Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

It was nearly dark when Fergus and his squad were finally released from guard duty. Wearily the eight of them, clad in their white tunics and with woollen towels draped over their shoulders, silently strode through the forest towards the stream that ran down the slope towards the Danube. Behind them the noise from the forest camp slowly faded. The forest was silent, cool and damp and the air felt heavy and still. Beside a wide pool Fergus paused, stripped, laid his sheathed sword and leather belt carefully on the ground and without testing the water plunged naked into the stream, going completely under. He surfaced with a shocked cry at the icy coldness of the water. On the bank his mess mates laughed and in response Fergus splashed them.

  ‘Who needs a bath house when we have this fine, natural, ice-cold water to wash in,’ Fergus cried grinning as he wiped his face and sank back into the stream. ‘Come on in, you cowards, this stream is going to make your cocks shrivel to an even smaller size than they already are.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Aledus replied as he took a running leap and landed in the middle of the stream with a tremendous splash. A moment later he too was crying out in shock at the ice-cold water. Above the tree tops, the first stars had started to appear but it was still light enough for Fergus to see some way into the forest. As the others started to leap into the pool he went under again, surfaced, applied the sponge to his face and body and then, streaming with water clambered out onto the rocky ground. In the pool the men were calling out and fooling around with their sponges, and as he dried himself with his large woollen towel, Fergus grinned at their antics. Then he bent to pick up his tunic and as he did, an arrow struck the tree in front of which he’d been standing - just a split second before. Instinctively Fergus threw himself onto the ground and rolled behind a large rock as one of the men in the pool gave a startled cry. Fergus’s eyes widened in horror. Someone had just taken a pot shot at him. Shocked he stared at his sword, lying just out of reach beyond the protection of the rock. Then he turned to stare at the forest. Someone had just tried to murder him.

  In the pool the men were shouting and frantically scrambling out of the water. Fergus could feel his heart beating in his chest, as horrified, he stared into the trees waiting for the next arrow, but as the seconds ticked by none came. Then Vittius came scrambling into cover beside him kicking, Fergus’s sword towards him as he did.

  ‘Did someone just take a shot at you?’ Vittius gasped in horror.

  Fergus grabbed his sheathed sword and pulled the blade free, turned and slowly raised his head above the stone. In the gloomy forest on the other side of the stream nothing moved.

  ‘Someone just tried to murder me,’ Fergus blurted out in shock. ‘Some fucker just took a shot at me. If I hadn’t bent down to pick up my tunic he would have hit me.’

  ‘Shit,’ Vittius hissed as he turned to stare into the forest, clutching his sword. ‘Who would do such a thing? Who even knows we are out here?’

  ‘Fronto,’ Fergus snapped, his eyes bulging in sudden rage. ‘It has to be Fronto. This time that arsehole has gone too far. I am going to cut his throat. I am going to kill the mother fucker!’

  Chapter Twenty-One – Roman Soldiers

  Clutching his spear, Fergus leaned against the watchtower’s balustrade and peered glumly into the darkness. It was late and cold but the night was quiet. In the darkness below him nothing moved. Fifty paces away, the pale moonlight revealed the smooth placid waters of the Danube and from somewhere in the vast forests beyond the river, a wolf was howling, but its mournful voice went unanswered. Tensely Fergus fiddled with the iron amulet that Galena had given him. Ten days had passed since the attempt on his life and for nine of those, he and his squad had been cooped up alone in this solitary, watchtower beside the river. Officially they were here on sentry duty. To keep an eye on the river. But in reality he had been banished, Fergus thought bitterly. That was why he was here. Titus had posted him to this watchtower to keep him away from Fronto. Titus did not want trouble within his company. That was why he was now freezing his balls off in this shit hole, whilst Fronto was spending his evenings in the warm, safe and newly completed winter quarters. But if Titus didn’t want trouble within his company then why did he not decide on who to promote to Tesserarius? That would surely settle matters. Fergus tightened his grip on the amulet, squeezing the iron in anger. After the attack beside the stream he’d stormed back into the Cohort’s camp intent on confronting Fronto but, as he had gone in search for him, he had run straight into the Centurion and Furius. Somehow the two officers seemed to have already known what had happened and had anticipated him and despite his furious protests, Titus had told him that without a reliable witness there was nothing he could do. No one had seen Fronto in the forest. It would just be his word against Fronto’s. There was no proof that Fronto was involved. Titus had then ordered him to surrender his sword, Corbulo’s old sword and after that, Furius had escorted him into the auxiliary camp, where he’d spent the night separated from his comrades. At dawn the next day they had given him his sword back, and he and his squad had been posted to the watchtower on the Danube, ten miles west of the Cohort’s base. They had not even been allowed to say goodbye to the rest of the company. I hope this guard duty will knock some sense into you, had been Titus’s parting words.

  ‘Fronto you coward,’ Fergus hissed to himself, as he thought about the attack and the fact that Fronto had not shown himself afterwards. ‘You are nothing but a fucking coward. But you are not going to kill me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ a sleepy voice yawned behind him.

  Fergus turned and saw that it was Aledus. His mess mate was wearing his helmet and was clad in armour and he was armed with a spear.

  ‘Nothing,’ Fergus muttered, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, ‘just talking to myself. What are you doing up here?’ he added quickly changing the subject.

  ‘It’s my turn on sentry duty,’ Aledus yawned again. ‘Have you forgotten? So, go on get some rest. Vittius has agreed that he will prepare breakfast.’

  Wearily Fergus ran his hand across his face and sighed. Then he stretched. ‘The night’s been quiet,’ he said. ‘That wolf has been howling for a while but I have seen nothing move out there. Nothing on the river either.’

  Aledus nodded and came to stand at Fergus’s side and peered into the night. For a while the two of them did not speak. Then Aledus gave Fergus a mischievous grin.

  ‘Do you know what they say about this watchtower,’ he blurted out. ‘They say it is the single most-attacked Roman outpost along the entire Danube frontier. I didn’t want to alarm the others but that’s what I heard.’ Aledus nodded his eyes shining in excitement as he looked around at the wooden watch tower. ‘And here we are. They say that the Germans beyond the river, use this place to test and train their youths, to harden them for battle and war. Apparently, they cross the river and attack at night, then melt away when our boys summon reinforcements. It’s an easy target, what with us right up against the river and reinforcements several miles away. And have you ever wondered why we got this assignment? The last men to defend this tower were all slaughtered in a raid, just a few weeks ago. But better not tell that to the others.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Fergus frowned shaking his head.

  ‘Some of the Hispanic auxiliaries told me before we left,’ Aledus replied. ‘They told me to make my peace with my gods. Then they just laughed, bastards.’

  ‘You are right,’ Fergus grumbled as he turned and reached for the door handle that led into the tower. ‘Keep that fancy tale to yourself. It won’t do morale any good.’

  ‘It can’t be any worse than Vittius’s cooking,’ Aledus called out cheerfully, as Fergus vanished into the tower.

  Inside the dark, square, top-floor room where the squad’s supply of wheat and barley was kept, Fergus quietly descended through the hole in the floor down into the second floor, where the rest of his men were asleep on their rough straw mattresses. This room was warmer than the others and in the centre o
f the room, in a small stone hearth, a fire was burning low, its flames spitting and crackling. A pile of dry fire wood lay next to the hearth and the legionaries shields and spears lay stacked against the far wall. Carefully Fergus manoeuvred over the sleeping bodies, picked up a small, oil lamp shaped like a human foot and lit it from the fire. Then quietly he lifted the leather hatch that covered the hole in the floor that led down to the ground. Keeping the lamp steady, Fergus slowly descended the ladder to the ground. As he emerged from the doorway into the small, outside space between the tower and the square outer palisade he shivered. Quickly glancing up at the cold sky he saw a multitude of stars in the darkness. Clutching the tiny, flickering light, he strode purposefully towards the outer gate and hastily checked that the wooden bolts were in place. They were and Fergus silently shook his head. The gate was securely locked as he knew it had been, but he’d just had to double check. Aledus’s talk had made him worry. He was just about to turn back towards the tower entrance when, in the distance, he heard the bark of a dog followed, by a sudden shout that rent the quiet night.

  ‘Roman soldiers, Roman soldiers!’ a desperate sounding voice cried out from close by in good Latin. Fergus stood very still. The voice had come from beyond the outer palisade.

  ‘Let us in,’ a voice cried as something heavy, suddenly slammed into the wooden gate, making Fergus jump backwards. ‘For fuck’s sake open the gate. They are nearly on us.’

  “Who are you?” Fergus shouted as he held up the lamp and drew his sword. Then before any reply could come, up on his viewing platform, Aledus was suddenly crying out in warning. His shouts were followed a split second by the clanging of the tower’s alarm bell.

  ‘Who are you?’ Fergus roared as above the din he heard another barking dog.

  ‘Roman soldiers,’ the voice roared from very close by. ‘I have a wounded man. If you don’t open up this gate we are going to die out here.’

  ‘What’s the password?’ Fergus cried out as he hesitated.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ the voice on the other side hissed. ‘You prick. I haven’t gotten a clue. We have urgent news for Lord Hadrian. Open up for god’s sake.’

  ‘What can you see Aledus?’ Fergus shouted as he looked up at the top of the tower.

  ‘Nothing,’ Aledus yelled. ‘But there is definitely something out there. I can hear barking dogs and I can see a line of burning torches. They are coming towards us.’

  Fergus bit his lip and turned to stare at the gate, torn by indecision. Was this all a German trick to get him to open the fort and get them all killed? But if the men out there were indeed Romans then he was condemning them to death if he did nothing. Acting on instinct Fergus made a reluctant growling noise, placed his lamp onto the muddy ground and carefully slid the bolts aside and flung open the gate, stepping backwards as he did, his sword raised and poised to stab anything that came at him from out of the darkness.

  For a moment, nothing moved in the darkness beyond. Then a figure loomed up out of the gloom. The man was big and in the pale moonlight Fergus could see he had a beard and was wearing a rough Germanic cloak, fastened at the neck by an iron clasp. In his hand the stranger was clutching a gleaming German battle-axe. Ignoring Fergus, the man turned and whistled into the night and a few moments later, two men appeared half-dragging, half-supporting a fourth man in between them. The wounded man was groaning, his head drooping and he seemed unable to walk on his own.

  ‘Shut the gate and barricade it,’ the stranger with the beard hissed turning to Fergus. ‘And prepare to fight. The barbarians have crossed the river. They will be here very soon. They have come to kill us.’

  ‘Who are you? What unit do you belong to?’ Fergus exclaimed eying the four strangers suspiciously whilst keeping his sword raised and ready to strike. The men were all clad in the same Germanic clothes and all their weapons looked foreign.

  ‘Special forces,’ one of the men snapped. ‘You will just have to trust us. We were on a mission across the river. We have important news for the Legate Hadrian. Important news that must reach the Legate. You understand? But the fucking Germans intercepted us. They wounded Milo.’

  ‘Bastards shot me,’ the wounded man groaned and, as he looked down at the man Fergus suddenly noticed the stump of an arrow embedded in the man’s leg and the dark blood stains.

  ‘Fergus, what’s going on? Who the fuck are they?’ a voice cried suddenly from the entrance to the tower. In the dim light Fergus turned to see Vittius and Tiber, fully clad in their armour, clutching their swords and warily watching the strangers. But before Fergus could reply Aledus, up on his sentry platform, screamed in warning and an arrow thwacked into the tower close to where he stood.

  ‘How many?’ Fergus cried out turning to stare at one of the men.

  ‘Maybe fifty, maybe more,’ the man shrugged grimly. ‘I don’t know for sure but they have dogs and they want us dead.’

  ‘Tiber, Vittius, barricade the front gate,’ Fergus roared at the two men beside the entrance to the tower. ‘Use whatever you can find. Catinius get up on the platform and light the warning beacon. Do it now and take the bow. Shoot anyone who approaches our perimeter. And you,’ Fergus snapped, turning to the four men standing in the small muddy courtyard, ‘get your wounded man into the tower, then join me down here. We must stop them from getting over the palisade. Move, move.’

  The barking of several dogs was now horribly close. As the men in the courtyard exploded into activity, Fergus leapt up onto the elevated walkway that ran along the inside of the wooden palisade and cautiously raised his head above the parapet. And as he did he swore. Not more than twenty yards away in the darkness, a line of flaming torches was advancing towards the watchtower and in their devilish glow he could see dozens of armed men. The Germans were shouting out to each other in their harsh, unintelligible language as they came on. Some of the men were being led by great, wolf-like war dogs, which were barking and straining to break free from their master’s leashes. As Fergus stared at the approaching enemy in horror, high up on the sentry platform the warning beacon suddenly burst into flames.

  ‘The signal won’t save us,’ one of the strangers hissed as he crashed down against the wall at Fergus’s side. ‘The other watch towers may see your signal but any patrol that they send out will not dare approach us until dawn. They will be too fearful of an ambush. It has happened before. They won’t come.’

  ‘Then we hold out until dawn,’ Fergus snapped.

  Another arrow embedded itself in the wooden wall, a couple of yards away and Fergus flinched. Down by the gate he could hear Vittius swearing, but he could not see what he was doing. Then, from high up on the sentry platform an arrow shot away into the night and a split second later the defenders were rewarded by a shriek. The shriek was followed by Catinius’s triumphant yell. Fergus turned to snatch a look at the walkway around the square palisade and in the gloom he could just about make out seven figures crouching, and spaced out along the wooden wall. The defenders had drawn their swords and were clutching their spears, as they peered into the darkness. At least his squad were going to be able to defend themselves. They were not going to be slaughtered in their sleep.

  ‘They are all around us Fergus,’ Aledus screamed from high up on his viewing platform. ‘We are surrounded by torches. Must be a hundred of them.’

  ‘Don’t let them get over the wall,’ Fergus roared as the barking dogs threatened to drown out his words. ‘We hold these walls or we die.’

  ‘But if they do,’ the stranger beside him hissed, ‘we shall have to retreat into the tower.’

  ‘No,’ Fergus said sharply. ‘If they get over the wall all is lost. If they trap us in the tower they can simply burn us alive. We hold them here. Not one step back.’

  Beyond the ramparts the baying of the war dogs sounded horribly close. Then before Fergus had a chance to raise his head to take another look, something heavy thudded into the wall close by. Two yards away, fingers suddenly appeared graspin
g the top of the wall. They were followed by the head of a man. The German was straining and panting as he tried to climb over the top of the palisade. Silently and swiftly the stranger beside Fergus rose and swung his axe straight down onto the man’s head nearly decapitating him. The blow sent the attackers body crashing down onto the ground. Moments later the night erupted in screams of dismay and fury. The noise seemed to swirl and grow like a storm around the small watchtower and suddenly all Fergus could hear was savage cries and screams and the thud of running feet. Fergus’s eyes widened in terror as he realised what was happening. The raiders were storming his outpost.

  The wooden wall trembled as it was struck by what seemed a herd of wild roaring beasts and, at the front gate, Fergus heard Vittius’s defiant screams. Close by an iron grappling hook on a rope suddenly came flying over the wall and landed with a crash on the walkway, before rapidly slithering up against the palisade. The enemy was attempting to pull down the wall. Without hesitating, Fergus scrambled towards the hook and released it just in time, before it went taught. He’d only just managed to turn around with his back against the wall, when a volley of spears lobbed from over the opposite side of the tiny fort-let came hammering into the ground and palisade around him. In the gloom one of the projectiles seemed to catch his companion in the arm, forcing him to drop his axe and scream in agony. As Fergus stared in terror at his companion clutching his wounded arm, he sensed movement to his right. Whirling around he was just in time to see a barbarian rise above the palisade, his hands grasping the top of the wall. The man was just about to roll over into the fort. With a yell Fergus rose to his feet, grasped hold of the man’s neck and stabbed him in the chest with his sword before shoving him backwards. The attacker disappeared into the darkness with a groan.

  ‘Hold them, don’t let them get over the wall,’ Fergus screamed as a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. A few paces away, two more barbarians were just about to clamber over the top of the wall. One of them was clutching a burning torch and in its glow Fergus caught sight of a bearded face. With a defiant roar Fergus charged forwards and pushed the first man from the wall and drove his sword straight into the second attacker’s face. Corbulo’s old sword went deep with a sickening, crunching noise. Grasping hold of the dying man’s hair, Fergus tore the burning torch from the man’s grip and setting him ablaze, he shoved the German backwards over the wall into the mass of his comrades below. Then with a roar Fergus hurled the torch at one of the barking war-dogs. There was no time to see how his comrades were doing. It was every man for himself now. If they were dead or if the enemy had gotten over the wall, it would all be over very quickly. The whole perimeter of the watchtower had been transformed into a vicious, snarling fight for survival and the shrieks, yells and screams of men and the wild barking of dogs seemed to envelop everything. A few paces away, the wounded stranger was roaring in a savage furious voice. Despite his wounded arm, he had managed to retrieve his axe and was swinging it at every man who dared try and clamber over the wall. Transfixed, Fergus stared at the man as if watching him in slow motion and as he stared at the warrior, the stranger was suddenly struck in the chest by an arrow that knocked him clean off the walkway and into the muddy courtyard. Reality came back to Fergus in a sharp rush of noise, terror and violence. Three more barbarians were threatening to clamber over the top of the wall. Savagely, Fergus hacked at the fingers of one of them slicing them clean off and sending the attacker crashing back to the ground with a howl of pain. But before he could reach the other two they made it over the wall with triumphant yells. Fergus was suddenly aware that he lacked a shield. One of the Germans jumped down into the courtyard, clutching a spear but the second man came at Fergus wielding two knives, one in each hand.