Spotlight: The Fort by Adrian Goldsworthy

AD 105: DACIA

The Dacian kingdom and Rome are at peace, but no one thinks that it will last. Sent to command an isolated fort beyond the Danube, centurion Flavius Ferox can sense that war is coming, but also knows that enemies may be closer to home.

Many of the Brigantes under his command are former rebels and convicts, as likely to kill him as obey an order. And then there is Hadrian, the emperor's cousin, and a man with plans of his own.

Excerpt

Pages 22-24

Sabinus realised that his gladius lay beside him and he snatched it up as he stood. The other Briton was clutching at his neck, swaying as he gasped for breath. Ferox had pushed Molacus down and was sitting on him, left hand clamped around the man’s sword arm and the other using his battered helmet to pound his face again and again. The auxiliary was coming, but as his fear turned to anger Sabinus went over to the gasping Briton and thrust his sword into the man’s belly. He felt the resistance of the iron rings, pressed harder, his rage growing, and felt the metal snap and the point slide in. The decurion seemed to stare straight at him, eyes desperate and imploring, so Sabinus pushed harder, using both hands to force the sword deeper, until he punched through the rear of the man’s armour and the tip erupted from the man’s back. 

‘Sir?’ The auxiliary had reached them. He was a youngster, his confusion obvious. Sabinus let go of his gladius and let the man fall. Down the slope one of the riders was stretched on the ground, unmoving, but Vindex was also down, rolling and dodging the two horsemen as they struggled to reach him with their swords. 

‘Give me your spear, boy.’ Ferox was up, his face, arms and chest all spattered with blood. He snatched the shaft from the auxiliary and ran towards Vindex and the others. ‘Mongrels!’ he screamed at them. 

Sabinus’ hands were smeared red. He glanced at Molacus and wished that he had not, because there was just bloody pulp where the man’s face should have been. Neither he nor the other decurion were moving. Sabinus struggled to accept that for the first time he had killed a man. It had all been so sudden with no time to think.

‘What’s happening, sir?’ the soldier asked. 

Ferox raised the spear as he ran to help his friend. It was a sturdy hasta, too heavy to throw all that far, so he pounded down the slope to close the distance. Vindex had lost his sword and cloak as he scrambled to avoid their attacks, but at least he was still moving and at least neither of the men had spears. From horseback it was hard to reach a man on the ground with only a sword – hard, but not impossible. 

‘Come on, you mongrels!’ he screamed again, trying to distract them. ‘Your king was a pimp and a coward!’ 

They heard him. As one man reined in, his mount reared and for a moment Ferox thought that the rider might be thrown, until he recovered. It was Ivonercus and, like all Brigantes, he was a fine horseman. You had to give them that, and that they were easy men to like and admire. 

‘Bastards!’ Ferox bellowed, not checking, but pulling the spear back a little more to give the throw as much force as he could. Ivonercus hesitated for an instant, and Ferox could sense his urge to charge and finish it once and for all. 

‘Come on!’ It was Sabinus, leading the lone auxiliary, and perhaps that made up his mind, for Ivonercus turned and fled, calling to his companion to follow. Ferox pelted towards them, desperate to close the distance before he made his one throw. They were still forty paces away, and slowed as the horses turned. He gained just a little, left arm out straight to help, aiming at Ivonercus who was closest as well as the one who really mattered. 

Then just as he threw, his hobnailed boots slipped on ice and his feet flew from under him. The hasta went high, almost straight up, as Ferox hit the ground hard. 

Vindex cackled, trying to sit up, until the laughter grew too strong and he lay back down. Sabinus was waving Ferox’s sword high as he reached them. 

‘Are you hurt, sir?’ he asked, his face a mix of concern and obvious excitement. 

Ferox sighed. ‘Only my pride – and I’ve never had much of that.’

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About the Author

Adrian Goldsworthy is a respected historian of the ancient world. He studied at Oxford, where his doctoral thesis examined the Roman army, and he went on to write acclaimed works of non-fiction including Caesar, Hadrian's Wall, and Philip and Alexander. His fiction includes the authentic and action-packed Vindolanda Trilogy, set in Roman Britain.