Hadrian and the Triumph of Rome (19 page)

The couple probably first entered into an engagement. Written on tablets and signed by them both, this was legally binding unless both parties agreed to cancel. Hadrian bought Sabina some presents and gave her a ring, either of gold or of iron set in gold, which she wore on what is still the ring finger today. According to Aulus Gellius, this finger had a special property in that a delicate nerve ran from it directly to its owner’s heart.

The wedding ceremony presumably took place in the imperial palace, where Matidia and Sabina lived, and was a simple statement in front of witnesses that the man and the woman intended to bind themselves to each other. An
auspex
, a personal family augur, examined the entrails of a sacrificed animal and ensured that the auspices were favorable. Bride and groom then exchanged vows:
Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia. Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius
. “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.” “Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius.”

In the evening, Hadrian seized Sabina, dressed in saffron with a flame-colored veil, in a pretence of kidnap. He then escorted her, surrounded by friends and family, back to his house. Flute players headed the procession, followed by torchbearers. People sang bawdy songs. Sabina was lifted over the threshold of her new home and guided to the marriage bed. Here Hadrian removed her cloak and began to undo the girdle of her tunic. At this point the wedding party withdrew.

From the bridegroom’s perspective this was a good match, and both Ulpians and Aelians must have applauded a further bonding of their two families. As for Sabina, we do not know whether she was pleased, but we can be reasonably certain on one point. For many pubescent girls the bloodstained encounter of the wedding night and continuing sexual penetration by a fully grown man was painful and distasteful. Thanks to her husband’s tastes Sabina did not have to endure much or any of this. That she did not become pregnant suggests that Hadrian left her alone. Another
mariage blanc
was in the making.

Sabina also benefited (or would when she grew older) from a form
of marriage that became increasingly popular under the empire. In the old days, a wife would either fall under her husband’s complete authority
(cum manu
, or “with his hand”) or remain governed by her father’s
potestas—
in other words,
sine manu
, without the husband’s control. It was common now for women to be married
sine manu
, and although that meant they were theoretically accountable to their paterfamilias or an appointed guardian, in practice they could act independently and manage their own property. Augustus brought in a rule that mothers of three or more children did not need to have a
tutor
, and gradually the system of guardianship was discarded.

Little is known of Sabina’s personality; inscriptions found throughout the empire show that she was a wealthy woman. She owned a mansion in Rome and records of numerous freedmen are evidence of a large household. When very young, she made a generous contribution of one hundred thousand sesterces to her local youth support, or
alimenta
, scheme (see pages 132–34).

Plotina was a fine example of how a woman could be happily chaste and become her husband’s affectionate friend. Sabina did not follow her lead, and never warmed to Hadrian. Nor did he to her. The ancient authors do not tell us why, presumably because they did not know. But, apart from any other consideration, Hadrian’s close relationship with Sabina’s mother, Matidia, was surely a hard thing for a teenage girl to accept. From her perspective, there may have been three of them in the marriage, so, as a more recent princess remarked, “it was a bit crowded.”

King Decebalus in his aerie felt completely safe—above all, safe enough to challenge the Romans with every prospect of success. So much stood in his favor.

First of all there were the mountains, impenetrable to strangers. The heartland of the Dacian kingdom was the Transylvanian basin, inside the great semicircular sweep of the Carpathian Mountains north of the Danube. They vary from about four thousand to more than eight thousand feet in height, and were heavily forested. A rich habitat for brown bears, wolves, and lynxes, even today the range hosts more than a third of all Europe’s plant species.

Second, the Dacians took care to defend themselves. Their craggy kingdom was guarded by half a dozen great fortresses, whose ramparts were constructed from the unique
murus Dacicus
, literally “Dacian wall.” Heavy masonry facings covered a timber-reinforced rubble core. The wood made these defenses flexible, and they resisted battering rams. The Dacians also erected rectangular projecting towers, on the Greek model, which allowed archers and missile-throwing engines, the technology acquired courtesy of Domitian, to provide flanking fire.

The greatest of the fortresses was Sarmizegetusa, perched on a crag almost four thousand feet high (its extensive remains can be seen in the Orastie Mountains of Romania). It formed a quadrilateral made of huge stone blocks and was constructed on five terraces. Nearby stood two sanctuaries, one circular and the other rectangular, consisting of rows of wooden columns, symbolic groves from which hung offerings to the gods. Civilians lived outside the fortress walls: tens of additional terraces housed dwelling compounds, craftsmen’s workshops, storehouses,
warehouses, aqueducts, water tanks, and pipes. Roads were paved and there was a sewage system.

The Dacians had a civilization of which they could be proud. Their lands were rich in minerals, and they acquired great skill in metalworking. They traded with the Greek world, importing pottery, olive oil, and wine, and may have engaged in slave dealing. Compared with their neighbors they enjoyed a high standard of living as well as a rich spiritual life.

Militarily, the Dacians were less advanced. Unlike the Roman legions, they did not field a standing army, although there was a warrior class, the
comati
, or “long-haired ones.” Instead, they depended on annual levies after the harvest had been gathered in, thus limiting the length of time a military force was able to stay in arms. The chieftains and warriors—Dacia’s nobility—protected themselves with armor and helmets, and the rank and file wore ordinary clothes and were defended only by an oval shield. They marched into battle accompanied by the howl of boar-headed trumpets and following their standard, the
draco
, or “dragon,” a multicolored windsock. Their principal weapon, the
falx
, was a fearsome curved machete, used for slashing rather than thrusting. As intended, a Dacian horde made a terrifying audiovisual spectacle.

On March 25, 101, a group of men wearing odd-looking hats gathered together on the Capitol in Rome. They were members of an ancient club, the
fratres arvales
, or Brothers of the Plowed Field, and their suitably agricultural headgear consisted of a white band holding in place a garland made from ears of corn. Founded by Rome’s legendary second king, Numa Pompilius, they faded into obscurity during the later centuries of the Republic, but were reinvented by that most antiquarian of emperors, Augustus.

There were twelve Arvals, and at this time they were among the most distinguished personalities in Rome; they included former consuls, one of whom was in office when Domitian was assassinated and was probably involved in the conspiracy. All were seasoned players of the political
game, exactly the kind of dinner guests favored by the late emperor Nerva.

The task of the Arvals was the worship of Dea Dia, an old rural fertility goddess, whom some thought to be the same as the Etruscan divinity Acca Larentia, Romulus’ adoptive mother. They celebrated her in May at the festival of Ambarvalia.

The society also offered thanksgiving of a more contemporary and comprehensible kind. On this occasion only half a dozen brothers were in attendance. The emperor was an Arval ex officio, and sent his apologies. This was because today he was leaving Rome to lead an expedition against the Dacians, and the brothers wordily wished him the best of fortune.

It is highly probable that one of the first decisions of Trajan’s reign was to deal with the threat posed by Decebalus. This was why he had visited the Danube provinces before returning to Rome for his inauguration. However, an attack on Dacia was high risk, and it is no wonder that an underlying impression of unease can be detected in the Arvals’ good wishes; after all, previous campaigns had failed, with generals come to grief and legions mauled or (even) wiped out.

The new emperor had two good reasons for proceeding—one specific and the other general. First, Decebalus was an ambitious, able, and expansionist leader who threatened the stability of the imperial frontier; second, Trajan shared Augustus’ perception that an aggressive foreign policy cemented consent for the autocracy at home.

That said, a careful and well-prepared approach would be essential to success. Trajan was an admirer of the ancient world’s greatest conqueror, Alexander the Great. But although the Macedonian was justly famed for his bravery and bravura on the battlefield, Trajan understood the invisible
key to his unbroken record of victory. Alexander was a master of logistics; he took great care of his supply lines and well understood the need to protect a victorious army’s rear as it advanced into enemy territory.

The Danube was an essential line of communication for the movement of troops and supplies. However, in places rapids made it impassable; so one or more navigable canals were dug alongside stretches of the river, a characteristically ambitious
grand projet
, traces of which have been discovered.

Trajan built two great but temporary bridges resting on tethered boats, crossing the Danube at Lederata (near the present-day village of Kostolac, east of Belgrade) and Bononia (today’s Vidin). These bridges gave the legions points of entry into the mountains of Dacia.

However, to ensure maximum security the emperor needed to provide a reliable connection between them. This was more easily said than done, for at the so-called Iron Gates of Orsova the Danube narrows to a gorge bounded by steep cliffs. At their feet on the southern, or Moesian, side the Romans cut a roadway-cum-towpath through sheer stone for a length of twelve miles. It was widened by cantilevered planks overhanging the water that were supported by wooden beams inserted into holes driven into the rock. This triumph of the legionary engineer can still be seen today.

Trajan was also justifiably proud of his achievement, as he made clear in a votive inscription of the year 100.

A year later another inscription boasted that “because of the danger of cataracts, [Trajan] drew off the stream and made the Danube’s navigation safe.”

All these preparations—not to mention the reorganization and strengthening of existing military bases north of the Danube, building
accommodation for the invasion force, and increasing the capacity of ports during winter’s inclement weather—took time, perhaps as much as two or three years. As the work drew to a conclusion, a large army was assembled in Moesia—nine of the empire’s total of thirty legions. In addition, there was a roughly equal number of auxiliary troops, which included cavalry (which would face the fearsome Dacian
cataphracts
, or heavily armored horsemen), ten regiments of archers, and irregular forces such as the semibarbarian
symmacharii—
essential for warfare in rugged territory where set-piece battles were not feasible.

Soldiers were summoned from many parts of the empire—Spaniards, Britons, and a body of fierce Moorish riders commanded by the fiery Lusius Quietus, son of a tribal chieftain in Mauretania (roughly today’s Morocco), who recruited his bareheaded cavalry from the free Berber tribes of northern Africa: they rode bareback and without reins, hurling light javelins at the enemy. A brilliant commander but a notorious rogue, he had been dismissed from the service for some unnamed conduct unbecoming, but was now forgiven for his prowess. In all, the units deployed in Moesia added up to the largest army a Roman general had ever commanded. On the assumption that many units stayed in the rear to secure the Danubian provinces and protect supply lines, more than fifty thousand men were available for front-line duty. Trajan was a cautious commander, who countered the risk of marching into unknown territory by the application of overwhelming force.

We can be sure that it was not only the Arvals who turned out to mark Trajan’s departure. The Senate will have gathered to see him off, accompanied by his wife, Plotina, with crowds of ordinary citizens lining the streets. The imperial entourage included some of the best military talent of the day and most astute political minds—among them, the scion of an eastern royal house, C. Julius Quadratus Bassus from Pergamum, a splendid city in today’s western Turkey, with its citadel modeled on the Acropolis of Athens; Hadrian’s bugbear and brother-in-law, Servianus, now in his fifties; and the inevitable Licinius Sura.