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.
