Lucius Herennius Saturninus, legatus Augusti of Moesia Superior, was a crusty old man, set in his ways and almost as suspicious of clever men as Trajan himself, but Hadrian’s reports had convinced him at last of the real threat to the bridge. Once convinced he had acted, and was busy now gathering more soldiers and riding further and faster than you would expect for a man of his age and considerable belly. He had put Hadrian in charge here, with orders worded to grant him considerable licence, while protecting Saturninus if anything went wrong.

Hadrian was almost ready, but the crucial word was almost. He had more than two thousand men from his own legion, formed into four strong cohorts, and another fifteen hundred legionaries from the other vexillations. Not all were in the best shape for campaigning after years of dull routine or building work, but even a few days in the field ought to rub off the edges. There was the bulk of three cohorts of auxiliary infantry already there, all equitata and one composed of archers. Two more, both infantry, were due to arrive within the next day or two. He also had most of an ala milliaria of cavalry and parts of two ordinary alae, as well as some irregulars, including a band of Numidians who were a nuisance in peacetime and a true blessing in any war.

That would give him a field force of six thousand men, a quarter mounted, even if he left a thousand at Dobreta and he was sorely tempted to cut the garrison to half that. Scouts reported that most of the Roxolani were far to the east, feasting and celebrating after their annihilation of the convoy. The bait had worked, and men who knew the clans well said that it would be a month or more before any chose to take the war path again. Perhaps a few score would join the Dacian army, but it was unlikely to be more and that should give him a clear advantage in cavalry. Still, he would be outnumbered by two or even three to one, so care would be needed. Roman armies had faced such odds often enough over the centuries, even here on the Danube, and they were not daunting in themselves as long as the commander knew what he was doing. Hadrian had no doubts about his own ability and was itching to be off, imagining in his mind arriving at Piroboridava having routed the enemy and hearing the cheers of the ragged garrison still clinging on to their battered ramparts.

The problem was food, as it always seemed to be in war, not so much possessing it as moving it. He had thousands of men, but only a few hundred mules, for none of the detachments had been prepared for a campaign, so lacked their own baggage trains. Again and again he ran through the figures, the weight of a daily ration for man and beast, in relation to the capacity of a pack mule. There were ox carts, but not enough of them, and taking the dumb plodding beasts along would slow him down for little substantial gain. A pair of mules or horses pulled more weight than they could carry and went far faster than oxen, so he had decided to change the teams around, only to find that there were no suitable harnesses in store. The fabricae were set to making them, which meant more time waiting. Saturninus might return any day and decide to take direct charge of the relief expedition or worse still might forbid it, reckoning that the fort must have fallen by now.