Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  ‘Raise spears, prepare,’ Titus roared above the din as a few arrows hammered and thwacked into the legionary’s shields. Fergus bit his lip, as around him the legionaries, crouching behind their shields, silently raised their Pila into a throwing position. Then when Titus was just ten yards from the baying and bristling German line the Centurion raised his sword in the air.

  ‘Release!’ Titus bellowed. ‘Charge!’

  With a howl, Fergus flung his spear at the Germans, wrenched his sword from its scabbard and charged. At such close, range the volley of spears was devastating. The Germans in front of Fergus went down by the dozens, impaled and skewered, screaming, groaning and collapsing to the ground. Their lack of shields and armour a catastrophic blunder. With a roar Titus and the legionaries behind him punched straight through the Barbarian line, scattering the enemy in all directions. A screaming German with a horned helmet on his head, came at Fergus, wielding an axe, which he swung straight into Fergus’s shield with terrifying force, sending splinters of wood flying into the air. With a yell, Fergus pushed the man backwards with his shield, jabbing at him with his sword and with a groan the German sank to the ground. There was no time to finish the man off. The surviving Germans on the flanks, having recovered from the terrifying Roman charge, had begun to press and harry the Romans on both flanks and the battle began to descend into a furious, snarling and vicious hand to hand brawl.

  ‘On me,’ Fergus roared, ‘form a wedge.’

  There was no time to see if his squad had heard him or were obeying the order. A stone struck Fergus painfully on his shoulder and bounced off his armour and, at the same time a German lunged at him with his spear. Fergus grimaced and blocked the blow with his shield, just as two Roman’s hastily took up position on either side of him, their shields covering his flanks.

  ‘Form a wedge,’ Fergus screamed. Then without waiting, he began to cut his way into the enemy ranks, pushing the Germans back with his shield and jabbing and stabbing at them with his nimble and deadly, short sword. At his side his two comrades kept pace, protecting his flank and stabbing at the enemy from behind the cover of their shields. The Germans howled and screamed in rage, but they were unable to halt Fergus’s slow methodical advance and their blows and lunges slid off the legionaries shields and armour. Two more Romans had joined the wedge and behind him Fergus could hear laboured breathing and panting, as the tight little scrum of Romans pushed forwards. Around them the dead, dying and broken bodies of their enemy littered the ground.

  ‘Kill them all, kill them all,’ a Roman voice screamed, just to Fergus’s right. Snatching a quick glance, Fergus caught sight of Fronto. Fronto too, had formed his squad into a wedge and they were busy cutting the Germans to pieces and driving them back towards the water’s edge. Seeing Fergus a few paces away, Fronto gave him a crazy-looking grin. Then abruptly he disappeared from view.

  As Fergus carefully stepped over a dead body, a warrior launched themselves at him and slammed into his shield, slashing at him with a knife. The knife raked the cheek-guard of his helmet knocking his head sideways. Recovering swiftly, Fergus punched his metal shield-boss into the woman’s face, sending her staggering backwards. Then with a cry he was upon her driving his sword deep into her neck. As he straightened, up the woman coughed up some blood and stared up at him. Then slowly the light faded from her eyes. From close by someone howled in pain. It was followed moments later by a string of foul Roman curses. Fergus blinked as his two comrades on either side of him quickly closed the gap in the scrum. Ahead, Fergus could suddenly see the Danube. He had cut his way right through the enemy line. The realisation had only just sunk in when the Germans broke. One moment they were screaming and hacking at the Romans and the next the survivors were fleeing in a wild disorganised mob towards the river bank.

  ‘After them, don’t let them escape,’ a Roman voice yelled.

  The legionaries needed no further encouragement. With a loud victorious cry, they set off in pursuit. The Germans were running for their lives now. Their defiant blood-curdling yells had turned into terrified-screams and cries. But there was nowhere for them to go. They were trapped between the legionaries and the river. As he rushed after the fleeing mob, Fergus could see that some of the Germans in desperation and terror, had jumped into the water and were desperately trying to swim across the water. But the river was wide and the current strong, and most of the people in the water did not seem to know how to swim. They were going to drown. A small knot of warriors, seeing the chaos on the bank bravely turned to face the Romans, brandishing their weapons and screaming their defiance. But they were swiftly cut down, knifed and killed. As he reached the water’s edge Fergus could see that the fight was over. Lifeless bodies were floating, face down in the river, and a group of survivors, mainly women and children, were huddled together on their knees, stretching out their arms to the Romans, their faces pale with terror as they pleaded and begged for mercy. Wide-eyed, his chest heaving, Fergus lowered his bloodied sword and turned to stare at the carnage of the battle field. The grassy field was littered with smashed, battered corpses, discarded weapons and broken shields and the groans and cries of dying men and the wounded were hideous. Here and there wounded men were trying to drag themselves to the river side or rise to their feet. Some of the Roman legionaries however were moving across the bloody-field finishing off the wounded with their swords. Others were stooping over the dead robbing them of their belongings and possessions.

  Close by a harsh Roman voice suddenly cried out. ‘Kill the prisoners. No mercy. You heard Titus. That will teach them not to cross the river again.’

  Fronto’s cry was followed by cold unfriendly laughter.

  On the river bank Fronto and his men, with drawn swords, were advancing on the hapless survivors huddled together beside the water’s edge and who were trying to surrender. Fergus hissed and before anyone could stop him, he strode over and barged straight into Fronto flinging him to the ground.

  ‘It’s over,’ Fergus roared. ‘The fight is over!’

  Furiously Fronto scrambled back onto his feet and aggressively thrust his face right up against Fergus’s face, his eyes blazing.

  ‘You are a dead man walking,’ Fronto snarled his face contorted in rage and hatred. ‘Touch me again. Go on, do it, I dare you.’

  ‘The fight is over,’ Fergus retorted, raising his voice as he stood his ground. ‘We will take this lot prisoner. They may have useful information. There is no need to kill them. They will be sold as slaves.’

  ‘Titus ordered us to show no mercy,’ Fronto roared splattering Fergus with spittle.

  ‘The fight is over,’ Fergus roared back.

  ‘Fergus, Fronto, shut the fuck up,’ a voice suddenly bellowed. Fergus turned to see Titus coming towards them accompanied by Furius. The Centurion’s face was smeared with blood and he looked furious.

  ‘Fronto,’ Titus roared. ‘Get your squad to pile the dead onto a heap and see to it that you burn their bodies.’ Furiously Titus turned to glare at Fergus as behind him Furius studied Fergus with a stern disapproving expression. ‘And you,’ Titus snapped, ‘get these prisoners bound and chained. We will take them back to the fort. They should fetch the Cohort a good price in the market. All proceeds to be shared the usual way.’

  Titus paused and for a moment glared at Fronto and then Fergus.

  ‘And if I see either of you speaking to each other again today, I will have both of you whipped in front of the entire cohort.’

  ***

  The silent prisoners, their heads drooping, sat in the mud just inside the auxiliary fort. It was evening and the grey, overcast October sky was growing dark and the temperature was dropping steadily. Towards the river, a thick column of smoke was still rising into the sky from where Fronto had burned the bodies of the slain barbarians. The prisoners, men, women and children looked miserable, frightened and dejected. Their hands had been tied behind their backs and their ankles bound together with rope. Fergus standing guard ov
er the Germans, lightly ran his finger over the cheek guard of his helmet tracing the damage that the woman’s knife had wrought in the metal. The helmet had saved his life but the realisation had only come long after the fight had ended. Standing guard around the prisoners, the rest of his squad looked bored and tired. They had all made it without any serious injury. The company however, had suffered one fatality and seven wounded of which one man was in a serious condition. Fergus could hear his screams, coming from inside one of the barracks blocks where the camp doctor was fighting to save the soldier’s life. Wearily Fergus looked down at the Germans. The glum prisoners had not all been barbarians for amongst them, Fergus had soon discovered, were a few women and children who had been taken from local farms as slaves during the war-band’s raid across the frontier. The freed women had wept and kissed Fergus and his companion’s feet in pure joy at being liberated and it had comforted Fergus to know that he’d done the right thing by sparing their lives. And as the fear of immediate execution had receded, the Germans had started to talk amongst themselves. With nothing else to do Fergus had listened to the barbarians, even though he couldn’t understand a word of what was being said. The Germans looked very like the ones he’d seen at Bonna on the Rhine and they had sounded the same too. He thought he could distinguish an accent. The officers may talk about different tribal groups inhabiting different parts of the frontier Fergus thought sourly, but to him and his squad the Germans all looked and spoke alike.

  Catching sight of Furius, Fergus called out to him.

  ‘How long are we to stand here Sir? It will be dark soon. It’s getting cold. The others have already eaten. They have been resting in their tents for hours now.’

  Furius glanced in Fergus’s direction but did not pause as he strode along.

  ‘They have sent a messenger to Carnuntum,’ Furius replied evenly. ‘Someone is coming to interrogate the prisoners before they are sold to the merchants. Standard procedure around here apparently. They should be here shortly. Your men will be able to get some rest after that.’

  Muttering darkly under his breath, Fergus turned away. Standard procedure, he thought derisively. Titus was making him stand out here as punishment. He’d not seen Fronto since they had returned to the camp and that was just as well, because once again they had nearly come to blows. If Titus allowed the situation to continue, matters would soon get out of hand. The Centurion had to make up his mind soon about whom to promote to Tesserarius or else blood was going to be spilt. Surely Titus could see that?

  The auxiliary camp was a hive of activity. In the stables the horses whinnied and the smell of fresh bread and a meaty soup came wafting over towards Fergus and his men. A couple of open, charcoal-fed fires were burning near the walls of the square camp and the Hispanic auxiliaries were clustered around them, cooking their evening meal and warming their hands. Beyond the ramparts of the forest fort, Fergus could hear the shouts of his comrades as they beavered away constructing their new winter quarters. A sudden warning cry from one of the sentries up on the watchtower made Fergus turn and glance towards the gates. A few moments later the big wooden doors creaked and swung open and two horsemen trotted into the fort, their horse’s hooves scattering mud in their wake. Catching sight of the prisoners the two riders turned and trotted straight towards where Fergus was standing. And as the newcomers came to a halt and dismounted Fergus swore softly in surprise as he recognised one of the men.

  ‘So we meet again,’ Adalwolf said with a little smile as he stretched out his hand to Fergus in greeting.

  Chapter Twenty – The Amber Merchant

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Fergus exclaimed in surprise as he grasped Adalwolf’s proffered hand.

  From the corner of his eye, Fergus suddenly noticed the Senior Cohort Centurion accompanied by a few men from his staff, coming towards the prisoners.

  ‘They sent for me. I have come to interrogate your prisoners. With your permission,’ Adalwolf replied in his thickly accented Latin as he took a little good natured theatrical bow. ‘You forget that I serve the Lord Hadrian and go where he goes.’

  Fergus glanced at Tiber, standing guard over the prisoners. Then quickly he took a step towards the amber merchant. ‘If you say one word about the incident with my man in Bonna, you will regret it,’ Fergus hissed. ‘Not a word, understood.’

  Adalwolf smiled and then to Fergus’s surprise patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry I won’t say anything,’ he replied. Then he looked past Fergus at the Centurion who was approaching. ‘But I would like you to do one thing for me in return. A favour done requires a favour in return.’

  Fergus’s face darkened. He didn’t like where this was going. What did Adalwolf want? The Centurion and his men were nearly upon him.

  ‘What?’ Fergus hissed hastily.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Adalwolf replied. ‘I shall let you know when I do.’

  Then abruptly Adalwolf turned away to face the Centurion and Fergus saluted smartly and took a few steps back.

  ‘You the man who is going to interrogate my prisoners?’ the Centurion growled as he looked at Adalwolf.

  ‘Yes, Adalwolf nodded. ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘Good,’ the Centurion said turning to glance at the hapless Germans sitting in the mud. ‘Let me know if they tell you anything important. And,’ the Centurion paused as he turned to look at the civilian whom was accompanying Adalwolf, ‘we will take the usual price for the slaves. I shall send a party of my men to collect payment from you in Carnuntum. Agreed?’

  In response Adalwolf turned to look at his companion who nodded and, as he did so Fergus realised that the man was a slaver.

  ‘Agreed,’ Adalwolf replied. ‘My companion will send his men to collect the slaves once I am done here. This is a large group, Centurion, larger than usual. It’s a good haul.’

  ‘Yes, well you should thank those men over there,’ the Centurion nodded with a satisfied look as he gestured at Fergus and his squad. ‘It was their company who brought them in.’

  Relieved, Fergus watched the Centurion walk away and as he did, Adalwolf turned and strode purposefully towards the prisoners. The German merchant was silent as he slowly walked around the group, inspecting the hapless barbarians. Then without warning the merchant lashed out at one of the men toppling him onto his side. Planting his boot firmly on the prisoner’s back, Adalwolf pushed the man’s face into the mud and screamed at him in his harsh Germanic language. Moving on Adalwolf stooped and randomly grasped hold of a woman by her chin, forcing her to look up at him as he yelled a torrent of what sounded like abuse at her. Fergus remained silent as he watched Adalwolf work his way through the group. And when one of the prisoners raised his voice in protest, the merchant floored him with one brutal kick of his boot and went on kicking him until the man no longer moved. At last, Adalwolf however seemed to get what he wanted, as for a while he stood listening to a terrified and crying woman who kept on talking, her panic-stricken eyes darting everywhere. Looking satisfied, Adalwolf silenced the woman with a sharp word. Then he came towards Fergus and his expression softened.

  ‘I told you that I do many things,’ Adalwolf growled, as he turned to gaze at the miserable, terrified prisoners. ‘Not all of them are pleasant but my Lord Hadrian demands results and I deliver.’ With a sudden proud movement, Adalwolf raised his chin. ‘My people are the Vandals. They live far to the north of this river, beyond the mountains. They are a great people. Rome knows them as the Lugii and when I was a young man, similar in age as you are now, I too raided Roman land. It is a rite of passage for any young warrior, for a man must prove his bravery, for warriors will only follow a man who is brave and fearless. My people will not accept a coward as a leader, not even a high-born coward and maybe this is where we differ from Rome.’ Adalwolf sighed. ‘But now I am old. I have travelled up and down the amber road from sea to river more times that I care to remember. I know the lands beyond the frontier better than any man and I also know my own people be
tter than any Roman does. That’s why I am useful to Hadrian and he rewards me well for my service.’

  ‘What did the woman tell you?’ Fergus muttered.

  Adalwolf sighed again. ‘The Marcomanni and Quadi are restless,’ he muttered. ‘All summer they have been raiding beyond the river. We don’t know why the free tribes are so unsettled. There is enough land beyond the river to satisfy everyone. But it is easy for small war bands to cross the river at night and slip through the Roman defences. This lot here went even further. The woman told me they went as far the Roman town of Aquileia on the middle sea. That is more than two hundred miles into Roman territory.’ Adalwolf frowned. ‘But what should worry Rome is not the distance these people travelled, but the reason. They were not only here to raid. Their leaders told them that there was good land to be occupied, good farming land to be taken. They were told that the Romans were weak. That they could take what they liked. This is a new development, one that we have not seen before. Lord Hadrian will want to know about this.’ Adalwolf turned to Fergus. ‘Your company did well to bring this lot in. I shall make sure that Lord Hadrian is made aware of the role your unit played.’

  Fergus turned to stare at the prisoners.

  ‘I am not some dog that you can call when you wish,’ he snapped.

  ‘All men are in debt to someone, even the Emperor in Rome,’ Adalwolf said sharply. ‘It is the way of the world. Get used to it.’ The older man paused to study Fergus with a little bemused smile. Then he raised his finger and pointed at him.

  ‘You possess guts and you are loyal to your friends. I like that. Those are the qualities that will make a good warrior and leader. I was like you once. Yes, I think you are going to prove useful.’

  ***