‘Pila muralia,’ Naso said. ‘Nasty things at close range, but they’re worth the effort of making. They can start with any ordinary pila we have that are broken. Bend the shaft back at an angle and sharpen it.’
‘You’ve made them before?’ Ferox asked. Naso nodded. ‘And we want stones for throwing, as many as we can find. Chip up any building material left over. They have to fit in a man’s hand. Once we have them we practise – all of us – throwing as far as the outer ditch.’ Ferox grinned. ‘Then we go down and pick them up for next time – and keep the ditches clear while they’re at it.’
‘That’ll make you even more popular, sir?’ Sabinus said, and then looked embarrassed.
‘Nothing new there,’ Vindex commented. He had said almost nothing during the discussion up to this point.
‘They already call me “the Bastard”, don’t they?’ Sabinus blushed. It had taken some cajoling to get him to admit to knowing the nickname. Ferox had already known, but wanted to see how honest his subordinates would be when asked a direct question.
‘Among other things, sir,’ Naso added.
‘Hmmm. Well, let’s turn to the engines. There is a scorpio in each of the gate towers. Do we have any more?’
‘Half a dozen in the workshops that could be decent given a little work. As many more if we could get new washers and frames.’
‘That’s something. See to it.’ Dionysius nodded as Ferox glanced at him. ‘And they’ll need plenty of ammunition. What about the trophies?’ Sabinus showed his surprise. When Ferox had first arrived he had done no more than point at the buildings, but had seen no useful purpose in going inside. They were a pair of former granaries, left empty of food during the last campaign of the war and empty until the Dacians handed over dozens of war engines as part of the peace treaty. Why they had been brought to Piroboridava no one seemed to know and Sabinus could not guess, but here they were, slowly rotting away and no doubt forgotten by everyone. He had kept quiet about them rather than have Ferox create even more tasks cleaning and maintaining what was probably no more than junk. They said more than half were local made rather than machines captured from the Romans or donated by the Emperor Domitian when he had bought peace with Decebalus so that he could go off and fight the Suebi.
‘Don’t know, sir.’
‘We’ve kept them locked up as ordered,’ Sabinus said, unwilling to let the old soldier take responsibility for something over which he had had no control. ‘But no one has told us what to do with them.’
‘Then no harm in taking a look to see what we have.’
‘Waggons coming, sir!’ one of the sentries shouted out his report.
Ferox had seen the dust a while ago, and turned back to see the five brightly painted waggons, each with a high cover, as many more ox carts, a single coach and long lines of pack mules.
‘That’s Tettius Crescens, sir,’ Dionysius said. ‘Almost to the day he came last year. The lads will be pleased.’ Even from this distance women’s voices could be heard from the passengers in the waggons, even if little could be seen under the vehicles’ covers. Vindex was leering, and Naso barely less interested.
Ferox was unimpressed. ‘I’ll see this merchant later. He asked for an appointment to see the commander, but not until it is convenient for me.’
‘He does have friends, sir,’ Sabinus reminded him. ‘Who wrote on his behalf.’
‘I’ll see him, but first I want to look at these Dacian catapults and see if there is anything worthwhile stored in those halls. If nothing else, there may be timber we can use or iron and bronze to melt down. Dionysius, you stay and keep an eye on things. Tell this Tettius that he is invited to dine with me.’
‘Poor devil,’ Vindex muttered.
‘Well, I need to do something about that as well, with our distinguished guests coming before too long. But that’s for later. Now let’s see what the Dacians pretended was their best artillery when they handed it over.’
There was far more equipment than Ferox had expected, but it was hard to make much sense of it. Both granaries were crammed with artillery and machines of one sort or another, all swathed in dust and cobwebs, arms and beams overlapping or piled in heaps. Beneath the filth some of them were painted red, blue or green, something he had never seen done on artillery before. He saw a good few scorpiones, some other bolt shooters that seemed to be of a different pattern, but similar size, and many more larger pieces, some of them truly huge. Naso whistled as he reached up to touch the huge bronze washers and the ends of twisted sinew on one piece two or three times taller than he was.
‘Throw a three mina stone at the very least,’ he said. ‘Not sure about the cord though – looks half rotted away. Like a lot of the others. Not sure how many ever worked in the first place, come to that.’
‘Any idea what these are?’ Ferox gestured at a couple of strange devices that were more like cranes than catapults, each with a thick boom pointing upwards.
Naso shook his head. ‘Buggered if I know, sir.’
‘They’re big whatever they are,’ Sabinus said, and then broke down coughing as he swallowed dust. Ferox patted the centurion on the back.
‘I want a full inventory. There must be more veterani who have at least a little experience of artillery or who can learn fast. Find as many as you can, Naso. Tell them the Bastard wants this lot sorted out – and then point out that it’s lighter work than clearing ditches and digging pits. But I want to know if there is anything that we can put to use. So tell me what works, if any of it still does, what could do with a little attention, anything else that might be made to shoot and then whether there are parts or scrap we can use for anything else.’
‘I have a book about engines,’ Sabinus said, finally recovered from his bout of coughing. His tone was apologetic. ‘My father presented me with a small travelling library of military manuals before I set out for the army. To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention. All seemed a bit dry and abstract when I tried.’
‘I would appreciate a loan, if I may,’ Ferox said.
‘Of course.’ Sabinus hesitated. ‘Do you really think we will be attacked, sir?’
Ferox doubted that the man would understand about instincts. He had already explained what he knew and what he thought it meant that morning and if that did not convince the man, then saying that he ‘knew’ it would happen was not likely to make a difference. Yet he did, and the feeling grew stronger every moment. ‘Yes,’ he said in the end. ‘I hope that I am wrong, but I am sure I am not.’
Sabinus was saved from answering by another bout of coughing. Vindex patted him this time. ‘The centurion tends to be right about things like that,’ he said as Sabinus recovered. ‘But also has a way of winning when all the odds are stacked high against him. And usually those of us with him get through as well.’
‘Begging your pardons, my lords,’ Naso said, his rough voice a croak in this dusty atmosphere, ‘but if the commander is right then we are royally humped. No way in the world that less than six hundred of us can hold a place as big as this against two or three thousand let alone ten. Not if they’re determined.’
‘Dacians usually are,’ Ferox said. ‘And they’re not just barbarians when it comes to sieges.’ He waved a hand around the great hall with its piles of artillery. ‘They’ve learned too much.’
‘Then should we hold at all, when…’ Sabinus swallowed. ‘If they come.’
‘And go where, sir?’ Naso was like a father talking to a nervous child. ‘There’s nowhere to go. Only thing between us and the Ister is a lot of nothing.’
‘That’s why we’ve got to try,’ Ferox said. ‘We’ve got time, so let’s use it.’