I joined the veteran and we gazed down into a grey face. Lack of beard made me think that the corpse was young, but the skin was drained of life.
Not so his eyes – they moved. They were looking at us.
The lips twitched.
‘Fuck,’ Stumps whispered again. ‘He’s alive.’
I looked the boy over. He had a hand on a stomach pierced deep by an arrow. Maggots crawled over his tunic.
I fought hard not to throw up. Statius reached the same conclusion as I had, and lost his own battle.
‘He’s been eating those to stay alive?’ he asked me, hoping that I would tell him otherwise.
The boy’s blue eyes burned into mine. He yearned for life. He had done unspeakable things to cling on to it.
I drew my dagger, and ended his hope there. I could not meet the eyes as the blood drained from him.
No one made jokes after that.
28
I was lying in my barrack room. The air was warm, a gentle breeze creeping through the window. I was looking at the ceiling, my eyes following a fly as it crawled and hopped on the concrete. It was trapped, unable to navigate, unable to work out the simple puzzle of the open window. The concrete was barren, and the fly would toil against its surface until it expired.
I had been watching it for hours.
Initially I had begun by cheering it, rooting for its freedom. The window was there, so close, fully open! Go!
Then, as time wore on, I began to resent the fly. I began to hate it. How could a creature be so stupid? How could it not see the opportunity? How—
I smelt smoke. Not the ever-present camp smells of cooking, but the thick noxious type that came from burning timber and plaster.
‘Stand to! Stand to!’ someone shouted from outside.
Then came the screams—
I shot up in my bed, panting, sweat turning instantly cold against my skin.
‘Stand to!’ the voice called. ‘Stand to!’
‘Stand to!’ I echoed automatically.
In the darkness, my men repeated the order, some with enthusiasm, some still half-deep in slumber.
‘Get your kit on! Form up outside!’
With practised motions I began to pull on my arms and armour. The movements were as automatic as breathing, and so I let my mind go to the possibilities of the stand-to: fire? Enemy at the walls? Enemy inside of them?
As I entered the night outside the block I saw the other sections spilling into the torchlight, centurion and optio marshalling the men into formation.
‘Section commanders, report in when you’re complete!’ H ordered.
‘Seven Section complete,’ I shouted a few moments later, my men still pulling at straps as they trotted into formation.
Over the sound of shuffling feet and chinking chain mail I listened for the signs of battle. I heard shouting from within the fort. Shouting, but no screams.
‘Century, right turn!’ H commanded. ‘By the centre, double march!’
We took off at a slow run, H in the lead, the only man who seemed to know our destination and purpose.
‘What’s going on?’ Statius asked no one in particular.
Stumps sneered. ‘What the fuck do you think’s going on? We’re going to get stuck into a shit show.’
‘What kind?’ Statius asked, undeterred.
‘Hopefully the kind that gets you killed, so you can stop wasting my time with stupid fucking questions.’
A century in full battle dress doesn’t move quietly when it runs. Metal banged against metal; shield against shield; hobnails tramped the dirt; and breath escaped loudly from the lungs of men confined within walls. Even so, it was possible to hear the sound of the shouts growing louder. Angry voices, and a lot of them.
Balbus spoke up. ‘So-so-sounds like a riot.’
He was right.
‘Century, halt!’ H called. ‘Move from column to line!’
The head of the century wheeled to its right, the tail of the unit following like a snake so that the width of our body now faced forwards, and gave me my first look at what was ahead of us.
A barrack block of the Syrian archers was under siege. Scanning quickly, I guessed that no fewer than three hundred civilians had surrounded it. They threw stones and insults at the windows set in the wooden walls, cursing the men who had taken refuge within.
‘Look over there,’ Stumps said to me.
I followed his eyes. There was a body in the dirt, now a plaything for young boys, who poked at the dark-skinned man with nervous curiosity.
‘Looks like a Syrian,’ Brando noted.
Centurion H positioned himself at the front of his men. Elsewhere, other centuries were arriving in formation. The people who had surrounded the archers were now surrounded themselves, save for one road that led away into the fort. I expected that we were to be the sheep dogs that drove the civilians through that gate.
Two figures strode out from the ranks and towards the braying masses.
‘Silence,’ Malchus called on behalf of the fort’s commander. ‘Silence!’
The crowd would not oblige him. A few worried faces appeared in their rear ranks, but most were turned inwards, consumed by passionate fury.
Malchus had a remedy for this. ‘Centuries!’ he bellowed. ‘Ten paces forwards.’
We obeyed his command, tramping our feet heavily. More heads turned to face us.
Malchus carried no javelin, and so he drew his sword, and began to beat it against his shield. The men of the centuries picked up this rhythm, an unmistakable drum of war.
Now, all heads turned. Seeing the ranks of soldiers lit and shadowed by torches, anger faded from the civilian faces, and fear appeared in its place. They knew that if they were declared an enemy of the Roman peace, then they could die by our blades just like any other foe.
Malchus held up his hand for silence. He got it, save for the beating of a shield by a solitary soldier: Micon.
Stumps silenced him with a kick. ‘Enough, you idiot.’
Prefect Caedicius stepped forwards. ‘Return to your quarters. You are confined to the western side of the fort until further notice. Any of you found within a hundred yards of these barracks will be cast out of the gate, and you can take your own chances. Go!’
Individuals began to peel away at the command, but the host of the body shifted, uncertain. They had come for something, and were reluctant to leave without it.
‘We just want justice, sir!’ a voice called out.
‘Justice for what?’ Caedicius demanded.
‘For the girls! These men are savages, sir!’ the voice called back to a chorus of approval.
Girls? So there had been another found butchered?
‘I am the commander of the fort.’ Caedicius spoke forcefully. ‘I alone decide when, and how, to dispense justice. By coming here, you have threatened the security of the fort I have been entrusted by the Emperor to protect. If you want to see justice, how about I choose a dozen of you and take your heads from your shoulders? Is that the justice you would like to see?’
‘They keep killing our girls, sir!’
‘Enough!’ Caedicius roared. ‘Three of my archers are dead, which means that there are murderers amongst you! Murderers and idiots, because that’s three less bows on the wall when the Germans come back. And they will be back!’
The prefect paced up to the crowd now, staring them in the face, daring them to defy his rule.
‘Three dead archers, a dead legionary, a dead woman and a dead girl. Are you trying to do Arminius’s work for him? Are you trying to kill each other and save him the fucking bother?
‘No more! The next display like this, and I will pick you out at random and take your heads myself! Get back to your barracks now. Stay there, or take your chances outside of the walls. Either is fine with me, but do not test my mercy by acting like this again! You should be ashamed to call yourself Roman!’
The mass of civilians began to melt away. Their anger was not so qui
ck to dissipate, and I could see it held in tight shoulders and vengeful eyes. Despite Caedicius’s threats, there would be more bloodshed within the walls, I was certain. Grudges are not easily let go of during the best of times. Under siege, with the stress of death ever present, a person was far more likely to act on vengeful instinct.
‘Centurions to me!’ Malchus ordered. ‘Optios, return your centuries to barracks or duties. First Century, Three and Four Sections, stay here and put guards on these barracks.’
‘Section commanders,’ H said before departing, ‘wait for me in my quarters. I expect we’ll have some talking to do later.’
He was right.
It was some time before H returned from Malchus, and in that time the century’s section commanders threw about their theories of who could be behind the murders of the young girls. Soldiers love to speculate and gossip, and never more so than when violence is involved.
‘Six dead,’ H confirmed, ‘including the girl that started it all. Probably be a couple more soon. There’re a dozen wounded and some are bad. Malchus was arguing they should be left to die, to prove a point, but the surgeon’s working on them.’
‘I love Malchus.’ Two Section’s commander spoke up. ‘He doesn’t give a shit.’
H grinned with admiration for his superior. ‘No, he doesn’t. Anyway, the long and the short of tonight is this – except to carry out duties on the wall, the archers are confined to the east of camp. The civilians are confined to the west. The north–south road through the camp’s centre is the boundary. If you see either where they shouldn’t be, detain them and alert your centurion. That’s me,’ he added with a flourish.
‘H?’ a veteran queried. ‘I’ve got family here. What’s going on with this killing? Is it the Syrians, or what?’
‘Malchus says there’s no one who’s actually seen a Syrian around a body, or with the girls before they died, so no one knows.’
‘Can we at least put guards where the civvies are?’ the man pushed.
‘There’re going to be roving patrols. A section will get that duty every night.’
‘Just one section?’
‘We’ve got a lot of wall to cover, and without wanting to sound like a bastard, Arminius and the goat-fuckers are our biggest concern, not the civvies. Happy?’
‘Not really,’ someone grumbled. ‘Either the Germans come and try and kill us on the walls, or our families are getting butchered here, and we’re just sitting on our arses. It’s fucking bollocks.’
‘Well then, I’ve got good news for you, my friend,’ H smirked. ‘Because I’m looking for volunteers.
‘Caedicius has ordered a raid.’
29
The request for volunteers shifted the room into uncomfortable silence.
‘Relax, you campfire heroes.’ H laughed, enjoying the trap that he’d set. ‘Malchus is taking his own century, and sixty archers.’
I saw shoulders sag a little in relief.
Two Section’s commander spoke. ‘I was gonna volunteer.’
‘Of course you were, darling.’ H smiled. ‘All right, that’s enough for now. Go get your heads down, and I’ll send the runner around if I need you once I work out this new guard rotation. Felix, hang back a moment, please.’
The other men eyed me as they shuffled out of the door. I was still an oddity to them. A stranger from a vanished army.
‘What is it?’ I asked cautiously. The looks of the departed men had put me on the defensive.
H’s smile disappeared and he squirmed slightly. ‘I don’t know how to put this gently, so I’ll just say it. Prefect Caedicius thinks it was you who was responsible for the murders.’
The accusation hit me like Titus’s fists. I had no words, and stood there open-mouthed.
H choked out a laugh. ‘Sorry, Felix, that was my attempt at humour to try and lighten what he’s really after. He wants to take your Batavians out on the raid. He thinks their German could come in useful.’
I thought of Brando and Folcher outside the safety of walls they had fought so hard to get behind. I knew that both men would volunteer for the raid without hesitation.
‘They’ve done their bit,’ I said. ‘There must be someone else in this fort who can speak German. How long’s the legion been based out here?’
H shrugged his armoured shoulders. ‘I’ve thought about that myself, you know? I’ve been here a long time, but all my German’s good for is bartering with whores and buying shit wine. You’d think they’d teach us, wouldn’t you?’
I had my own theory on why the legions were keen to keep their men separated from local language and culture: they were there to occupy, not to integrate. Easier to stamp down on dissident thoughts and voices when you don’t understand the words that beg for mercy.
‘I’m sorry, Felix, but Malchus is taking them whether they volunteer or not,’ H concluded.
‘Can I at least go with them?’ I asked on impulse.
It was an automatic, desperate duty that compelled my words; Brando and Folcher were my friends, and I did not want them facing danger without me. There were only so many ghosts that could fit within my head.
H seemed about to deny my request, but he recognized determination when he looked into my sunken eyes. ‘Fuck it, you’ve earned the right to decide your own death.’ He shrugged. ‘Ask Malchus.’
His words seemed to be a dismissal, but his voice stopped me at the door. ‘Felix. You know why the other section commanders in this century have almost seen out their twenty years? It’s because they keep their mouths shut when I ask for volunteers.’
There was no denying the good intention or the truth of those words, and so I simply nodded my head and stepped outside into the growing darkness.
The raiding party gathered before dusk, a century of fully armoured legionaries drawn up beside sixty lightly equipped archers. Brando and Folcher had said little at the news of their inclusion in the raid, but I could feel the anticipation coming from them now that the hour was near. They were looking forward to the chance of spilling blood. The remainder of my section had seemed happy enough to be spared the action. Only Stumps had remained sullen, refusing to talk to me when he had learned of my volunteering. It was not the way I wished to part with my friend, but the time had come, and now I sought out the transverse crest of Centurion Malchus.
‘Felix,’ Malchus greeted me, eyeing my full battle dress. ‘You want to come along, you animal?’ He grinned. ‘Why not? We had good fun last time, didn’t we? You and your German lads join on to One Section. Stay close to me.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I murmured, dropping the speech I had been rehearsing all day to compel him to include me, now redundant.
‘We leave an hour after full darkness,’ Malchus then told me. ‘Goat-fuckers are bound to have scouts watching our gates, and we don’t want to go giving them time to lay on a welcome.’
‘You think they expect attack, sir?’ Folcher asked.
Malchus’s crest shook from side to side. ‘They underestimate us, lads. They think we’re going to sit in here with our cocks up our arses, waiting to die.’ He laughed. The sound was brutal. ‘Let’s make some orphans tonight, boys,’ he finished, moving away to check over his troops.
Clouds that had threatened suddenly burst, the heavy rain bouncing like lead shot from helmets and armoured shoulders. Caedicius had chosen the night for a raiding party well, and the rain would work to dampen not only our tunics and equipment, but the sound of our footfalls. I welcomed it because of this, but grudgingly; being cold and wet brought with it more than just a physical discomfort, and I thought of how we had huddled as a section beneath a sodden blanket in the forest, our rank breath thick beneath the cover that had been our only protection against the storms.
I passed the wait to depart in unhappy silence. Beside me, Folcher and Brando spoke casually in their native tongue. As darkness fell, my eyes were drawn to Malchus’s prominent silhouette as he moved from man to man, offering words of advice or enc
ouragement. A solitary figure appeared, spoke to the centurion and then joined the ranks. I expected it was the runner, as soon Malchus ordered that all torches be extinguished; the rain had already executed that command on all but the most protected flames. Then, after giving our eyes time to adjust to the night, the gates yawned open.
‘For Rome.’ Malchus spoke, calm and confident. ‘For each other.’
We marched out, our ranks double spaced to avoid a giveaway through collision of shields or equipment.
No one talked. Mouths trapped tighter still as the smell of rotting flesh greeted us. We were passing the trench in which we’d dumped the bodies, and the stench was sickly sweet. I’m certain that I wasn’t the only soldier picturing how my own body would look if the worst happened, knowing it could be a reality before dawn.
As we marched through the dripping darkness, I replayed the briefing that Malchus had delivered as the cold sun had set. He had surprised me by demanding that his men take prisoners: ‘The only thing that will scare them more than dying is disappearing,’ the fierce centurion had snarled. I couldn’t fault his words, and thought of our time in the forest. How the unknown of trap and ambush had been far more terrifying than any open field skirmish. There was fear in death, but there was also certainty. Imagination could be as deadly as any shield wall. Rumour could break an army with the same devastating effect as artillery. I had seen it with my own eyes. How words had spread like a blaze, and gutted a town to the same effect.
Now wasn’t the time to think of that place. Now was the time to concentrate on the present, and how I would live through it. I felt almost naked to be outside of the fort’s walls, even within a formed body of men. There was comfort in the presence of my comrades about me, but we were fewer than 150 in a province that had turned against us.
I became caught up on that thought: to turn against Rome, Germans east of the Rhine would have had to have been, at some point, with the Empire. Had there ever truly been such a relationship? Or had Rome assumed it by dropping legions on to the locals’ heads and demanding that they bend the knee? I expected that this was the case, and that this violent explosion had been growing since the first hobnailed sandals had tramped across the bridges over the Rhine and into new territory.
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