Джерейнт Джонс - Legion

‘Loyal subjects?’ he scoffed, turning to shout at the man. ‘This province is in rebellion! Your sons turned on Rome! Everywhere there is burning, and looting, and rape, and killing, but your village sits pretty, when not even two miles from here a Roman farm and a Roman family burned!’

I had no idea if the farm I had discovered had been Roman, but Justus had made that decision for himself, and now it seemed he wanted vengeance for it. Before the elder could protest, Justus grabbed the man’s white hair in one hand, and drove his blade into his stomach.

I thought the women and children had been screaming before.

I was wrong.

Justus killed the other men within moments of the first. Only one put up any resistance. He lost a few fingers trying to parry my centurion’s blade; then his throat was nicked open and he bled into the soil of his village.

More accurately, what had been his village.

Justus ordered us to pull apart the homes, and to cast the rocks down the nearest slope. It was breathless work, and a welcome distraction from the pitiful wailing of the women.

‘I wish they’d shut up,’ Varo grumbled. ‘Justus has said they’re not to be raped. What more do they want?’

I said nothing, and bent to pick up another part of what had been a home. Behind me, the chorus of torment wore on.

I’d like to say that those screams broke my heart. I’d like to say that the deaths of the old men pained me.

But they didn’t.

‘You really think they’re supporting the rebels, sir?’ I’d asked my centurion as he wiped his blade clean.

‘Saw it in the last war,’ the man confirmed, as calm as if he’d just gutted a basket of fish. ‘Half of my century was killed the last time these bastards rose up, Corvus. I was just a legionary, then. I couldn’t do much about it except watch my friends die.’

He paused for a moment. I did not doubt that he was seeing those deaths played out before his eyes.

‘Things are going to be different this time,’ he finally continued, and I realized the words were as much for his own ears as mine. ‘I’m going to keep my boys safe, no matter what it takes.’ He patted me on the shoulder, and stepped over the bodies of the dead men in the dirt.

Alone, I looked at their faces. Drained of blood, their skin was as white as their hair. Kneeling beside the dead and rocking with grief, daughters and wives dripped tears and spoke breathless farewells.

So this was war.

Loaded with supplies and shepherding the slaves, it took us two days to make our way back to the fort.

‘Money for the slaves will be split between the century,’ Justus had promised.

‘Better put it straight into our funeral funds,’ Octavius joked darkly. He was referring to the trust that each soldier was required to pay into in order to cover the increasingly likely eventuality that he would die in the service of Rome. Then he smiled. ‘If the whole legion gets wiped out,’ he asked, ‘who gets the pot?’

‘Whoever kills us, you dickhead.’ Varo snorted. ‘It’s a fucking joke we have to pay into it anyway. If we do die in the army, the least they should do is shoulder the bill.’

‘Digging a hole big enough for your fat arse?’ Octavius laughed. ‘You’d bankrupt the Empire.’

Varo swung a friendly punch at Octavius. Despite the futility of our patrol into the mountains, we were in good spirits. We were alive, for one thing, and we had the prospect of forthcoming monies from the sale of the slaves. I did not consider that the wine the money bought would come at the price of someone else’s misery. That mothers would be separated from their children. That the good-looking would be raped by the wealthy, and the ugly would be playthings for the ranks. Perhaps even by the end of that first day back in the fort they would be owned and on their backs. Brothels were always keen to acquire new attractions, and no one fucks harder or more often than a soldier who knows that his life is likely measured in days.

No, I did not consider it then. None of it. I suppose that I knew, but I did not want to know. Better for me to concentrate on my own loss.

‘I wanted a fight,’ I told my friends.

‘For the gods’ sake’ – Priscus shook his head – ‘please lose that attitude before we go to the inn. I’d actually like to finish a drink before getting another stool smashed over my back.’

‘You’re not disappointed?’ I asked the veteran among us.

He laughed. There was some pity in there. The way a grandmother looks at an eight-year-old child who claims that he’s heartbroken, and will never recover. ‘I’m not disappointed.’ Priscus spoke patiently. ‘We went into the mountains. We came back.’

‘The enemy are still out there.’

‘Exactly. So let’s be grateful. Personally, I want to enjoy my time with such esteemed gentlemen before we go back to sweating and staggering all over the mountains. Varo?’

‘Well, personally , I’d like to go bury myself in something hot and wet.’

‘You’re a regular Virgil, you.’ Octavius shook his head. ‘But some female company would be nice. Corvus?’

I kept silent. Octavius laughed.

‘Of course not. No wonder your section always look so scared.’

I was about to slap him around the head when a young soldier ran over to us, and halted nervously.

‘What?’ Varo growled.

‘Section commanders, Centurion Justus wants you to report to him.’

‘Why?’ the big man asked, and the youngster half stepped back as if evading a sword’s bite.

‘Orders, section commander,’ he said.

It was Varo’s grimacing face that forced the extra words from the runner.

‘The centurion… he doesn’t look happy.’

Priscus rapped his knuckles on the wooden door of our centurion’s quarters.

‘Come in.’

We entered into the open space that served as Justus’s office. Running a century required administration; skill in battle was not the only attribute needed to become a leader of men. I looked around, and saw that our century’s optio and the four other section commanders were all present. Octavius and I were the youngest in the room. The older veterans were all pushing towards the end of their enlistments, faces hard, skin tanned and tight. I had as little to do with them as I did the men of my own section, but only because a man can only have so many friends. There was no bad blood in the century, just an underlying sense of respect.

I felt that towards Justus now. I had considered his words in the village, and found no fault with them. Better to kill a dozen strangers than to lose one of our own. Better to kill a thousand than to lose one of my closest friends. Centurion Justus had seen war – I hadn’t – and in that moment I’d decided that I had to trust him. The odds were already stacked against us, I knew. We just didn’t know how badly.

Justus sought to change that.

‘I’ve been to see the cohort commander,’ he began, his arms folded, eyes passing over each of us. ‘He’s filled me in on the situation with the… insurgency.’

I could see that the word didn’t fit well with him. I soon understood why.

‘The legion commander sent out a tribune to speak with the rebels, and to give them a chance to change their minds. He hasn’t come back, so you can guess how that went.’

No one spoke. I imagine each man was doing the same thing I was – picturing the inevitable slow death of a brave man.

‘The cavalry scouts have been busy,’ Justus went on, ‘and so we at least have an idea of what the bastards are up to.

‘They’ve split their number into three forces. The first, with the bulk of their strength, seems content to sit around the marshalling grounds where all this started.’