Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

‘We can see ourselves,’ one of the survivors answered gruffly. Having come so far, they would not be carried this final distance.

By the torchlight I met the man’s eye, admiring his courage. Now safe ourselves – at least for the moment – I knew that sickening worry for our comrades was about to come crashing down.

‘Go,’ the centurion told me. As I broke into a run, I heard him call orders to bring stretchers and surgeons to the gate. If – when , I forced myself to think – the century arrived, then the centurion and his guard would be ready.

The pounding of my sandals and my blood-coated arms caused civilians in the streets to run in panic. I did not even know if they were aware that a raid had been launched, and now panicked rumours would spread like a disease. The gossip would worry some, and thrill others. Here was a break in the monotony of the siege, paid for in blood.

‘I need to see the prefect!’ I called to the guards as I approached the headquarters building in the centre of the camp. ‘Centurion Malchus sent me,’ I explained between ragged breaths.

The soldiers were understandably wary of my appearance, and held their ground as one called inside for the guard commander. The veteran appeared quickly.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

I rattled off my particulars, moving straight into the reason for my appearance, and my need to see the fort’s commander.

‘They’re still out there,’ I finished.

I found myself in front of the prefect moments later. From the instant that he took in my desperate state, Caedicius’s face was drawn and grey.

‘You say Centurion Malchus has gone back?’ he asked me again.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And Centurion Hadrianus?’

‘I don’t know, sir. After the fighting, I only saw the cohort commander, and the two men we came back with.’

That left a century and sixty archers unaccounted for. Caedicius’s jaw twitched with anger.

‘Shall I ready the men to march out, sir?’ a grey-haired centurion asked. ‘Screen them back in?’

Caedicius shook his head without hesitation. ‘No. No one leaves the fort. They’ll make it back by themselves.’ He offered the words up as if they were a prayer.

The prefect then gestured to me. ‘You can go, but remain here in headquarters.’

A clerk came forward to lead me from the now silent room. I was offered a stool in a small room that acted as a mess for the headquarters staff. ‘Can I get you food? Water or wine?’ the man asked me kindly.

I said nothing.

‘I’ll get them all.’ He smiled and returned in moments. I greedily snatched the water from his hands. The man took no offence, and I chugged deeply, draining it in moments.

‘I’ll go and get you another.’

The wineskin was also empty by the time the clerk returned. My indulgence was born not from thirst, but fear. With every moment that passed without news, the knot of terror in my stomach was growing. The grip of grief about my throat was closing.

My section. My friends. Could they all be dead?

I looked at the food in front of me, and pushed it away. I knew that it would be chalk in my mouth.

‘Was it… bad?’ the well-meaning clerk ventured.

My eyes told him all that he needed to know. As he looked into them he shrank back as if I were a growling dog.

‘It was bad,’ I confirmed, not wanting to scare away the one soul who was my company.

‘Would you like more wine?’

I thought for a moment. There was something I wanted more. ‘Could you do something else for me?’

The clerk was eager to help. Moments later, he was leaving with my messages. As he left the room, I realized that I had done all that I could. I was useless now, a piece cast aside and out of the game.

All I could do was hope, and pray.

I sneered at that thought, and instead got to my feet in search of wine, and oblivion.

By the time my message had been delivered, and Titus had joined me in the headquarters building, a second empty wineskin lay at my feet. The huge man dumped my requested replacement of armour and weapons alongside it.

‘Stumps?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him go down, but the century’s still out there.’

‘How bad was it?’ the big man asked, drawing up a stool beside me.

‘Chaos,’ I told the floor. ‘The whole mission was fucked from the beginning. No rain? No cloud cover? What the fuck did they think was going to happen?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Titus warned me, conscious of where we were.

‘I don’t know what happened to them, Titus.’ I shuddered. ‘What if…’

What if the Germans had taken them alive? What if the Germans were killing them by inches? Raping them? Skinning them? Burning them?

‘I should have died with them,’ I croaked, overcome with guilt and pity.

I didn’t see the hand coming. One second I’d been miserable and hunched on the stool, the next I was on the floor, my head singing from the blow.

Titus lifted me to my feet by the scruff of my tunic. ‘Finished feeling sorry for yourself?’

‘I shouldn’t have—’

He hit me again. I tasted blood in my mouth. Anger built to replace self-reproach.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ I spat at the man. ‘They’re out there, and I’m here! What do I do if they don’t come back?’

‘What the fuck do you think you do?’ Titus shook his head. ‘You remember them, and then you pick up your sword and you kill for them. This isn’t your first bad night, Felix, and you’re still standing.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t want to stand any more!’ I shot back.

‘Stop talking like a fanny. You were born to kill, whether you like it or not. And it’s still dark. It’s not over.’

‘And how am I supposed to wait until dawn? Tell me that, Titus? How am I supposed to sit here with my thumbs up my fucking arse while our friends are out there, dead or dying? How the fuck do I do that?’

‘I can help you, if you like?’ he asked me earnestly.

I gave him a pleading look. I just wanted to know. I wanted it to be over. I couldn’t stand the agony. The wait.

‘Please,’ I asked him, wondering what miracle he could work.

I saw nothing but a blur, and then his huge fist crashed into my jaw.

I woke in my barrack block, excited calls from the walls the first signs of the raiding party’s arrival, these heralds followed closely by the pounding tramp of sandals as soldiers and civilians rushed to the battlements, every soul within Aliso desperate to set eyes on the returning formation.

At least, what was left of it.

Reaching the top of the battlements, my heart dropped into my stomach. By the grey light of the dawn I saw a skeleton of a century limp its way towards the gate. Roman supported Roman, and behind them, arrows nocked as they crept backwards, were the Syrian archers.

‘Open the gates!’ a voice called from the walls. ‘Stretcher parties out! Surgeons, triage and then get them to the hospital!’

I went to join them, but something – someone – held me back.

Linza. My heart leaped and sank in the shock of seeing her.

‘Let them do it, Felix. You’re too tired,’ she told me, and from the ease with which she had stopped me, I knew that she was right. Instead, I searched the faces of the returning soldiers for men that I knew. Still cloaked by the last dregs of night, and the shadows of their helmets, I recognized only one man amongst the few dozen, his wide shoulders and height raising him above his comrades.

‘Brando!’ I shouted, my voice cracking. This time, there was no way for Linza to stop me, and I reached my comrade as he set weary feet inside the fort’s gate, throwing my arms about his mailed back as if I were a child.