course, my mistake,” Blandus let a wolfish smile spread over his lips, “but still, perhaps not inappropriate. I trust the Emperor is well?” Blandus allowed the question to hang in the air. Sabina’s face was a serene mask.
“I trust so too. But as you must know, he is far away, in the north,” she replied, her voice not betraying her emotions.
“Britannia,” Blandus said with a grand air, his voice rising to echo in the silence of the temple and drawing the attention and wrathful scowl of the priestess. The Senator ignored the servant of Venus and continued talking, but in slightly lower tones. “It is no secret that the Emperor is travelling around the Empire.” Blandus moved closer to Sabina as he spoke so that the lavender scent of her skin was almost overwhelming to his senses.
The wife of the Emperor Hadrian tensed as she felt the Senator’s breath on her skin, but held her ground at the feet of the goddess.
“What do you want, senator – Blandus, isn’t it?” She sounded bored by the intrusion of the Senator, his company more than a little tiresome.
“It is.” He looked up at the marble statue. “One cannot help thinking that Venus’s life might have been happier if she had not remained married to Vulcan.” Blandus resisted the temptation to reach out and brush the hair from Sabina’s shoulders.
“Almost certainly, but Gods do not divorce,” Sabina breathed, turning her eyes to Blandus’s profile.
“And neither do Emperors. But unlike divinity, Caesar is not always a permanent condition,” Blandus whispered as he brought his lips to almost caress her ear.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Sabina gasped.
“You understand me perfectly. You are as intelligent as you are
beautiful.” He spoke so softly she could barely hear him, but the words rolled over her skin, causing her to shudder. “The Emperor has many enemies in the Senate. The men of the Senate have long memories and are not known for their mercy. The Emperor's execution of four senators left Caesar with enemies who would see him suffer more than Julius Caesar did at the hands of Brutus. This tour of the Empire is nothing more than the Emperor hiding from his enemies in the provinces, but there will be no escaping their retribution.”
Sabina nodded, ever so slightly, to show she had acknowledged what the Senator had said.
“But he also has many allies.”
“Not as many as he imagines. Many are not only better candidates but have stronger claims to the name of Caesar than our beloved Emperor. If Vulcan were no longer a God …” Blandus let the last words drip off his tongue, tantalising as they hung in the air. Sabina raised her hand, indicating to her slaves that she required privacy.
“My loyalty is to the Emperor,” she hissed again.
“I am the unofficial power of the Senate. I have the power to ally the factions of the Senate. There is no more money coming in from new provinces any more as your husband has re-trenched the Empire. He has stopped our glorious expansion and therefore stopped many of the rich senators from becoming even wealthier. Consider this my lady …” said Blandus, letting a sly and satisfied smile spread across his lips before he began to speak more.
The fort at Pons Aelius was peaceful around Nepos as he stared at the oil lamps that were slowly burning down to nothing. His meeting with the Emperor had left him feeling restless and the size of the project that Caesar had proposed weighed heavily on his mind.
The morning was fast approaching and yet Nepos couldn’t
retire to his bed. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair in which he sat as he contemplated the wall. Hadrian’s Wall.
Nepos had been friends with the Emperor for years. Both had grown up in the Roman city of Italica in southern Spain, one of the earliest Roman settlements founded after the victory over the Carthaginians. They both came from military families that had distinguished themselves. Hadrian had promoted him from Governor of Thrace and then further to Governor of Germania. He had tasked him with the construction of the limes in Germania and inspected them during his tour last year, which had impressed him. The limes Germanicus was the name given to the line of frontier fortifications that had been started in 74 AD and had consisted of a continuous wooden palisade reaching from the Rhine to the Danube. These frontiers were essential to limit the Roman Empire from the unsubdued Germanic tribes.
Hadrian had given him many jobs to perform and Nepos was proud of the fact that no matter what he had been asked to do, he had been successful. From organising the legions that served in Germania, to the sieges of Gaul, Nepos had proven himself a useful asset to the Emperor – a man who had forged a reputation as one of the great generals of Rome, a man who knew the value of being prepared and of good organisation; these were the secrets to a successful military campaign.
An army matched on its stomach and an army without supplies, roads to march or camps to strike from was an army that would soon see defeat, no matter how many soldiers there were.
Yet the prospect of building Hadrian’s Wall was a challenge far beyond mounting a successful military campaign. The longer Nepos thought about the grand plan of his Emperor, the more he came to realise that the task he had to oversee was impossible. From the plans he had been shown, the wall was to stand three times the height of a man and its width was to be the height of a man. The total distance he had never believed any man would attempt to build in stone – eighty Roman miles. The Gods, eighty miles! He thumped the arm of his chair in frustration.
But the worst problem with the project was that it was to be made of stone. Stone, not wood, and then there were the
forts that were to be built to man the wall. He had spent hours doing calculation after calculation and coming back to the same conclusion. Nearly 4 million tonnes of stone would be required. Where would it come from?
Then there were the men that would be needed to undertake such a task, where would they come from? And if by some miracle the stone and the men could be found, then where would the horses they needed come from? There was already a shortage of horses in Britannia and construction would only intensify that.
Planning for such a project had his mind filled with doubt, unanswered questions and concerns that such a construction would only lead to more rebellion amongst the native tribes. His temples throbbed as he felt a migraine descending and reached for his wine. There were only a few hours until the Emperor wished to ride out and inspect the site that would see the start of the wall’s construction. He prayed silently to the Gods that there would be something that would change the Emperor’s mind and that he would be able to get at least some sleep before dawn.
Nepos called on Marcus as soon as dawn had broken and he had awoken. His head ached lightly and he thought of their intended journey along the wall this day. It would be better to get the young officer out to scout the area before they set off. He didn’t like the idea of not taking a full complement of guards with him. The sun was low in the sky and Nepos had yet to get enough sleep when he pounded on the door of Marcus’s quarters.
Marcus had shouted abuse at the door when he had been woken, thinking it was merely a messenger, a foot soldier sent on a fool’s errand. However, when he opened the door and saw the unimpressed and slightly haggard face of General Nepos, the commander’s demeanour rapidly changed.
Marcus stood, stammering apologies that received nothing more than a raised eyebrow in return from the general before he
ordered Marcus to scout ahead of Caesar’s main party.
“You know the land around here?” Nepos asked, cutting across Marcus’s apologies.
“Yes, General,” Marcus replied as he shifted uncomfortably under Nepos’s gaze, painfully aware of how underdressed he was, as he only had a sheet wrapped around his waist.
“The Emperor wishes to see the site for the wall. Scout ahead and report back here at the eighth hour,” Nepos barked, turned sharply and left without allowing Marcus to respond.
Marcus dressed quickly and went over to the cavalry barracks block and entered the small room at the end to wake Novantes.
“We are to scout ahead for the Emperor.” Marcus smiled at his tired cousin.
Novantes slipped out of bed and moved towards the window. He shuddered slightly as his feet touched the freezing floor. Novantes’ eyes were open but he could barely see as he searched for his cloak amongst the clothes that were strewn across the floor.
“We are to leave now and I am to report back at the eighth hour,” Marcus sighed as Novantes spotted his cloak.
Outside he could see the cloudy sky was overcast. The sun was breaking through in the east and a light wind blew. The soldiers who patrolled the walls of the fort wore double cloaks when in Britannia. The outer cloak was covered in duck fat, which made it as waterproof as possible, and the inner cloak was woollen to keep them warm. On days like this it was necessary.
“I thought we might at least have got a full night’s sleep,” moaned Novantes.
“Welcome to the army again,” smiled Marcus. “You can relax when you get back. I have to travel the next few days with the Emperor.”
“Oh, you’re right back into the thick of it. Be careful, cousin. You know how dangerous this land is,” Novantes said gravely.
“That’s why I’m taking you,” laughed Marcus.
Marcus was worried; he could read it in every line of his face. He also knew he was right. Roman patrols had disappeared before, never to be seen again, swallowed up by the unforgiving
land and the barbaric tribes that haunted these shores.
“You and I know this area better than anyone else.” He tried to sound reassuring as he spoke. “General Nepos has ordered that we scout the area again. Rather than wake up the entire turmae, I thought it would be easier if you and I did it so we could get our bearings again.”
Novantes nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “It’s better we both do this than you go alone.”
Marcus frowned. "I value my honour greatly, and I feel I have much to prove to those in Rome who would dismiss me because of my name and the downfall of the Ninth Legion. More importantly, the Emperor specifically asked me to lead his cavalry," he explained.
"I understand your viewpoint, but that doesn't mean you should ignore the dangers around you. Wherever Emperor Hadrian is, there are always political risks – intrigues and betrayals that no soldier should be entangled in. While Hadrian is known to dislike politics, he is not above using you for his own ends," Novantes replied.
The two men set off from the fort. Marcus tucked his cloak tightly around his torso with the wind biting around them. The ponies were given a long rein so they could easily pick their way through the early morning pitch, the ground worn beneath their hooves. Marcus took them through the principia gate to the north, telling the soldiers on the gate they would be back in a few hours. They nodded their understanding and looked at the two new soldiers riding out into the early morning.
They rode at a walk, giving them time to properly scan their surroundings and to let the ponies safely negotiate the ground, which was quickly turning to mud as they passed into the countryside.
Marcus and Novantes rode through the area they had previously passed just a year ago. The long grass surrounded them. Summer was here, yet it was still a cold morning wind. They scouted along the area in front of the fort and took in the view back to the Roman fort.
Novantes laughed. "You know I never thought we would be
back in the army, let alone back in Britannia!" he mused.
"The Gods must have a sense of humour," added Marcus.
The cousins revisited the old area they knew so well from months before when they had covered it as auxiliary cavalry forces under the Ninth Legion. The landscape outside the fort was drier now and the grasslands appeared even taller than they could remember. It would be easy to hide anywhere in the grass at this height and the soldiers carefully stuck to the tracks that were well worn. A stream of black smoke rising from a roundhouse a few miles away in the forest was the only visible sign that anyone was around. The owner had lit an early fire perhaps to do the cooking on. Eventually, after doing a full circle and not seeing anyone else at all, they headed back to the fort.
The sun had come fully up and it was nice to feel the warmth once again on their faces, but the wind remained, and by the time the men returned to Pons Aelius, the ponies were exhausted. Nepos had managed to fall asleep again for what felt like seconds and was woken by his slave before the eighth hour with his mind as full as it had been before Somnus had let him drift off. Hadrian, by contrast, was buoyant as he descended the steps into the courtyard where his horse awaited him.
“Hail, Caesar,” Nepos greeted the Emperor as Hadrian walked over to where Nepos was overseeing the preparations. Clarus had assembled the Praetorian Guard and was standing looking unimpressed as the horse master was shouting, trying to argue with him about the number of horses that had been sequestered.
“Good morning, Caesar. I trust you slept well back on dry land,” Nepos said with a hint of hope in his voice.
“I slept very well thank you,” Hadrian replied. “I am more excited to see this country and its features and the wall. Is everyone ready?” Hadrian asked as the Praetorian Guard saluted the Emperor and the horse master’s protests over the horses being saddled were swept aside.
“Everyone, save for our guide, Caesar,” Nepos replied. “I sent out Quietus to scout ahead, but he hasn’t reported back yet.”
Some minutes later, Marcus and Novantes pulled into the courtyard.
“You’re late,” Nepos greeted Marcus as he dismounted from his pony, handed it to the stable boy and saluted the general.
“My apologies, General,” Marcus said without a hint of remorse.
“What have you to report?” the Emperor asked as he moved away from the conversation, he had been having with Clarus to join Nepos and Marcus.
“Hail, Caesar. The ground is good for both horses and on foot. We circled north and there were no signs of any barbarians on the route we took,” Marcus spoke clearly.
“I see, well then it would be best if you accompanied us as our guide.” Hadrian clapped his hands and smiled warmly. Nepos frowned slightly but nodded as he signalled to Clarus that they would need another horse.
The Praetorian Prefect closed his eyes and sighed, his shoulders dropping as he went back to the horse master to listen to more protests as he retrieved yet another animal.
Sabina had decided for herself to follow in her husband's footsteps. It was not unusual for members of the Senate to be invited to accompany the Emperor on state visits, she reminded herself. She would visit Britannia with Senator Blandus to see if what he said was true. What was Hadrian doing in Britannia, and did he still have so many enemies in the Senate?
Whilst travelling, Sabina had time to remember her memories of Hadrian from before he had become Emperor. They had met in Emperor Trajan’s villa in Athens when she was just 15 years old. He was singing some rousing military chorus but had put a light-hearted spin on it and changed the words. Brown curly hair, no beard or heavy matters weighted upon his head, and his face reflected a life full of hope and possibility. How much they had laughed at many things. He had been so well read, educated and of course charming. A great recounter of anecdotes and stories
of the ancient world, he also had the alertness of one who must live by his wits and who was always hungry for more. Hadrian's adopted father Trajan and his wife Plotina had insisted it would be a fine match for both of them. To begin with, it had been.
Now upon his appointment as Emperor matters had changed. Sabina was no great concern to Hadrian. He was always on military service and they had never had children, which she had wanted so much. They were possessed of enough understanding to respond to each other in public, and that was all that was required now. He treated her with the respect of her rank in life, nothing more. She had once asked him for a divorce but he had refused. He had said it was considered necessary to have a marriage that was a strategic alliance. His popularity was founded on his reputation as a soldier and Emperor. She had laughed at the military term he used. In reality, she felt trapped in her situation.
Senator Blandus had been a gentleman of his word so far and they had discussed politics for much of the journey. They set sail from Rome to Narbo in southern Gaul and then took a further three boat journeys to Londinium in 20 days. Despite the long journey Sabina enjoyed the fresh air and getting away from the heat of Rome.
Upon arrival in Londinium, she marvelled at the basilica which had been built and its enormous forum. Blandus was amazed to see the local women wearing beautiful Roman clothes. Roman fashion had caught up with the province.
Londinium appeared to be at its height, with many merchants and trading vessels reflecting its status as Britannia’s first city. At the port, she commandeered a covered cart pulled by four horses. Despite the protests of the owner, she paid him and covered its floor with cushions so that the journey was as comfortable as possible. Some of the luggage was added to the wagon; however, a further three horses with luggage sets hanging on each side travelled behind them. The British centurion she met insisted
on an armed escort of a dozen men also. Stopping at lodgings at regular intervals, she met the appointed local dignitaries who ensured fresh horses were always available. Blandus and Sabina felt like tourists visiting the far-flung province on holiday.
Fortunately, the roads were extensive and in good condition, largely to cope with the transportation of military vehicles and soldiers. As they headed north out of the capital, she saw more soldiers marching northwards than she could count, plus wagons full of supplies and hundreds of horses and mules.
Sabina questioned whether they were all heading north for the same reason. What were her husband's plans? ~O~
With the added help of the light of day and the rain having stopped, the cavalry mounts travelled along the road out of Pons Aelius fort as they departed westwards for the first few miles.
"Let us go and see my bridge," ordered the Emperor, as he led the group down the steep-sided valley that took them towards the new bridge that had been built over the river. Ten great stone piers had been driven into the river bed and the stone bridge stretched from the north side to the south approximately 800 feet long.
“There was a wooden bridge here originally, Caesar,” said Nepos proudly. “This one built of stone will last the length of time now we have built it properly.”
"You are starting to sound like me," smiled Hadrian to Nepos.
Nepos took the opportunity to show Hadrian that the legions had made their mark on the north already.
“Our engineers and soldiers are the best in the world,” agreed Hadrian.
“This bridge will carry the road over it and continue on westwards,” explained Nepos. “And our supply lines from the south will be brought up quicker,” he added firmly.
They carried on westwards from the port, following a trail of yellow markers hammered into the ground. This was the
proposed line of the wall and it was taking advantage of as much of the geography as possible.
Nepos stopped after around 3 miles and pointed out the straight line ahead of them.
“This shall be our first fort here,” motioned Hadrian. They were now in open countryside and the views around them were clear in all directions.
“It's a peaceful and beautiful place,” remarked the Emperor.
"Let's name this one Condercum," agreed Nepos.
Nepos slid off his horse with his hammer and bag of stakes. He considered the existing line of the posts and now hammered a red post into the ground between the two yellow ones. “This would indicate a fort here, Caesar. As you say, it has all-round visibility and is approximately 3 miles from the port.”
“Excellent,” smiled Hadrian. “The overall plan will be to have soldiers in these forts to support the wall and control the area. We shall continue westwards and quickly inspect the lie of the land.”
With Nepos leading the way, they carried on a further 6 miles until suddenly the markers stopped.
“What’s the matter?” asked Hadrian to Nepos as he looked around confused. He consulted the map in his hand once again.
“This should be the site,” Nepos said as he reined his mount to a halt and scanned the landscape from the top of a small rise.
“Should be?” the Emperor asked as he pulled out a small map of the area that he had made to carry out his inspections. He had ordered a cartographer to draw out the entire length of the wall on a series of small parchments so that he could look at them without having to have a table to roll out the maps on.
“Yes, Caesar, but something is wrong.” Nepos frowned.
Marcus dismounted and handed his horse to one of the praetorians.
Nepos continued, “Surveyors and a small detachment of legionaries were sent out here to start preparing the ground, but there are no signs they have been here.”
Nepos squinted and stood up in his saddle to get a better view down the far side of the rise. The Emperor dismounted and pulled his cloak a little tighter around his body to keep out the cold of the
wind. Everyone was looking at the ground to see any sign of the yellow marker posts that the surveyors used.
“General!” Marcus called and waved Nepos over to where he was kneeling on one knee.
“What is it, Quietus?” Nepos asked gruffly as he kicked his horse over to where Marcus knelt.
“There are holes here in the ground, they’ve filled with water from the rain, but something was forced into the ground here. There are some yellow splinters floating in one a few feet over there,” Marcus said quietly as he used his head to indicate the direction. Nepos narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.
“The rain has washed away any signs of a struggle that might have been here. Take two of the Praetorian Guards and see if you can find any signs of the horses further out. Make sure you stay within my sight; if you disappear, then I will leave you here and take the Emperor back to the fort without a second thought,” Nepos warned.
“Yes, General, I understand,” replied Marcus, looking around cautiously.
Nepos moved back to the Emperor and positioned himself on the other side of Hadrian, between his friend and where Marcus stood.
Some distance away, deep in one of the thicker bushes, Ortagorus and Vordimus lay silently watching the Praetorian Guards and the three men who were riding with them.
“Who are they?” Ortagorus asked in a whisper as he watched the Romans examining the ground.
“That’s the Emperor,” Vordimus nodded to the older man who stood at the top of the rise gazing out across the barren landscape.
“The Emperor? Are you sure?” the chief of the Brigantes hissed, straining his eyes to get a better look at Hadrian.
“Positive. He is the one with the beard,” Vordimus said “and the man on the horse next to him, that is General Nepos, the newly named Governor of Britannia.” The ex-Roman soldier spat and narrowed his eyes slightly.
“What are they doing out here? Looking for those men we killed?” Ortagorus looked at the two men with suspicion.
“No. The Emperor and Governor wouldn’t ride out here in search of lowly soldiers,” Vordimus shook his head and glanced at the Praetorian Guard. “It’s something else.”
“This grand plan we keep hearing about,” Ortagorus growled.
“It would seem so, but what kind of plan would see the Emperor riding out here with the Governor?” Vordimus asked himself rather than Ortagorus.
“Who are the soldiers?” the Brigantes chief asked, looking at the men who were slowly spreading out around the Emperor, seemingly in a casual fashion.
“The Praetorian Guard, the Emperor’s sworn bodyguards, some of the most highly trained members of the Roman forces. They are loyal to the Emperor above all others; they would each willingly lay down their lives to save him. They have noticed we have removed their markers and they know something is wrong.”
“What makes you think that?” Ortagorus asked, frowning.
“Look at the way they are spread out, they are all exactly a sword’s length away from each other and they have formed a barrier around the Emperor with enough room so that he can escape if they are attacked.” Vordimus shook his head and shuffled backwards, away from where the Roman forces were.
“What about the other man, the one who keeps shivering?” Ortagorus asked, moving backwards with Vordimus.
“I don’t know, but I recognise his face. He looks familiar somehow,” Vordimus breathed. Ortagorus growled and backed away from the Romans with Vordimus beside him. They moved silently through the undergrowth of bushes.
“These Roman scum are no better than cockroaches, we need to eradicate them, remove them from our lands completely, and we need to know more of this grand plan. Simply observing them is not giving us any indication of what they are up to – we need to speak with the Elders about sending in more spies. Spies that can get close to this Governor and Emperor.”
Meanwhile, Marcus was making sure he was within Nepos’s eye line as he moved further away from the Emperor, looking for any indications that there had been a fight here. The rain had washed away any sign that anyone had passed by; no blood,
no trampled grass or muddy tracks showed where men had stood, there wasn’t even any evidence that a fire had been set for the soldiers who would have been ordered to accompany the surveyors. Marcus was about to give up and return to Nepos when he noticed some broken branches in a small thicket close to the tall grass that lay on all sides. He stepped closer and in the depths of the small shrub there were scraps of red material that could only have belonged to a Roman legionary's cloak.
Marcus carefully reached into the bush and pulled out the scraps of material without saying a word.
“What is it?” Nepos asked as Marcus approached.
“In the thicket over there, I found these,” Marcus replied as he handed over the scraps to the General.
“Material from a legionary cloak?” the Emperor observed as he moved to see what Marcus had found.
“Yes, Caesar,” Marcus replied.
“So, our soldiers have been here,” Nepos sighed. “Caesar, I think we should ride on to Vindolanda and send out some more surveyors with a better informed and prepared escort.”
“Very well, Nepos, I want work to begin on the road too, a good Roman road so that we can easily reach the wall.” Hadrian motioned that his horse should be brought to him. Clarus led the mount forward and held him steady as the Emperor mounted.
"It is a further 30 miles west, sire," added Nepos, "just around an hour and a half."
The party rode west towards the great fort of Vindolanda, Nepos riding next to Hadrian, his migraine from the night before returning as he thought of the resources he would need to create the roads. As each mile flew by there was no sign of any further yellow posts. Someone had removed them all and taken away the evidence. Had the local farmers taken them? Surely the local tribes would not have noticed these posts already? He would organise a meeting with the local tribal chief when he got back. In the meantime, it meant that he needed to get the surveyors to remark the wall line again.
Sabina was tired of the journey. Travelling on the roads with the Senator and listening to him outline his plan, he appeared to have the voice of the Senate with him. Hadrian did have enemies still left, there was no doubt. A year ago, he had ordered the execution of four high-ranking senators. The Senate had never forgiven him for it. Did they wish to discredit the Emperor, to see him ruined and removed from his seat of supreme power? Sabina did not trust Blandus. She would wait and play the game of the loving wife. There was a voice in the back of her mind that told her that if they were discovered, Blandus would offer her up as a sacrifice to save his own skin.
“Can I help you?” a soldier asked as they approached Port Aelius.
The covered cart pulled by the four horses arrived into the gateway of the fort.
“Do you know who I am?” Sabina demanded of the lowly foot soldier who looked confused and shook his head. “I am Vibia Sabina, wife of Emperor Hadrian,” she said coldly and watched the soldier scramble away from her in search of his centurion. He returned moments later looking flustered, followed by a nervouslooking legionary.
“My lady, we had not been told that you were to arrive, the Emperor and Governor left no word of your coming. Please accept our most sincere apologies for not preparing a proper reception for you.” The centurion bowed slightly to Sabina and glanced at the man who stood behind her.
“Your apology is noted, centurion. Where is the Emperor?” she asked, glancing over the head of the officer and looking distinctly bored by the conversation. She was dressed in thick furs that kept out even the biting wind of Britannia. It was not raining, which the wife of Hadrian was grateful for; she had seen enough of the roads to last her a lifetime after her journey to this backwater of the Empire.
“He has travelled across the province, my lady.”
“Then arrange some transportation for my luggage. I require an escort and to be shown to the nearest fort.”
“Of course, my lady,” nodded the centurion, “I shall take you there myself. It is just a few minutes away from the port.”
“This is Senator Blandus. He will be accompanying me,” she instructed.
“Please follow me, my lady, and we shall arrange for your luggage to be unloaded and brought up to the fort,” motioned the centurion.
The soldier and centurion looked nervously at one another as they noted the three horses laden with luggage.
"Just as well I travel light," added Sabina, pointing to the three horses. “Please deliver these bags to my room,” she added through gritted teeth.
“Yes, my lady.” The two soldiers disappeared and Sabina inwardly cursed her husband and the land she had been forced to visit. She now missed Rome. The heat, the colours, the comfort and the adoring people that fawned all over her; there would be no one like that in Britannia.
With two soldiers in front and the centurion at her side, they reached the fort and were forced to halt outside the gates whilst the optio and a sickly looking man came to see what the party wanted.
“My lady!” Suetonius exclaimed as he recognised Sabina and signalled that they should be allowed through the gates. Hadrian's secretary shouted instructions and waved away the optio as he offered his hand to help the wife of the Emperor alight from the cart. “What a terrible ordeal for you, please come in out of the cold, I will ensure that your luggage is dealt with and that quarters are arranged for you and your companion.”
“This is Senator Blandus. This is Suetonius, my husband’s secretary,” Sabina said with a forced smile.
“Ah, I have heard many great things about the Senator, a pleasure to meet you,” Suetonius flattered in a manner that the Blandus enjoyed.
“You must come and dine with me, please, come, come,” Suetonius beckoned, waving his arms about as though he were a crazed conductor.
“Though I am sure that the Senator would be glad to dine with you, I must beg to speak with my husband and then retire. The journey has been long, I’m sure you understand, Suetonius,” Sabina said testily.
“Of course, my lady, but your husband is not here; he left at dawn to survey the landscape to the north, but I will have you shown to your rooms and inform you when he has returned.” Suetonius bowed low and signalled that a slave should be summoned.
“Thank you. Your manners are a beacon of light in this dark and dismal place,” Sabina replied with sincerity.
“My lady, you are as kind as ever, your presence here is sure to enrich this land for the better,” Suetonius replied. Blandus marvelled at the man who stood before him; he had heard stories about his interfering reputation in Britannia.
“I am afraid that this is the best we can offer at present. I will enquire again to ask if they have anything more appropriate for you, my lady,” the secretary replied.
“Thank you, Suetonius. It is good to see a familiar face in this foreign place.” Sabina smiled warmly at the young man. He was quite handsome; the square line of his jaw and the depth of colour in his eyes were enough to attract the attention of any woman of Rome. The wife of the Emperor gazed at the secretary with soft eyes that caused him to blush and look away.
“If there is nothing else, my lady, I must return to my work,” he said quickly and felt Sabina’s body brush past him as she squeezed herself into her room.
“There is nothing else, for the moment. I will send for you if I need anything.” Sabina let her words fall from her tongue, barely above a whisper, causing a slight shudder to run down the spine of the young secretary, who nodded and rushed from the room. Sabina laughed to herself at how inexperienced the man was with women. If she were to know what her husband was up to in Britannia, then she would need someone close to him whom she could control.
“Luck is where opportunity meets preparation”
Senenca
CHAPTER 4
VINDOLANDA FORT IDES OF MAY 122 AD
“Ah this is more like it,” smiled Hadrian as they entered the enormous praetorium at Vindolanda. The size and space felt much greater than the small fort at Pons Aelius.
“Caesar, we also have a large bath house here for your use. If you wish, I shall make arrangements for you to have it to yourself in 1 hour?” asked Nepos. “And shall I ask the cooks to prepare you a game pie for dinner, Caesar?”
Hadrian looked up at Nepos with delight. “An army marches on its stomach, so I think I deserve such a treat,” he laughed. “My appetite has returned after getting off the boat. Make the arrangements for both. Before this, let us plan our activities for tomorrow. I wish to take tents and organise further surveyors and cavalry scouts to come with us. We shall visit the entire line of the wall in the next few days and have it completely marked out. We shall travel fast and light across the boundary till I see the exact location of every milecastle.”
“Nepos, I want you to mark on your map the quarries, sand pits and forest areas we come upon. The geography of the area will be used to our advantage. Anything new we discover should be added and continually updated.”
“Of course, Caesar, I always carry the master map with me. Should we take more soldiers with us, sire?” asked Nepos.
“No, Nepos, just another ten surveyors should do. This is not going to be a permanent camp with gates or ramparts.”
“Caesar, I am concerned for your safety. It appears that our men have been attacked. Perhaps more men would be cautious?” asked Nepos.
“No, it's not necessary. Clarus here is Prefect of the Praetorian Guard and he will make sure my safety is considered.”
“You will never be more than 10 feet away from me, Caesar.”
“See, Nepos. I feel safer already,” smiled Hadrian. “I feel sure a small party travelling light will not attract too much attention.”
Despite objections from Nepos to take further soldiers, Hadrian’s mind was made up.
“Very well, Caesar, I shall have it organised.” Nepos bowed before the Emperor and left him to get ready in his new quarters.
It was late May and the weather had begun to become warmer and drier as Hadrian, Marcus, Nepos, the Praetorian Guards and a small party of surveyors left Vindolanda.
They headed north to retrace their steps from where the yellow markers had stopped. They would travel via Agricola’s stone road on their way back.
It was not like the warm and dry climate that Nepos would have wished to find himself posted to, but the warming of the weather gave him some hope that his term as Governor of Britannia would not be filled with bitter cold and pouring rain.
Hadrian rode along as though he were completely ignorant of the dangers that the native tribes posed to him, Clarus silently despairing whenever Hadrian would spur off ahead of the party. As they headed the 3 miles north, the geography suddenly changed into dark rock. Nepos was keen Hadrian should see for himself the outstanding natural feature this afforded. As they climbed the gentle slope, the incredible view north became apparent. Below them, a sheer cliff face over 100 feet dropped to the bottom.
“It’s called ‘the Sill’ by the locals, Caesar,” Nepos explained.
It was perfect for what the Romans intended. The vantage in all directions was breathtaking.
“This truly is a great frontier,” remarked Hadrian. “We have a clear view over the north. Let us take measurements from here. This natural barrier is ideal for use.”
The surveyors jumped off the horses and started at once to hammer yellow posts into the ground. Along the ridge heading
eastwards they made fast progress, with the craggy rocks below them. Nepos and Hadrian moved so fast ahead of the surveyors that they simply turned over stones to indicate where the wall line should be. Marcus and the Praetorian Guards were trying to keep up with the constant quick travel and bursts of energy that the Emperor displayed. After several hours of riding, Marcus complained about being saddle sore with the number of crags. The party laughed it off. “This really is a hilly place,” he complained. Hadrian laughed too.
“We should let everyone know it!” he called to Nepos. "The fort here should be called Vercovicium – the hilly place."
As the wind dropped and the sun rising in the east warmed the Roman soldiers they stopped and drank in the view. It was strikingly beautiful.
"This is undeniably one of the greatest views I have ever seen," remarked Hadrian. "With its position high on the rock edge it gives magnificent views in all directions. I feel that Britannia has stolen my heart when I see such beautiful landscapes," he smiled.
Nepos opened his leather satchel from his side and unrolled the papyrus map for this section of the wall. He marked again the area they had covered and noted down a new quarry which would serve as an additional point to make sandstone blocks for the wall.
Not only had the giant Whin Sill acted as a great foundation to build a wall, but as a result of the geology many quarries were found in the area too. Near the surface and often in vertical faces, coal seams peeped through in various places. Nepos noted them keenly. They would provide useful sources of fuel for the kilns.
Onwards they pushed east, with the wind in their backs as the surveyors hammered down hundreds of markers. They rode for miles until they had passed a low gentle valley where the river had to be crossed. Nepos recalled that this was one of three bridges that had to be spanned across a river.
“This would make an ideal place for a cavalry fort,” remarked Hadrian. “We can run a road south of here to connect to Agricola’s road.”
"Very well, Caesar, I will have it marked on the map," agreed
Nepos. “We can cross the river here,” he motioned, indicating the lowest point in the river and pushing his horse into the dark water.
Just as he was halfway across, Nepos and Clarus’s horses, unused to the swirling water, began to panic in the strong current.
“Quickly,” ordered Hadrian, “use the ropes – we have to pull them back across.”
Numerous ropes were thrown from the riverside by the surveyors to each man. Once caught, the rope was tied around the horses’ necks. Gently and keeping the horses calm, they made their way back to the side of the river.
“This water is like a cauldron pool,” remarked Nepos, slightly shaken. “I thank the Gods they were with us today. I will not forget this place,” he said, taking a note of it on his map. “Cilurnum – the dark pool.”
The party rested together and on the next attempt, with the horses tied together, they all crossed safely to the other side.
By the end of the first day, they had covered 10 miles along the route of the wall, with posts hammered into the ground to indicate the line.
That night, when they made camp with their leather tents, Marcus took two of the guards and scouted the path ahead for the following day. Clarus set a watch and Nepos insisted that Hadrian sleep at the centre of the men, whilst Hadrian argued that there was no need.
It was a pattern that was repeated for another day as they moved across the landscape of Britannia. They had completed the section from northeast of Vindolanda directly and were now north of the Roman fort at Coria. Upon arriving at a plateau that commanded an obvious strong position, Hadrian noted this would make an ideal position for another fort.
“Where are we?” asked Hadrian.
“According to my map, Caesar, this would be milecastle 22 from the coast.”
Nepos showed where they stood on the map. Hadrian followed its position south.
“Have this marked as a strong position for a fort. Ideal hard
rock for a fort’s foundation. If we build a road directly south of here it will connect to the fort at Coria then.”
“Yes, Caesar. It would join the existing network of roads and make it stronger.”
“Very well. Let us call this Fort Onnum – the rock,” smiled Hadrian. “This fort would guard the road leading up from the south for our supplies.”
“Equally there should be a great gate which controls the traffic moving north and south.”
Nepos agreed it would make sense and therefore it was written in the wall plan.
Hadrian had seen the ground and decided there should be a great gate built here projecting to the north. The Port gate would be on the wall. This would be a crossing point in the wall and would be required to be manned and protected by this fort. The new Roman road they would make would join with the road from Agricola’s at Coria and provide a route for supplies from the east coast.
The existing fort at Coria, 3 miles south, had been built by General Agricola, some 40 years earlier. It was one of ten forts built by the Romans across the region. Since their withdrawal from the north of Britain, it now lay along the new frontier. Nepos had looked at this existing network of small forts and roads and knew this was useful. Using the natural features of the land to the north and integrating them with what already existed would strengthen the frontier.
“Nepos, you have done well, my friend,” Hadrian remarked. “This wall will follow a similar route to Agricola's old road but slightly to the north.”
“Thank you, Caesar,” replied a worried-looking Nepos. “With your permission, let us head back to Coria tonight, sire.”
“Yes, it will be good to have a roof over our heads again. Marcus, scout ahead and make sure the road is clear.”
“Yes, sire,” nodded Marcus as he turned south to find the old fort on Agricola's stone road.
The old fort at Coria was garrisoned by some troops from the Second Legion on the frontier. It was a significant military position as it bridged Dere Street from the south with Agricola’s stone road which ran east to west.
The soldiers in Coria were stunned when, late that night, a single officer banged on the great wooden door of the fort.
“OPEN UP!” shouted Marcus from his horse, standing at the main gate. The sentry on guard looked down over the lone rider.
"Go away before I spear you with this javelin.”
“My name is Marcus Quietus, commander of the cavalry in this province. Open this gate at once,” demanded Marcus.
“What's the password, sir?” asked the soldier.
“I don’t know today's password. We have been riding for 2 days with the Emperor.”
The soldier seemed suitably unimpressed with the statement.
“Go and get your officer in charge,” demanded Marcus of the young legionary. Quickly, a centurion appeared on the battlements above the great wooden doors.
“My name is Marcus Quietus,” he repeated. “Who are you?”
“I am the duty officer here,” smiled the centurion. “And you cannot get in without the password, sir.”
“Look,” said Marcus, “Emperor Hadrian is right behind me and he is coming to Coria. You need to open the doors and let him in.”
“Really, sir? Our Emperor? Is he bringing my mother with him too?”
There was a laugh from somewhere behind the battlements as more faces looked down on Marcus.
“If you were a cavalry commander, you would know that I need the daily password,” smiled the centurion.
Suddenly another horse came within earshot and a voice shouted out, “OPEN THIS GATE AT ONCE!”
“Who is this now?” murmured the centurion.
“I am Septicius Clarus, Head of the Praetorian Guard.”
“Yes and my name’s Julius Caesar. I don’t know what you two are playing at but it's time you boys went home. I will give you one more chance to run away.”
Clarus laughed. “The Guard doesn’t run away from the likes of you. What legion are you with? The Second Legion? You know, Marcus – what is the difference between the Second Legion and a slice of bread? You get better soldiers out of a slice of bread!” laughed Clarus. There was a smirk of laughter again from the battlements.
“Look at these two adolescents in front of us. How do you separate the men from the boys in the Guard?” asked the centurion mockingly.
“With a crowbar,” answered another voice.
Clarus laughed back at the soldiers. Neither side seemed to be willing to compromise as the light of the sky grew less and less. Further horses sounded behind the party waiting outside the fort.
“What is the delay?” a voice boomed from the distance. General Nepos drew up at the gatehouse of Coria fort. His horse’s nostrils flared from the fast journey.
“I am General Platorius Nepos, Governor of Britain. I’m ordering you to open this door now.”
“In the name of the Gods, we’ve got the whole top brass here,” the centurion's voice carried out, clearly worried.
“Centurion Balbsa, is that you?” noted General Nepos.
The soldier's jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Erm … yes sir, it is, sir!” sounded the surprised centurion.
There was a moment's pause as the centurion realised that the soldier standing outside was the top officer in the entire Roman Army.
“Well, get this gate open, damn it!” Nepos demanded.
“You heard General Nepos. Open the gates immediately,” he shouted down to the soldiers below him.
The great doors swung open just in time as Hadrian and the remaining praetorians and surveyors arrived and rode in through the gateway.
The legionaries stood open-mouthed before the officers in front of them.
The Emperor of Rome – Hadrian – the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard and the Governor of Britain, along with surveyors and scouts, sat on their panting horses in the gatehouse of Coria fort.
Centurion Balbsa sheepishly stepped forward and saluted the party.
“I am very sorry, sir, for the delay,” the centurion repeated to General Nepos. “We have had reports of a druid roaming the villages. One can’t be too careful who is lurking about in the dark these days.”
Nepos laughed. “Don’t worry, Balbsa, I am sure you were following protocol. It's not every day the Emperor visits Coria.”
Centurion Balbsa and Prefect Clarus eyed each other suspiciously.
“Come,” remarked Nepos, “let's light a bigger fire and rest our weary legs. Do you have any decent wine?”
“This is the second time you have come before us with grave news in such a short space of time,” spoke Caradoc, a frail-looking man with a voice that belonged to a younger man. Ortagorus and Vordimus cringed slightly as a murmur of agreement ran around the assembled men and women.
The elders of the tribes of Britannia were not known for being kind or gentle; most had survived the Roman occupation by being exceptionally skilled in battle, stealth, sabotage and murder. Some were priests and priestesses, servants of the gods, who had been spared death and torture by providence. Though Ortagorus was the leader of Brigantes, he lacked the wisdom of those assembled before him and any action he took in fighting the might of Rome had to be approved.
“The behaviour of the invaders is stranger than we have seen for many years,” a woman said with a rasping cough. She had been captured by the Romans and tortured many times, her body had been broken so that she could barely move, her eyes had
been burned by branding irons, leaving her blind, and yet her spirit remained. “The Emperor has come to these lands; there is certainly something here to trouble us.”
“Graine is right,” one of the other elders, Decanos, spoke up.
“Tell me, boy, what news do you bring us now?” Graine asked, tilting her head slightly, her lips breaking to form what would have been a smile in earlier days. She was one of the Brigantes, one of the grandmothers who should have been a dreamer on the island of Mona had it not been destroyed by the vile invaders. She was a tall woman, even with her body broken, and her hair had once shone like gold, whereas now it looked like freshly fallen snow. She was descended from Boudica and had spent her whole life fighting to throw off the yoke of Rome, as her ancestors had.
“The site where we found the soldiers and the men pushing yellow stakes into the ground, the Emperor was there with his new Governor and his guards,” Ortagorus spoke loudly so there would be no confusion amongst the elders.
“Are you sure it was the Emperor?” Venutious, one of the elders of the Brigantes, asked with a raised eyebrow. He was a proud warrior who had inspired fear amongst the tribes of Britannia as much as the Roman forces during the rebellion.
“I am,” Vordimus confirmed. "He had a beard.”
“There is something else you have not said,” Braint, an elder from the tribes to the north, observed. She was a good deal younger than the other elders, her place on their council being given as a sign of friendship between the tribes. She offered news from the north in exchange for information to send to her people. Vordimus had often considered her to be a beautiful woman, though he was certain that any advance he made towards her would be met with the removal of his manhood.
“The Roman legions in the south are marching north." Braint pursed her lips and looked over at Caradoc, who shook his head.
“What did you observe?” Venutious asked.
"They have recruited more of the local young men into their army. Their soldiers are marching north now."
He waited patiently for the buzz of discussion to die down
amongst the elders before he spoke again. “They are doing something – there is nothing for them to ride towards the setting sun for, save for the sea.”
“But the question remains, what are they up to?” Graine posited and shifted uncomfortably where she sat. “None of us here can answer that question. Briga has given us no answer in my dreaming, and your observations have told us little,” she said firmly but without judgement.
“We have decided it is best that we send someone to hide amongst the ranks of the Romans, a man we can trust to bring back the information we need who is not known to them,” Caradoc said as he rose from where he sat and walked across to the opening of the council hut. He disappeared briefly but returned with a young man in tow.
“Armthal has been trained to fit in with their slaves and servants; he will infiltrate their army and discover all we need to know,” Braint explained without emotion.
“This seemed to be the only solution after you reported back to us last,” she added as she noticed the flicker of disappointment and annoyance that flashed across Ortagorus’s face.
“Very well. I would have him report all that he knows to Vordimus and regularly, then no messages can be intercepted.” The chieftain of the Brigantes made the suggestion sound like an order.
“There is an ill wind from the north. Braint, I fear they have nothing but sad tidings for us.” The old woman shuddered and slowly hobbled from the hut.
“I will ride north and see what news my tribesmen have for us. They may have more they can tell us about what the invaders are doing,” Braint said firmly as she too rose and made ready to depart from the council.
“I shall ride with you,” Ortagorus offered. “If they have news of what the Romans are planning, then I would hear what they have to say.” Braint looked at him for a moment before nodding curtly.
Decanos and Venutious remained silent as the elders left the hut, waiting until they were alone.
“Do you think Armthal can find out all we need to know?” Decanos asked, frowning as one of the hounds wandered in from outside to curl up in front of him.
“I don’t know. There is little else we can do though. The Emperor visiting Britannia is almost unheard of; it would be the perfect time for another uprising,” Venutious began speculating.
“But we are not prepared,” Decanos said sharply.
“We defeated a legion of their soldiers, and now another has been sent here to maintain the peace,” the old man snorted in frustration.
“What do you think they are planning to do?” Venutious asked, trying to pacify his old friend by changing the subject.
“They seem to be planning to build something. The men that Vordimus and Ortagorus killed were involved in the same activities before that great, ugly fort was first conceived,” Decanos said, shuddering at the thought.
“There were tales my grandfather told me, stories passed down through generations, about how these Romans take what they want,” Decanos defended himself.
“He is right,” Graine’s voice cut into the conversation. Neither man was surprised that the elderly dreamer had reappeared seemingly out of nowhere; she had a unique talent for moving silently despite her disfigurements. Caradoc, her husband, stood beside her, looking more concerned than he had during their council.
“Stories of Boudica describe how they tried to rule her lands, and they sound eerily similar to what we have all witnessed,” Graine added.
“The same thought occurred to me,” Caradoc said gravely, his characteristic smile absent from his face.
“But what could they hope to build?” Venutious asked, attempting to dismiss the notion as preposterous.
“I don’t know, but I am certain it is something we must stop at all costs,” Decanos replied.
The soldiers at Coria, having been initially surprised by the arrival of their Emperor and senior officers, were saddened to see them leave. They had eaten with them, told them of their problems and shared their stories. Hadrian had listened intently and Nepos had taken notes. There will be changes coming soon within the army, Hadrian had assured them.
“I have been in the army all my life. Your experiences are important to me.”
Hadrian's devotion to the legions was unmatched. His soldiers loved him as one of their own.
“No hard feelings, sir,” Centurion Balbsa shook hands with Prefect Clarus as they left.
“Not at all, centurion. It's always a pleasure to see the men of the Second Legion,” smiled Clarus. “You see, Marcus, professionals are predictable. It's amateurs like these that are dangerous,” and they all laughed together.
Hadrian was in a buoyant mood and did not want any further delays. He spoke about the wall all the time and how important it was to them. He was enthralled to see the actual locations and layout personally. After a day to redraw their plans, they all had fresh horses. They were now riding north once again from Coria back to Vercovicium.
Upon reaching the great natural cliff once again, they headed west to Luguvalium to finish the markings for the wall.
Luguvalium had been a Roman settlement for over 40 years now and was the major Roman fort near the west coast of northern Britain. It was located on the major north–south and east–west roads situated on the Roman frontier. It was thus a strategic location and trading route which had grown up into a massive town.
They rode hard for the next 2 days, marking the wall length as quickly as possible. Every so often Hadrian would stop and start
explaining that a fort would watch over the road in this location to stop the natives from assaulting the wall or where a road would be built to this section. Nepos continually took notes and updated his maps whenever a new feature was found. Onwards they pushed for a further 4 days, laying down the line of the wall as they went. There were times when all this explanation caused Marcus to frown, his temples aching as he tried to understand what it was that Caesar was seeing and how it could all be possible. Nepos’s face seemed to grow longer each day. He continued to see the project in terms of mounting costs and unavailable materials, animals and men. The more Hadrian talked and the more Nepos saw along the route of the wall, the more he became convinced that this project was impossible to complete.
Hadrian’s mind would not let Nepos sleep. The excitement of the wall filled every part of his brain and demanded that he think of nothing else. There were matters of state that were waiting for his attention back at Vindolanda, reports from other frontiers about the state of Rome, as well as news from Rome and the Senate. But they would have to wait, as Britannia was Hadrian’s only concern.
At Magnis they rested again in a wooden fort which had previously been constructed under Agricola. It was good to be under a roof once again and to eat the food of the soldiers. The cavalry commander Flavius Servius was a perfect host and despite their cramped surroundings did his best to please his guests. The fort lay at the junction of the original Agricola road linking it with Coria in the east and Luguvalium in the west. Hadrian took great interest in what Servius had told him as he had never met any of the Dalmatian infantry who were housed there. The soldiers hailed from the other side of the Adriatic waters directly opposite Rome and were an auxiliary regiment that joined the Roman army after their capital had fallen in 6 AD. Their coastlines were dramatic and stunning and they had quickly been absorbed into the army as good, loyal recruits.
As the Imperial retinue progressed and they moved through the valley towards the west coast, stone quarries were marked and forests for tree cutting, which would be the first issue for
the military planning. The Emperor not only was the architect of the wall but also, it became apparent, had an eye for good sites for forts and roads. He loved the details of the project and the opportunity to become involved in every decision that was made.
No one cared whether or not the wall cut across good agricultural land. Native farmers would be removed, Hadrian informed them. They were on their final leg of the journey and were 19 miles from Luguvalium when Hadrian finally paused in a position high above the river.
“This is one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen,” remarked Hadrian. The party stopped once more to rest, to take measurements and allow the group of surveyors to catch up. The spur of land lay high up, overlooking yet another strategic river crossing with magnificent cliffs to the south.
“This is the site for another fort,” remarked Hadrian. What number is it, Nepos?”
“Fort Number 12, Caesar. We are just past Milecastle 49.”
“Very well,” nodded Hadrian. “Let it be called Banna – the Spur. It will have to defend the bridge that will be built here.” Nepos nodded in agreement.
Onwards they travelled west with a light wind and the sun in their faces. After arriving at Luguvalium they rested for one night. It was good once again to be in a wooden fort. Hadrian relaxed upon a couch in the praetorium, and food and drink were served to the tired and weary horsemen.
The fort commander asked the Emperor how the inspection was going.
“It is marvellous,” replied Hadrian. “I can see the walls and forts being built before my eyes. It is a dream that has been with me for many months now. To see it start and the country is inspiring.”
Hadrian stared off into the distance as if mesmerised by some unseen force. His mind was focused on the day’s activities. Hadrian had told the senior officers that the inspiration for the wall had been a gift from the Gods, a dream that had been given to him. Religion was a serious matter to the Emperor. Hadrian was always eager for the company of philosophers of all schools, yet he had never met anyone like this latest Oracle.
Oracles were regarded as the mouthpieces of the Gods and would give prophecies to the questions of citizens, kings and philosophers on issues about war, duty and laws. However, this Oracle was different. She had proven to Hadrian to be the most accurate out of all the religions he had studied so far.
He had met her at the Temple of Mithraism in Rome. Mithraism was a secret religion known only to the upper classes, surrounded by rumours and intrigue. Many members of his father's inner circle and numerous senators were adherents of this faith. At his father's request, Hadrian had joined and found the initiation process both fascinating and indicative of the existence of a new, powerful God capable of shifting the spheres and controlling the universe.
It was normally expected that only men were eligible to become priests within the secret religion. However, this young woman had been accompanied from Greece by a closer older guardian. Hadrian had consulted her about private matters, and her strength was rooted in the supernatural rather than the political, making her an object of intrigue for Hadrian. She had provided him with wise counsel and they had discussed various intellectual matters and beliefs.
Before setting out for Britannia, the Emperor had asked her about the Empire. She replied, "If you cross the sea, the great Empire will be saved." At that moment, Hadrian realised that a trip to Britannia was necessary, although he had never discussed this with anyone.
Her favourable response confirmed what he had already planned. Grateful for her insight, he gifted her with tokens of appreciation and requested that she accompany him. However, she politely declined. As Emperor, he knew he could have commanded her to join him, but he preferred her willing presence by his side rather than a forced partnership.
Now, he wished the priestess were with him to witness his plans come to fruition.
Nepos lay awake as the Emperor pored over his plans, though his sleeplessness was caused by something other than excitement.
“Caesar, may I speak with you?” the Governor asked as Hadrian looked up from his maps and papers.
“Certainly, Nepos.” Hadrian waved to his old friend he should approach.
“I have concerns about this wall,” Nepos said carefully. “As Governor of Britannia, I feel it is my duty to see that these concerns are heard, Caesar.”
Hadrian turned away from the papers that he had brought with him and looked at the general. He could see the weight of Nepos’s concerns in the dark lines under his eyes and the creases in his brow.
“I see,” the Emperor said with a raised eyebrow.
“Caesar, your vision for the glory of Rome to be displayed for all to see in this wall is an inspiration, an idea that would show everyone for future generations,” Nepos assured. Hadrian was not in the mood for empty flattery.
“Nepos, your objections.”
“Very well, Caesar. The sheer size of this wall is troubling; it will take weeks to dig foundations deep enough to support the weight of a stone wall to begin with, and the number of men that will be needed to do this is more than we have stationed in Britannia.”
“You exaggerate, General, but I have already thought about how we shall deal with the number of workers. There will be another two legions to help with the labour,” Hadrian sounded undisturbed by Nepos’s worries.
“But, Caesar, it will take months for these legions to arrive here,” Nepos countered, his worries not being eased by the Emperor’s words.
“True, Nepos, that is why I sent the orders 6 weeks ago so that they would arrive within the next few days at Pons Aelius. I have also ordered conscription of further auxiliary troops throughout southern Britannia to ensure the cities have order,” Hadrian smiled, feeling slightly pleased with himself.
“Your old legion – the Sixth Victrix – has been transferred from Germania to Britannia. They will be marching up from Londinium on Dere Street. The Twentieth Legion from Deva will arrive shortly after them.”
“They will?” asked Nepos with clear relief on his face. "That is excellent news, sire."
“Where will they be stationed, Caesar? There isn’t any room in the Aelius Port for these additional troops to be billeted,” Nepos spoke again, his voice rising slightly at the Emperor dismissing his concerns so easily.
“The first thing the new troops will be doing is building their own fort. It will give them somewhere not only to sleep but also to strike from against any of the barbarians who try to prevent the wall from being built. I would suggest we send the Sixth Legion to …”, and he looked at the map lying on the table, “start the new fort at Vercovicium and the Twentieth Legion can start their fort at Vindobala as marked on your map,” Hadrian explained, failing to notice the signs of annoyance and fear of the governor.
“That is as may be, Caesar, but another two legions won’t be enough men, not only for the building of the wall and the digging of foundations but also for transporting the materials and protecting the workers from attack.”
“There are plenty of natives that we can use to act as labourers, we simply need to go to our people here in Britannia and tell them that Rome requires their strength.”
Hadrian had been considering utilising the local population of Britannia as labourers for some time, but with Nepos’s worries and questions, it was becoming ever clearer to Hadrian just how the wall would come into being.
“Caesar, the people of Britannia are not citizens of Rome, they will not willingly help,” Nepos argued, sounding shocked that the Emperor would even suggest something so risky. “Then, where will all the materials come from? The horses? The stonemasons? Why is it that you are so intent on building this wall out of stone when a palisade would serve as it has on the other frontiers? The cost will be astronomical, the Senate will not allow for taxes to be raised in Rome to pay for this wall.”
Nepos found himself ranting and suddenly became very aware that in his tirade he might have crossed the line.
“The local tribes will assist us, Nepos. Our soldiers are coming from all over the Roman Empire, and we have resources in every corner that can be called upon. It is for the security of the people of Britannia, as well as for the glory of the Empire, that we need to secure our northern border. No cost is too high when it comes to ensuring the safety of my people. Hundreds of thousands of people are at risk. For their security and the safety of Britain, we must build this wall,” Hadrian replied, standing up from where he was seated. Nepos dropped to his knees and bowed before the Emperor.
“For the security of Britain, if this is your wish, then I will see it done, Caesar. However, please be mindful of the dangers of this venture,” Nepos said quietly, his eyes fixed on the ground.
Blandus opened his eyes and sighed to himself. His quarters in the fort were not what he would call comfortable or even adequate; however, they were a necessary evil to endure whilst Sabina refused to leave. The wife of the Emperor was adamant that she would remain in the fort until her husband returned. Suetonius had also provided Blandus with a rather enjoyable distraction whilst Sabina was resting. The secretary had proven to be a man of diverse appetites and surprisingly malleable. The two had dined together at almost every opportunity and found the company of the other man more than agreeable.
They had even gone on several tours of the port, via the bars and taverns in the town. The man knew much of Britannia that would prove useful to the Senator’s cause. He was an ally worth having, but he did not know enough of Blandus’s plans to make him dangerous.
Blandus toyed with Suetonius as they drank together late into the night. Prying information out of the secretary was not difficult;
Suetonius was flattered by the attention of the Senator after being so starved of the society of Rome in Britannia. The difficulty for Blandus came in filtering through the constant stream of gossip and irrelevant comments to anything that would be remotely useful.
Blandus had assured Suetonius that the grand attire of the Imperial court needed to be left behind in Rome. The Emperor had brought him to Britannia because he was the most influential senator. Not only did he need to witness Hadrian's skill in leading the army, but he also aimed to neutralise the opposition back in Rome by engaging with the barbarians. Every detail that unfolded was crucial for him to report.
Having the attention of a man as powerful as Blandus in a remote place like Britannia, combined with the inflated ego of Suetonius, meant that each piece of information and gossip, no matter how trivial, was elevated to a matter of great importance. It was a tiring habit that many men showed when trying to impress people they liked, whether they were men or women, or when trying to win over important people. However, unlike other men, the wine that Blandus offered did not have the same effect. The Senator had spent weeks trying to trap Sabina, and he felt excited at the thought of having caught the beautiful wife of the Emperor in his deception, using her anger as a way to control her. He could not resist the challenge of seducing someone as skilled as he was in flirting.
Sabina was a rarity in Rome, a creature that was sublime not only in her appearance but also in her countenance. She knew how to manipulate men and women to her own ends and she would use that now. The Senator lamented to Suetonius that Sabina was quite taken by the young secretary. Suetonius exclaimed that he had not noticed. She is indeed a smart and beautiful woman, remarked Blandus. If she craved some company for dinner one evening, perhaps he could provide the escort?
Two evenings later, Sabina found herself in the company of Suetonius. The two talked late into the night, and the man had the ability to make her laugh despite herself, which she considered a rare gift. There were precious few men that she had encountered
in her privileged life who cared enough for the women they were surrounded by to even consider making them smile, let alone laugh when they were out of the public eye. Most young men only thought of their desires and satisfaction, exercising their charms only until they had what they wanted and then abandoning the women in favour of new conquests.
Suetonius was unaware of pursuing Caesar’s wife; he served the Emperor loyally but found himself as lonely as Sabina.
“How long before the Emperor returns?” Sabina asked as she lay her hand upon the secretary’s.
“A few more days at least. Caesar was not very clear about the time it would take to survey the path of this wall he wanted to build,” Suetonius sighed as he looked at Sabina. “Perhaps you wish to retire, my lady,” he motioned.
“You are such great company, Suetonius,” Sabina had enthralled. “Tell me more about you and what you do.”
It was not long before Suetonius began to tell her all the plans the Emperor had outlined for his project in Britannia. Sabina laughed at first, thinking that the secretary was merely teasing her, but she was stunned to silence when Suetonius explained to her the maps and reports that Caesar had been ordering. Her shock soon passed, as her husband’s ambitious nature was well known to her. She thought of how she could use this information. She had the beginnings of her own plan to topple her husband and she would discuss this with Blandus after Hadrian had returned to the fort.
“I shall retire to my quarters now. Thank you so much, Suetonius, for a lovely evening. I hope we can be firm friends from now on,” Sabina smiled.
“Of course, my lady,” Suetonius replied, enthralled at the young woman before him whose status and sophistication had distracted him.
“Great emergencies and crises show us how much greater our resources are than we had believed.”
Epictetus – Roman philosopher
CHAPTER 5
FORTRESS OF PONS AELIUS
12TH JUNE 122 AD 10 AM
Cornelia had not wanted to return to Britannia. She had hoped that she would never see the cold and inhospitable land again. When Caesar had sent the scroll requesting Marcus’s help, Cornelia had spent days arguing with herself over whether she should accompany him or not. Novantes had volunteered to head into whatever danger awaited Marcus beside him. This had annoyed Cornelia more than she had ever let either man know. The two of them seemed obsessed with restoring their honour. After all the time they had spent in Britannia, fighting for their lives, and then living back in the warmer climate of Rome, Cornelia knew there was nowhere else that she wanted to be other than at the side of this soldier. Whatever danger awaited them in Britannia, she would be there to face it with him.
Novantes had sunk into a sullen mood since Marcus had departed with the Emperor and Nepos’s party to scout the countryside. When he had agreed to come to Britannia, he had envisioned the two of them riding into battle side by side, a picture of the glorious might of Rome finally overcoming the barbarian resistance that plagued the lands.
Suddenly, the sound of trumpets and horns blared across the fort. The soldiers looked out over the battlements. The Sixth Legion with the bull of the red standard at the front marched proudly west past the fort at Pons Aelius. On horseback, Legate Lucius Junius Caelianus took the salute of the fort commander.
The legion had been stationed by the Rhine river in Germany when Hadrian had ordered them to be relocated to Britannia. They had marched from Germania to Gaul and then by boat across to Britannia, and from Londinium up the old North road, or Ermine, on the east coast of Britannia. They had camped in southern Britannia at regular forts or made a temporary camp as
they headed north. Their orders were to start with the building of the wall and a fort for them to be based in.
They halted outside Pons Aelius and made a temporary camp while awaiting the Emperor's return. With them, the soldiers had brought great horsemen. Novantes was impressed at the size and stature of the beasts, the Germanic horses. He had heard a rumour that there were more troops on the way. Could it be possible? Yet another legion would be sent north to build the wall? Instead, he was stuck waiting in the fort of Pons Aelius, helping to train the newly arrived legionaries and green recruits in how to fight the tribesmen of Britannia.
“I know in the few days you have been here there has been little happening. However, I have experience fighting this enemy. They move silently and will lie in wait for hours to spring a trap to take down a small scouting party. They are patient and savage. The barbarians don’t attack our troops in large numbers or in direct battles; instead, they execute raids on smaller numbers,” Novantes explained to the group of fresh troops arrayed before him.
Among the group were some new recruits who had barely lifted a gladius, let alone fought in the number of campaigns he had experienced. He primarily addressed these men, as they had never engaged an enemy before. However, more veteran troops came to him for information. The centurions of the Sixth Legion listened intently, silently absorbing the details without making any comments.
Novantes felt slightly uncomfortable under the gaze of the centurions, but he pushed the discomfort aside as he continued, “They carry weapons such as axes, swords, spears and other weaponry you will have never seen before. They don’t wear armour but war paint. This means they are easy to kill if their attack turns from an ambush into a more organised combat situation, but they will not give you the chance to try and turn any situation to your advantage. The Brigantes use the landscape to hide in – every tree you pass, every patch of long grass, every shrubbery could have the enemy hiding there and you would never know it.”
The newer recruits shifted uncomfortably and exchanged glances. They had heard stories about the barbarians, but most had dismissed them as tales meant to frighten people into not questioning the actions of the legionaries, the authority of Caesar, or the words of the Senate. However, as they listened to Novantes speak, it became evident that those stories were nowhere near as terrifying as the thought of actually fighting these fearsome opponents.
“They pick off those who are separated from the larger parties; a legionary stops to relieve himself just out of sight of the column and they strike. His neck is cut open before he even knows he is under attack. Scouts who travel too far into the Brigantes’ territory without realising where they are are never seen again. Bodies are not left behind, neither are weapons, horses or any sign that the enemy has been there. Everything is taken.”
Cornelia was sitting nearby, listening to Novantes as he spoke. A smile curled at the corner of her mouth as she heard him speak with such authority. It was hardly surprising that he had been chosen for this task, after all they had endured on their last visit to Britannia; few understood the barbarians better than Novantes, Marcus and Cornelia.
“This is not to say that they do not know how to fight in a battle. The last force to engage the Brigantes in open combat was overwhelmed by them; you have all heard of the tale of the Ninth Legion? I was there, one of the few to survive. They may be an uncultured force of savages, but they know how to fight, and to underestimate them is to invite defeat and death.”
“He speaks well,” Senator Blandus observed as he approached and stood beside Cornelia.
“He is a veteran soldier; he knows well what it is to fight in this land and what happens when an enemy is underestimated,” Cornelia observed without looking at the Senator.
“I suppose it is an occupational hazard.” Blandus smiled to himself. “You are Cornelia, are you not?” he oiled as he signalled that a chair should be brought so he could sit beside her.
“I am,” she replied shortly.
“My name is Senator Blandus. I did not expect to see a lady
within the walls of the fort, other than the wife of the Emperor, of course,” Blandus charmed as the chair was brought to him.
“There is only one lady here, the Lady Vibia Sabina,” Cornelia replied as she fixed her eyes on Novantes. The soldier had finished talking and had moved on to demonstrate some of the techniques that could be used to fight against the tribesmen of Britannia.
“But you are a woman of Rome, which makes you more of a lady than any I have encountered in the port. Perhaps I may accompany you to dinner one evening?”
“No, thank you. I am here with Marcus Quietus, the cavalry commander within this province,” stated Cornelia flatly.
“Ah, I see. We are all here then to serve the Emperor in some way. If you should find yourself in need of company during your stay, then I am at your service.” Blandus smiled and rose from the chair he had requested. Novantes had finished his instruction and had turned back to where Cornelia was sitting. The Senator had disappeared by the time Novantes reached her.
“What did that senator want?” Novantes frowned and looked at Cornelia with suspicion.
“To offer his services,” Cornelia shuddered. “I’ll be glad when Marcus returns,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Although the Brigantes were the largest tribe left in all of Britannia, in fact they were a confederation of many small tribes that had banded together under Roman presence.
Ortagorus and Vordimus ruled the lands to the north and Tobar ruled in the south. Tobar was not the strong leader they wanted. They craved someone who would push the yoke of Roman rule from their lands forever. However, powerful decisions like this could not be made quickly. They had to seek their allies in the north.
There were no Roman patrols as Braint and Ortagorus rode north, and they kept well away from the roads that the invaders had built, instead using the pathways that the tribal people had forged across the land to avoid detection by the Roman soldiers.
Each night they camped without a fire, taking turns to watch for enemies approaching, or sought shelter with the tribes that were scattered in small pockets across the north. There were fewer allies of Rome the further towards the Selgovae territory they moved and none questioned why they were making the journey.
As the chief of the Brigantes, Ortagorus was well known to each of the tribes and the elders who were respected and looked to for guidance. He was welcomed warmly and given gifts to help in his fight against the invaders. One tribe presented him with the ancestral blades of their people, hidden from Rome for decades in the bed of the nearby river. When the invaders had landed and they had risen against them, the soldiers had destroyed the sacred weapons that were the birthright of the warriors of each tribe. To keep the precious symbols of their heritage safe, they were hidden, some buried in fields, others weighed down in the river. The soldiers had discovered many of the hiding places that the tribes used, but not all.
Other northern clans pledged to send their best warriors south to help in the fight when Ortagorus gave the word. Braint was honoured as an elder of her people, taken to speak with the elders of the different tribes, a council that Ortagorus was not allowed to be part of. There were strict traditions that governed the different tribes of Britannia: the chieftains were warriors, there to lead their people in battle and seek the wisdom of the elders. The elders were respected old warriors, dreamers and singers who held the knowledge of the past of the tribe and had to be consulted on every action that the chieftains wished to take.
The weather was becoming warmer as they moved towards summer, but the rains were still heavy occasionally. The downpours worked to their advantage when crossing the lands of those that supported Rome; their visibility was limited by the pouring rain, sentries stayed closer to shelter rather than
patrolling, and the men of Rome were often reluctant to move too far from their camps.
“What have the elders told you?” Ortagorus asked the woman from the northern lands. She hadn’t spoken much to the chieftain as they travelled and even less when they stopped for the night. She seemed to be preoccupied with other thoughts.
“They have been telling me of signs in their dreaming and the songs that fill their singers’ hearts,” Braint replied. Her eyes often seemed to be slightly out of focus, as though she was looking at something that wasn’t quite there.
“Are they signs and songs that tell of our victory?” Ortagorus asked. It was the question he had been raised to ask, the same question that had been asked of the dreamers and singers ever since the invaders had landed.
“They are signs of change. Whether that is to be good or bad, I cannot say.” She chewed her lip as she spoke.
“This worries you?” the chieftain asked as he began skinning the rabbit he had caught for their dinner.
“When change comes to these lands there is always turmoil, no change happens without pain, no change happens without death and no change can be undone.” Braint looked over at Ortagorus as he skilfully removed the fur so that it could still be used.
“Save the bones, my people will need them to read the omens of the southern lands.”
Ortagorus nodded as he stripped the meat from the carcass. Whilst there was still light, a fire was lit to heat stones that were then used to cook the meat. The strips were laid across the hot stones until it was cooked. The size of the fire required to heat the stones was much smaller than any that was used to cook with and the scorch marks that the hot stones left on the earth had fuelled stories of witchcraft amongst the invaders.
“How long has it been since you saw your people?” Ortagorus asked. He knew very little of the northern woman, only that she had visited with many different tribes before she had come to the Brigantes and had been honoured by being named as an elder.
“It has been four harvests and five winters,” she sighed. “I was young when I told my father and the elders that I wanted to
come south and fight. I was not the strongest warrior amongst my people, but I was told that I would have been sent to the island of Mona, had it still stood.”
“A warrior and a dreamer?” Ortagorus asked. It was rare for those amongst the tribes of Britannia to be gifted in dreams and battle. Some were singers and dreamers, and a few were singers and warriors, but a warrior and a dreamer would have marked Braint as a woman destined for greatness on Mona.
“But not skilled enough in either,” Braint shrugged. “I came south to fight, to see if there were those outside of my people who had more that they could teach me.”
“There are many who are skilled in war since the invaders came and many strong dreamers,” Ortagorus replied as he offered her the first of the cooked meat.
“But there are few who can teach me how to be both,” Braint said. The two lapsed into silence as they ate and no more was said on the subject.
It took only 3 days for Ortagorus and Braint to reach the border to the lands of the Selgovae tribes. There were markers that those native to Britannia were used to seeing that told you whose lands you were in. The invaders seemed ignorant of these signs and had often mistaken the tribesmen of one tribe that were enemies of Rome with those who were friends when they came across small settlements in the wilderness.
There were three symbols carved into a tree stump that told Ortagorus when he had arrived at the land of those he sought to meet with. Braint’s attitude had changed long before they had reached the markers. There was a noticeable shift in the spirit of the land that had remained free of invaders.
“Greetings, Braint, daughter of Brigantes.” Three warriors of the Selgovae stood waiting to meet Ortagorus and Braint.
“I bring greetings, brothers, from our elders in the Brigantes. A great conquest has begun by the Romans in our land and we need you to join us once again. I bring with me Ortagorus, chieftain of the Brigantes.”
Ortagorus held up one of the yellow-painted wooden markers used for the wall.
“The Romans have come back again and in greater numbers than ever. They have hammered thousands of these into our ground. They are building something. Perhaps a road. Perhaps not. Whatever it is, we want to stop them. Will you join us again to remove these dogs once and for all?”
The three warriors of the Selgovae answered without hesitation.
“They are a great scourge upon this land, brother. We have beaten them before. We can do so again.”
There was a flurry of activity in the fortress of Pons Aelius as Hadrian’s company was spotted by those stationed on its walls. Cornelia rushed out into the courtyard of the fort, eager to see Marcus again. Sabina and Blandus were less eager to greet the Emperor. Instead, Blandus remained in his rooms until his presence was announced and Sabina waited for the Emperor in the praetorium.
Suetonius had scrambled to organise all the papers the Emperor had left with him, separating them from those that had arrived from the Empire in his absence. There were replies to letters that the Emperor had sent, letters that were addressed to the Emperor from members of the senate, military reports and other correspondence that Suetonius couldn’t categorise as any of the above.
The maps and plans that the Emperor had drawn up and other plans that were arriving from corners of the Empire were all arranged so that the Emperor could meet with his generals upon his return. The expense of the project was only just beginning to dawn on Suetonius. Having read the reports and the estimates they contained for the number of men alone, he almost choked on the water he was drinking.
Cheering and horns being sounded heralded the arrival of the Emperor and General Nepos. Suetonius was in the courtyard with
the most pressing documents for the Emperor to read. Hadrian looked well; the sun that was breaking through and bringing warmer weather had tanned his skin and brought a healthy colour back to his cheeks that had been dulled by the weeks spent at sea on the journey to Britannia.
“Caesar, she has arrived.” Suetonius bowed low to the Emperor as he dismounted and beckoned for the secretary to attend him. Hadrian felt his heart catch in his chest.
She had come back, his thoughts immediately flew to the Oracle, the woman who had given him the vision of the wall. The idea that she had arrived in Britannia drove away all thoughts of everything else for the moment.
“She has?” he asked, the excitement clear in his voice.
“Yes, Caesar, she is waiting for you in the praetorium.” The secretary looked down at his papers to shuffle through to find the most pressing to hand to the Emperor first.
“If you will permit me?”
“Later,” Hadrian said firmly and swept past the secretary, heading for the praetorium.
Nepos dismounted, as did Marcus and the Praetorian Guard. Legate Lucius Caelianus of the Sixth Legion saluted General Nepos.
Nepos returned the salute and smiled. “Caelianus, it is good to see you, old friend. Nepos offered his arm to Caelianus.
“Strength and honour, brother,” Caelianus said strongly, as each man grasped the arm of the other. They began to discuss the current climate and the reason they had been summoned to Britannia.
“Let us talk seriously in 1 hour. Forgive us, as we are tired after covering the ground of the wall,” Nepos indicated to the legate. The Praetorian Guard led away their horses and attended to their duties.
“Marcus!” Cornelia’s voice brought a smile to Clarus’s face as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder and went inside the main building of the fort, several men following his lead. Marcus turned to Cornelia.
“It has not changed since we left,” he whispered to her.
“How were the Brigantes?” Novantes asked as he joined his companions.
“There weren’t any that I could see. There were plenty of times when I felt their eyes watching us, though it could have been that I expected them to be watching,” Marcus shrugged and sighed.
“I’m glad you came back safely.” Cornelia sounded relieved as she spoke, thought she hadn’t been too worried about Marcus travelling with Nepos and the Emperor.
“We should talk in private,” Marcus lowered his voice so that he could be certain only Cornelia and Novantes could hear him. His friends nodded and followed him to the quarters that Marcus and Cornelia shared. ~O~
Hadrian opened the door to the praetorium and felt his heart plummet. Where he expected to see the beautiful form of the Oracle, there before him instead was his wife. She stood looking out of the window at the courtyard, her gaze taking in every aspect of the fort that she could perceive.
“What are you doing here?” Hadrian demanded as he slammed the door shut.
“Hail, Caesar,” Sabina replied, maintaining her unwavering gaze.
“Answer me,” Hadrian growled, his anger rising at the sight of his wife arriving in Britannia without an invitation.
“I came to see my husband. It has been so long since I spent any time in his company that I was beginning to forget what he looked like,” Sabina said with a tinge of venom in her voice.
“Have you run out of denarii then?” the Emperor shot back at his wife. The bitter disappointment at it being her and not the Oracle chewed at his insides.
“The way you rushed in here, I should have been forgiven for thinking that you were excited to see me. Or is it you were
expecting somebody else?” Sabina asked as she looked at the Emperor with cold eyes.
“What are you doing here?” the Emperor asked again with impatience as he sat down.
“I came to see what would bring you here. Britannia is not somewhere that the Emperor comes to without a reason. There are rumours in the Senate and after the rebellion that was so costly to the garrison here; it is the last place anyone expected you to visit,” Sabina said as she sat down opposite her husband.
“Have you developed a new political agenda?” the Emperor asked, sounding amused.
“I have always had a political agenda,” Sabina replied with a raised eyebrow. “You used to discuss it with me before you became the light of all that is Rome.”
“I see. Did you come alone?” Hadrian wished he had ordered Suetonius to bring wine to his rooms. He could feel a headache building and he was suddenly very aware of how tired he was after travelling across Britannia. His wife’s political machinations had a way of bringing on headaches. She had always been an ambitious woman, and in the days when Hadrian had been a general, her political support had ensured his succession as Caesar and provided much-needed support in the Senate.
“Senator Blandus is with me,” Sabina said with a smile. When Hadrian had become Caesar, Sabina had expected that she would remain his confidant and conspirator against all those who would threaten his position as Caesar. But they had drifted apart to the extent that Sabina was only permitted to meet with the Emperor when he sent for her. She was not the woman who shared his bed and though she was a support to the Emperor in public, in private they were married in name only.
“Blandus? You brought Blandus here?” Hadrian demanded, slamming his fist down on the table.
“With a giant undertaking such as building a wall across the breadth of Britannia, you could hardly expect the Senate not to send a representative to help you oversee the project.” Sabina enjoyed annoying her husband. Every enemy of his that was
brought before him and used to her advantage felt all the sweeter for the reaction it gave in the Emperor.
“Blandus is not a man to be trusted,” Hadrian said firmly. “He is a snake and as corrupt as those who were bribed to ensure the murder of Julius Caesar. Whatever he has promised you for bringing him to Britannia, do not depend on receiving it.”
Sabina looked unmoved as Hadrian spoke. She stood still, her eyes hardly moving, her gaze fixed on some invisible point. It was as if she were in a trance. It was her greatest weapon and one that enabled her to survive.
“I shall be wary then, my love,” Sabina spoke hollow words as she rose. “Hail, Caesar,” she added sweetly, as she took the Emperor’s hand and kissed it briefly before leaving him to sit and stew in his frustrations.
Hadrian’s mood had improved by the time he summoned his generals and commanders to meet with him. Marcus, Andus, Urbicus, Agrippa, Clarus, Nepos and Suetonius were all present as Hadrian entered the praetorium, as well as Caelianus. They each had their own ideas about what to build and how to build it. However, they wanted to hear more about the proposed plan of the wall from the Emperor now that he had visited the area himself.
“Hail, Caesar.” They spoke in one voice and Hadrian indicated that they should sit. Clarus and Nepos had been allowed to rest for a few hours before Hadrian called them together.
“Good evening,” Hadrian said as he sat down and wine was brought in for the men to drink whilst they discussed the plans for the wall. “Having seen for myself the path the wall will take, I am satisfied that the plans that have been drawn are suitable.”
“However, this fort is too small for military meetings and from tomorrow our new headquarters will be at Vindolanda.” Suetonius's face crumpled at the thought of moving everything again after he had just sorted it all out.
“It is closer to the centre of the wall. Legate Caelianus, you will move all of the Sixth Legion here to start the construction of a new fort Vercovicium, in the middle of the wall. You will appreciate the position of this fort, Caelianus; it is one of the most beautiful locations I have seen in Britain.”
“Legate, please, I would like to hear what you think of the plans for the wall,” Hadrian invited the legate to speak.
“The project is certainly ambitious, Caesar, it will leave behind a testament to the glory of Rome and the wisdom of your rule,” Caelianus began, as he looked over the images and figures before him.
“However, from my experience in undertaking a project of this size, are there enough soldiers in Britannia who can provide what is necessary?”
There was a general nodding of heads by the staff officers as they understood his plans.
“What we will need, Caesar, are surveyors and builders. The Sixth Legion is prepared to give all that it has, to see your wishes carried out, but our numbers are too few to create such a masterpiece alone,” Caelianus stated.
Nepos looked over at Hadrian and watched the Emperor carefully. He had pushed the subject of men before, and the Governor of Britannia was curious as to whether his questioning of Hadrian had changed his mind at all.
“The Sixth Legion, Twentieth Legion and Second Legion as well as further auxiliaries will all help in the construction, along with the men under Agrippa’s command from the Roman navy. There will be over 20,000 men undertaking the project. The rest of the labour we need will be provided by the native tribes. The local Brigantes shall be put to work, as a form of redemption for their rebellion,” Caesar said, motioning for Suetonius to come forward.
“Suetonius has spoken to the local merchants in my absence about materials that we will need, food for the legions and auxiliaries, provisions for the horses. He has some figures for you to go over, Nepos, but I am not concerned about the prices,” Hadrian said with a smile.
“When will the rest of the Twentieth Legion arrive?” Nepos asked.
“Within the next 3 days. The legion is marching now; when they arrive, they will begin building,” assured Hadrian.
The men talked late into the night, some of the details being rehashed. Nepos listened to objections that he had raised being brought in a more subtle and circumspect manner, but the answers given were the same that Nepos had been given. Caelianus was the most enthusiastic man in the room, aside from the Emperor.
Nepos took the figures away with him to read through without the Emperor breathing down his neck, where he could scrutinise the figures and compare them to reports from other corners of the Empire. His head hurt again.
He looked at his list of activities once again. Twenty thousand men to feed, supply lines to be controlled, permanent forts to be built, the navy to be tasked with suitable duties, bridges to be built, sandpits to be dug, quarries to be found for stone, farms to be built, oxen and mules to requisition. The list went on.
The sheer scale of it was overwhelming. This was the greatest Roman military project he had ever worked on. Could he be successful in it? ~O~
Marcus returned to his quarters late into the night and found both Novantes and Cornelia were waiting for him. He felt drained and wanted to sleep more than discuss what the Emperor was planning and how he expected Novantes and Marcus to serve.
“You were longer than I thought you would be,” Cornelia greeted him as he walked through the door and collapsed on the bed.
“There was a lot to discuss, and even more that has yet to be thought of,” Marcus sighed as he buried his face in the pillow.
“Have you heard that the Emperor’s wife is here?” Novantes asked, changing the subject from the wall and the meeting.
“She arrived when you were scouting the path of the wall that the Emperor wants to build,” Cornelia added, as she sat up and yawned. “She brought a senator with her, Secundus Blandus.”
“A senator?” Marcus frowned. “Does the Emperor know?”
“I would imagine he does, but why would she bring a senator?” Novantes asked, leaning forward, resting his chin on his fingertips.
“I expect it’s this wall,” Marcus sighed. “His closest friends and allies are even doubting the project and objecting over cost and the number of men needed. I can only imagine how the Senate is reacting, especially those who oppose the Emperor.”
“So, he is here to spy on the Emperor?” Novantes half laughed.
“A spy, no. The political games of the Senate are far more dangerous than any battlefield we have ever fought on,” Marcus replied, rubbing his eyes.
“If Sabina brought him here, is she working for the Emperor or the Senate?” Cornelia looked between the two men as she spoke.
“I don’t know and it is too late to be discussing political intrigue,” Marcus moaned.
Instead, the three talked into the small hours of the morning about Hadrian’s Wall and what building something of the size and scale would mean. He explained the duties that Hadrian had outlined for Marcus and Novantes, how Marcus would command the cavalry units to protect those who built the wall, and scouting duties beyond the wall.
“So, this invasion is for the security of Britain?” asked Cornelia.
“It is not an invasion; it is defending the Empire. We already have Britain as a province. However, the tribes in the north have not been completely conquered,” replied Marcus. “Hadrian is here to impress the Britons with his presence and his wall. He plans to build a wall in the north that defines the Empire, making the tribes take notice of where our lands begin.”
“Thousands of lives placed at risk just for the Emperor?” she asked.
“Yes, this involves thousands of lives placed at risk, but not for one man but for the security of a million lives and more. The whole province needs to be defended. Would you rather Hadrian
had done nothing? I would not have agreed to this if I did not believe the Emperor could combine prosperity and peace.”
They all agreed that they shared the same feelings. Even though there was danger, they believed it would be better to face it together. As Cornelia curled up and listened to Marcus speak, she wondered just how much danger the young commander and the rest of them were being thrust into. Their lives, which had once been simple, had suddenly changed. The unresolved military situation in northern Britain was now going to be addressed through the construction of a wall.
“ Experience is the teacher of all things”
Julius Caesar
CHAPTER 6
PRAETORIUM, PONS AELIUS FORT
16TH JUNE 122 AD, 11 AM
Nepos sat back in his small room, surrounded by papers strewn everywhere. On his desk were constant rewrites of expenses, troop costs and calculations of material. The pile of papyrus papers was higher than his height when he sat down and he was in danger of being suffocated if it fell over. The floor was covered in boxes of papers and the only route to his bed was by weaving through these piles of correspondence that commanders had written to him.
He scratched his head one more time as he looked at the plan for the wall. The soldiers of the Twentieth Legion were of particular importance to Nepos. He had heard that their fort at Deva was some 20 percent larger than the forts at Eboracum and Isca.
Also, the stone curtain wall that ran around the outside was constructed without mortar, just using large sandstone blocks. This required greater skill and effort that was only reserved for the most important structures. Agricola had ordered them built like this as they had been his headquarters and the capital of Britannia some 40 years before.
More importantly, the soldiers who had experience repairing these walls had been given special status – as immunes. They were expert stonemasons and exempt from any tedious or dangerous tasks that other soldiers were required to do, like patrolling or ditch digging.
Nepos would make sure that their Legate understood how their masons, engineers, carpenters and blacksmiths did what was expected of them and more.
He sat back in his chair and shouted through the open door for his adjutant. The man quickly appeared and stood at the threshold, unable to move any further into the room.
"Srivium – write a letter to Legate Gabinius of the Twentieth Legion and ask him to report to me as soon as possible at Vindolanda."
"I will write it out immediately, sire," nodded the adjutant.
"Put my seal on it and make sure the courier sends it now," added Nepos.
"Yes, General," bowed the soldier and scurried through to his outer room.
The people who lived in the settlements that lined the road from Deva could hear the marching of the Twentieth Legion long before the Roman soldiers could be seen. The sound of thousands of hob-nailed boots as they hit the Roman road was impressive. The centurions called out orders as they marched in unison through the streets of Deva and headed north. "Sin, Dex, Sin" was the constant reminder for the troops to march in time, as “Left, Right, Left” was shouted out. Marching songs about Minerva and their victory over Boudica were repeated regularly to keep their spirits up.
The display of the military precision of the soldiers drew onlookers that watched them pass. Rumours ran through the crowds as to where the legion was headed; some said that there was rebellion in the north again, while others talked of the soldiers being presented to the Emperor.
Orders had been sent to the commander of the Twentieth Legion not only to march to the north to help with the construction of Hadrian’s grand wall, but also to begin building as soon as they arrived. The legion had come ahead of their families, their wives and children to follow in a few weeks when the building had been completed.
The Twentieth Legion had been stationed in Britannia for generations. They had been the soldiers to bring an end to the rebellion of Boudica and had proved their might in keeping the
peace whilst stationed at the fort they had completed building at Deva. A small part of their garrison had remained behind at the Deva Victrix fortress and their commander, Legate Remus Gabinius, had given orders for conscription to be made public to all men aged sixteen and above. This would allow the local population to serve as auxiliary soldiers in the Roman army. There had been a significant uptake in the number of places filled, and the legate felt pleased that, with his troops stationed to guard the fort and the addition of new recruits, there would be no civil disturbances in the area.
Like a giant snake, the men moved northwards, marching in column. Those who watched them pass had never seen anything like it. Cavalry rode ahead, ever watchful of ambush, and behind them came some 5,000 heavy infantry of the legion.
As the legion drew closer to Pons Aelius, a dispatch rider rode to the legate. He saluted and handed the ornamental scroll to the commanding officer.
Gabinius broke the seal and unrolled the clean parchment with Nepos's seal at the bottom. They were to move to the wall and create the fourth fort on the wall at Vindobala. It was to be in the usual layout of the commandant’s house, headquarters, workshops, barracks, stables and a hospital. In addition, it asked for two large granaries to be built. The storage of extra supplies would be required for the area, and the Roman navy would supply them. However, General Nepos wished him to report to Vindolanda as soon as possible for further information.
Maenius Agrippa had spent weeks organising his men and ships into different units. More triremes had arrived and had been unloaded at Port Aelius. From here, food, blankets, tents, wood, wine and tools were taken upstream in flat-bottom boats. A further crane had been erected on the side of the port now and both cranes were in constant use unloading supplies from ships.
Once the ships were emptied, they were ordered to sail to the Roman settlements in Britannia to collect horses and equipment that Suetonius had begun to requisition. The remaining ships and men would be the ones who shipped the materials and supplies to the different forts and construction sites to ensure that the building could begin without delay.
Every day, new estimates arrived for Nepos from local merchants and those Suetonius had contacted in the rest of the Empire, estimates that caused the secretary to question the amount of Rome’s wealth that would be annihilated to build one wall.
He had an increasing number of lines appearing on his forehead from the perpetual frown that seemed to be now fixed on his face. The Governor knew how much goods from around the province should cost and the papers Suetonius was bringing to him showed that those costs were being doubled and even tripled. It was not only the merchants and traders in Britannia who were increasing their prices for the Emperor; those from other provinces of Rome and even those from Rome herself seemed to have heard of the Emperor embarking on a project of huge proportions that would require vast amounts of materials, horses, men and supplies to complete it and were taking advantage of this.
Nepos had never met a poor merchant or trader. To deal with them you had to have a strong personality – one that would be willing to send away merchants who were ripping you off and to not let the merchants know how valuable an item was to you. You also had to know how to haggle to bring down the price a trader first gave you to the price they would be willing to part with an item for.
Nepos feared that Hadrian was not a man to let himself become bogged down in haggling over the price of a dozen mules. To pay 2 denarii instead of 1 for an item was a triviality to the Emperor, but Nepos knew what a difference it would make on a project of this size. He made calculation after calculation with the help of Suetonius to present the figures to the Emperor, to convince Hadrian to allow him to deal with the merchants and traders in a firm manner. But when he showed the numbers to the Emperor, Hadrian brushed them aside,
“Pay what they ask,” the Emperor commanded. “We must have the materials, the tools, the equipment I have detailed, or this project will never be completed.”
Suetonius held his tongue in the presence of the Emperor, but as he returned to his own rooms he began to add up the costs involved. Sabina was always asking how much this wall was costing. Just wait till I tell her of this month’s expenses – what would such reckless spending mean for the citizens of Rome? What would the Senate say?
This was neutral ground. Between the tribes of the Selgovae, Brigantes and Votadini they were meeting in this quiet location away from the prying eyes of Rome.
It was the largest tribal village in the area and this particular roundhouse was normally used by their elders to speak with their Gods. Bran, war chief of the Selgovae, was pleased to see his sister returned to the north.
“Greetings, sister of the serpent and the bear,” Bran smiled as Ortagorus and Braint were brought before him. “What news do you bring from the south?”
“I bring word of change, brother of moon and hound, greatest of chiefs and spirit of Calgacus. I bring Ortagorus, war chief of the Brigantes, favourite of Briga, the bringer of death to our enemies,” Braint replied. Warriors, singers and dreamers from across the lands had all gathered when news that the Emperor had arrived in Britannia had reached them. They had assembled to hold a tribal council; the last they had held had included the tribes of the south and had brought about the beginning of the rebellion that was only a few years dead.
The most respected of these clansmen had all gathered to hear what news Braint was bringing from the south and to listen to Ortagorus speak, to hear what the war chief of the Brigantes would ask of the tribes of the north.
They were all welcomed into the large roundhouse; in the centre of the structure was a large fire pit that had fresh wood, leaves and herbs ready to be lit when the council called for the dreamers and singers to speak to the spirits and gods. The assembled clansmen and women stood in a circle around the fire and sat where they stood when Braint gave the signal.
The war chief of the Votadini sat on the far side of the hut, while Braint and Ortagorus were directly opposite him. Ortagorus was surprised by the large turnout for the tribal council; the last meeting had seen no more than fifty clansmen in attendance, but now there were closer to a hundred.
“Very well, Braint, you speak of change, our dreamers have seen it too, though they do not yet know the nature of this change. We have heard troubling rumours from the south, of the Roman Emperor arriving on these shores and more soldiers coming.” Bran spoke clearly, changing to address all assembled.
Different men and women spoke of rumours they had heard, of reports from spies they had placed in different settlements in the south. Ortagorus told them of the men they had killed placing the yellow stakes and of Hadrian visiting those same sites.
“Armthal will join the Romans and tell us what is happening. He will provide us with the information we seek,” he had assured them.
The tribal council lasted for several days. Those who were part of the council did not leave the hut until it was completed, they slept and ate where they lay and only left to relieve themselves when allowed to. Ortagorus listened to each person who spoke, for each voice brought new information that added to a bigger picture of what the Emperor Hadrian was planning.
The Votadini chief seemed reluctant to get involved without any real reason. On the east coast, the Votadini still traded well with the Romans and appeared to be prosperous. Although they bordered the Roman land in the south, they were peaceful.
However, he listened to what the others had to say. As the discussions ended, there was a new alliance in the air, between the Brigantes and the tribes of Selgovae. The chief of the Votadini had neither seen nor heard of anything the Romans had done.
He would not commit to any actions.
"We have spoken of everything that we can for now," Braint said as she looked at Cygfan, one of the Selgovae warriors.
He left the hut and returned moments later, carrying two pieces of flint, which he handed to Braint. "We must not allow the invaders to complete their plans for a wall that would divide our lands from those of our brothers and sisters in the south. This cannot happen. Braint, sister of the serpent and bear, lead the singers in their songs and the dreamers in their dreaming."
Braint stood up, followed by the other warriors. She walked towards the fire in the centre of the hut as the warriors filed out. A leather flap was pulled over the entrance just as the last of them departed. Braint struck the flint to initiate the singing and dreaming. It would take several days for the singers and dreamers to complete their work, and they would not leave the hut until their task was finished.
Later, Ortagorus walked with Braint through the growing village. There were many who had fled the Romans for the safety of the north, unwilling to submit to the rule of Rome. Some had found a new home amongst Braint’s people, whilst others had gone even further north.
“The old ways are slowly dying in the south,” Ortagorus shook his head. “The invaders have been slowly replacing our traditions and culture with their own.”
“Yes, our spies in the south have told us how the land has changed,” Braint sighed. “Our father, who is lost to us, did not want me to go to the south for fear I would lose my dreams. The invaders have destroyed much of what was sacred to our peoples.”
Ortagorus tapped the blade that hung at his waist, the gift from the smaller settlements of the scattered tribes. He had to admit he had felt closer to the old ways since he had been given the blade, and it filled him with a renewed fire to fight.
“If you have warriors ready to ride, I can take them and show them where this division is being built,” Ortagorus offered, as Braint led him to where the other warriors had begun training together.
“It would be wise to send a small number to watch for any signs of them continuing their work,” Braint agreed. “Cygfan,
prepare a small warband. Our brother Ortagorus will guide them to where he has seen the invaders laying out their yellow sticks.”
Armthal was amongst the first group of those who were rounded up from Port Aelius as volunteers to begin work on the wall. They were organised into rough ranks by the centurion who had been sent to collect twenty to thirty men to begin carrying materials from the port to Segedunum.
The horses that had been ordered by Hadrian to help move the materials and supplies from the ships to the construction sites had yet to arrive, the horse traders in Gaul having raised the price after another 500 horses had been ordered. Nepos had firmly stood his ground and begun negotiating with the traders, which frustrated Hadrian. Suetonius silently supported Nepos and assisted him with his correspondence to help manage costs, which could easily spiral out of control if a responsible treasurer didn't keep a firm grip on the finances.
The lack of horses meant that mules were needed to carry the materials, to pull the carts and to unload them when they reached their destination. Hadrian had asked Agrippa if his men could provide the manual labour until the horses arrived, but the commander of the fleet had told Hadrian his men would all be needed to unload the supplies and ready the ships for transport.
Nepos knew that he needed to find more men to get the ships unloaded at Port Aelius. He had ordered auxiliary troops to assist the centurions he worked with. But it was still not enough. At least another hundred men were needed to move supplies, and they were integral to the project moving forward. Nepos had spoken to the centurion at Pons Aelius and told him to get as many local civilians who would assist them. Their pay would be their food. He needed men who were strong enough and young enough to pull the supplies to the fort via mules.
With more ships arriving in the harbour from across the sea
and no soldiers to unload the cargo, there was a queue of ships now waiting to be unloaded. Nepos’s frown appeared on his face again. Why had this not been planned better? They were short of men, materials and resources. Shouts of orders from the centurion in charge echoed across the port as the local men were put to use. Armthal worked hard, keeping his head down and his eyes and ears open to absorb any information that he could. There were sacks full of grain that had been shipped over that were being sent to the fort, as well as equipment for farming. It struck him as odd that such ordinary supplies, so readily available in Britannia, were being shipped over in such large numbers. Were they expecting more men? How long would they be staying?
The journey from Port Aelius to Segedunum was an easy one; however, there were not enough carts for the amount of equipment and grain that had arrived, and those men who were not straining themselves pushing the carts had been loaded up with sacks of grain as though they were pack mules themselves. The centurion and the soldiers, who had assembled the work crew, walked beside the men as they struggled. Nepos had ordered that the Roman soldiers stay on their guard as they accompanied the supplies.
Upon their arrival at Segedunum, they were instructed to store their supplies under a heavy cloth stretched over four poles in the centre of the camp. A large crowd of men filled the fort, far more than Armthal had anticipated. Among them were the soldiers of the garrison, whom he had expected to see, but there were also many others. A group of scouts seemed to be constantly coming and going, some in small clusters of four, while others arrived in larger groups, stopping briefly in the courtyard to switch horses before heading out again. Craftsmen from nearby settlements had also been summoned and were being guided around the fort by soldiers. An electric sense of anticipation hung in the air, adding to the buzz of activity. As he unloaded the last of the sacks of grain from the carts, he noticed that the men who had been pulling them had collapsed on the ground. The centurion was watching the men suspiciously.
“Come on you lot, get a move on,” shouted the centurion.
The centurion called the twenty men to stand up, and those who failed were kicked and shouted at as though they were newly recruited soldiers or slaves. The spy for the Brigantes had expected that they would be ordered to return the carts to Port Aelius and released from their duties, but this was not the case.
The men who were close to collapsing as they stood in an undisciplined line were sent back to the port with the centurion and his men, twelve of them in all. The other eight, including Armthal, were sent to report to the military tribune, Marcellus.
Tribune Marcellus had a private room at the rear of the fort which he used for the men reporting to him.
“The Emperor has more work for you,” he said in a matter-offact tone. “He needs men to help undertake this work alongside the garrison at Condercum. You have proven to be strong and able enough and so will be stationed there in the fort until the work is completed. Follow the centurion to your billets. He will be the man that you report to and take your orders from.” Marcellus dismissed the men.
As the Tribune spoke, Armthal’s eyes looked across at the papers that lay on the small table that Marcellus was leaning over. He could make out the plans for the wall and also the forts. He would use this to try to get close to the Emperor. He had to get to Vindolanda.
Hadrian had spent days ruminating on what his wife was doing in Britannia and with a senator of the calibre of Blandus in tow. Perhaps, he thought to himself, Sabina’s presence should have been here. Although they were already distanced from each other, she posed a greater threat if she had been left in Rome, with the focus of potential enemies always possible. This way he could keep her under his control. An attempted coup was a real possibility, although the rest of the guard had remained in the capital with the steady Marcus Turbo to keep the Senate under a firm hand.
He pushed thoughts of spying and betrayal to one side as he focused on planning for the commencement of work on the wall.
“Caesar, Prefect Quietus is here as you ordered,” Clarus interrupted the Emperor’s thoughts. “His companion Cornelia is with him.”
“Bring them in, Clarus,” Hadrian agreed.
“Hail, Caesar,” Marcus greeted the Emperor.
“I do not believe I have had the opportunity of being introduced to your companion, Quietus.”
The Emperor smiled warmly at Cornelia. She was simply dressed, but still elegant, a woman who was not a trophy being paraded around by the young commander.
“This is Cornelia, my wife-to-be, Caesar,” Marcus said, introducing his companion to the Emperor.
“Hail, Caesar,” Cornelia said softly as she bowed.
"What beauty this woman has," exclaimed Hadrian.
"Thank you, Caesar," smiled Cornelia.
"You really have the pick of the bunch here, Marcus," added Hadrian. "Now would it be possible you could assist me, like your husband-to-be is, young lady?” Hadrian asked enquiringly.
Cornelia looked at the Emperor inquisitively. "How may I serve you, Caesar?"
"It is a rather delicate subject that I must speak to you both about,” Hadrian began. "One that is a private matter and must not be spoken of with anyone else. Do you understand?" asked Hadrian firmly.
"Of course, Caesar," they replied together.
"As you are aware, we are leaving Pons Aelius today and heading for Vindolanda."
Both nodded their understanding.
"My wife will be remaining here at Pons Aelius for her wellbeing. Since she did not bring her usual royal entourage of ladies in waiting, I was hoping that Cornelia would be available to be at my wife's assistance. You understand the etiquette of the position of the Empress being left alone?"
Now both nodded their understanding.
"I would like Cornelia to assist me by being at my wife’s side."
"It would be my pleasure Caesar,” confirmed Cornelia.
"There is one other matter," he spoke softly.
"I am particularly worried about Senator Blandus who is here also. He is a well-connected and aristocratic senator. I would like you to keep me informed about what he is doing. Unfortunately, he has a poor reputation with women. I will not have him responsible for the demise of the royal house here."
“I understand, Caesar, I shall assist your wife in any way,” she said firmly. “Senator Blandus has already asked me to dinner while Marcus was away inspecting the wall.”
Marcus turned to her with a surprised look on his face.
“So, I understand the kind of man he is,” she continued.
“Is that so?” the Emperor said with a cold tone in his voice.
“It is, Caesar,” Cornelia replied without any doubt.
Hadrian narrowed his eyes as he looked at the young woman.
“Have you met with my wife yet?”
“No, Caesar.”
"I shall have Suetonius suggest to the Empress that you wish to become her lady-in-waiting. Thank you for your help in this matter. It is a source of great relief to me, you understand. Your presence here will make my wife and myself feel more comfortable."
“Thank you, now if you will both excuse me, we are moving to Vindolanda. I have other urgent matters to attend to.” The Emperor sat up and dismissed Marcus and Cornelia.
“Hail, Caesar.” The two rose and departed from the room.
From behind a curtain in the room, General Nepos stepped out.
"You could have asked any other officer’s wife to be a companion to your wife,” Nepos remarked as he poured himself some wine.
“You still don’t trust Prefect Quietus?” Hadrian asked his old friend.
“There are only a handful of people that I trust, Caesar. One of them is in this room, one is in Rome, another at Vercovicium and the fourth is on his way here,” Nepos shrugged.
“I would consider adding the commander to that list,
Governor,” Hadrian said lightly as he stifled a yawn. “He is a man of useful ability and he is desperate to see his honour restored. It makes him a good and loyal man, one who is unlikely to be turned by conspirators. My wife appearing unannounced in Britannia with the senator is concerning, to say the least. I don’t trust Blandus; I may even have a lower opinion of the man than you do. I have my suspicions as to why they have come. Frankly, I want to know what they are doing and what they know. Cornelia will be an excellent set of eyes to report back to me on anything that happens around my wife.”
Nepos nodded in agreement. "You are always ahead of the game, Caesar."
Hadrian laughed. "There is an old Roman saying – you have to throw the javelin at where the target is going to be, not where it is now."
The night was fast-waning into the early hours of the morning, but Pons Aelius was quiet. No alarms were being raised from those who guarded the walls and most of the occupants of the fort slept soundly in their beds.
But Marcus could not sleep. Being back in Britannia had awoken ghosts from his past that haunted him. The faces of those he had seen die at the hands of the barbarians in the last campaign floated through his dreams and he would wake in a cold sweat, shaking, not wanting to close his eyes and risk seeing their faces again.
As he stepped out of his room into the cool night air, he felt instantly better. He had dressed, not in his armour but in night clothes enough to visit the temple. He moved quietly, a few of the soldiers nodding a greeting to the commander, but no one stopped him or questioned where he might be going.
The temple was as quiet as the rest of the fort as Marcus entered. There were no priests awake at this hour, but there were
torches lit so that those devoted could spend their nights saying prayers and making offerings to Mars and Jupiter. In a fort of Roman soldiers, few honoured other gods aside from the God of war and the king of the Gods.
Nepos was not in bed. He was standing on the wall, looking out across the quiet wilderness. He had spent too many nights sitting awake staring at the walls of the fort of Pons Aelius or the canvas of a tent, and thought that if he was going to be awake and worrying, he should speak to the garrison about the surrounding area, to see what he could learn about Britannia he didn’t already know.
The General let his eyes wander across the courtyard as he held a conversation with two centurions and spotted Marcus moving through the fort. Nepos frowned and excused himself from the centurions. He found the behaviour of the young commander concerning and the ease with which the Emperor trusted him worrying.
Nepos moved carefully as he descended to the courtyard below and followed Marcus. He watched as the young soldier walked to where the temple in the fort was and slipped inside. Nepos followed. His eyes didn’t have to adjust as he stepped into the dim surroundings of the temple. Only a few torches were lit in the temple during the night, but Nepos could see the figure of Marcus kneeling before the visage of Jupiter.
The rest of the temple was empty and it was clear that Marcus didn’t expect any company as he was praying out loud.
“Jupiter, king of all the Gods, grant me the strength and wisdom to serve the Emperor. I give thanks to you for giving me this chance to redeem my honour, to cleanse the stain of shame from my family name that I have placed there. Be with me as I serve our Emperor.”
Nepos listened as Marcus prayed without stopping, barely taking the time to breathe. The Governor listened as the commander poured out his soul, his fears for those around him and his fears over Cornelia going back to a life she had left behind when she had started travelling with him.
“It seems you have much on your mind, Quietus,” Nepos
interrupted Marcus’s prayers as he began to repeat himself for the second time.
“General, I didn’t realise anyone else was here; my apologies –if I had known, I would never have …”
“I didn’t come here to talk to the Gods,” Nepos waved away Marcus’s apology.
“You don’t believe the Gods exist?” Marcus frowned at the older man.
“I am never certain they are listening,” Nepos grunted. “Why should they care for the rantings and petty pleas from mortals with such short lives?” The question was rhetorical and so Marcus gave no answer; instead he rose to his feet and watched as Nepos approached him.
“What is it you would pray for, Governor?” Marcus asked, half-expecting he already knew the answer.
“I will soon have 20,000 soldiers here. We don’t have the camps, food, horses and tools needed to support them. I am praying for a miracle,” Nepos said, just before leaving Marcus to his thoughts. The Governor was not entirely certain he could trust the young commander, but his concerns were calmed enough that he believed he could get some sleep, even if only for a few hours.
“It never troubles the wolf how many sheep there will be.”
Virgil
– Roman poet
CHAPTER 7
LEAVING PONS AELIUS FORT
25TH JUNE 122 AD
This was one of the busiest days yet that Nepos had imagined. Since early in the morning, they had been packing up all their office and moving everything to Vindolanda. A constant stream of adjutants and clerks on errands were preparing boxes and filling Caesar's personal effects out of Pons Aelius.
“Excuse me, General,” said a centurion entering the Praetorium. “There have been two men outside the fort since early this morning, sir,” the centurion reported to Nepos. “They say they are farmers and want to speak to someone in charge.”
Nepos looked up at Suetonius and asked the secretary, "Do you know anything about this?”
“Nothing I am aware of,” shrugged the secretary.
"Tell them to go away; we are busy," confirmed Nepos.
Two hours passed when the centurion came back again and said the two farmers hadn't gone away.
"They are insistent that they speak to someone in charge. They gave me this, sir," said the burly centurion, passing a yellow post to Nepos.
Nepos shook his head. "Oh no, not the markers. Very well, let them in but make sure they are not armed, and bring them in with the Praetorian Guards.”
“Yes, sir,” nodded the centurion.
Within a few minutes, two local farmers appeared in the praetorium, dwarfed by the large, bulky figures of two Praetorian Guards.
“They are unarmed, General,” informed one of the Praetorian soldiers.
"Very well," nodded Nepos. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"
One indicated to the other to begin. "Your Royal Excellency, we are sorry to trouble you," said the farmer, thinking he was
speaking to Caesar. "My friend here is a farmer and he has found many Roman posts have been hammered into his ground. He would like to know why the Romans have taken his ground." He produced a dozen more yellow markers from his pockets.
"No!" cringed Nepos. “What have you done? These are not to be removed! These are Roman markers for our wall. You can’t pull them out!”
The two men looked at each other as the other translated into Celtic what the Roman had said in Latin. Confused at what was translated, there was a shrug of the shoulders.
He says, "It is a very small wall, my King."
“No! That's not the actual wall. It’s going to be a big wall made of stone. These are just indicating where the line is,” bellowed Nepos, as if shouting would make it clearer.
As the explanation was given to the other farmer, his eyes rose in understanding, “Ah,” and his head nodded. He posed another question back to his friend, again in a rather angry manner.
"My friend wants to know how much the Romans will give him?" exclaimed the translator.
"What do you mean, how much will we give him? We are the Roman army. We are your conquerors. We can take whatever we want,” Nepos replied quickly.
The explanation was given to the farmer again and another angry response was received back.
“Great King. He says these lands are his. Plus, his wife and children live off the land. He contributes much of his land to pasture for the cows who live there and they produce milk for the Roman army,” the translator spoke.
“I don’t care what he does,” shouted Nepos back. “This is our land now.”
“One moment, General,” interrupted Suetonius. “If I may make a suggestion,” whispered the secretary quietly in his ear.
“If it is his land and we have taken it, we should give him some recompense. We are not trying to make enemies here, General. Let us be generous to this man. If you kill him or throw him off his lands it will just start ill feeling, perhaps even a further war.”
Nepos thought for a moment.
“Maybe you're right,” agreed Nepos. “I am sure Caesar would want us to do the right thing. “Show us where your land is,” and he took the farmer over to the map laid out on the table. The farmer looked at it closely and his brown finger pointed to the start of the wall some 10 miles away from Pons Aelius.
“Very well,” nodded Nepos. “Tell him we will pay him 10 denarii for his land. However, tell him he must put the posts back in the ground again.”
The statement was translated back to the farmer and a gruff response was made.
"He says he wants 100 denarii, Great King. He doesn’t have time to put them back in – as the cows require to be milked."
“We are not negotiating here,” shouted Nepos, getting irate again.
"We will give you 20 denarii,” said Suetonius. "I will arrange payment if you would like to come through here?" he indicated, showing them through to another room, as they left General Nepos ranting to himself in the other room.
"My friend says that our Gods will surely bless the Roman army and he will assist them in any way he can," smiled the translator to Suetonius as they left the room with a bag of coins a few minutes later.
Returning to Nepos, Suetonius was relieved. “See, we are winning them over.”
“Typical amateurs, only the British could be so tight,” Nepos moaned.
Outside the fort the farmers smiled at each. “Can you believe they fell for that?” one said to the other.
“I know. Did you see the map? They told us the plan is to build a wall out of stone and we have seen the complete layout,” laughed one.
“Wait till we tell the elders now,” laughed the other.
"And we got paid for it!" they both chuckled.
“What are you going to do with your half of the money?”
"Buy some beer probably,” laughed the other farmer.
Cornelia woke to find the sunlight pouring through the window. She heard the noise and commotion of soldiers moving around outside. She was annoyed with herself – since arriving in Pons Aelius, she had been sleeping too long; the comfort of the beds and the garrison guarding the walls had made her complacent.
“Foolish,” she said to herself as she shook her head and got out of bed. She washed and dressed quickly. She was to meet the Emperor and his wife, at the eighth hour in the praetorium.
Stepping out into the sun, which was bringing warmer temperatures to Britannia than Cornelia remembered, she saw that the Emperor and his wife were talking with Marcus and Governor Nepos standing a little way off.
Cornelia moved quietly to Marcus’s side and whispered an apology in his ear.
“Caesar, my lady, may I present my wife-to-be, Cornelia,” Marcus interrupted and allowed Cornelia to step forward and bow her head to both the Emperor and his wife.
“Caesar,” Cornelia said quietly. Hadrian smiled warmly.
"It is good to meet you again, young lady," smiled Hadrian.
“My dear, I thought, as you have travelled so far on your own, you might need some company. Cornelia kindly volunteered to act as your companion whilst we move to Vindolanda. It is proper that since you are here in Britannia without your ladies in waiting, someone should escort you,” Hadrian sounded sincere as he spoke, but Sabina knew her husband better than that.
“You are moving my love?” asked Sabina quietly.
“Yes, this fort is too far away from the centre of the wall and too small. We are moving to a more central position. You of course will remain here. For your safety,” added Hadrian.
“How kind of you, my love. You think of everything,” Sabina thanked her husband and cast her eyes over Cornelia. She seemed to be a young woman who had a minimal amount of breeding, but enough to make her a suitable companion and Sabina was convinced that Cornelia would not prove a threat to her.
Cornelia felt Sabina’s eyes taking in her appearance and making judgements as to what she was capable of. Cornelia knew that there was political intrigue in the air, but her concern was not for the Emperor and his position, but for ensuring that Marcus was safe and she would do anything she could to keep him from harm.
“I am glad that is settled. There is work that must be done. The Second Legion have already started the work of further construction at Condercum fort and are waiting for us in the wall area,” Hadrian said, dismissing his wife and Cornelia from his presence and turning to Marcus and Nepos to discuss the site where the groundbreaking for the wall would take place.
“I believe it is time for breakfast,” Sabina smiled at Cornelia, her composure hiding how angry being dismissed by her husband made her. “Senator Blandus will be joining us, but I believe the two of you have already met.”
“Yes, my lady, he spoke to me a few days ago,” Cornelia replied in a demure tone that was easy to maintain and behind which she could hide her emotions.
“Good, there are so few civilised people here in Britannia; it’s only natural for them to gravitate towards one another. However, I suspect that you’ve been dragged around military postings with very little social interaction for so long that you might find our conversation somewhat dry,” Sabina said condescendingly, trying to test the limits of Cornelia’s civility. She knew that the Emperor's decision to give her a companion was nonsense; the girl was there to keep Sabina from being a nuisance to the Emperor or even to spy on her. But that was easy enough to test.
“I expect that a woman accustomed to the high social circles my lady frequents would both dazzle and confuse me. However, any lessons I can learn from observing your behaviour can only serve to improve me," Cornelia replied, suppressing the sarcasm she truly wanted to express.
The two women walked on in silence, Sabina almost certain that she had been given a lamb that would follow her around and be unaware of what was going on around her.
“Good morning, Senator, I hear that the army is on the move this morning,” Sabina said as she entered the room that had been
converted into a dining area for the higher-ranked officers.
“Indeed, I hear so too,” nodded Blandus, as he kissed the hand of Sabina. The conversation was the same that Cornelia had listened to thousands of times before. It was dull and contained more gossip than information. Throughout the meal, Cornelia watched Sabina, studying every subtle movement she made, every flash of anger that reached her eyes and was hidden by a slight curling of her lip into a smile.
She tapped her tongue against her teeth, keeping her mouth tightly shut as the discussions shifted between politics and the differences between Rome and society in Britannia. She kept her eyes and ears open. If she were in Pons Aelius rather than out in the wilderness protecting Marcus, she would be mindful of the politics that governed his fate and would do her best to protect him.
Hadrian could barely contain his excitement as he watched his wife disappear inside the main building of Pons Aelius and turned his attention to the men who were being organised before him. The royal party moved out of the fort and headed west towards Vindolanda. The Praetorian Guard rode surrounding Caesar along the path, with Marcus riding as the front scout. With the fort of Vindolanda already extended it would now be the major fort in the central sector and the ideal place to base themselves whilst the other forts were built. After this, the wall construction would start immediately. Additional workers who had been rounded up from the Aelius Port would be the ones to break ground on the construction of the wall and had already been moved there. They rode out into the countryside just 2 miles from Pons Aelius fort.
The Second Legion had already pitched their tents behind a palisade and set up a temporary camp within the area. The camp was right on the line of the wall and would be used by the soldiers as a base for starting the wall work.
“Can you feel that, Nepos?” Hadrian asked the Governor of Britannia with suppressible glee.
“Caesar?” Nepos asked, stifling a yawn.
“That tangible feeling in the air. That electric excitement that something momentous is about to begin.” The Emperor grinned and rubbed his hands together. “This is the day I have been dreaming of for months. Come, come, we’ll ride with the men to witness this,” Hadrian cried. “Quietus, Clarus, Nepos, we will be the ones to see this!”
The three men saluted the Emperor and silently followed him as he descended to where the horses were. A small number of the Praetorian Guards were waiting as Clarus had suspected that the Emperor would want to ride out with the work party to see construction on the wall begin. He had arisen an hour before he normally did to arrange them to be prepared and the horses readied for when Caesar announced that he was to accompany the workers.
As Hadrian mounted, his horse skittered about beneath him, the Emperor’s excitement making the animal nervous. Over one hundred men from the Aelius Port were pushed into lines by the centurions who had been assigned to oversee them and were barked at to march out behind the Emperor’s procession. Behind the men, horses had been harnessed to small carts that had been loaded with equipment, stone and tools.
Nepos explained to the group what he had set up.
"Just as we did in Germania, Caesar, each legion will operate as a self-contained unit. Our soldiers have been dispatched to quarries, woods, sandpits and rivers. We have built lime kilns nearby to make mortar and bring this forward as required. It's early days yet, but we have set the men to their tasks as required. Construction of the wall has been split up into lengths of 5 miles or a season’s work."
"Excellent," nodded Hadrian to Nepos.
The day was bright and clear, verging on warm – weather that Hadrian took as a sign from the Gods that the wall had been ordained by their hand. It took 20 minutes for the party to reach the site, the Emperor talking animatedly the whole time, his men listening patiently to all he had to say.
Most of what the Emperor said was him repeating conversations that he had already held with each of the men, but none would tell Caesar that they already knew what he was telling them, especially when he was in such a jubilant mood.
“Here, this is where the wall will stand,” Hadrian said as he pulled his horse to a halt.
“This will be where the wall starts. It will run from here to the other side of Britannia!” he said grandly.
“Clarus, bring me a turf cutter!” The Emperor held out his hand.
The dolabra or Roman turf cutter was a piece of standard-issue equipment of the Roman legions. It was primarily used in the building of defensive trenches and every soldier had one. Clarus moved to where the workers were unloading the equipment and took a cutter from amongst the pile, to hand to the Emperor. Hadrian took the cutter and walked over to where the yellow posts marked out the path of the wall.
“This is a historic moment,” Hadrian smiled and thrust the head of the cutter into the tough grass. With a dramatic effort, he pushed down the semi-circle edge and rocked the blade from side to side with his feet. He did all four sides and then, pushing the pole away, lifted a regulation-sized piece of turf out with some difficulty and threw it to one side.
“It has begun! Nepos, we shall remember this day, as those who will see the wall shall remember it,” Hadrian said as he handed the cutter back to Clarus.
The officers clapped their hands in agreement and a loud cheer went up from the soldiers and auxiliaries waiting to carry on.
“It shall be a day that will be recorded, Caesar,” Nepos said dryly.
“Come, come, Nepos, this is only the beginning. All of the longest journeys start with the smallest step,” Hadrian said as he stepped back from the hole he had made.
“The earth! Where did we decide all this mud and soil from the foundations was going to go, Marcus?” The Emperor turned to Marcus as he asked his question.
Marcus could not answer. "I don't know how this would be built, Caesar."
"Nepos, could you tell young Marcus the plan of the wall and the ditch?"
Nepos walked over to where the yellow posts stood in the ground and indicated what would happen.
“Yes, Caesar. We cut the turf blocks from the land and dig down one and a half feet. We place large stones, pebbles, mortar and sand packed down to make a firm base. Then, on top, we place another layer of mortar mixed with crushed rock. On top of that, sand and gravel are placed. This is the foundation and is important to hold the weight of the wall, as we are going to build a wall of stone. It will be 10 feet wide and 15 feet high. It will have dressed stone on the outside and be cemented using mortar. On the inside of the wall will be a core of earth and stones to compact it. In front of the wall will be the berm, approximately 20 feet wide, which gives us clear sight to the north. Beyond the berm we will dig our ankle-breaker ditch. It is to be some 20 feet wide and 10 feet deep. It will run the entire length of the wall to stop any horse or soldier from jumping over it. The material from the excavation of the ditch will be tipped out to the north side to form a low wide mound," Nepos said with certainty.
"This way, if anyone tries to attack, they will be seen before they get to the wall and be speared."
An enormous smile spread across Hadrian's face as he heard the details of the wall being explained.
“Quite an incredible feat of engineering,” Marcus declared.
Hadrian beamed, "Isn't it? We have never done anything like this before. It will be a great projection of Rome's strength."
He moved around with a bounce that Nepos had only seen in boys who were being taken to the Colosseum for the first time. The centurions and soldiers had shown the party how quickly they were adept at using the cutters and within 30 minutes an entire length of 30 feet long and 10 feet wide had been cut and thrown over to the north side.
The Emperor stepped back as the civilian men were ordered forward by the centurions to begin digging out the foundations, whilst the others prepared more ground.
“We will send more men as soon as they arrive. The wall will
need to be built first, and the legions will be more than capable of doing that as soon as the foundations for this section are complete,” Hadrian beamed as he walked between the yellow posts and held his arms towards the horizon.
“Just think, we shall soon see it rising from the land, a beacon to all that see it, the light of Rome in the darkness!” The Emperor did not stand still for one moment as the turf was removed from the ground and piled up to be used to help in the construction of the mound in the north.
Nepos watched the centurion move between the groups of men – managing to oversee different tasks at once was impressive. He seemed to know exactly where each of the men he was responsible for was at any given moment.
Hadrian observed them for another hour as the foundations for the wall were dug by the detachment of workers. His fondness for his troops and even these civilians was clear. Wherever Hadrian went, he was always keen to discuss the micro details of each job and what was important about it. It was barely midday as Hadrian’s party remounted their horses and left the centurions to watch over the workers. Armthal watched as Hadrian and his guards left the site and moved back to see the new fort being built. He had an idea …
Suetonius had received papers from Nepos detailing what should be paid for the items that Caesar had listed on his initial inventory, all that was needed to begin to work on the wall and what was needed to feed the men that had been ordered for the first few months of construction.
The Emperor had signed the orders approving payment of the invoices he had been presented with without a second thought.
Suetonius sat with stacks of paper covering the small table he had to work on. He had papers piled around his room, each organised into different categories. There were papers that the Emperor had
dismissed as unimportant, and the tallest stack was leaning against the far wall where they could not easily be knocked over.
There were then papers that were messages from the field commanders in different areas of the Empire that the Emperor wished to read once there was less work to be done on preparations for the wall. It was slightly smaller than the stack marked unimportant and stood next to his desk.
On his desk, he had a few papers and invoices that the Emperor had already signed.
He would pass these to the clerk to check when the goods would arrive. The secretary had spent most of the past few days going through them, comparing the totals that the Nepos had outlined and those that the Emperor had approved. None of the papers that Suetonius had seen had numbers that tallied up. He had carefully worked out conservative figures, figures that did not empty the treasury of Britannia in a single day. However, the papers that Hadrian had signed each bore totals that were four times those that Nepos had suggested. By Suetonius’s calculations, the treasury would be emptied before the end of the month and Caesar would need to send for additional funds from Rome, funds that the Senate would need to approve. They would ask for reasons as to why they should send the Emperor money, the invoices and proof that the money from the Britannic treasury had been spent wisely, that it had not been spent or stolen by the barbarous tribes. Before him, Suetonius had the proof that the money had been spent, but there was little wisdom that had been applied.
When the Emperor returned from the wall construction site, Suetonius would show him the papers and try to persuade him, with aid from Nepos, that the Emperor had to be more discerning about how funds were being spent on this grand project.
The secretary did not have to wait long. Horns sounded in the fort in the early afternoon announcing the Emperor’s arrival to Vindolanda.
“Caesar, I must speak with you,” Suetonius greeted Hadrian as he walked into his planning room.
“Suetonius, it has begun! The foundations are being dug, but we need more men. The invitation I sent to the tribal leader –
Tobar – has there been a response?” the Emperor asked without acknowledging the urgency in the secretary’s voice.
“Yes, Caesar, he will attend the meeting as you instructed,” Suetonius couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice. “Caesar, please, I must speak to you about the finances of this project.
“The Empire has more than enough money to pay for this wall,” Hadrian waved away the concerns.
“The Empire does, Caesar, but Britannia does not,” Suetonius said firmly. “I have calculated that in a month there will be no gold left in the treasury and no way of paying for any materials, supplies or the wages of the men that are stationed here. Caesar, you must petition the Senate for more money to be sent.”
“Send the petition, it will be approved. When I speak, the Senate listen,” Hadrian said grandly, the elation he felt at having begun the wall himself still elevating his mood.
“Caesar, the Senate will object. Money being spent on this scale, it is too much. Merchants and traders have charged four times their normal rates for goods that are in plentiful supply. I cannot begin to imagine what they will charge when supplies become a rarity.”
The secretary tried to move the gaze of the Emperor to the papers. “Here, Caesar, a quarter of the supplies that could have been purchased with the funds you have approved.”
“Enough! I am not a child, Suetonius. Do not bother me with such trivialities. Send the request to the Senate, do whatever it is you have to, to ensure that the money is here to pay for all that I need. This is not a simple blockade that is being erected to scare a few peasants away from the border! This is a statement of Rome. A monument that will still stand centuries after we have travelled to the underworld. I will not haggle over every piece of straw, every ear of grain. You will pay what the merchants ask and be done with it.” Hadrian’s voice was only just shy of shouting, his jubilant mood lying in tatters as he swept from the room, leaving Suetonius feeling frustrated as he gathered up his papers.
Tobar was the chief of the Brigantes tribe in Eboracum. It was some 70 miles south of the wall and the centre of their tribal land. His father and his uncle had worked with the Romans when he was a child and he had always been taught to respect their ways even though they were different from his own. From the early days of fighting against the Romans, they quickly realised that they could help them achieve their dominance within the area and against other tribes when they worked with them. He had spent his days as a child watching the Roman soldiers march, and playing games with other boys where he was a legionary, conquering the lands of the world.
When he was young, he had even one day dreamed of growing up and serving in the legion, but instead he had been raised to the position of chieftain, a man that Rome could rely upon.
The invitation to meet with the Emperor to discuss what he could do to help serve Rome had caused him to feel like a child again and he eagerly accepted the message for him to attend the fort of Vindolanda for dinner. He dressed in his finest cloak and carried a single shield bearer on his chariot.
The journey to Vindolanda fort had seemed to be over too quickly, Tobar’s mind being fixed on the delights he would see in the fort. The walls loomed before him, soldiers manning every position. Tobar held his breath as he watched the gates open and heard horns blaring out, announcing his arrival.
In the courtyard there was a detachment of the Praetorian Guard waiting to greet him and accompany him to the dining area, where Hadrian waited. The Emperor knew of Tobar’s fascination with all that was Rome and so had organised something spectacular to seduce the chieftain into compliance.
The doors to the dining area were thrown open before Tobar to reveal a decadent display of Roman frivolity. Some tables had been arranged in a square around a central table. Chairs and couches stood around the outer table, which was covered with a grand banquet. There were platters with eggs and oysters, roasted meats and cheeses that had been brought from across the sea, and meatballs that had been cooked in a garlic sauce that was so fragrant it filled the air. On the centre table lay a naked woman,
with small plates of food resting on her body. Tobar’s eyes fell on the woman and for a moment she was all he could think of.
“Welcome, Tobar.” Hadrian’s voice boomed a loud welcome that cut through the chief’s thoughts about what he would do with the naked woman.
“Caesar, it is an honour,” Tobar replied as he bowed to the Emperor.
“Come, meet Governor Nepos and Clarus, the best bodyguard an Emperor could ask for.” Hadrian took Tobar around the room, introducing him to the guests he had arranged to impress the chief of the Brigantes. Caelianus, Agrippa, Blandus, Suetonius, Nepos and Marcus were all in attendance.
Hadrian moved Tobar to a long sofa where three women were waiting to attend to him. These three young, attractive women were dressed in almost nothing, their bodies painted with gold instead, the metal shimmering in the light as they moved. They gracefully stepped around the room, the see-through white slips they wore floating as they moved, offering food and wine to those the Emperor had invited.
After circling the room to other guests, the three women now waited on Tobar and as he approached, they gently laid him on the sofa and began to feed him as though he were the Emperor. Hadrian smiled to himself as Tobar eagerly lapped up the attention. He waited until Tobar had drunk three goblets of wine before he began negotiating with the chief.
“Tobar, Rome needs you and your people,” Hadrian said as he reclined on a sofa that was opposite the one on which Tobar lay.
“Caesar, ask what you will of me,” Tobar said, slopping wine onto his clothing as he gesticulated with his arms.
“We are building something that will declare the sovereignty of Rome upon this land and I need your people to help. I need your men to assist my soldiers in building a wall that will run across this land, a stone wall, and for your help you will not find my generosity lacking,” Hadrian said, leaning towards Tobar.
“What are you offering in exchange for my help?” Tobar belched and opened his mouth so that more wine could be poured in by the serving girl.
“A villa, your own Roman soldiers to command, and a place in the Empire,” Hadrian said with a smile. “And this as a gift,” the Emperor motioned for one of the girls to step forward. In her hands, she carried a white and red toga, the ones that were commonly only worn by senators in Rome.
The girl handed it to Tobar, who unfurled the fabric and beamed at the Emperor.
“What is this? A toga? I have only ever heard these described, Caesar. My father once told me of a Roman man who came to our village when he was a boy, wearing this. It looks just as he described it.” Tobar rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “I never thought I would own one. The closest I would get to seeing one myself would be upon the statues in Eboracum,” Tobar sighed.
“It’s not just a toga,” answered Hadrian. “It is the symbol of a Senator of Rome. An official of enormous power. Perhaps you could represent the people of Britannia in Rome?” asked Hadrian.
Tobar was stunned into silence.
“Even with the help I’ve provided, you still want to offer me an even greater gift, Caesar.”
Tobar stood and bowed deeply before Hadrian.
“You will have all the men you need and more.” Tobar swayed slightly as he sat down again, staring at the toga. Hadrian nodded to Nepos to join them so that he could discuss the number of men that were needed and where they were to be sent.
Blandus stood not too far from where the Emperor was lying, talking to Tobar. To the others in the room, his attention was fixed upon the naked woman lying on the table, but, in truth, he was listening intently to what Hadrian had offered Tobar for his help. He shook his head in disgust at the thought of some provincial coming back to Rome as a senator. This was too much.
Four days later, with the cooperation of Tobar, an additional five hundred men were sent to the camps where workers were digging the foundations of the wall. These camps were located just before the wall line and consisted of tents housing labourers who lived and worked in the area. Roman soldiers were also stationed at the camp to ensure that the workers followed orders, with a few centurions in command.
Marcus and his cavalry unit were tasked with scouting the northern area for any signs of enemies and ensuring the safety of the workers while they dug. Nepos had determined that digging was a relatively routine task and did not warrant the use of Roman soldiers. Slaves were responsible for removing the earth, using cutters to dig out sods and placing them into carts that transported the soil to the northern face of the wall, creating a higher slope.
Although their location seemed isolated from the other camps, Marcus knew the centurion would be closely following the line of the wall as marked by the yellow posts.
“All is quiet, sir,” the centurion reported as Marcus arrived at his location with his turmae of cavalry.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Marcus smiled at the man. “How are the foundations progressing?”
“Well, they have almost dug down as far as one foot in this first section; it will soon be time to move on to the next. Sir, has there been any word from the other end of the wall?”
the centurion asked as the two men stood and watched the workers throwing soil into the air.
“Not that I know of,” Marcus replied, shaking his head. “I believe with the local men from the tribes we will dig the foundations along the whole wall.”
“With this number of men, it would take months, and only if the men dug all day and night,” the centurion laughed.
“I’m sure you can find a way to have it done quicker,” Marcus grinned.
The centurion stood watching the men who were loading the cart with the loose earth that had been dug from the foundations.
“How many more men has this chieftain, Tobar, pledged to help with the wall?”
“As many as the Emperor needs, though there is a slight possibility that there are not enough men in Britannia for that,” Marcus said with a wry grin.
“I know what you mean,” smiled the centurion, as he turned his attention back to Marcus. “If that is the case, then I will need more soldiers soon just to ensure they are working and not trying to run home.”
“How many men do you need to work in a gang?” Marcus asked as he watched two men amongst the diggers engage in an argument that looked to be becoming more aggressive by the second.
“To keep the process going we have around forty men in a gang. The slaves are working 12 hours a day and we keep them fed just enough to work.”
The centurion turned to the two men arguing in a foreign language. He pointed his vine cane at one of them.
“Enough. We speak Latin here. Not your language.”
A Roman soldier quickly said something in Latin to them both and the argument stopped suddenly.
“We must discourage them from talking in their language, as well as getting all the tools back at the end of the day. Overall, this bunch are fine as they are not British. It’s the British ones that cause the arguments and then it can turn quickly into a fight between two men.”
“Looks like you have your work cut out, centurion,” Marcus agreed. “Have you seen any locals around? Any troublemakers?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s been quiet since we got here. As I say, the locals have been friendly, but more formal than I would like.”
Marcus accepted his answer and assured him of his protection.
“Very well. We will be heading north of here and back in a few hours. Carry on.”
Novantes had been named as Marcus’s second in command and had helped the young commander select the men who would be riding with them. Marcus had not spent a lot of time with the auxiliary cavalry of Pons Aelius; however, he felt sure their reputation had preceded them. They appeared knowledgeable about their horses and their standards of equipment. Their horses appeared suitably fit and ready whenever he called on them.
Novantes and Marcus had spent the days touring the wilderness with the cavalrymen. Between the two of them, they had both formed a unit of thirty men and were scouting across the area constantly.
Marcus swung himself into the saddle and signalled to his column that they were to move out. The centurion watched the party of thirty ride out towards the horizon, the horses trotting over the uneven ground with ease. They were a party that had not been chosen for their stealth; the sound of the horses, metal and leather could easily be heard, announcing their arrival, and the scent of horse sweat meant that any raiders would know where the soldiers were.
They were a response unit, soldiers that were to keep any enemies away with the threat of their presence in the surrounding area and effectively drive off any warbands that were not so easily discouraged. As Marcus looked back he heard the centurion roaring at the diggers who had stopped working whilst new arrivals had filtered past their position pushing further west.
Armthal watched Marcus and his men as closely as the centurion had; he made a mental note of the weapons the men carried and the condition of the horses they rode. He had spent days studying the centurion and his habits and now had new soldiers to study, night patrols to observe and men to talk with.
He had tried to slow the progress of the foundations by sabotaging some of the equipment, but as soon as damaged equipment was found, it was repaired by the blacksmiths. Armthal looked once again at the falx he had been given for work. It had a curved blade like a sickle but longer. It would make an efficient tool to kill any Roman soldier.
Vordimus crouched in the grass watching the work of the camp. Marcus and his horses had almost ridden over the three men, and Vordimus had debated attacking the party of horsemen simply to cause a distraction. It would not achieve what they wanted. They remained hidden in the long grass just outside the work camp. The risk of discovery was great; however, they had to pass a message to Armthal.
Vordimus had learnt a great deal from watching the men digging; he had seen where they were vulnerable and where the flaws in their camp were from the outside, but with Marcus’s men in the area, it changed things. The former Roman pursed his lips and gave a bird call twice. Armthal moved away from the men he was standing with and gave the bird call response he had been given. He would wait until night had fallen and then slip out of the camp to the rendezvous spot. He had to get closer to the Emperor. He would join the slave gangs in the central section. ~O~
From the outside, it just looked like two off-duty soldiers having a chat and some beer. The tavern at Aelius was small and not very busy. Blandus calculated that none of the locals would know who he was. He had purchased two jugs of their ale and sat at a table in the corner. He sipped a small amount and drew back his lips in shock. This was going to take some time to get used to.
Clarus, the Praetorian Prefect, came in dressed in his old civilian clothes and cloak. Being off duty, no one gave the two Romans a second glance, with a small exception of Blandus’s shoes. His soft shoes, made of comfortable leather, were not known yet in Britannia, and they squeaked slightly when he walked due to the dampness.
They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries in small talk before Blandus was the first to set the scene.
"I see you got my message," he smiled. "The Imperial messengers are one of the benefits of being a senator."
"I was surprised to see you here, Senator. What news from Rome?" replied Clarus swiftly.
"The usual idle gossip about politics and power," nodded Blandus. "I decided to expand my horizons away from Rome for a little while. The summer is just too hot there."
"I heard you arrived with Empress Sabina. Is there anything I should know?"
Blandus laughed. "She is unhappy in her marriage. I have explained to her just how much her husband is resented in the Senate. I think we need someone to get close to her. I’ve tried, believe me."
Clarus nodded in agreement. "She would be a difficult chicken to catch. I cannot be seen to do anything myself; let’s watch and wait." He paused. "I noticed she came without her escort. There may be an opportunity with that."
Blandus nodded. "Perhaps."
Both men agreed to continue their plans to watch and wait.
"Actually, after the initial shock, this ale is not too bad," smiled Blandus.
Clarus laughed. "Be careful. Three jugs of that and you will be on the floor, senator." He drained his glass. "I must get back to my duties. Let’s keep in contact."
“A bad peace is even worse than War” Tactius
CHAPTER 8
HADRIAN’S WALL, MILECASTLE 4
27TH JUNE 122 AD, 8 AM
Tobar had provided more men than Hadrian could have hoped for. His men and the auxiliary troops streamed out the work camps every morning to help dig out the foundations of both the milecastles and the wall. Their progress was so rapid that even Nepos had been impressed by how hard the collaborating tribesmen had worked alongside the Roman auxiliary soldiers. Thousands of men were set to work digging up the turf for the wall, building the milecastles and the ditch on the north side of the wall. It was a hard task. They dug the ditch 20 feet north of the wall foundation in a flat open space and as a further obstacle.
The ditch was 20 feet wide and 10 feet deep with a V-shaped profile. The V-shape was commonly known as the ankle breaker – more likely for the attacker to be injured and more difficult to cross the ditch swiftly. In addition, the spoil from the ditch was thrown on the north side and smoothed out to heighten the ditch's outer scarp. This made any attacker more visible. All of this was overseen by a centurion who was the clerk of works. He guided the construction and oversaw all the elements of his section. The order of construction was the milecastles were built first, as they would help plot the line of the wall, and then the wall foundations, along with the ditch.
To date, three milecastles had been built, along with some half mile of wall foundation. More than half the foundations for the wall had been dug with the help of Tobar’s men and Hadrian had been more than happy to honour his pledge to Tobar. The chieftain was moved from the hut in the village he presided over into a country farmhouse just south of the wall, along with two Roman auxiliary soldiers. It had been enlarged and extended from the original structure to include a large kitchen, storehouse, two
public rooms and four bedrooms. It was, by Roman standards small, but in Tobar's eyes, everything he could want.
Nepos had carefully selected the men who would serve as soldiers under Tobar. They were auxiliary soldiers, but one stood out as a frumentarii– a spy in the intelligence agency. His role was to monitor Tobar and report back to the Emperor on any signs of collaboration with rebellious groups that could threaten the construction of the wall.
Tobar had been invited to observe the progress of the wall built by the men he provided. Hadrian accompanied the chieftain to the work camp to showcase the significant achievements made in just a few short weeks.
The chief of the Brigantes was keenly interested in the wall, but his primary concern was his own status and his ambition to become a Roman citizen. He would go to great lengths, even sacrificing the lives of those under his influence, to attain this esteemed honour. Spending time with the Emperor was another opportunity for him to secure his dream and demonstrate to his followers how favoured he was by Rome.
Hadrian did not waste time explaining the intricate details of the wall to the chieftain. Instead, he focused on impressing upon him the wall's scale and the military might it would provide to Britain. If Tobar was a spy for Rome's enemies, inspiring fear about the military strength of Rome was essential. If he was not a spy, it served as a reminder of Rome's power and that any further rebellion would be easily suppressed by the soldiers constructing the wall.
The fort at Vindolanda had already been extended by soldiers of the Second Legion, with a further cavalry barracks being added. It was an ideal location just south of the wall and would allow the cavalry regiment to control the central area. The builders of the Second Legion had worked as fast as possible and the
addition of dry weather had helped to make the project complete. Marcus and Novantes looked at their new building with pride. Their cavalry troops were now stationed in the new communal building which was being tried out. The arrangement was built such that a latrine pit ran down the centre of the rooms, covered with stone slabs to collect the horse urine and keep the floor dry. Hay and fodder were hung in baskets to feed the animals. Behind these rooms the rider slept in his room but within proximity to his horse.
The building housed 120 horses and men with ease and ensured instant deployment would be possible – a great military advantage. This also meant of course the soldiers and their steeds had a natural bond between them. Marcus nodded at the quarters he was now moved into. Novantes and himself could share a room. There would be no more trying to find their horse in the dark when it was stabled elsewhere.
With their arrival at Vindolanda, Marcus and Novantes went to introduce themselves to the existing senior decurion. Within a legion, there would normally be approximately 240 men, or 24 turmae, of cavalry, commanded by one senior decurion. Decurion meant an officer in command of ten men. The senior decurion rank commanded 24 junior decurions and was similar to a centurion. Marcus expected that, like most auxiliaries, they would be of Germanic origin. He and Novantes walked over to the old stables in the southwest corner of the fort, as the auxiliaries had not yet moved into the new stables.
In a clean but sparse room sat the senior decurion poring over his paperwork.
“Good morning, decurion,” Marcus smiled as he stepped into the room.
The decurion was surprised and quickly got to his feet.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”
He looked at Marcus’s plumed hat and recognised the Praefectus alae.
“I am your new cavalry prefect, Quietus, and this is my decurion, Novantes.” Marcus paused as the decurion ran his eyes up and down both young men.
“Our Emperor has tasked me to take over the patrolling of the area.”
“Oh I see, sir,” said the man awkwardly. “I am Decurion Atot. I was not aware we were getting a replacement. The previous prefect passed away some months ago and we were never notified of a replacement.”
“I see,” smiled Marcus. “Well, I know the area quite well as I served with the auxiliary cavalry troops.”
“I am sure you want to settle in and find out what’s changed since you were last here. My decurion will show you the stables and where everything is,” said Atot as he called to a junior officer who had just appeared outside.
“This is our new prefect, Cobas. Could you show him and his decurion their quarters?”
“Very well, sir,” agreed Decurion Cobas.
“I shall no doubt speak with you later in the week,” commented Atot and showed them the door.
Novantes and Marcus looked at each other quizzically. Decurion Atot didn’t seem exactly excited to see them. Maybe they had just caught him at a bad moment.
The fort at Vindolanda was like all other Roman forts and followed a roughly standard playing-card-shape design: the commander's house in the centre, with the headquarters, hospital and stores all occupying central positions. Between the two outer walls, two main roads ran down through the fort, one at right angles to the other: the via praetoria ran from north to south and the via principalis from east to west. On either side stretched the low roofs of the barrack blocks where the cohorts lived, with a room containing eight men. The stables took up one corner of the fort and the smell of the animals hung over this corner of the camp. Cobas had given them a detailed tour of the fort and its facilities and both officers were shown to their respective rooms.
Whilst everything appeared relatively clean, Marcus noticed the disrepair of the stables and the stench of the unclean stables.
“Have you served in other units before?” asked Marcus to Cobas.
“Yes, sir, I was in the Second Legion under General Priscus
and then took this transfer to be a decurion of the cavalry unit. I was originally from a tribe in Gaul which rode horses so I wanted this posting. General Nepos showed up here 6 months ago and insisted we have more regular patrols in the area.”
“I see,” nodded Marcus.
“Why do you ask?”
“With someone of your experience, I had expected that the place would be better organised.”
Decurion Cobas did not at first respond as they made their way to their rooms.
“There is nothing wrong with auxiliary soldiers,” he said, thoughtfully.
Marcus looked puzzled.
“How are things in the area today? Have you been out on patrol?”
The decurion looked embarrassed. “No, sir. I am not allowed to go out now. Decurion Atot is the senior decurion. He runs all the patrols now.”
“Why is that?” asked Marcus.
Cobas looked downwards. “I mentioned to Decurion Atot about trying to improve things, and since then I haven’t been out that much.”
“No one is asking you to be an informer,” Marcus gently added. “But if you saw something wrong, why didn’t you take it to the Prefect?”
“I did. I had a word with him and told him standards had dropped amongst the men. And since then I haven’t been assigned any patrols. He’s kept me well away from the northern trade roads,” explained Cobas.
“Look,” said Marcus, “it’s just that I am assuming command of this cohort now and I will be making a few changes. Trying to improve things. Good officers like you, I value.”
“Thank you, sir.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation and then Cobas spoke again.
“The previous prefect was killed here by local tribes. He was always volunteering for long patrols. There were rumours he was
operating some kind of protection racket for the traders crossing into northern Britain and one day just never came back, as far as I am aware. Since then, Decurion Atot has come along, he runs things completely differently. He is always out on patrol with his favourites and never lets anyone else take patrols. Unfortunately, I am not one of his favourites, sir.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows in concern.
“So, you have been without a cavalry prefect for a year now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So are you seeing any more problems?”
“Yes, the tribes raid cattle and steal goods back and forth, but on the whole, there is not much going on with the locals. I really cannot understand why the Emperor should be building a wall,” replied Cobas.
“Britain is essential to the Roman Empire, decurion. A bit wild and untamed at first, but give it time and we will make them see things our way. They will embrace the Roman way whether they like it or not. The Emperor has decided that he wants to keep Britain intact as much as possible. Therefore, those cattle raids you refer to must stop. Was there not a recent uprising by the Brigantes?” asked Marcus.
“Yes, sir, it was down to tax revenue that Rome wanted.”
“They attacked the fort at Coria I believe?”
“Yes, it was a few months before we arrived. Because it's isolated they could do what they wanted. We didn’t hear about it until a few days later.”
“That’s exactly why the Emperor has decided to build a wall, decurion. He wants to stop these raids and attacks on Roman forts. When the Emperor's wall is built, we will be able to see exactly what is happening across the frontier. You are dismissed, Cobas. And not a word, until I speak with Decurion Atot.”
“Yes, sir,” saluted Cobas and left the room.
Marcus looked at Novantes. “I think it's time we went on a proper cavalry patrol.”
“Fair enough,” said Novantes. “There is nothing else we can do until we hear back from the Emperor.”
Decurion Atot looked at them both. “You only just got here and you want to leave the fort already?”
“Well, it will be good to get our bearings again and see the old area,” assured Marcus.
“Perhaps it's best you spend some time observing how I run the cohort here before you go off and jump straight into the action,” explained Atot.
“There is no point in wasting any time,” replied Marcus. “I am anxious to see the frontier again.”
“Well, it's just that we have our way of doing things here now and everyone is happy with that,” Atot added.
“Novantes will ride out with you and I will just come along to observe. We won’t get in the way,” Marcus replied, ignoring the decurion’s offer. “So we will draw some kit from the stores and see you in the morning.”
The decurion looked disappointed, saluted and turned away. ~O~
The patrol left the fort the following morning and headed north and then east. Passing the new fort at Vercovicium being built, they stopped for a rest and watered their horses. It was a cold morning, but within a few hours the sun came up and warmed their faces. The cavalry wore their chainmail armour and carried long spatha swords. On their right arm or back they carried the round oval shields denoting their auxiliary status.
Onwards north and east they travelled, well north of the wall line.
“What is your background then?” asked Marcus to Atot.
“I am 2 years from retirement, have been in the Second Legion all my life and then got this post 3 years ago. Hopefully, I might even get a small pension after 20 years,” he laughed.
Marcus nodded in agreement. “That’s the Roman way.”
“So we should always take advantage of any opportunities when we come across them,” added Atot.
“What do you mean?” asked Marcus.
“You will see shortly,” smiled Atot.
They rode on.
“Look over there,” said the senior decurion. “Traders, heading south.”
At first Marcus could not see anything, but eventually he made out a long line of horses moving on the horizon. With the sun in their eyes from the east, it was difficult to make out anything at all.
“Who are they?” asked Marcus.
“Definitely traders,” reported Atot. “They come from the Votadini tribe and bring their cattle with them for the markets every summer. The route passes down the east coast and they return with their profit a few weeks later. They are a wealthy tribe for sure.”
“What do you mean?” asked Marcus.
“Well, we help them get their sheep and cattle to the markets. Their land sits to the north of here on the border and they sell their cattle at five times the price they can get for it in their land. So we allow them to cross the border with our permission. We make sure they are not attacked by the Brigantes who attacked the same fort at Coria.”
“I see,” replied Marcus. “So what do we do?”
“Well, we police the roads north and south and ensure the traffic is taxed appropriately.”
“So you allow them passage at a price?”
“Of course,” Atot laughed. “It's all part of the service we provide.” Atot appeared happy that the prefect hadn’t recoiled at the plan he was explaining. Marcus didn’t appear to be too overbearing in his new job as the boss.
“This is not exactly according to the rules, is it?” asked Marcus.
“No, not exactly, but it's not illegal. We carry out our duties patrolling the frontier and the traders get access to the Roman markets. Everyone is happy and we keep it quiet. We just keep this part of the arrangement private.”
“I can imagine,” agreed Marcus. “And that small pension you get from the army will get boosted by a few years of some easy money,” he smiled.
“You see, the problems start with new traders like these. They don’t know the agreements we have in place.”
“What happens now then?” asked Marco.
“Let me do the talking. I can sort it all out.”
“All right,” agreed Marcus, “I’ll follow your lead.”
A long line of traders appeared from behind the hills in the distance. Some were bringing sheep, some cattle, and others were transporting goods of some description. A dozen donkeys were at the back. The escorts for the traders were a few men on horses who seemed to be carrying short swords and spears only.
The auxiliary cavalry unit rode out in a single line and as they approached, the traders curved out into a line of horses blocking their path. The traders halted as their escort of four soldiers sped to the front of the column. Marcus and Atot rode forward.
“Let me do the talking please, sir,” reminded the decurion.
“No problem,” agreed Marcus.
Once everyone had stopped and was in speaking distance, Atot smiled at the traders and moved his horse slowly forward.
“I bid you welcome to the Roman province of Britannia. Do you speak Latin?”
An older man at the back moved up.
“I speak a little. What can I do for you?”
“It's more a matter of what can we do for you?” replied Atot. “The Emperor Hadrian has asked all traders to pay a tax upon entering the province. This is required for everyone entering. We will give you a small token to show that you have paid and you can show us it when you leave to go back north.”
These traders were not aware of this arrangement.
“A small fee is all that’s required. Normally we take around 10% of your goods' price. So, by the size of your animal train, we would be looking for … 10 denarii.”
The old man looked shocked. He turned in his saddle and spoke back to the other traders, who were silent at first and then angry tones sounded in the conversation. The old man hushed his
friends and spoke again. “It is too much, Roman. We cannot give you what we do not have yet.”
“It is what all traders from the north pay when coming this way,” explained Atot.
“But we are only a few miles from the village where the market is,” complained the old man.
“Yes, I know,” agreed the decurion, “and it is a very busy market, which will make you all a lot of money. I appreciate that you are new to this, so you don’t understand the nature of the rules. This is what’s required.”
“May we pass freely if we don’t want your service?”
“There is no entry into the province of Britannia unless payment is made,” Atot demanded.
There was a stalemate between both groups as the traders pulled back into their circle to discuss the situation.
“It’s not over yet,” smiled Atot. “They always pay.”
After 10 minutes of intense discussion, the old man came back.
“We have only 8 denarii. We have all counted together and it is everything we have.”
Atot stood in his saddle and gave a command for the cavalry unit to stay back. He moved forward and, taking the money from the old man, checked it.
“It will do for today. Here is a token for the monies,” he replied, as he passed over a white-washed stone.
“What happened there?” asked Marcus. “You gave him a stone as a token?”
“We must give them something,” explained the decurion. “The paint wears quickly away and we know it won't last.”
“He has paid his way and is free to enter the province,” smiled Atot.
“What happens to the money?” enquired Marcus.
“Well, some of it goes into regimental funds and some of it is kept for the upkeep of the horses, etc.”
Marcus and the rest of the Germanic troops sat in their saddles as the long column of traders and donkeys at the end slowly wound their way past their position.
“Is that it?” asked Marcus. “So you keep the money?”
“There are expenses in running this outfit,” explained Atot. “As senior officer, I am lucky to be able to keep a little of the profit we make.”
With that, they headed back to patrol north of the fort again. Marcus and Novantes made eye contact and could barely contain their disgust. However, they said nothing. Once again, Marcus didn’t appear to be too overbearing in his new job as the boss. It had been a long day in the saddle, and before it had grown too dark, Decurion Atot led them back to Vindolanda. They had taken quite a sum of money, as the traders in the north were keen to sell their wares. Marcus kept quiet after the initial encounter and waited until they had returned to the fort.
“May I speak with you, decurion,” Marcus insisted. They moved into his office and closed the door.
“You mentioned that some of the money goes back into the legion. Can you tell me how much?”
“Yes, it is usually paid at festivals and holidays when we can get some off-duty time,” explained the decurion.
“Very well,” agreed Marcus. “Can you show me any ledgers or documents about how much money you contribute?”
“Oh, we don’t keep any official records,” explained Atot. “There are expenses for the horses, additional hay and fodder, blacksmiths' fees, etc.”
“Do you have a note of these also?” asked Marcus.
“Well, as I said, it's done on an ad-hoc basis,” explained the decurion.
“I see,” nodded Marcus. “How much money do you have at present in coin, so to speak?”
“Ah, that is private information, sir. We don’t discuss that just yet … Look, I was going to give you half the money from today anyway,” agreed Atot.
He held out his hand and passed half the coins to Marcus.
“I don’t want this money,” replied Marcus. “I am the commanding officer here and I am not happy with this little enterprise you are running. So tell me the details of how much money you have.”
“How do I know you are the commanding officer, sir? Did the Emperor give you an appointment command on paper?” asked Atot.
Marcus froze. He had been told by the Emperor himself but no documentation had been given to him.
“I thought not,” smiled Atot. “So, you’re running around telling everyone that you’re the cavalry prefect and you don’t even have the paper qualification. Sorry, sir, but until you can produce this document, you will not be our new commander. Army policy states every appointment …”
“I know what army policy states,” interrupted Marcus. “You're just delaying the inevitable. The Emperor himself has appointed me and I will make sure your little enterprise is stopped. It's illegal and I am sure you are using it for your own funds. You are under arrest,” motioned Marcus.
“Novantes,” Marcus shouted, “arrest the decurion.”
The door was opened and in came Novantes with another decurion.
“Arrest this decurion for disobeying an order.”
There was a scuffle as Novantes went to place an arm on Atot and a punch was thrown. Novantes, despite being the junior officer, threw one back. Then another and another. Atot hit the ground with a burst nose. His group of six favourites stood outside the office in a threatening circle. Marcus saw them in the corner of his eye and tried to calm the situation.
“Decurion Atot is no longer in command here. I am. The policy of taking money from the traders will stop. I cannot let this enterprise continue any longer. I will speak with General Nepos and ask for his guidance. Until further notice, you are all restricted to barracks.”
Atot got up and wiped the blood from his lip as he glared at Marcus.
“We will see who is right,” Marcus whispered in the decurion's ear. “I will have that piece of paper shown to everyone.”
Two days later Marcus, Novantes and Cobas had taken all the men except the six favourites from the cavalry troop on a ride later that afternoon. Getting out of the fort seemed like a good idea, as the number of soldiers coming and going around it seemed to be increasing. It was a lovely summer day as the three turmae of 30 troops rode out of the fort and headed north. Cobas smiled at the thought of finally getting out and doing some proper patrolling.
“These men will support you, sir. As do I.”
Marcus nodded in appreciation.
“Once I get official paperwork, I will make sure you are recognised also.”
They rode past the adjoining village with shops and a civilian population. Spiral smoke fires drifted upwards as the light breeze caught the smoke and it drifted away.
"Let's head north from here," ordered Marcus.
The soldiers of the Sixth Legion had headed north to start a new fort called Vercovicium a few weeks ago. This fort would be the eighth fort on the wall and in the central section between the east and west coasts. It had originally been planned to be built behind the wall; however, the plan was changed by the Emperor to build it directly on the wall itself to provide a faster response for the mobile units. Marcus looked at the dramatic views to the north. "Keep your eyes open," he added.
Lookouts at the camp of the Sixth Legion saw the Roman turmae from a distance. The soldiers were living in a temporary camp, with sharpened stakes used as a form of fence. A three-foot ditch was dug around the entire camp, with the earth built up to a rampart and the stakes on top to keep them safe. In the centre, goatskin tents covered the main area for both soldiers and stores. The armies of Rome were not just soldiers, they were skilled engineers and builders, with every legionary expected to be able to work on construction. It was one of the reasons why they had been so successful in warfare.
The camp had been built in just 5 hours. It enabled them to create a network of communication, supply and defence over their entire Empire. The surveying team had marked out the new camp in the usual Roman playing-card style. It was situated on a gentle
slope where it could not be overlooked and had command of spring water sources in the hillside. A red flag marked the side nearest the water sources. Camping areas, walls and roads through the camp were marked out. In its centre stood the praetorium where the legate would reside.
Marcus presented himself to the officer at the gate and told him who he was. They were quickly allowed into the camp and introduced to the centurion in charge. The legate was away. Despite it not being finished, it was as comfortable as possible. Marcus asked if they had experienced any enemy activity. They had not seen anything; all was quiet.
“How is the construction going?” asked Marcus casually.
The centurion shook his head. “We have run out of mortar. We need more kilns to be built to produce the amount of mortar required.”
It was the same story he had heard before. The lack of mortar was slowing down progress.
The Second Legion and auxiliaries had arrived and the diggers were all placed under their banner. The soldiers of the Second Legion had started building a new fort at Condercum. This was the third fort on the wall and had been chosen for its strategic position on a hilltop just less than 3 miles from Pons Aelius. It was standard military practice to build a temporary camp with wooden palisade walls so the troops were protected whilst they built the actual stone one close by. Once the forts were built, turrets and wall defences could be added.
Novantes and Marcus had often discussed the possibility that the Brigantes in the north might rise up. However, there seemed to be no sign of resistance from them. So far, they appeared to have accepted that the wall was being built for good reason. With so many men and soldiers gathered in one place, Marcus was convinced that raids or attacks from their enemies would occur sooner rather than later. He requested that extra sentries be posted on the walls of the fort and in the camps outside its boundaries, but no attacks came, which left Marcus feeling uneasy.
“Surely it’s a good thing,” Novantes had commented. “The wall foundations are untouched and we have not had any attacks
during the night. Maybe they have finally accepted that they cannot overturn the power of Rome,” he said, trying to encourage his friend.
“These are not men who give up so easily. We have crushed them time and again and yet they have always risen to challenge us. They know what we are capable of and we are content to dismiss them as savages that refuse to come to the light of Rome. They haven’t given up, Novantes, and no attacks or threats from them means they are waiting, planning something.” He paused for consideration.
“You and I both know how brutal these northern tribes are,” Marcus said flatly.
“Then please try and enjoy your dinner on this peaceful, warm and sunny evening. I would rather enjoy these moments than spend them discussing how close our doom is,” Novantes said, pushing a plate towards Marcus, forcing the young commander to laugh.
“Fortuna has smiled upon us. We are lucky to be here,” agreed Marcus.
At night, Armathal slipped out of the slave camp at Condercum and rode with Ortagorus to the new slave camp just south of Vercovicium. They discussed their plan on their journey. The Roman soldiers had not paid any attention to him when he had walked in late to the camp. Diggers and turf cutters were required everywhere.
These temporary camps were all along the south of the wall and, while basic, still had the usual Roman features that were required, such as latrines, storehouses and barrack blocks, all made from wood. They were guarded by auxiliary soldiers. As slaves, they were now committed to working on the wall where and when they were required to do so. Payment was made in food as they would not receive any coins. The Romans had planned to
distribute the slaves amongst the existing work gangs and ensure their progress would be as efficient as possible.
With a little bit of training in digging and turf cutting, the local slaves quickly became fast and methodical diggers. Digging out the foundations of the forts was the top priority. After that came turf cutting for the wall, ditch and turrets.
It took a few days after the last of the Roman troops arrived for Hadrian to call a final meeting. Marcus had attempted several times to arrange a meeting with the Emperor, but Suetonius had been unable to set a date. Since his arrival, Hadrian had not met with anyone else. Suetonius had also tried to speak with him multiple times regarding the new arrivals, emphasising that the Emperor needed to greet them. However, Hadrian continued to send the secretary away. In the meantime, Nepos, as the Governor of Britannia, had taken over the task of greeting those who arrived, a duty he was empowered to perform even with the Emperor nearby.
Suetonius was frustrated by the amount of time the Emperor spent with Nepos. Every waking moment seemed to be consumed by discussions about the wall and its construction. In contrast, Suetonius took the opportunity to speak with Sabina every day, expressing his admiration for her patience. At night, they often dined together, during which he would tell her how she was more beautiful, intelligent and important than anyone else he could ever hope to be with.
On the day of July 5th, it would have been the celebration of the festival of Victory. The anniversary of the Roman Goddess of Victory had been celebrated since 294 BC and it was therefore appropriate that her shrine in Britain was given credit for Imperial successes. Hadrian called a meeting on that date and announced a public holiday for all troops. The legates and senior officers were so many that they could not all fit into the meeting room in
Vindolanda; instead, Hadrian called them to meet at Vercovicium, some 2 miles north.
From this vantage point, the dramatic landscape of the high escarpment stretched across the north. Hadrian wanted those who worked on the construction to envision the fort being built into the massive structure.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. On a clear day you can see some 15 miles north of our position,” Hadrian opened the meeting with a smile.
“This is to be a grand undertaking, one that will live for many years. I must assure you all that this is not a punitive attempt at conquering the lands to the north, it is not a small campaign that we shall wage and see drag on for years, no, this is Rome at its most triumphant. So many times have we seen timbers rotted on the ground and ditches caved in by those who would threaten our borders and sovereignty over the lands of the Empire. Here we shall not have a pathetic entrenchment behind a wooden palisade. Here will be something different, something that no man will be able to tear down.” He spoke with a dramatic cadence that swept over those who listened. The younger men amongst their number felt their hearts swell with pride, excitement coursing through their veins. The older men felt a burst of pride, but it could not quell the questions in the back of their minds. Around them, the workers had stopped to listen to what Caesar was saying. Armthal had taken the opportunity to move closer to the group of officers and listened keenly to every word as he dug out a small pit.
“Where we are standing, gentlemen, at Vercovicium, this will be our central fort. This will be our supply base for all the equipment that will be required. We are on the wall and in the most central location.”
There were nods and ripples of approval that ran through the assembled men, most having not heard any details of Hadrian’s plans before this moment.
“General Nepos knows what we will need to make all of this possible, to see this wall rise from out of this barren landscape.” Hadrian pointed to Nepos who nodded and cleared his throat.
“Brothers, there is much to be done, more than you may realise,
but it is all achievable. First, we will construct our forts to serve as permanent bases for our troops. I have calculated that there will be seventeen primary forts along the wall. After discussing with many of you, we have decided to incorporate these forts into the wall itself. This arrangement will allow for quicker responses from our mobile cavalry units, which will have double doors facing north for faster access. The Emperor and I have agreed on the following modifications to the construction plan.
1. We will have 81 small forts along the wall, spaced one Roman mile apart, known as milecastles. Each of these will house 20 to 30 men.
2. There will be two turrets added between each milecastle. These turrets will cover the entire length of the wall and accommodate 4 to 6 soldiers, serving as observation posts to the north.
Now, if you all turn to your right, you will see a person in the distance. At this range, it's difficult to determine whether they are an ally or an enemy.”
“Prefect Quietus,” shouted Nepos at the young officer.
“Can you see the man on the right side?”
“Yes, General,” Marcus responded.
“Tell us what you see with your keen eyesight?”
Marcus concentrated on the outline of the figure, approximately 1,500 feet away. The other staff officers present turned and squinted in an attempt to discern the person in the distance. Many struggled to make out the figure.
“If you were young and had good eyesight, you would be able to identify whether this person is a friend or an enemy.”
Marcus continued to stare intently, trying to recognise any features.
“Sir, this person appears to be wearing some kind of uniform and is holding a weapon,” replied Marcus.
Nepos laughed.
“Gentlemen, you see, at 1,500 feet away, this young officer can identify details about the approaching individual. Consequently, the turrets will be positioned at similar distances to cover the maximum possible range. This distance is known as the 'friend or foe distance’.”
The staff officers chuckled at the example that had just been demonstrated. Many of the older men had not been able to see the details at all.
“I have calculated that we will build 158 turrets between the 81 milecastles along the wall,” added Nepos.
“With this additional building, we will need additional stone and mortar. We will need to increase our workforce at the quarries to produce the stone blocks necessary for this enormous task, gentlemen. However, I believe this is achievable. To craft limestone, we will require kilns. Additionally, to construct a stone wall, we need mortar, and what would mortar be without limestone? There is also the matter of fuel for the kilns, which must be sourced and transported alongside the stone and other heavy materials needed for the wall. We will need men to cut down trees for the wood required to build the forts, as well as additional workers to assist those who have already started on the forts on the wall. While we currently have many horses and oxen, we will need more. Specifically, at least another 500 mules will be necessary to aid in the construction and the movement of materials from the river to the construction sites. With so many men gathered in one place, we will need 5,000 acres of arable land to grow crops to feed our workforce. We have already begun planting this land in the south,” Nepos finished and nodded to Hadrian.
Hadrian smiled and looked into the faces of every soldier before him.
“This will be a monument that will stand throughout the ages and no detail of its construction is too small, nothing will be overlooked. Prefect Quietus and his cavalry units will patrol the wall during construction to oversee our safety.”
Hadrian looked over the men before him. “To your left are the great dark rocks of the cliffs of the Sill. A natural feature so outstandingly beautiful it has taken thousands of years to make. Today we are making something else so beautiful and as lasting as this. Stone by stone we shall build. Here …,” Hadrian pointed north across the wilderness, “let there be a mighty wall of stone. We are Rome.”
"The pick is the weapon to defeat the enemy."
Hadrian,
Province
of Britannia
CHAPTER 9
VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 7TH 122 AD, 8AM
Nepos had made sure the legates of each legion were aware of the tasks required of them. He assured them of his and the Emperor's personal will to see the project completed as fast as possible. Each legion was used to operate as a self-contained unit. Nepos and Hadrian had decided to use this to their advantage. Some friendly rivalry between the legions would be put to use. Construction of the wall would be split up into legionary lengths of about 5 miles. With the milecastles built first, as it would help plot the line of the wall correctly, the line of the wall had been accurately surveyed and marked and now the countryside had burst into a frenzy of activity. Detachments of soldiers from each legion that covered their sector were dispatched to quarries, woods, sandpits, streams and rivers. Local supplies of metalwork, food and grain were sought out, as well as goods to build, lime kilns for making mortar, blacksmiths, forges and workshops. Smoke from thousands of fires plumed into the clear blue skies.
The centurions of each legion were responsible for each project to keep the logistics moving. It was not the men who were building the wall that were the important ones – it was the complex logistics that supported them that were key to their success. Approximately for every man building the wall there were 10 working to support him, supply the stone, mixing mortar, cutting turf and delivering goods. Gangs of slaves worked ahead of the main body to cut the turf out for the wall, which was reused for the north ditch as they followed along the line picked out by the surveyor's markers. It was to one of those detachments that the Emperor stopped to see the work in hand. Some 3 miles north of Vindolanda, Armthal was holding a whispered meeting with the 12 slaves that he had recruited.
“Today, as usual, the Emperor will probably visit the wall. If it is our section of the wall, then we have an opportunity to kill him. I have given you all the best tools that we have deliberately sharpened more than usual and it will be your responsibility to keep them within our group. Do not let anyone else use or it will be noted.”
The slaves nodded.
“On my signal, you will all move closer to me and then when we are all in proximity to one another and when the Emperor is close, Satus will attack the guards first.” Armthal paused, looking at Satus and each of the men in turn.
“We have only a slim chance of surviving this attack, as you all know.” The men nodded; there was a hatred in their eyes that was fuelling their desire to do this. They had come from villages that the Romans had decimated and lost wives and children to attacks.
Armthal continued, “The Praetorian Guard will leave their horses to run to the Emperor, so as soon as we have completed the attack, we have to run for those horses.”
There was silence as each man thought about the vanishingly small chance that they would even reach the horses let alone make their escape. But they were committed. Each one felt they were prepared to die to deal their Roman occupiers this mortal blow.
As dawn broke and shouts of their Roman foremen summoned the men to work, Armthal had already slipped out under the cover of darkness, bringing back the tools they would use for their attack. He slipped one to each of the men now as they made their way out.
As the morning progressed, the 12 slaves that Armthal worked with manoeuvred themselves into position so that they were well ahead of the Roman auxiliaries in the work gang behind them. They deliberately sped ahead to make sure they were in front of this section of the wall. He kept a casual eye on the troops behind him and made sure he was far enough away. Sure enough, a single Praetorian rider came to the soldiers behind him and stopped. Armthal’s practised eye could spot the signs that the Emperor’s visit was imminent by the behaviour of the soldiers and the fact that they started to smarten themselves up. Ten minutes later
the first vanguard of the Praetorian Guards arrived, their horses whipped to a frenzy and rearing up to make their riders appear more intimidating. He confirmed to his accomplices that the Emperor would not be long now.
Marcus tapped his spurs into his horse’s flanks as he watched the Praetorian to his right slowly outpacing him. Naturally, they all matched Caesar’s pace, and the Emperors of Rome were not renowned for their patience.
Having surveyed much of this landscape already, Marcus knew they were nearing a section of the wall that the Emperor wished to inspect that day, and so he readied himself for the gallop. Spectacle and security worked together as the Praetorian outriders surged ahead, clearing any obstacles that might slow the Emperor’s party or force it to change course. Woe betides any slave or citizen that should cross the Praetorians’ path when Caesar was nearby. Their standing orders were as simple as they were brutal and unyielding. Their own lives for the Emperor’s were the bargain that each one of them had struck with the Fates. Luckily though, the great Hadrian had shown true leadership of men which had been sadly lacking in many Emperors past. While all too often Caesar had governed solely from the couch, this new Light of Rome ruled from the saddle and the rampart just as easily as from the Senate. This was why the legions loved him, and it was why Marcus loved him too.
All for Caesar and for Rome. He spurred his horse again as he saw Hadrian’s mount break into a brisk canter just ahead, immediately magnifying the sound of hooves and the clatter of armour as they swept past ragged lines of Brigantes, slaves, soldiers and wagons that had been hurriedly ushered aside to make way for the Light of the world. Any who were too foolish or too slow to clear the road would be trampled into the dirt by the Emperor’s purple-clad vanguard as they thundered ahead of Hadrian’s party, forever watchful and wary for signs of treachery from anyone. All men were equal and equally worthless when the divinity of the Emperor was close at hand.
At last Marcus saw the solid shimmering beauty of the wall up ahead as the Praetorians’ horses and the Emperor’s party
broke into a gallop. As his steed picked up speed and he stood up in the stirrups, Marcus saw the densely packed column of men and wagons began to blur as they galloped the last few hundred yards towards the newly constructed wonder rising boldly from the barbarous wilderness of northern Britannia. Marcus was glad to be distracted from a growing and yet seemingly unfounded sense of unease as he watched the Praetorian Guards fan out both on horse and on foot, pushing the sweating workforce back to a safe distance from where they could safely see but not easily overwhelm the Emperor.
This was a place of natural beauty. With a clear blue sky and the sun shining, he felt sure the Emperor would want to stop and take in the view. He couldn’t help but smile as he dismounted and handed the reins to the nearest soldier he could find. Already Hadrian was off his horse and standing atop the first section of wall to rise from this part of Britannia’s green, damp and pleasant land.
“You see, Marcus. You see! This is the everlasting glory of the Empire! This monument shall be the wonder of a thousand years. All who look upon it will know my name and understand what it means to whisper the word Rome. Yes, we have statues, art, baths and slaves in abundance, yet all crumble to nothing without the strength to withstand and resist the endless tide of barbarism. Today, with our strength, we add another stone to the everlasting might and glory of our Empire.”
Marcus found himself joining in with the spontaneous adoration as soldiers, workers and Praetorians all praised the might and genius of the Emperor who had descended amongst them to offer a rare glimpse of that divine plan which only the Gods may truly discern. Marcus shook his head, his heart filled with pride and love for Rome and his Emperor as he watched the mighty Caesar striding up and down the admittedly small but undoubtedly solid foundations upon which the future of Britannia would rest. Not for the first time did he admire Caesar’s common touch as he watched him beckon the centurion responsible for that section of the wall forward. The Praetorian Guards parted to allow the somewhat nervous soldier to approach the very
fire of Rome itself. As always, the Emperor seemed oblivious to this mere mortal’s terror as he eagerly pointed here and there, enquiring of and commanding over every detail of the wall’s strength and construction. He asked what problems they had encountered and how they were managing to keep up with the plan.
The Emperor was clearly pleased with what he’d heard, and thus Marcus was pleased too. He resolved to pay less heed to every gust of wind and picture in the clouds as he watched the centurion bow low and, probably with some relief, depart from the Emperor’s presence. If it had been up to him, Marcus would have gotten back on his horse and headed back to Vindolanda there and then, but this was Emperor Hadrian, and he knew that Caesar would most likely stand there for hours, talking to everyone and anyone about even the smallest detail of the wall’s design and progress. It was going to be a very long day, and Marcus tried to ignore the growing damp patch across his shoulder blades and in the small of his back as the sweaty Britannia sun beat mercilessly against his armour. He would like nothing better than to find some shade, have some slaves set up a table and continue the discussion more comfortably, but there the Emperor stood, showing no signs of tiring or overheating as he condescended to confer with even the lowliest of diggers and turf cutters in his unending pursuit of perfection. It was because the Emperor stood that the Praetorians stood and because the Emperor and the Praetorians stood, so Marcus and his men were also condemned to stand in that sweltering, summer heat. As he watched, Hadrian jumped athletically up onto the new section of the stone wall that the soldiers had made approximately 3 feet high. He walked along the semi-constructed wall and it held his weight. Jokes were made about how well the wall was made. The Emperor jumped down from the wall and now walked towards a group of diggers and turf cutters some distance ahead.
"Look, look," Hadrian called to Marcus. "This is how we cut the turf, come and see these incredible tools. Cutting the turf allows us access to the soil whereby it can be removed and then the foundation can be laid.”
Marcus turned and dismounting his horse made his way forward. Hadrian pointed to the circular half-moon metal blades held by the gang of slaves who stood around him. The Praetorian Guard were watchful, their hands on their swords but still not expecting anything. Now Hadrian was asking to meet the leading turf cutter and Armthal found himself suddenly propelled forward to stand beside the Emperor. From the corner of his eye, he could see the others moving forward too. The Emperor was speaking directly to him, now asking him about techniques.
Marcus reminded himself that his eyes should be on Caesar and not some foolish gaggle of skittering black birds that had suddenly taken flight. However, he still groaned silently as Caesar beckoned some nameless bedraggled Briton into his presence. Yet still Marcus found his own eyes straining to see the vanishing specks of those startled birds as that ill-defined sense of unease began to build rapidly once again. He’d been troubled since before dawn when he’d risen to take in the cool and damp morning air just beyond the walls of Vindolanda. As the first rays of dawn had broken above the horizon, he’d watched an adder silently stalking just such a crow as it nestled and preened in the first grey of the morning. So unusual was such a spectacle that Marcus had thought it to be some kind of portent or sign. Although he lacked the deep skill and knowledge to discern it correctly, he was in no doubt that it was a warning of some kind. Now that baseless feeling’s true purpose was finally revealed in an explosion of brutality that threatened to strike at the very heart of Rome itself. Marcus was already taking his first steps towards the Emperor and reaching for his sword as he watched one of the assembled Brigantes slaves suddenly lunge toward the Praetorian Guards with a furious loud war cry and weapon in hand.
“Caesar!” Marcus heard his own voice shouting for the Emperor, as every man turned towards that would-be assassin, his defiance cut short by the Praetorians’ merciless precision. The slave’s dolabra was swept aside and he was struck down with a single sword blow. The Praetorians were now being attacked by the remaining slaves – every slave that is except for that single bedraggled Briton standing right beside the divine ruler of the
known world. Marcus was the only person to see that these attacks were decoys in buying a few seconds more for the trap they had planned. These slaves were not what they appeared and their tricks had led the Praetorians to delay their response to their Emperor. Suddenly, the lone slave let something shiny drop from his side as Hadrian instinctively turned towards his roaring Praetorians.
“Caesar!” Marcus didn’t recall drawing his sword or shouting again that simple rallying cry as he sprinted the short distance between himself and the Emperor. Short but still far too long. He felt his lungs deflate in a gasp of horror as the slave savagely swung his turf cutter down at Hadrian’s unprotected head. Despair was swiftly followed by hope as Marcus watched the Emperor raise his arm to deflect the blow, the cutter’s wooden handle breaking with a sickening crack. Marcus felt his chest pressing painfully against the inside of his breastplate as he gasped for air in his heavy armour, his lungs painfully constricted by the unyielding armour.
Marcus glimpsed a confused blur of purple in the corner of his eye as a ragged cry of defiance arose from the other slaves attacking the Praetorians, trading their own lives for just a few more seconds their comrade needed to finish his grim task. Marcus’s heart pounded in his chest as he gasped for air, aware for the first time that Clarus was also closing fast on the Emperor and his unnamed assailant. There was no telling if either of them could reach the assassin in time, as the wolf in slave’s clothing picked up his now broken turf cutter and raised it high above his head once more. The entire world exploded into a sudden deafening crash of weapons and armour as the Emperor, his would-be killer and his would-be saviours all collided in a human detonation of anger, fear and hatred.
Marcus both heard and felt a heavy thud somewhere under him as he watched the Emperor fall heavily on the dry ground beneath the wall. He had little time to see what had become of him as he suddenly realised that his sword hand was slick with blood, although he had not struck any blow. Marcus was only granted a fleeting moment to understand the horrific revelation that the blood must be his own before the assassin’s face suddenly came
into sharp focus as the rebellious slave struggled to regain his balance following the chaotic collision. The sounds of the world were quickly fading, becoming strangely distant as Marcus took his chance and slashed viciously at those wild and hate-filled Brigantes eyes. He knew he’d hit something as he felt himself beginning to overbalance. The traitorous slave wore no armour and so a solid blow almost anywhere should be enough to end the unprecedented attack.
The Emperor’s newly constructed wall rushed up to greet him as Marcus felt himself falling uncontrollably, while the world began to darken around the edges of his vision. He barely felt the impact as he finally made contact with the sharp, unfinished stonework. Suddenly unable to move, his chest felt oddly light, as though it were filled with wool, which was a welcome relief from the agonising pain of his straining lungs. He tried to turn to the spot where the Emperor had vanished over the wall, but all he could see was a rapidly spreading pool of blood spilling over the Emperor’s still unfinished symbol of strength and stability. As the world fell silent and grew steadily darker, Marcus saw a blurred flurry of purple and felt a heavy jolt which seemed both close and yet oddly far away at the same time. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils like a messenger, bringing the dread news that the rapidly congealing pool beneath him was escaping from his own immobile body. So, this was it. This was how Marcus Quietus would finally meet his end, on a partially constructed stretch of Caesar’s grandest, most ambitious and most far-flung monument. Perhaps it was for the best, as it was far from certain that Caesar would even live through this most cowardly and dishonourable assassination.
Armthal saw the Emperor half turn away to see what was going on. With the back of his neck and side of his throat unprotected, it was a mere arm’s reach away from Armthal. Taking his turf cutter, he raised it to slash at the Emperor’s neck. Hadrian had seen him and raised his arm to block the blow. The wooden handle of the turf cutter hit his forearm hard and broke in two. All hell broke loose now. The men that Armthal had recruited ran forward, swinging at the Praetorian Guards with blows from their pick
axes and dolabras. Hadrian stumbled back from the initial attack and Armthal jumped after him just as his men stepped forward. The Praetorians had been caught unaware and would quickly finish the fight without question. Swords against digging tools were no match. He had to attack Hadrian without delay. Armthal moved forward again and raised his cutter once more to strike the Emperor just as one of his officers threw himself in front of the Emperor. The officer and Hadrian crashed into one another just as the tool came down and hit. He felt the cutter strike flesh and saw the Emperor fall backwards. Armthal never saw the sword that struck his own face a few seconds later. His left eye burst open with blood and he felt his face being cut. He staggered backwards, blood pouring from his head, and ran towards the horses. Dowi was the only other slave he saw running, as the ten others had all been killed. The Praetorian Guards piled after them over the blood-splattered bodies which lay on the grass.
The two Britons ran towards a single horse that the Praetorian Guards had ridden and managed to scramble on. Armthal could see that Dowi was holding his stomach in with his hands. Armthal whipped the horse with the reins and turned it to the north before the guards could catch them. Clarus screamed orders for soldiers of the remaining troops to regroup to form a small circle around the Emperor. All the turf cutters who had attacked lay dead. Another group of cutters stood some distance away in shock at what they had seen.
In the freshly cut grass the Emperor’s body was lying under Marcus. The Guards raised Marcus's head. Blood was pouring from his neck. Then they gently lifted Hadrian out and laid both men on the grass beside the wall. A soldier took off his own neck cloth and tied it around Marcus's neck wound, trying to stem the blood flow. It quickly turned a deep red colour.
Clarus focused his attention on Hadrian. He was barely breathing. His arm looked as though it was broken and he had some cuts and bruises, caused mainly by Marcus who had thrown himself in front of and then fallen on top of the Emperor, crushing him. There was not a sound from anyone as the supposedly lifeless body of Emperor Hadrian lay under the fierce midday
sun. Was their Emperor dead? Stretchers were quickly made from two wooden scaffolding poles nearby, with cloaks securely tied between the poles to act as a makeshift bed.
Vindolanda fort was about 3 miles away and Clarus knew there was a hospital there. He had no idea who the doctor was, just that there was one there. The Emperor's body was carried between four horses of the Guard, each man taking one end of the stretcher and his rein in his hands, as the Praetorians made their way to Vindolanda. Another four Praetorians on horses carried Marcus on a stretcher behind Hadrian.
Each group of Guards focused on carrying the bodies there as quickly and carefully as they could. However, in the back of their minds they were thinking of their situation. If the Emperor was to die, their own lives would then be forfeited, as would be required. Falling out of favour with an Emperor or the death of an Emperor meant only one thing. They each focused again on the job ahead. Improvise, adapt and overcome. The Praetorians were taught to overcome any obstacle, physical or mental. The doctor would restore the Emperor; they had to think positively. The horses were pushed at speed towards the hospital. Clarus knew time was critical and kept the soldiers moving as one. Neither man on the stretchers appeared to move at all.
“Glory follows virtues as if it were its shadow”
Marcus Tullius Cicero
CHAPTER 10
VINDOLANDA HOSPITAL
JULY 7TH 122 AD, 1PM
Actius Ingennus smiled with satisfaction as the scent of herbs and honey filled his nostrils. There was no smell of the foul odour of gangrene while he examined the dressing covering the stump of his patient’s right leg. It was a distinctive, unpleasant and rotten smell due to the bacteria which invaded the tissue. No doubt this hapless trooper’s soul would someday cross the River Styx on its journey to the hereafter, but it would not be because of the clean amputation he’d performed just a few days before.
He yawned and stretched as he motioned to a nearby orderly to redress the wound in the manner that he himself had demonstrated to him at the Vindolanda military hospital. Although he still thought it somewhat beneath him to act as tutor to the ignorant and uneducated Briton, he also understood that he was living in a new world, filled with new sights and sounds, new challenges and new rules.
Vindolanda hospital had been built and used by Agricola before Hadrian. It was therefore quite a good size. Two wards, a wash room, a latrine and an operating theatre were all that any doctor required.
Actius had spent the next day and night stitching up wounds that had reopened and resetting bones that had misaligned. Not only that, but there was the added complication of reporting that it was disease and accidents that had incapacitated most of his patients, rather than any kind of close combat or enemy action.
All Actius wanted was to run his hospital, to learn as much of medicine as he could, and to tell all who might listen that he’d once discussed military medical care with Caesar himself. It had pleased the Emperor to learn that Actius hailed from a well-to-do Greek family who valued learning and rhetoric.
As he left the single-footed soldier’s comfortable anteroom and stared across the cool and airy covered courtyard, Actius silently thanked the Gods for his good fortune and light workload. He had only a few cases of fever and a handful of venereal diseases confined to quarantine, as well as his most recent amputation to contend with. Now that surgery was completed and his patient was healing, there was little for him to do other than to impress upon the staff the standards that he and Caesar had agreed upon. It was a certainty that the unfortunate rider could never rejoin the cavalry, but that same cavalry had been his undoing in the first place. It was a common enough injury, sustained when the man’s horse had reared and bolted for some reason with the hapless rider’s foot still caught in the stirrup. There would be no more charging to glory for this soldier of Rome, but he could still live a long and relatively comfortable life as a clerk or an administrator in the army. Actius had heard more than one senior soldier remark on how heads were just as important as swords for the preservation and expansion of the Empire.
He was just considering having an orderly fetch him some food when his ears detected the sound of an approaching cavalry horse accompanied by a general swell and clatter of noise within the fort itself.
It was probably some scouting troop, or perhaps even Caesar himself returning from one of his frequent trips up to the new wall. Actius reminded himself that he really should go and see the wall close up, as he’d been told by many that it was an engineering wonder the likes of which the world had never seen. Unsure as to exactly why, he felt an unfounded sense of unease growing within him as a thunder of hooves and clattering of armour grew ever louder. The hospital was a fair distance from the stables and the barracks, so there was no reason for a group of armoured men to be galloping in his direction, unless of course, someone else had fallen from his horse and was being brought in now. He hoped it wasn’t anyone too senior, and he groaned silently at the thought of some baton-wielding peacock strutting around his hospital and
instructing him on how to heal the sick. Actius knew better than to second-guess the tactics of experienced field commanders, and he often wished they would extend him the same professional courtesy in return.
He swallowed hard as he watched several of his staff becoming agitated, suddenly vanishing into anterooms or desperately attempting to look busy as a large armoured man appeared at the main doors across the courtyard.
Actius’s heart sank as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of Clarus, the Praetorian Prefect, picked out in the sunlight streaming into the building. The Praetorian Guards were the worst, and more than once he’d wondered whether they thought it was they, rather than the Emperor, who were the indisputable masters of all Rome. Still, if one of them had sustained an injury then it was his duty to attend to them as best he could. The physician’s feeling of foreboding grew rapidly as the man charged with Caesar’s safety strode purposefully towards him, as Clarus’s comrades clattered in behind, quickly fanning out to form a picket line across the courtyard and effectively annexing a large portion of his personal domain.
Although much smaller in stature than the approaching Praetorian Prefect, Actius nevertheless stood his ground as he watched the few of his patients who‘d come to take the fresh air being ushered away as still more Praetorian Guards streamed into the hospital. They were infamous for throwing their weight around unnecessarily, but the Greek physician detected seriousness in their manner as they ensured the courtyard was rapidly cleared. His suspicions were confirmed as he noticed that Clarus was grimy, sweat-streaked and spattered with dark and congealed blood. Something had happened.
Whatever that something might be, Actius appreciated enough of Roman politics to know that if he offered Caesar's personal Guard an inch, they would take a mile and then come back for more. On the other hand, he was duty-bound to care for each man in Caesar's charge, and Clarus looked exactly like a soldier who needed some sort of help.
“Are you injured, Prefect Clarus? How may I assist you?”
Clarus said nothing as he turned to watch two of his men carefully but swiftly carrying the single-footed cavalryman from his private room.
Although it was always unwise to provoke Caesar's personal Guard, Actius couldn't prevent the anger and indignation rising at the sheer arrogance of a man to whom he would have extended every courtesy as a matter of course.
“This is my hospital, not some hovel. What do you mean by unsettling my patients so?”
Clarus's reply was as cryptic as it was menacing.
“Many in Vindolanda regard you as a highly skilled physician, Actius. I hope for all our sakes that such loose praise is not misplaced. If the Gods ever hear your prayers, then now would be the time. We are all at their mercy this day.”
Actius swallowed hard as two makeshift stretchers were hurried through the main entrance. Fashioned from wooden poles and cloaks they were a common enough sight on battlefields and building sites. However, these cloaks blazed with praetorian purple, while their occupants were also completely covered by cloaks to mask the identity of the injured from prying eyes as they were hurried by. The physician’s trained eye immediately spotted that one of those stretchers was stained dark and matted with blood, an awful lot of blood that seemed to be emanating from some kind of wound to the head or upper body.
Actius beckoned the stretcher-bearers towards him as he strode to meet them, hurriedly throwing back the covering cloak to reveal the deathly pale features of no less a soldier than Marcus Lusius Quietus himself. The unconscious man was such a mess of congealed blood that it was hard to see exactly what kind of injury he'd sustained.
“Quickly, into this room!” The physician pointed towards a doorway in the far corner of his hospital, the place where all his medical books, operating table and surgical tools were close at hand and ready to use at a moment’s notice. He'd seen enough battlefield injuries to know that Marcus may already be beyond
saving, but he knew he must strain every sinew to hold Marcus on this side of the Styx, despite the eager and excited boatman beckoning to him.
The stretcher-bearers hurried away while Actius beckoned to his senior orderly, a young Briton with a sharp mind but little formal schooling. Nevertheless, he had paid close attention to every lesson the physician had imparted and as a result he was able to follow instructions completely and without endless repetition.
Trapped behind the hastily erected praetorian line, the orderly took a pace forward and stopped, unsure as to whether Imperial purple trumped the master of the hospital in his own domain.
“Let this man through, I need him!” Actius summoned up all the authority he could muster in a single statement as he glanced expectantly at Clarus.
The head of the Praetorian Guard hesitated for a moment, then nodded to his troops to let the orderly through their line. “Come here, boy.”
Again, the orderly froze, this time trapped between the command of the Praetorian Prefect and the instructions of his master. Despite Clarus's large stature and heavy armour, Actius felt his patience draining away at a faster rate than Marcus’s remaining lifeblood.
“It may already be too late to save him, and confusing my staff will waste what little chance of success we might have.”
Actius tried not to wince as Clarus stepped forward and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Not this one.”
Actius frowned, momentarily unsure as to Clarus’s meaning. However the message became clear enough as he felt himself being pushed towards the other room where the second injured man already lay awaiting his diagnosis. Angrily he twisted himself free of Clarus’s grip and pointed to the bleeding body of Marcus being carefully manhandled into his surgery.
“You may be an excellent soldier, Clarus, but you know nothing of medicine. This is my domain and I decide the priorities based on my medical expertise. Do not interfere with the running of my hospital.”
Clarus said nothing; instead, he jerked his head to one side as some kind of signal.
Actius jumped as two more praetorians suddenly clanked up behind him, while a third stepped between his orderly and the surgery.
The Prefect expanded on his earlier pronouncement. “Not this one. That one!” He pointed across the corridor to the other private room where yet more Imperial bodyguards had taken up position outside the door.
The Greek physician felt increasingly curious as he was closely shepherded towards the hastily commandeered anteroom. Marcus was one of the highest-ranking Romans in all of Britannia, and if the Praetorian Prefect was content to let his life bleed out across the surgery floor, then surely that could only mean one thing. He smiled nervously at his terrified orderly, as the guards all converged on the eerily quiet private room.
Surely it couldn't be true. Surely this was just some kind of test, perhaps some sort of rehearsal should the unthinkable ever occur at some distant future yet unknown.
He stepped through the door to see the man who had been stretched in and who now seemed to be the priority for the Praetorian Guards. Before him, Actuis saw the Emperor lying battered and broken on a lowly hospital cot. Actius jumped again as he felt Clarus’s hand on his shoulder once more, although this time his touch was one of comradeship and reassurance. “The Eagle has fallen,” whispered the Praetorian Prefect to the doctor.
The young Greek physician leaned on the foot of the bed, both to study Caesar's inert form and to stop his knees from giving way beneath him.
It was bad. It was very bad.
“The physician treats, but nature heals.” Hippocrates
CHAPTER 11
VINDOLANDA SURGICAL WARD
JULY 7TH 2 PM
It was as though the dust swirling in the sunlight had slowed to a stop as Actius gripped the bottom of the cot, gulping in huge lungfuls of the suddenly hot and oppressive atmosphere as he struggled to stop his vision from swimming and his legs from buckling completely. He heard Clarus saying something, but his voice sounded oddly distant, drowned out by a whining hum which had seemingly sprung from somewhere inside his own head.
Somebody tapped him on the arm, and Actius thought the large cup of wine floating in front of him was a phantom produced by his own shocked and suddenly disordered senses. It was only when the tap came again that he realised the wine was real and that the man handing it to him was none other than Clarus himself. He gratefully snatched it and swallowed the whole lot in a single, long draught, coughing and snorting as he realised it was the good stuff, the strong stuff, the expensive stuff. However, the warm glow spreading inside him acted as a kind of anchor, tying his consciousness firmly to that small, stifling room and ensuring that it didn’t drift away again as he confronted his greatest and most terrifying challenge.
Luckily the wisdom of his old Greek tutor was close at hand, advising him to begin by feeding to the intellect all the knowledge that could be harvested by the senses. Begin at the beginning: what can I see, hear, smell, touch and taste?
Caesar lay immobile and unconscious. His left arm was obviously broken and there was a large and worrying compression in his breastplate, perhaps as a result of his horse falling on him. Worst of all was the dried blood spattering his helmet, face and shoulder. Although there were no obvious signs of sword or spear wounds, that blood must have come from somewhere.
The Emperor appeared not to be breathing and the soldier next to him had lost a lot of blood. The tension in the air was almost palpable as the young doctor leaned down and put his ear to the Emperor’s mouth.
It was there! The tiniest sound of respiration!
Although weak and shallow, the breath of life was unmistakable as Caesar clung determinedly to the light of the living world. “The Emperor is with us.”
Clarus let out a long, shuddering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
“Praise be to the Gods in their mercy. You must save him, Actius. Bring him back to us.”
“I shall try my best,” repeated Actius.
Although he was a skilled physician, he knew perfectly well that little was for certain in the world of medicine, except that inaction nearly always led to deterioration. He glanced back at the door and beckoned his hovering orderly forward. For a moment, the terrified Briton froze again.
Clarus raised his arm to prevent anyone else from entering the room. “Just you, Actius.”
The Greek physician closed his eyes as he felt that tide of anger and frustration rise inside him once more. After a moment the feeling subsided a little, and he opened his eyes, praying that he could control the tremor in his voice as he spoke.
“Septicius Clarus, this man is my most trusted orderly. I must have his assistance to minister to the Emperor, unless you believe you have the skills and the knowledge to help me save his life? You are a fine soldier, Clarus, but you only know how to create wounds, not to heal them, and every moment that you secondguess my medical expertise places Caesar in ever greater danger. Please stand aside and allow me to help him.”
Clarus thought for a moment and nodded, with the remaining Praetorian Guards moving outside the door quickly and allowing the trembling Briton to enter the room.
Actius rapidly whispered his instructions to his wide-eyed orderly.
“You must be my voice outside of this room, so you must first
heed what I say with great care. Nothing must be overlooked.”
The young man swallowed hard and nodded mutely.
“You shall go into the other wards and gather every orderly you can find. I must have freshly drawn cold water in abundance, as well as all the unused linen they can find to clean and dress wounds. You must be quick and make sure they understand that a Roman officer is badly hurt.”
Clarus took a step forward.
The Greek doctor hurriedly clarified. “You must not use Caesar's name, and you may answer any impertinent questions with a cuff about the ears and my command to run faster still. Once you are sure the staff understand their tasks, you will go to my private room here. Nobody else, just you. From there you will bring my surgical tools directly to me. The best tools, my favourite ones, you understand the tools I am referring to?”
Again, the orderly nodded.
Actius wasn't certain whether the young Briton had been rendered senseless by fear, but he’d proved loyal and capable in the past. He just hoped the young man could keep his head and not allow his fear to cloud his thinking.
“As well as my instruments, I shall need my sharpest knife. You know, the one with the carved ivory handle. Once you have all these things, you must bring them here at once and prepare to remove Caesar's hair.”
The young man took a deep breath, straightened and nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadied himself and marched determinedly out of the anteroom. Seconds later his voice could be heard shouting instructions in a blend of both his guttural native tongue and his passable if unimpressive Latin, as he faithfully followed his master's instructions to the letter.
While he waited for his man to return, Actius placed a hand on the Emperor's bloodied cheek and neck. He was still quite warm, which was a good sign, and his pulse was slow but steady. “What in the name of all the Gods happened out there?”
“We were attacked,” was Clarus’s curt reply.
Actius bit his lip to keep his voice calm as he tried again to elicit some medically useful information.
“It is my duty to discover how the Emperor himself sustained these wounds.” He pointed to Caesar's dented breastplate. “That was no blow from sword or spear, so how did he come by such an injury? Was he crushed beneath a horse?”
Clarus shuffled uncomfortably on the spot before turning and dismissing the Praetorians outside. Once they were a safe distance away, he closed the door and removed his helmet. Although his face had been linen white when he’d first arrived, it was now turning an uncommon shade of perspiring red. “Not a horse, no.”
The physician frowned. “Then by what, pray? A falling rock?”
The Prefect reddened still further. “You have never been involved in a battle, Actius. They are very confusing situations, and many things can happen which defy even your fabled deductive reasoning.”
“I don't have time for your praetorian preening, I need to know how the Emperor sustained his injuries. I need to know exactly and I need to know immediately.”
Actius didn't even look up as he gently lifted each of the Emperor's eyelids. Caesar did not respond, and one pupil was larger than the other, a sure sign of head trauma.
“Did he fall on his head?”
“Yes, I think so.”
At last, a little progress. “Did something or perhaps somebody fall on top of him?”
“Yes.”
Actius stopped his examination and looked back at the decidedly sweaty Prefect.
“I don't understand, I believed that you were entrusted with Caesar's safety. How is it that you could become involved in a serious fight where the only injured persons are a senior soldier and the very man you are charged to protect. I have seen no dead or injured Praetorian Guards this day.”
“You forget yourself, Actius Ingennus! It is not for you to question Caesar's most loyal servants, those who would most readily lay down their lives in his defence. Attend to your patient and pray that the Emperor makes a swift recovery, lest
you find yourself at the end of some difficult and sharply barbed questions.”
Perhaps it was the strong wine affecting his senses, but Actius suddenly felt all fear and doubt drain from his mind as he stood and addressed Clarus quietly.
“If the Emperor dies, it will not be me facing the questions, it will be the man charged with his personal protection. I'm sure the Senate will be fascinated by your account of how only Caesar and one of his closest friends came to be fatally injured this day, while his faithful guard managed to escape with little more than a few cuts and bruises. More cynical minds than mine might be tempted to conclude that, despite their overblown and overmighty reputation, the powerful Praetorian Guard care more for their own lives than for the life of the Emperor they swore to protect.”
Clarus opened his mouth to protest but Actius cut him off before he could speak. “Caesar's life is ebbing away as we squabble! Tell me exactly how he came to be lying here before us, and if you cannot, then bring me the man who can, now!”
He could feel that Clarus knew exactly what had happened, and he also sensed he was close to the truth.
“Caesar fell. He fell from the top of that damned wall of his.”
“Go on.”
The hardened soldier's voice trembled as he recounted the unforeseen assassination attempt, the praetorians’ failure to protect Caesar properly and how Marcus had leapt forward and taken the blow that had been meant for the Emperor. His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he recounted how he, Caesar, the slave and Marcus had all become entangled on top of the wall, before Marcus and the Emperor had crashed to the ground some feet below. Caesar had borne the brunt of the impact as his heavily armoured friend had fallen directly on top of him.
“Very well. You may wait outside,” insisted the doctor.
The physician almost felt sorry for Clarus as he left with a whispered entreaty to save his Emperor. He did not know as to whether there was a set punishment for any Praetorian Guard who allowed Caesar to be assaulted in such a brutal and almost
fatal fashion, but he was certain that if the Emperor crossed the Styx, there was a high chance that his failed protectors would soon follow him into the permanent twilight of the hereafter. ~O~
Actius busied himself examining the Emperor's torso. He suspected several cracked ribs, but the absence of pink foam around the mouth showed that Caesar's dented armour had served its purpose and prevented any broken bones from piercing the lungs. He'd already decided to leave the arm for last, as experience told him it would be a simple matter of resetting the bone.
Promptly, his orderly returned with an armful of clean linen and various surgical implements. Caesar's future would now be decided by the medical staff and the Gods; the military could offer him no further protection. At least for now, there was hope, and Actius instructed his orderly to assist him in unbuckling and sawing through the leather straps that held the Emperor's beautifully embossed armour together.
With Caesar's armour hurriedly discarded in a corner, Actius yelled impatiently for cold water, even going so far as to open the door and instruct one of the guards outside to assist in bringing it forth as fast as possible. The increasingly nervous-looking Prefect of the Guard nodded his assent for the bewildered soldier to abandon his weapons and assist the medical orderly to fetch and carry.
Actius instructed his nervous orderly to quickly cut the Emperor's hair close. Then he took the razor and shaved the head of Caesar as carefully as he could. His eyes scanned the head closely, looking for a bruise or cut that would show his wound.
His greatest concern was over any possible damage to the Emperor's skull, as he knew that head wounds could be deadly long after the initial injury had been sustained.
He nodded and smiled approvingly as he stepped back from his initial examination. He had found what he was looking for.
Actius noted some bruising and a small laceration to the Emperor's freshly shaved head, but no dangerous indentations of the skull. The best medical knowledge suggested that the grey, watery brain was swollen inside Caesar’s cranium, which probably accounted for the oddly mismatched pupils and the Emperor's general comatose state. Of course, nobody had ever seen a living brain inside the skull, but deductive reasoning and medical training suggested that the brain and organs inside the body could swell in the same way as the muscles and limbs on the outside when they were traumatised. A cold compress was the best and most effective medicine for a swollen ankle or arm, and therefore Actius deduced it was also the best remedy against a swollen brain pressing against the inside of the cranium.
Within a few short minutes, the Emperor's ribs had been bound tightly with linen bandages and his head covered with the finest clean cloth soaked in cold water which had finally arrived from the deepest, darkest, coolest reaches of Vindolanda’s very own water well.
With Caesar's breathing shallow but steady, both Actius and his orderly gently lifted the Emperor's prone form into a sitting position to aid the dispersal of any fluid that may have collected around Caesar's brain.
With the Emperor stable and the orderly instructed to apply a freshly wet linen cloth every half-hour to Caesar's head, Actius stepped out of the room and hurried to his study. He quickly wrote a brief note and handed it to another orderly to take to Dr Soranus of the Sixth Legion at Vercovicium.
“Take this to the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard and tell him to get Dr Soranus here immediately. Go now,” he said, ushering the orderly towards the Praetorians outside.
Dr Soranus of Ephesus was a senior doctor in surgery. He had been reputed to be the best doctor of his time. Despite his ways being a little unorthodox his patients always seemed to recover with time. He had heard that Soranus was a firm believer in public health. Hygiene was vital to prevent the spread of disease. He looked at his bloodied hands once again and decided to wash them.
He shouted at another one of the orderlies nearby to remove the rest of the Emperor’s clothes carefully and leave him with just a towel over his body.
“He needs to be cold now. Open the window too,” he added. He would want a second opinion from Dr Soranus.
The Emperor's arm could wait, as Caesar would likely be unconscious for some time and thus resetting the bone should be an easy task. The metallic scent of fresh blood reached his nostrils as he approached the entrance to the other room, and Actius feared that he might already be too late. Whilst he was sure that if Marcus could speak, he would have instructed him to minister to the Emperor first, Actius couldn’t shake the feeling that such selfless devotion and love for his Emperor might leave the injured soldier waiting alone on the banks of the Styx. He looked at the soldier and shouted once again for more fresh linen and water.
“No mortal man is wise at all moments” Pliny the Elder
CHAPTER 12
PRAETORIUM HQ AT VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 7TH 3PM
No more wine. General Aulus Platorius Nepos, the Provincial Governor of Britannia entrusted with the power of life and death over every man, woman and child in his care, stared morosely into his empty cup. For what felt like the thousandth time, he tried to understand how it had come to this and why he had sought solace in wine instead of focusing on subjugating his new domain to Rome's will.
He wasn't afraid, and he understood the ways of Empire as well as any other high official, and yet he couldn't escape the troubling idea that there was just something different about this place. He wondered if Pontius Pilate, the erstwhile governor of Judaea, had felt the same way, and he wondered whether Britannia would also end up mired in similar cycles of conflict and retribution.
Perhaps it would be better to put the nation to the sword straight away and escape the bureaucratic tar pit that beckoned eagerly to the armies of Rome. Although not outwardly hostile, Nepos couldn't shake the sense that even the more Romanised Brigantes viewed their elevation as a transient state of being, a passing opportunity for personal advancement rather than a chance to change and bathe in the civilising light of Rome herself.
Maybe it was just his age, a creeping world-weariness that went hand-in-hand with an ever-increasing understanding of politics, war and the true nature of man. Perhaps, in the end, his mental retreat from his only partially civilised province was an indication that he was getting ready for retirement, or at least a less demanding role in the debating chamber of the Senate. He'd heard many older men talking about the way they’d instinctively sensed it was time to put down the sword and grasp the stylus.
Nepos was just considering whether yet more wine or a hot
bath might lift his spirits more when he heard a babble of urgent voices rising from outside his private quarters. Suddenly he found himself on his feet, straining to hear the cause behind the unseemly commotion. Certainly, his household staff knew better than to display such rough and rude manners, although they also knew how to hold their own against overbearing officials who believed they were somehow entitled to the Governor’s time and attention whenever they pleased.
Although unsure of exactly why, General Nepos immediately sensed that something was very wrong. He quickly crossed his mosaic floor to where a marble urn of cool, fresh water waited in a darkened corner. Immediately his senses sharpened as he plunged his face into the refreshing liquid, although the price of his rapidly enhanced alertness was a throbbing band of pain that immediately tightened across his forehead.
With his already morose mood darkening rapidly, he quickly patted his face dry and strode towards the entrance to his private chambers. This was exactly the kind of low-level insolence that had plagued his short tenure in this backward and ill-tempered region. With headache throbbing and indignation rising, Nepos was more than ready to lay down the law to the two praetorians who were berating one of his secretaries for not following their orders quickly enough. Although feared and respected for their loyalty and fighting prowess, very few in the Roman army were particularly fond of Caesar's guard. This was especially true of Britannia's Governor, who had more than enough pieces on the board without the complication of a rival power structure.
Despite his personal secretary's demonstrations, the two praetorians insisted upon seeing General Nepos immediately. Nepos began by striding into the room and holding up his hand for silence; he then dismissed his secretary to another room before turning his attention to the praetorians who had so rudely disturbed the peace of his house. “Just what do you mean by marching into my home, while dressed for war?”
The praetorians offered the proper respect due to both a Roman General and Governor of a province, but their words were not as conceited and overbearing as usual.
“General Nepos, you must come with us immediately. Our Prefect begs you to come at once.”
Perhaps it was the wine unbalancing his judgement, but Nepos could see they were desperate.
"There has been an accident, sir. Caesar needs you,” spoke one of the guards softly.
Nepos looked at them both quickly and, without waiting for any sort of response, pushed past the two messengers and strode purposefully towards the door. He didn't know where he might be going, but a Roman Emperor was never difficult to find – all one had to do was follow the trail of soldiers.
Sure enough, as he stepped out of his comfortable quarters, the Praetorian Guards posted outside the nearby hospital acted as a clear signpost to where the Emperor could be found. No doubt Caesar had discovered some way of improving the facilities and wished to share his insight with his old friend.
Nepos mentally corrected himself for his churlish attitude. The hospital at Vindolanda was his ultimate responsibility, and if the Emperor had seen fit to advise on its operation, then his education and experience were to be welcomed, not grumbled about.
As he neared the guards posted at the entrance, the General even entertained the absurd idea that Caesar might have been injured in some way, but that was surely impossible. Steel armour and swords were more than a match for any band of bedraggled wandering tribesman who might chance their luck. Besides, not even these backward Brigantes would be foolish enough to raise a hand against the grace of Rome himself.
Some middling officer had probably fallen off his horse, or off that damned wall of Caesar’s, and the Emperor was taking the chance to discuss the latest and best medical practices with that fussy but proficient Greek doctor of his.
By the time he'd reached the hospital entrance, the General was certain something significant had happened. The soldiers of the guard had cordoned off a large section of the building, and their unusually skittish mood piqued both his interest and his anxiety.
That anxiety quickly became a knot in the General’s stomach as he stepped into the corridor and was immediately confronted by a blood-soaked Actius Ingenuus.
“What in the name of Jupiter has happened here?” Nepos demanded.
Actius wiped his hands on a piece of linen handed to him by an orderly. “It's Marcus Quietus, General.”
“Show me.” Nepos was already following the trail of dried and congealed blood towards the surgery. Like most provincial governors, he was a hardened and experienced leader of men, but even he was shocked when he saw how Actius’s usually neat and fastidiously clean surgery looked more like an abattoir than a sanctuary of healing.
Nepos motioned for the orderlies to continue their work as they gently washed the blood from Marcus’s body, sluicing it away through a series of small grates dotted around the edge of the stone floor. Stepping further into the room to allow an orderly to pass with yet more water, he winced at the undoubtedly deep but neatly stitched wound meandering across Marcus’s grotesquely swollen neck and shoulder. “Will he live?”
Actius fussed past and placed his head next to the deathly pale soldier’s lips.
“He lingers on the shore between this world and the next. It is his good fortune that one of the guards had the sense to plug the artery and keep at least some of his blood inside his veins where it belongs. I've stitched the wound and he bleeds no more, but I fear that may not be enough.”
The General was glad he’d decided not to drink any more wine as the knot in his stomach tightened further. “Is that a sword wound?”
“Some kind of cutting tool for turf, so I’m told. Apparently, Caesar’s party was set upon by a band of Brigantes slaves, if you can imagine such a thing. I’m sure the praetorians have dealt with them appropriately.”
Nepos was only partially listening as a dark realisation cast a shadow across his mind like an approaching storm. “Where is Caesar?”
“Caesar, he …”
The General suddenly rounded on the stuttering doctor. “Where?”
Actius mutely beckoned for the General to follow and led the way to the quiet anteroom across the corridor.
Nepos deliberately ignored Clarus, who lingered outside the door like a distraught mother. The Governor of Britannia heard a small groan of despair escape from his lips as he saw mighty Caesar propped up in bed like some kind of simpleton invalid. Almost naked and with a shaved head, it was difficult to imagine how only that morning, this single man had held the whole world in the palm of his hand.
Nepos held his head in his hands. A sudden ache in his own head reminded Nepos of his situation and that his friend was in an even worse state. Nevertheless, he found it impossible to straighten his fingers as he battled against a hot flash of anger and sadness as he watched the orderlies tending to his glorious Emperor and friend. A glance became a stare, then the stare became a thought, and the thoughts became words in his head: ‘What if he dies?’
Acutely aware that he was now the most powerful Roman in all of Britannia, Nepos quickly beckoned the bloodied doctor forward and gestured towards the prone and pale form of the most powerful man in the known world.
“Explain all this.”
The doctor took a shuddering breath and gestured to various points of Caesar's anatomy as though he were instructing a student.
“As you can see, Caesar has sustained several injuries. I have set his broken arm and see no reason why it should not heal fully. I suspect some cracked ribs, but, praise the Gods, there is no indication of punctured lungs.”
“Praise the Gods indeed.” Now it was Nepos’s turn to take a deep breath. “What of his head?”
Actius hesitated.
Nepos repeated his question, as calmly and quietly as he could manage.
“What of his head, Actius?”
“This is the worst. Caesar has sustained a serious blow to the
head. I see no sign of damage to the skull, but the fact that he remains senseless suggests there is some swelling of the brain.”
“What exactly does that mean? Will he recover?”
Actius hesitated again for a moment and swallowed hard.
“I cannot say. The cold compress should help with the swelling, but aside from that, there is little I can do. I have already dispatched a messenger to the Sixth Legion to bring Dr Soranus of Ephesus here immediately. He is an acknowledged expert in this field.
In the meantime, Caesar may awaken tomorrow … or … he may never awaken.”
Nepos looked at the doctor blankly.
“Dr Soranus is the top surgeon in the Empire. We are immensely lucky to have him here in Britannia.” Nepos nodded in agreement.
"Let me know when he arrives," Nepos instructed. The Praetorian Prefect joined the two men sheepishly inside the private room.
"I could not control all his actions. You know how he is. He’s always wanting to speak with everyone involved,” Clarus said as he looked at Nepos.
Nepos paused. He was thinking about what to do next.
“Clarus and Actius, please call all your soldiers, orderlies and nurses into the infirmary now. I need to speak with them all immediately.”
Five minutes later, inside the main entrance to the infirmary, assembled the twelve Praetorian Guards, the doctor, five nurses and six orderlies.
General Nepos closed the door behind them. All eyes fell on him.
"As you are aware, the Emperor is temporarily residing here due to his injury. This is a private matter and will remain so. The doctor is confident he will make a full recovery; therefore there is no need to worry about any possible problems," Nepos said, looking at Actius.
"However, if any information did get out, it would … complicate matters of the Empire; therefore it should not be
discussed. Thus, I am going to ask you to raise your right hand and swear an oath to that effect."
A Roman oath or sacramentum under ancient Roman law was a serious matter. It pledged a bond given to the Gods and was considered sacred.
After the swearing of the oath, Nepos added his affirmation.
"If anyone of you, regardless of rank, talks about what has happened in here, there will be no defence to your position. I will deal with you myself. Do I make myself clear?”
The assembled nurses, orderlies and guards all nodded in agreement.
"This is a private matter, and for the good of the Empire it will not be discussed."
For the better part of a minute there was an awkward silence in the airless room as Nepos merely stood glaring at the assembled staff.
"Go back to your duties and remain conscious of what you have sworn to defend."
The men slowly filed out and Nepos stood for a moment, thinking. The best thing for him to do would be to leave the Greek doctor to minister to his patient. Besides, whether the Emperor lived or died, General Nepos immediately knew that his life had now changed.
Having instructed Actius to tend to his patient as best he could, Nepos stepped back into the anteroom and into what he knew would be one of the most important days of his life. He was glad that Clarus was close at hand, as it meant he would not need to summon the Praetorian Prefect to give an account of himself.
Nepos glanced down at his hands, which were now bright red fists which still refused to slacken. It was as though the endless scream of rage echoing in his mind was silently channelled into his tightly clenched fingers. For a moment, the General was unable to speak as his mouth was dry and his lips failed to follow his commands as he stared mutely at the man charged with Caesar’s safety. Eventually, he managed to issue a single, simple and quiet instruction. He didn’t trust himself to raise his voice as he feared
he might lose control over it. “You will come to my office in one half-hour, Clarus. No later.”
“General Nepos, my place is here at Caesar's side.”
Nepos closed his eyes for a moment as he struggled to quell the rising tide of rage that threatened to break free at any moment.
“One half-hour, Clarus. Do not make me dispatch my soldiers to seek you out.”
With that, he turned on his heel and made his way back towards the main entrance, his mind overflowing with all the ramifications of the day's tragic and momentous events. He'd been tempted to give Clarus a piece of his mind right there and then in front of his men, but the Praetorian Prefect was still a Roman citizen and a very powerful one at that. Besides, as the Governor of Britannia, he would also be held responsible for the assault on the Emperor. It did not matter that he had not been present; the affront had been perpetrated in his province, and that was sufficient cause for concern.
It was clear that the Emperor would be indisposed for many days at least, and probably a lot more, if he ever recovered at all.
He would have to govern in his place. Naturally, the Senate should not be informed, and Nepos did not want to imagine what kind of legal and constitutional chaos such news might unleash. He silently cursed the name of Septicius Clarus and all his damned praetorians as his mind raced with a dozen cancelled appointments and delayed decisions.
As Nepos contemplated the situation, it felt like a fire raging uncontrollably in his mind. The more he thought about it, the worse it became. Each new problem he faced seemed to give rise to a dozen more, leaving him caught in a dizzying whirlwind of legal issues and power struggles. He found it impossible to focus on any single issue for even a moment.
If only he could think of some method to gain time, a little breathing space before the inevitable deluge of legal and military crises drowned him and possibly even Rome herself.
By the time he’d reached the outside entrance, Nepos was wondering how best to cancel all of Caesar’s planned meetings in his diary.
Suetonius would want to know what had happened and then that would be it. He could barely hold a drink, let alone any confidential information. He must not let anyone else know what had happened. He would have to cover up this whole thing for a short time. He stared at one of the Praetorian Guards who stood outside and an idea came to him.
“You must show no mercy … nor have any belief whatsoever in how others judge you.
For your greatness will silence them all.”
Unknown warrior
CHAPTER 13
NORTH OF HADRIAN’S WALL
JULY 7TH 4PM
One mile north of Vercovicium, Armthal slid off the horse he had ridden away from the fort. From the twelve who had attacked, only two had managed to get away that he knew of – himself and Dowi.
Under the shade of an old tree that had a gnarled trunk and a wide canopy of leaves, Armthal felt his face gingerly, knowing that half of it had gone, taking with it one of his eyes and his ear. He had sustained the deadly blow as he grappled with the Praetorian Guard.
He had no idea how he had slipped out of their clutches in the melee and, with every stride he took running from the scene, where he hoped the Emperor lay dead, he had expected to feel an axe or a spear in his back. He remembered miraculously reaching the horse with the other slave, who he had pushed up onto the mount, trying not to look at the handful of yellow intestines that the man was trying to keep from spilling out of a huge gash in his abdomen. The sight and smell had almost made Armthal pass out, although he wondered how he looked. He knew that half his face had gone. Blood had spilled over his tunic and his eye was still nestled in the socket beside the mangled skin and flesh. Fortunately, the vision was still there, as it had taken off the side of his face and it was still hanging by threads of cheek muscle.
As they rode off, Dowi had groaned and screamed in agony, until at last, with a final cry, his guts had slid out of his grasp and hit the ground with a sickening squelch. The slave had fallen off the horse to the ground, dead. Now Armthal felt sure that he would soon be following him. The afternoon sun was hot and he felt weak. He knew that he had lost a lot of blood, and when soldiers came after him, the trail would not be difficult to follow. He managed to stay on the horse just a little longer.
Vordimus and Ortagorus hadn't moved from their respective hide-outs for quite a while, and from what little he'd seen so far, Vordimus wasn't certain if either of the men would ever move again. He glanced up at the lip of the narrow ravine and studied the landscape once more. There was no sign of movement and no sign of any pursuing Roman outriders. He'd already warned Ortagorus that he didn’t expect anyone to make it to their secret rendezvous if they’d actually managed to carry out their attack. Once again he found himself admiring the courage and tenacity of those Britons who refused to bend their backs to the Roman whip. However, as a seasoned fighter, he also knew there was a big difference between refusing to surrender and winning the war, and one did not necessarily follow from the other.
Rising slowly from his hiding place beneath a thick canopy of bracken, he stealthily made his way towards a clutch of stunted, wind-twisted trees clinging to the rocky sides of the ravine. Over to his right, he could see Ortagorus mirroring his movements as they converged on the slave who'd seemingly escaped from their attempt on the Emperor's life.
The Brigantes chieftain waved his arm at the Roman horse snorting cool clear water from the little stream that chuckled and trickled in this hidden retreat from the summer sun. Within seconds, another hidden warrior had risen from the undergrowth and deftly caught the animal’s reins, fondling its nose and whispering in its ear as it was gently led along a narrow trail to graze on green grass.
As he crept up behind the young man slumped against one of those wind-blasted trees, Vordimus thought of how this place would normally be a haven of peace and quiet reflection. A place to think, to talk, or even to love, hidden to all but the most fastidious and knowledgeable local tribesman. However, on this day the place only reeked of blood, death and something altogether more unpleasant even than that. Vordimus knew the peculiar and almost unearthly stench of a man’s innards only too
well, and, hardened fighter though he was, he prayed that this was not issuing from the wounded man closest to him.
When at last he reached the motionless escapee and touched him on the shoulder, Vordimus silently thanked the Gods that the man’s stomach and innards were exactly where nature had intended them, although that realisation gave him no comfort as he winced at what little remained of Armthal's undamaged features. The worst part of it was that the poor bastard still lived.
Only Roman steel could have cut Armthal’s face so cleanly. It would be easy for any dog to follow the scent, while the unholy stench issuing from Armthal's companion lying further up the gully meant that the inevitable pursuers probably wouldn't need to wait for dogs at all. The trail of blood and gore would be more than enough for an experienced scout to follow. They had little time alone in this place.
Doing his best to make Armthal's last moments in this world as painless as possible, Vordimus gently shook the young man's shoulder, hoping that his spirit had not already departed on its journey to the hereafter.
Armthal's remaining bloodshot eye flickered open, although it looked heavy with sleep as what remained of his lifeblood pulsed weakly onto his already sodden tunic.
“Did you do it? Did you strike the blow?”
A ghost of a smile flickered on the undamaged half of the young man's mouth for a moment, before it was overtaken by a grimace of pain.
Vordimus jumped as Ortagorus suddenly appeared beside him, crouching down and shaking his head towards the dead man further up the ravine.
The chieftain spoke softly to the dying man.
“Armthal. My kin, my blood. Is it done?”
Armthal's words were slurred and poorly formed as he tried to gather the strength to speak via his wrecked and ruined features.
“I struck. Good blow … Strong … Blood … Much blood. The Emperor fell.”
“That's good, very good. Whose blood, Armthal? The Emperor's blood?”
“We did. I saw him fall,” he spoke quietly. Vordimus wiped away more blood flowing and congratulated the brave warrior.
“You are the greatest warrior of us all, brother. You have killed Caesar!”
A slight smile spread across Armthal’s half face as he rolled his head backwards dead.
Vordimus and Ortagorus looked at each other and smiled.
“We have struck a blow for freedom! We must spread the message to the council. Caesar is dead. Now is the time to attack them! What shall we do with the bodies?”
“There is nothing we can do. We must leave them here. They will be looking for them. Take his dagger. It will be how we remember him,” Vordimus agreed.
Ortagorus gently caught the young man's body as it slid sideways, laying it carefully on the ground and whispering his thanks to the young man's spirit, followed by a prayer to the ancestors to guide this brave warrior to the halls of the dead. At last, he stood up, swatting at the flies which had already begun to gather in the summer heat, and grimacing at just how much of the now-dead assassin’s blood had ended up on his own clothing.
“They’ll all be out looking for him.”
The Brigantes chieftain nodded.
“Your words are wise. If there's one thing these damned Romans can do, it’s count, and they'll be spreading out and searching for these two. Sooner or later, they'll be coming this way.”
Vordimus scanned the empty ridgeline once again as a pair of grouse clattered into the air, startled by something he could not discern.
“They'll be coming, for certain.”
“It is a bad plan that admits no modifications”
Publilius Syrus
CHAPTER 14
PRAETORIUM HQ AT VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 7TH 5 PM
General Nepos stared at his personal bust of Caesar while he considered his next move. It occurred to him that some of the less civilised Brigantes squatting up in those damp hills might believe that he was communing with the Emperor’s spirit as he stared at that silent effigy of carved marble. Such an idea was preposterous of course, not least because Caesar still lingered somewhere between life and death on a hospital cot. Yet still the Governor of Britannia could not quite rule out the notion that he might somehow receive a sudden spark of divine wisdom if he focused on those smooth and sightless stone eyes for long enough.
No matter how impractical such an idea might be, Nepos still felt some strangely detached kind of comfort as he looked at the bust of his friend and Emperor. It helped him to step inside the Emperor’s mind and imagine what he might be thinking if their roles were reversed and his regional governor had been so viciously and brazenly attacked in broad daylight. If these bedraggled savages could not be seduced by Rome’s love, they must learn to fear her wrath in a way they had never done before.
The General looked up as he heard the heavy footsteps of Clarus approaching. He had dismissed Suetonius on an errand so that he could talk privately with the Praetorian Prefect. He stood and picked up his baton as Clarus strode into the room. The Prefect had regained a little of his usual colour since leaving the hospital, and he’d clearly had the chance to change his cloak and at least wash his face and hands. However, the mud spattering his usually immaculate armour betrayed the truth that he, too, had had little time to take a breath and gather his thoughts. So much the better.
“Clarus.” The General’s greeting was curt and calculated to be as rude as possible. He was glad he’d had some time to stop and
consider his actions, even though a large part of him still yearned to personally send this black-clad incompetent off to minister to the Emperor in the afterlife.
“General.” Clarus mirrored Nepos’s greeting in a tight-lipped monotone, no doubt fully aware of the approaching explosion.
The Governor of Britannia clasped his hands behind his back as he paced around his roomy if somewhat rustic private quarters, looking up at the ceiling, around the room and down at the floor, but never at the man whom he was addressing. “What is Rome?”
Clarus frowned. “General?”
Nepos waved his hand towards the bust of Caesar as he paced. “It was a conversation that my friend and I once enjoyed in the Imperial Palace, such a long time ago it seems now. The Emperor had only recently ascended to the throne and I remember clearly how we stood on his balcony, looking out across the marvellous works of the Eternal City.”
Nepos finally stopped and faced Clarus. “Would you like to know the answer to the riddle, Clarus? The answer that’s taken me half a lifetime to discover?”
“Please, General.” If Clarus had attempted to mask the sarcasm in his voice, he had not succeeded. Nepos paused once more.
"Rome embodies the eternal expression of the Emperor's divine will, evident not only in enduring stone but also in sharpened steel and steadfast law. This is true because where the Emperor's divine will prevails, there is peace and prosperity; conversely, in areas lacking his will, darkness, ignorance and barbarism prevail."
Clarus stood his ground. “And what of Rome, General? What will you tell the Senate of today’s events?”
Nepos stared hard at the man who’d been charged with protecting the life and person of his Emperor and friend.
“I shall tell them nothing of today’s events, and neither will you!”
“General, it is my duty …”
Nepos finally lost control of his temper, cutting off the Prefect savagely.
“You dare speak to me of duty! You dare to invoke that word in my presence, with Caesar lying wounded and helpless among the common soldiery! If you had any sense of duty, you would be lying out there in the dirt, with your blood draining into the soil along with that of your Emperor. Instead, you return here with tales of ambushes by slaves and your sword yet unbloodied. Were it not for the greater needs of Rome, I would have you stripped of your rank and digging latrines beside those honest soldiers you look down upon as you stumble around in a fog of your selfimportance! You will never again mention the word duty in my presence. Do you understand?”
Not used to being addressed in such a fashion, Clarus immediately bristled.
“How dare you …”
Before he’d had time to consider his response, Nepos suddenly found himself standing before the Praetorian Prefect with his sword in his hand.
“I swear to the Gods here and now that your career will come to a swift and bloody end if you ever raise your voice to me again.”
The Prefect turned on his heel.
“It’s out of my hands. The Senate must be informed lest Caesar does not recover,” Clarus repeated, as he walked towards the door.
“You will do no such thing, Clarus. You will inform no one of what has happened this day.”
Clarus stopped and turned back, the anger in his voice now matching that of the General for the first time. They looked each other squarely in the eyes.
“You may be the Governor of this province, General Nepos, but I answer to the Emperor alone. The fact that he is currently incapacitated does not discharge me of my duty to protect him, and I will not countenance any sordid political manoeuvring while he still lives.”
Nepos placed his arm across the door and stopped his exit.
"Yes, our Emperor is incapacitated," spoke Nepos, "and I have assumed temporary command until the crisis is over. Unless you have something useful to add to the discussion, I outrank you."
Silence filled the room while both men thought again of their actions and what impact they would have. Nepos took a deep breath and lowered his short sword; stepping back a few feet, he placed it on his writing desk. For several long seconds, the two most powerful men in Britannia stared at each other, each unsure of how to break the stalemate.
Eventually, it was the Governor who spoke, this time a little more calmly and quietly.
“We both serve the same Emperor and we both serve Rome. That is why you must hearken to what I say, Clarus. Mark me well when I tell you we can ill afford to stir up the serpent’s nest unless we are left with no other choice. We’ve both seen what happens when an Emperor dies. Who would the Senate appoint? There is no successor planned that I am aware of. It would be a fight between the powerful men in the Senate and possibly the generals of the army. I, for one, do not want another civil war just now. If that happens, then no one is safe and the sword falls on the innocent just as eagerly as the guilty.”
Clarus exhaled a long breath. “What are you suggesting, General?”
Nepos leaned back on his desk, hoping that his words would make as much good sense spoken aloud as they’d made in the solitude of his head.
“Thus far only a handful of your men and a few of the medical staff understand the extent of Caesar’s injuries. From this point on, his fate and ours are in the hands of the Gods; either Caesar will live or he will die, and neither of us can influence that outcome. However, for the moment, Caesar lives, and so our duty is to him and Rome also.”
The Prefect frowned as he considered the implications of what the General was saying. “Even if he recovers, it may be a long time before he can govern, if ever.”
“That may well be true, but if rumours started to circulate to that effect then this whole damned country may suddenly erupt, not to mention countless other provinces, as well as the inevitable instability back in Rome. Do you want to be responsible for that
if the Emperor does recover? How would that serve either Caesar or Rome?”
Clarus bit his lip as he considered Nepos’s words.
“Go on.”
Nepos finally showed his hand.
“You’re an experienced soldier, so you know that the best deceptions are those that are based on something real. Yes, there was an attempt on Caesar’s life, and yes he was rendered senseless for a short while, but he will be up and back to his old self within a few short days.”
“Impossible! We’d never succeed in such a deception.”
Nepos smiled. “Yes, we would, with some careful planning. Only your men who were with the Emperor on the wall know the truth, and, ironically enough, they are the ones who will be most motivated to help us in our endeavour. After all, who would wish such a disgrace on his honour as allowing Caesar to be almost killed while under his protection?”
Clarus spoke slowly as he thought the proposal through. “Such a ruse would require a likeness of the Emperor and more luck than I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
“I already have just the man, one of your own, called Rufus whom I saw at the hospital. From a distance, the likeness is striking, a sure sign that he was placed among us by the Gods, perhaps even for this very purpose.”
Clarus still wasn’t convinced. “What of his wife, and the Emperor’s servants, not to mention Suetonius and all the rest of the staff officers?”
Nepos was ready with his response.
“Naturally, the real Emperor will need to be much more remote for a while as he recovers, whilst our double will carry on the duties that are expected of him at a distance. It will at least give the Emperor time to make a recovery.”
Clarus was silent for well over a minute while he considered the outrageous idea. Finally, he spoke.
“For the sake of Rome and all that we have built here, I believe we have little to lose by attempting such a deception.”
Nepos nodded in agreement, even though he was sure that Clarus was thinking of his own hide rather than Rome’s future.
“It’s a risk, but I believe it’s one that’s worth taking until we’re more certain of the Emperor’s fate. Everything can be arranged, but I will need the solemn word of you and your men. The simple truth is that I cannot prevent a Senate power struggle in Rome and perhaps a bloody insurrection here without your help.”
It didn’t take Clarus very long to swear an oath of silence for himself and his men.
"We must be as one at this time," Nepos reminded.
“I shall send Rufus to you early tomorrow,” agreed Clarus.
“To solve a difficult problem in medicine, don’t study it directly but rather pursue a curiosity about the nature and the rest will follow.”
Dr Soranus of Ephesus
CHAPTER 15
VINDOLANDA SURGICAL WARD
JULY 7TH 6PM
Dr Soranus had worked in some of the best hospitals in both Greece and Rome. He had originally studied the anatomy of animals and then applied the same practice to humans. Owing to dissection of human corpses being against Roman law, he had used pigs, monkeys and other animals to learn from. He had lectured, written extensively and performed public demonstrations of his anatomical knowledge. He had quickly gained a reputation as an experienced although divergent physician.
He had been the personal physician of Emperor Trajan, Hadrian’s adopted father, and it was he who had encouraged him to come back to the legions to practise for one more year. War casualties will always be more interesting than routine life, he had been assured. Little had he known that his very skills would be used to save the Emperor’s life in Britannia.
As Soranus entered the main door to the hospital in Vindolanda, he saw the floor trampled with mud and dirty footprints. “Orderly!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Get this floor cleaned immediately with water and a brush. It looks like a cattle market has taken place here.”
Out of the side door, Actius heard his voice and quickly appeared.
“Dr Soranus, it is good to see you, and thank you for coming so quickly.”
Soranus looked him up and down quickly. “Your note said an emergency … Almost like the Emperor himself was injured!” laughed the senior doctor. Actius smiled nervously.
“This way please, doctor.”
Soranus followed the young doctor quickly into the side room, expecting to see the legate or a senior officer seeking attention. Instead, Emperor Hadrian lay on the bed almost naked with a
wet towel around his shaven head. Soranus quickly took in the situation.
“He’s had a head injury?” he questioned.
“Yes, sir. On the left upper side,” the young doctor replied. “I have examined the skull and in particular the area that was cut. The outer skin is cut but the skull bone is still intact,” replied a nervous Actius.
“How long ago did this happen?” questioned Soranus.
“Approximately 2 hours ago,” replied Actius.
“You were right to get me here,” nodded Soranus.
He took off the wet towel and gently touched the bone area around the cut. It was indeed intact. That was a good start.
“What herbs have you given him?” questioned the senior doctor.
“Nothing yet, sir.”
“To reduce the swelling in the head we must give him a diuretic; it will reduce the pressure inside the head. Do you have any horse plant?”
“Yes of course,” replied the young doctor.
“Then make it into a strong tea and we will get some small amounts into his mouth, making sure he does not choke on it. I will show you how to make him swallow the tea without gagging on it via a reed into his mouth. If you lift him up and forward it’s easier for the liquid to go down.”
The order for horsetail tea was given to the orderly who disappeared off immediately.
“Has he vomited or been sick?”
“No, sir,” replied Actius.
“Are there any clear fluids draining from his nose or ears?”
“No.”
Soranus took a sharp needle out of his bag and stuck it into the Emperor’s little finger. Neither his finger nor his hand moved as a natural reflex should have initiated. The two doctors looked at each other and they both agreed. This was worse than they had originally thought.
In the mild and moderate form of a head injury, Soranus knew that the patient’s eyes should be open and they should be able to
speak words. In this case, the Emperor's eyes were not open and his pupils were asymmetric. The Roman physician Celsius, whom Soranus had studied, described the symptoms of a head injury and he quoted them now to the young doctor.
“Blood flows from the nostrils and in some cases the ears; vomiting occurs; there is no sense when they are called by their name; they are not cognitive. The eyes that move to the front are dilated, and generally by the third day delirium supervenes. The patient may have lost his sight or speech and lie insensible and be comatosed.”
Soranus was worried Hadrian appeared to exhibit many of the signs of a major trauma to his head, from which studies told him there would be no recovery. He would have to monitor the Emperor to see if his condition improved in the next 24 hours. In the meantime, he would prepare himself and his instruments for an operation. Both doctors discussed the plan at length. Surgery on the head would be the next step and there was a higher probability he would not recover. However, equally, if they did not act, he would also not recover. It was a difficult decision and one that General Nepos would have to make. The Emperor's life hung in the balance. The Gods were watching over them all now.
The decurion of the Alla Secundae Asturum cavalry had received orders from General Nepos himself. His instructions were clear. All villages north of the wall had to be destroyed, along with any population residing in them. It was standard military practice that retribution for any attack would be inflicted on the local population. In this case, an attack on the Emperor was dealt with swiftly and harshly, which was deemed to be the best method of further deterrence.
The decurion gathered his 30 turmae of cavalry and headed out of Vindolanda to see what had happened. When he came across the Roman soldiers and slaves who were still digging the wall
foundations, he asked what had happened. One of the centurions from the auxiliary troop told them that a few hours ago the Emperor had been attacked.
“Why did your slaves not join in the fight?” questioned the decurion.
“These slaves here are from Gaul,” answered the centurion. “We brought them over with us. They know better. Not even one of them would help. Otherwise, they would be on a cross by nightfall.”
“Who were the ones that attacked the Emperor?” questioned the decurion.
“They were locals, just drafted them a few weeks ago apparently. You need to show the local population how we deal with criminals, sir.”
The decurion nodded. “You know that’s exactly what I intend to do. Carry on, centurion,” and he sped his horses north to find the nearest village.
Just one mile north of the new part of the wall stood twelve massive roundhouses. They had been built some 10 years before on the slope down to the river. Here they could graze the cattle in the summer and grow crops in the fertile soil. The slope was southwest-facing and caught the sun when the weather was good. The farmers there held a market every month and often people from around the area would come in and buy cattle and food from the farmers.
It was a pleasant place to stay and the families that lived there were now supplying the Roman army with their produce of milk and beef. For them, it had been advantageous to live there. The 30 Roman cavalry troops rode along the path at the side of the river and up the well-worn route which took them to a simple wooden gate. Inside the gate were the roundhouses, made from mud and straw formed in a circular design with stones at the bottom and mud walls built up for the foundations.
Cows grazed peacefully in the far corner as the farmers went about their business in the fields. A scream pierced the air as a long sword was swung high and hit a small child playing at the gate, killing them outright. Upon seeing the Roman cavalry, the villagers ran into their houses for protection against the charging horses. With more swinging swords and heavy horses, the Roman troops slaughtered everyone in the village. Women screamed and ran towards the children, men grabbed anything they could find to defend themselves. It was a bloody revenge and it was all over very quickly as the local population were slaughtered and the roundhouse walls were pushed over and collapsed inside.
The military orders said that every village within 1 mile north of the wall had to be raised to the ground and any person within the area was a criminal and had to be killed. Roman revenge was brutal. The cows were removed from the fields and brought back to Vindolanda for the Romans’ own use. It was then on the way back that they found the bodies of Dowi and Armthal by following the blood trail. The decurion ordered the bodies to be brought back to show General Nepos. In the meantime, they would scout further along the wall for more villages.
Revenge was a verb in the Roman dictionary. The Romans took revenge on the people who wronged them with force. Pity help anyone they met.
Vordimus and Ortagorus knew there would be Roman patrols north of the wall now. They would be looking for the assassins and taking revenge. They travelled off the roads and crossed the boundary of the wall at night, when there were fewer Roman patrols, and headed south to Tobar's villa. They knew they must attack the Romans now that they were at their weakest without Caesar. However, they must have Tobar's support so that he would attack from the south. A pincer movement would confuse and provide a greater opportunity to attack from all sides.
They knelt in a corner of a field where the grass height concealed their movements and both glanced around before slowly standing up and peering through the darkness. The villa was a few hundred yards away at the end of a dirt track road. The Roman soldiers outside the front entrance lounged and yawned, their heads rolling as they struggled to stay awake through what they knew would be an uneventful watch. They had nothing to fear, as Tobar was safely tucked up inside and everyone else was huddled in their huts lest the roaming Roman patrols should catch them outside during the strict curfew that had been enforced since the attempt on Caesar’s life.
Tobar’s village had become somewhat quieter since the assassination attempt, with its sparse and interrelated population only too aware that it was only their chieftain’s vocal condemnations and affirmations of loyalty to Rome that protected them from the worst of the Empire’s wrath. However, it had also become clear that mere words spoken in support of Caesar were just enough to stay the sword but not nearly sufficient to engender Rome’s trust and friendship.
It was a common saying among the soldiers that merely wearing sandals and drinking wine did not make a Roman, and the Brigantes and their lesser chieftains had been left in no doubt that they were merely tolerated, and nothing more.
Satisfied that there were no regular Roman troops nearby, the two crept forward. Vordimus made his way quietly down the side of the wooden building, almost bumping into Ortagorus who waited silently in the shadows. Nodding that they should proceed, Vordimus grabbed the rough wooden windowsill above his head and quietly pulled himself into Tobar’s private living quarters, taking care not to let any metal blade or buckle scrape against the sill and alert the slumbering occupant within. He looked around as he waited for his companion to join him, noting that this was indeed a modest dwelling by Roman standards, although it was still a hundred times more comfortable than the leaky and smokefilled chieftain’s hut he’d occupied before. This was how Rome conquered and controlled, both by the sword and by the banquet, but Vordimus knew full well that for every puffed-up local official
parading in his Roman finery, there were hundreds of dead lying in ditches, on battlefields and even on the hard-packed floors of family huts. Yes indeed, Rome could be kind to those who loved her, but her love was always conditional.
Ortagorus whispered to Vordimus that Tobar would have done better to have adopted all the habits of Rome and not just some –at least then he would have had a personal guard posted inside the house. Clearly the local chieftain did not believe that his tribe had fully embraced the might of Rome and he was wary of anyone being too close while he slept.
Both men silently drew their daggers as they crept towards Tobar’s sleeping quarters. It was easy enough to find the slumbering chieftain in the dark, as his snoring was loud enough to disturb the dead. It was well known that Tobar was a heavy sleeper, but he was wide awake within seconds as Ortagorus looped a garrotte of thin, rough rope around his neck while his companion smothered the sleeping man’s mouth and nose. The chieftain’s eyes bulged with pain and fear as he was roughly hauled into a sitting position, while the glint of Vordimus’s dagger in the summer moonlight confirmed that the two men were not making a social call in the dead of night.
With their unusual introductions over, Ortagorus relaxed his grip on the rope slightly. “Where are your Roman friends now, fool? I thought you would be up at the fort, kissing the Governor’s arse now that Caesar is no more.” He cuffed the side of the chieftain’s head roughly as Tobar attempted to look at him.
Tobar kept his attention fixed firmly on Vordimus.
“What do you mean Caesar is no more? I saw him 2 days ago."
Ortagorus snorted. “Your beloved Caesar is dead now. So you can stop pretending to be a Roman! Are you not latched firmly to Rome’s bloodied teat? Do not your kin labour now for her greater glory as well as your own? Why should you fear the anger of Rome? Unless, of course, you’ve finally learned that betrayal is never repaid by trust. I’d kill you here and now if I believed that your kin would not suffer, but I know the ways of the Empire.”
The chieftain rolled his eyes, hissing his anger through gritted teeth.
“You idiots, I am a servant of Rome as they force me to help
them with their work. Do you seriously think that we can take on the might of the Roman Empire and win? You are both delusional!”
The two men exchanged glances.
Vordimus motioned for his companion to slacken the rope a little more.
“The price of war, the price of resistance, which you’ve avoided so far, but you really are foolish if you think the Romans will ever accept you as one of their own. They’ll leave you be … for now, but they’ll come. If you’re lucky they’ll just slit your throat, but perhaps they’ll work you and your family to death digging ditches and carrying rocks for that damned wall of theirs. You buy your comfort with the blood of your kin, and mine.”
Vordimus gestured for his companion to release the pressure before Tobar’s windpipe was crushed and his bulging eyes popped right out of his head. Tobar leaned forward, looking carefully into Vordimus’s eyes.
“Are you certain you killed him? Are you certain it was the Emperor?”
“It was him, and we are free because 12 brave souls with building tools attacked him as he went to see his wall.”
Ortagorus put his lips next to Tobar’s ear. “So, now you know what we have done. We want to know if you will join us in an attack on their wall. We will call together all the tribes and have a council meeting. We shall attack from the north all along the wall and you must attack from the south.”
The Brigantes chief nodded as best he could inside the garrotte. “You are more planned than I realised. However, there are still too many of them. It would be madness to attack that number of Romans.”
He struggled round to look his fellow Briton in the face. “I know you speak the truth when you say that the Romans will never embrace any of us. They say they are my friends, but they do not speak with me, they do not come to call and they turn away when I meet their gaze. You are right when you say I am not one of them and I never will be. So if we are to do this thing and destroy their army before they destroy us, then we must act soon.”
Vordimus leaned back as he considered Tobar’s words.
“How can we know that you speak the truth now? Rome was your friend yesterday, and still, you live under her roof, wear her clothes and enjoy the protection of her soldiers. Now you claim to renounce them when you have a rope around your neck and a dagger at your belly.”
Tobar opened his hands palms upward.
“For now, I can only give you my word, but watch for my signs and you will see them. Now you should go, we will bear the burden of Rome’s anger while you bear the burden of hunger and fear in the hills. When the time comes, we shall all be together on the battlefield, either as glorious victors or the defeated dead. I promise you I will bring 600 men to fight the Romans all fully armed with swords."
Vordimus laughed "Swords? … and how will you do that, brother?"
"The blacksmith here makes their Roman swords. They are too busy to make them themselves. He also makes them blunt. So, they send them back to us for rework. We sharpen a few but keep the rest. Now I can supply enough for my own army."
Both Vordimus and Ortagorus smiled.
Tobar continued, "Assemble your army and send me the sign when you are ready. Now go, before my useless guards awaken and find you here.”
Ortagorus and Vordimus looked at each other for several long seconds before Ortagorus nodded and quickly removed the garrotte from around Tobar’s neck. “There’s nothing to be gained by killing you now, and the best thing about you is that you’re easy to find should your words prove false. We will watch for your signs, and you’d best pray that we see them soon."
Tobar stroked his throat after the removal of the garrotte.
"I am and always have been a leader of the Brigantes tribe. I feared Caesar as he lived directly in our midst. I was angry when you told me that Caesar had died, but now I am glad because it means he will not live to see his beloved wall crumble to dust.”
Ortagorus jerked his head and Vordimus followed him silently back into the shadows, leaving Tobar alone to nurse his bruised neck in the stillness of that summer darkness.
Clarus sat looking at his jug of ale and then glanced around the room one more time. No one seemed to take note of him sitting in the corner of the small alehouse once again. However, he was taking a bigger risk than he had ever imagined he would. He had sent the urgent message via a rider after some contemplation of the situation. Now he was desperate to see Blandus’s reaction. Had his message been delivered?
Emperor Augustus had created an official system to send messages across the Empire via dispatch riders, known as the cursus publicus. However, it was Hadrian who created an actual administration under a prefect, and it became a rapid delivery system, especially regarding military matters.
He heard the soft squeak of leather shoes on the floor and looked up to a smiling Blandus wearing what was the oldest cloak he had ever seen.
"I had to borrow the housekeeper’s cloak," he laughed as he sat down at the small table. "What news? Your message said it was urgent."
Clarus didn't waste time on small talk. “I have sworn an oath that I would not tell anyone this news. You understand how difficult a situation this puts me in? You must keep this a secret between us."
Blandus nodded in agreement. "I can keep a secret. My word is my bond, I can assure you."
Clarus paused. "My very life depends that you can.” He looked squarely into the senator's eyes.
Blandus reassured him again that they could trust one another.
“Caesar is in the hospital and is at death's door. Pluto is calling him," Clarus spoke quietly.
Both men thought of Pluto, the lord of the subterranean underworld, which served as the resting place of departed souls.
"What? How did it happen?” Blandus asked, confused.
"He was attacked as we visited a section of the wall."
"How unfortunate!” smiled Blandus, jumping up off his seat in disbelief. "I can’t believe such luck or fortuna!"
"Sit down," hissed Clarus. “Pluto dispenses luck and controls the fates of all mortals. He is now calling on Hadrian.”
After a few seconds of preening, the senator sat down and took a large gulp of his ale.
"This is all working out nicely – even better than I had hoped. Emergency situations like the death of the Emperor require the decisive leadership of one individual. Under these circumstances, the Senate and consuls could appoint anyone. Since Hadrian is discredited in the Senate, I’m sure any choice he had would not be ratified."
Blandus was making quick jumps.
"Has he even written a will? Do you know who his heirs are? He has only been on the throne for 5 years; he couldn’t have written a will already ? Now is the time for me to cement my relationships within the Senate. I would be the natural choice," Blandus spoke as he thought.
"This is a dangerous path just yet. I cannot support you openly. But I will do my best for you in private," assured Clarus. They both looked at each other and understood just how dangerous a position they were placing themselves in.
“This is a complex situation, you understand,” continued Clarus. “Whoever would be elected to be Emperor would require the backing of many legions and the Praetorian Guard. Since you have no military experience, you would require additional backing.” He stopped and let the words sink in.
Blandus paused for a moment and sat still.
“So, what you're saying is that if I were to become Emperor, then I would require your backing?” questioned Blandus.
“What I am offering is that I can persuade the Praetorian Guard – for a certain value of monies. If the Guard hail you Emperor, then the three British Legions will join them. With such a large group of the army supporting you, the Senate would find it impossible to challenge that situation. It would be a foregone conclusion.”
Blandus nodded. “I agree. They might not like it; however, they would not dare to challenge it. Emperors always need the backing of the army.”
"There is one more thing," added Clarus. "Nepos has picked a member of the Guard who looks like the Emperor, to be a body double.”
Blandus looked stunned." Why?"
"He’s trying to buy time so Hadrian can make a recovery. He doesn't want people to know he is lying in the hospital unconscious. I disagreed with him and told him we must tell the Senate and he was furious. So I have been sworn to secrecy with this also. The doctors want to operate on his head if he has not moved by tomorrow.”
He paused to let the words sink in.
Blandus nodded in agreement.
“You and I both know the chances of his recovery are very slim. Even after the operation, he may not recover. The fortunes have deserted him and it is time for a new Emperor. I feel it is important the Senate should pick someone with a political background like you."
Blandus grinned from ear to ear.
"Congratulations, Caesar. You have taken the first step of being a new Emperor," smiled Clarus as he pushed over a small piece of paper with the sum of monies he would require for the Guard.
Blandus's eyes widened as he stroked his chin.
"I can arrange payment of this for you. However, I will have to swing the vote in the Senate my way. I’ve done it before and can do it again. I use the oldest lever in the world to persuade the waverers in the Senate to vote for me. Except this time it will cost me a fortune. We must be thankful that the senators value gold as much as they do. They think of new houses and slaves. I value gold only for what it brings me – the position of Emperor. My grandfather was the proconsul of Africa many years ago. Never would he have believed his family would one day don the purple.”
The two men raised their glasses quietly to one another: "To the new Emperor, Secundus Blandus.”
"A reflex action is an involuntary and nearly instantaneous movement in response to a stimulus."
Dr Soranus of Ephesus (70–145 AD)
Personal Physician to Emperors Trajan and Hadrian
CHAPTER
16
VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 10TH 8AM
Reflexes protect your body from things that can harm it. While Roman medicine did not fully understand all the reasons why, it was one of the first simple tests a Roman doctor learned at medical school.
Both doctors looked over their patient once more with hope in their eyes. Dr Soranus took out a small needle and placed it on the tip of Hadrian’s finger. With slight pressure, he pressed it under the nail of the first finger and into the quick tissue. Immediately, the hand jerked backwards and the head moved. They looked at each other and nodded. The whole mechanism of a reflex action occurs in such a fashion that there is no conscious control of the brain. Stimulation occurs through the nervous system and the response to this is involuntary.
They carefully turned Hadrian onto his side and Dr Soranus took the small needle once again and inserted it into his spine. Again, the reflex action was shown by the Emperor as his knees jerked forward in response and his back arched. Both doctors knew that the nerves that ran down his back were now also working.
This was a definite improvement. They turned him onto his back once again and opened his eyelids carefully. At last, they saw the light acting as a stimulus now too, as the pupils changed to a smaller size.
Both doctors smiled at the good news, although it was minor good news. The Emperor was still unconscious and not awake.
"Should we tell Nepos?" asked Actius.
"I see no need to raise his hopes," replied Soranus. "It would be better to let him wait until the Emperor reaches the next step and becomes fully conscious. I don’t want to tell the General we are expecting a full recovery when he does not. Let’s wait a little longer."
Both agreed on the plan of action. A little self-preservation would go a long way now. Dr Soranus called over the orderly.
"Keep giving him the horsetail tea and keep his head wrapped in cold cloth. We must continue to reduce the swelling. His arm is fine and will heal. The cuts and bruises will too."
"Yes, doctor," spoke the orderly, who was now Hadrian's personal nurse.
None of the officers in the army had a personal nurse and few of the rich aristocrats that Soranus knew could even afford one. It was just this one patient who was watched over all day and night.
Just as they spoke, the orderly from the other room came in quickly to tell them some news.
"Doctors, the young soldier next door is awake and complaining of pain."
Both doctors left Hadrian resting once again on the bed as they went to see Marcus.
The young soldier had lost a lot of blood and was very white. His face grimaced in agony at the wound in his neck and the stitches that Actius had carefully applied. The poultice of paste lying over the wound made of herbs and honey had been left on for 2 days.
"Ah, you're awake, prefect," smiled Soranus. "Have you given him anything for the pain?"
"No yet, doctor,” replied Actius.
"Very well, make him a drink of some water with an infusion of opium seeds."
Actius nodded to the orderly nearby to start making the drink. It was a well-known pain relief and sedative given to soldiers when required. The dried seeds when crushed contained opiate alkaloids primarily consisting of morphine.
"Tell me this patient’s history," asked the senior doctor in a formal tone.
"The young commander has sustained a major cut to his neck. It missed his major artery by 1 inch. Fortunately, it was bound by one of his colleagues to control the bleeding. I cleaned the wound and sutured the cut to close it. I applied a bandage over the
position of the wound to stop any further bleeding. The poultice has been added on top to stop any infection."
Dr Soranus nodded in agreement.
"Very good. Check the wound daily for no discolouration or excessive swelling. If there is, add further poultices to stop infection. In the meantime, make sure he gets the pain relief to keep him comfortable.”
"You will fight again, young man," assured Soranus. "Just relax for now. Everything is fine. We are looking after you. We will be in the duty room if you need us." Dr Soranus indicated to the orderlies and left them to it.
Marcus looked up at the ceiling once again. His neck hurt. Apart from that, his ribs hurt.
The orderly appeared a few moments later with a sour-tasting drink.
"Drink this, sir," he said, placing the cup close to the young soldier’s lips.
Marcus grimaced as he drank the cloudy water. Suddenly, he remembered what had happened and looked around the room for the Emperor.
"How is the Emperor? Is he alive?"
The orderly ignored the question.
"Everything's fine. You must concentrate on getting better. Drink as much water as you can. Then when you need the toilet, we can help you up."
Marcus's legs were stiff from being in bed for 2 days. He shuffled them, changing positions. Slowly he turned his head and looked around. His legs tingled and he started to feel a little better already.
"Is Caesar alive?” he asked to an empty room.
Both doctors retired to the duty room for a short rest after the stress of the previous days.
"It is good to know in these circumstances that you share the values of our ancient traditions of medicine," acknowledged Soranus. "There are many unworthy and unsolicited people who practise medicine. It’s not everyone who can heal the sick without any theoretical knowledge or practise."
"I have read everything I can of you, sir," replied the young doctor. "It is an honour to have you here and to work with you."
As both doctors continued to self-congratulate each other, they saw a bearded figure getting dressed in the Emperor's armour.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" insisted the senior doctor. "This is our rest room and you are not allowed in here."
"My apologies, doctor, I was asked by General Nepos to attend at the hospital this hour and dress in the Emperor’s clothes."
"This is very irregular," motioned Soranus. "Let me get the guards to check this."
Just as he was about to head out the main door, a windswept Nepos appeared in the space.
"How is the Emperor?" asked Nepos.
"He has had a restful night and has not got worse," replied Actius.
Nepos nodded his head and asked to see him once again. Both doctors accompanied him to the room.
"I think it would be better to wait longer rather than have any operation on his head now. There are no signs of vomiting or sickness which indicate he is getting worse. However, most patients with a minor injury would have woken up by now. If the head returns to normal size, he should awaken," explained Soranus.
Nepos nodded in agreement.
"I think he would be better to make a normal recovery if possible, without operating. I would not want to be responsible for making our Emperor even worse."
"It is entirely possible that he may not get any better though, General,” said Soranus quietly. "If this was the case, you can then ask us to operate at a later date."
Silence filled the room as all eyes were on Emperor Hadrian alone.
"I understand, gentlemen," confirmed the General. "I shall say a prayer to the Gods tonight for his life to return. If there is any news on his condition please contact me immediately."
After a few moments of thought, the three men quietly left the room, to be greeted by Rufus, the praetorian soldier, in the corridor, dressed in Hadrian's armour and uniform.
The ornamental armour had been polished and the uniform cleaned. A new red cloak was the only addition, which Hadrian liked to wear rather than the purple. A purple neck scarf was tied similarly to the Emperor's. Even the soldier's beard and curly hair were identical in length to Hadrian’s. It was an uncanny resemblance. At a distance, there was no doubt he would be taken as the Emperor.
"If you will excuse me, doctors, I have to give our army some reassurance about our Emperor. He has to be seen by his troops in public to restore confidence. Rufus, come with me and let me explain what’s going to happen now," Nepos said as they walked to the main door. "You're about to become a living legend."
Hadrian would not normally use his personal standard except for a formal occasion. However, given the gravity of the situation, Nepos felt a show of force was necessary for morale.
He took Rufus aside just at the door to the infirmary and inspected his uniform.
"Remove the helmet," he ordered. "The Emperor rarely wore his, plus you have to show off that curly hair and beard."
Rufus did as he was commanded.
"Remember you are not to speak to anyone. If anyone does speak to you, simply ignore them. You are the Emperor."
Rufus nodded, "Yes, General." He looked slightly uneasy.
"Stay close to me. You will be magnificent. This is for the glory of Rome and Caesar."
Nepos took one lasting look at him, adjusting his cloak, and nodded. "Let it begin."
Nepos waited outside for a moment as Rufus, as Hadrian, made his exit through the doors for the first time in 2 days. Nepos
nodded downwards in acknowledgement, as did the dozen Praetorian Guards and Prefect Clarus.
The Praetorian Standard of the Guard was raised, as a slave nearby crouched over to allow the Emperor a step to get on his horse as usual. The Emperor's personal red standard of Aelius was held up also for all to see.
The praetorians on horses formed around the Emperor in the usual box formation, with General Nepos just behind him. With a nod from Nepos to Rufus, they moved out from the infirmary buildings and past the Principia.
As they approached the main northern gate of Vindolanda, the duty centurion gave a loud cheer upon the Emperor’s arrival and a chorus of "Caesar, Caesar, Caesar!" was shouted from all directions. Rufus stood in the stirrups and lifted his right hand to acknowledge their acclamations as he had seen the real Emperor do on many occasions.
Nepos took it in and nodded. It was important for him to be seen but also to make it casual. "Open the gates,” commanded the General.
The thick wooden bars across the gate were slid back as the four legionaries pulled the great gates of Vindolanda open and stood to attention. Six praetorian riders rode forward outside, with the others waiting at the back. Rufus rode Hadrian’s white horse forward and Nepos rode at his side slightly behind him.
"To Vercovicium," Nepos confirmed as the riders sped onto the road.
The fort at Vercovicium was enormous now. The Sixth Legion had built it with additional space for stores and weapons capacity. One of the advantages of adjusting the wall plan was that you could see the benefits immediately. It had been originally planned to have all the forts well behind the wall. However, this was quickly changed by Nepos when he saw that the forts on the wall
would give greater security and quicker response to any assault. In addition, the cavalry units could ride out on the north side of the wall with immediate effect. The fort also had an unusual layout in that its long side lay parallel to Hadrian's Wall. To the south downhill was the civilian population or vicus which had already set up. Wives, girlfriends and shopkeepers had followed the soldiers north.
As the party rode up the track to Vercovicium they could see the two arched entrances supported by stone piers. Flanking the gate were two large guard chambers with towers.
The guards were already aware of who was approaching and the civilian population looked on in awe as the Emperor and his entourage appeared over the horizon with their Roman standards flying in the wind. It was an impressive sight to see the ruler of the known world in their very own country.
Although the fort was not yet finished, it was livable and most of the Sixth Legion were now based there. Latrines, a Principia and granaries were all completed.
Nepos led the Emperor to the outside of the gate and paused. There were more joyous shouts of “Caesar” from within the fort as the guards and local population were happy to see their Emperor once again. More men ran to the gates to get a glimpse of him.
As the Legate Lucius Caelianus of the Sixth Legion appeared, he snapped out a salute to the Emperor but wondered why he didn't come in. Perhaps he had other places to visit and was passing?
Nepos waved to the legate to show his recognition and quietly gave the order to move on. The party turned right and proceeded parallel to the wall-building, heading east. At various points between Vercovicium, Cilurnum and Onnum, Nepos stopped some distance from the groups and pointed to something being built. As the soldiers shouted his name in approval, the Emperor nodded in appreciation. Occasionally, he would stand once again in his stirrups, raise his right hand in salutation and take the adulation of his soldiers.
As the wall was being built, the local slaves were also digging the ditch on the north face. Thousands of men toiled over the land,
digging, cutting turf, pouring cement, mixing mortar and laying stone. It was an incredible sight to behold. Both Nepos and Rufus watched in excitement as the construction began to take shape. Significant progress had been made with the materials. Smoke from the newly set-up kilns drifted gently into the sky, while the sounds and smells of horses filled the air. The individual units seemed to have created teams to work in. These teams were under a centurion and the shouts of the soldiers gave them direction.
Nepos could see the satisfaction the men took in their work. They were building the wall with purpose and fidelity. After one more final inspection of the wall, the party turned back and rode to Vindolanda via Agricola’s old stone road.
The stone road differed from most other Roman roads in that it followed the easiest gradients and so tended to weave around a little, whereas most Roman roads followed a straight path even if it involved a punishing climb. This made it easier to carry heavy loads on the road, and today it was the busiest Nepos had ever seen. Carts of wood and stone as well as everyday commodities were using the road to maximum advantage.
"We have done enough today, Caesar. Word will spread throughout the legions that you have been riding along the wall and they will redouble their efforts now that you are alive and well."
Nepos turned to Rufus and smiled. He made a mental note. As soon as he returned, he would go to the Temple of Jupiter and offer his own prayer for the real Emperor’s return.
“Architecture begins when you place two bricks carefully together.”
Centurion Julius Apollinaris, Twentieth Legion, Britannia
CHAPTER 17
VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 12TH 8 AM
Julius Apollinaris was the second highest-paid centurion in the Twentieth Legion and was not a patient man. He had been born in the town of Pozzuoli by the Bay of Naples, just 25 miles east of Mount Vesuvius. When Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Julius was a baby at the time. His father and family had originally been farmers but had soon discovered that this volcanic pumice, when blended with lime, made the strongest mortar they had ever known. The family had gone from making stone walls for their cattle to building stone villas and waterways across the region. Their reputation as builders had taken off quickly as the entire region had been heavily covered with thick pozzolana – a volcanic pumice from previous eruptions. Using this pumice they had discovered the magic ingredient to mortar.
Julius had been promoted quickly when he joined the Twentieth Legion simply because of his knowledge and building skills. Deva Victrix fort had been rebuilt by the Twentieth Legion and was larger than any of the other Roman fortresses in Britain. It had the largest stone curtain wall, which had been constructed without mortar using large sandstone blocks. This had required greater skill and effort than the usual building. It was General Agricola who had insisted on this construction for his provincial capital some 40 years earlier. The men of the Twentieth Legion and in particular Centurion Apollinaris were the best and most experienced builders in Britannia. He had recommendations to make to General Nepos which he had seen first-hand. The building process would be much improved if these recommendations were implemented within the wall-building process. He stood outside the Principia awaiting his opportunity to speak. One soldier had already left to take the news to General Nepos whilst the other stood outside the headquarters.
The soldier came back and invited him into the General's office. The centurion snapped out a salute and came to attention.
"General Nepos, I would speak with you, sir," insisted Julius. “I have been examining the wall building that we have started. I have noticed there are several problems. It is not the number of men or stonecutters that is slowing down the wall’s construction.” He had caught Nepos's attention immediately.
“Go on,” nodded the General.
“It's the lack of mortar. I have counted only 12 small kilns in the area so far, and I have calculated you will need around 80 for the length of the wall. So, one every mile.”
Nepos's ears were listening intently now. Was this the possible solution to his problems?
“So, the recommendations I would make are …” he said, producing a piece of parchment from his pocket.
“1) We need to make larger kilns – the existing ones are much too small (apart from one which I shall show you) and therefore we are not producing enough lime.
2) Transporting the lime is dangerous as the kilns are too far way. We need to get kilns closer to the wall. The mortar mix needs to be made at the kilns with sand and water and then transported to the site. This would reduce the quantity of water to be taken to the sites and would mean all sand would go to the individual kiln sites rather than many individual sites.
3) The width of the wall is not required to be 10 feet wide. We can cut the width down to 8 feet, as this will still be load-bearing and allow soldiers to walk along it.
4) To increase the efficiency of the kilns, we need to start burning with wood. Peat and dung are alright; however, wood gives a greater and longer heat and makes a great flame. The flame is the way we measure the temperature. Therefore, we need more men to cut down trees, to build kilns and operate them day and night.
This is what will allow us to make the mortar faster and build the wall.”
Nepos looked at the centurion and smiled. He felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It appeared that Julius
had given good thought to what were serious problems.
“Come and tell me more,” smiled Nepos. “Join me in a glass of wine.”
Centurion Apollinaris suddenly felt wanted. “Well, if you insist,” he said, straightening up. “However, I wanted you to see the current state of the project and what impact these changes would make.”
“I shall come with you myself,” beamed Nepos. “But first, let us have a glass of wine.”
A slave slipped out of the shadows and poured two large glasses, delivered to both men and duly disappeared.
“Some say the Twentieth Legion are the best builders in Britannia,” smiled Nepos. “Is this possibly because of your extensive knowledge of building?”
Julius was suddenly flattered by the compliment and appeared to relax even more.
“My father taught me how to build, sir. I desire to build this wall as efficiently as possible.”
“To your health,” added Nepos, and the two new friends drank deeply.
After another few glasses of wine both men had bonded over the one common problem they had – the wall. Views were exchanged and opinions were shared by both experienced builders. The centurion revealed to him that he had started his career as a military engineer before meeting Emperor Trajan and accompanying him during the Dacian wars. He had built bridges across the Empire from the Danube to Spain. Nepos was impressed with his practical skills and technical attention to detail.
Finally they had drunk enough and went to get their horses. Getting on their horses proved more difficult than either had imagined.
"I must warn you," spoke the centurion, slurring his words, "drinking undiluted wine first thing in the morning is a new experience for me."
Just a mile away from Vindolanda stood the largest kiln Nepos had ever seen. Its enormous chimney was sticking out of the earth,
with great white plumes of smoke bellowing out of it. After they arrived and caught their breath, Julius explained the science he loved so much.
“Lime is one of the first man-made products ever made and we have been using it for over 5,000 years. Our greatest buildings in Rome are built with mortar, sand and aggregate. Lime is the finest mortar that is required to ensure a wall or building is as strong as possible. This limestone is our secret ingredient to make the wall water- and windproof against the elements and make it last even longer. Equally, when we build this wall, the stone is cemented together with mortar.”
Let me explain further added Centurion Apollinaris.
“Firstly limestone bricks, approximately 6–10 inches long, are cut from a quarry and brought to the kiln in baskets by a wagon. Most kilns are built into the hillside to save heat loss.”
A dozen auxiliary soldiers were unloading limestone from a cart and carrying it over to the kiln. The soldiers stopped and saluted as Nepos approached.
“This is your legion? The Twentieth?” Nepos inquired.
“Yes, the Valeria Victrix,” replied the optio, smiling. The Roman title of the Valeria Victrix came from their distinctions in Hispania in 19 BC under General Valerius Messalinus - “Valiant and Victorious.”
They had moved to Britain in 88 AD and been stationed at Deva. Julius introduced the kiln master to General Nepos. The older soldier stepped forward and saluted.
“This man is the most skilled craftsman here.”
He was, of course, first and foremost, a soldier; however, his skills as a kiln master were now crucial to the work, so he was regarded as being immune to normal soldier tasks like digging ditches and guard duty.
The old man’s face beamed red from years of looking into hot furnaces. His hands were large and almost brown in colour from the heat too.
“Do you know how hot it is in there?” asked General Nepos.
“The colour of the flame gives you the temperature inside,” replied the kiln master. “It's hundreds of degrees hot. When the
temperature inside is studied, it will change according to the heat produced by the fire.”
A large pile of dry wood stood beside the kiln, covered with a wooden shelter. Pointing to it, Nepos asked the kiln master, “Do you use this wood?”
“I only use wood. Dry wood is best for gauging the flame, sir. When the wood turns red, it's just starting to get warm, then it changes to cherry red, orange and yellow, and then finally a whitish-blue when it's at its hottest,” explained the old soldier.
“These kilns must operate night and day. At the final stage of the limestone being ready, it is brighter than before and the residue is soft and much lighter in weight,” explained the kiln master, indicating the giant steel rod he poked it with to test it. “The lime seems to give out great light as the impurities within it are burnt away. I keep training the young soldiers who wish to do this job about the limelight and how important it is to recognise it. I’ve been in the limelight for 20 years,” he laughed.
“After the limestone is burnt, these lumps are placed in a cold water bath and a great amount of bubbling from heating the water will occur. The lumps become paste-like then. When this paste is mixed with sand and aggregate it becomes mortar.”
“You can see,” added the centurion, “that for proper burning of lime in a kiln, a consistent temperature and length of time are required in the kiln.”
“Can't we use larger blocks?” asked Nepos
“Larger blocks give a greater yield; however, they also take longer to burn,” explained the kiln master. “We have found that the most efficient size is 6–10 inches, which is what we usually burn for 5 days.”
Nepos scratched his head. “How many kilns do we have?”
“Only this big one, sir, and 11 small ones,” replied Julius. “Now perhaps you understand why we need to have approximately 80 of these in operation – one every mile to cover the length of the wall and reduce the distance we need to carry the mortar. We also need them operating day and night so that during the good weather we can keep the stonemasons supplied with mortar.”
Nepos nodded his head.
“Where do you get your sand from?” he asked the kiln master.
“We discovered a sand pit not far from here, sir,” he replied.
“I suggest we use sand from the beaches at the coast and rivers closest,” added Julius. “It is finer and will give better strength to the mixture. Equally, small stones from beaches and riverbeds should be used as an aggregate to be mixed with. They will make the best mortar.”
He paused to look at Nepos, who was once again smiling at him.
“We should get the local slaves to collect both from nearby rivers and deliver to the wall where required,” carried on the centurion.
“Water is required in large quantities for the mixing of the mortar. There are plenty of rivers and streams nearby in the wall area. Water can be transferred by skins and barrels on carts directly to the kilns.”
“How on earth can we deliver the stone and sand in quantities?” asked Nepos.
Julius smiled. “I knew you were going to ask that. I have an invention for that too. I've made around a dozen of these to try them.”
The centurion went over to a group of soldiers nearby and lifted what looked like a giant wooden box with two wheels at the bottom.
“A previous Emperor used these to transport his family around,” smiled Julius. “I've modified it so that it's larger and has two wheels. The double wheel works better for lifting heavy loads as the weight of the burden is distributed equally between the wheels and the pusher.”
Nepos shook his head in disbelief. “You have done well, Centurion Apollinaris. This remarkable device will make our job much easier.”
A few feet away they saw some soldiers at work on the wall foundations. Nearby, a strong young legionnaire was bragging that he could outdo anyone in a feat of strength. He made a special case of making fun of an older centurion. After several minutes, the older centurion had had enough.
"I will bet you a month's wages that I can haul something in this wheelbarrow to the ditch that you won't be able to wheel back."
"You’re on old man!" replied the young soldier." Let’s see you do it."
The centurion reached out for one of the wheelbarrows that Julius had made. Then, nodding to the young man, he said, "All right, idiot, get in."
The remaining men laughed their heads off, as did Nepos and Julius. Humiliation was one of the centurion’s greatest weapons.
“Let us go back to the fort and I will issue new orders for every legion on the wall with these recommendations – apart from the Twentieth Legion, since you have already shown us what is required,” smiled Nepos.
Julius nodded. “Thank you, sir. I am glad to be here to see the start of this great project.”
Nepos insisted that the centurion should return with him to Vindolanda.
“Your building experience is vital to this project,” assured the General. “I would like to promote you above your current rank to ensure we have your ideas for further modifications. You will be my special advisor on all building matters.”
Julius beamed. “Thank you, General Nepos. It is my pleasure to see this wall built with these considerations. I am happy to share my knowledge of the building blocks, the mortar and the tools we use.”
Nepos finally felt a sense of relief in the building and construction of the wall and forts. Experienced men like Centurion Apollinaris were vital to the project management of the wall. The timing of the construction had already slipped badly in the last few weeks. Perhaps now they would make greater progress with these modifications.
Baths were not a luxury. Baths were the foundation of Roman civilisation. Baths were what raised any citizen of Rome above the level of any barbarian. Bathing instilled the three disciplines of cleanliness, healthfulness and strict routine. Had not the Romans spread the taking of baths across the Empire, so that no matter in what town a man might find himself in the far-flung Empire, he had at least this one precious piece of Rome? Suetonius had borrowed a horse and ridden to Pons Aelius once again. As he approached the bathhouse, he noticed two men with towels under their arms like him, turning away.
“Don’t bother,” said one soldier grimly. “Apparently, they are broken tonight.”
Suetonius nodded to them in understanding but kept walking over to the other two soldiers standing guard outside the bathhouse.
“Can I help you, sir?” enquired the optio.
“Yes, I always come for my baths every week on this day.”
The soldiers nodded.
“I am afraid they are closed today, sir,” said one.
“Just a moment. What’s your name, sir?” asked the other soldier.
“Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus,” he replied.
The two soldiers looked at each other quickly.
“Ah yes, sir, the baths are open tonight. Limited numbers only. Enjoy your swim.”
Suetonius thought it a little strange that the two soldiers were standing there, but carried on walking into the bathhouse. Perhaps they were working on the hypocaust inside? The chimney was certainly belting out enough smoke to heat the place. He approached the outer door and noticed, as usual, the frescos on the wall. There appeared to be no one else there. He quickly changed in the cubicle and slipped on his wooden sandals. A picture of Neptune with a knowing smile decorated the walls. Suetonius had been so looking forward to getting to relax. The floors and walls were all hollow in the baths, with a furnace at the far side so powerful that even in the coldest weather the air inside would be enough to make a man’s flesh sweat.
Suetonius lay back in the warmth of the sunken bath, allowing the difficulties of the day to slide away from him. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, calming himself. Had he been asleep for long? He didn’t think so. He was totally relaxed. His eyes were heavy. It was already getting dark outside, but the bathing room was lit with soft flickering candles and the air was thick with steam from the water. He rested his arms on the stone side. The water came up to his neck and under the surface he sat on a smooth stone seat. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes once again. Sabina sat naked in the water across from him, only her shoulders above the surface.
“Highness, I apologise for interrupting you,” he stammered.
She ignored his comment.
Suetonius was transfixed. When she moved, the swelling curves of her breasts eased into view for a few moments before sliding down again into the hot water.
“I know you bathe on this day every week,” she smiled. “That is why I have arranged to have the baths closed to the public,” she added coyly.
Oil glittered across the surface of the pool as they both looked across the empty waters.
“Ah … I wondered why the baths were so empty,” he smiled.
“How was your day?” she asked
“It was busy as always,” he replied. “However, I did not see the Emperor.”
Sabina paused, as if digesting this information. “My dearest, you know my situation. If I am to divorce my husband, then I need someone who will keep me informed of his activities.”
Suetonius nodded, taking in every detail of her. She was slim, with long dark hair loose about her shoulders. Her skin glowed with health and sun. She had a wide mouth and dark eyes, which had a knowing sensuality that could ensnare any man, he thought.
“It is part of my friendship and it gives me pleasure to help you. I know that you too are seeking a kindred spirit, like myself. I hope you will consider me as your own.”
Sabina’s foot gently touched his as they lay back in the bath. They made direct eye contact and she smiled. He had never
seen this sort of sexual confidence before. She carried herself with something that he adored. He did not care if she was the Emperor’s wife. He lusted for her more than anything else in this world. Would it be possible that he could be her husband one day?
For a while, he simply held her gaze, looking into her eyes and touching her toes.
The blood rushed from his face as he felt himself suddenly aroused by her once again. It seemed she was perfect. He glided forward, tentatively moving his foot up her legs as they slowly spread open for him.
“I shall tell you everything you require,” repeated Suetonius, as they kissed and joined tightly together. A look of silent communication passed between them. “You are so beautiful,” he assured her.
"Men are nearly always willing to believe what they wish."
Julius Caesar
CHAPTER 18
BRIEFING ROOM
VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 13TH 7 AM
General Nepos woke early. It was the start of a new week and Hadrian had always had his weekly updates with the legions at 10 am in the praetorium at Vindolanda. Nepos had already decided that he would continue these meetings to ensure the business of the Empire would be completed, as usual.
He breakfasted early and entered the praetorium area with its long table and numerous chairs set around it. Large detailed maps were pinned on the wall and there were notes which he and the Emperor had made about the sites and their names. There was no sign of Suetonius.
“Damn that secretary. Where is he when I need him?”
He looked at the maps on the wall once again and went over the plan of construction from the east coast to the west.
Most of the supplies were coming up from Petuaria and being delivered to Arbeia fort first. From there, the requests from all legions were being distributed on a first-come, first-served basis.
The Roman army was a highly bureaucratised institution. Meticulous financial records were kept by units' corniculari or clerks, as well as detailed records on all individuals’ orders, and stored by the clerks under different catalogues or subjects. These requests were for mules, horses, wagons, iron, clothes, beer and so on and these were being stockpiled and recorded in true Roman fashion.
The piles were marked upon receipt and duly remarked when completed. A new neat pile of tied correspondence and letters sat on the Emperor’s desk. Nepos flicked through the ones already opened and read them briefly. The most highly requested legionary items were carts and horses. There seemed to be a distinct lack of horses and fodder. He would deal with this later.
Nepos opened the new letters that had arrived over the past few days and read a report from Marcus Turbo back in Rome. The Senate wanted to know when the Emperor would return and why there were three legions in Britannia constructing a wall. Hadn’t the province already been subjugated? Nepos decided it would be best to let the Emperor address that question.
In Judea, there had been a minor skirmish between the Jews and the Tenth Legion troops stationed there, but they had maintained control. Numerous officials were asking for clarification about various issues.
The Governor of Syria, Quintius Marcellus, was asking who pays for the repairs for the sewage system. Was it him or Rome?
Nepos laughed. If it was a faulty sewage system, it would be better to get it fixed immediately and then worry about the costs later. He replaced the letters on the Emperor's desk as the legates and staff officers from the legions started to appear just before 10 am.
With still no sight of Suetonius, Nepos brought the meeting to order and shared with them the latest news.
“As I’m sure you’ve all heard, the Emperor was attacked by local turf cutters while out visiting the wall last week.”
A silence filled the room as the legates looked concerned.
“However, I wish to reassure you that Caesar is well and was released early from the hospital. You may see him in the next few days as he does his rounds on the wall.”
Legate Caelianus of the Sixth Legion looked worried. “May I ask what happened? Was he struck?”
A dozen more questions were fired at the Governor from the remaining legates.
Nepos placed his hands out to calm the officers and reassure them that there was nothing to worry about.
"I have seen the Emperor in the hospital and the doctors are
happy with him. He was only in the hospital for observation. He toured the wall yesterday, as some of you may have seen, and he is resting today. The doctors have told him he needs to pace himself and not be overworked. He has instructed me to tell you that he feels quite well and will see you all next week."
“Yes, I saw him yesterday touring the wall with you,” added Legate Quintus Urbicus.
Nepos nodded, “Indeed. He was desperate to see the latest construction. He is fine. He works too hard.”
The other senior officers seemed to accept the described events, and their deep concern appeared to have calmed after learning he had been seen by Legate Urbicus.
Nepos changed his approach now.
“The men who attacked our Emperor, we have discovered, were newly accepted local slaves in a work gang. They used their digging tools as weapons. The men were killed on the spot by the Praetorian Guard, except two who managed to flee.”
He informed them that the bodies of two assassins had been found dead just 1 mile north of the wall and that the Alla Secundae Asturum cavalry had taken revenge on all settlements within a mile north of the wall. Approximately 200 local Britons had been considered enemies of the state and executed.
“From now on, there will be no civilian settlements in the immediate vicinity north of the wall. This poses too great a risk of sheltering the enemy,” General Nepos instructed them.
Just as Nepos was explaining the situation, a very dishevelled Suetonius entered the room.
The discussion stopped as one of the legates asked, “What happened to you? Did some local women keep you in your bed this morning?”
All the legates laughed.
“I am sorry I am late, General. My horse had an injury which delayed me.”
He got out his stylus to start the note-taking, smiling. “I had heard the rumour and I am pleased to hear the Emperor is recovering. Please pass my best wishes for his health to him.”
Nepos nodded in acknowledgement.
“Now that you’re here, we can continue with the legionary reports.”
The Legate of the Twentieth Legion was the first to report that they had started the construction of the fort at Vindobala, the fourth fort of the wall. He had supply problems due to not enough horses and mules and the efficiency of construction was not going as fast as he would have liked. Once they had finished the fort, they would start on the turrets and the wall itself.
The Legate of the Second Legion from Condercum fort reported that they had built the foundations for the wall and turrets across the wide-open fields and had moved more men to the quarries to collect stones ready to start the actual wall building. In the meantime, the fort was coming along nicely. The enlarged granaries would prove useful immediately and were already constructed.
The Legate of the Sixth Legion informed Nepos that his legion had continued their construction of the Vercovicium fort on the wall. He had indicated that they had run into problems with not enough mortar being made. So they had stopped the tree felling and directed men to the quarries to get the cut stone for the wall and the kilns.
This was the moment that Centurion Apollinaris had been waiting for and, with great pomp, he went outside and brought back his latest design.
“This, gentleman, is what the Emperor Elagabalus used to transport his family in when they attended his games. I have called it a wheelbarrow.”
He smiled and demonstrated how easy it was to move around.
“I have modified it such that it has two wheels at the front and can therefore carry even heavier loads. The movement of stone and sand will be much easier with these.”
The legates looked on in delight as the centurion continued to push his new design around the stone floor.
“I have a dozen of these to date and will get your blacksmiths and carpenters to make more,” he beamed.
The meeting went on for longer than scripted, as usual, as there were many more discussions about getting the raw materials to the wall.
The Roman navy were still bringing sand and wood up via flat-bottomed boats as far as possible. Meanwhile, the men were working longer hours with the summer weather.
Construction had rapidly improved and, with it, the morale of the men appeared to be better. The largest single problem still appeared to be getting enough mortar made for the construction of the wall. However, this would soon be solved with a further 60 kilns being built bringing the total to 80 and one every Roman mile.
“I have marked the positions of where the new kilns should be sited on the map. They are close to where the front line of the wall is situated. Please take your map for your area and ensure you get started with this construction as soon as possible,” Julius added.
In closing the meeting, Nepos mentioned that he had visited the wall and was aware of the lack of mortar and transport issues.
“Yesterday I saw a four-wheeled ox wagon pulling 2 tonnes of stone from the quarry up to the kilns. I am aware that we need many more oxen to deliver this task and I have therefore ordered more animals to be brought into the area from the south. In the meantime, I believe we have around 4,000 mules which we will have to use instead.”
“As you are aware, with an X-frame on its back, a good mule can carry a weight of around 200 kg and reach the less accessible parts of the wall. So, continue to use these until I get further oxen. These mules are advantageous to us just now as they are hardier and require less fodder. Again, I have requested a further 6,000 mules to be brought in to assist with the construction.”
The legates appeared pleased to hear this news, as the logistics of moving the stone and mortar had been a major concern for them all.
Nepos ended the meeting with the promise that the Emperor would be visiting them all next week and the security would be tighter. There appeared to be no unanswered questions and the senior officers returned to their respective legions with a newfound confidence.
Nepos had taken the most important and controversial decision of his entire life. He had publicly told all his senior officers that the Emperor was alive and well. The Senate needed delicate handling,
and with such slowness of long-range communications he hoped that he had bought enough time for the Emperor to return to health. Had he done the correct thing in this deceit? Only time would tell.
Vordimus and Ortagorus crossed the boundary wall, heading north, trying to avoid any Roman patrols in the area. They surveyed the number of Roman troops that were working in the area as they walked back to their village, some 10 miles north. Unknown to them, across the area north of the wall, four villages had been destroyed and everyone massacred – without warning. They had put up a token of resistance but were swept away under the Roman retribution. The highly trained auxiliary cavalry had killed everyone. Now, as a matter of control, the Romans would not allow any villages within the immediate area north of the wall. The remaining villagers had no option but to leave the rolling countryside that had been their homes.
Vordimus and Ortagorus met their people on the road north, not realising what had happened. Many of their tribe had been humiliated and slaughtered. Women, children and farmers had been killed. Only by luck had a trader been passing and had spread the terrible news to them on his horse, faster than the Roman cavalry could. People in the next few villages had fled as fast as they could; taking no livestock and other than what they could carry, they abandoned their villages. The Romans had stolen their land, killed their people and taken their possessions. The effect was incendiary. Both men swore a blood oath against the Romans. They gathered their tribesmen and headed directly north.
North of the Brigantes lay the lands of the Selgovae and it was there they would plan their revenge on the Romans. The Selgovae tribe had lived in the area north of the wall for hundreds of years and built their homes on the distinctive outline of the great hill. Barrselgovae or Hill of the Selgovae, had been used by the Selgovae as their provincial capital for over a hundred years or more.
They were originally small-scale farmers living in family units scattered throughout the landscape. They had come together for protection and trading within the mighty hill forts dotted across the countryside. Barrselgovae fort was the largest in the area. When Agricola had invaded the north some 30 years earlier, he had moved the Selgovae off the hill and used it as a signalling station. However, as the Romans had retreated, the Selgovae had claimed it once again.
As Vordimus walked north he could see the hill lying in the distance. The main hill beside the river was where most of the roundhouses existed. On the fertile land to the east of the river, an alluvium plain existed where sediment over a long period had been deposited. This meant the soil was rich in deposits and ideal for farming. The hill was surrounded by double ditches to keep out any enemies. It had originally been dug with a single ditch and then dug again with another ditch as well as a high wooden palisade wall. The single-track road up to it was the only sensible way to approach it. At the top the Selgovae had built further wooden walls around the hill and in its centre lay their shrines to their gods.
Both Brigantes leaders were happy to be away from the Roman troops. The Brigantes and Selgovae were old tribes who had always been allies as far back as they could remember. They shared the same beliefs and the same values. More importantly, they shared the same hatred for the Romans. Bran had been, like his father before him, the leader of the Selgovae. He was the eldest of three brothers who lived on the higher hill. As the slow column of tired Brigantes approached, the Selgovae, thinking they were about to be attacked, had massed all male warriors quickly by the bottom gate. They were armed and prepared for a fight.
Vordimus and Ortagorus quickly called out to ask for Bran, and he appeared from the throng of warriors behind the high wooden wall.
No one understood why so many Brigantes had travelled such a long distance. Bran looked across the crowd and noticed they were not armed. They carried very few possessions, if any. They appeared tired and in need of rest.
“It is good to see you again, my friends,” he said, shaking their hands. “Come, let our neighbours take a rest inside our walls and a drink.”
What was left of the northern Brigantes passed inside the wooden wall, as skins of water were passed amongst their number.
Bran welcomed both Brigantes leaders into the great hall on the hill.
“Tell me, what has happened?” he enquired.
Vordimus explained that the Roman army had started building what looked like a wall across their land. It had split the land in two and the arable land they had been using had been taken away. They had been furious that the Romans had treated them so badly and they had killed the Roman Emperor. The Romans had responded by killing all the innocent Brigantes north of the wall. Women, children and farmers had been butchered by the Romans. Every village north of the wall had been burnt down and the walls pushed in on their houses. Over 200 people had been slaughtered. These people who were here, were all that was left of their tribe.
Unmistakable echoes of history sounded out across the area. This was just like what Boudica had spoken of before – previous Roman Emperors had done what they wanted without any thought of the tribes in the area. The Brigantes tribe had been split into two. Ortagorus’s cousin Tobar in the south had agreed to join them in the fight against the Romans. Neither leader would accept Roman rule in their land. This was their land, passed down from generation to generation. There was no way they would accept being made homeless or being ruled by a foreign power.
Bran listened carefully and called a meeting of the tribe’s elders at the first available opportunity. Arguments started when they heard about the number of Roman soldiers in the area. Twenty thousand soldiers were far too many to fight. Initially, the elders had been reluctant to support their neighbours.
Ortagorus was quick to point out, “What happens when they come up here and decide to take this fort? Who is going to support you? Who will fight for you?”
Finally, Bran called their oldest druid into the meeting. An old man entered, wearing white robes, with a tanned face and long grey
beard. He carried a great oak staff. All the elders in the meeting seemed to want to know his opinion. Without him they would not make a decision. Arguments were made for and against the motion of attacking the Romans. The old druid seemed to be almost reluctant to speak. Yet without the Gods’ will, Bran knew the elders would not agree to anything.
Finally, the druid spoke loudly and clearly: “We who have lived before the Romans were made to belong to another world. We know the winds of change are upon us. These winds will be forever in our faces. The most difficult battles in life are those we fight from within. I have dreamed of this very day before. I have seen our ancestors walking beside us. If you want to know the end, look at the beginning. I see men here who are afraid to die. Let me say to them, our Gods are with us. A tree doesn’t fall after one blow. We must strike the first blow and get ready for a second and a third and even a fourth.”
The elders nodded in agreement. They must strike the first blow and be ready for more. Besides, they were in the greatest hill fort in the area. No army could take such a fort.
Its ditches had been dug deeper than the Romans ever had and its wooden walls rebuilt higher than ever before. The Brigantes and Selgovae would rise in rebellion once again. This time they would ask for help from all the tribes of the north to join them. Messengers were sent to the Votadini, Damnonii and Venicones to build a greater army.
Vordimus warned them, “They will not feel the threat as we do.”
Every man started to voice their concerns and endless questions began to fill the room as they all thought about the consequences.
Vordimus went over to one of the great wooden logs holding up the roof of the roundhouse and hit it with his sword. He continued to hit it until all the elders stopped talking and looked at him.
“Let me tell you this. The kings in Britain in the southern lands no longer live in roundhouses like this. I have seen their fine Roman houses and their temples.”
“Temples for our Gods?” enquired an elder.
“No, not our Gods. The Romans are pleased to allow us to
worship their Gods if they wish.
Mars alongside Teutates.”
The old druid looked unhappy.
“I heard of druids being executed and tortured. I saw it all when I was in the southern lands,” added Vordimus.
The elders looked shocked and dismayed.
“It is the druids who decipher the skies for us, it is them who preserve our history and our songs, and who bind our people to the land,” spoke out the elder.
Vordimus continued, "The southern kings consume Roman wine and adopt Roman customs. The Romans impose taxes on them and take their able-bodied men to fight for them. This ensures their treasury remains full and the Empire continues to thrive. Is this the Britain you want to live in? A Britain where no man is the rightful lord of his own land?"
Ortagorus could feel the tension rising in the room. The elders were not happy.
Bran shrugged his shoulders at what Vordimus had said.
“I do not deny your reason. However, northern Britain needs a strong leader. Who will unite all the tribes? You, Vordimus?
“I will go to the other tribes and tell them about our fight against the Romans …”
Before he could finish, there was a knocking at the door and a messenger entered.
“I told you we are not to be disturbed, Keey.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” spoke the young man.
“What is it?” asked Bran with irritation.
“The Roman Emperor is not dead.”
Vordimus and Ortagorus looked at each other.
“That’s not possible,” they both said. “How do you know this?” asked Ortagorus.
“One of the spies in the Roman army has just reported having seen the Emperor today. He was inspecting his soldiers and rode on his horse. He swears it was him.”
“It cannot be,” replied Vordimus. “Our assassin said he struck the Emperor down. I will come out myself and speak with your messenger. Tell him to wait.”
Bran nodded, waiting for Vordimus to move.
“If their mighty Emperor is not dead they will be seeking revenge. Keey, send further scouts out now to the south and ensure they report back any movements. Double the guard on the southern slopes.”
Keey bowed deeply and left the room.
“It looks like you are staying here after all, my friend. The Roman horses will be out looking for you. Let us sleep on this tonight and tomorrow we will have a decision made.”
Vordimus and Ortagorus left the great hall on the upper hill to speak with the spy and confirm what he had seen. They were already sure the Selgovae would fight with them. They had spoken enough to make them aware that the Romans would be after their lands next.
Twenty-four hours later, they received all the replies from the other tribes. None of the others would commit to assisting them. The Votadini in the east still traded with the Romans and would not risk their alliance. The Damnonii in the north, while sympathetic, were not Romanised at all and had no grudge to bear. Perhaps if the Romans were to push north again and build another wall, they would fight then, thought Bran. The Venicones were a coastal tribe and were equally only interested in their own hunting and fishing grounds.
Despite this disappointing news, the elders of Selgovae had deliberated overnight and it was agreed. It was in their joint interests to join in the battle against the Romans and their wall. The Selgovae troops would stand with the Brigantes of the north.
The Selgovae and Brigantes were a Caledonian tribe like many others in Britannia. They were often described as brutal, savage and unstoppable. They were, for the most part, individual warriors who fought with little armour or protection. They would certainly rise to the occasion though. They just had to be unleashed at the right time and in the right place. They could be devastating and virtually unstoppable in the right circumstances. It took a savvy field commander to use them to the best effect. Their charge was their most effective force – a unique way to fight that allowed large numbers of men to move fast and with aggression. Vordimus knew
that it was a simple way to attack the enemy. What often carried the day for this kind of attack was the ferocity of the men screaming wildly and the speed at which they approached. Yes, many of the leading Selgovae would be hit by pilum or javelins thrown by the Romans; however, the rest were, for the most part, unstoppable. It was not just the lack of time, but the fear of the howling, wildlooking, monsters of men bearing down on them at speed that unnerved the enemy. According to those who had witnessed it and those who survived, it was a truly frightening experience.
Also, with an intimate knowledge of a difficult landscape and the ability to melt away into the wastes and bogland, they were a hard enemy to pin down. Roman commanders much preferred to fight in the open where their soldiers had the upper hand. However, the Selgovae would not oblige with this style of fighting, and initially it would be a hit-and-run policy.
Vordimus laid out his plan to Bran.
“Six hundred men from the southern Brigantes, Tobar’s troops, will be dispatched to the enemy camps to cause havoc behind their lines and with supplies. They will kill their oxen and mules, burn what they can, and keep moving.”
“Between us, we have 3,000 men to fight for the cause. Even with the addition of Tobar’s troops of 600, we are still too small in number for a full frontal attack. Instead, we could defeat the Romans just as we did the Ninth Legion a few years ago. Our 3,000 men will attack in small groups of 300. This will give us ten sites to attack, avoiding the larger forts. The Romans will not be expecting us. Together, we can attack all along the wall line and then melt back into the countryside.”
“We will hunt like wolves in a pack, but like a wolf at night that vanishes to reappear again where they least expect it. Make them believe they are being attacked by a full tribe of Brigantes, and when they gather their forces to fight, withdraw and move somewhere else. The Romans building the wall will have no chance. In the semi-darkness of night, we will be unstoppable.”
They both agreed the plan could work.
“You have one opportunity,” Vordimus continued. “Do you understand? One opportunity. Your warriors will follow you, but
only if you lead them. This is what we must do. Please, sound the tribal meeting. I must speak again."
The sun set upon Vindolanda and the night watch sounded. Guards on the wall were now used to the drier and warmer weather in August. The soldiers of the legions were settling down to get some rest after another good day's work along the wall.
In the Temple of Jupiter, the candles dimly lit the dark statue of Jupiter himself. He almost seemed to smile at Clarus as he sat waiting in the semi-darkness.
Clarus heard the soft squeak of leather shoes upon the cobblestoned floor before he saw him. Senator Blandus had a covering over his head as he entered the temple and sat a few rows from the back.
Both men looked around the room to check they were alone, then Clarus got up and walked towards the senator, taking a seat in the row in front of him. Even if anyone did come in, it would look like they were not together.
"Is there news?" enquired the senator.
"The Emperor is still in the hospital. Nepos is refusing everyone entry," stated Clarus blankly.
Both men paused and thought.
"What happens now?" Clarus asked.
Blandus wiped his forehead free from sudden perspiration.
"It has cost me a fortune, but as soon as Hadrian dies, I will have control in Rome. I have sold all my houses, country estate and everything I could. I have paid substantial monies to the important senators in Rome for their vote when the time comes."
There was a pause as both men thought about the future.
"I may be the first penniless senator in Rome,” he laughed.
Clarus blew air through his lips. "I would not have taken such a risk."
"Cheer up, prefect, this is a day for celebration, not regrets.
Within a few days, I shall be Emperor!" Blandus laughed to himself.
“It is with your help that this is all possible. Therefore, I have deposited 200,000 denarii in your name in the Temple of Saturn in Rome. As you know, this is the safest and largest depository as it's guarded for the public treasury.”
Clarus nodded in satisfaction.
Many temples held Rome’s money in their basements and were involved in banking activities such as lending. Since they were always occupied by devout workers and priests and regularly patrolled by soldiers, wealthy Romans felt it a safe place to deposit money.
Blandus took out a stamped piece of paper and showed it to Clarus.
“This slip of paper confirms you as the owner of the account. The argentarii have received instructions and confirmed the payment has been made. Once we return to Rome and I have become Emperor, you will be paid the same again.”
The argentarii were free Roman citizens, independent of the state, who belonged to a guild of bankers. They were highly respected upper-class citizens who dealt with large sums of money passing through the bank. Discretion would be a normal requirement.
Clarus nodded in agreement again.
“I understand. You will have the support of the Praetorian Guard. If you have our support, then I can guarantee you the legions in Britain will hail you Caesar also. Once you have our three legions and the Praetorian Guard backing you, the rest is a formality with the army.”
Blandus smiled once more as he carefully passed over the legal document on papyrus paper.
“I would suggest you should take care not to lose this, prefect.”
Clarus took a close look at the folded papyrus paper and placed it in his pocket under his tunic.
“May the Gods smile on you, Caesar,” he whispered.
Blandus smiled once more.
“Senator for now,” he insisted.
This was everything he had always wanted. He would be the sixteenth Emperor of Rome.
“Victory in war does not depend entirely upon numbers or mere courage; only skill and discipline will ensure it.”
Flavius Vegetius Renatus
CHAPTER 19
VINDOLANDA HOSPITAL
JULY 15TH 10 AM
As the British summer continued to exceed all expectations and every day had a faultless blue sky, work continued apace, with the legates of the legions urging work on to capitalise on the good weather. Nepos, content with the progress on the wall, could still see no progress with the Emperor. However, the doctors had reassured him he had gotten no worse and therefore they had to think positively. He was just about to enter the hospital when the figure of Senator Blandus strode towards the door.
Nepos greeted the man. “Senator Blandus, what brings you here?”
“That should be obvious, General Nepos; the Emperor was attacked. I am very surprised that you did not think to dispatch someone to let us know at Pons Aelius what had happened. I heard of it just yesterday.”
“Clearly there was no need, senator. The Emperor as you know was here only a matter of hours after the attack, so minor were his injuries. He is now on the coast, as you will no doubt have heard.”
Blandus looked at Nepos speculatively.
“And yet you are still here?”
“One of the vital witnesses is here. I need to be on hand to interview him. We must find the source of this discontent and disobedience.”
“Hmm.” Blandus looked far from convinced. “So, Hadrian’s second in command can find no one, other than himself, capable of questioning a soldier?”
Nepos smiled falsely at the senator. “Senator Blandus, I am very busy. If you have a question or something you want to say to me, please go ahead.”
Blandus stared pointedly at the entrance door, guarded by two Praetorian Guards.
“This soldier is being guarded with care fit for an Emperor.”
“He is Marcus Quietus, the Commander of the cavalry, and he sustained a serious injury protecting the Emperor. Hadrian himself instructed me to stay here; it matters not where I operate from, and this is as good a place as any. I am not the only officer in the area.”
“So, can I visit Prefect Quietus?” Blandus asked, not giving up.
“No, the doctor is very strict, there can be no visitors.”
“Except you?” Blandus smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Nepos sighed. “Except me, as I told you I am trying to get vital evidence about the attack.”
“Well, it looks to me that your inquiries might be redundant, General, if the number of heads on spikes that stretch almost the length of the completed wall is anything to judge by.”
Nepos nodded. "Retribution is sometimes the only way people understand not to get on the wrong side of Roman values."
"I shall inform the Emperor of your good wishes regarding his health," he added. “If you will excuse me now, I have to oversee the wall construction.”
Blandus turned and made his way back out of the fort.
Once Blandus had left, Nepos went into the hospital again to see if there was any news. The Emperor was still unconscious and the doctors had no further updates.
As he turned to go, he saw Marcus gathering his cloak and preparing to leave.
“The Gods have been watching over you, commander,” smiled Nepos. “How are you?”
“The doctors say I have made a miraculous recovery, sir.”
“Let me help you back to your quarters and remind you of the privacy of this matter,” insisted Nepos.
As they left the infirmary, Marcus was sworn to secrecy about the events that had taken place. In return, Marcus explained about Centurion Atot taking money for crossing the border into Britannia. Nepos said it was a valid idea to tax the traders and one that should be done. Perhaps the crossing gates in the wall would be a better solution rather than leaving it to the Roman cavalry.
Once the wall was built, it would be a good method to raise funds for the upkeep of the wall. He would mention it to the Emperor when he had recovered better. Marcus asked for the official documentation of the appointment Hadrian had given him, and upon return to his quarters a parchment was duly signed by the General as commanding officer. Centurion Atot could no longer question Marcus’s authority.
Finally Nepos walked back alone to the praetorium and took his seat. He looked around the map room and realised he missed his friend, his Emperor. He poured a tall glass of wine and sat back to think. The die was cast and he had made his decisions. He just needed the Emperor to recover. ~O~
During the small hours of the night, a sudden deafening clap of thunder and vivid lightning ripped through the sky. The noise was incredibly loud and there was a massive electrical storm in the dark black sky.
Had Jupiter been upset and angry? Had the local Gods shown their true feelings? Somewhere between these thoughts, the startled doctors and guards rushed out to see the sky lit up in massive lightning streaks. At that same moment, Hadrian awoke and lifted his feet off the bed. Unrestrained and wobbly, he shuffled to the back door of the hospital and disappeared into the night. Upon re-entering to check their patients, the orderlies suddenly noticed the door to Hadrian’s room was open and their patient had disappeared. The last thing they could afford was to lose the Emperor or for him to turn up somewhere semi-naked in a state of distress. The orderlies shouted for the doctors and the doctors shouted for the Praetorians. They all started to look for him.
~O~
"Cornelia!" Sabina's voice was calling. For a moment Cornelia was tempted to remain silent, but the Empress would continue to shout for her.
"Here," she said from the other side of the large public space that adjoined Sabina’s living quarters. She put down her book and walked over. There would be another task for her.
“I need someone to run down to the market for me – would you do that?”
"Yes, of course," motioned Cornelia. She quite looked forward to the rare occasions when she was allowed to leave the fort and on the last few she had been trusted to go on her own.
"I have a list of things to buy for myself. You always seem to get the best price," Sabina added, as she passed her some small coins.
Cornelia enjoyed bargaining with the traders. They had been overcharging the Romans for years, knowing Caesar had deep pockets. The older woman realised that the girl had a talent and sent her out as much as possible. "Take your time and don't rush back," she insisted. "Just leave the items on the entrance table when you have returned."
Cornelia guessed that Sabina was entertaining a guest and didn't want to be disturbed. I wonder who it was today she thought.
"Off you go then," smiled Sabina and thrust the list into her hand.
The market was a mixture of smells and odours, with a hundred people shouting about their wares for sale. The shopkeepers seemed to enjoy their negotiations with the pretty girl, throwing their hands in the air and laughing at the price she was asking. She smiled at them, dropping the price further than they could believe; certainly more than their wives could believe. With each small success, Cornelia stowed the packages carefully in a cloth bag and took her time taking in the marketplace. It was always nice to be out of the fort and spending time shopping.
Suetonius moved quietly through the corridors to Sabina’s room and paused at the door, listening. Carefully he entered and crossed over to the sleeping figure, kissing her gently on the lips. Sabina awoke and her eyes filled with intelligence and love.
“I thought you would never appear,” she said, pulling back the covers and inviting him into the warmth of her bed.
"We must be careful," whispered Suetonius.
Earlier that evening Cornelia had placed the cloth bag on the table at the entrance to the living quarters and gone back to her room. Most of the slaves in the fort slept in a few of the large rooms, but Cornelia, being a Roman woman, had been given one of her own just down the long corridor from Sabina. It was early the following morning that she heard the creak of a door open. Whoever it was, was trying to leave quietly. She opened her door just enough to see into the corridor. The person stood quietly putting on his sandals. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out the figure in the dim light. He had his back to her. She looked at the hair and the side of the face. There! It was Suetonius! She had been expecting to see him try his luck with Sabina and now she knew. She would say nothing of this until she saw Marcus. The figure pulled his cloak around his shoulders and made his way quietly out of the building.
Marcus Turbo was in theory the second-highest officer in the Roman Empire. He had over 1,000 Praetorian Guards stationed in the palaces and public buildings throughout Rome to keep order. However, he was also a friend of Emperor Hadrian and one man Hadrian trusted more than anyone else.
He looked out of the small office he kept onto the view of the Via Sacra below. The Via Sacra was the main street of ancient Rome leading through some of the most important sites. In theory, he represented Hadrian and could stay in the Imperial Palace on the Palatine Hill, but being a humble man, he always felt more at
home in the comfortable surroundings of the quiet office near the centre.
A messenger from the Senate had arrived early in the morning. His guards had allowed him to gain entrance.
“I am the Praetorian Prefect,” Turbo indicated. “Deliver your message.”
“The Senate require you to attend a full council at noon today, master,” the messenger said quickly. Turbo blinked.
“Is that all?” he asked flatly.
The messenger shifted slightly. “That is the official message, master. I do not know anymore.”
Turbo nodded. “Tell them I have received the message and I shall be there today.”
He looked across at the street below and once again thought of the Emperor in Britain. Why had he not heard from him for 2 weeks now? Normally he received at least a dispatch from Nepos or the Emperor. However, neither had written to him and this was unusual to say the least.
When he had come back from the Senate meeting, he would send a note to Nepos to ask how things were. He was sure their arrival in Britain would have taken the Emperor's time and energy. They would be busy with the details of the wall that Hadrian had spoken of in his previous letter.
As Turbo walked towards the great bronze doors of the Senate, he looked around at the impressive buildings and busy marketplace. The road provided the setting for many deeds of Rome’s history – from solemn religious festivals, the magnificent triumphs of victorious generals and the daily throng assembling in the basilicas. He had arrived early to make sure he knew the mood of the Senate before he was required to speak. Before Hadrian had left 6 months ago, he had informed Turbo of the political situation in the Senate. Whilst Turbo was no politician, he had listened to the Emperor to understand the situation at hand.
There was a small group of moderates in the Senate who largely supported Hadrian’s legislation about pulling back the borders and consolidating the boundaries. This small but mighty group worked with the other senators in reaching concessions
under Hadrian's progressive reforms: making the Senate larger to include more provinces, the infrastructure budget that Hadrian had spent lavishly on, and even greater voting rights for more Roman citizens.
However, some senators had deliberately blocked Hadrian’s agenda. Moreover, Senators Blandus and Valerius had been quick to recall the situation 5 years earlier when Hadrian had come to power and reportedly ordered the execution of four high-ranking senators who were possible threats to his succession. Yet Hadrian denied any involvement in their deaths, and the Senate eventually realised that he was no Nero or Domitian: a madman in the purple. Hadrian’s reforms of cancelling all public debt had been well received by both the public and the Senate alike. He appeared to be wooing the Senate through his lavish building programmes not just across Rome but across the Empire. Peace and prosperity reigned now more than ever before. Pax Romana was what Hadrian had always considered to be his goal. This era of internal stability, trade and cultural achievements made it a golden age for the Roman Empire.
Turbo listened with concentration to the discussions that were underway. There appeared to be a revolt in Jerusalem which the Senate had concerns over. He had expected to see some degree of action within the Senate body and not the petty bickering that the factions which opposed each other were using. Were they always so cautious in their actions?
Suddenly he heard his own name being spoken about and he entered the Senate floor with excitement.
“Praetorian Prefect,” said Senator Valerius, “when was the last time you heard from our Emperor?”
Turbo paused for a moment and replied loudly, “I received communication from him just two weeks ago.”
“I hear there are now 2,000 donkeys, 4,000 mules and 20,000
Roman troops in Northern Britain.” Senator Valerius responded. He paused for effect to let the numbers sink in.
“So, the cost of this expedition to Britannia seems to be becoming somewhat precarious,” said the senator. “What exactly is he doing there?”
“He is mopping up the situation,” said Turbo.
“This island is like a sponge. It is continually sucking in men, money and capital. How much longer is this going to go on, my dear Prefect?” questioned Senator Valerius.
“As I said in my reports to you a few weeks ago, we are making progress slowly and I’m sure the Emperor will resolve the British situation completely,” replied Turbo.
“This slow progress is costing us dearly, and it’s also costing Rome a loss of reputation. Had not General Agricola won a victory in Britain many years ago? And yet still we receive requests for more troops, more weapons, more money and more supplies. How much longer is this going to take? Another month? Another year? Another 10 years?”
Turbo looked across the Senate floor as the eyes of every senator appeared to be waiting for his reply.
“I am not on the frontline; therefore I cannot know this information, senator. I am just waiting for another letter from our Emperor to confirm the progress that he’s made recently. I know he will have ensured that the army will have crushed any rebellion within Britain as quickly as possible. All that will remains will be a few rebels in the mountainous country to the north, which will probably not be worth bringing under our control. This is why he has decided to build a defensive wall to keep them out of the province,” assured Turbo.
“A wall? Sounds horribly expensive,” replied Valerius quickly.
“A rebellion is more expensive, so we must ensure our best efforts in subduing the tribes in northern Britain,” smiled Turbo.
The debate went on for another hour whilst Turbo answered as many questions as he could, but clearly he could see that Valerius was upset at the political situation in Britain requiring these additional resources. Whilst Hadrian was not here to defend himself, Valerius took every opportunity to scorn, ridicule and
project Hadrian as a neglectful and reckless Emperor of Rome. Unfortunately, his arguments were becoming a bigger distraction than Turbo had appreciated. Valerius was vastly swaying other senators that his opinion was correct and that Hadrian was indeed not the correct man for the job as Emperor.
At the end of the Senate session, Turbo moved quickly to intercept Valerius as he made his way out through the great bronze doors.
“I’d like a word, senator,” he said, interrupting his conversation with some other colleagues.
Valerius turned to him, raising his eyebrows. “I can’t imagine we have anything more to discuss, Prefect,” he replied.
“I would like to know where you get your information about the cost of the wall in Britain,” asked Turbo.
He shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that.” He smiled tightly at Turbo and turned back to his companions walking out on the great steps of the Senate building. Turbo reached out and took his arm, only to have his grip shaken off with a quick jerk. Valerius's face flushed with anger.
“Have a thought, prefect. You are in the Senate House of Rome. Not some military parade ground. If you touch me again, I will have you arrested. From what I have heard about you, you are not the sort of person I want to do business with,” he hissed.
“You may also be aware I am not a good person to have as an enemy,” warned Turbo, keeping his voice low so he could not be overheard by the senator’s colleagues.
The senator froze for a moment as he considered the threat and turned quickly to catch up with his colleagues. Turbo let him go. He had expected something similar from a few of the men in the Senate and he would now have to report this back to Hadrian. Someone was supplying Valerius with details of the wall and the costs involved. Someone who was at the front line and had access to information. This was then being used against the Emperor and making his standing in the Senate even worse. Clearly, there were men in the Senate who still hated Hadrian. Turbo signalled to his two Praetorian Guards waiting outside.
“We will take a shortcut back through to the Via Sacra. I have
an urgent matter to attend to.”
In his office overlooking the street below, he handwrote the note detailing what had happened in the Senate and how the situation had grown worse. A lot worse.
His last letter had gone unanswered to Hadrian. Perhaps he was busy. He would send this to the attention of General Nepos. He knew his friend would pass on the details to the Emperor immediately. He sealed it with the Praetorian seal, which he carried, and called out to a servant standing at the back.
“This is urgent. Take it to Castra Peregrina on Caelian Hill. A messenger must take this to Britannia.”
The servant nodded, “Immediately, sir.”
Caelian Hill was the headquarters of the cursus publicus and one of the seven hills of Rome. It was a fashionable residential district and the site of residences of great wealth.
“Do not delay,” insisted Turbo.” It must go this hour.”
The cursus publicus was only accessible to the government or military. It consisted of thousands of stations along the main roads of the Empire which had access to supplies of fresh horses and lodgings. It was the infrastructure that allowed government messages to travel with great efficiency. A typical trip would be up to 60 miles a day on horseback, with riders changing horses at regular intervals of every 20 miles. Turbo placed the letter in an outer purple cotton bag sealed with a leather strap. This would signify a state message and meant riders would need to cover 100 miles or more in a day and night.
There was an old Roman proverb that said “Bad news travels fast,” meaning that human nature was more interested in failure than success, as people would often spread bad news everywhere. The situation in the Senate had to be not only communicated fast to Hadrian but also kept confidential. There was an atmosphere of mistrust that swirled around Rome and, in particular, around the Senate. Turbo had a duty to protect Hadrian and the Empire from opposition from any senator or Senate that openly provoked such hostility.
Whatever the Emperor decided to do had to be done quickly and decisively. Any speculative reports coming from the Senate
would harm the Emperor and the millions of Roman citizens. He had to clarify where the information was coming from and put an end to it. Within 2 weeks Hadrian would know the news in the Senate. Would he now return to Rome? ~O~
It was late in the evening. The servant made a discreet cough as he entered Nepos’s office.
“Excuse me, sir, there are two men here to see you.”
Nepos was used to the daily interruptions now since Hadrian's accident and looked up from his desk.
“Who are they?” he enquired.
The servant handed over a heavy gold circular medal with a leather strap attached through the hole in the top. On the front it said “Frumentarii”. The frumentarii were the secret police who had been recommissioned by Hadrian with direct objectives to find out what was happening in each province.
Nepos knew well enough the importance of military intelligence in any foreign area. It had been used by almost every emperor in their campaigns and Agricola had used it effectively when serving in Caledonia 40 years earlier.
He sat up. “Very well, bring them in with my guards.”
A moment later, two men stood nervously in front of the General with two Praetorian Guards on either side.
Nepos eyed them suspiciously. Most of the men were exsoldiers, so any questions relating to their history would prove who they were without question. It was a process they understood too and would identify them.
“A salute would be common to a general,” remarked Nepos. Both men without hesitation straightened their backs and snapped out a salute with their right hand over their chest. It was an action that had been performed a thousand times and one that any soldier could do cleanly.
Nepos noted they both did it well.
“Which legion did you serve with?” he asked.
“We both served with the Eighth Legion, sir,” replied the older man.
“Where was that?” enquired Nepos.
“In Sevillia, sir.”
Nepos nodded. “And who was your legate of the Eighth Legion?”
“It was Julius Careera,” continued the older man.
Nepos nodded again. “Very well, I have no doubt you are who you say you are. Here is your identification back,” he said, handing the heavy gold medal to the older soldier.
“We have three items of important information to share with you, sir,” spoke the younger man.
“Go ahead,” said Nepos. “My Praetorian Guards are trusted men in my confidence.”
“We have received information from our informants that the Brigantes are massing troops in the north, sir. They have joined with the Selgovae tribe with a plan to attack the wall. We do not know when or where, just that they have agreed to join together.”
Nepos nodded in agreement. “And this information comes from a trusted source?”
“He is a local man who we use as an interpreter and we’ve never had any doubts about him, sir.”
“Very well,” agreed Nepos. “What else?”
“We have also noticed that most of the younger men from the farms and villages in the vicinity south of the wall seem to have disappeared in the past week. We believe they have all headed north under Tobar.”
Nepos nodded again. So the turncoat had turned again after hearing of Hadrian's death, he thought.
“The second and third matters are most sensitive, sir, and are really for your ears alone.”
Nepos glanced up at the two guards and dismissed them.
There was a long pause as both men looked at Nepos.
“The Praetorian Prefect, Septicius Clarus, is having some sort of clandestine meeting with Senator Blandus.”
“What do you mean clandestine?” enquired Nepos.
“I mean specifically, sir, they are meeting at odd times, in odd places – in a bar and in a temple.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with either,” replied Nepos. “Two men in a bar?”
“Blandus disguises himself, he changes his shoes to make less noise. Notes have been passed between them. It’s not just two men out for a drink,” replied the other soldier.
Again Nepos nodded his understanding.
“You have to find out more. I do not see anything wrong with a senator and the head of the Praetorian Guard having a meeting in a bar. I would happily suggest I take myself along for the company too,” he smiled.
“They have specifically met more since the Emperor had his accident and you used the body double.”
Nepos looked up at them both quickly. They hadn’t missed a thing.
“Was it that obvious?” he asked.
“No, sir, not at all. We just happened to be around the hospital when you brought the man Rufus out on the first occasion.”
There was a pause in the conversation.
“There is one more matter we should mention,” added the older soldier. “We also bribed the courier taking Senator Blandus’s mail back to Rome, sir.”
Nepos stopped pouring himself another cup of wine and looked sharply at them both.
“That’s a capital offence,” he screeched.
“We know, sir; however, when we saw notes being passed, we had to find out what for.”
Nepos angrily got up from his seat. “It is punishable by death. You are not allowed to open mail sealed by a senator.”
“We appreciate that, sir, but you will want to know this.”
Nepos was still ranting inwardly at their actions but managed to calm himself down.
“What did the note say?”
The soldiers paused and looked at each other. “It was for a bank transfer in Rome, sir. From Senator Blandus to Prefect Clarus.”
The soldier paused again. “For 200,000 denarii.”
Nepos looked deep into his cup of red wine and then back at them. His eyebrows shot upwards in exclamation. A senator paying the head of the guard that amount of money. This was unheard of.
“You do realise the seriousness of the allegations you are suggesting?”
“We do, sir,” agreed the older soldier. “However, we feel it is our duty to inform you of it.”
“What would be the reason the senator is transferring that amount of money do you think?” enquired Nepos.
“We don’t know enough of the facts. He is bribing him for something, I would suggest,” replied the older soldier. “And that amount of money is life-changing, so it must be something important.”
Nepos nodded in agreement. It was too much of a coincidence that this had happened when the Emperor had had his accident, he thought to himself.
“Very well. Keep me informed immediately about anything else that happens.”
There was another long pause in the conversation as the three men looked at one another.
“The third item is somewhat sensitive also, sir.”
Nepos ran his hands through his hair, trying to imagine how anything else would be more sensitive.
“Well?” he questioned as he drank the wine cup dry.
There was another awkward pause in the conversation.
“The Empress Sabina is having a relationship with Secretary Suetonius,” the older soldier spoke quietly. “They have been witnessed bathing together at the baths in Aelius. Every Thursday night Suetonius commandeers a horse and rides there to see her. We spoke with Cornelia, her lady-in-waiting, and she confirmed that Suetonius left early in the morning from her room.”
Nepos thought back and remembered that Suetonius had turned up late for their meeting on Friday morning. Once again, he ran his hands through his hair. He stared at the bust of Hadrian in the room. He looked down at his desk and the writing implements
and wax moulds. With the Emperor being attacked, perhaps Sabina had confided in Suetonius. Perhaps she had believed him to be dead and this was her reaction.
He looked both men squarely in the eyes. “You will not repeat a word of this to anyone. To anyone. Do you understand?”
Both soldiers nodded in agreement.
“This is a private matter and should remain so between the Emperor and his wife. Your duty as soldiers of the secret police remains paramount to all that is happening now. This must remain confidential.”
Nepos went to a large metal chest in the corner of the room and removed a smaller chest inside it. He opened it carefully and took out a small bag of coins. He weighed it carefully in his hand and turned to the two soldiers.
“This is additional money for the bribes or expenses. Your information remains critical to the province.”
Both men nodded again.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You are dismissed.”
The men saluted and left.
Nepos went over to the wine jug in the corner and poured himself another large cup. He drained it quickly and poured another.
Why would a senator bribe the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard?
He looked over at the bust of Hadrian once again. Unless …
“The bravest sight in the world is to see a great man struggling against adversity”
Seneca
CHAPTER 20
NORTH OF HADRIAN’S WALL
JULY 17TH 11 AM
Vordimus, Ortagorus and the other tribal chiefs met once more. They spoke quietly to each other, ensuring they all shared the same plans. Unlike their neighbours in the south of Britannia, the Selgovae and the northern Brigantes were not content to stand idly by while the Roman troops plundered their lands. They would retaliate swiftly and launch a series of devastating raids on the forts and camps established by Hadrian in his advance north. Using hit-and-run tactics, they would cause such dismay that the Roman officers would advise the Emperor to make a strategic withdrawal or sue for peace. Had he not almost been killed already? Surely just another few attacks would send them south again. The Romans would be irritated by an enemy who used such tactics. They would long to meet them in a pitched battle – but the Britons would not let that happen. They were waging a war in their way, utilising the landscape to their advantage. Vordimus had made a crude map on the ground with stones as forts and drew the supply roads coming from the south with his long sword. The other leaders gathered around his map.
“This road is the key,” spoke Vordimus. “If we stop their supplies from getting up here, we stop everything. It’s a crossroads from north–south and east–west. If we take this, we control everything.”
The other leaders agreed. “But how would we take it?” asked one.
“Firstly, we do small attacks all along the wall at night-time. Distractions mainly. We must draw their cavalry away from the central position. So, we will attack at multiple locations at the same time. Then we see if they respond. We can melt away if they respond quickly and in fast numbers. I will take a larger force
from the north road and Tobar will attack from the south road. We will meet just outside their fort called Coria.”
“We cannot attack a fort,” hissed Bran.
“We must attack this one. This is the one occasion that we must win.”
Like his peers in his family, Bran was supported by his trusted henchmen and family elders. Essentially though he was a lone figure who ruled according to his own personality. Any hint of weakness, especially in the face of an enemy outside his borders, might result in his replacement by a more vigorous rival. The greatest and most powerful of leaders were bold, ruthless men who conquered their foes through subjection. Their success would be the removal of the Romans from northern Britain forever. War, of course, carried with it great risk in an era where leaders fought alongside their soldiers in close combat. There was a normal expectation that the leader could die in battle anywhere in Britannia. Since they now shared a border with the Romans, this risk was even greater.
Ortagorus reminded Bran “Think of those who have gone before you. Your own father hated the Romans as much as any man.”
He paused, letting them think.
“If you fall in battle, every warrior in your tribe will seek your revenge. You will take your place in the Hall of Heroes.”
Bran nodded his head in acceptance. A place in the Hall of Heroes of his tribe was the greatest honour a warrior could gain. The Hall defined many men who had fought and lived for their tribe, an ageless monument to the heroes past and present. No one was certain when it had started, but an item of each hero was displayed on the walls of their tribal hall. Each man had a story to tell of those who had achieved greatness and faced adversity. Men recounted the stories of the heroes as an inspiration to others who would follow. These men had distinguished themselves through heroic deeds and service to their tribe. Nothing was more sacred to the tribes.
“I agree with Vordimus,” spoke another elder. If we can win this victory at the start, we can put them on the back foot. It would be a disaster for them.”
After a few moments, all the tribal chiefs nodded in agreement.
“I understand how you feel. I agree. I shall lead them,” agreed Bran.
The voice sounded frantic. Nepos knew it wasn't one of his slaves as he didn't recognise it. He had awoken to his guards hissing at the slave to keep his voice down. He pushed through the outer door, with his cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" he insisted.
"The doctors wish you to come at once," pleaded the slave.
Nepos didn't waste any time. It was what he had dreaded all along. The Emperor had died and now he would be held accountable. He quickly put on his sandals and made his way to the hospital. The slave did not know any more, he said. Nepos thought about what would happen next in the Senate. What would happen to him personally? He noted the two guards at the main door seemed nervous as he approached and entered. The doctors were standing in the corridor, nervously discussing the Emperor.
“What is the situation with the Emperor?” asked Nepos firmly. The doctors opened the door to the room and beckoned him in. There on the bed sat Hadrian, fully upright and semi-dressed.
"Ah, Nepos my friend," smiled Hadrian. "What time is it?"
Nepos looked at the Emperor and laughed. "It's around the second hour of the night, Caesar."
There was a pause between both men as they looked at each other. Nepos took Hadrian’s hands and kissed them.
"It is good to see you awake, Caesar. I have been, we have all been, worried about you."
Hadrian reassured him that he could remember nothing of the accident. Despite his fractured arm, he felt well.
"It’s quite an incredible recovery," Dr Soranus agreed. "A few more days within the hospital for observation and then you may
return to your great office, Emperor."
Hadrian scratched his bald head. “Has somebody cut my hair?” he asked.
Nepos laughed. "We have much to catch up on, Caesar. Until tomorrow, please get some rest".
The orderlies fussed around the Emperor like a child, wrapping him in more blankets and giving him more horsetail water to drink. Nepos took one look back from the door of the room and breathed a sigh of relief. Hadrian's reign was not over yet. Praise the Gods for their mercies. He thanked both doctors before leaving to go back to his room and fell into his bed. It was the best night's sleep he had had for a very long time.
Hadrian fully recovered and, despite not having any clear memories of the attack, decided to discharge himself from the hospital. He was eager to stay updated on the details of the wall and wanted to learn everything that had happened. However, he concluded that his top priority was to reward the doctors at the hospital first.
"They say that Greeks have much learning in the area of medicine and now I believe them. Doctors Soranus and Actius, I am forever indebted to you both. Take this purse each, one for both of you," the Emperor had insisted.
"Some men live too richly for their purses, if you understand. You both need to enjoy yourselves here in Britannia. Please, will both of you continue to teach your subjects to the Roman doctors so that they will become as competent as you?”
Soranus blushed. “You are too kind, Caesar. Of course we shall."
The doctors insisted the Emperor drink a flask of water every day to stay hydrated and not become too stressed with his job. They would visit him in a week to see how his arm was healing. General Nepos spent the day with him in the praetorium going
over everything that had happened that week. They decided to reduce the width of the wall such that it was still possible for a soldier to walk along its battlements. So, it had been reduced from 10 feet to 8 feet wide. The forts that had been planned to be built behind the wall were now brought up and placed on the wall itself, thereby placing them in a stronger position and allowing a faster response by the mobile cavalry units. The number of kilns would be increased to 80 to obviate the shortage of mortar. Nepos discussed every detail of the improvements both he and Centurion Apollinaris had implemented. In the week that had just gone, they had made greater efficiencies in the construction than had ever been made before. As soon as three or four courses of facing stone had been laid, it was necessary to back it up with the core of the wall before proceeding higher. This would make the wall more stable. Therefore, the outer-facing stones would have to be built equally on each side of the wall, requiring a pair of gangs working on each side of the wall. Apollinaris had constructed a doublewheeled barrow and this was now being used to transport the sand and bricks to the wall itself at a faster rate. Hadrian seemed delighted with the suggestions they had implemented and did not question any of them.
Nepos and Marcus were both invited to dine with the Emperor that evening. They ate shellfish and oysters and drank the best vintage Falernian wine that was in the cellar. Hadrian then proposed a toast.
“To my dependable General Platorius Nepos. He who serves me best serves Rome. And to my commander Marcus Quietus, who put his life on the line for me. You are both forever in my gratitude."
Hadrian seemed as unchanged as ever. He had eaten well and chatted as if nothing had happened. At the end of the short evening, Hadrian declared himself extra tired and decided to go to bed early.
It was the start of another new week and the weekly update of the legates from the legions. As each legate came into the praetorium at Vindolanda they shook the Emperor’s hand.
"It is good to see you, Caesar, in full health."
Hadrian deliberately played down the events and nothing more was said of it. Nepos, Andus and Apollinaris came up with further suggestions that should improve the wall building speed and they shared with Hadrian what had been discovered.
From now on, each legion would appoint a Prefectus Castrorum, also known as the clerk of works. Two soldiers had previously served with the Second Legion in Germania where they had experience building palisade walls. While those fortifications were primarily made of wood, the addition of mortar and stone in the new construction required a much more complex supply network. The clerk of works was responsible not for directing the work gangs of soldiers at the wall directly but for organising the logistics that supported them. Soldiers were assigned specific roles based on their main responsibilities in the wall-building process, and they were utilised to assist those who were actively constructing the wall. As a general guideline, Apollinaris had calculated that for every soldier building the wall, there would need to be an additional ten soldiers providing the necessary materials and support.
He realised that the highly skilled stonemasons of the Twentieth Legion worked faster and more efficiently than the rest. When Nepos and Andus visited their quarry at Cilurnum they found out why. The stone was cut out at the quarry by the masons in a normal block shape. It was then recut slightly pear-shaped away from the outer face to make it more into a tapered end. It was this end that was mortared into the wall and it bonded better and was easier to fit. This was the difference that allowed the lessskilled men on the wall to build faster. They also discovered that the inside of the wall, when built with the rubble and clay core, also made it easier to support the different-sized pear-shaped blocks that were inserted into it.
Nepos marvelled at their ingenuity. Some examples of stones were distributed to the other masons immediately and this process
would now be their standard all along the wall. The stonemason’s chisels and hammers were busy shaping the standard wall blocks as fast as possible ready for transport to the wall. This process also ensured that plenty of rubble was generated and used. Any stone chippings were collected at the quarries and placed in wicker baskets. Small stones, chips and everything that was left over were perfect for the rubble centre and sent back via wagons of oxen. Nepos calculated that around 4 million tons of stone was required to be cut and used for the wall, milecastles and forts. It was the most highly skilled stonemasons at the quarry who would allow its rapid construction via this improvement.
At the wall face itself, once the turf cutters had removed the turf and it was preserved for the vallum to the north, the foundation of the wall was built. Heavy boulders and stones were brought forward by oxcarts and bedded into the earth, making them as level as possible by hammering them down with heavy hammers by the auxiliary soldiers. Forty men worked together as a unit on each section of the wall, with approximately 400 more supporting them in sand quarrying, wood felling, transporting stone and transporting mortar. Nepos tried more men; however, it became obvious that there were too many in a small place and 40 men were enough for each section of wall being built. Hundreds of men were sent out to scour the landscape for wood. This wood would provide fuel for the kilns and the scaffolding for the wall once it got over 6 feet high. Even more scaffolding was required for the milecastles and turrets.
Finally, Nepos was coming to an end of his report and pointed out the dangers they had encountered whilst building the wall. More than 20 mortar men were now in the hospital with skin burned off their hands after carrying the mortar mix from the oxen carts back to the wall builders. The powdered lime was so acidic that it lifted the skin off in seconds. Loading required tremendous care and they had now moved to try two wooden poles to lift the powdered lime off in the large open pots. This was a dangerous job and required them to have separate transport from the other oxen carts, as when it was windy or any spillage occurred during transport the animals could be seriously injured, which caused
even more problems. They had now covered the mortar men's wagons with goat-skin tents to keep them dry and windproof. Apparently, it was working.
Once the mortar was delivered, it was mixed and folded with water and sand on site and made into a bed ready for the outer facing and the rubble interior. Overall, Nepos spent an extraordinary amount of time on the wall, watching what the men were doing and listening to their suggestions. Andus, Apollinaris himself and the legates of each legion spent days looking at their work and trying to streamline the process. Now it appeared to be much better. Hadrian was delighted to see such improvements in their efficiency and teamwork.
“Let me congratulate you all. You have done an incredible job. Tomorrow we shall ride out and inspect the walls once again.”
Hadrian and the legates all looked at one another and laughed. Hadrian had not changed. He still wanted to go out and see everything for himself in every detail.
“Without training, they lacked knowledge. Without knowledge, they lacked confidence. Without confidence, they lacked victory.”
Julius Caesar
CHAPTER 21
CAVALRY BARRACKS, VINDOLANDA FORT
JULY 18TH 8 AM
Marcus spoke to Decurion Atot and showed him his letter of authority signed by General Nepos. He realised that it would be better to let the matter go and to find a way to get along with Atot. Therefore, Marcus decided not to mention the incident in any official capacity. Despite their previous disagreement and falling out, he was now in charge with the Emperor's support. He needed Atot to return to his duties and operate properly. The decurion seemed relieved by the commander's response and vowed not to disobey his orders.
Marcus could now pick the men who went on patrol and no further monies were to be taken from any traders crossing the border. He was pleased to be back with his unit once again, directing his scouts around the area north of the wall. His men had seen very little action since their arrival in Britannia and had yet to see any of the wild Brigantes up close.
The policy of the legions had always been to control and pacify the area, which in practice meant a blank permission to kill as many of the savages as they deemed necessary. Yet, apart from the attack on the Emperor himself, there had been no major actions. The patrols went out and came back with little to report. Marcus made his cousin Novantes a decurion, second in command of the 30 men. It would be useful to have someone he trusted by his side.
The turmae of 30 cavalry patrolled north and west from Vindolanda fort, trundling through the hills without anyone being seen. In this area, the midsection of the wall had not been built yet. In some areas, yellow posts were still firmly hammered into the ground showing the outline of the planned wall, and in others the broad foundation of the wall had been laid only.
In front of them a small hill rose up out of the landscape and would make an ideal vantage point. It was late in the evening and the sun was just setting. Marcus and Novantes dismounted their horses and headed up the hill. Shortly they would go back for some wine and home-cooked stew. Marcus had been looking forward to it all day.
Just as they reached the top they realised a dozen Brigantes warriors were already there. An even larger group were behind the hill at the bottom. For a few seconds the two Romans and the warriors on the hill just looked at each other until a great war cry was let loose by the Brigantes leader as he charged towards them.
Marcus and his cousin scrambled back down the hill, shouting towards their unit to form a line. Their strength was their number and their horses. Marcus needed to have them ready, as they slid down the grassy hill and jumped on their horses. With a shout of command again, they formed a line and swept around the bottom of the hill towards the ragged Brigantes warriors who were standing unaware on the grass behind the hill. The look of panic on their faces told it all, as they were not expecting to see any Roman troops. Marcus's quick reactions had given them the element of surprise and their longer swords cut them down before they could react. Shouts of command were being screamed by the Brigantes leader at the top.
Turning around the bottom of the hill, they charged back across the enemy again and again. It was every man for himself. Marcus ducked as he saw a short Roman sword wielded by a screaming Brigantes sweep across his front. He lunged his sword quickly and felt his spatula go deep into the warrior's throat. Blood spurted down his front and over him at high pressure, hitting him in the face, and for a moment he couldn’t see. Marcus hadn’t realised there were at least 100 Brigantes warriors at the bottom of the hill.
It seemed like a long time until finally the Brigantes realised they had a much greater number of men and started to form a ragged line to face the Romans. Marcus knew this was the time to retreat against such a number. His 30 men had savaged the
Brigantes but would not hold back a hundred. He looked around his unit, relieved to see his cousin Novantes still on his horse, as well as a few faces he knew. Others had not been so lucky and had been killed in the attack. Five of them lay apparently dead and another three didn’t have horses after the initial attack.
Marcus paused for breath. “Did you see they had Roman swords? Where did they get them?”
The Brigantes were howling a stream of orders from the top of the hill. Marcus gave the order to retreat and his remaining unit moved away before the Britons had the chance to properly regroup and attack. They doubled up on their horses where they had to and rode south, away from the hill, until they were at a safe distance, then looked back. The Brigantes had disappeared. It was 10 miles to the fort at Lapidus and they knew they had to make it there now. Keeping closely together, they travelled through the hills and across the line of the wall south. There were no forts built here and few places to take rest. The injured men were on multiple horses and slowed their speed.
As they drew closer to the fort, Marcus suddenly saw a large group of Brigantes in the distance behind them. He knew it would be fine when they reached the fort; soldiers there would be looking out for them and would help them reach safety. Slowly they climbed the hill, the men nervously glancing behind. They were being watched by the Brigantes.
As Marcus scanned the four walls of the fort up ahead he could see no one there and his heart sank in desperation. He drew his sword once again, ready for action. Suddenly a great war cry went up from the Brigantes nearby and Marcus saw what must have been 300 warriors charging at them now. “Make for the fort!” he shouted and suddenly they were galloping towards the safety of the fort.
The three double-upped riders were moving at a slower pace and began to fall back from the main unit. Marcus shouted for his men to form a line one more time and ordered the three injured riders to keep going forward ahead of them. The Brigantes also stopped running and lined up too.
Just as they had formed, Marcus ordered his unit again to fall
back to the fort. It was a delaying tactic that had apparently worked. They just made it into the fort in time and locked the gates. The fort was empty except for the bodies of soldiers and some horses. Fifty men had lived here with twenty cavalry troopers. What had happened?
Outside, the Brigantes chanted and cheered in delight. Now they were trapped. ‘Lapidus’ was Roman for ‘stoney’, reflecting the geography of the area. It had originally been built as a fort on the Stanegate by Agricola and lay six and half miles east of Vindolanda. The purpose of the fort had been to guard the junction and the river below. Marcus had the bodies of the legionaries moved to a storeroom. All the weapons had been stripped from the fort and there was no food to be found anywhere. The Brigantes had already taken the fort earlier. Would they try to take it again? Why had they let them come back?
The remaining troops were nervous. They reinforced the locking door with an extra post of wood and a heavy cart was placed behind it. No one expected to make it through the night and fear homed in on them all. Marcus posted guards on the walls as they took turns to try to catch some rest through the night. They shared what little rations they had. Perhaps the enemy intended the Romans to die of thirst rather than attack.
“They won't take this place by surprise now,” motioned Novantes.
“I think we could hold this place for a day or two,” agreed Marcus.
As dawn broke Marcus and the others waited for the assault, bleary-eyed from the lack of sleep. Every man stood on the walls listening out for the slightest sound, but there was only silence.
“When will we be missed?” asked one of the soldiers, nervously.
“In one day we will be reported as missing and the legate will send out a patrol,” replied Marcus. “However, I don’t think we should wait here now. We must return to Vindolanda and report on what’s happened. I know you are all tired, but we must go back.”
Novantes discussed the situation with his cousin and it was
decided that Novantes would ride back directly to Vindolanda and pass the message to General Nepos.
“You have a better chance alone as you’re the faster rider. Travel along the stone road – it should be quieter and safer. I’ll return with our men as soon as I can.”
His soldiers knew he was right and after an hour of preparation they opened the gates and Novantes headed out alone south to the stone road.
At dawn, Ortagorus looked at the Roman troops in Lapidus fort one more time. They had already killed all the previous troops in the fort. This small group posed no threat. They would die of dehydration, so there was no point in attacking them again. He could find easier targets at another smaller fort.
He pushed his units east. Hit and run is what they had been ordered to do. Pulling his fur around his shoulders in the cold morning wind, he could hear Roman soldiers in the woods nearby cutting trees. They would be the next target. He ordered a smaller group of men to attack the kilns nearby and along the river line, which the Roman navy used to supply the forts. They would be dealt with easily.
“If I see any man take prisoners, I will send you to the afterlife myself,” he swore at them. “No mercy to these Roman rats.”
They attacked without taking any casualties – the Romans had not expected any assault, with only a few guards left to keep the kilns burning throughout the night.
Just 1 mile southeast of Lapidus, the Roman navy had sailed up the river and were using a makeshift jetty as a drop point for their goods. A dozen boats of the Classis Britannica were berthed in the river nearby, ready to transfer their goods into smaller flat-bottom boats. The Brigantes didn’t realise what the Classis Britannica was capable of. Originally the Roman navy would have just delivered the heavy equipment for the legions and assisted
them in setting up their supply lines. Now they had developed into a naval militia. These men were trained to fight against other ships but could equally hack their way onto the beach at the first landing. Armed with boarding pikes and axes, the sailors of the Roman navy fought the Brigantes furiously.
After the initial surprise attack on the boats at the jetty in the early hours, the navy militia regrouped and, without hesitation of being outnumbered, hacked at any Brigantes who came near their boats. Their 10-foot pikes were jabbed into faces and axes swung across arms and legs. Men screamed in agony as limbs were cut and dispatched with ease.
The water and decks turned a deep red colour as more and more Brigantes attacked the boats berthed in the river. Eventually, their numbers began to count as they swung their swords, meeting Roman flesh. As more and more Brigantes attacked the boats, only a few managed to cut their ropes and drift away from the shoreline. On some boats the naval militia fought with such ferocity that even the Brigantes doubted they would win. Wave after wave of warriors were hacked down by the sailors of the Roman navy. Eventually, the Brigantes had taken four boats and set them on fire. The other Roman boats had cut their ropes and retreated east.
Syrian archers had proven to be effective bowmen against the Romans some 50 years before and the Roman army had decided that these eastern recruits were now essential to their requirements. The fort at Arbeia was set up initially as a temporary camp to guard the port of entry for men and supplies heading to the network of forts across Hadrian’s Wall. It was here that Nepos decided to place these important men because of their value and experience. Swapping the sun-drenched valleys of Syria for the Roman Empire's windswept northern frontier was not a choice they would have made voluntarily. They were now part of the army of Imperial Rome and had been sent to this new posting to
protect the remote Roman province of Britannia.
Their effective use of the composite bow took a lifetime to master. The composite bow gave a higher arrow speed and greater range than the common Roman longbows. It was estimated that a Syrian bowman could aim accurately and fire at a target every ten seconds. In practice, they could fire six arrows in thirty seconds into a massed target. This was the reason why the 100 men were stationed here. In addition, being a mounted unit, they could cover an enormous area on the east coast. The small rectangular fort in which they were stationed had wooden walls and rounded corners, protected by a palisade with ditches and ramparts. It had been planned as a short-term solution to hold the unit there, on the south side of the river, as Nepos had decided there was no immediate threat of an attack.
Tobar had picked the small fort as it did not hold many men. They were a cavalry unit for sure and he noticed they were lightly armed with small bows, curved daggers and light horses. They wore no armour and most of the men seemed quite small in stature. Tobar’s men would attack the main door at night when the final patrol had come back to gain access to the fort, and then they would take their horses for their own.
As the final cavalry scouts appeared along the track from the nearest road, the street was quiet and the sun was setting. Tobar and his 100 men surrounding the fort were hidden from view in the long grass. On his command, 30 of his warriors drew themselves up as close to the cavalry unit as possible and silently ran towards them with swords drawn.
With words he did not understand being shouted, the Romans suddenly disappeared off the track quickly. He would worry about them later. The gates of the fort were still open and speed was essential. They had to get to them before they closed. They all ran quickly towards the open gates.
Before he realised, men had suddenly appeared at the entrance with their bows primed. Tobar’s warriors let out a cry as they ran at full speed towards the open gates and awaiting archers. A dozen of his men fell with arrows in their chests immediately. He could see more men on the battlements with bows now too. They
had to close the gap quickly and they sped across the ground at full running speed. Another group of his men fell by the time they got to the gates, and the archers fell back inside, leaving the gates open. Tobar shouted encouragement to his men to take the fort and kill the Roman archers.
Hanas, the commander of the fort, had just been drying his bow. If bows were wet, they were useless against enemies and each soldier kept his yew bow in a leather satchel across his back along with his arrows. As the alarm sounded from the patrol, Hanas quickly moved to the gate on the west side as the wild Brigantes suddenly appeared. He called his men forward to the gate with their bows primed. He planned to fire and fall back, as they were too close now to retreat any further inside the fort. He ordered more men to the palisade wall.
“Remember your angles; and use cover.”
His orders steamed from his lips to the young soldiers who had never seen action. They couldn’t believe he wanted to keep the gates open.
“Target practice!” he told them and laughed.
He ordered two lines of archers at the entrance gate: front line kneeling and second line standing. Whoever came within range would be destroyed in seconds.
The first wave of Brigantes were struck down by arrows at close range. When an arrow travelling at 200 feet per second hits you, it causes instantaneous or near-instantaneous death. An arrow’s razor-sharp edges slice through the surrounding tissues, causing immediate haemorrhaging of any artery. If the arrow hits a major artery there is an explosion of blood. At this range, the archers had been taught to fire at the largest target –the chest. The Brigantes were thrown onto the ground as the high-speed arrows punched into their chests. The ground around the gate seemed to be slick with blood as a second wave now attacked immediately,
the front rank of archers stepping backwards as another volley of deadly arrows was unleashed.
With half his men now dead, Tobar ran forward in berserker mode. He had lost all reason and wanted to kill. His only thought was to take as many with him as possible. An arrow had pierced his left shoulder and still he ran on. Sweeping his sword across the face of a young soldier, it felt good to have contact as the Roman’s cheek and nose burst open. He lifted his arm again to hack his face, when another heavyweight arrow burst into his chest and pushed him back into the dirt. Tobar looked around confused. It all seemed to be over so fast.
An older soldier came and looked into his face. He held up his bow and two forefingers in gesture. In simple Latin he said “Pluck yew.” The other archers laughed. Tobar looked at him, not understanding what he said.
“Feck you,” the old soldier confirmed, again smiling and holding up his two forefingers. “That’s what we do to you.”
Tobar's eyes lost focus and rolled backward in his head.
The centurion rose early and knew he had a long day ahead. With the sun just up, it was cooler today. He had responsibility for obtaining timber, together with the transport of all the materials to the site. He had around 80 auxiliary troops and 300 local slaves to assist his work.
They had come back to the same spot they had been at before as it was a large forested area. They had walked from Vercovicium with their mules carrying their tools of saws, hammers and wedges. Oak was the wood of choice and ideal for building scaffolding and floors inside any building. If this was unavailable, alder, birch, elm and hazel were all used. Once the trees had been felled, they were sawn into lengths and placed on carts drawn by oxen. They needed this wood not just for burning the limestone to make mortar, but also as part of the open system
of defence. On the northern side of the wall, great spikes of oak had been buried into the ditch to break up any attack across it.
The men had been walking back to the same area for 2 weeks now. Roman scouts had covered the area and not seen anything just a few days ago. Nevertheless, he posted a half-dozen armed men north of their position to report back should they see anything. He rotated the guards to give his auxiliary soldiers a chance to take a break from the toil of work.
As the work parties started to set out their positions, he noticed some figures in the distance to the north. Were they scouts? He could not see any identification on them. They appeared to be passing their positions. He sent a boy to make contact with the guards he had posted.
“Right, you bunch of lazy idlers. Let’s get your backs into it,” he shouted.
Vordimus smiled as he saw the Romans and their slaves below him. As predictable as ants, he thought. Always coming back to the same place at the same time without any concerns they could be attacked. Ambushes had always been used to hunt large game and wild animals in Britain by the tribes. It was a long-established tactic that took advantage of the element of surprise by usually employing a concealed position.
Today their game was Roman soldiers. In the fields in front of him, at either side of this position, lay hidden watercourses with slight banks. In the undergrowth and tall grass around both sides, Vordimus had hidden 200 men. It was a treeless, flat landscape but well adapted for an ambush. Here, between these two positions, was where he wanted to entice the soldiers.
It was late afternoon and the Romans would be finishing up soon enough. Their stomachs would get the better of them. He gave the signal and the sheep in the field in front of him were moved slowly southwards by four of his men. He had already
dispensed with the Roman guards and dressed his own men in their uniforms.
“Sir, I believe there are sheep in the field in front of us,” shouted one of the auxiliaries to the centurion.
The centurion looked up from his work. He had been busy all day making sure the wood was packed in the oxen carts as tightly as possible. Ropes were used for tying the wood tighter and making sure it didn’t fall off the transports. The last thing he needed was a cart wheel to be broken when they had few enough of them. He moved over a few hundred yards with the soldier and looked north at the flat fields in front of them.
“It looks like our guards are trying to gather them here. Well, they can’t herd 30 sheep with only four men.” They both watched for a few minutes and realised what they were trying to do was not going to work without any help.
The centurion and the optio looked at each other. That would make some fine meat for the next few weeks. No doubt they could sell a few sheep to other units as well. They both thought of the hard tack they already had packed for their dinner today. The prospect of a free dinner of fresh mutton was appealing. The centurion could already feel the grease dripping down his chin in anticipation.
“I know what you're thinking already, optio,” he chuckled. “Take 50 men and get up there and bring our dinner back down.”
The optio smiled. “With pleasure, sir. Would you like a leg or rump for dinner?”
Calling his auxiliary units and slaves around him, he took the first 50 men.
“Right, lads, get up here and let’s get our dinner sorted for tonight.”
Keen to get a break from their work, the men dropped their tools and moved forward into the fields.
“Optio,” shouted the centurion, “remember your swords.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the optio. “Pick up your swords, men, just in case.”
The auxiliary troops among the group slung their gladius straps over their left shoulders and headed off. A few of the slaves
picked up some of the long sticks that had been left over by the tree felling to shepherd the sheep and off they all went. The centurion didn’t want any gladius left hanging around that the locals could pick up and, satisfied with his decision, went back to overseeing the carts being filled with trees.
He never saw the slaughter behind him, as the Brigantes' ambush was set in motion. The Brigantes and Selgovae charged wildly at the relatively small band of Romans. Initially, the auxiliaries had tried to defend their position, with the optio shouting at them to form a line. Once he had been killed, they dropped their weapons and simply ran. The auxiliary troops had no training to take on a surprise attack. They ran south.
The centurion some way behind them had seen the situation too late. With a good number of his troops in full flight and no armour, he too gathered his remaining men and slaves and retreated south. They were not the only ones running for their lives that day.
Between the east and west coasts, all along the wall, small detachments of troops were ambushed where they stood. Boats, small forts, watch towers, Roman traders and caravans travelling along the old stone road were all considered to be approved targets. Most people were cut down in the initial attack. A few managed to outrun their attackers and hide somewhere. In the end, they all headed back to the nearest large Roman fort for safety.
The officer of the watch at Coria initially thought it was just tiredness that had unfocused his vision. It looked like dozens of auxiliary troops were streaming back south to his position. Men were running for their lives to get behind the stone fort walls. Gradually, little by little, single injured men were appearing from all directions. He also saw women and children who had been attacked in their journeys north and had been spared but were terrified. He gave the order to stand to and the bell on the watch tower rang out. Soon the trumpets sounded and every soldier was at the ready. There were reports from all directions that they had been attacked. The details were confusing and the soldiers were uncertain. He dispatched a rider immediately to the Emperor at Vindolanda – the northern frontier was under attack.
“Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow”
Seneca
CHAPTER 22
HADRIAN’S WALL
JULY 19TH 11 PM
The Portgate was a fortified gateway constructed within Hadrian’s Wall. However, because of its importance, the Romans had prioritised its build and garrisoned it with 30 troops. It had been built to control the passing traffic going up Dere Street from south to north. Just 2 miles to the south lay the Roman fort of Coria, the main supply depot for the Roman army.
Coria had been built on the north side of the river to guard the bridge which crossed the river at its lowest fordable point. It was of strategic significance in every way. From the top of the tower at Coria, the soldiers had a good view both north and south of the Roman road below. The Brigantes knew that this was the major base to the rear of the wall and within its walls were the largest Roman granaries in the country. If the Brigantes could control the crossroads outside Coria, they could control the distribution of grain. At the centre of Coria and east of the granaries lay the aqueduct. This brought water down from the north to a public fountain. Vordimus’s plan was simple. Attack the gateway at Portgate, storm the fort of Coria and block the aqueduct. Even if he could steal the grain and destroy just one of the granaries, it would be worth the effort. It would starve the Romans in the area and ensure they caused maximum disruption to the supply lines.
The sky was moonless and the grey strands of clouds covered most of the stars so that the landscape was wrapped in darkness – perfect cover for attacking Romans. Of course, the same lack of illumination was the main threat facing the Brigantes; it would be easy to stumble into an enemy sentry in such conditions. Fortunately, all the positions along the wall which were about to be attacked had been chosen for their lack of security.
It had been dry for 2 weeks now. Vordimus had ensured they
had all taken a lump of hot coal with them, covered with their shield. Lighting a fire from a coal was always easier than carrying a torch. With some careful concealing, it was possible to carry the coal to within a few metres of the Roman line undetected. With some dry grass and kindling, they could usually get a small fire to light. Vordimus had made sure that the weather was dry and therefore the grass would be as dry as possible; however, he could not control the direction of the wind. Nevertheless, the prevailing wind was from the west and occasionally the north so the smoke would drift over the surrounding areas.
The entire low-lying ground across much of the line of the wall was covered in peat and, with a little help, much of this, together with the dry grass and dead plants, would burn with great streams of smoke.
Vordimus gave the call and his men silently lit their fires as close as possible to the Portgate. They waited until the peat had created enough smoke to cover them. Peat burns poorly, so there would be a lot of smoke.
The Roman infantry did not see them coming. The gateway was a square stone building that housed a watchtower and barracks for a 30-man unit, positioned at the centre of the road leading north. Great wooden doors closed off the northern and southern entrances. The soldiers had intentionally locked these doors using a locking bar. However, after one soldier stepped outside to relieve himself, he inadvertently left the locking bar off the door on the southern side.
The broad wall adjacent to the gatehouse had begun construction at a thickness of 9 feet 3 inches. However, it was not yet at full height, making it easy to climb over through the lower gaps in the wall. Outside, a Roman soldier was squatting in the grass when a giant knife was suddenly pulled across his throat. The first warning the Romans received was the sound of pounding feet on the ground, echoing like a giant drum. A wave of Brigantes surged silently through the southern wooden doors. Swords raised and spears ready, they attacked the unsuspecting Romans. The four closest Romans at the doorway were killed almost immediately in those initial seconds.
After the initial shock, the remaining Romans stood their ground, fully armoured, as their centurion shouted orders. Although they had no shields, they formed a defensive line across the barracks and began to stab at the Brigantes. It was a desperate few seconds as the Romans retreated into the corner, and then rooms, only to be overwhelmed when the final group of Brigantes appeared at the gateway, cutting down the remaining Romans with slashing and stabbing attacks from all directions. Vordimus looked around at his comrades and smiled, proud that they had taken the gateway. He paused momentarily to lift a cup of Roman wine from a table and drain its contents, while the others took Roman swords in victory. Meanwhile, 2 miles to the south at Coria, the sentries on duty had seen nothing but drifting smoke.
Another 100 Brigantes joined them from the south. A further 200 would be waiting for their signal from the north. The signal – a light from the watch tower – was lit and covered so that it could only be seen from the north. The remaining Selgovae and Brigantes moved silently south on the Roman road. In single formation, they ran down the culvert of the road, trying to keep out of sight.
The warriors to the south would dare not cross the Roman bridge. Instead, they had arranged for local men to drop boats to allow them to cross at the lowest point under it. The remaining warriors would have to cross the bridge in full sight of the fort once they had taken care of the sentries. Across the other side of the river, a series of three deep ditches had been dug around the southern front of the camp and behind that lay the enormous stone wall of the fortress. Beside the bridge stood a stone guard post.
Twenty men crammed into the four boats and set off across the river. With only two oars to paddle, they silently made their way across the black cold water. Local knowledge gave them the best place to land and they quickly regrouped on the shore. They climbed the slope leading up to the guard tower on the bridge and silently cut the throats of the unsuspecting Roman soldiers who were patrolling along the bridge.
The sentries inside the tower had not expected any kind of attack. They were more concerned with keeping warm in the stone hut than looking across the bridge to the south. The sounds of hundreds of feet moving at speed seemed unconcerning to them. A cry of attack had given them no time to react, as a soldier who came out of the door was met with a sword slashing across his face. He fell backwards into the guard room as the Brigantes cut down everyone sitting around the small fire. A whistle was given back to the bridge and a rush of feet was heard moving across the metaled road. Vordimus had warned them to keep as quiet as possible. However, you could still hear the heavy breathing and grunts as men pushed to get across the bridge.
Eight sets of wooden ladders had been carried across to scale the wall. The men climbed the three lines of ditches as quietly as they could. There didn’t appear to be any other guards on duty. In the distance, the outline of the stone wall of the fort towered above them 20 feet high. Had they been seen? They didn’t appear to have.
In the north, Vordimus had also planned his attack using ladders. He saw the signal of the troops in the south and moved his men past the ditches to attack the walls closest to the road. The flimsy wooden ladders were placed against the walls of Coria and as silently as possible the men climbed the rungs. At any moment they had expected to be found out. Instead, they all climbed the walls to find no alarm had been given. Afterwards, nobody at Coria had a clear memory of what happened. They only remembered isolated moments, glimpses through the smoke, sudden piercing sounds or smells. The rest was a daze of confusion and horror.
The Roman guards on the walls of Coria eventually raised the alarm. Shouts and challenges turned into screams as the entire garrison awoke. A trumpeter sounded the alarm for a few seconds until a spear thrown from a nearby Brigantes warrior ended his recital. The Ala Gallorum Petriana were an auxiliary unit of horsemen from Germania. Their nominal strength would be some 720 men; however, they had been redistributed along various sections of the wall to provide scouting duties and now
numbered only 150 men. A century of soldiers was also stationed at the fort.
Flavius Perronas was the commander of the fort and knew immediately what had to be done. He gathered his armour and shouted to his auxiliary troops. With men falling out of beds and pulling on sandals and armour, shields were gathered from the outer room and swords were by their sides. The soldiers dressed as quickly as they could and rushed outside the wooden building.
In the other barracks block, Centurion Balbsa had gathered the vexillation of his men from the Second Legion. They had taken longer than he would have liked to get dressed; however, they would fight when ready. Leather straps were quickly tied on the outside of the segmented armour as each man helped his colleague dress and tighten their armour into position. Balbsa gave them a quick look over as they gathered their pilum and shields and headed out the door. The barracks to the north was already ablaze and he could hear fighting from the other side. It was chaos outside, with Brigantes and civilians running in all directions.
Balbsa could see the auxiliary troops with Perronas in the distance. He would join them in the fight. He shouted his men forward. “On me!” he cried, as the Romans with shields up and swords drawn formed up to advance down the road. Forty Brigantes warriors approached from the front gate and ran charging at the formed Romans.
“Shields up,” instructed Balbsa, as they ran headlong into the ragged line of the northern Britons. The Roman shields took the heavy impact as bodies collided against them. The soldiers struck fast and stabbed with their gladii at the nearest targets. One soldier saw a warrior drop his sword upon impact with the shield and, raising his gladius to his full height, brought it down with full impact across the Briton’s face. The warrior's forehead split in two as he was cut down between the eyes and jaw. The soldier laughed and kicked the lifeless body back with a sandaled foot. “Bring me more pigs to the slaughter!”
However, the Brigantes warriors did not stop coming. Another 30 came running through the gates and the Romans
held their ground, shields banging against bodies and gladius poised to make the killer strike. Slowly, the Romans, despite killing large numbers, were being forced back by more men. Balbsa looked around the situation. He could see hundreds of Brigantes warriors in front of them now. He shouted to the troops at the back to ready their pilum. At this distance, they could not miss. The men paused and looked forward at the approaching Brigantes.
“Ready,” Balbus commanded, “release!” as the 20 iron pilums were arched into the sky to fall only 80 yards away. The unprotected Brigantes fell instantly.
“Ready again,” commanded Balbsa, “release.”
No pause between commands, this time another 20 pilum were arched silently into the sky. Onwards the approaching Brigantes ran as another volley hit them up close. It devastated their ranks but did not stop their charge. Screaming warriors closed in on Balbsa from all directions. It was a fight to the death. Balbsa would take as many men as possible with him.
In the distance, the auxiliary troops were being pushed back. Flavius was shouting commands: “Form a circle,” he shouted, as the rectangular box-shape they’d formed contracted into a double-walled circle. Flavius rested for a few moments as he stood in the very centre of the circle. The cavalry troopers were also in the fight. Some were on horses and some were on foot. It was chaos. Attack after attack was repelled by the circle of Romans in Coria. But the northern Britons could taste blood. No matter how many the Romans slew, another warrior took their place. From almost every direction, there appeared to be warriors from both north and south.
A long at the stable block, the cavalrymen had tried to get their horses out and mount them. A few had managed; however, far too many had been easy targets against the organised Brigantes. Ambushed and slaughtered where they found them, the Brigantes fought from street to street inside the fort. The barrack block in the north appeared to have been dealt with and now just the barracks and stables in the south were left. More Roman troops arrived from the barracks in the south and formed
a line down towards the headquarters building. A line of Roman auxiliary troops on horseback appeared from the south too. Flavius breathed a sigh of relief – just in time. Then he looked to the gate in the east and his heart sank. At least 200 Brigantes were closing in on him. He shouted to his men, “Try to keep the circle together. If the circle breaks, fight in pairs. Keep your backs to one another.”
The last words that were spoken by Flavius were shouts of encouragement as a long spear was thrown from outside the circle. A cheer from a Brigantes warrior sounded in the distance.
“Kill, kill, kill,” was chanted by the Brigantes.
The small unit of Germanic cavalry had tried to manoeuvre between the stables block and the fort wall but it was no use. Hemmed in a small space, they tried to charge the growing tide of men. Initially, it worked, but as these men fell the Romans were dragged off their horses. Both the horses and the men were stabbed and cut from every direction. The horses thrashed and leapt and crashed in all directions. Riders were thrown and trampled onto the ground. It was a bloody mess of fallen soldiers and dying horses. The battle was over. The Brigantes had won and cheered their victory. Vordimus had blood splattered across his face.
“Looks like you’ve had a good night,” shouted Ortagorus. They clapped each other on the back, smiling.
“Remember, brother, let us take the grain we can carry and light the fires in the granary first. Then the rest of the fort.”
Thirty minutes later the fort at Coria had been destroyed and everything in it was in flames.
Vordimus smiled. “The damage has been done. This will make them think again.”
It was still dark as the remaining Brigantes headed north, carrying the grain they had stolen. Roman horses had been taken from the stable blocks and were used to carry the sacks, along with their own wounded and a few captives. They would sleep well once north of the wall again.
“Laws are silent in times of war.”
Unknown Roman
CHAPTER 23
LAPIDUS FORT, SOUTH OF HADRIAN’S WALL
JULY 20TH 1 PM
Marcus gathered his remaining 25 cavalrymen and left the fort of Lapidus. With no sign of any Brigantes, they headed back to Vindolanda, six and half miles away. They were watchful. The five injured troopers were slowing them down, but he had already sent Novantes there to warn them of the attacks along the frontier. A dusty rider suddenly appeared in front of them as they turned onto the stone road.
“Novantes, what are you doing here? Did you report back to Vindolanda?”
“No, sir. I couldn't, there were too many Brigantes. Attacks have been happening along the wall from both the north and south. The further west I travelled, the more Brigantes I encountered. So I decided to head east and report to the officer at Pons Aelius fort.”
“Very well,” Marcus replied. “At least you managed to get the message through. Let's head back that way ourselves.”
There was a long pause in the conversation and Marcus knew intuitively that something was wrong.
“What’s happened at Pons Aelius?”
“It’s Cornelia,” said Novantes quietly.
“What about her?” Marcus said quickly. His cousin looked at him and stopped. “She’s been attacked. Senator Blandus was drunk and attacked her. They found him in her quarters.”
“What? Why would he do that?” questioned Marcus.
Marcus ordered his second in command to return with the remaining troops to Pons Aelius as soon as they could. He and Novantes both kicked their horses forward and rode back to Pons Aelius at speed.
The fort was in lockdown and double sentries greeted them
at the gate. It was in a state of chaos as soldiers appeared to be streaming in and out. Marcus and Novantes headed straight to Cornelia’s quarters. At the door, they met a soldier outside. Marcus looked him up and down.
“I’ve been posted here by the duty centurion, sir. The doctor is attending to her now,” the soldier reported.
There was nothing to say that would ease the pain in Marcus’s head or soften the blow to deflect the revenge which he knew he would take. He paced outside the entrance, up and down.
Finally, the doctor appeared, opening the door with his bag in his hand.
“How is she, doctor?” asked Marcus.
“Who are you?” replied the doctor.
“I’m her husband-to-be.”
The doctor took him to one side.
“Someone has attempted to rape her. However, he couldn’t do it properly. So he beat her instead.”
“Why would he do that? Questioned Marcus.
The doctor shrugged. “He was drunk apparently, but that’s no answer. However, she fought back against him and was very brave. She suffered cuts and bruises to her arms, legs and head. Some passing soldiers heard her screams and burst into the room. They pulled him off her and found her bruised and bleeding, crawling along the floor. I have given her tea to take to relieve the pain and bandaged her wounds. I will have to attend to my other duties, as you understand the situation.”
“Of course, doctor,” nodded Marcus. “Thank you for coming.”
The doctor hurried away and Marcus paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. He stood looking down the dimly lit corridor with Novantes.
“Does he think I will do nothing because he is a senator?”
“Everyone knows she was going to be married to you. However, what can you do? Tell the Emperor? The senator will be terrified of you now. What will you do?” repeated Novantes.
Marcus spoke quietly. “I don't know,” he lied.
“No, Marcus, you must think before you do anything. He is a senator.”
“I am going to kill him,” Marcus said flatly. “And that will be the end of him.”
Marcus pushed open the door. Cornelia lay on the bed with her long hair fanned out at her side. Her lips were broken and bleeding. Her face and eyes were already bruised and swollen. The left eye had a cold cloth on it. She jumped as he opened the door but managed to grimace a broken smile, realising it was him. Marcus sat beside her and took her hand.
“Marcus, you’re here,” she smiled.
He looked at her half-closed eye and the bruising along the jawbone, already swelling.
“You have been so brave,” was all he could say.
“I'll be all right,” she tried to smile through the broken and bloodied lips.
“The doctor says you will be fine in time. There is a soldier outside your room.”
He lifted the cup of tea and gently held it to her lips. “This will take away the pain.”
She drank it appreciably. He placed the cold cloth over her left eye again.
“Keep this cloth over your eye. It will reduce the swelling.”
She nodded her agreement. He looked into her one open eye and long dark hair. She was still a beautiful woman.
“In a few weeks you will be back to your old self,” he smiled, taking her hand.
Cornelia closed her eyes once again. She felt safe with Marcus back.
“The Brigantes have attacked all along the wall, so I will have to go, my love. I will be back as soon as this attack is over. I must leave now.”
Marcus moved towards the door. As she quietly called his name, he glanced backwards, seeing her covered in blankets.
“Please don’t leave,” she asked him.
“I must. There is a soldier outside your door. No one is allowed to enter,” he assured her.
“Marcus.” She paused. “Kill him.”
He turned and bent down beside her and kissed her gently on the forehead.
“I intend to,” he whispered and left the room.
Novantes was the voice of reason and calm. “You cannot kill him, cousin. I know you are angry and your blood is up but killing him is not the answer. Apparently he had lost a lot of money. That is why he got drunk. We should report this back to the Emperor. Let him deal with it.”
There was silence between both young soldiers as they made their way outside. The general alarm had sounded and everywhere troops were moving to positions. Marcus grabbed his cousin by the arm and looked him in the eye.
“He has stained my honour and attacked my wife-to-be. I shall deal with it the only way I know how. We will not discuss this again.”
Eventually, Marcus found the duty centurion and asked him where Senator Blandus had gone.
“All officers were to report for duty. With him being a senator and an ex-officer, he was here an hour ago and then took a cavalry detachment towards Condercum fort. The Emperor has ordered we have to fall back to the main forts now.”
The two cousins jumped back on their horses and headed west once more to resume their duties. Marcus insisted they go on the two and a half miles to Condercum fort.
Along the way they came across Roman soldiers streaming back from other wall positions. Some were carrying wounded comrades.
“What happened? “asked Marcus.
“We were attacked from both the north and south,” reported one soldier.
“My centurion is dead. We have dealt them a blow, but there were just too many of them. With falling light, we retreated here.”
“You did the right thing,” assured Marcus. “Have you seen any Roman cavalry around?”
“Yes, sir, we passed some around a mile back off the road. They were heading north.”
Marcus nodded his head.” Thank you. Carry on.”
The light was fading fast. Whilst this had been in favour of the Brigantes to start with, now it was getting very dark and difficult to see anything. Novantes and Marcus rode further west and then north. Along the ridge, they came to where Roman cavalry should have been patrolling. No one was around. They must have moved on. They carried on westwards and heard sounds slightly to the north. Turning off the track, the two soldiers stared into the darkness. Roman soldiers could easily be heard as their armour clattered as they moved. The noise was recognisable. Ahead of them, a dozen soldiers stumbled out of the darkness, exhausted.
“Where’s the front line?” a soldier questioned.
“You are the front line,” Marcus shouted back.
“Get back onto the track and head to Pons Aelius,” someone shouted.
“Where are the Brigantes now?” asked Marcus.
“Right back there. They came out of nowhere,” another soldier replied. “We couldn’t hold the kiln position. We had to abandon it.”
Novates shouted back to Marcus. “Sir, our unit is here.”
There were more shouts of soldiers behind them and Marcus finally found a unit of Roman cavalry who were responsible for this area. The decurion looked relieved to see Marcus.
“We had been trying to defend the kilns sir. The Brigantes are attacking right down there,” pointed the decurion to the north slope.
Marcus called the men together. “We must counterattack and
give these men time to get back to the fort. One final charge and then we will melt away. Are you with me?”
The auxiliary troops all nodded in agreement. There were sounds of troops moving and shouts drew closer as they moved north in a line. The Roman soldiers had packed up what they could and were streaming back from their positions. It was chaos. Slaves and local men were running both north and south, some trying to flee the Romans, others wishing to stay with the Romans. Men cut across their paths several times unsure which was the safest route to go.
“Let them go,” ordered Marcus.
Suddenly out of the darkness, a group of dark shapes moved towards them. Marcus ordered his troops forward as he heard the unmistakable sound of Celtic being spoken. With swords drawn, they charged. The men of the Brigantes hadn’t expected the Roman horsemen to be there. Their short swords were no use against the long cavalry spatula which cut across them from horseback.
Roman swords cleaved into the unarmed Brigantes' limbs. Marcus saw up close his sword cut the chin upwards into a warrior below him. His head fell backwards as his throat muscle was torn open. Blood and bone had been cleaved as he fell backwards gasping for breath. Another attacker appeared from nowhere and charged at his horse with a giant spear. Marcus deflected the blow and swung around quickly to slash his back. With no armour on, the long spatha had cut between the Brigantes’ shoulder muscles, tearing them apart. The man screamed in agony and arching his back fell forward down the slope.
The cavalry line turned after the first attack to go round again and Marcus now found himself with another group of Roman soldiers who had been fleeing. They let them through and charged across the Brigantes line again. Men were running for their lives and it was a mixture of men fighting in small groups against the cavalry unit. A voice shouted that Marcus recognised. It was Blandus giving orders to his men.
Marcus moved towards the voice and found Blandus with a group of his company trying to cut back south and avoid the direct assault. Another voice called, but Marcus ignored it. He
watched in fascination as a Brigantes warrior ran directly at Blandus on his horse. The Brigantes swung his sword around as Blandus blocked it with his own. Suddenly he was pulled off his horse and the Brigantes had him by the throat. Downwards they rolled to the bottom of the hill. Marcus charged after them both. The Roman soldiers scattered as Marcus rode directly through them into the darkness. Brigantes were streaming around them. Blandus had his sword up and his jacket undone as he faced the Brigantes warrior who crouched in front of him. Both men were fixed upon each other, waiting for the next move. Marcus swept his horse down the other side of the hill and within a second had slashed his sword across the rebel's head, directly cutting his skull open at the back. The warrior fell forward, instantly dead. Blandus struggled to get to his feet.
“In Jupiter’s name, Quietus, is that you?”
Marcus looked at him in the moonlit night and replied, “I've been looking for you.”
“We should go,” said Blandus. “The Brigantes are attacking all along the line.”
“I know, I was killing them before you arrived. And I will kill more, once I’ve finished with you,” Marcus hissed.
Blandus’s face went white.
“What did you do to her, Blandus?”
The senator remained quiet and kept his sword up.
Marcus pointed his sword at Blandus.
“Is that the best you can do? Attack a woman?” sneered Marcus. “I am going to kill you this very night.”
“How dare you! You would not dare harm a senator of Rome. I shall inform the Emperor of your behaviour.”
“You beat her after you tried to rape her. How do you think the Emperor will judge that?” replied Marcus.
Blandus went quiet.
“I regret my actions. However, I have had some very bad news this day and it’s resulted in losing a significant amount of money,” complained the senator. “I got drunk and then it just happened.”
Perhaps he was expecting Marcus to feel sorry for him. Marcus dismounted his horse and scythed his sword. He picked up the crude Brigantes blade and approached Blandus. They looked into each other's eyes.
“You are not talking your way out of this, you piece of shit.”
Suddenly Blandus attacked with a wild sweeping motion across his face. Marcus pushed the old blade forward and felt the vibration through his arm as both weapons clashed. The blade was crudely made and not as strong as he would have liked. Its balance point was not like the Roman sword he had. But it would do the same job anyway. Dropping his position, he slashed it back again across Blandus’s leg and realised he had made contact. Blandus stepped back and looked at the wound. Unsure of what would happen next, he swore at Marcus. He pointed a spatha at him and stepped forward. The spatha allowed Roman cavalry soldiers the advantage of having the extra range of the longer sword. Fighting against it would not be easy. However, Marcus was glad that he had decided to fight for his life.
“I am going to kill you,” growled Marcus, “and I want you to know that no one will care for you when you’re dead. Least of all me.”
Both men squared up to each other. Blandus swung the long sword across Marcus’s body and he deflected it with the Brigantes blade. Their swords struck as Blandus swung low, trying to hit Marcus on the legs. Marcus blocked and felt the blade vibrate in his hand again. It felt like it would break. Blandus quickly made another motion to stab him in the chest. Marcus deflected the blow again and, quickly turning, cut Blandus’s throat with one strong slash. A fountain of blood gushed over his clothes as the sword went through the fatty tissue around the throat. Marcus looked into Blandus’s face of horror as he fell backwards. He was dead.
It was murder and Marcus knew it. However, he did not feel guilty. He had avenged Cornelia. He walked back up the hill towards the sounds of the fort. No one had seen him. He found his horse and, mounting it, headed back to the wall line. His cousin was the first person he stumbled across.
“Marcus, what happened?” he asked. “Senator Blandus died tonight in battle,” Marcus said calmly. The two men rode south and met up with the remaining cavalry unit. In darkness, they escorted the remaining soldiers back to the bright torches that lit up the fort at Pons Aelius. It had been a short, bad night. They had beaten off the attacks from the northern tribes both to the north and south but taken many casualties. Horns sounded the recall as they approached the fort, and everyone was glad to be behind a Roman stone wall.
“You cannot determine the outcome of future events by the misfortunes of one day”
General Scipio
(Rome had lost 70,000 men to Carthage in the battle of Po Valley. Scipio re-grouped, defeated Hannibal, sacked Carthage, and saved Rome)
CHAPTER 24
HADRIAN’S WALL
JULY 21ST 6 AM
As soon as daylight came everyone was active again. Carts were requisitioned to take away the injured, while the dead were given proper funeral rites and were burnt on pyres. Every road was jammed with wounded men. It had taken 2 days to count the number injured and the infirmaries were full of the walking wounded. Scouts were permanently posted north of the wall all along its length to report any further movements. The Roman navy sailed down the rivers to watch the coasts. Everywhere was the same: silent and empty. Only the bodies of the dead Brigantes were left in their positions. Eventually, they would be removed too. The building work had stopped. The scouts scanned the fields and hills to the north.
Nepos and Hadrian visited the line of the walls once again. At Coria, they saw the scene of devastation. Muted cheers greeted the Emperor on this occasion. Nepos pointed out something unusual about the attacks. At both Coria and Cilurnum, the attacks had come from the south.
Nepos, Hadrian, Marcus and the legates of the legions called an emergency meeting at Vindolanda. The casualty report made grim reading: 840 men dead, 176 wounded and 186 missing assumed dead. Most of the dead were auxiliaries who had been digging the ditches along the front of the wall or assisting the legionaries in building the wall. At Milecastle 12, the legionary troops had defended themselves with their digging tools. Using their spades, shovels and dolabra, they used enough force to check the assault from the north and limp back to the nearest fort.
Nepos looked at the casualty figures with interest. Blandus’s body was found and recorded on the list. No one thought it odd that his body had been found so far east from the kilns he was supposed to be protecting. The events of the night had been
muddled and there were stories of skirmishes at almost every sector of the wall. Nepos looked over to Marcus and nodded. He knew exactly what had happened.
Hadrian prepared a statement which Suetonius edited and copied and this was handed to the legates of legions to be read to all troops. The statement would also be sent to all the tribes in Britain.
“Today my heart is heavy, following an attack on Roman troops in northern Britain which killed and wounded soldiers in the province of Britannia.
While we are still gathering the facts of this attack, we know it was carried out by radical groups of the Brigantes and Selgovae tribe operating in northern Britannia. The loss of these soldiers is a despicable and wholly unjust attack in every way. We do not seek conflict in this province or anywhere else. However, we will not tolerate attacks on Roman forces. We will take all necessary actions to defend the Roman Empire, our forces and our interests.
Have no doubt, it is a fight we will not cease.
We will hold all those responsible to account at a time and in a manner of our choosing.
Signed, Emperor Hadrian, full title.”
The legates nodded their agreement. Revenge was a dish that is best served cold. They discussed the situation and the fact that some elements had attacked from the south. Tobar’s body had been found in the gateway of Arbeia fort, and clearly this showed that the rebels had some support from the Brigantes south of the wall. It was discussed at length and agreed. There should be a ditch system to the south. Not as large or deep as the northern ditch; however, something that a chariot or horse could not cross. Work on the wall would not continue until the vallum ditches on the southern side of the wall had been created.
In the central sector, this would be the priority as it remained the most important part of the building works that required protection. Troops who had been building the wall would be redistributed to the southern vallum. This would create a military zone in which the civilian population would not be allowed to
cross unless under supervision. Passing through the vallum would only now be possible by passing through defined areas. These designated areas would have forts attached to them. This would allow the Romans surveillance of those moving north to south and vice versa. Hadrian and the legates felt this was a safer option for the future of the troops manning the wall. The real problem would be dealing with the tribes from the north. Their hit-and-run tactics appeared to be successful against the wall-building project. There would have to be another method of bringing the tribes to the north under their total control.
It was only 3 days after the attack when Marcus and his cavalry unit were in the western sector, north of the wall, in anticipation of further trouble and Marcus could report to Hadrian what they had seen northwest of the wall.
“Caesar, there are hundreds of Brigantes heading further north joining with the neighbouring tribes. Novantes and I followed them for a short distance and we believe they are heading to the great hill in the west. It’s the capital of the Selgovae tribe and is known locally as Barrselgovae.
Hadrian nodded his understanding. “Where is this exactly?”
“It’s about 20 miles north of Luguvalium, sir. It was discovered under General Agricola and is the highest hill in this western area.”
“How many men are there? And are they armed?” General Nepos asked.
“A few thousand and yes, they appear to be armed.”
“It's possibly what we feared, Caesar. These tribes regard themselves as different from the southern Britons,” Nepos remarked.
“The last thing we need is an alliance between the Votadini and Brigantes and Selgovae,” Hadrian agreed.
“We have a secure relationship with the Votadini. I know their
leader to be a man who will support us, Caesar. The Selgovae, however, I am not sure about. We need to find out what they are planning next.” Nepos added, “Besides, the Votadini trade with us and would not want to risk losing that trade. I am confident they are not involved.”
“It is good they are moving north of the wall; however, I just don’t trust them after the attacks recently,” stated one of the legates in the meeting.
“With your permission, Caesar, I would like to head up there and scout the area around Barrselgovae,” stated Marcus.
A stunned silence filled the room as the legates and officers realised what Marcus was suggesting.
“You do realise that’s almost 40 miles north west of here and not in our control?” voiced Nepos.
“Yes, sir,” replied Marcus. “We plan to change out of our uniforms and blend in with the locals.”
Hadrian raised his eyes. “How do you plan to do that?”
“My cousin Novantes knows how to lime our hair and paint our bodies so we can be taken as one of them.”
“You are taking a big risk,” motioned Hadrian.
“We have to find out what’s happening,” Marcus replied.
“It's either that or we will be ever wondering when they are going to attack next,” agreed Nepos.
Hadrian agreed it was in Rome's best interests. Marcus suggested a week would be long enough to ride there, gain the information required and ride back. He would update them both in 7 days.
“May the Gods ride with you,” Hadrian declared.
Marcus left the legates of the legions, Nepos and Hadrian to discuss further tactics. The wall building was paused as the legions recovered and rearmed. The next move would have to be a careful one. Stretching the army across the wall-building project was one thing, but to get attacked from the south was entirely another. The military staff would need to ensure the next move would restore the status quo. The Romans would have their revenge somehow.
Marcus organised his pack that night and headed straight to Cornelia at Pons Aelius. She was happy to see him and was recovering well. They spent a night in each other’s arms, and he reassured her that he would be back soon. The following day, he left Pons Aelius and rode back along the wall to Vindolanda. Roman cavalry patrolled the area, but the only soldiers he encountered were from the Twentieth Legion at Vindobala and the Second Legion Augusta at Condercum. Neither camp had been attacked, despite being only partially completed, suggesting that the Brigantes had deemed it too costly a risk to engage these formidable legions.
Upon returning to Vindolanda, Marcus and Novantes left their swords and armour and dressed in old cloaks and tunics. They stripped as much as possible off themselves to look non-Roman. Heading north from Vindolanda, they passed Vercovicium fort on the wall and continued north until they met at a farm road running east–west. It was another 40 miles northwest and would take 3 days of riding. They carried on along the same road during the first day and on the second day headed directly further north. After another long day of riding, they sheltered in a forest just 5 miles south of Barrselgovae Hill beside a spring.
It was a warm July night and both men had taken their cloaks off as they settled into the forest surroundings. They dug a fire pit into the ground so that the light would not be seen and cooked a hot soup and a mixture of rations. In the morning, Novantes insisted they lime their hair as soon as possible, as there would be no Roman patrols from now on. It was an important part of being a native in Britain, especially the warrior class.
In the first batch he mixed some oil, animal fat and quicklime putty he had taken from a Roman kiln. The putty had a creamcheese-like consistency and he spread it through his cousin's hair with his fingers. The alkaline medium made Marcus wince as it slightly burnt his scalp. They both helped each other apply the mixture to their hair.
“Next we do the tattoos,” explained Novantes. “They are a mark of nobility, and not to have them is a testimony of low birth.”
Novantes added woad plant to the pot and after cooking with water it produced an indigo colour. Mixing it with more animal fat, he painted the swirling blue patterns across his cousin's face, torso and arms. “How do I look?” asked Marcus.
“Like a Celt,” smiled Novantes.
Marcus took the bowls of lime and woad and repeated the same circular patterns on his cousin. They stood back and looked at each other.
“I am not sure the Emperor would approve,” laughed Marcus. They cleaned their hands in the grass and, ensuring their horses were well tied up, headed north on foot. Within an hour and a half, they could see the great hill of the Selgovae. Swirls of smoke drifted up into the almost blue sky as traders and local people made their way around the hillfort. The great wooden gate was open on the lower hill and at least 30 warriors were standing outside on guard. Marcus noted that even from this distance they could clearly see two giant ditches around the outside of the wall. As they came closer they could see hundreds of people around the roundhouses on the hill. Traders and hunters were moving in and out of the gates with ease. No one seemed to pay any particular attention to the two Celts heading north.
“Do you speak any Celtic?” asked Marcus.
“Is brea liom tu,” replied Novantes.
“What does that mean?” asked Marcus.
“I love you,” smiled Novantes.
They were close to the front gate now and one guard nodded his acknowledgement to Marcus. Marcus gave him a slight nod back as they both stepped forward with purpose. As they passed through the gate he noted a further two deep ditches immediately inside; these took an S-shaped approach. He smiled as he realised this had been a Roman invention. Clearly, the Selgovae also thought that any potential attacker should not run straight into the main entrance of their camp also.
Marcus and Novantes followed the worn stone path up the hill now, passing further Selgovae warriors and roundhouses. They
kept climbing the steep slope. It was an impressive sight at the top, with an all-round 360-degree view. Cows and sheep were penned inside wooden fences as the two took the opportunity to pause and look south again.
Any kind of frontal attack would be costly for the Romans, Marcus noted. It would be a difficult task to take this hill. They turned and took in the view to the west. Half way up the hill were a further two ditches around the outside and another wooden palisade wall. This appeared to be where most of the high-status houses were built and where the great hall was. More guards stood at the entrance. A large number of people were outside it shouting and yelling about something. Everyone appeared to be watching the spectacle and getting excited. Novantes immediately started to walk towards them. Marcus tried to look nonchalant following him.
Outside the great hall a crowd had formed into a circle and inside it two men were fighting. It didn’t take long before they realised it was a Roman legionary who had been captured. The two men had circled each other and had swords drawn. The Roman had a long blunt sword. The Selgovae warrior had a similar sharp sword. Both had made cuts against each other; however, it looked like the Roman had come off worse. Knowing what was about to happen he had tried to defend against the better swordsman. Marcus looked keenly at the Selgovae warrior. He moved swiftly and gracefully and struck the Roman soldier on the arm. The crowd let out a howl of delight. His fate was already decided and he was just delaying the inevitable. Novantes and Marcus made eye contact again and moved away from everyone.
A frontal attack was always the preferred Roman method of assault. But it would be costly for the Romans to try to climb a hill like this with so many houses and obstacles in the way. Marcus noted a gate on the north side also. It wasn’t as big as the southern one; however, it was defended with double ditches also. A cry of joy went up and they both turned to see the Roman staggering from a strike to the chest. Great yelps of delight filled the air as the crowd celebrated. Marcus flicked his head to leave and Novantes followed him. They had seen enough. More northern warriors
appeared and Marcus knew it was time to go. They were heavily armed with axes, spears and small shields. They both casually carried on walking down the hill. From this distance it would be a short run to get through the gates, and Marcus tried to make it seem as if they were just out for a stroll.
The conversations from the nearby warriors were getting louder. Marcus gripped the Roman dagger hidden by his side. He looked at the nearest warrior and saw the same Roman sword he usually carried. There was laughter and some comments were being made between two of them. Keep your head down and keep going, Marcus reassured himself. He pointed out something in the distance to Novantes on his left and they both made their way quietly through the gate, unchallenged.
It was with a sigh of relief that they were through the final gates and back down the path. They found their horses still tied in the woods and headed back. For 3 days they rode south, avoiding the northern tribes and looking out for any Roman patrols. When they finally did find one it was with mixed emotions. The decurion of the Roman unit immediately charged his 30 men to face Novantes and Marcus riding towards them.
“We are Romans!” shouted Marcus a dozen times with his dagger above his head. “We are on a mission for General Nepos.”
“Don’t I know you?” asked the confused decurion.
“Yes, I am Marcus Quietus. I command the cavalry in this area. I need to speak with General Nepos.”
“You might want to wipe that blue stuff off your face before you meet him,” replied the decurion.
Marcus smiled. He had already used the water in his bottle to clean the swirl marks as best he could; however, the lime in his hair was impossible to remove.
“We are heading to Vindolanda, sir, so we will escort you back,” agreed the decurion. Despite some strange looks at the main gate, the duty centurion let them in upon answering his questions. Marcus saluted him.
“Commander Marcus Quietus and Decurion Novantes reporting. Returning from a mission for General Nepos.”
The centurion looked closely at Marcus.
“Aren't you the man who saved the Emperor's life?”
“I did, centurion,” Marcus responded.
The centurion nodded to the decurion. “This man is blessed by the Gods. Better show him to the Emperor as he requested.”
They made their way up the wide Roman road towards the white-washed sign that said praetorium. The soldiers outside looked equally confused until the Imperial Secretary appeared.
“Is that you, Marcus?”
“It is, Suetonius,” replied a relieved Marcus. “I need to see the Emperor urgently.”
The soldiers relaxed at the Imperial Secretary's response and the men were shown into the great wooden entrance of the praetorium.
~O~
Whilst they were away, Nepos thought it was better that he have a conversation with Hadrian in private as soon as possible.
“There are several private matters that are confidential, Caesar, which we should discuss,” Nepos remarked, businesslike. Hadrian glanced up from the table.
“This seems very serious for you,” he smiled at his friend.
“It is my duty to report to you some bad news, Caesar.”
Hadrian stopped studying the map in front of him and looked Nepos squarely in the face.
“There is no one I trust more than you, my friend.”
“I have just received a letter from Marcus Turbo this hour via an urgent dispatch.” He handed the letter to Hadrian and gave him some time to read it.
“It would appear that someone is supplying the Senate with exact details of what resources and costs we have been incurring in this project. The people who would know these exact details would be the legates of the legions. Plus, you, me and … Suetonius.”
“There are only four people in the world I trust, sire: you,
Legate Caelianus of the Sixth Legion, Legate Urbicus of the Second Legion and Prefect Turbo in Rome. So anyone else could be using this information. However, as you know when you had your ‘accident’, there were several people who acted against you.”
Hadrian nodded his understanding.
“I had two visitors from the frumentarii report to me, sir. It would appear that while you were unconscious Suetonius began a relationship with your wife.”
Hadrian looked surprised but not upset.
“Marcus’s wife also reported to the frumentarii that she had seen him leave her quarters early one morning.”
Nepos paused to let the details sink in.
“It would appear that Suetonius passed the information to her and she perhaps passed it on to Senator Blandus.”
There was a long pause as Hadrian thought about the possibility.
“That snake. I am glad he is no longer here. If what you thought Marcus did to him is correct, then he did the right thing.” Hadrian wrung his hands in anger. He paced the floor thinking, trying to comprehend what was happening.
“There is one final matter, Caesar. Prefect Clarus also appeared to be having meetings with Senator Blandus. The frumentarii reported to me that a large sum of monies has been paid into his bank account in Rome.”
Hadrian paused to consider the evidence again. A deep sigh left his mouth and he slumped down onto the couch. The large heavy curtain was pulled back across the entrance to the praetorium and the clearing of a throat announced someone's presence.
“We are not to be disturbed,” barked Nepos.
“It is Prefect Quietus back from his scouting mission, General,” replied Suetonius.
Hadrian and Nepos had obviously just been in a deep conversation and the Emperor did not look happy. He was drinking a large glass of wine. There was a real atmosphere in the room and something else was said by the Emperor about dealing with the matter later.
“Send him in, Suetonius,” eventually said Hadrian. He smiled
a false smile and Suetonius knew instinctively something was wrong.
“How did your mission go?” the Emperor asked as Marcus entered the room.
“There are thousands of men in the hillfort of the Selgovae, Caesar. It looks like they are preparing for war. We saw men with swords, shields and axes entering the fort. Their casualties have been coming back there too.”
“If they are returning their injured then that is proof enough they were behind the attacks,” Hadrian said quickly.
“How many are there exactly, would you say?” asked Nepos quietly.
“Around 3,000 warriors and at least as many civilians.”
General Nepos thought about the situation and concluded that a direct frontal assault would win the day.
“Sir, they have an S-shaped approach inside the fort just like we do at the main entrance. Any unit entering the front gate would suffer high casualties.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Nepos.
“An artillery assault would be required first, General. There is a high hillock south of the hillfort which we could use for an artillery position. There is another hillock to the northwest which we could also use to stop their retreat with my cavalry.”
“Excellent idea,” agreed the General. “A full artillery barrage from the south to soften them up and then a frontal assault to finish them. We could fire at the main gate and keep the shots high while the assault team get into position.”
“We have plenty of arrows to make them keep their heads down while the main assault group closes on the gate,” he added.
“I hope so, sir,” agreed Marcus.
“Go and get some warm food and a bath. I am sure you are desperate to be cleaned up,” smiled Hadrian.
“We are, sir,” replied Marcus. Marcus saluted and left.
“A lengthy bombardment of the front defence and a fullfrontal attack! What if the Selgovae and Brigantes proved tougher than we thought and held us back?” asked Hadrian.
“If I can get the artillery within 300 yards of them, sire, I think
you will find that nothing moves faster than a steel bolt travelling at 100 mph,” Nepos said, smiling.
“About the other matter,” remarked Hadrian. “I will not accept such disrespect from Suetonius. He has taken advantage of my kindness. The consequences of his actions should be direct. Sincerity and loyalty are values I hold high. He should no longer be employed in the army or any public office.”
Hadrian paused and picked up a book from the shelf. “This is not survival; this is a conquest. Every setback is a setup for a stronger comeback. I am the architect of my fate. Bring him to me in 2 hours.”
Nepos placed his hand on his friend’s shoulders. “The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow. I will see to him as you command.”
Two hours later, in a small room off the main praetorium, Suetonius sat with a candle, reading a book, unaware of what had happened. A small bed lay across the corner of the room and the main feature of the room was the massive bookcase which covered the wall and the desk underneath where he sat. Nepos pulled back the curtain and with a solemn face looked at the Imperial Secretary.
“The Emperor wishes to see you.”
“Of course,” said Suetonius, putting down his book and stepping out of his room.
Caesar’s main room was in semi-darkness and Suetonius went immediately to light another candle.
“I like to think in the dark,” said Hadrian.
“As you wish, Caesar,” replied Suetonius. “You called for me, sire?”
“Yes. What is the most popular book that you wrote?” enquired Hadrian.
Suetonius smiled. “It would be the Life of the Twelve Caesars, Emperor.”
“And all the Caesars you write about in a particular way, I hear? One that is packed with drama, gossip and sensationalism?” asked Hadrian.
“Well, of course,” smiled Suetonius. “Readers like to hear about the rumours and hearsey.”
“I wonder what rumours you will write about in my time as Caesar?” questioned Hadrian.
“Ha! I won’t be revealing my stories,” laughed Suetonius.
“What about the rumour of the Imperial Secretary who has a relationship with the Emperor's wife?!” demanded Hadrian.
Suetonius quickly looked away. He dropped his head down toward the floor and shook it.
“I was not aware of this rumour,” he said quietly, looking back at Hadrian.
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” stated Hadrian flatly. “It has been noted by others.”
There was a long pause in the conversation. Suetonius looked at Nepos who now stood at the front door of the praetorium beside another guard. At the back entrance, another praetorian soldier stood in the shadows. He hadn’t noticed them before the conversation started. He walked towards Hadrian and bowed his head.
“Caesar, the Empress is a friend whom I care for deeply. Forgive me.”
“For 3 years you have been my Imperial Secretary. Every letter and correspondence I have received and written has passed through your hands. Every detail of the Empire and my life has been kept in confidence. Until now.”
“Forgive me, Caesar. It was not my intention to … cause you any embarrassment,” repeated Suetonius.
“You have broken my confidence in you,” thundered Hadrian. “You can no longer be trusted. You are dismissed with immediate effect. And remember, if you wish to live a long life, there won’t be any mention of my name in any of your books,” advised Hadrian.
Suetonius looked down at the floor once again. “Of course, Caesar.”
Out of the shadows another figure appeared at the back. Suetonius looked up in apprehension, not knowing who it was. The more the shadow moved into the light, the more his eyes tried to make out who it was. The silhouette was covered with a shawl pulled over her head. A crème bodice was fitted to their body revealing tight curves. Suetonius recognised the face immediately.
It was a face he had studied and fallen in love with a thousand times. They stared into each other’s eyes one final time. Their dreams gone. He turned towards the Empress and acknowledged her presence with a bow.
“Forgive me, Empress,” was all he could say before an arm moved him backwards and out the door.
Back in Suetonius’s room, both men looked at each other. Nepos's face remained unsmiling.
“By order of the Emperor, you are to leave the province tonight.”
Suetonius struggled to speak. “But my books and my diaries.”
“Grab what you can and put it in your bag. You're to be on a boat this evening.”
Nepos stepped closer to Suetonius and whispered into his face, “There are consequences for messing around with the Emperor's wife. You should count yourself lucky you are alive.”
Two soldiers quickly manhandled the secretary as he grabbed a few books into a bag.
“Take him to the main gate and make sure he leaves,” hissed Nepos.
They removed his identity papers from him and pushed him outside the gate.
That evening Nepos had all the artillery units and two legions make ready for a move the next day. The Second Legion Augusta and the Sixth Legion Victrix would move north, with the Twentieth Legion staying behind to guard the wall and supply lines. They would be keen to exact revenge for their fallen comrades.
Nepos paused late in the evening to consider the situation. He had both a professional relationship and a friendship with the Emperor. He would make sure that both were fulfilled as best he could. Hadrian appeared to have been betrayed by those he trusted most. He would ensure that his friend would be successful in the province no matter what the circumstances were. He knew Hadrian and he wasn’t a perfect person, yet he had a large heart and his generosity was enormous. His path to greatness lay within his own potential, Nepos was certain of that.
He had never met a man who was as sure of his own self as the Emperor Hadrian.
“Let him who desires peace prepare for war”
Publius Flavius Renatus
CHAPTER 25
HADRIAN’S WALL, PROVINCE OF BRITANNIA
JULY 29TH 9 AM
Hadrian realised that the final conquest of the north was within his grasp. The barbarians who had survived and got away had probably returned to their homes north of the wall. Moreover, the summer season was waning and there was only one thing left to do. After taking hostages and extracting the information required, they all said the same thing. Lurking in the hills to the northwest was what was left of the armies in the north.
The Roman advantage of numbers would resolve the issue once and for all; then and only then could they return to the business of building the wall. Those living in the lands bordering the wall would forever be taught a lesson that they were not imperious to Roman rule. The rest of the Brigantes to the south, for the most part, lived the Roman way, and they were the Brigantes the Romans wanted to keep and be part of the Empire. Culturally the southern Brigantes were the group who possessed what was unique about Britain. Their society was different and they appreciated being part of the Empire. They had witnessed the might of Rome, but, more importantly, had seen the prosperity that peace with Rome could bring.
Hadrian had a choice now regarding the northern tribes: either leave them there for them to be the inevitable nuisance of hit-andrun ambushes or root them out now. He and his officers knew the location of the hillfort to the north, but not much else, apart from what Marcus had reported. However, Hadrian felt that with the number of troops he carried they would win the day.
Nepos ordered the Second and Sixth Legions to be ready by the next day. Their legates indicated they would be leaving behind any non-essential equipment for the 3-day march. All building work stopped, and the carts and oxen that had been used to carry stone from the quarry to the wall were now brought
forward to transport the ballista and heavy equipment. Marcus was instructed to bring half of his 800 troopers north to support the infantry. They would scout the way ahead and behind and provide cover for the army when moving. The scouts were even more cautious than usual, owing to the presence of the Emperor.
At first light of dawn, men were busy packing their kit, swords and shields. Now ready, a long column of infantry, some 10,000 legionary troops, moved out. The sun caught their metal segmented armour as they marched north out of the main gate and towards the flat lands outside the wall area.
The fields were dry underfoot and it allowed the artillery travelling in wagons to make a decent speed. Marcus led the way in one of the cavalry units scouting ahead. Behind them came the light infantry, some archers from Syria and slingers from Spain. Behind them next came the first cohort: a double cohort of 1,000 men who were the fittest and most able men who would head up the assault. In the middle came the Eagles of the two legions and the Imperial standard of the Emperor, along with General Nepos and Hadrian himself. The artillery came next, in multiple wagons, along with supply wagons of food pulled by mules and donkeys laden with goods. Behind them rode further staff officers with the same layout as the front. Further heavy infantry, skirmishers and light cavalry were at the back in case anyone got behind them. It was the standard arrangement when the army was moving through a hostile area.
The army did not march at full pace, given the heavy equipment they were carrying. After some 15 miles they dug themselves a temporary fort for an overnight stay. The explorers were a small team of engineers who travelled behind the scouts at the front of the line. When they found a good place to camp, they would set about marking out the area with wooden pegs. Once the rectangular layout was staked, the Emperor's tent would be set up first. Within a few hours, the overnight camp which had been laid out was roughly the size of 250 acres and could contain the 10,000 men brought in the advance. Even if only half the men were employed in digging, as they arrived each man would have to dig no more than a cubic metre of earth out, all around the
perimeter. Then palisade timbers were placed inside the ditch, guards posted, and everyone settled down for the night.
They rose early the next morning and backfilled the ditch. For 3 days they continued north without seeing any enemy presence. The scouts reported back every 2 hours. They had seen some broken hovels in the fields but they had recently been deserted. There appeared to be no one around. The birds sang in the trees in the distance and the fields lay unploughed. On the third day, they saw the great hill in the distance. Marcus confirmed its location to General Nepos and the battle plan was put into operation. The hill was an enormous plug of earth which dominated the area. Dozens of swirls of grey smoke rose up into the blue sky. The engineers chose a place for a fortified Roman camp just southwest of the lower hill. They set about digging ditches and laying out the palisade walls for real this time.
Once again the endless march of boots thumped the dry ground as wagons, animals and men were brought forward into the southern camp. The Brigantes and Selgovae had pulled everyone back inside their palisade walls. Thousands of them, heavily armed, stood on the wall or just inside the main gate shouting at the Romans. Threats, blasphemy and curses were thrown at the Romans every hour.
Overnight the artillery officers selected three positions to the southeast of the camp. These were built up with wooden platforms and additional soil added inside them. The scorpions and ballista were moved up via a platform at the back and rolled forward into position. The main southern gate of the hillfort was now in range of their weapons.
In the northwest another smaller Roman fortified camp was positioned. This time two ballista positions were created covering the gate to the north. Soldiers kept guard at the front as the heavy artillery was moved into position. Tarps were pulled over them to keep the ropes dry. Great blocks of wood were placed under their feet to keep them steady.
Marcus had taken 300 men and moved to a position to the northwest in the smaller camp. It would be them that would cut off the retreat of any warriors trying to escape. They had set up
their tents in the middle of camp with their horses close by.
The army stood at ready, which essentially meant they rested with their armour on. Armourers sharpened the swords of every soldier and each man checked his legionary plate or chainmail for last-minute weak points that could cost a man his life. That night Nepos set a new watchword – Hadrian. Password – Victory. He moved through the camp with his aides, reassuring his men, repeating his orders to the legates and the centurions. There was only one word on everyman's lips. Tomorrow. Lookouts watched the hillfort constantly since it was so close that there would be little time to react. It appeared all was quiet. The northern Britons remained inside their wooden walls. As darkness fell, the jeers from the hill fell silent.
Vordimus and Ortagorus were worried. They looked south at the Roman fixed artillery and realised this would be where the main attack would come from. The tribal leaders met in the great hall for one final time. “We must fight for the Gods,” Braint the dreamer stated. “They will protect us with great thunderbolts.”
Bran's voice rose up out of the group. “We fight for the people. We are their warriors and protectors. These Romans have not come here for a season but for a lifetime. Perhaps many lifetimes.”
Ortagorus agreed. “Together we will destroy them. The other tribes will join us when they see what we can do. We must ensure no Roman wall is built. We must ensure no Romans return to our lands.”
They would fight to defend this hill to the last man. Vordimus had already decided he would lead the night attack when it was darker. It was July and the summer evenings were light. He would take 20 men around from the northern gate and attack the ballistas in the south. Ortagorus had tried to persuade him not to go ahead. However, they both knew that if they did not attack the ballista, it was a foregone conclusion. They had to delay the attack or at least
make it as difficult as possible for them. Neither had expected that the Romans would have brought so much artillery with them. Nevertheless, they were sure their six ditches and heavy walls would be more than enough to keep them safe. They had plenty of food and cattle and their own water supply. They could easily outlast the Romans in terms of a long siege.
Around the third hour of the night, Vordimus quietly took his men out of the northern gate as quickly as he could. The men crept around the south wall towards the artillery under cover of the dark moonless night. Crouching low they kept down beside the wall and made it around to the southern side without being seen. They sprinted the last few hundred yards towards the nearest ballista. Some men hacked at the two wooden arms with an axe; others cut the ropes and broke the legs. The noise was barely noticeable.
The next group had just about got to the second ballista when all hell broke loose. Archers placed around the middle ballista had initially thought these men were Romans. Once they saw them attack the first ballista they let loose with their arrows. A handful of men were instantly injured. The Brigantes heard the cry from the Roman troops and realised they had been discovered. However, they pushed on to take the next ballista at least, charging the archers. More men fell. The archers fired one final shot and then fell back, giving ground. Vordimus knew they had such little time to damage this ballista. They hacked at its arms again and broke the legs. He could hear the rush of armoured men closing in on them. Quickly he called to his men to fall back to the north gate. They jumped down off the raised ground and sprinted back.
Decurion Atot had been watching the northern gate closely. He heard something but was unsure exactly what it was. He called out to his turmae of horsemen and they sped off towards the south side of the hillfort where he heard the noises. Only now could he make out an outline of warriors running away from the ballista and the cry of the alarm given by the Roman archers. As the remaining Brigantes drew closer, Atot drew his sword and charged at the leader of the men. Vordimus’s left arm was cut cleanly off, the speed of the horse combined with the swing of the blade slicing through both tissue and bone. His brachial artery was severed and
spouting blood, as Vordimus looked down in surprise at what remained of his arm. Unbalanced, he instantly fell to the ground. The Roman cavalry swept through the Brigantes and the warriors fought as best they could, but they were no match against the longer-length Roman spatha of the troopers and they all perished.
Marcus had not heard the initial alarm but was woken by one of his own cavalrymen.
“Sir, you need to come quickly. It's Decurion Atot.”
Marcus quickly ordered his 30 men to go with him and they sped out of the gates of the northern fort. It was still pitch black but he followed the sounds of the other cavalrymen's voices. He arrived to find the troopers standing around with Atot lying on the ground. He quickly got off his horse as another trooper explained what had happened. They had already called for a medic to attend. Marcus could tell from their faces they were not expecting his survival. Marcus bent down and took Atot’s hand. An axe had gone through his chainmail armour. Atot smiled at Marcus.
“What were you thinking, jumping in like some fresh recruit, Atot?” Marcus chided him.
“Just doing my job sir,” grimaced the decurion.
“You’re a good soldier, Atot,” Marcus reassured him. “The medic will be here shortly to fix you up.”
His face was white and he gripped Marcus's arm tightly, pulling him towards him.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, as he brought up a mouthful of blood.
“Never fear,” replied Marcus, “all decurions go to Elysium with Mars. Wait for me there, brother.”
Atot smiled a bloody red grin as his mouth filled with more blood. He sighed a great sigh as his eyes rolled back in his head. Marcus took a deep breath of fresh night air. He pulled his eyelids down and closed them. He called to the others, “Let’s get him back to the fort.”
The cavalry troopers wrapped Atot in their cloak and carried him back to the fort in silence. There were no further attacks during the night as the Romans stationed more troops around the ballista. The engineers worked under the cover of darkness to fix
the two ballistas that had been damaged. Darkness swallowed the night and with it came total quietness. ~O~
Hadrian and Nepos looked out to the front gate as the sun came up. Birds were chirping in the bushes and rabbits ran between them as the soldiers awoke. The sound of thousands of men washing, dressing and eating filled the air. Orders were shouted to the legions and trumpets sounded the commands. The army was preparing for battle. The engineers had worked throughout the night to fix the two damaged units as best they could. All three ballistas would be able to fire at the short range into the hillfort.
The artillerymen strained under the weight of lifting the great beasts behind the platforms and, eventually, they had pushed them up onto their raised platforms on the assault deck. Each ballista had a name – usually from the soldiers who operated them. The mule, the bull and the scorpion were common names. They had two separate wooden arms which were tensioned back by the sinew ropes and a winch at the back. Each time the winch was forced further back, it stored a massive amount of energy in the sinew rope.
A century of skirmishers and archers were positioned in front of the platform with arrows and lead shots. Once again, shouting from inside the hillfort was resumed. Soon the assault cohort was in position at the front with a small group of engineers with ladders. They could hear the chanting of the warriors from inside the fort, thousands of them jeering and shouting abuse at the Romans.
The legions lined up in formation, with the first cohort assault team at the front. Commands were issued to the next groups to make ready. The legates prepared their men and the centurions shouted their instructions. An eerie silence now fell across the Roman troops just before the attack. There would be no further noise with the exception of the officers’ commands.
The Romans stood in silence in their ranks of formation awaiting their instructions, whilst the Brigantes and Selgovae screamed and threatened them from within the walls.
Hadrian and Nepos made eye contact. Upon command, Nepos let the barrage begin. Hundreds of lead bullets and arrows shot through the air and over the fence. Shouts and jeers now turned to cries of pain. Bolts from the ballistas whistled overhead and strafed the main gate and walls. Some ballista bolts overshot and landed in the enclosure behind, with deadly screams as they hit multiple soft targets.
The archers let loose fire arrows, which enclosed a flammable wrapping around the head of the arrow. When these struck an object, they would ignite and burn intensely. The Romans discovered that, despite the short range of the fire arrows, the psychological impact they had on the enemy's morale was significant. Plumes of smoke rose from two of the closest roundhouses as their grass roofs caught fire.
Nepos observed a giant warrior waving his spear above the wall of the gate when a bolt suddenly struck him in the chest, causing him to stumble back out of sight as if swatting away a fly.
“Listen closely, Caesar,” Nepos inclined. As the slingers shot their lead bullets across the field and over the walls they whistled a low noise. Hundreds and hundreds of lead bullets were fired. The noise was like a deep hum of bees. Hadrian wondered which was more frightening, the noise of incoming bullets or being hit by them. More groans sounded from inside as more bullets and fire arrows were fired over the walls. Soon the Brigantes and Selgovae realised it was not safe even behind their wooden palisade wall.
The Romans’ 20-man assault party carried leather harnesses across their shoulders and now picked up the giant trunk of wood. Under cover of the aerial bombardment, they moved forward with the sharpened trunk and started to batter the main gate. Another command to stop firing was relayed to the ballistas and archers as the assault team reached the gate. It would be too dangerous to their men if any bolts or arrows fell short. Another 20 men
now ran forward and, lifting their shields above the men’s heads, provided protection from any opportunist threat. The doors on the gate were being thudded every few seconds. The men were well practised at swinging the ram with speed and the giant doors were starting to be damaged. What seemed like an hour passed and still the men swung the ram with force.
Too afraid to look out, the Britons remained huddled behind the wooden wall. A loud splintering noise sounded as the ram hit the locking bar in the gate. Again and again they swung the ram, making louder noises. “Just a little longer,” cried Nepos. A hail of rocks and stones were thrown from inside the fort, but the testudo was already in position and it bounced harmlessly off their curved shields.
“Assault party get ready,” ordered Nepos as over 1,000 men from the first cohort stood waiting to rush in. Again and again the gate was hit until finally the locking bar was split in two and the left gate fell off its hinges.
“Now’s your time, Decimus,” shouted Nepos to the officer of the assault team.
With a giant roar, the 1,000 men ran forward. As if on command, the ram party split in two and down the centre and the assault team pushed forward. Shields up, swords drawn, the first cohort were the best and hardest troops the Romans had. An avalanche of stones and rocks greeted their arrival on the other side and some men were stunned and fell; however, the majority never stopped and surged into the space. A volley of spears was thrown at the front line of the Roman troops as they pushed past the broken gate. However, they had expected this and kept their shields up for protection.
With hundreds of Romans now surging forward, space became a premium. Men who were injured could not fall over and were kept up by the pressing of bodies on both sides. Now they were through the gate they had to negotiate the S-shaped bend. Limiting their width, the soldiers formed their shield wall. It would be a difficult task under normal conditions; however, the Romans had brought their Syrian archers with them. A dozen men behind them popped up and fired at point-blank into the
Britons on the other side. More than 20 were killed within a few seconds and it made the S-shaped turn easier to get through. They kicked the dying men into the ditch on either side and moved on. Feet stamping on the ground, voices in unison, step by step they moved forward through the bend and out onto the broad hillside.
The grunts of “hu–hu” at every step of the soldiers seemed to will them on. Keeping their feet and shields tight was of vital importance. They had learned that if they stuck together and moved as one, they suffered fewer casualties. Hundreds of northern Britons were attacking their line at the front. Swords and axes came from all angles as the soldiers struggled to keep their shields upright. This was the time of maximum danger and they had to keep moving forward. The Selgovae and Brigantes threw everything at them. Soldiers dropping their shields through tiredness were speared by warriors at the front. They hacked at any soldiers who showed them their chest or dropped their shield too low. However, the Romans had practised this move a hundred times. Onwards they ploughed, keeping their shields up and looking for opportunities to stab any warriors with their gladii.
Braint, the warrior and dreamer, stood close to the gate with the other druids of the Selgovae. They screamed at the Romans. They blasphemed at every man who was Roman and cursed them with their Gods’ oaths. The noise and high-pitched screaming were intense. The Roman assault team paused, almost waiting to see what would happen. The centurion on the front rank had seen and heard it all before.
“Remember you are men!” he cried. The command brought them back to reality and they moved forwards once again.
A giant Selgovae warrior threw his long axe into the front line of the Romans and it hit a soldier's shield. He recoiled as the warrior swiftly speared his companion at the side who was exposed. The young Roman soldier fell backwards into his own troops. An order was shouted by the centurion on the front line as the soldier behind him filled the gap and reformed the shield wall immediately. The warrior tried again to attack the new soldier in front of him. His spear was deflected by the Roman shield and
suddenly the Roman lunged forward with his gladius and stabbed the unsuspecting warrior in the stomach. He staggered back and fell dying.
Immediately, the scarlet shields made their shield wall again. A gap now existed between the two sides as the Roman shields protected themselves and their friends. Inch by inch the Romans stepped forward, stabbing at everything in front of them and bringing their shields back in time to cover any attack. It was impossible to break the wall of shields. More and more troops flooded through the S-shaped bend in reinforcement. The Britons had already lost their opportunity to defend it.
An individual swordsman of high status attacked the Roman soldier in front of him. His gold torque glinted from around his chest as he brought down his axe upon the shield. He split it in two and proceeded to hack the soldier behind it to death. Another soldier stepped into his space just as quickly and, this time, as the warrior went to hack, he was stabbed with ease by the soldier's companion to his side. The warrior looked astonished and in his dying moments went berserk at the soldier in front of him. Again the same soldier moved his shield to the right and stabbed at the open target with just the tip of his sword. A plume of blood spewed out and the warrior fell. The Romans stepped around him as someone in the next line finished him off quickly. Onwards they moved, step by step, the grunts of hu–hu at every step.
Blade after blade was being stuck into flesh and twisted back as quickly as possible. Despite the large numbers of Britons, their techniques were not working and the Romans were pushing them back. The warriors were too tightly packed to wield their long swords in such a small area. Suddenly now more arrows flew from the southern side. The men at the ballista and bowmen had readjusted their range of fire. Down rained hundreds of deadly arrows, piercing the unarmoured Britons. It was dangerously close to the Romans too. Another 20 feet and they would be shot by their own troops. As quickly as it had started, it stopped. It was enough to have the desired effect on the Britons though. Slowly they began to crumble backwards. Too many of their tribesmen
had been slaughtered in such a short space of time. Their morale had taken a battering. All was lost. Ortagorus looked on in rage. Despite their best attempts, the defenders had been beaten; their mighty wall and outer defences had fallen. Smoke drifted across the lower hilltop obscuring the view. Cries of wounded men in agony sounded around them. It was chaos as men ran backwards, while some were still attacking the Roman troops.
“Get back up the hill,” screamed Ortagorus. The remaining men and wounded saw their leader pointing towards the enclosure of the hill. They took a few steps backwards and began to run towards the next line of defence.
Ortagorus looked around himself once again. Men were running but there were too many Romans in front of them. He had lost control of this gate.
“Fall back up the hill,” he shouted again at the remaining warriors.
The Romans paused after getting through the S-shaped bend and reformed their lines with ease. Ortagorus noted they appeared to be holding back. He looked up at the central gate and shouted once again for his men to take cover inside the new defence of the gate. The Britons had withdrawn as many men as they could and locked the gate leading into the central hill. Behind him stood the men who would make their stand. He moved quickly over to the north side and the Roman camp that faced it. There were no Roman troops visible. Had the Romans really concentrated every man on the southern side?
Surely they would be not that naïve? He had an idea. He gathered the women and children and reassured them of their safety. With a hundred men going with them, they could probably escape the siege and head north. He shouted instructions to open the gate and quickly the women and children streamed out, down the slope. Another wave of arrows and bullets of lead hit the inner camp now. They had readjusted their fire again and moved closer. A scorpion bolt just passed over his head and hit a warrior not 20 feet behind him. The rain of arrows and slingshots was intense. More and more men were being hit. “Get behind the walls,” shouted Ortagorus.
Marcus and his men had remained hidden, waiting for the perfect moment to attack from the northern fort. He glanced one last time over the fort wall to see the crowd of people streaming out of the northern gate. After assessing the situation, he issued orders to his men. “Every man with a sword in his hand gets cut down.”
They waited as long as they could and now sprung the trap. They jumped onto their horses and rode out. Upon their appearance, the women screamed and dragged their children faster. Marcus rode towards the warriors at the front and aimed for the largest. They charged across the short distance with their spatha raised. It was difficult not to hit any civilians as the horses ran across the lines, knocking people down. Marcus swung his sword across the warrior leading the group and heard the clang of metal on metal. Turning his horse sharply, he swung a second time and once again hit the warrior's sword.
The third successive quick strike appeared to catch his hand and he dropped the sword and continued to run. Marcus chased after him and ran him down with a sword thrust as the Briton turned with his dagger in his hand. The women were screaming even louder. Marcus looked around as more Roman cavalrymen joined them. A lime-washed warrior near him ran straight towards him with his sword raised. Marcus moved swiftly out of the way and caught his arm with a wide sweep. Suddenly he noticed more people coming out of the north gate – it was open. He shouted to his turmae of 30 troopers to follow him. They left the battle and headed straight towards this new group exiting the gate.
“Quickly,” Marcus shouted to Novantes, “get in the gate!” He pointed with his sword.
The next group running out had already seen Marcus and the cavalrymen and were heading away in a different direction. Marcus ignored them and headed directly for the gate. Someone was closing it. They had to get through that gate and attack the Britons on the other side.
Ortagorus and the other leaders were shouting instructions at their men inside the wall. They took cover behind the houses and the great hall in the centre. The Roman infantry had struggled to
get through the S-shaped bend at the start and now carefully they clambered across the new gateway and additional two ditches which had been dug around the outside. Again, the assault team brought up the giant battering ram. The locking bar on this gate broke much more easily. It took less than ten swings to break the gate at the hinges.
The arrows and slingshot had stopped raining down on them. Braint and the other druids lay dead inside the enclosure. The arrow strikes and bullets had taken their lives. Ortagorus screamed at his men to form lines facing the gate. They moved quickly with their swords and small shields.
The blood-red cloaks of the Roman soldiers could be seen in the gateway. Shields up, swords out, they marched in step with just eyes peering over the top. The centurion in the front rank shouted orders. The men extended their line perfectly as they came through the gate. For just a moment Ortagorus marvelled at the precision in their drill – professional soldiers fighting as a unit.
The warriors nearest him screamed their war cry and ran straight into the line of shields. Many others did the same and the initial impact seemed to knock the Romans backwards. However, they soon recovered and within a few moments they were cut down. He made for the nearest soldier and struck his helmet with his heavy axe. It cleaved the soldier's head in two. Ortagorus kicked the soldier's shield and backwards he fell. The soldier behind him did not have enough time to react and Ortagorus knew this was his moment. He struck the man’s shield with another giant kick and swung his axe across his head. The soldier automatically recoiled upon seeing the axe but it hit the soldier next to him. Down went the soldier to the ground, dropping his shield, and suddenly there was a hole in the Roman lines. Ortagorus shouted to his men and more men stepped forward towards the line. He struck another soldier. The shields were still being held. Ortagorus swung his axe in a giant circle, just hoping to hit another target. Suddenly without warning, it struck another shield beside him. He looked around, pleased to see another target, when a soldier to his left cut his arm. Ortagorus reached for his short sword and swept it
across the Roman’s face. His mouth was cut open from cheek to cheek as he fell backwards. The Roman line recoiled backwards again, creating more space. The Roman advance appeared to have temporarily stopped. Both sides were exhausted from the intense fighting. Men caught their breath for just a few seconds as both sides waited for the other to move. Roman centurions were shouting orders to reform.
Marcus had just got to the north gate a few seconds after seeing it close. He urged his horse into the gate and it slammed into the two Brigantes warriors behind it, knocking them over. He looked behind again to see Novantes and the remaining troops just a few feet away as a warrior charged his position with a spear.
Bran raised his spear and threw it at the Roman trooper's horse with all his might. It hit the horse in the side as he had planned and down it fell. Bran pulled out his sword and swept it across the soldier who had now fallen in front of him. The Roman quickly pulled his sword and deflected the blow. Bran had to get the door closed. He could hear shouts of more Romans close by. He swung his sword across the fallen Roman again and this time it missed him. This man had moved faster than his size suggested. The gates on the north side now suddenly burst open with more horsemen as Novantes and his troops came galloping in. His troops had made it just in time as they swung their spatha at Bran and the warriors trying to close the gates. Within a few minutes they had killed the Britons trying desperately to close the gate. More Roman cavalry came behind them. They had made it to the highest hill.
Ortagorus heard a commotion behind him. Their lines crashed into one another again. Each man was fighting his own battle. Ortagorus could not afford to look around him and he kept his concentration on the Romans to his front. His long sword arm struck over the reach of the shield and killed another Roman soldier behind it. He recovered his balance and looked around for another target. He felt a sharp pain in his back. Marcus and Novantes stood behind him and withdrew their swords from his unarmed back. He looked around in surprise and tried to say something. He stumbled backwards, screaming at his warriors. He tried to
attack the Romans behind him, lost his footing and slumped to the ground with an enormous crash. The great bearskin fur he wore lay covered in blood and mud.
Within moments of their leader's death, the Britons knew they had lost. They had seen their leader fall right in front of them. With the first cohort continuing to attack from the front and a line of Romans now at the back from the north gate they had seen enough. Hundreds dropped their weapons and surrendered. Some fought on and got to the great hall, only to find themselves attacked by Romans who had taken it. “It’s over,” shouted Marcus.
At the main gate, General Nepos suddenly appeared amongst the scarlet shields. The first cohort fanned out across the hill and cut down anyone who dared to resist. Behind him, Hadrian was looking shocked at the scene of devastation and carnage. Marcus lifted his sword. “Roma Victor,” he shouted across the battlefield, as the soldiers raised their swords in response.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end”
Seneca
CHAPTER 26
PRAETORIUM, VINDOLANDA FORT, 5TH AUGUST 122 AD, 7PM
One week later, the legions returned to their original camps along the south of the wall, and things returned to normal. The injured were being treated in the hospitals and the dead were cremated and given proper burial rites as per Roman customs. The Emperor declared 20 days of rest for all troops so that there would be an opportunity to recover after the swift action. The local ale houses and towns would be full of soldiers on a break.
The Brigantes and Selgovae in the north had been dealt with and there was a general feeling of contentment and security amongst the troops that the action had been successful. There were no further civilians in the immediate vicinity of the wall, specifically on the northern side. The population living south of the wall would be entirely loyal to Rome.
Hadrian had proven that the province was now totally subdued. The Damnonii and Votadini tribes north of the wall still traded successfully with the Roman army. What was left of the Selgovae retreated a further 60 miles deeper west. The Votadini especially, having never risked losing their allegiance with Rome, proved to be successful traders. With the large number of potential customers in the area, all the traders were keen to make a profit in any way possible. Sheep, pigs, cattle, oats and barley, as well as metal workings and jewellery were the most popular items heading into the province from north of the wall. At the 81 milecastle forts, these merchants were taxed on entering the province and given tokens. Upon showing the token when leaving north again, they were free to pass. These additional funds were recorded in ledgers which Nepos insisted be kept by the duty officer on each watch and recorded for the upkeep of the wall, as well as special holidays when the legions could spend it. It appeared to be working and the trading routes from north to south flourished.
Hadrian finally decided to summon his wife for a discussion about the current situation between them. She was escorted into a smaller dining room and left to wait for Hadrian.
“I've been wanting to speak to you,” began Hadrian, calmly.
Sabina made no eye contact and ate an olive from a plate on the table.
“… and how we plan to move forward from what happened.”
“I can see it's been so important to you that you managed to plan a war in between,” sneered Sabina.
“Empire first,” Hadrian replied. He looked at her but she said nothing more.
“Your relationship with Suetonius was nothing more than you using him to get information about the wall. Then you were passing that information to Senator Blandus so that he could use it against me in the Senate. Your actions have achieved nothing. Blandus is dead, Suetonius has been dismissed.”
Hadrian paused to look at his wife but still she said nothing.
“As for you, my darling wife, years ago you asked me for a divorce and I said no. If I were a normal citizen, I would divorce you. However, I am the Emperor of Rome. Therefore, you will maintain your rank as wife of the Emperor. In all situations, you will be accompanied by your ladies-in-waiting wherever you go. There will be no exceptions. If I hear a rumour or any whisper of you passing on any information to anyone again, I shall send you to the house of the Vestal Virgins in the Forum. How ironic would that be for you! How embarrassing!”
Sabina blushed red.
“I hope we don’t have to do that. I would much rather that didn’t happen. So let us move forward and this be a fresh start. My agenda is that of a travelling Emperor of the people – to visit the provinces and be seen by the people and the army. In this difficult time of uncertainty, even though we have no children, I will legitimise my succession when required.”
“Until then, my wife, you shall be at my side, as I perform as master of ceremonies, great acts of public sponsorship and give generously to the arts and customs which our forefathers established. Just remember how much my father Trajan and mother Plotina promoted you to me. They insisted we were a good match. If it had not been for them to arrange our marriage it would not have happened. Your own mother Matilda was a woman of fidelity and modesty. You know how I respected her and how much I valued her.”
Sabina could not help but agree. Since her mother’s death 2 years ago Hadrian had placed her image on coins and temples. She had asked for nothing. Yet he had meant a lot to her.
“Let us have dinner and talk no more of this. I have ordered a dinner to be set for 7 pm for all the legates in the praetorium. We have been in this province of Britannia for 4 months now. I feel we have succeeded in everything we can. I long to go back to my place of birth.”
Sabina's eyes looked up, interested.
“Yes, I think we will move to Hispania for the winter period. I have more people to visit and family to see. You will like it, for it is a lot like Rome in many ways.”
A servant came into the small dining room and bowed.
“Caesar, your guests are arriving.”
Marcus had arrived early and was surprised to see a great number of the Praetorian Guards within the hall at Vindolanda.
Was something about to happen?
“Young Marcus,” greeted the Emperor. “Welcome to this dinner of my inner circle.”
Nepos and the other legates had just arrived at the same time. The table in the great hall was filled with food. The smell of roasted pig and chicken was drifting across the room, making his mouth water. Fish in garum, a traditional Roman sauce, was placed in bowls. Oysters, crab and venison were cooked to perfection and set on platters spread across the table. Servants circled the room with plates of cold meats and jugs of the best Falernian wine.
Hadrian and Sabina seemed to be in a good mood. He held her hand high as she entered the room with him.
“Gentlemen,” smiled the Emperor, “I wanted to thank you individually for all your efforts over the past few months. Our victory in Britannia is complete. We have won a decisive battle over the tribes in the north. We have introduced additional taxation for the goods coming in from the north and have started the construction of the greatest wall in the Roman Empire.”
The legates around the room banged their cups and cheered as they listened and agreed.
“Now the lands of the Brigantes and the Selgovae know where our province starts. The boundary is evident for all to see. This is our province of Britannia and we shall prevail. However, I have felt the calling to travel to another province now. I have not seen my birthplace in Hispania since I was a small child and I am keen to see it again. I leave General Nepos in charge. He will keep me updated on your work and progress.”
Hadrian paused and looked around the room.
“There is one final matter before I leave,” Hadrian said with a smile. “Septicius Clarus, step forward.”
Clarus put down his cup of wine and stepped into the centre of the circle in front of the Emperor.
“Take off your uniform,” Hadrian said flatly.
“Caesar?” Clarus replied.
“Take off your uniform,” Hadrian repeated.
“All of it?” asked Clarus, somewhat amused.
“Down to your undergarments,” smiled Hadrian.
As Clarus slowly undressed, two of the Praetorian Guards stepped forward to both sides.
“You are unfit to wear the uniform,” remarked Hadrian.
“You see, gentlemen, after I was attacked and in hospital, Clarus here made plans to promote Senator Blandus to be Emperor. This is treason. He was also given a very large sum of money, paid into the Capitoline vaults, as a bribe by the nowdead senator. Just so you are aware, that money has already been removed from the vaults and is in fact on its way here to pay my troops.”
Clarus did not look up. Instead, he fell to his knees in his undergarments.
“Forgive me, Caesar. I, we, thought you were dead.”
“You’re a traitor and a criminal. You are no longer fit to serve in my army. However, because of your previous service, I shall spare your life. You are stripped of all rank and all monies and will be put on the first ship from the port.”
Hadrian moved closer to Clarus and whispered in his ear. “If I hear you have come back to Rome, I will have you killed.”
Clarus's head fell.
“Remove him,” Hadrian demanded, “and make sure he never comes back.”
Silence filled the room as the guards quickly ejected him from their gathering.
Hadrian looked down at the armour, sword and cloak on the floor.
“There is one man here who has demonstrated to me his worth more than any other. One man who saved my life and brought us victory here in Britannia.”
Nepos looked around and smiled knowingly at Marcus.
“Marcus Lusius Quietus, step forward.”
Marcus looked nervous.
“You have commanded our cavalry in this province with determination and bravery.”
Hadrian looked down at the clothes on the floor as a nearby slave picked up the cloak and held it before the Emperor.
“It looks like we need a new Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. One for command of the cavalry? Do you accept?” asked Hadrian.
Marcus looked stunned.
“Yes, Caesar,” he eventually stammered, “I willingly accept.”
Hadrian took the cloak from the servant and fitted it around the shoulders of his newest Guard Prefect.
“This cloak fits you well. Everything else you can get adjusted if needed. Gentlemen, I give you the new cavalry Prefect of the Praetorian Guard.”
There were shouts of cheers and congratulations all around the room. The servants hurriedly picked up the remaining parts of the uniform. But Marcus could not recall very much after that as he was given cup after cup of wine. He was toasted several more
times by the legates of the legions. Eventually, General Nepos came over to speak with him.
“Congratulations, Prefect of the Guard. Whatever happens now he will need you. There are only a handful of people the Emperor trusts in this world. You’ve just become one of them. He trusts you with his life and so do I.”
Nepos stuck out his right hand and gave him the strongest grip on his forearm.
“Strength and honour, my friend.”
EPILOGUE
Publius Aelius Hadrianus was born on 24 January 76 AD in Italica in modern-day Spain. He was the adopted son of Emperor Trajan and became Emperor himself in 117 AD.
Upon his succession, four senators were executed for allegedly plotting to assassinate him. Acilius Attianus, his guardian, swore that he had evidence of this and arranged the executions. Hadrian, away in Syria at the time, claimed this was done without his permission. However, the Senate suspected he had ordered it. Hadrian's relationship with the Senate remained very strained for his entire reign because of this, despite his best attempts to show a new style of government by cancelling all public debt, pulling back the army to control the borders better and strengthening the army. His own Senate found him to be remote and authoritarian. Hadrian was to spend more than half his reign outside Italy. Whereas previous Emperors had relied on the reports of their imperial representatives around the Empire, Hadrian wished to see things for himself. Previous Emperors often left Rome for long periods, mostly to go to war, returning once the conflict was settled. Hadrian's near-incessant travels represented a break with tradition and attitudes in which the Empire was purely Roman. He visited almost every province of the Empire and indulged a preference for direct intervention in Imperial and provincial affairs, especially building projects. He is particularly known for building Hadrian's Wall, which marked the northern limit of Britannia. In Rome itself, he rebuilt the Pantheon and constructed the vast Temple of Venus and Roma.
Before Hadrian arrived in Britannia, the province had suffered a major rebellion between 119 and 121. A general desire to keep the province intact as well as to cease the Empire's extension may have been the determining motive for him coming. Reduction of defence costs may also have played a role, as the wall was planned to deter attacks on Roman territory at a lower cost than a massed border army, and it would also control cross-border trade and immigration.
Vibia Sabina was the 18-year-old grandniece of Trajan who married Hadrian in 100 AD. She was younger than Hadrian by around 10 years and they were considered a good match by Trajan’s wife Plotina.
Initially, their marriage was good, until he became Emperor. Unfortunately, the couple's relationship then proved to be scandalously poor. In later years, she reputedly asked him for a divorce; however, Hadrian said it would reflect badly upon him as Emperor. She swore she would never have a child by him and this was true. Their marriage was a strategic alliance and nothing more. She held her position in the court as they travelled the Empire together, visiting all the provinces.
Platorius Nepos was Spanish by descent, like Hadrian, and came from possibly the same city of Italica. He was a friend and supporter of Hadrian when they met earlier in the army. He was promoted through various military and civilian posts by Hadrian and then transferred to Britain with the job of project-managing the wall construction.
Moving several thousand men up to an area and relocating them with all their requirements was a complex logistical operation requiring careful planning. It is likely therefore that Nepos arrived in Britannia well before the Emperor and planned for the wall line to be surveyed, as well as organising the military legions and plans that were already in place. There is no doubt that the personal responsibility of the project would have been understood by him as critical to the control of Britain.
Gaius Septicius Clarus was appointed Prefect of the Praetorian Guard by Hadrian in 119 AD. He was considered capable and experienced for this position as it was one of the most powerful
in the Roman administration. He was dismissed by Hadrian in 122 AD as it was said he had overstepped the boundary in his relations with Sabina, the Empress.
It is believed he returned to the outskirts of Rome and opened a brickworks, which his son later owned, as bricks were dated with his name stamp on them. He never went back to Rome due to the threat Hadrian had pronounced on him.
Suetonius Tranquillus was a Roman historian who wrote the famous Twelve Caesars. This was a set of biographies of twelve successive Roman rulers from Julius Caesar to Domitian which was very popular at the time due to the amount of gossip, hearsay and details put into the stories. The book was written in 121 AD during the reign of Hadrian. It was the largest and most successful of his writings and was dedicated to his friend Septicius Clarus, Praetorian Prefect at the time.
He was described as “a quiet and studious man” by Pliny and was promoted by Hadrian to be his Imperial Secretary in 119 AD. Hadrian dismissed Suetonius as he also was involved with the Empress.
In the Historia Augusta it states that in the time immediately after building the wall in Britain, both Suetonius and Clarus overstepped their boundaries with the Empress. On the face of it, this was a public reason to remove them both from office. However, it appears more likely that they were sacked for unknown political reasons. Hadrian's relationship with his wife was already very poor and therefore I cannot accept that this would be the real reason. Sacking two senior men, who were close friends, at the same time suggests some sort of plot or plan was hatched during their time in Britain while the wall was being built. My story about the attack on Hadrian is inspired by this quote, and the event could have been kept confidential by a small group of senior officers so that it was never recorded. Whatever the real reason for their sacking, we will never know. However, Hadrian removed them both from office for something that happened during their time in Britain. Suetonius died in 122 AD, not long after being dismissed, in unknown circumstances and never wrote about any other Emperors.
Gaius Rubellius Blandus is based on the third generation of senators bearing this name. His great-grandfather taught rhetoric for a fee, earning a great deal of money and succeeding in increasing his fortune with this money, becoming the first member of his family to enter the Senate in 18 AD as consul of Africa. As revealed in his career and actions during his time as governor, he was a newcomer who showed ambition for wealth and power.
Rhetoric was the art of persuasion and this was particularly used in the Senate, where speakers would inform, persuade and motivate their audiences. The Blandus family did not have a good reputation and was the subject of various rumours concerning plots against previous emperors like Nero, who had the family exiled and then put to death. Although this character is likely fictitious, we know the second generation of the Blandus family and men like him existed. They had a previous history of causing a lot of problems for emperors and it is on these men I based the real issues that Hadrian had with members of the Senate who still hated him for killing their colleagues some 5 years earlier.
Marcus Lusius Quietus is the fictional son of General Lusius Quietus, one of the senators who was executed when Hadrian came to power in 117 AD. Marcus originally served in the auxiliary cavalry before being commissioned by Hadrian to serve as his Prefect for the Guard cavalry under Marcus Turbo.
Burnswalk Hill in Dumfries is a 17-acre hillfort that is straddled between two Roman camps. These siege camps were built by the Romans during the attack on the hill and remain in remarkable condition today. In particular, there are visible ballista platforms facing the hilltop. This hill was the headquarters of the Selgovae tribe, who lived in the area since the Iron Age. Recent excavations by archaeologists found lead bullets that had been fired at the camp had holes in them. Upon trial, it was found that these whistled in flight. These slingshots would have acted as a suppressive barrage by Roman troops as a likely prelude to a storming assault.
More than 400 Roman lead bullets have been found, marking the final resting place of the hillfort inhabitants. In reality, thousands of projectiles would have been fired by the Roman army at the gateways in the north and south. Stone balls, iron arrowheads and
square metal bolts would all have been used, creating a blizzard of missiles across the hillfort. These Britons appeared to have paid the ultimate price for going against the Romans.
Before Hadrian's Wall was built, the defence of northern Britain lay with the Stanegate system. The Stanegate forts were built by General Agricola around 80 AD and were an open-plan system of 12 forts built approximately 7 miles apart (a half-day marching interval) from Carlisle to Newcastle. These forts were not enough of a strategic defence against the tribes in the north when serious warfare was recorded. The Stanegate ran through natural gaps in the valley of the River Tyne. Hadrian's Wall followed a similar route, albeit around 1 mile to the north. The Wall thus served as an enhancement of the original Stanegate system, rather than as a replacement for it.
Hadrian was a clever and able man and would have had a blueprint plan in his head for the wall he wanted. Yet he had never been to Britain before and therefore he would have wanted to see for himself the ground and country it stretched across. Well versed in architecture and military matters, his interest in building the wall would have been deep.
He would have been surrounded by a train of architects, engineers and other highly skilled professionals examining plans and drawings which constantly evolved. It is believed that the actual setup of the wall would have begun with planning and laying out the wall before he arrived. It is also believed that when he did arrive in April 122 AD, he would have taken a small entourage and ridden across every mile of the wall so that he might see it for himself and make adjustments.
The original plan provided for a massive wall built roughly of dressed sandstone with an earth and rubble core, 10 feet wide and at least 15 feet high, topped with a wall walk parapet. Doublegated forts integrated into the wall provided passage points at every mile (hence milecastles), with two turrets added in between for surveillance. In front of the wall was a V-shaped ditch 10 feet deep and 25 feet wide, separated by a 20-foot-wide berm between the wall and the ditch. West of the River Irthing, the same design was adopted to be built in turf and timber with stone turrets.
Along the Cumberland coast, a system of fortlets and towers was planned for a further 25 miles. At some point early in the plan, the work was changed.
Here is the list of known modifications:
1) The Wall
The original wide wall can be seen at various points along its construction before the narrow wall was built on top. (Broad wall/narrow wall sections can be seen at various points from Mile 4 to the mid sections Miles 27a-37,38-46 ).
It would appear that the broad foundation was laid across much of the central sector before the first dislocation in the building programme.
It was originally built 10 feet wide and then slimmed down to a mid-gauge of 9 feet wide. Again, later this was reduced to 8 feet wide. Quite apart from quarrying and rough dressing the stone, this would have saved over 10,000 mule loads per mile. The width of the wall would still allow a single soldier to walk along the wall with a front and back parapet width of approximately 3–4 feet.
2) Turret locations
It is well known that the spacing between milecastles and turrets along the wall was related to the Roman mile. The intervening spacing between turrets is approximately 490 m. It has been shown that this distance is very close to the 450 m maximum distance at which military uniforms (and therefore friend/foe) could be recognised by eye. It does seem probable that the proximity of the milecastles and turrets was designed to maximise the ability of the garrison to detect and prevent illicit crossings across the wall. The addition of turrets was believed to have been added by Hadrian as a strengthening of the earlywarning system of the wall.
3) Forts
The forts were brought forward into the wall from their original construction behind it. This is seen specifically in the mid-
section of Hadrian’s Wall and clearly shows the need for the forts to be built into the wall so troops could respond faster (Housesteads is an example).
4) The vallum
The vallum or southern earthworks were added to protect the south wall line and as a military demarcation, built around the same time as the wall itself was being built. It had passingthrough points that matched up with forts in the north and therefore filed any persons through a milecastle.
The vallum is something unique to Hadrian’s Wall and shows clearly the need to keep the tribes from the south out of the military zone. It was a flat-bottomed ditch 20 feet wide, with steep sides 10 feet high and the spoil from it was set up 10 feet high on each side, giving a wide barrier system of 120 feet deep on its own.
The wall forts and vallum appeared to have been given priority over the completion of the wall itself after early modifications.
Work on the defences of Chester, Housesteads and Birdoswald may have started simultaneously and to a decent standard, but before long, the quality of work on the gates and piers appears to have dropped dramatically. This points to a further dislocation.
This same stoppage of work was more than likely due to a war within the area, as archaeologists suggest. All we can reliably say is that there was a long period before work was restarted, and the central section of the wall appears to have been reviewed with the addition of Great Chesters fort as a necessity for defence.
Dr David Breeze, in a crucial paper, highlights many of the unique elements of Hadrian's Wall and that it was likely that the Emperor was involved in the design of what was seen as the ideal frontier defence system. The milecastles, the vallum and the projecting forts built into the wall all stand out as radically innovative elements.
Recently, new evidence regarding the turrets has shown that they were placed accurately and at normal distances from each
other. However, many turrets and milecastles were positioned in ways that could have been improved. For example, it seems obvious that a milecastle situated on a slope could have been better placed at the top of that slope. Nevertheless, it has been discovered that these locations were meticulously mapped for signalling lines. In a situation where a wall installation faced trouble, it would have needed to summon help from the nearest fort. At the time the wall was built, this meant assistance would come from the forts along the Stanegate to the south. Since the milecastles and turrets are not always visible to each other, an effective signalling system would be limited. Initially, the lightly manned wall didn’t have much to signal about, and it is reasonable to assume that any signalling would have been directed southward. Each fort along the Stanegate was therefore responsible for supporting the forts located approximately 1 mile to the north of it.
Thus, the signalling system must be precise and accurate. The wall served as an enhancement of the original Stanegate system rather than a replacement. Signalling was prioritised, even over the primary function of the milecastles, which were strategically situated accordingly. Even after Hadrian’s Wall was finished and the auxiliary troops from the Stanegate were moved forwards onto the wall, the larger forts on the Stanegate remained operational.
In military terms, "depth of defence" can be compared to the layers of an onion. There are multiple layers to penetrate before achieving any significant objective. Hadrian's Wall was constructed with a similar concept in mind; it was meant to keep intruders out, allowing passage only at designated points under close surveillance. If you managed to cross the ditch from the north and then the wall itself, you would enter an area where you could be counterattacked from several directions. The further you advanced, the greater the risk of encirclement from the south, east, and west by mobile units that were already aware of your position.
The sudden need for wall forts, which housed approximately 9,000 soldiers, can be easily explained by a rapid decline in the security situation. One possibility is that the early construction of forts near key routes indicated Roman intentions to secure the region, which may have heightened tensions with local tribes.
The hit-and-run attacks originating from the north could clarify why forts like Chesters were strategically placed along the wall. By maximising the number of gateways opening to the north, the Roman army aimed to reduce response times and engage elusive enemies before they could escape. Evidence that Roman cavalry troops were engaging these mobile groups is found in an altar discovered at Chesters. This altar, dedicated by a cavalry prefect, commemorates the ‘slaughtering of a band of Corionototae’. A similar example has also been found in Carlisle.
Guerrilla tactics
Both the initial and revised plans for the wall were responses to security concerns, including the threat of guerrilla tactics. The milecastle and turret system along the curtain wall was aimed at isolating southern resistance from northern support by restricting movement between these regions.
The vallum was designed to prevent ambushes from the south. Even if attackers managed to cross it under the cover of darkness, their ability to escape, crucial for guerrilla warfare, would be compromised.
These new security measures had a noticeable impact on the local tribes, as evidenced by the abandonment or removal of some settlements on the Northumberland coastal plain around the time the wall became operational. The tribes living in the immediate vicinity were initially unhappy about the construction of the wall and the closure of north–south routes, which could only be crossed through Roman gateways.
Modern counterinsurgency methods highlight the significance of seeking a political solution that addresses the underlying grievances. Notably, there are signs that southern resistance began to decline in the 2nd century. This decline coincided with the establishment of the towns of Carlisle and Corbridge, which helped restore a degree of autonomy to the local tribes in the region.
You can still visit and discover the impressive history of the Second Legion Augusta, Sixth Legion Victrix and Twentieth Legion Valeria Victrix who built this massive wall that has lasted nearly 2,000 years. They faced many challenges during its construction, including delays and changes, but they succeeded in creating a defence that protected the province of Britannia for generations. This complex structure is the largest and one of the most important defensive barriers in the history of the Empire and is still being studied by archaeologists and historians.
Today, you can still see parts of the wall along with its stone quarries, forts, milecastles, turrets and vallum. Picture it as the largest civil engineering achievement of its time, where many people lived, fought and sacrificed for the Empire.
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