Fergus dodged a vicious slicing blow and then another as he sprang backwards. Then, as his opponent seemed to stumble and reach out to steady himself against the wall Fergus struck, driving his sword into the man’s exposed neck. The attacker gurgled, staggered and dropped one knife and desperately clutched his throat. Vainly the German slashed at him with his other knife but the blow lacked strength and Fergus caught the man’s arm and kicked him backwards onto his back. But before he could finish the man off, close by Fergus heard a scream, and from the corner of his eye he saw Vittius come charging out of the gloom clutching a spear which he drove straight into a barbarian’s stomach sending him stumbling backwards. The force of the charge impaled the German up against the palisade. Wild-eyed Fergus turned to look around him. In the distance a Roman trumpet was blaring. Something had changed. The noise around him was receding. Where were the attackers? But, as he turned to look around him he could see no more hands or bodies reaching up to clamber over the wall. Startled, he crouched down and turned to peer over the side of the palisade. The flaming torches were moving away and so was the noise of barking dogs. The barbarians seemed to have had enough. Or were they just regrouping for another assault? In the distance a Roman trumpet rang out again in the darkness.
‘Fergus, they are moving away,’ a triumphant voice yelled from high up on the viewing platform. ‘We drove them off. The bastards are fleeing towards the river.’
There was no time to reply to Aledus’s cry.
In the muddy courtyard Vittius suddenly emerged from the gloom. The young man’s face was streaked with either blood or mud and he looked exhausted.
‘Tiber is dead,’ Vittius said in a voice shaking with emotion. ‘He got hit by an arrow in the neck.’
Chapter Twenty-Two – Winners and Losers
Fergus sat slumped against the palisade staring into space. His pale face was unshaven and he looked utterly exhausted. It was morning and around the wooden wall, his comrades huddled under their blankets, staring at the ground. They too looked exhausted and no one seemed to want to say anything. The warrior who Vittius had impaled and pinned to the wall with his spear, was still there, hanging limply and silently over the weapon, his clothes stained with dark red blood. In the small space between the outer walls and the watch tower, Tiber’s corpse had been laid out in the mud and covered by a simple army blanket. Slowly Fergus turned to stare at him, forcing himself to maintain his gaze. What a strange world this was. In Bonna he had thought he had been doing the right thing, when he’d set out to find and bring Tiber back to the company. But if he had let Tiber go, probably he would still be alive today. By bringing Tiber back, he had led him to his death in this miserable muddy outpost. Tiber was dead because of him. Fergus closed his eyes and blushed, as another wave of guilt swept through him. No, he couldn’t think like that. He must not dwell on such things. The enemy had killed Tiber. It was not his fault. It was just his time. Wearily Fergus ran his fingers down his face. But however many times he told himself that, it did not make the guilt go away.
Tiredly Fergus lifted his head as he saw the commander of the Hispanic Auxiliary Cavalry Squadron coming towards him. The squadron of thirty riders had appeared at first light, approaching the watchtower cautiously and they were still here, milling around outside and shouting to each other. Soon after their arrival two of the special forces soldiers had left for Carnuntum with their precious message. The news was urgent and they must go at once, they had explained. Of the other two, one was wounded, unable to walk and the other dead. There had been no time to find out what the content of their message was. It had better be worth it Fergus thought bitterly.
Slowly Fergus got to his feet as the decurion approached.
‘We found eighteen bodies beyond the wall,’ the decurion said in his accented Latin, ‘You boys must have put a terrific fight. Well done.’
‘Thank you Sir,’ Fergus replied quietly.
The officer nodded, glanced up at the watch tower and then reached out and gripped Fergus’s shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.
‘My men and I must go now,’ the officer said. ‘We have heaped the enemy dead in a pile. Burn the bodies. We will take the wounded scout with us. When I get back to camp, I will make a full report to your commanding officer. I have also sent one of my men to the naval base at Carnuntum, with the request that one of their ships should anchor in the river directly in front of your position. With a bit of luck that should dissuade the Germans from attacking again. The artillery and archers that they have on board those galleys are awesome. They will cover you, if the barbarians try anything. Expect them by night-fall and good luck.’
‘We will be alright Sir,’ Fergus said with a grateful nod. ‘Thank you.’
The officer saluted and Fergus saluted in return. Then the decurion was striding away crying out to his men to saddle up.
When the auxiliary cavalry unit had finally vanished from view and they were alone once more, Fergus turned to his mess mates. The men were sitting or leaning against the wooden palisade, huddled under their woollen army blankets.
‘Alright, listen up,’ Fergus called out. ‘Catinius, you will take first watch. We will change every two hours. Vittius I believe that you had promised us breakfast, see to it. The rest of you get some rest. I am going to inspect our defences and burn the enemy bodies. The auxiliaries have promised us some naval support tonight so we will not be alone out here.’
‘Fergus,’ Aledus said in a muted voice. ‘What about Tiber? What shall we do with his body? We can’t just leave him there.’
Fergus hesitated as he turned to look at the corpse. Then he nodded.
‘Alright,’ he muttered. ‘We will bury him just outside the watch tower. This place I suppose is as fitting as any. I will do it myself.’
‘No,’ Aledus said firmly as he shook his head. ‘We will all help. Any of us could have taken that arrow.’
‘I think he had a girl back home in Lindum,’ one of the men called out. ‘She deserves to know what happened to him.’
Fergus hesitated again, as he gazed at Tiber. The man was right. He should have thought about that himself. Another wave of guilt came crashing over him. Then with a sigh he looked up at the men.
‘Does anyone know if Tiber was part of a funeral club? Did he put any money aside for his funeral, for his family?’
The men were silent as they glanced at each other.
‘We don’t know,’ Aledus muttered at last. ‘He never mentioned it.’
Fergus nodded. ‘That’s alright,’ he said gently. ‘Well now is the time to dig deep boys. His woman and his family deserve something for Tiber’s service. I say we all give twenty Denarii each. That’s a hundred and forty in all. Less than a half a year’s pay but at least they will be able to get a proper memorial stone made up. Tiber deserves that at least.’
Around him his men remained silent as they glanced at each other again. Then slowly they all nodded in agreement.
***
Fergus gazed at his neat hand writing scratched into the small, wooden tablet. The letter to Tiber’s family had been the hardest letter he’d ever had to write, and it had taken him the whole day to do so. But now it was finished and, as he looked down at the words, Fergus suddenly gasped in relief. He had told them everything. How Tiber had been a good friend; how he had tried to desert and how and where he had died, fighting bravely to protect his mates. There was nothing more to add. The letter and the money would be given to the next available soldier or messenger, who was heading back to Deva Victrix. Wearily Fergus rose to his feet and slipped the wooden tablet into his tunic pocket. Then, extinguishing the candle with his fingers, he turned and started up the ladder towards the third floor of the watchtower. He desperately needed some fresh air.
Two days had passed since the attack, and although the days and nights had remained quiet, the men’s morale had steadily sunk to new lows. As Fergus appeared in the doorway and placed one foot on the viewing platform, he caught
sight of the flaming torches aboard the Roman naval galley, that lay anchored in the middle of the Danube, a couple of hundred yards away. The warship had not moved from its position for two days. Casting a quick glance into the darkness, Fergus turned and nodded at Vittius, who was on sentry duty. Vittius acknowledged him with a little flick of his head.
‘Seen anything out there?’ Fergus muttered as he leaned on the balustrade and peered out into the night.
‘Nope, nothing,’ Vittius replied. ‘The marines seem to have scared the enemy off.’
Fergus said nothing as he peered at the galley in the middle of the river. Then sharply he turned to Vittius.
‘Fuck the marines,’ Fergus growled. ‘It was we who scared the shit out of the Germans! It was we who stood up to them - you, me, Tiber and the others. After the fight we put up, they will think twice about attacking us again. We killed eighteen of them - eighteen!”
Vittius nodded in silent agreement.
‘And when we get back to the company,’ Fergus said quietly, ‘I am not going to have anyone say otherwise. The men are going to know what we did here. No one is going to take the piss out of us. I am done taking shit from the likes of Fronto. We are not raw recruits anymore. We are the equal of any man.’
‘So say we all,’ Vittius snapped. ‘But what are you going to do about that piece of shit? He has twice now tried to murder you, Fergus.’
‘Sliding a knife between his ribs would be the easy part,’ Fergus said quietly as he peered into the night. ‘It is what comes after that which is the hard part. The army would have me executed.’
Fergus sighed and slowly shook his head.
‘And here was I, thinking that I only had to worry about the enemy. They never told me when I signed up that I was more likely to get knifed by a fellow soldier,’ Fergus paused. ‘There has to be another way to get that arsehole off my back,’ he muttered sourly. But how? I haven’t got a clue.’
***
Fergus was woken by an excited yell. Instantly he was on his feet and reaching for his spear and shield. The shout had come from the sentry platform at the top of the watchtower.
‘What’s going on?’ one of the men cried out as he poked his head up through the hole in the floor.
‘I don’t know,’ Fergus snapped as he hastily clambered up the ladder. ‘Get to your position.’
As he emerged onto the platform, Aledus, who was on sentry duty, cried out again and pointed with his finger at a small troop of horsemen who were galloping towards the watchtower. Hastily Fergus joined him at the edge of the platform, grasped hold of the wooden balustrade and peered at the riders. As the newcomers drew closer Fergus suddenly frowned.
‘That’s Furius,’ Fergus exclaimed in a surprised voice. ‘What is he doing here?’
Without waiting for an answer, Fergus disappeared back into the tower. Vittius, clutching his spear and shield, was guarding the outer gate as Fergus came hastening towards him. Around the small fort the others had taken up their positions, crouching along the raised walkway. Vittius looked anxious.
‘It’s Furius,’ Fergus gasped laying a reassuring hand on the soldier’s shoulder. Then turning swiftly to the other’s he cried out. ‘Stand down men. The Optio has decided to pay us a visit.’
Outside the fort, horses were snorting and whinnying. As he stepped through the gate Fergus saw Furius. The Optio looked uncomfortable and clumsy riding a horse and Fergus struggled to suppress a smile, as the officer finally managed to dismount, nearly falling over in the mud.
‘This is a surprise Sir,’ Fergus said saluting smartly.
Furius gave the horse he’d been riding, a look of disgust and then turned to glare at Fergus. Around him the silent Hispanic auxiliaries who had escorted Furius remained in their saddles.
‘So are you still alive then?’ Furius snapped as he came towards Fergus.
‘Yes Sir,’ Fergus replied.
‘I have brought you new orders,’ Furius said glancing up at Aledus, who was watching them from his position at the top of the watchtower. Then, quickly the Optio turned to Fergus and for a split-second Fergus thought he saw a new wariness and respect in Furius’s eyes.
‘There have been some developments on the other side of the river since, you left us,’ the Optio growled. ‘The Cohort has received new orders. Apparently, our scouts have discovered that a large Marcomanni raiding force is being assembled with the intention of crossing the river and raiding our territory. This is not some small-scale attack. This is a major raid. The enemy group is several thousand strong and they have a camp a few miles north of the river. The Cohort is going to be part of a force that is being sent against the Germans. We are going to smash them up, before they can move against us. So, you and your men are to return to the company at once. The auxiliaries with me will take over the watchtower. We are to leave at once. Get your men ready.’
‘We are going to cross the river and attack the enemy,’ Fergus exclaimed.
‘That’s right,’ Furius snapped as he turned back towards his horse. ‘Did you think we just sit here on our side of the river waiting for the Germans to attack us? Two can play that game, Fergus.’
***
As the Cohort’s winter quarters hove into view through the trees, Fergus tensely tightened his grip on his spear. If he ran into Fronto he was not sure how he would react. The bastard had twice tried to murder him. But any action or revenge on his part would not be tolerated by the army. There would be consequences. Titus had made that very clear, before sending him to guard the watchtower. It was late in the afternoon and, as the small detachment led by Furius strode towards the newly built barracks, Fergus could see the men were still working on the defensive palisade and V shaped ditch. The forest was alive with shouts, hammering and sawing.
‘Fergus,’ Furius said turning sharply. ‘Titus said that he wants to see you right away. The rest of you find a spare barrack room and get your shit together. The Cohort is moving out to Carnuntum tomorrow at dawn. The cooks are preparing a hearty battle meal, so make sure that you are fed. This will be your last, hot meal for a while. The next few days are going to be tough.’
Fergus nodded at Aledus as Furius led him away towards one of the long grey wooden barrack blocks that lined the ground just outside the auxiliary fort. One of the Centurion’s slaves was languishing at the door to the Centurion’s quarters. He gave Fergus a curious, respectful look. Furius strode straight past him and into the newly-constructed building, with Fergus following close behind. Titus was sitting in a chair whilst Lydia, his young wife, was busy cutting his hair. Seeing Furius and Fergus, Titus grunted and quickly waved his wife away. Obediently Lydia packed away her scissors and other hair cutting kit and, giving Fergus a little friendly wink, she strode off into another room, drawing the heavy curtain behind her.
‘Sir,’ Furius snapped, straightening up and saluting. At his side Fergus did the same.
Irritably Titus rubbed his forehead. Then he turned to look at his two subordinates and for a moment his eyes lingered on Fergus.
‘So it seems that you are a bit of a hero,’ Titus growled in a quiet voice. ‘According to the scouts who you rescued, you defended that watchtower with skill, courage and determination. They say that you saved their lives.’
‘I did what any man would have done,’ Fergus replied. ‘It was fight or die Sir.’
‘Good,’ Titus exclaimed giving Furius a quick glance. ‘And I hear that you lost a man?’
‘Yes Sir, his name was Tiber. We buried him beside the watchtower. He was a good man Sir.’
Titus nodded in agreement and turned to look away. Then he tapped his fingers on the back of his chair.
‘You are probably wondering why you have been called in to see me,’ Titus said in a grave sounding voice. ‘Well I have some good news for you Fergus. As of this moment I am promoting you to company Tesserarius. You are now third in command after myself and Furius. You are now Furius’s second in command. Congratulations.’
>
Fergus’s cheeks exploded into a furious blush and as he stood staring at Titus in disbelief, he seemed unable to speak for some seconds.
‘Thank you Sir,’ Fergus stammered at last. ‘I will not let you down. But what about Fronto?’
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 21