Survival.
44
Statius followed me from the hospital like a whipped dog. I felt his eyes on my back. Did he hate me? Undoubtedly, but I knew that hate was born not from my actions, but his own – no man wanted to discover himself a coward. In a world that placed virtue and courage above all else, what was there for the soldier who found that he was unable to control his fear? Pity was for the women and children. Sympathy for the wounded. For the coward, there was only contempt.
‘Felix,’ Centurion H called, catching sight of me as I passed the window of his quarters.
I waited by the doorway for my superior to appear.
‘Cohort commander’s stood us down for forty-eight hours,’ H told me, eyeing Statius but making no comment. ‘Time to lick our wounds and remember the boys. You still have a friend in the quartermaster’s?’
I gave a shallow nod.
‘Then get your section. I’m buying. Can’t take the shit with us, can we?’
It took little to convince Brando to join us. I considered leaving Statius behind. The more malicious part of my mind wanted to put him to work cleaning latrines, or the equipment of men who had stood and fought. Instead, I decided that his shame would be a secret held between him and me. There was nothing to gain by dividing a section already depleted. Already in grief.
‘How’s your wound?’ I asked H as we walked to the quartermaster’s department.
‘Not fatal.’ He managed to smile. ‘Which is the only thing that matters, when you get down to it.’
‘There is that,’ I granted.
‘The other lads, though…’ The centurion trailed off. ‘Keep an eye on your blokes and the Syrians, Felix. I’ve done enough years to know that these things happen, but it’s not like things have been great as it is. I keep thinking that all Arminius needs to do is sit back, and we’ll pull ourselves apart easier than he could have ever done.’
I nodded. ‘A siege does things to men.’
‘Not like any of us were sane in the first place, is it?’ H tried to grin. ‘Got to be a lunatic to sign up for this, haven’t you?’
I said nothing.
‘I can still remember the recruiter,’ H told me, enjoying the memory. ‘He was a hard-looking bastard, and threw coins around like he was Marc Anthony. Course, I thought, that’ll be me in a year or two! My dad beat the shit out of me when he found out, but it was too late by then, wasn’t it? Marched away the next morning, and it’s been sixteen years since I set foot south of the Alps. Haven’t seen much of that coin, either.’ He laughed.
We had reached the quartermaster’s department. The guards recognized me and moved aside. We entered the long storeroom that doubled as the site of games and gambling, but all was quiet. Three men sat alone at a table.
‘Titus. Boys,’ I greeted my friends.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Stumps slurred, his eyes then settling on Statius. ‘And what the fuck’s he doin’ ’ere? Better grow your hair if you’re lookin’ to sell your fanny. Oh, ’ello, sir,’ he added quickly, spotting his centurion.
‘Relax, Stumps,’ H smiled. ‘I just want to get shit-faced. Can I buy in on that wine?’
‘Your money’s no good here,’ Titus interjected. ‘The blokes have spoken up about you, sir. You’re my guest. Drink what you like.’
‘You’re a gentleman, for such a scary-looking bastard,’ H conceded, and then laughed. ‘I suppose the wine fits into our daily ration?’
‘There’re forty less mouths to feed, boss.’ Stumps spoke without humour. ‘I don’t know about the Nineteenth, but in the Seventeenth Legion, that ration goes to the lads who made it, so we can give them a good send-off.’
H nodded, solemnly. ‘We do the same, and we’re all Nineteenth now, boys.’ He raised his drink. ‘Here’s to the boys who can’t raise a cup.’
We echoed the toast, and drank deep. Titus poured again, the wine splashing over the brims like bubbling wounds.
‘Another one,’ the big man ordered.
We drank, and then we drank some more. In what seemed like moments, my eyes began to swim, my words catching on my tongue.
‘Tell me more about the desert,’ H pressed Titus when Stumps had revealed something of his friend’s past.
Titus shrugged. ‘Sand and camels.’
‘What about the women?’ H encouraged him. ‘How do they stack up compared to the Germans?’
The big man thought over his answer. ‘They’re slighter. Smaller tits. Dark eyes. Dark hair.’
‘But who fucks better?’ Stumps asked eagerly.
Titus considered for a further moment before answering. ‘The Germans.’
‘Thank the weather for that.’ Brando laughed. ‘It’s so cold here in winter no one wants to keep their clothes off. Get it done wild and fast.’
We laughed at that, wine spilling over our lips and on to our tunics. Only one man sat unmoved.
Statius.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Brando asked the man. ‘You’ve got a face like a donkey’s bollocks. Drink some wine, man. Relax.’
‘Why?’ the Roman asked, simply.
Brando’s thick brow creased. ‘Why? Why the fuck not? Because we could be dead tomorrow, and so enjoy. Enjoy this time.’
There was a chorus of applause at that, cups rapping on tables. I looked at young Micon, and saw that even his dull-witted face was twisted upwards in amusement. He had seen the evidence and learned the lesson: live for the moment.
‘But it’s all bollocks, isn’t it?’ Statius said suddenly and sullenly. ‘Die tomorrow? Yes. And if not tomorrow, then soon. And for what? We’ll die in this fort, or outside of it, and for what?’
The question was met by silence, and dark looks. Micon was the first to move, slurping noisily at his cup. It was Titus who opened his mouth to speak.
‘What would you like to die for?’ he asked plainly.
Statius had no reply.
‘There must be something?’ Titus shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘You want to die for fame? For money?’
Statius shook his head. ‘I don’t want to die at all,’ he admitted, his eyes on his drink.
‘Picked the wrong profession then, didn’t you?’ Stumps scoffed, before a look from Titus shut him up.
‘No one cheats death,’ H put in, his words slurred from wine and blood loss from his still-leaking wound.
‘All right then,’ Statius conceded. ‘I don’t want to die for this.’ He gestured at his uniform. ‘I don’t want to die so someone can put a mark on a map. I don’t want to die so a senator gets new lands. I don’t want to die so a general can have poets suck his cock and say what a brilliant mind he had, losing only hundreds of men like us, and not thousands.’
‘You joined the army,’ Stumps sneered. He couldn’t help himself. ‘The army didn’t join you.’
‘Yes, I joined the fucking army,’ Statius snapped back. ‘I joined the army because I wanted food in my stomach. I joined because I didn’t want to die a beggar in the streets.’
Stumps was like a dog with a bone. ‘You have a roof over your head now, don’t you?’ he demanded. ‘Food? Even if it is half-rations.’
‘Yeah, and for what price? So that I can watch friends die? So that I can be skinned alive by the goat-fuckers? How many friends did you lose in the forest, Stumps? You’re not screaming the barracks down and getting pissed every night because you love what you do.’
‘You have no fucking idea,’ Stumps warned darkly.
‘Then enlighten me,’ Statius pressed. Somehow his fear of death had given him the confidence to confront the absurdity of his position. ‘Are you going to be one of these lying bastards who tells the stories of smiles and laughter as we march off to get fucking slaughtered? I may not have seen much, but I’ve seen enough to know that the only ones who talk that way are the ones who have never drawn a blade! Three legions gone in that forest, Stumps! Felix, you were there. Are you telling me that you went through it all thinking of glory for Rome? Do you wake up screaming thinking of eagles and triumphs?’