Geraint Jones - Blood Forest

‘Such magnificence,’ he uttered in adulation.

Stumps poked him. ‘It’s a bird on a stick.’

Only after Titus reminded Moonface that a fight would result in a docking of pay did the enraged man stand down.

I took in the sight of the standard-bearers, one for each of the three legions in camp. They were formidable-looking warriors, chosen for their heroism and dedication. The standards were prized by enemies the length of the world, and so the standard-bearer would always be found where fighting was at its thickest. The faces of the men were hidden from me by thick cloaks of bearskin slung over their shoulders, the snouts terminating in a peaked cap that set the wearer’s face into deep shadow. I shuddered at the sight of them.

These standard-bearers were also responsible for their legion’s coffers, for the majority of men elected to hold most of their pay within the safety of a fort’s walls. When it came to my turn to make my mark and take the coin, the issuing centurion’s eyebrows raised as I stated that I wished to withdraw my full stipend.

‘There’s not much to spend it on in the forests, lad,’ he offered gently, hoping to change my mind.

‘I’d like to hold it, sir,’ I lied. ‘See how much my life is worth,’ I added with a smile.

‘You’re going to be disappointed, lad,’ he told me, and was not wrong. The weight of the coins was pitiful. I looked at Pavo, whose own pay would not be much higher. No wonder he aspired to be primus pilus – the First Spear, and most senior centurion in the legion, with an annual salary of one hundred thousand sesterces.

With the money tied in a purse, and snug inside my tunic, I took my place on the side of the parade square, and waited in formation as the other men were paid. My eyes drifted from the chests of coins to the eagle standards, and the men that carried them. There were but twenty-eight legions in the whole of the Empire, and to be one of the few standard-bearers was an honour like no other.

Mesmerized as I was by this elite, it took me a while to realize that our entire century had passed by the pay chests, and yet we remained on the square. Titus must have wondered at the reason himself, and quietly called to Pavo for the answer.

‘The governor’s coming out to make an address.’

And so we waited in the sun, for hours it seemed, the square slowly filling with soldiers. They were smiling at first, anxious to be paid, but the smiles turned sullen when they understood that they’d be kept from the wine and whores to wait on Governor Varus’s oration.

I was in the front rank, so when he did finally arrive, in the late afternoon, I was afforded a good look at a Roman who, by his position, was one of the most powerful men in the world. As Governor of Germany, Varus commanded five legions, and more than double that in auxiliary cohorts. All in all, it was almost a fifth of the Empire’s fighting strength.

But strength was not a word that could be attributed to the general’s physical self. He wore armour, though I expect the aim was to give his body a harder look, rather than protection. His features were dark, the aquiline nose testament to his noble birth. Beneath this hook, an extra chin shone with sweat born from the effort of wearing battle attire. I have seen many leaders, and on first glance it seemed as though this one was more inclined to the court than the campaign trail. Little wonder the army had been inactive, and the German tribesmen had grown bold.

Governor Varus now took his place on a dais, his strong voice at odds with his physique. As a noble, he would have been trained in oratory from a young age.

‘Brave soldiers of Rome!’ he began, and I groaned inwardly. Behind me, I heard Chickenhead snicker.

‘Let me tell you of the glory that awaits us!’ Varus went on, and so began a tedious detailing of his grand plan.

The wasted summer, it seemed, had been a ploy to lure out our enemies. The change of route to the Rhine, eschewing the forts and supplies on the River Lippe, was a feint that would catch our foe off guard.

‘He could spin a bloody cloak with his arsehole, this one,’ I heard Stumps pipe up beside me.

It was true enough. Varus glossed over all of the shortcomings of his campaign, painting them as strokes of a master tactician. Despite Pavo’s repeated sharp glances, Stumps couldn’t resist a further jibe.

‘If he’d invited the Germans for this speech, they’d already have surrendered.’

Perhaps Varus believed that this hot air was what the common soldiers wanted to hear. Officers and nobles, after all, rarely connected with the men below them, but in a sign that he was not totally oblivious to the desires of his troops, Varus now assured the ranks that there would be plenty of loot on the campaign, and that they were free to take from the Germans whatever they could find.

‘They pulled the feathers!’ Varus yelled above the cheers. ‘Now let them feel the eagle’s claws!’

‘At least the end was good.’ Stumps grinned. ‘Bit of loot! Don’t mind if I do.’

We were dismissed, and marched back to our tents.

As Titus counted the pile of coins in front of him, Stumps pushed the big man on his feelings towards the coming campaign.

‘We better march soon,’ Titus answered, stifling a yawn. ‘Every bastard in Germany must know what’s coming, and the longer we delay, the longer they’ve got to go burying their good stuff.’

‘They’ll be burying their sons and fathers soon,’ Moonface added with relish.

‘Oh, give it a break, you camp-fire hero,’ Chickenhead chided him. ‘Your sword’s seen about as much action as a virgin’s cunt.’

Stumps gave a deep bark of a laugh and slapped his friend Moonface on the shoulder. ‘He got you there. Next time it’ll be “I was on the fort walls, when you were in yer dad’s balls!” Ha!’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t shat yourself yet,’ Chickenhead spat at Stumps, unhappy to be mocked.

‘About what? This whole thing’s a riot. Like Titus said, the Germans have had all the warning in the world. That’s all this is, a cock-swinging contest. They’ve got theirs out, now we’ll get ours out.’

‘Please don’t,’ Rufus interceded.

‘We get ours out,’ Stumps continued, miming the action. ‘They see it’s bigger than theirs, and everyone goes home happy.’

‘You ever thought of running for the Senate?’ Titus asked his comrade, before getting to his feet. ‘I’m off to see Pavo.’

‘Why?’ several voices asked at once.

Titus answered by tossing a pair of dice into the air. ‘He got paid too, you know? If I don’t take it, some other bastard might.’

He was about to step out of the tent, but stopped, eyes on the two young soldiers who were polishing his armour. ‘You can leave off that tonight, boys. Where we’re going, doesn’t pay to stand out. Get yourself into town. Here.’ He reached inside his purse and tossed a coin to each of them. ‘Get a whore on me.’

The youngsters smiled coyly, unsure of how to react to the sudden generosity.

‘Could be the last chance you ever have to get your dick wet,’ Titus told them as he left. The boys’ smiles slid off their faces.

The section commander’s exit began the usual exodus: Rufus to his family; Stumps, Chickenhead and Moonface to the Three Bears.

‘You could buy an army of whores with that money you took out,’ Stumps informed me.

‘I’m just going to stay here,’ I told him, not that he gave a shit.

‘Fine. Play with yourself then, you tight bastard,’ he snapped as a farewell.

Now that the veterans had departed, Micon and Cnaeus talked in hushed tones, obviously discussing what they were going to do.

‘Go to town,’ I told them a little irritably, sick of the whispers. ‘Titus is right. You could be dead soon. Go and get drunk, get laid, but do something.’