Sosius did not return and they were glad of that, especially as the journey was easy. They saw few people, and fewer still who wished to speak, so perhaps Sosius had cleared their path for them by speaking to the chieftain and others.
On the third night Minura came to Bran as he was swilling their pan and plates in a brook. The merchant was tied up, and fastened to a tree trunk, so did not need to be watched.
‘Am I fair to look upon?’ Minura asked.
‘You are beautiful,’ he said and it was not flattery for he did consider her among the fairest of women he had seen. ‘If it were not for our oaths…’ A brother and sister who had learned the craft of war as they had done were not supposed to lie with one another.
‘My oath means little now that my honour has been taken,’ she said.
Bran wondered when he would wake from this dream. She was taller than he was, and he had to reach up to lay his hands on her cheeks. ‘May I kiss you?’ he asked.
‘I should like that.’
He felt the cut on her lip and tried to be gentle, but she pushed her mouth closer to his.
‘I know little of the way of these things,’ Bran said, wondering that he admitted to his ignorance, but unable to boast or posture with her.
‘Nor I,’ Minura said and she ran her fingers through his short hair. ‘Perhaps we can learn together?’
X
IT WAS A wonder without any doubt. If he had not had good reason to be here, simply seeing this would have made the long journey worthwhile. From down here on the waters of the Ister, the long southern stretch of the Danube, the pillars reared up like man-made cliffs. There were twenty of them, each 170 feet apart, the foundations great piers of stone, curving like the prows of ships into cutwaters so that the river’s force was spread and guided around them without pressing its full weight; functional and elegant, like all good architecture. The stonework rose to a flat top, carefully levelled off, and above that was the wooden supports, five great beams supporting a regular lattice pattern like a spider’s web or even a parade of isosceles triangles. From those rose the arches, curving up, each arch identical to the next, rearing high above them. As promised, the helmsman took them between two of the pillars so that he could see the design properly and stare up at the joists on top of which were planks of the roadway itself, unfinished here, since they were at the centre of the bridge.
‘Be finished in a month at the latest,’ the architect’s assistant told him. The great man himself had claimed that he was too busy to accompany them and had sent an underling.
‘Ephippus here will be your guide. I am sure that he will be able to answer whatever you feel inclined to ask,’ Apollodorus of Damascus had assured Hadrian. The chief architect had an immensely high opinion of his own merit and little patience with others. His talent was obvious, as was the emperor’s trust in his abilities, so that for the moment his conceit was understandable, if unfortunate. Hadrian was eager to learn, and it was so rare to encounter a man who had so much to teach. So the day before he had asked questions, when the architect had shown him the work from the Pontes’ bank of the river, where the monumental arch spanning the approach road was already complete, apart from the statues to be mounted on top. There was a matching arch on the far, Dobreta shore, which was making quicker process now that the soldiers who had built the other one had joined the workers there. Hadrian was pleased to see that some of his legionaries were involved, and spent time meeting them and praising their efforts.
This was only part of the great projects undertaken to help the army secure the region, and the last to be completed. For several years now barges were able to bypass the long stretch of rapids on the Danube by using the new canal, aided by the road which for miles ran along the river, often cut out of the living rock. All of that had been completed while Hadrian was last in the area some three years ago, when the bridge was little more than plans and a bold idea. Now, it was almost finished, conceived by genius and turned into stone and timber reality by the labour of many soldiers, including the contingent from Legio I Minervia.
It was natural for a commander to take an interest in work done by his troops, and equally natural that when officers visited the site they asked the presiding architect about the project. Hadrian had put great thought into his questions, wishing to demonstrate that he was no ignorant aristocrat, showing interest for form’s sake and caring little for the answers. So he had asked about the details of the design, of the forces in play, of weight of material and current. They were good questions, useful questions, but Apollodorus’ answers were the same vague platitudes designed for the ignorant. Hadrian pressed him, trying to show that he was different, and even anticipated part of the answer in his question.
‘Apelles to Alexander,’ the architect had told Hadrian, not bothering to explain the allusion. Piso, who had up to this point shown no deep interest, sniffed as if he understood.
Hadrian struggled to control his anger, aware that his face had reddened. It was an old story, and like so many about Alexander the Great, hard to know whether or not it was true. While sitting for a portrait at Ephesus, the Macedonian king had chattered away to the artist and his assistants, asking about composition and colours, and often making suggestions. Eventually Apelles, already famous and soon to win even greater reputation when Alexander declared that only he would be allowed to paint the royal image, told the king to stop talking, because even the lowest apprentices were laughing at his ignorance. The rebuke was a sharp one, arrogant because for all his great skill Apollodorus was speaking to a vir clarissimus, a member of the Senate, let alone kin to the princeps. It was also unfair, for engineering and architecture were among Hadrian’s great passions, and his interest was as informed as it was genuine. He would let the Syrian have his moment, but still wanted to learn all that he could. So he had asked to see some of the plans and said that he wished to take a tour around the bridge from the river. Apollodorus had agreed – it would have been hard to refuse – and delegated this underling to the job.
Ephippus was a Greek from Syracuse in Sicily, who stuttered and twitched in the presence of the distinguished guests, but tried his best. His nervousness was not helped when Hadrian requested that an engineer come with him on his tour of the garrisons to provide technical advice, prompting Apollodorus to say in front of the Sicilian that he was sure he could spare him. By now Hadrian was satisfied with the choice. He had been patient with Ephippus, encouraged him with his smile and by gradually moving from simple to complex matters as he asked about the bridge. The man struck him as thoroughly competent, with extensive knowledge, if lacking in the spark of inspiration or any real appreciation of the aesthetic as more than just theory.
For the tour, the garrison of Pontes supplied and manned one of the slim boats used for patrolling the river. Hadrian and Ephippus stayed in the stern, so that they could direct the helmsman to take them where they wanted to go. Piso hovered nearby, while an equestrian tribune and the two more surprising guests went up by the prow. Most of the rowers were more interested in them than anyone else, and Hadrian could see them twisting their heads at every opportunity to peer back over their shoulders. That was when they had effort to spare, because often the views he wanted meant rowing hard against the current. They muttered, as soldiers will, each time he had the helmsman turn about and head back upstream under yet another of the great arches. As far as he was concerned it was worth it.