Джерейнт Джонс - Siege

‘Walk with me,’ he ordered, lowering his blade.

After a moment’s hesitation and a glance towards Linza, I followed.

Keeping myself clear of the reach of his sword, I walked with Malchus into the darkness of the stables. The building reeked of stale straw and dung, but the animals were long gone, their meat salted for winter. It was not a good place to die, and I was glad to see that the silhouette of Centurion H had followed us into the shadows.

I had expected that Malchus wanted me dead. Once I was silenced, it would be a simple matter of sentencing Stumps to death for attacking a superior officer. Linza could be killed at will. The incident would be forgotten, or at least hidden in the minds of those other men who wished to stay free of cold graves. H’s presence in the stables, however, now made me wonder whether, instead of bloodshed, it would be explanation that freed Malchus from his entanglement.

The one outcome I did not expect was that the centurion would casually admit to his crimes.

‘I was going to kill her,’ he said carelessly. ‘What does it matter?’

Such was his candour that it took moments for either myself or H to recover our senses.

‘Sir, it matters…’ H finally managed.

‘Why?’ Malchus asked without heat. ‘Have any of them been citizens? They’re all goat-fuckers, H. They just happened to end up on this side of the wall. We probably killed their sisters and cousins when we raided the camps. Did anyone care then?’

I had no words.

‘A soldier is a weapon,’ Malchus explained slowly, as if we were boneheaded children. ‘A blade. He has to be kept sharp. And how does a soldier do that? How does he keep sharp?’ he asked. ‘He. Has. To. Kill.’

‘Not our own people,’ H protested.

‘Have you not been listening, H?’ Malchus chided him. ‘They’re goat-fuckers. I wouldn’t touch a citizen.’ The cohort commander sounded as if the idea appalled him. ‘But if a few dead hairies keep the garrison on its toes and vigilant, then what’s the fucking problem?

‘We’re under siege, but there’re no warriors at our walls. You think the Syrians and the civvies will observe the rationing if they forget we’re cut off out here? You think our own boys do? I’ve had three punished for stealing rations just today!’

I had lived and breathed war for years, and in that time I had developed the mind of a warrior. The mind of a killer. I had had to, to survive, and that voice inside my head now stepped forth to speak.

He’s right, it told me. He’s doing what needs to be done.

There was part of me that believed that, as much as it disgusted me to admit it. Perhaps, if it wasn’t for the thought of Linza lying dead and butchered, the cold-hearted part of me could have accepted the words. After all, tens of thousands were already dead in this war. How many would follow? Was the death of half a dozen girls worth it to keep a garrison alert, and fighting? We were Roman, after all, and wasn’t the offering of sacrifice a cornerstone of the culture and the Empire’s religion?

I was saved from having to voice such dark words by the intervention of a better man.

‘Malchus, this has to stop.’ H spoke, deliberately dropping his superior’s rank. ‘It’s un-Roman.’ That was the term coined for anything the Empire deemed unseemly, and beneath them.

‘There’s nothing more Roman than killing barbarians,’ Malchus grunted. ‘And I’ll do as I want.’

‘Citizens or not, you’ve still broken the law.’

‘And who applies that law here? You think Caedicius will lose me to avenge a few girls? Grow up, you soft bastard.’

‘He’ll have to if enough people ask for your head,’ H insisted, unwilling to back down. ‘You’ve helped put this garrison on a knife-edge, Malchus. The people have torn down tyrants that ruled empires. They can tear down the second in command of a forgotten fort.’

Something in those words struck Malchus. It was a long time before he spoke.

‘The man who put his javelin up,’ he eventually rumbled, sour at the memory and the fact that H was correct in his prophecy. ‘He has to go. The girl too. That’ll be an end to it.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ H asserted. ‘He’s just battle-mad from the forest, and you love your soldiers enough to forgive them. There’s no one who wouldn’t believe that, Malchus. And the girl doesn’t matter. No one will believe her without a soldier’s voice to back her up.’

Malchus considered the idea; then he looked at me. ‘Can you shut your friend up?’

‘I can.’

There was another drawn-out silence. I could hear Malchus’s jaw grind in irritation.

‘One word, and he dies,’ he eventually pronounced. ‘That goes for you pair, too. You’ve always been a soft bastard, H, but don’t let that get the better of you.’

‘I won’t, sir,’ H answered.

‘And you’ll take care of your friend?’ Malchus pressed me again.

‘I will, sir,’ I promised the murderer.

And when I returned to the barrack room, I did not disappoint him.

Stumps’s head crashed into the wood of the bunk. I gave him no time to breathe, driving my knee into the side of his skull and stamping down on to his heaving chest.

‘Stop it!’ Linza screamed at me, trying to pull me back.

I cast her aside like an afterthought, grabbing Stumps by the scruff of his tunic and hauling him to his feet. Blood and snot ran from his crushed nose. His eyes were unfocused. He was already broken from the beating I had given him, but my sense was lost to anger, and so I drove his skull once more into the wooden frame of his bunk.

‘You could have got her killed!’ I screamed at the same time as I pushed away the woman I was so desperate to protect. ‘You cunt, Stumps! You cunt! You could have got her killed!’

‘Felix!’ Linza screamed. ‘ Felix! ’

I took hold of her shoulders and pushed her down on to a bed. She came back at me like a fury, swinging a punch that rocked my jaw.

‘What were you doing?’ I screamed into her face, discounting the blow and sending another kick into Stumps’s ribs. ‘What did you think you were you doing?’

‘Felix!’ a voice bellowed from behind me.

I ignored it.

‘Felix!’ Brando yelled again, grabbing at my shoulders.

Planning my sentence for Stumps, I had calmly sent the Batavian and Micon on a fool’s errand. They had returned to find me transformed, our bloodied comrade at my feet, Linza as consumed with rage as I was myself.

‘Stop it!’ Brando tried. ‘That’s your brother!’

But I would not stop. I kicked, I punched and I roared oaths. Eventually, Micon returned with some men of the century and the scrum of bodies held my thrashing form to the floor and beat me into compliance. By the time that I began to pass out, one of the people I cared for most in the world lay bloodied and beaten by my hand. The other looked at me with hatred.

The calm that I had begun to know was over.

I was returned to myself.

The salt water washed lazily over my toes; it was warm. Sun bounced from my bare shoulders. I looked out at the sea, seeing its power radiating from the waves.

‘I love you,’ she told me, feeling that same energy and purpose.

‘Is he all right?’ she then asked, her fingers touching my arm as she looked back behind us to where a young man waited beyond the sand’s reach.

‘Marcus is a big boy.’ I smiled. ‘He can stand to be alone for a little while. He loves the sound of his own voice more than anyone else’s, anyway.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ She pushed me, and I saw the quiver of unease pull at her lips, attempting to take away the smile that was my reason for breathing.