Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

‘I’ll walk with you to the hospital,’ I put in, ending the matter. Balbus’s cheeks reddened with shame at being dismissed, but he did not try to argue.

We walked through the camp in silence. My mind was elsewhere, and I suspected his was on the friends that he had lost, and the shame that he had been spared that carnage because of a splinter picked up during a work party of no consequence.

Good soldiers blame themselves for the death of their comrades, no matter how ridiculous the accusations. Neither I nor Balbus had control over even our own lives, and yet we would beat ourselves mercilessly because we had not saved others. What if was the veteran’s greatest enemy.

‘Don’t leave here until the surgeon gives you the all-clear,’ I ordered the man as we reached the high-sided building of the hospital. ‘I’m going to look in on Statius.’

I half expected Balbus to offer to join me, but he left quickly enough. I expected that he did not want the shame of confronting a comrade injured in a fight he had taken no part in himself.

The stink of blood and bodily fluids hit my nostrils as I entered the hospital. The building was quiet but for the bustle of slaves and the specialist assistants who worked beside the surgeons – those who would have screamed from their wounds had either died or were now battling to recover.

Finding Statius was easy enough. He had the strong accent of the Empire’s capital city, and I heard it carry along a hallway as he boasted of a whore he had once known on the Rhine.

‘Statius,’ I greeted him, throwing a nod to the two bandaged men who sat with him on their cots.

‘Felix?’ he replied, a little puzzled. A little alarmed.

‘I thought I’d check in on you,’ I said, and Statius’s companions had the acuity to leave the room. ‘How’s the arm?’ I asked.

Statius shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, whether from wound or from scrutiny, I could not tell.

‘It’s a struggle to lift it,’ he finally offered when I said nothing. ‘One of those fucking Syrians.’

I looked into his eyes, then. I don’t know what compelled me to do it. Perhaps it was because of the way his voice had shifted from bravado with his hospital comrades to piteousness when he saw me. Or perhaps, after living a life of duplicity, I knew how to spot a fucking liar.

I smiled. ‘Let me take a look.’

‘I don’t know if the surgeons—’

‘It’s fine, Statius. I want to take a look. I want to see what those fucking Syrians did to you.’ There was no room for compromise in my tone, and the man held his tongue as I unwrapped the bandage covering his arm and looked at the wound: a clean cut through the flesh of his upper left arm. Within a moment, I was certain.

There are many things in my life that I am not proud of, and one of these is that I have seen and inflicted wounds with almost every blade and weapon imaginable. From this dark experience, I knew now that Statius was a liar. He claimed to have been struck by an arrow, but from the thickness and direction of the sutured wound, I knew that it had been done by his own hand – his opposite hand dragging a dagger across his own flesh.

I smiled at the coward as if I were his greatest ally. ‘It looks clean,’ I told him. ‘Missed the muscle?’

He gave a reluctant nod.

‘Good. You can come with me back to the section. We need every man, and they’ll be glad to see you.’

Statius hesitated, desperate to remain within the hospital’s walls. ‘The surgeons—’ he began.

‘—are here to patch us up so we can fight,’ I finished for him. ‘And they’ve done that. Get your equipment together. You’re coming back to the section.’

‘But—’

My patience ran out at that moment. It was one word too many from his sewer of a mouth, and as the image of Folcher’s torn throat flashed into my mind, I drove my fist into Statius’s startled face. My hands were on his neck a second later.

‘You want to stay here, then I’ll give you a reason.’ His face was growing as purple as the Emperor’s robes. ‘You can stay here and die, or you can find your fucking balls and act like a soldier.’

When his eyes begged hard enough, I let go of his windpipe.

‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I was scared.’

I stood back from him. ‘We were all scared,’ I spat. ‘You’re out of chances, Statius. The next time you put your own life ahead of the others, I’m taking your fucking throat.’

The time for pity was over. The death of men under my care had seen to that, and now there was only one thing on my mind. One thought for the men that depended on me.

Survival.

Statius followed me from the hospital like a whipped dog. I felt his eyes on my back. Did he hate me? Undoubtedly, but I knew that hate was born not from my actions, but his own – no man wanted to discover himself a coward. In a world that placed virtue and courage above all else, what was there for the soldier who found that he was unable to control his fear? Pity was for the women and children. Sympathy for the wounded. For the coward, there was only contempt.

‘Felix,’ Centurion H called, catching sight of me as I passed the window of his quarters.

I waited by the doorway for my superior to appear.

‘Cohort commander’s stood us down for forty-eight hours,’ H told me, eyeing Statius but making no comment. ‘Time to lick our wounds and remember the boys. You still have a friend in the quartermaster’s?’

I gave a shallow nod.

‘Then get your section. I’m buying. Can’t take the shit with us, can we?’

It took little to convince Brando to join us. I considered leaving Statius behind. The more malicious part of my mind wanted to put him to work cleaning latrines, or the equipment of men who had stood and fought. Instead, I decided that his shame would be a secret held between him and me. There was nothing to gain by dividing a section already depleted. Already in grief.

‘How’s your wound?’ I asked H as we walked to the quartermaster’s department.

‘Not fatal.’ He managed to smile. ‘Which is the only thing that matters, when you get down to it.’

‘There is that,’ I granted.

‘The other lads, though…’ The centurion trailed off. ‘Keep an eye on your blokes and the Syrians, Felix. I’ve done enough years to know that these things happen, but it’s not like things have been great as it is. I keep thinking that all Arminius needs to do is sit back, and we’ll pull ourselves apart easier than he could have ever done.’

I nodded. ‘A siege does things to men.’

‘Not like any of us were sane in the first place, is it?’ H tried to grin. ‘Got to be a lunatic to sign up for this, haven’t you?’

I said nothing.

‘I can still remember the recruiter,’ H told me, enjoying the memory. ‘He was a hard-looking bastard, and threw coins around like he was Marc Anthony. Course, I thought, that’ll be me in a year or two! My dad beat the shit out of me when he found out, but it was too late by then, wasn’t it? Marched away the next morning, and it’s been sixteen years since I set foot south of the Alps. Haven’t seen much of that coin, either.’ He laughed.

We had reached the quartermaster’s department. The guards recognized me and moved aside. We entered the long storeroom that doubled as the site of games and gambling, but all was quiet. Three men sat alone at a table.

‘Titus. Boys,’ I greeted my friends.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Stumps slurred, his eyes then settling on Statius. ‘And what the fuck’s he doin’ ’ere? Better grow your hair if you’re lookin’ to sell your fanny. Oh, ’ello, sir,’ he added quickly, spotting his centurion.