Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

I chided myself for my thoughts then, and wondered at my hubris. Prefect Caedicius had not reached his station through incompetence, and Malchus lived and breathed war in all its forms. Both officers would have come to the same conclusion as myself. Appearing at their door and rubbing it into their faces – because what else was it, when they had found no solution? – would do nothing to stop the terror and the internal hostility of the garrison, and do a lot to see me on latrine duty until the end of my days.

‘Welcome back,’ Stumps smirked, seeing me emerge from my considerations. ‘He does that a lot,’ he said to Linza, who was sharing the same grin. ‘Have you noticed?’

She poked me. ‘Maybe we are not good enough company?’

I laughed it off. My laugh was cracked and quiet, but it was a laugh. I was proud of that. ‘A lot on my mind.’

‘Ah, the dizzying heights of section commander!’ Stumps cackled. ‘That why you’re always so quiet, Micon? Lot on your mind?’

‘What?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I should go now,’ Linza announced. ‘It’s almost time to draw the rations.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Stumps offered.

‘You have forgotten the menu? I can carry it in one hand.’

‘Yeah, but I haven’t seen Titus in a while. He’s a scary-looking bastard, but he can’t sleep unless he knows I’m around to look after him.’

Linza frowned. ‘You saw him yesterday.’

‘Well, anyway, I’ll come with you. Too nice a day to stay indoors.’

Linza looked at me, the corner of her lip twitching as she wondered whether she should smile openly, or pretend casually that she did not mind leaving me. I knew what was on her mind, because I was thinking the same. We settled on half-smiles that must have looked moronic to our friend.

Stumps then turned to me as the pair left the room, and I met his eyes with a look of thanks – he wasn’t going to see Titus, but was acting as escort for our friend. Should something happen to Linza, we both sensed that what was left of our sanity would flee. Linza was more than a companion to us, she was our anchor, and with that peaceful surety as comforting as any blanket, I lay back on to my bunk, and happily closed my eyes.

I knew that the nightmares would not come for me.

The nightmares did not come for me, but Centurion Albus did.

‘Oi. Felix. Oi! Wake up, you bastard! Oi!’

‘What is it?’ I asked, sitting up quickly.

Our century was not on duty that night, but the veteran’s worried tone was beginning to unnerve me. Yet there was no sound of an alarm. No clash of battle.

‘Just come with me.’ The man gestured, hurriedly.

‘I’ll get my kit—’

‘No time for that, just follow me, for fuck’s sake! Come on!’ he urged as I tied my sandals, grabbed my sword belts and pulled a cloak about my shoulders.

The cold air slapped me in the face as we stepped into the darkness. The air was dry, and I felt its chill pull at my skin.

‘What’s going on, Albus?’ I asked, seeing that we were the only men to emerge from the barrack block.

‘Your friend’s gone and stepped in it,’ was all that he told me as he took a blazing torch from its mounting on the wall. ‘He’s really fucking stepped in it.’

‘Who?’

‘Stumps, you arse,’ he hissed. ‘Now hurry up. Follow me!’

Albus broke into a run, and I kept pace alongside him. As we sped through the deserted streets of the fort, a hundred questions bounced inside my mind as to what Stumps could have stepped into. The answer was clearly trouble, but what kind? I prepared myself for the worst, expecting that my friend had got drunk and spilled blood in a brawl.

I could not have been more wrong, nor could anything have prepared me for what I saw as we took the corner into the alleyway behind the fort’s empty stables.

Stumps had not spilled blood, but, javelin in hand, he was prepared to – the point of his weapon was aimed at the throat of a soldier.

Centurion Malchus.

Such was my confusion with the scene before my eyes that it took me a moment to register Linza’s presence in the shadows. She was panting, Stumps’s short sword in her hand. The blade was bloodied, and I followed her eyes to two snarling veterans who stood at Malchus’s back. Their own blades were sheathed, but one soldier was clutching a wound on his arm.

What the fuck was happening?

‘Felix,’ Stumps breathed, seeing me in the periphery of his vision. ‘He’s the fucking killer. He tried to grab Linza!’ he shouted.

The words, like the sight before my eyes, made no sense.

‘What are you doing?’ I grilled my friend, certain that he was suffering a hallucination caused by his embattled mind. ‘That’s your cohort commander, Stumps! He’s no German! Put your weapon down!’

‘I know he’s not a German!’ my friend cried back, his voice breaking with stress.

‘Put your weapon down,’ Malchus growled.

‘No, sir!’ Stumps shouted back, unwavering. ‘Not until the guard arrives!’

I looked at Linza. She said nothing. She didn’t need to – I could see her fear. She was under no illusion. She knew whose throat my friend was holding a blade to.

But why?

‘Stumps, don’t do anything stupid,’ I urged.

‘No one do anything stupid,’ Albus put in, seeing that one of Malchus’s veterans was slowly reaching for his blade. At Albus’s words, the soldier moved his hand clear of his weapon.

And so we stood, my friend’s javelin at my commander’s neck, a scene as terrifying as it was bizarre – I knew that any moment could bring death, and that even when the weapons were lowered, the promise of bloodshed would not be silent.

My muscles quivered as we awaited the arrival of the guard force. I almost dropped in relief when I saw Centurion H at their helm.

‘What the fuck…’ he said, as uncomprehending as I had been.

‘H. Get this idiot’s javelin from my throat, or ram your blade into his thick skull. Either’s all right by me.’ Malchus spoke evenly, his savage eyes burning into Stumps’s own.

‘What are you playing at, Stumps?’ said H. ‘Lower your weapon. Do it now.’

‘He’s the killer, sir,’ Stumps insisted, unmoving. ‘We set a trap for him.’ My throat turned dry at the revelation. ‘We used her as bait, and he took it, sir. He tried to kill her. On the honour of the Seventeenth, and all the dead of my legion, he tried to kill her!’

‘You’re out of your fucking mind,’ Malchus snarled.

But one look at Linza told me that he was not. She had seen the fear on my face when Stumps had revealed how they’d trapped the man in front of them, and my fear had revealed her guilt. Guilt that she had kept me in the dark. Guilt that she would risk herself when she knew that I – selfishly – needed her.

I looked at Malchus, a man I admired. The embodiment of a soldier. I saw his eyes, then, and they were like a shark’s, empty of all emotion, filled only with the need to kill.

I knew then that it was all true.

Perhaps H saw the same. Perhaps that was why he drove his fist into Stumps’s skull, and not his blade. The second that my friend began to crumple, Malchus was drawing his own sword.

So were the two men on his shoulder.

So was I.

‘I can’t let you kill him, sir,’ H protested, straddling the man he had downed, his empty hands held up for calm.

My eyes met those of the two veterans on Malchus’s shoulder. My look delivered the same message as H’s, but there was nothing peaceful in my own stance – I’d gut them if they closed on my comrade.

Slowly, Malchus raised his hate-filled gaze to fall on to my face. I knew that he was sizing me up; he had enough respect for my fighting skills to take a moment to consider how best to kill me. I readied myself for that attack, but instead, the centurion let heavy words drop from his mouth.