‘I’ll tell you,’ I promised.
And I did.
The century stood in formation. Afternoon was turning to dusk, and, as was the wartime ritual within the legions, all fighting men of the garrison would man the walls or wait as fully equipped reserves should the Germans choose to appear and attack in the twilight. No man expected such an eventuality, but no commander wanted to be the one who overlooked the procedure and woke to a blade in his guts.
I was exhausted. Opening my soul to Linza and telling her of my own lost love had drained me more than any forced march could do. My head felt muggy and heavy; my shoulders ached beneath my mail. I was exhausted, but despite the fatigue, I felt fresh. As if, in some inexplicable way, I had accomplished something. Like the times that I had left the gymnasium battered and bruised, I knew that I would wake in the morning and feel the pain, but that ache would be a welcome signal that I had improved myself.
I looked to the front of the formation. Centurion H was there and caught my eye. He smiled at me, hopeful that I would vouch for him later that evening so that he could enjoy a night of ‘wine and tits’ at the enterprise of Titus and Metella.
Suddenly, I saw the conspiratorial look on the centurion’s face change, the smile slipping as the brow beneath his helmet creased with question. H was no stickler for discipline, and so I allowed my neck the slightest twist to follow his look.
Centurion Malchus approached with purpose. The cohort commander was dressed for war, his gaunt face tight, shoulders rigid. He was clearly in the mood for killing.
‘Century,’ H called to his troops. ‘Atten-shun!’
Malchus made a hurried gesture, and H turned his back so that the hushed conversation between the officers was screened from their men. It was a short briefing, and when the centurions turned back to face the formation, H’s face was as grim as the man’s beside him.
‘This isn’t good,’ I heard Stumps whisper.
‘Fifth Century.’ Malchus spoke in a tone of iron. ‘In the last two nights there’s been three rapes and two murders in this fort. It’s a fucking disgrace, and shits all over the discipline that makes us who we are. We are Romans, not barbarians, and if you want to act like animals, then there will be fucking consequences!’
My stomach tightened at the implied threat. The imposed discipline of Rome’s legions could be harsh, quick and lethal, and I wondered what measure Malchus was threatening, and why. It was true that rape was common in the world, and murder a fixture, but it seemed now that Prefect Caedicius was attempting to stamp out all and any forms of unrest. The prefect was charged with bringing the fort through the siege, and to do so he required strict order. In the Roman Empire, that order was bought through blood. With every other man in the ranks, I awaited Malchus’s next words with a knot in my guts.
‘If there’s going to be killing,’ the man snarled, ‘then it’s going to be out there.
‘The prefect wants a raid on the hairy bastards, and this century’s drawn the honour. We march out as soon as it’s dark, and we don’t come back without some heads. Lots of fucking heads.’
‘You heard the cohort commander.’ H stepped forwards after leaving a moment for Malchus’s threatening order to sink in. ‘When I fall you out, section commanders get amongst your blokes. Strip your kit. No shields, no helmets. Blacken up whatever shines. Anything else, sir?’ he asked the cohort commander.
Malchus shook his head. There was nothing but killing on his mind, and so H opened his mouth: ‘Century, falllll out!’
After we made the standing right turn and the formation broke up into shouted commands and hurried whispers, I hustled across to my centurion. H caught my eye, and raised an eyebrow in question.
‘My man, Stumps,’ I began, ‘can he get back to the quartermaster’s?’
H gave an apologetic shake of his head. ‘We need every man in the century for this, Felix. Balbus can’t soldier until further notice, and so your boy is going to have to march out with the rest of us. I’m sorry. I don’t pretend to know what you guys went through in the forest, but orders are…’
I gave a glum nod, resigned.
‘No hard feelings?’ the centurion asked. I knew well enough why he was anxious for my approval, seeing me as the scarred and dangerous veteran who had cut his way out from the enemy trap when almost all others had fallen. Malchus saw the same, thinking me the bloodthirsty hero. If only they fucking knew.
‘Of course not, H.’ I was forgetting rank for a moment, pretty certain that he would approve of me using his nickname.
‘Been a while since I did something like this,’ the man admitted, smiling to cover his nerves. ‘Drew some blood on the walls, but… different when there’s nothing between you and them, isn’t it?’
It was.
‘I should get to my section,’ I said. ‘Good luck tonight.’
‘Look after my lads,’ H told me, offering his hand. I took the strong grip, and then went to join my comrades.
The barrack room was filled with my men and their industry, but talk was reduced to the bare essentials: the requests to pass something out of reach, or to help tighten straps and sharpen blades.
‘You tried to get me off it?’ Stumps greeted me with a little accusation.
I shrugged my armoured shoulders. ‘You’re coming.’
‘You still tried though,’ he grunted. ‘I haven’t forgotten how to soldier, you know.’
Nothing good could come of the conversation, and so I ignored my friend, instead addressing the section as a whole, and repeating the orders that H had issued.
‘When you think you’re done get outside and jump around,’ I then added. ‘Anything loose that makes a noise, strap it down or leave it here.’
‘You didn’t have any casualties last time, did you?’ Statius suddenly piped up. He was slower than the other men in his preparations, and I noticed his eyes had grown a little wider. He reminded me of a rabbit that had caught a scent.
‘We didn’t,’ I confirmed.
‘That was last time,’ Brando grunted. ‘We got them with their trousers down. Tonight won’t be so easy.’
‘Ready or not, we’ll gut them all the same,’ Folcher spoke up confidently. ‘Arminius has gone to fight. He’s left behind the fat and lazy. We’ll gut them, Brando. It will be a good night.’
Brando did not argue, and I could see that both of the Batavians were eager for the raid. They were true warriors, these German-born, and I wondered how long Rome could contain their cousins to the east of the Rhine.
Attempting nonchalance, Statius opened his mouth as he put away his shield. ‘I could go to the hospital, and see if Balbus is fit for duty?’
The idea reeked of malingering, and Stumps recognized the purpose of the words as easily as I had. ‘You’ll strap your sandals up and earn your pay, you mincing little cunt,’ he sneered. ‘Try and pull your half-arsed soldiering out there tonight, and I’ll dry fuck you with this blade.’
‘I was only asking.’ Statius spoke sullenly to the floor.
‘Fifth Century, form up!’ came the inevitable call from outside. ‘Section commanders, get a grip of your blokes. Let’s go!’
‘Here we go then.’ Dog tried to smile, and I felt the eyes of the section turn towards me – some were scared, some were eager, some were vacant, and yet all looked to me for guidance, and survival. Perhaps a great leader would have fired them up with words and promises, but I was not Marcus, Malchus or Titus. I was just me, and I was terrified. What the fuck was there to say?
‘All right,’ I offered to the uncommon band of brothers. ‘Follow me.’