The audience did not happen the next morning as planned, nor the one after that, for on each day a message arrived soon after dawn to say that the king was indisposed by illness. On the third morning the messenger informed them that the royal diviner had observed the stars and concluded that this was a day for fasting and prayer rather than business.
‘Impudent rogue,’ Longinus declared, after sending a formal message saying that he quite understood and would look forward to meeting the king tomorrow. ‘Mucking us about just to show that he can. Pity the princeps is not keen on a new war at the moment otherwise I could soon teach the king a lesson.’
As the days passed Hadrian began to feel the true claustrophobia of the place, but there was nothing to do but wait, now that he was here. An attempt to raise his concerns with Longinus prompted amused scorn.
‘Might want to spend more than a few days in the area before jumping to conclusions. Decebalus is irritating, but not a threat. As I say he’s bright and no mere barbarian. He knows just how big the empire is and how small Dacia is by comparison, so understands that he cannot go too far. If we ever decide to do it, then we can bring enough force to crush him like a beetle. Might take time to muster, but the end will never be in doubt. The little cuss will never risk bringing that on himself. He knows that Trajan will fight if he has to, and won’t give up like Domitian.’
Hadrian remained unconvinced. For all his many faults, Hadrian reckoned that the last of the Flavians had not been that bad an emperor, nor his campaigns against the Dacians the humiliation that everyone – not least Trajan – liked to claim. Domitian had done enough to cow Decebalus, but then had to shift the weight of his forces to meet other threats from the Sarmatians and the Suebi. True enough, the empire was strong, with thirty legions now that Trajan had added a couple, and even more auxiliaries, but it could not be strong everywhere all the time. Now that he had seen Decebalus’ stronghold, its strength and good order, his last doubts that he was wrong were fading away. He wanted to leave this place, leave Longinus with his fool’s confidence, and start to see what he could do to prepare.
‘His fortress is strong, equipped with siege engines he isn’t supposed to have anymore, and it’s not the only one,’ Hadrian said, in a last effort to persuade Longinus. ‘And he is welcoming deserters as readily as ever.’
‘Worthless scum the lot of them. If they’ve betrayed us, they’re not likely to prove loyal to him. No, no, my boy, you worry too much because you don’t know these people.’ The boy was insulting to a former praetor, but Hadrian let it pass. Longinus was sure of himself, so let the man plough on with this furrow and see where it took him. Defeats were coming, probably a crisis, and with them would come opportunity.
At long last the king’s health and his diviner’s opinion both agreed that the day was a good one, so the Roman party marched out of the gate, through the bigger gates into the royal compound, and along a circuitous route through several compounds until they came down to a wide terrace.
‘We’re honoured,’ Longinus said, his irony heavy. ‘These are some of their shrines.’ Hadrian glanced at a great circle of pillars and another beyond it. Neither had roofs, and he remembered reading somewhere that the Getae and Daci worshipped the stars and made their temples open. He wished that there was time to take a closer look and ask questions, for he was sure that there was a pattern and purpose to the designs.
Decebalus was waiting for them, sitting on a chair that resembled the ones used by Roman magistrates. This stood on a wooden platform and over this was a canopy striped in many colours. There were noblemen around him, all of them pileati, the cap wearers, and beyond the platform at least fifty warriors, wearing brightly polished scale cuirasses and carrying the curved swords of their people. By convention, the Romans brought only a dozen legionaries as escort, as well as Longinus, Hadrian, a prefect from the garrison and a centurion from the governor’s staff.
As they approached a shout went up and a man who had been kneeling in front of the king was dragged away by two men, followed by another who carried a stout club.
‘Oh, justice time,’ Longinus whispered to Hadrian.
The victim was made to kneel again, this time with his head resting on a flat stone. There was no signal, no last glance back to receive the order, for the clubman simply swung with all his force, producing an audible crack when it hit the man’s head, as his limbs jerked. The executioner raised it high and struck again, and this time the weapon came up bloody, but he hit four more times before wiping the tip of his club on the grass. There was little left of the victim’s head as the others dragged the corpse away.
‘Don’t notice it,’ Longinus said in a low voice. ‘They always lay an execution on for our arrival. Sometimes it’s the club and sometimes a beheading with a falx. Always wondered what would happen if the king did not have a criminal handy to execute.’
‘There’s always someone,’ Hadrian whispered.
‘True enough.’
Decebalus was smaller than Hadrian had expected, for without really thinking he had assumed that any barbarian king must be large – Polyphemus, but with two eyes. The king had two, both blue and both alive with intelligence. His beard and hair had plenty of grey, and he must have been in his forties at least and probably older, but he showed every sign of vigour. Longinus had told him that Decebalus spoke Greek well and more than a little Latin, but that he tended to speak via an interpreter most of the time.
‘Just do not say anything tactless,’ the governor commanded. ‘Leave that to me, if it is necessary.’
The prefect accompanying them had said little, although Hadrian had met him before back when Trajan had been adopted by Nerva. Petilius Cerialis was a Batavian from the Rhineland, an eques, and coming to the end of a long spell as commander of a cohort of his own people. He was handsome, clever and ambitious, although by now Hadrian suspected that he might be wondering just how far the emperor’s old promises of favour would translate into reality now that there was a whole empire to satisfy. Well, he was not alone in that.
The king asked politely about the health of Cerialis’ dog, which had been sick, and smiled at the news that the animal had quite recovered.
‘And are your family well?’ the interpreter asked on the king’s behalf.
‘I am pleased to say that I have recent news of them and all are flourishing,’ Cerialis answered. His delight at Hadrian’s news of Sulpicia Lepidina and the four children was still fresh after several days, during which he had no doubt read and re-read the letter he had brought many times.
‘I hope to meet them,’ Decebalus said, using Latin and not waiting for the interpreter. ‘A man should have children.’
‘I regret that they are unable to join me for some time, lord king,’ Cerialis said. Hadrian had been tempted to warn him, but had been relieved when the prefect had been adamant that his family stay away from Sarmizegethusa and wait until he received his posting as narrow stripe tribune to a legion, which must come soon. With any luck that ought to mean a decent sized base somewhere with a good house for them all. Hadrian had already requested that Cerialis be appointed to I Minervia when a post became vacant at the end of May and was gratified by the man’s delight when he told him of this.
After children and dogs, the king showed concern for the garrison’s horses and the welfare of the soldiers stationed at other spots in his kingdom. This went on for some time, before Longinus was invited to ask what he wished. His questions were equally banal, and when once or twice they approached a sensitive subject, the answers were vague and were not challenged. Hadrian had hoped to learn from the audience, but it did no more than confirm his impressions of both the king and of Longinus.