Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  ***

  The two legionary’s grinned at Fergus as he reached for the throwing cup and carefully examined the three, six-sided tesserae dice. It was not unknown for the dice to be loaded, but these looked alright. He sat cross-legged on the floor of the small barracks block, which looked exactly like his own. On the ground, in between him and the two legionaries lay a pile of gleaming coins, including his fifteen denarii.

  ‘Feeling lucky,’ one of the men said showing a mouth which was missing several teeth.

  ‘Like Venus,’ Fergus muttered as he wrenched his eyes away from the dice and stared down at the pile of money. There was enough there, to make things manageable for the next few months and, as he gazed at the coins, the money glinted and urged him on. So close. Nearly his. He had to do this. There was no other way. He couldn’t let Galena down.

  Across from him one of the legionaries casually drew his pugio, army knife from his belt and laid it purposefully on the floor in front of him. His friend, the one with the missing teeth, jutted his chin at Fergus.

  ‘Now we’re not going to have any trouble with you when you lose,’ he said in a hard, unfriendly tone. ‘We don’t take kindly to losers who refuse to accept the outcome of an honest throw.’

  ‘I won’t be any trouble,’ Fergus growled. ‘And I am not going to lose.’

  ‘Alright let’s do this then,’ the other soldier hissed, his eyes suddenly gleaming with greed as he looked down at the pile of money.

  Resolutely Fergus dropped the three dice into the cup, held it up, gave it a good shake, said a silent prayer and sent the dice rolling onto the ground. A six, a three and a four. Not bad. Anxiously he looked on, as the first of his fellow gamblers grabbed the dice and dropped them into the cup. As he threw them onto the ground, Fergus twisted his fingers and his lips worked on another silent prayer. Across from him the man cursed. A two, a three and another two, lay on the ground. Fergus felt a flutter of excitement.

  ‘Nearly a dog,’ the soldier with the missing teeth laughed. as he caught the disappointed look on his comrade’s face.

  Swiftly the legionary picked up the dice, dropped them into the cup, gave them a shake and quickly rolled them onto the ground. Fergus groaned and his face went pale. A six, a five and another six. The legionary who’d thrown the dice, whooped in delight. Fergus closed his eyes in dismay. He’d lost. He’d lost every last coin of disposable income he had. It should not have been like this. What had he been thinking? This was a disaster. Across from him the man with the missing teeth was scooping up his winnings, with a huge grin.

  ‘That’s the closest to Venus you will ever get,’ the legionary exclaimed, looking up at Fergus with a big taunting grin.

  Chapter Four – The Letter

  The company had been standing to attention in the burning noon sun without moving for over three hours now, and still Titus refused to dismiss them. The eighty or so legionaries, clad in their full, body armour, wearing helmets and clutching their large rectangular shields and heavy throwing, Pila, stood motionless, in ten ranks of eight. The men were staring straight ahead into space, sweat trickling down their faces. Not a man moved and the company were silent, for each man knew that to move but an inch, was to invite a fierce beating from the Centurion’s vine staff. Around them, the legionary parade and exercise area had long ago emptied, and now the only spectators were a few off-duty soldiers lounging around in the shade of one of engineering workshops. Titus, clad in his plumed-helmet and grasping his vine staff, stood a few paces beyond his men facing them, his eyes flicking from one man to the next. There was a tough, harsh look on his face. The Centurion, even though he was over twice as old as most of his legionaries, had himself not moved or said a word in over three hours, as if he was daring his men to try to think that they were tougher than him. At the rear of the company Furius, holding the Optio’s long, wooden staff, also stood ready to beat the first man, who dared fall out of formation.

  Fergus closed his eyes, as he felt a trickle of salty sweat run down his cheek. The gods were always on the side of the officers, he thought, for today, of all days, the sun had decided to come out at its fiercest and hottest. What luck. A day had passed since his latest gambling disaster and the tough physical exercises and constant training, that Titus had put his men through, was not making him feel any better. There had been no time to see Galena. Would she provide him with a dowry? The thought had crossed his mind, but she and her father were not wealthy people. But it didn’t matter he thought. She was his girl and he loved her. He knew that deep down. And in the end, that was all that would matter. He was going to be a father and he would find the money from somewhere. He was going to make her proud to be his woman.

  ‘Company,’ Titus roared suddenly, his deep, booming voice filling the parade ground, ‘Company, will stand easy.’

  An audible sigh of relief swept through the ranks, as the legionaries relaxed and raised their hands to wipe away sweat and scratch at their cheeks, ears and chins. Titus glared at his men, but there was no malice in his eyes and, for an instant, Fergus thought he caught a glimpse of concern, on the grey-haired veteran’s face.

  ‘You think you are tough,’ the Centurion roared. ‘You think you can handle a barbarian charge. None of you have ever witnessed one. None of you have ever stood in the line and stood up to such an assault. You are all going to piss yourselves when you do. The peoples beyond the Empire’s borders are bigger and taller than us. They are physically strong and they are fierce. They are not afraid of death. I have seen them and I know what they can do. But there is one thing that they do not have, and that is discipline. They do not have our Roman discipline. They do not have the patience or character to stand in the heat for hours, and wait for the right moment, and because they lack our discipline that is why we are going to defeat them. That’s why we are going to slaughter them, when they have the misfortune to run into the Second Company of the Second Cohort of the Twentieth Legion. I want you all to remember that.’

  Titus glared at his men as he paused to take breath.

  ‘Rome conquers all,’ he cried.

  ***

  Fergus and his mess mates had just returned to their barrack rooms, when at the doorway to their block, a slave boy appeared, clutching a leather despatch case. Nervously the boy eyed the tired, sweat-soaked legionaries.

  ‘What do you want, Vittius snapped at the slave. ‘Well?’

  ‘Fergus,’ the slave stammered in a thick Briton accent, ‘I am to deliver this to Fergus. They told me that this was the block.’

  Fergus wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he stepped towards the boy. ‘I am Fergus,’ he said. ‘What have you got for me?’

  In reply the slave fished into his satchel and quickly handed Fergus a small, brown, double-hinged, wooden tablet; the size of a hand. The tablet looked exactly like the ones which Fergus had seen, stacked up in the company’s administrative office inside the Principia.

  ‘A letter,’ Fergus exclaimed with sudden excitement, as a little colour shot into his cheeks. Turning towards his mess mates, he held up the hinged, wooden-tablet. In the barrack room his comrades stirred, with a mix of curiosity and sudden envy. Receiving letters from home was a rare event at the base, and the further away or the poorer a soldier’s family were, the rarer they became. Fergus smiled and turned to look at the brown, wooden-tablet. Instantly he recognised the scratched hand-writing on the outside. It was from his mother, Kyna, on the Isle of Vectis. Without another word, Fergus strode out through the doorway of the barracks room and headed for the communal latrines, for if a man wanted to be left alone in the crowded fortress, that was by far the best place to go.

  The long, line of holes cut into the wooden plank, stretched from wall to wall. Fergus sat over one of the holes, his under garments at his ankles, as he carefully studied the letter, turning it over in his hands. For the moment, he was the only occupant of the toilet block. Sending letters was an expensive business, for there was no organise
d postal service, and the sender had to rely on merchants, travellers and friends to pass on messages to their loved ones, and often the letters took ages before they arrived, and sometimes they did not arrive at all. So, they were precious, for news from home was always precious and had to be savoured, read and re-read again and again. Why had she written? Had there been news from Marcus, his father? With a resigned sigh Fergus broke the wax seal and opened the tablet and started to read the lines of tiny, neat hand writing.

  Kyna, to her Fergus, greetings.

  I hope you are well and keeping healthy my son. I am afraid that I write to you with sad news. The winter has been hard and cruel on us here on Vectis, and it is with great sadness that we have had to say our final farewell to Quintus, who died on the seventh day of March. He was not well as you will remember, but I take comfort in the fact that we gave him a good home in which to spend his final few years. Petrus is overcome with grief and refuses to eat at our table, and the whole family is much affected by our loss, as I am sure are you. Efa and Dylis send you their greetings. We buried Quintus in the place where he fought against the Barbarian Queen, as per his final wishes, the same spot where your grandfather Corbulo wishes to be laid to rest. There has still been no news from your father and every day now, Efa and I go out to pray beside the sea and give offerings for his safe return. I do not know whether the Gods are listening. Dylis thinks that her brother will not be coming home, but I do not accept her despair, for I believe that your father is not dead, a sentiment which I hope you share. Recently a letter arrived from the bank in Londinium. It was deposited there by your father before he set out on his voyage and addressed to me, to be opened only if he had not returned within a year. The letter still rests on my table, for I have made up my mind to refuse to read its contents. We must be strong and hope for the best. That is what your father has taught me, and that is what I intend to do.

  There is further troubling news, my dearest son. We have received word from our agent and partners in Noviomagus Reginorum, that there have been complaints made to the local magistrates about our ownership of our land and the villa here on Vectis. A wealthy, equestrian Lord by the name of Priscinus, is laying claim to our land. In his complaint, he is claiming that the land, farm and villa were promised to him by Agricola and he says that he will produce evidence of this in due course. He is trying to take away our property and livelihood. Efa believes that we shall have to go to court to defend ourselves. I feel bad, my son, to lay these heavy tidings at your feet, for I am sure that you have enough to do in Deva, but it is right that you should know about the evils that afflict us. We are all thinking about you here in Vectis and praying that the gods protect you, and that the rigours of army life are not too heavy. Write to me when you can, and let us know how you are faring. Farewell, my boy, dearest soul, as I hope to prosper and hail. To Fergus, son of Marcus, from Kyna his mother.

  With a troubled look, Fergus lowered the letter, sighed and stared down at the ground as he tried to picture Quintus in his mind. The news that old Quintus, Corbulo’s army comrade and fellow veteran of the Twentieth Legion had died, was a crushing if not unexpected blow. When he had still been a boy, growing up on Vectis, he had spent many days accompanying Quintus around the farm, and listening to the veteran’s war stories and stories about Corbulo, his grandfather. He and Quintus had formed a close bond. Quintus had inspired him. He had written the letter of recommendation that had gotten him into the Twentieth Legion and, he had pretended to be his father when Marcus had been absent with his Cohort. Despondently Fergus raised the letter and read it again and, as he did so, his sadness gave way to anger. Who the fuck was this arrogant prick who was trying to take away his family’s home? How dare this Priscinus, this equestrian lord, suggest that his grandfather’s land did not rightfully belong to his descendants. The more he stared at the letter, the angrier he became.

  ‘Fergus, Fergus, are you in there,’ a voice interrupted.

  ‘I am here,’ Fergus growled, annoyed at the sudden intrusion. ‘What’s up?’

  A moment later, Catinius appeared in the doorway to the latrine block. His face was flush with excitement. He grinned as he caught sight of Fergus sitting on the toilet.

  ‘There is news,’ Catinius exclaimed in an excited voice, ‘They are sending us to the Danube frontier, Fergus. We are going to war. The Legate has just made the announcement. We are heading to Dacia to kick the shit out of King Decebalus. They are sending the whole Cohort and the Sixth as well. Titus has just been called to a conference. They are saying that we will be leaving within a week.’

  Chapter Five – Farewell

  The forest grove was overrun with huge numbers of colourful, spring flowers that grew amongst the long and lush, green grass. The flowers were bursting with life, their scent filling the grove and attracting a horde of eager bees and fluttering butterflies. In the trees, the birds were coming and going, rustling amongst the leaves and undergrowth. Rays of sunlight cut through the tall, thick oak and pine trees of the forest that surrounded the grove, bathing it in a strange, warm light. In the June sunlight, the place looked magnificent and hauntingly beautiful. A little way through, the trees the peaceful river flowed along on its eternal and silent passage towards the sea.

  Fergus and Galena stood in the centre of the grove, facing one another. They were smiling at each other. Galena’s long, free-flowing, blond hair was crowned with a circle of interwoven, white flowers and she was clad in fine long, flowing, white robes, whilst Fergus was wearing a smart army tunic, made of black wool. The two of them were each holding the end of a small tree branch. Taran and two of his female relatives, older women with shawls draped over their heads, stood a few paces away bearing witness to the wedding ceremony.

  As he finished saying his vows, Fergus grinned at his new wife and in response, a little tear appeared in Galena’s eye. Hastily she wiped it away and turned to smile at her father and kin, who broke out into loud clapping.

  ‘The contract has been made,’ one of the female relatives said dipping her head respectfully at the newly married couple. Then she turned and silently and respectfully bowed to the grove. Ignoring the witnesses, Fergus stepped forwards and kissed his wife.

  ‘There is one final thing we must do,’ Galena said with a radiant face and eyes that sparkled with happiness. ‘Keep hold of the branch,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t let go for it will bring bad luck.’

  Without another word, she led him through the trees towards the river’s edge. As they reached the riverbank, both still clutching the branch, she paused and stared at the placid, peaceful water.

  ‘The river is eternal,’ she said, the look on her face calm and distant. ‘It’s water will still flow long after all trace of us has vanished. But the spirits of my ancestors and the spirits who live here in the rocks, trees, flowers and water; they will remember us. They will know who we were, and they are witness to the promises we have made here today.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘Now we must throw this piece of wood into the river. We must do this together, so that we will begin our journey into the world together and drift on its currents for all eternity.’

  She turned to look up at him and gave him a smile and, as she did, Fergus felt his heart melt, and in that instance, he knew he had done the right thing in marrying her.

  Together they dropped the branch into the river and watched it drift away on the current, until it vanished from view. Then Galena turned to him and reached up to run her fingers lightly across his cheek.

  ‘You have made me the happiest woman in the land,’ she whispered; her eyes twinkling, as she studied him in her calm, intelligent way, ‘I know you must go. I know you must leave, but I want you to know that I and our child will be here waiting for you to return. I will come back to this place every month on this day, and I shall lay a stone beside the river, for every month you are gone. And when our child is born, I will bring him or her here. Because this grove, Fergus, this is where I will be closest to yo
u.’

  Fergus swallowed and, unable to think of anything to say, he clasped hold of her and pulled her against him, running his fingers through her hair.

  ‘Of course I will come back,’ he muttered at last as he stared at the river.

  She broke free from his embrace and stared up at him, with searching eyes and suddenly she looked vulnerable.

  ‘I will have no other but you Fergus,’ she said, with a note of pride in her voice. ‘You are a good man. I know you. I know who you are and I want to give you something. Something that will protect you from the dangers that lie ahead. Something that will bring you back to me and our child.’

  From her dress, she drew forth a fine-looking, iron amulet and pressed it into his hand. The amulet was circular and fastened to a fine and delicate-looking iron linked-chain. The intricate and beautifully worked, high quality, metal work, seemed to represent a maze, bordered by woven Celtic knots.

  ‘It will protect you and show you the way out,’ she whispered, staring up at him. ‘Even when you have lost all hope. It belonged to my grandmother and it has powerful magic.’

  Fergus nodded and slowly slipped the chain over his head, so that the amulet lay pressed against his chest.

  ‘It will remind me of you,’ he said, trying to smile.

  She nodded and held his gaze, her eyes boring into him, as if they were searching for his very soul.

  ‘The child will be born on the first day of the New Year,’ she murmured. ‘I have counted the days and she will be on time. I know she will be.’

  ‘She,’ he said shaking his head.

  ‘It’s going to be a girl,’ Galena smiled back. ‘And I want you to give me her name.’

  Fergus sighed and looked away, and for a while he was silent.