Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

‘Centurions to me!’ Malchus ordered. ‘Optios, return your centuries to barracks or duties. First Century, Three and Four Sections, stay here and put guards on these barracks.’

‘Section commanders,’ H said before departing, ‘wait for me in my quarters. I expect we’ll have some talking to do later.’

He was right.

It was some time before H returned from Malchus, and in that time the century’s section commanders threw about their theories of who could be behind the murders of the young girls. Soldiers love to speculate and gossip, and never more so than when violence is involved.

‘Six dead,’ H confirmed, ‘including the girl that started it all. Probably be a couple more soon. There’re a dozen wounded and some are bad. Malchus was arguing they should be left to die, to prove a point, but the surgeon’s working on them.’

‘I love Malchus.’ Two Section’s commander spoke up. ‘He doesn’t give a shit.’

H grinned with admiration for his superior. ‘No, he doesn’t. Anyway, the long and the short of tonight is this – except to carry out duties on the wall, the archers are confined to the east of camp. The civilians are confined to the west. The north–south road through the camp’s centre is the boundary. If you see either where they shouldn’t be, detain them and alert your centurion. That’s me,’ he added with a flourish.

‘H?’ a veteran queried. ‘I’ve got family here. What’s going on with this killing? Is it the Syrians, or what?’

‘Malchus says there’s no one who’s actually seen a Syrian around a body, or with the girls before they died, so no one knows.’

‘Can we at least put guards where the civvies are?’ the man pushed.

‘There’re going to be roving patrols. A section will get that duty every night.’

‘Just one section?’

‘We’ve got a lot of wall to cover, and without wanting to sound like a bastard, Arminius and the goat-fuckers are our biggest concern, not the civvies. Happy?’

‘Not really,’ someone grumbled. ‘Either the Germans come and try and kill us on the walls, or our families are getting butchered here, and we’re just sitting on our arses. It’s fucking bollocks.’

‘Well then, I’ve got good news for you, my friend,’ H smirked. ‘Because I’m looking for volunteers.

‘Caedicius has ordered a raid.’

The request for volunteers shifted the room into uncomfortable silence.

‘Relax, you campfire heroes.’ H laughed, enjoying the trap that he’d set. ‘Malchus is taking his own century, and sixty archers.’

I saw shoulders sag a little in relief.

Two Section’s commander spoke. ‘I was gonna volunteer.’

‘Of course you were, darling.’ H smiled. ‘All right, that’s enough for now. Go get your heads down, and I’ll send the runner around if I need you once I work out this new guard rotation. Felix, hang back a moment, please.’

The other men eyed me as they shuffled out of the door. I was still an oddity to them. A stranger from a vanished army.

‘What is it?’ I asked cautiously. The looks of the departed men had put me on the defensive.

H’s smile disappeared and he squirmed slightly. ‘I don’t know how to put this gently, so I’ll just say it. Prefect Caedicius thinks it was you who was responsible for the murders.’

The accusation hit me like Titus’s fists. I had no words, and stood there open-mouthed.

H choked out a laugh. ‘Sorry, Felix, that was my attempt at humour to try and lighten what he’s really after. He wants to take your Batavians out on the raid. He thinks their German could come in useful.’

I thought of Brando and Folcher outside the safety of walls they had fought so hard to get behind. I knew that both men would volunteer for the raid without hesitation.

‘They’ve done their bit,’ I said. ‘There must be someone else in this fort who can speak German. How long’s the legion been based out here?’

H shrugged his armoured shoulders. ‘I’ve thought about that myself, you know? I’ve been here a long time, but all my German’s good for is bartering with whores and buying shit wine. You’d think they’d teach us, wouldn’t you?’

I had my own theory on why the legions were keen to keep their men separated from local language and culture: they were there to occupy, not to integrate. Easier to stamp down on dissident thoughts and voices when you don’t understand the words that beg for mercy.

‘I’m sorry, Felix, but Malchus is taking them whether they volunteer or not,’ H concluded.

‘Can I at least go with them?’ I asked on impulse.

It was an automatic, desperate duty that compelled my words; Brando and Folcher were my friends, and I did not want them facing danger without me. There were only so many ghosts that could fit within my head.

H seemed about to deny my request, but he recognized determination when he looked into my sunken eyes. ‘Fuck it, you’ve earned the right to decide your own death.’ He shrugged. ‘Ask Malchus.’

His words seemed to be a dismissal, but his voice stopped me at the door. ‘Felix. You know why the other section commanders in this century have almost seen out their twenty years? It’s because they keep their mouths shut when I ask for volunteers.’

There was no denying the good intention or the truth of those words, and so I simply nodded my head and stepped outside into the growing darkness.

The raiding party gathered before dusk, a century of fully armoured legionaries drawn up beside sixty lightly equipped archers. Brando and Folcher had said little at the news of their inclusion in the raid, but I could feel the anticipation coming from them now that the hour was near. They were looking forward to the chance of spilling blood. The remainder of my section had seemed happy enough to be spared the action. Only Stumps had remained sullen, refusing to talk to me when he had learned of my volunteering. It was not the way I wished to part with my friend, but the time had come, and now I sought out the transverse crest of Centurion Malchus.

‘Felix,’ Malchus greeted me, eyeing my full battle dress. ‘You want to come along, you animal?’ He grinned. ‘Why not? We had good fun last time, didn’t we? You and your German lads join on to One Section. Stay close to me.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I murmured, dropping the speech I had been rehearsing all day to compel him to include me, now redundant.

‘We leave an hour after full darkness,’ Malchus then told me. ‘Goat-fuckers are bound to have scouts watching our gates, and we don’t want to go giving them time to lay on a welcome.’

‘You think they expect attack, sir?’ Folcher asked.

Malchus’s crest shook from side to side. ‘They underestimate us, lads. They think we’re going to sit in here with our cocks up our arses, waiting to die.’ He laughed. The sound was brutal. ‘Let’s make some orphans tonight, boys,’ he finished, moving away to check over his troops.

Clouds that had threatened suddenly burst, the heavy rain bouncing like lead shot from helmets and armoured shoulders. Caedicius had chosen the night for a raiding party well, and the rain would work to dampen not only our tunics and equipment, but the sound of our footfalls. I welcomed it because of this, but grudgingly; being cold and wet brought with it more than just a physical discomfort, and I thought of how we had huddled as a section beneath a sodden blanket in the forest, our rank breath thick beneath the cover that had been our only protection against the storms.

I passed the wait to depart in unhappy silence. Beside me, Folcher and Brando spoke casually in their native tongue. As darkness fell, my eyes were drawn to Malchus’s prominent silhouette as he moved from man to man, offering words of advice or encouragement. A solitary figure appeared, spoke to the centurion and then joined the ranks. I expected it was the runner, as soon Malchus ordered that all torches be extinguished; the rain had already executed that command on all but the most protected flames. Then, after giving our eyes time to adjust to the night, the gates yawned open.