Geraint Jones - Blood Forest

Pavo didn’t break from his scrubbing, dismissing my theory with icy sarcasm. ‘So the chief breaks an oath to Rome, attacks an army twice the size of his tribe, and all because he doesn’t like his son-in-law? It makes no sense,’ he snorted, casting an angry eye over the helmet’s ruined crest.

‘It’s a family feud, sir. Sense doesn’t come into it.’

I could see that my argument was falling on deaf ears. I needed to try another tack. A dangerous tack.

‘The legate,’ I said. Pavo’s eyes snapped to me at the mention of the man. ‘Does it make sense that he’d send a century into the forest with no support? No, because he did it out of passion. He did it for family.’

Slowly, Pavo placed the helmet on the ground, his dangerous eyes never leaving mine as he stood.

‘You have no fucking idea,’ he warned, but I needed him to take my conclusion to the army’s commanders, and so I stepped over the precipice.

‘I know you were fucking one of his women.’

I braced myself for the blow. I was expecting it would come to the stomach. Perhaps a knee into my face as I doubled over.

None came.

He laughed.

The laugh was bitter, true to the man, but there was more now, in his eyes, as if he had seen some great irony.

‘ You want to talk about secrets? You? The stranger that a prince ordered me to take into my century? The man who knows more about the Germans’ traps than they do? The soldier who claims to be a replacement, but is more of a veteran than any other in my unit?’

He laughed again. I held my silence. Eventually, Pavo spat on the dirt of his tent’s floor.

‘Forget it. I’m not asking, because something in my head tells me that could be dangerous. But I will tell you this, whoever you are. You’re not as clever as you think.’

He looked away from me, and I sensed he was pushing down a tide of bitter reproach.

‘You know, all of my life, whenever I’ve achieved something, people have whispered, Who’s he been fucking ? It never occurs to them – it hasn’t occurred to you – that maybe the better question to ask is: Who hasn’t he been fucking? ’

‘The legate,’ I answered quietly.

He spat again, this time with violence. ‘He gave me a century and, idiot that I was, I thought I’d got it because I was a good soldier. Because he knew that I was going on to great things. How the fuck did I know that he wanted that in return? He couldn’t take the command back from me unless I fucked up – and I’m too good to fuck up – but he’s been looking for a way to get rid of me ever since. I guarantee you that today will not be the last day we get left out to dry because of it.’

The centurion’s anger faded, replaced by bitter reproach. A reproach to himself.

‘Those men today, they died because of me. I’ve always known that soldiers have to bleed to get me where I want to go, but these men didn’t die for my ambition, but because of my fucking stupidity.’

This was no act. The centurion’s scowl, a mask worn so well, had slipped. Here was a young man, heaped with guilt. Little wonder he had been so desperate to wipe the blood from his armour. I dared not tell him that the conscience was not so easily made clean. Instead, I offered the first solution to the problem.

‘Give up the rank,’ I told him. ‘Get a transfer to another cohort.’

He shook his head. Clearly, he’d gone around in circles with the same question. ‘It’s not about the rank. I turned him down. I know what he is. He wants me dead, no matter where I go, and others will die with me.’

‘It’s better that one dies than many,’ I offered finally.

His eyes became like fire. ‘Suicide? I won’t go out like that, you cunt. I’m a fucking soldier, and I’ll die like a soldier.’

I shook my head. The centurion had mistaken my meaning. I offered him the second solution to the problem.

‘Kill the legate.’

Pavo and I talked at length after that, some of it heated, some of it with the cold detachment of butchers. By the time a plan had been decided upon, I felt as if part of the old me had returned.

‘You’re too good at this,’ Pavo noted warily. ‘What’s in it for you?’

‘I keep breathing.’

‘There must be something more.’

I considered it.

‘Titus. Stop giving his section the most dangerous jobs.’

‘You think I give him those details because I want him dead?’ He laughed, his white smile brilliant. ‘I hate him, I admit. I think he’s a bully and a thug, but he’s good . I know he’s my best chance of keeping the men alive. That’s why he gets those jobs.’

‘It’s not the dice?’

‘If every soldier in debt tried to kill their way out of it, the army would be down to ten men.’

His reasoning made sense. His eyes told me it was truth. I decided to press my advantage.

‘Arminius. You are – were – in debt to him, too?’ I asked, pained as I remembered my friend’s fall.

‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you after what we’ve talked about. Yes, I owed him, but that was paid by taking you into the century.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Why would I ask? It was a win for me.’

Denied my answer, I moved to the tent flap.

‘You’re going to want something from me, too.’ Pavo’s words stopped me at the exit. ‘You help me with this, and you have it.’

I made no reply as I ducked into the rains.

Being heavily mauled that day bought the century no sympathy from the army, and later that evening, it was our turn to stand watch on the camp’s ramparts.

‘I was just startin’ to warm up again,’ Stumps grumbled. The men had taken the few hours’ respite to fill their bellies with hot food. Suffering from the nauseating effects of adrenaline overload, Cnaeus had been unable to keep down a mouthful; both he and Micon were shaking violently from the cold.

‘Jump around,’ Chickenhead told them. ‘Get the blood moving.’

The boys made pathetic attempts to comply, the veterans smiling at the effort.

‘Good thing you’re soldiers,’ Stumps told them with some warmth. ‘You’d never make it as acrobats.’

Then the jumping figures produced an unexpected surprise: something was shaken out from beneath Micon’s armour.

It was an ear.

Stumps cackled with laughter, bending down to pick up the ragged piece of flesh. He spoke into it. ‘Hello. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, mate. The barber took a bit too much off the sides.’

The veterans laughed; only Titus was unmoved by the dark humour. He had a sword in his hands, turning it over as if inspecting every detail. His own short sword was comfortable in its scabbard, and I remembered that Titus had collected one from the enemy dead. I had no idea why. I could only guess that, like many soldiers, he was partial to trophy hunting.

I watched the big man, taking in the bandaged forearm and the scowling face. Only this morning, I had wanted him dead, but my rage had long since faded, quenched by an afternoon of vicious bloodshed. Now, I admired the man who had held his section together, fearless as he herded them to safety. Pavo was right; Titus was a bully and a thug, but he was good .

‘You hungry?’ Stumps asked of Micon, pushing the ear towards the boy’s mouth.

He laughed at the youngster’s uncomfortable squirming.

‘Hey, Moony.’ Stumps poked his friend. ‘What would you rather lose? Your eyes, ears or nose?’

‘My nose, obviously,’ Moonface replied without hesitation. ‘Then I wouldn’t have to smell your arse stinking out the tent.’

‘It’s a privilege to enjoy my aroma. How about you, Chicken?’