Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

Caedicius shook his head.

Malchus pressed: ‘Sir, I can finish him.’

‘And if his men just ride in and kill you?’

Malchus would not be dissuaded. ‘Then Arminius shows that he’s a fucking coward, sir, and he loses support. I’ll die for that.’

‘I can’t let you die for that, Malchus.’

The first scream echoed out across the field.

‘Please, sir,’ Malchus begged.

‘The barbarians are out there, Malchus, not in here,’ Caedicius explained, shaking his head sadly. ‘We can’t lower ourselves to their level.’

I expected that Caedicius simply did not want to lose his best soldier so easily, and for such little gain. Malchus would be deadly in single combat, but he would be more deadly still behind the fort’s walls, orchestrating death for the enemy on the rampart and in the ditch.

A long wail cut short Malchus’s retort. I chanced a look out towards the condemned men, and wished that I had not. One was tied by his arms, the length of rope fixed to a horse’s saddle. His legs were tied similarly to another beast. The animals were being whipped in opposite directions, and so, slowly, the man was being pulled apart.

Malchus turned, his eyes full of fire and fury. ‘Felix,’ he ordered. ‘Get down from here. Go to your section.’

I was happy to obey, my head swimming as I took the steps back to the dirt. The vision of the man and the horses seemed burned into my eyeballs, and would not leave me. Feeling light-headed, I sat back against the wall of a building. I saw Caedicius take his leave from the fighting step, but Malchus remained, an immovable statue as the prisoner’s body and screams finally gave out, and the German host gave a cheer.

I tasted bile in my throat. I had been yards away from such a fate myself. If Brando and Malchus had left me, would I truly have had the courage to take my own life, or would hope, just the slightest touch of it, have been enough to let me fall to the enemy for a second time?

‘I thought you’d be here,’ I heard, and opened my eyes.

Stumps.

‘Why do you do this to yourself, you soft bastard? You think any good is going to come from it? We’re all gonna die, Felix. Stop trying to live with a blade to your throat.’

‘Can you help me up?’

My comrade reached down, and pulled me to my feet. ‘At least you’re clean,’ he mumbled.

‘I met a girl at the well.’ I, for some reason, felt compelled to tell him.

Stumps looked at me with new eyes. ‘You know that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you mention a woman?’

I shrugged.

‘So what happened?’

‘Arminius.’

‘Ha! Thwarted by the German. He really is a master of grand strategy, the cunt.’

‘She was looking for her husband. A Batavian.’

‘Oh! That one! Yeah, she came by the block. Good shag, she was.’

I fell into the man’s trap – my eyes betrayed my jealousy.

‘You soft bastard!’ Stumps cackled. ‘She just came by, asked questions, cried, and then left. Probably the same outcome as a sexual experience with you, actually.’

‘I’m glad you’re feeling back to your old self.’

‘I’m better than that,’ my friend told me as the screams echoed beyond the battlements, ‘because I’ve accepted that we’re going to die here, Felix. And honestly, once you accept that, everything else seems all right. Even the fucking soup tastes incredible.’

‘You need more rest.’

We walked on in silence. I knew that my comrade’s elevated mood would not last. I had seen it in other soldiers broken by war. This optimistic fatalism would be followed by soul-crushing guilt, and then terror. I knew this first hand, and that was why I was only too happy to try and leave the screams behind us.

With one final look over my shoulder, I saw that the imposing silhouette of Malchus had not moved from his vigil – he would not abandon the men who had been trapped in the raid. Exhausted, but safe in the knowledge that I had such leaders to follow, I knew I could sleep well that night.

‘Arminius is gonna know how understrength we are now.’ Stumps’s words were prompted by another scream of a man under torture. ‘Probably that the raid for wood was a load of arse, too.’

I shrugged, though I expected he was right. ‘We’ll see.’

We had almost reached our own barrack block now. I felt my comrade’s pace slow.

‘Please, Felix.’ Stumps was looking anywhere but at my face as he forced the uncomfortable words from his chest. ‘No more stupid shit. I’ve lost enough mates.’

‘All right,’ I promised.

Stumps still refused to look me in the eye. ‘All right then. I’m gonna go find a drink. Coming?’

A drink with a comrade. I think I might actually have smiled at the suggestion. At that moment, only one thing sounded sweeter.

‘I’m going to sleep,’ I told him, entering the barrack room and falling heavily on to my straw mattress.

Stumps said something as I pressed my body down into the bed. I caught the sarcastic tone, but the words were lost to me as my eyelids slammed down. Within a breath, I was asleep.

It was almost a day before I woke. The weak light of dawn was the clue as I stirred, half hoping that I would slip away again into slumber.

I had dreamed I was in Britain, an island that I had never seen, but which had been painted to me in stories when I was a young man. I wanted to return to those visions. The details of the characters in the dream were lost to me, but the image of white cliffs was seared into my sight. A serene feeling of calm had come over me, the sensation of which I had not experienced in months, nor did I have a right to when surrounded by enemies.

Enemies. I could not stay in my bed. My dreams were exactly that, and so I shook them off and opened my eyes.

The white cliffs vanished.

I was alone in the room, but that didn’t alarm me. There was no sound from the walls. No shouts. No cries. The camp seemed tranquil.

I swung my feet on to the floor. My joints and muscles ached, but my mind felt vital for the first time in days. I smiled as I saw that bread and cheese had been placed beside my pillow. My stomach growled instantly once I’d laid my eyes on the food and I ate it quickly.

I stood and stretched, knots of muscle and bone popping and clicking. Pulling back the partition curtain, I saw that the arms and armour of my comrades had gone with them. I guessed that they had been assigned to some guard duty or other, of which there would be many. Arminius’s assaults had been bloody, but those moments of a siege were the anomaly. The usual was the tedious nature of standing watch, the gnaw of hunger and the stress of confinement.

For the moment, however, I was happy to remain confined myself, and lay back on my bed. There would be more bloodshed, and to survive it I would need my strength. Guilt suddenly washed over me then, taking any lingering happiness from my dreams with it; I would not be a burden again, as I had been to Malchus and Brando. No one would die for me, I vowed. And with those thoughts, I felt the familiar darkness creeping back. Seeping into my mind. Telling me that I was scum. Telling me that I was a traitor. Telling me that Marcus—

I shot to my feet as I heard men enter the block.

‘Brando.’ I was so happy to see his face and its promised distraction from the poison of my thoughts. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Duty up on the northern wall. Centurion H told us to let you sleep.’

‘Anything happening?’

‘Nothing since the three executions. Centurion H thinks Arminius was using it as a chance to get a look at our numbers, and sneak in a little closer.’

H was probably right. Armed with the knowledge extracted from his prisoners, Arminius would now have a detailed picture of what stood in front of him.