Piso was a short distance off the track, widening the route of the approaching army along with his comrades and the soldiers of another century. Two of the other centuries under Tullus’ command were spread out around them in a loose formation among the trees, watching for signs of the Angrivarii. The rest of Tullus’ cohort was with the engineers, who were assessing the next stream, a quarter of a mile to their front. Despite his warnings to stay alert, few men were concerned about being ambushed. The Angrivarii lived many miles away, and the army was three legions strong. Only a fool or a madman would attack such a force. All the same, Piso laid down his equipment close to where he was working. Regulations stated that a man’s shield and javelin had to be within five to ten paces when he was working, and the unit’s officers enforced this with zeal.
Wet, stinking with sweat, but relieved to have set down his kit, he walked around the beech, deciding where to place his first axe blow. He was grateful that it was a young tree – some of those that lay only a few paces deeper into the forest were as thick as his waist, or even larger. This one, Piso reckoned, was at least twenty years old. It stood the height of five men, and its trunk was about the size of his thigh.
‘I can see you, Piso!’ bellowed Tullus from the road.
Piso jumped. Where in damnation had he come from? he wondered. Tullus was supposed to be with the engineers, making their lives hell.
‘You’re not here to admire the bloody trees, just chop them down,’ shouted Tullus. ‘Start using that axe, or you’ll feel my vitis across your back.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Piso called out, trying to ignore Vitellius, who was snorting with laughter from his position by another beech. Afer, off to his right, was also chuckling.
‘Bastards,’ muttered Piso, hoping that Tullus would find fault with them too, so that he got a chance to mock. His luck wasn’t in this time. Tullus walked on, bawling encouragement and threats by turn at other soldiers. Piso focused on his beech. If he struck the bark just there, it wouldn’t land on anyone when it fell, he decided. He swung around at the hip and let fly. The axe head sank in with a satisfying thwack. Piso drew back his arms and hit it again. Thwack. This time, the blade landed several fingersbreadth from the spot where his first effort had struck. He cursed, aimed better and struck his first mark. Before long, he had removed a decent wedge, and could not miss. Switching sides when he’d hacked halfway through the trunk, Piso chopped until the muscles in his arms were burning. As the tree fell, he glanced around to see if his efforts had been enough for Tullus, but his centurion was gone.
‘It’s a trick he has,’ called Vitellius. ‘He stays long enough to make you think he’s still watching, and then he pisses off. Better not relax, though, because he’ll be back before you know it.’
Piso couldn’t see Tullus up or down the road. Resting the axe head on the ground, he wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘How many miles d’you reckon we’ll have to do this for?’
Vitellius swung his axe. Thunk. ‘How would I know? Never been in this godsforsaken spot in my life. We keep doing it as long as Tullus tells us to. It’s a break from marching, and that can’t be bad.’
‘True,’ admitted Piso grudgingly. He readied himself to split the trunk, and bring it as close to the ground as he could. That way, marching men could step over it with ease.
‘Alarm!’ roared a voice off to his left. ‘Raise the alarm!’
Piso froze; then he glanced at Vitellius, whose head had turned in the direction of the shout, and to Afer, who had already dropped his axe and grabbed his shield. Piso copied Afer. There was no time to remove the protective leather cover, heavy with absorbed rain. They drew their swords; Piso shuffled to Afer’s side, where they were soon joined by Vitellius and the rest of their contubernium. Other legionaries were also bunching together, but without an officer to direct them, no one tried to form a solid line. Piso did his best to stay calm, but there was already a vague sense of panic in the air – every legionary knew the dangers of fighting in open formation. If an enemy came at them fast, now, they would sweep into the gaps like a river through a half-built dam.
Through the trees to their left, it was possible to see the soldiers who’d been standing guard retreating in poor order. ‘Alarm!’ many of them were yelling. ‘Angrivarii!’
Piso felt sick. He glanced behind him, wondering where he’d run if he had to.
‘Steady,’ growled Afer.
Shamefaced, Piso fixed his gaze on the sentries. With a little luck, they’d be able to group together when they met, but that would depend somewhat on when the enemy hit them.
‘Close up! Close up! Form a line!’
Tullus’ arrival had a dramatic, calming effect. Men knew what to do; they steadied when a leader took charge. Piso and his comrades shuffled sideways until they met the legionaries of another contubernium. To either side, the rest of their comrades did the same. Tullus shoved himself in between Piso and Vitellius. ‘What can you see?’ he demanded.
Piso squinted. ‘Just our men, sir.’
‘I can’t make out a damn thing, apart from my soldiers,’ said Tullus. ‘Vitellius?’
‘Nothing, sir.’ Vitellius sounded a little embarrassed.
Tullus sounded his whistle to attract attention. ‘You there, with the rusty mail!’ he roared. ‘What’s going on? Where are the Angrivarii?’
There was a moment’s pause, and then the sentry he’d addressed replied, ‘There’s no sign of them, sir. It might have been a bear.’
Cries of disbelief – and relief, if Piso’s comrades felt anything like him – rose from the defensive line.
‘A bear? A FUCKING BEAR?’ cried Tullus, as general laughter broke out.
‘Yes, sir,’ came the sheepish reply. ‘I was sure it was a warrior – that’s why I raised the alarm – but when everyone started shouting, it thundered off through the undergrowth like a boulder down a hill. It couldn’t have been a man, sir.’
‘Damn fool,’ said Tullus, and more laughter erupted. ‘Remain in your positions,’ he ordered, and stamped forward to the soldier who’d spotted the bear. They conferred, and then Tullus advanced deeper into the trees, sword and shield at the ready. Despite the likelihood that the Angrivarii had not arrived, Piso didn’t relax until Tullus walked back and announced that ‘If a tribesman can leave a shit that big and smelly, my name’s Alexander of Macedon.’
Amused, relieved looks were exchanged all round.
‘The fun’s over, you maggots,’ warned Tullus. ‘Take a drink of water, and then back to work. The vanguard will catch up if you’re not careful, and I’m not having my arse roasted by a tribune because you’re too damn lazy to finish your task. I want every tree in the vicinity levelled by the time I come back! Those of you on guard, keep your eyes peeled. I want no more false alarms. D’you hear me?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the legionaries yelled.
‘Get to it, you dogs, because there are plenty more trees further along,’ announced Tullus, ignoring the chorus of groans that followed him down the track.
Piso reduced the trunk of his first tree to something less than ankle height before he paused for breath. That done, he cast around for Tullus, and saw his crested helmet disappearing to the north. An optio was approaching from the other direction, so there wasn’t much chance to talk. ‘Who was the fool who raised the alarm?’ he called out.