Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

I knew that the woman beside me was a part of that. Perhaps the entire part. She was a window to my past, but she reminded me of the good memories, not the bad. I had laid my early story bare to her, and with the revelations a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I could breathe more easily. I could think more clearly. I did not dare to allow myself to hope, but I fought to honour her request to not only survive, but to live.

‘Thank you.’ I smiled at my friend, taking her by surprise.

‘For what?’

I waved that away. She would understand in time, if she did not already.

‘Shit,’ Linza suddenly grumbled. ‘It’s starting to rain.’

I had learned quickly that German rains could move from a dribble to a downpour in an instant, and so it was with haste that we moved to my barrack block. Centurion H had been wrong when he guessed that we would be reassigned to another century, and our reduced numbers were now overseen by the newly minted Centurion Albus. Having survived the botched raid by the skin of his teeth, Albus’s sole concern was now to live through the siege and retire with a centurion’s wage and pay-out at the end of his service. As such, he made for a lenient commander.

‘Hello, boys.’ Linza smiled at Stumps and Micon before speaking to Brando in their native language. Brando was sullen, as he had been ever since Balbus’s death. The Batavian had never struck me as more religious than the next soldier, but now the tall warrior spent much of his time in prayer at the fort’s shrines.

‘I’m going to the shrine of Donar,’ he told me. ‘I’ll let the company runner know where I am.’

‘We have the watch tonight,’ I said. ‘Be back well before last light.’

Brando said nothing, but stepped out into the rain.

‘I’ve spent more time on watch than anything else in my life,’ Stumps grumbled from his bed. ‘What is it tonight? Walls or patrols?’

‘Patrols,’ I told him. A consequence of our diminished size was that our century was easily rolled into patrolling the fort’s roads and alleyways, rather than being stretched thinly on the walls.

‘Hope it stops raining by then,’ he moaned.

It did not, and we passed the next few hours in banal conversation. Linza was a good listener, and Stumps was an Olympian talker. Between pulls from a wineskin he told us of his colourful childhood and family.

‘First time I met my dad was when I punched him in the face,’ he asserted as Linza giggled. ‘I’m telling you! He was dancing on a table with his balls between his legs – balls that I come from, not that I knew it then – and he kicked a cup of wine all over my woman. Couldn’t have that, could I? So I pulled the fucker’s legs out, and then I punched him in the face.’

‘How did you find out he was your dad?’ Micon asked, an eyebrow threatening to move on his statue-like face.

‘Only a young lad, wasn’t I?’ Stumps explained. ‘Innkeeper held me back until my mum came down. Then my dad got a second punch in the chops.’ He laughed.

It had been a good afternoon. I could see that Linza’s presence was sucking the poison from Stumps’s soul as it was my own. I suddenly realized that the man never woke with night terrors on the days that she had sat laughing at his rambling stories.

‘Will you come and see us tomorrow?’ I asked her, acknowledging to myself that I wanted her to be drawn here for me, rather than any other. There was a little guilt at the thought, but… we were friends, and I was well aware that my mind was, if not mending, then bandaged tightly by this woman.

‘Stay out of trouble.’ She smiled as she took her leave.

Stumps gave her a moment to clear out of earshot before his eyes locked on to me, a conspiratorial smile creasing his face. ‘Please tell me you’re shagging her,’ he begged.

I shook my head. ‘You ask me this every day.’

‘Yeah. I live in eternal hope that you remember what your cock’s for,’ my friend leered. ‘Seriously, Felix, she’s a good-looking girl and she’s fucking lovely. Why are you dick-dancing around her? Just shag her already.’

I said nothing.

‘You don’t think she’s tasty? Because if that’s it, and you don’t mind me—’

I cut him off. ‘Of course I think that, but she reminds me of someone,’ I admitted. The tone of my voice told Stumps that it was a painful reminder.

‘Ah.’ He sighed. ‘Well, all right then, mate. I’m just saying, as your brother, that you should maybe think about securing it before someone else does. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s not a great ratio in this fort. Even with these looks I’m struggling to get any.’

I looked at my friend, and a laugh choked out from my throat. Stumps was grinning like a lunatic, the maniacal smile only made ridiculous by the botched sewing that had reattached his right ear.

‘I didn’t do a great job of that, did I?’

‘Nah, you didn’t, you cunt. Looks like I’ve got a pig’s tail on the side of my head, but I know you did your best.’

We said nothing, then. What else was there to say? I had been through everything with this man. Only months before he had been a stranger. Worse than that, a stranger who hated me as much as I distrusted him. Now he was as close to me as a brother. I would die for him, he knew that, and I knew that he would do the same for me. Perhaps that’s why he finally found the nerve to voice a confession.

‘I haven’t killed anyone since the forest,’ he admitted, still trying to smile. ‘On the raids, it just… I don’t know if it just didn’t happen, or I didn’t want it to happen?’

‘What does it matter?’ I asked my friend honestly.

‘It matters if I can’t kill someone, and one of my mates dies.’

I hoped that dark humour would be the cure for his worries. It was a remedy used by all soldiers. ‘You don’t have many mates left, Stumps, so the odds of it happening are pretty slim. You’ll be all right.’

‘Yeah,’ he finally breathed, appreciating my effort. ‘I just… Nah, forget it. It’s all right.’ He tried to smile, and I knew from experience the tide of reproach that would be washing over him now. The guilt and the shame that he had exposed a weakness. The self-loathing that he possessed such a flaw to begin with.

Stumps climbed from his bunk, and moved towards his arms and armour. He was right to, as dusk was approaching, and with it our watch, but I held my friend by his elbow and swallowed back the stumbling clumsiness of my words.

‘You’re a good bloke, Stumps. I don’t want anyone else with me if things go bad.’

To speak those words – and to hear them – was as terrifying an ordeal for us as to face an enemy shield wall. We swallowed the sentiment down with curt nods and broken eye contact.

‘Let’s get on parade,’ I added hurriedly.

‘Yeah,’ my friend agreed. ‘Twelve hours of sticking my thumb up my arse and wishing I was on an Italian beach.’

The image made me laugh, and the tension of our heartfelt words was broken. ‘You’re an idiot,’ I smiled, avoiding a thumb that was shoved towards my face.

But it was I who was the fool. I who should have learned to be suspicious of such moments of happiness.

Later that night, we found her body.

It was Micon who was the first to realize something was amiss in the night. The young soldier’s eyes were far sharper than his mind, and through the downpour of chilled rain he had seen the movement of a dog as it emerged from an alleyway. Micon had called to it playfully; dogs were a rare sight since rationing had come into force. He was eager for its companionship, and such was his gentle nature that the creature allowed his approach.