‘You need to be careful,’ the centurion told him, the words so in keeping with his thoughts that it took an effort not to react.
‘Careful, Sabinus?’ Ferox had to appear unconcerned and off his guard, so gave a wry smile, before turning back to the view.
He had not said much all morning, so even this reply was very welcome to his guide. ‘Yes, sir,’ Sabinus said, ‘careful not to try counting the trees. Not good for a man’s peace of mind.’
There was no more response, and after a while the one who looked like a bandit sniffed. ‘We have trees in Britannia. What’s so special about these?’
‘Vindex, isn’t it?’ Sabinus had remembered the name because of the senator who tried to depose Nero and died in the attempt. The bandit muttered something impudent, but he decided not to notice in his relief that someone had spoken. ‘Yes, well, Vindex, these woods are special. Aren’t they, Maternus?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the sentry responded, obviously having heard all this before. ‘If you say so, sir.’
‘I do say so, Maternus, I do indeed, and so will these fine Britons when they have been here as long as us.’ He beamed a broad smile. The bandit leered back, but then the rogue’s face was locked in a permanent leer, not helped by his prominent teeth.
‘We will, will we?’ The Latin was clear, with the clipped accent common in the northern provinces.
‘No doubt about it,’ Sabinus assured him. ‘Meaning no disrespect to the woods and forests of your native lands, my dear fellows – or to the sprites and nymphs who dwell in them – but they are as far away now as my own homeland, and might as well be in India as far as we are concerned.
‘We are here, my friends, at Piroboridava, and we are alone. People don’t live up here – at least no one with any sense. And they don’t pass this way if they can help, least of all in winter. So all this garrison sees are those trees. Day after day, you look out and there they are. It’s the closest we get to company.’
‘Company?’ One of the clean-shaven Britons had spoken. The man was frowning, and appeared almost on edge. Sabinus struggled to recall the man’s outlandish name. Mobacus or Molacus? Something uncouth, he was sure.
‘Yes, my dear fellow.’ That seemed wiser than risking getting it wrong. Sabinus beamed at him and the others, resigned to the lack of interest shown by Ferox and making the most of the rest as the only audience on offer. ‘Although you may not believe it, you will grow fond of those trees. Once you have been here a month you will surely grow to love them. When you have been here two months you will start to talk to them.’
Ferox, knowing what was coming, had to force himself to keep staring out, apparently without a care in the world.
‘Talk to them?’ That was Molacus, always too quick to speak and too ready to show scorn.
‘Most certainly,’ Sabinus said, enjoying his little game. Ferox could imagine the centurion’s serious expression. ‘You will indeed talk to them – all of us do.’ He paused, drawing out the moment. ‘But it is only after you have been here three months that the trees begin to answer.’
There was an amused snort from Vindex, prompting a delighted chuckle from Sabinus, and at long last the other two joined in. The sentries were not officers, and were not involved, and like Ferox they must have heard this so many times before. It was an old joke, even by army standards, told of countless forts and outposts dotted around the empire, and sometimes it was sand dunes, mountain tops or even sheep instead of trees. He let himself smile, out of nostalgia as much as anything else, then saw the movement beyond the bridge and grinned in satisfaction. They were coming and soon he would know.
‘Riders, sir!’ Maternus shouted. ‘Two, no, three of them, leading another pair of horses.’
Ferox stood up straight and faced back towards the others.
‘Yours, sir?’ Sabinus asked.
‘Vindex?’ Ferox already knew the answer, but needed to play his part.
Vindex squinted, shading his eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It’s Ivonercus and the other lads. Coming slow, so maybe the mare is still lame. … Could just be the ice though.’
‘Wise to be careful.’ Ferox smiled. ‘Now, my dear Sabinus, perhaps we could take a look at the ditches.’
‘The ditches, sir?’ The centurion had hoped that the new arrivals had already seen all that they wanted so that he could escort Ferox to his quarters and then return to his own.
‘The ditches,’ Ferox repeated. ‘I had better see all the defences of my new post. And perhaps we will stroll down to the bridge as well.’
Sabinus led the way, hoping that his disappointment did not show. They went down the two ladders, then out onto the main rampart and down the stairs. The fort’s defences were of earth and timber rather than turf, no doubt because the grass nearby was thin and the earth brittle, while the woods that so fascinated the centurion were handy. There were smells of any army base, of horses and sweat, damp leather and wood, overlaid with smoke. Everything was familiar to Ferox or anyone else who had soldiered for even a short time, not simply the scents and the sounds, but the layout. As they came down onto the flat they could see straight up the main street to the principia and other key buildings, just as you would anywhere else. Army bases tended to be almost, but not quite identical, and from Ferox’s experience the similarities could make it harder to remember the differences. Part of his mind was trying to settle the plan in his memory. That would only matter if he was wrong or if he was right, and survived the rest of the day.
The right-hand gate was open, so they went that way. Ferox glanced back when they were outside, at the big painted sign between the two arches announcing that the praesidium had been built by a vexillation of Legio I Minervia and another from II Adiutrix. He wondered whether this was a good omen. The men of the Second had built the tiny outpost in northern Britannia from which he had acted as regionarius for the best part of a decade. All in all it had been a happy, simpler time, left to his own devices to keep peace in his region. Still, the legionaries had made a shoddy job there, and he had to hope that they had been more diligent here.
‘You are no stranger to this part of the world, I am told?’ Sabinus once again tried to make conversation. They had to walk carefully, because the track was uneven where deep ruts had frozen solid. Someone had not bothered to maintain it properly before the winter freeze and that was sloppy.
‘It was a long time ago, when I was new to the army.’ Ferox felt a little guilty for his coldness towards the man. Sabinus seemed a decent officer and his eagerness to leave this place was obvious, which made it unfortunate that Ferox was carrying orders that would keep him here for a good while.
‘Is it true that you were at Tapae with Fuscus?’
Ferox nodded.
Sabinus searched for the right words. ‘That must have been rough?’
A commander killed along with most of his army, Ferox thought, yes, I guess you could say that. He had been in charge of the scouts and had tried to warn Fuscus, but no one had listened until it was too late. He had got away, with his own men and as many others as he could gather, just as he had got away a year earlier when the legate of Moesia had got himself chopped to pieces, and then a couple of years on when another legion marched to disaster. A philosopher, and for all that it was unlikely now a very good friend, on listening to the tale of his career suggested that it was proof of remarkable luck, or perhaps that the gods enjoyed watching him squirm. Ferox smiled at the memory, which pleased Sabinus, who took on most of the conversation as they walked past the double ditches, answering questions about the recent war against the Dacians.