‘What are you doing?’ I grilled my friend, certain that he was suffering a hallucination caused by his embattled mind. ‘That’s your cohort commander, Stumps! He’s no German! Put your weapon down!’
‘I know he’s not a German!’ my friend cried back, his voice breaking with stress.
‘Put your weapon down,’ Malchus growled.
‘No, sir!’ Stumps shouted back, unwavering. ‘Not until the guard arrives!’
I looked at Linza. She said nothing. She didn’t need to – I could see her fear. She was under no illusion. She knew whose throat my friend was holding a blade to.
But why?
‘Stumps, don’t do anything stupid,’ I urged.
‘No one do anything stupid,’ Albus put in, seeing that one of Malchus’s veterans was slowly reaching for his blade. At Albus’s words, the soldier moved his hand clear of his weapon.
And so we stood, my friend’s javelin at my commander’s neck, a scene as terrifying as it was bizarre – I knew that any moment could bring death, and that even when the weapons were lowered, the promise of bloodshed would not be silent.
My muscles quivered as we awaited the arrival of the guard force. I almost dropped in relief when I saw Centurion H at their helm.
‘What the fuck …’ he said, as uncomprehending as I had been.
‘H. Get this idiot’s javelin from my throat, or ram your blade into his thick skull. Either’s all right by me.’ Malchus spoke evenly, his savage eyes burning into Stumps’s own.
‘What are you playing at, Stumps?’ said H. ‘Lower your weapon. Do it now.’
‘He’s the killer, sir,’ Stumps insisted, unmoving. ‘We set a trap for him.’ My throat turned dry at the revelation. ‘We used her as bait, and he took it, sir. He tried to kill her. On the honour of the Seventeenth, and all the dead of my legion, he tried to kill her!’
‘You’re out of your fucking mind,’ Malchus snarled.
But one look at Linza told me that he was not. She had seen the fear on my face when Stumps had revealed how they’d trapped the man in front of them, and my fear had revealed her guilt. Guilt that she had kept me in the dark. Guilt that she would risk herself when she knew that I – selfishly – needed her.
I looked at Malchus, a man I admired. The embodiment of a soldier. I saw his eyes, then, and they were like a shark’s, empty of all emotion, filled only with the need to kill.
I knew then that it was all true.
Perhaps H saw the same. Perhaps that was why he drove his fist into Stumps’s skull, and not his blade. The second that my friend began to crumple, Malchus was drawing his own sword.
So were the two men on his shoulder.
So was I.
‘I can’t let you kill him, sir,’ H protested, straddling the man he had downed, his empty hands held up for calm.
My eyes met those of the two veterans on Malchus’s shoulder. My look delivered the same message as H’s, but there was nothing peaceful in my own stance – I’d gut them if they closed on my comrade.
Slowly, Malchus raised his hate-filled gaze to fall on to my face. I knew that he was sizing me up; he had enough respect for my fighting skills to take a moment to consider how best to kill me. I readied myself for that attack, but instead, the centurion let heavy words drop from his mouth.
‘Walk with me,’ he ordered, lowering his blade.
After a moment’s hesitation and a glance towards Linza, I followed.
51
Keeping myself clear of the reach of his sword, I walked with Malchus into the darkness of the stables. The building reeked of stale straw and dung, but the animals were long gone, their meat salted for winter. It was not a good place to die, and I was glad to see that the silhouette of Centurion H had followed us into the shadows.
I had expected that Malchus wanted me dead. Once I was silenced, it would be a simple matter of sentencing Stumps to death for attacking a superior officer. Linza could be killed at will. The incident would be forgotten, or at least hidden in the minds of those other men who wished to stay free of cold graves. H’s presence in the stables, however, now made me wonder whether, instead of bloodshed, it would be explanation that freed Malchus from his entanglement.
The one outcome I did not expect was that the centurion would casually admit to his crimes.
‘I was going to kill her,’ he said carelessly. ‘What does it matter?’
Such was his candour that it took moments for either myself or H to recover our senses.
‘Sir, it matters …’ H finally managed.
‘Why?’ Malchus asked without heat. ‘Have any of them been citizens? They’re all goat-fuckers, H. They just happened to end up on this side of the wall. We probably killed their sisters and cousins when we raided the camps. Did anyone care then?’
I had no words.
‘A soldier is a weapon,’ Malchus explained slowly, as if we were boneheaded children. ‘A blade. He has to be kept sharp. And how does a soldier do that? How does he keep sharp?’ he asked. ‘He. Has. To. Kill.’
‘Not our own people,’ H protested.
‘Have you not been listening, H?’ Malchus chided him. ‘They’re goat-fuckers. I wouldn’t touch a citizen.’ The cohort commander sounded as if the idea appalled him. ‘But if a few dead hairies keep the garrison on its toes and vigilant, then what’s the fucking problem?
‘We’re under siege, but there’re no warriors at our walls. You think the Syrians and the civvies will observe the rationing if they forget we’re cut off out here? You think our own boys do? I’ve had three punished for stealing rations just today!’
I had lived and breathed war for years, and in that time I had developed the mind of a warrior. The mind of a killer. I had had to, to survive, and that voice inside my head now stepped forth to speak.
He’s right, it told me. He’s doing what needs to be done.
There was part of me that believed that, as much as it disgusted me to admit it. Perhaps, if it wasn’t for the thought of Linza lying dead and butchered, the cold-hearted part of me could have accepted the words. After all, tens of thousands were already dead in this war. How many would follow? Was the death of half a dozen girls worth it to keep a garrison alert, and fighting? We were Roman, after all, and wasn’t the offering of sacrifice a cornerstone of the culture and the Empire’s religion?
I was saved from having to voice such dark words by the intervention of a better man.
‘Malchus, this has to stop.’ H spoke, deliberately dropping his superior’s rank. ‘It’s un-Roman.’ That was the term coined for anything the Empire deemed unseemly, and beneath them.
‘There’s nothing more Roman than killing barbarians,’ Malchus grunted. ‘And I’ll do as I want.’
‘Citizens or not, you’ve still broken the law.’
‘And who applies that law here? You think Caedicius will lose me to avenge a few girls? Grow up, you soft bastard.’
‘He’ll have to if enough people ask for your head,’ H insisted, unwilling to back down. ‘You’ve helped put this garrison on a knife-edge, Malchus. The people have torn down tyrants that ruled empires. They can tear down the second in command of a forgotten fort.’
Something in those words struck Malchus. It was a long time before he spoke.
‘The man who put his javelin up,’ he eventually rumbled, sour at the memory and the fact that H was correct in his prophecy. ‘He has to go. The girl too. That’ll be an end to it.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ H asserted. ‘He’s just battle-mad from the forest, and you love your soldiers enough to forgive them. There’s no one who wouldn’t believe that, Malchus. And the girl doesn’t matter. No one will believe her without a soldier’s voice to back her up.’
Malchus considered the idea; then he looked at me. ‘Can you shut your friend up?’
‘I can.’
There was another drawn-out silence. I could hear Malchus’s jaw grind in irritation.
‘One word, and he die
s,’ he eventually pronounced. ‘That goes for you pair, too. You’ve always been a soft bastard, H, but don’t let that get the better of you.’
‘I won’t, sir,’ H answered.
‘And you’ll take care of your friend?’ Malchus pressed me again.
‘I will, sir,’ I promised the murderer.
And when I returned to the barrack room, I did not disappoint him.
52
Stumps’s head crashed into the wood of the bunk. I gave him no time to breathe, driving my knee into the side of his skull and stamping down on to his heaving chest.
‘Stop it!’ Linza screamed at me, trying to pull me back.
I cast her aside like an afterthought, grabbing Stumps by the scruff of his tunic and hauling him to his feet. Blood and snot ran from his crushed nose. His eyes were unfocused. He was already broken from the beating I had given him, but my sense was lost to anger, and so I drove his skull once more into the wooden frame of his bunk.
‘You could have got her killed!’ I screamed at the same time as I pushed away the woman I was so desperate to protect. ‘You cunt, Stumps! You cunt! You could have got her killed!’
‘Felix!’ Linza screamed. ‘Felix!’
I took hold of her shoulders and pushed her down on to a bed. She came back at me like a fury, swinging a punch that rocked my jaw.
‘What were you doing?’ I screamed into her face, discounting the blow and sending another kick into Stumps’s ribs. ‘What did you think you were you doing?’
‘Felix!’ a voice bellowed from behind me.
I ignored it.
‘Felix!’ Brando yelled again, grabbing at my shoulders.
Planning my sentence for Stumps, I had calmly sent the Batavian and Micon on a fool’s errand. They had returned to find me transformed, our bloodied comrade at my feet, Linza as consumed with rage as I was myself.
‘Stop it!’ Brando tried. ‘That’s your brother!’
But I would not stop. I kicked, I punched and I roared oaths. Eventually, Micon returned with some men of the century and the scrum of bodies held my thrashing form to the floor and beat me into compliance. By the time that I began to pass out, one of the people I cared for most in the world lay bloodied and beaten by my hand. The other looked at me with hatred.
The calm that I had begun to know was over.
I was returned to myself.
53
The salt water washed lazily over my toes; it was warm. Sun bounced from my bare shoulders. I looked out at the sea, seeing its power radiating from the waves.
‘I love you,’ she told me, feeling that same energy and purpose.
‘Is he all right?’ she then asked, her fingers touching my arm as she looked back behind us to where a young man waited beyond the sand’s reach.
‘Marcus is a big boy.’ I smiled. ‘He can stand to be alone for a little while. He loves the sound of his own voice more than anyone else’s, anyway.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ She pushed me, and I saw the quiver of unease pull at her lips, attempting to take away the smile that was my reason for breathing.
‘He’s fine about us,’ I told her honestly. ‘He’s my oldest friend,’ I added after a moment to give her confidence – I needed that smile. I did not want a single slip.
‘I love you,’ she said again, and in those words were captured our strongest desires.
‘I love you too.’
I kissed her. Another wave ran over my feet; it was hot. I looked down.
Blood.
Panic overcame me in an instant. I looked at her face for comfort, but found only terror – her skin was grey, eyes sunken. Flies danced on what had been her smile.
I backed away.
‘Marcus!’ I screamed, helpless. ‘Marcus!’
I looked up the beach, to where my friend had stood.
‘Marcus?’ I pleaded when there was no sight of him.
‘Look at what you’ve done,’ he hissed, appearing suddenly by my side, the carnage of his jaw flapping beside his lolling tongue. ‘Look at what you’ve done,’ he challenged me again, and I followed his pointed finger to the ocean, seeing blood-red waves crashing, hundreds of bodies churning in the red foam. I saw faces amongst the ruin: Varo, Priscus, Octavius, Chickenhead, Rufus, Cnaeus, Folcher, Statius.
The tide of death was endless.
‘Do you see what you’ve done?’ Marcus asked me.
I turned my tear-filled gaze back towards the man who had been my greatest friend.
He was not alone, now. Stumps stood beside him.
‘How many dead is your life worth?’ he asked, nose twisted and bloodied from the beating I had delivered.
‘Let it go,’ Stumps urged, ‘before you take more of us with you.’
His words were calm. Without hesitation, I followed his outstretched arm – and his forgiveness. I began to wade into the bloodied waters that churned about me, amid the bodies of my comrades carried by the tide to bump against my legs like ghost ships in a dead harbour. Soon, chest deep, I was surrounded by the carnage of my own creation.
‘Let go, Felix,’ Stumps told me from the shore.
‘Let go, Corvus,’ Marcus rasped.
I put my head beneath the waters.
54
My eyes blurred open. I saw Linza. Her face was as tight as hide on a shield, lips drawn and eyes narrow. In her hand was a wet cloth, and she used it to wipe at the cuts on my face.
‘I should choke you with it,’ she said, and though I could see that she wanted to be angry, there was something that held her back from reproaching me.
It was pity, I realized.
‘You scream a lot,’ she told me quietly, sensing that I recognized her true feelings. ‘Last night I wanted you to die. Now I think I love you.’
There was no warmth in the words. She knew as well as I did that love was a curse.
‘I know why you did what you did. It wasn’t you. It was war.’ Linza looked at her hands as she wrung out the wet cloth. ‘Your eyes, even, were not the same.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I croaked, exhausted from the night, my nightmare and her revelation. ‘It would be better if I wasn’t here,’ I murmured. ‘I should have died in the forest.’
The wet cloth came back to my face with force. Her words stung as much as the cuts to my face. ‘Don’t talk like that,’ she snapped. ‘It’s pathetic.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You feel sorry too much,’ she snapped, on the offensive now, her cheeks flushing. ‘You are so lucky, Felix. Fuck, you are making me so angry! This pity for yourself. What is wrong with you? Be a man!’
‘You have no idea—’ I began quietly.
She cut me off, blue eyes wild as her anger began to bubble over. ‘I have no idea? My husband is dead, Felix! I will never see him again! My friends? Gone. My family in Batavia has war coming to them. My brothers will fight, and maybe die. My cousins. Don’t tell me I have no idea! You think because you hold a sword you are the only one who can speak about war? Fuck you! You see one side of it. One part. War is not all about you.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Shut up. Shut up. You make so angry!’ She threw the cloth at me then. It slapped pathetically against my face as she crashed from the room.
‘Fuck!’ I screamed after a moment, sinking down. ‘Fuck …’ I groaned through hands clapped tight on to my face.
Depression washed over me like the waves of my nightmare. Linza had called my self-pity pathetic, but she was wrong. I was pathetic. How else could a man go from having a woman admit her love of him, no matter how grudgingly, to her spitting oaths and storming from his company a few seconds later?
She loved me, I then cursed myself. Loved not loves. I had that chance to take hold of her feelings, and I had let it fall through my grasp through my own self-loathing. Loathing that only grew stronger and heavier now that I looked back at my weakness. I cursed myself for a fool. I cursed myself for a coward. In my dream, Stumps had been right; h
ow many people needed to die for me? Had I earned their sacrifice? Had I earned the right to live when they had died?
Of course not.
I wanted to lie in my bed, then. I wanted to lie there, and to forget about walls, and sieges, and soldiers, and enemies. I wanted to lie and sleep, forever. I didn’t want to wake up. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t take care of the love who had been everything to me when I had everything. How was I supposed to protect Linza, and be a man for her, when I had nothing but a head full of nightmares?
‘Enough!’ I shouted through clenched teeth, desperate for it to be over. ‘Enough!’ I screamed again, before lapsing into silent misery.
‘Felix?’ A timid voice broke through. ‘Can I come in?’
I opened my eyes. Moved the fingers that were pressing with hatred into my skin.
Micon.
‘Is it all right if I come in?’ the boy asked again. ‘Stumps asked me to come and get some of his things.’
Stumps. My friend. What had I done to the man? When I had left Malchus, there had been nothing before my eyes but rage. Seeing Linza threatened, I had known that I loved her, just as I loved my friend. A friend that I had beaten without mercy for putting Linza’s life at risk.
‘How is he?’ I forced myself to ask.
Micon shrugged, eyeing me nervously. I had protected him in the forest and fort, but now the young soldier looked at me with respectful fear, as if I were a snake on a path.
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘With Titus.’
‘And Brando?’
‘With Titus.’
‘I suppose you’re with Titus, too?’ I asked, hatred for myself redoubling.
‘He said we should give you some space,’ Micon explained. ‘So you could sort things out. With her.’
‘Titus said that?’
The boy shook his head. ‘Stumps.’
My chin sagged to my chest. Even after what I had done to him, my comrade was selflessly looking to my own interests.
‘Wait,’ I urged the young soldier as he moved to the doorway. ‘Can you help me put my mail on? I’m coming with you.’
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