Джерейнт Джонс - Legion

That was something at least. The marshalling grounds were out of striking distance from our fort. If they were to move, we could expect fair warning.

‘The second force is striking east,’ Justus informed us, ‘towards Macedonia.’

Macedonia had been a Roman province for 150 years. I doubted the people there would rise as the newly minted subjects of this region had done, and yet…

‘That province will have been stripped for Tiberius’s army, boss?’ Priscus guessed, mirroring my own thoughts.

Justus nodded.

‘The general’s heading back here, boys. The invasion across the Danube’s off, in case you hadn’t seen that coming. We’ve made some kind of peace treaty with King Marabodus, so Tiberius and his forces are making best speed towards us.’

No one smiled at that news. With the way things were panning out, best speed would not be good enough, and everyone knew it.

Justus shrugged. ‘What’s left of the forces in Macedonia are going to have to look after themselves.’

‘And the third column, sir?’ one of the veteran section commanders asked, his jaw twitching.

‘They’re heading for Salona’

Justus let the words sink in. Salona was the capital of the region in which we stood. It was positioned centrally on the coast, and was home to thousands of Roman civilians.

‘Salona’s got good walls,’ Priscus offered.

‘And warning,’ another man added.

Our centurion shrugged again. ‘Last we heard, Salona was prepared.’

There was a defeatist edge in the words that I could not place. Priscus heard it too.

‘Boss, is there something else…?’

Justus gave the old head an ironic smile. ‘You know war, Priscus. Things can always get worse.’

We waited to hear how that could be so. Justus didn’t drag out our pain.

‘The Pannonian auxiliaries have decided to follow the Dalmatians’ example, lads.’ He breathed out heavily. ‘Another hundred thousand troops just came into this war, and they’re on the wrong side.’

The silence held for a long time. It was heavy, a thick grey cloud on the horizon. We all knew what was coming.

‘Cunts,’ Varo finally uttered.

‘Cunts,’ Justus agreed. ‘They’re not an immediate threat to us, as they’ve been gathering to the north-west of here. For now, we don’t know of any force that’s approaching this fort.’

The words should have given us solace, but they filled me with nothing but rage. All this war, and I was still on the outside looking in.

‘Surely we have to march, sir?’ I asked forcefully.

The old sweats looked my way. There was only a little contempt in their stares. They knew that I meant well. That I simply didn’t know .

‘The Governor of Moesia’s marching out to meet this new threat,’ Justus explained. ‘The honour of defeating the Pannonian rebels will fall to him.’

If there were irony in the words, I didn’t hear it. My second question was already coming out of my mouth. ‘Then what do we do, sir?’

The centurion looked at me as if I were an impatient child. I suppose that I was.

‘We wait, Corvus. We wait.’

We waited.

With the province overrun by enemies we were confined to camp, but we were not idle. Watches were doubled, and we spent many hours on the walls, our eyes on the surrounding hillsides, looking nervously for any approach of the enemy. Sweat-soaked riders and their steeds came crashing back and forth through the fort’s gates, but what news they took and brought was kept within the headquarters building.

‘That’s bad,’ Varo guessed. ‘They’d be shouting it from the mountaintops if it was good news.’

When we were not on watch or sleeping, Centurion Justus took the chance to drill the century, and we practised the basics of close-quarter battle, the daily bread of the heavy infantry. We practised changing from one formation to another without allowing gaps to open in our ranks. We practised sword drill. We practised shield drill. We practised the advance. We practised holding in place. We practised retreat. We practised until we saw the moves when we closed our eyes. Saw the cut and parry as we slept.

‘Justus is a good officer.’ Priscus spoke fondly. ‘He’s not leaving anything to chance.’

Varo had smirked when he heard that. ‘Few days’ extra drill should even the odds a bit.’ Then he chuckled to himself. ‘What were they before? Hundred to one?’

It was a dark joke, and it masked a fear that many could not hide. For some in the ranks, however, the sheer staggering size of the forces ranged against us was almost beyond comprehension, and as such, held no terror. I noted that half of my section fidgeted, tossed and turned in their sleep. The others slept like babes. I would come to learn that ignorance is a potent form of courage.

Until then, we waited.

And on the fifth day, they came.

There were a dozen of them, I was told, mounted troopers who had ridden through the fort’s gates with such speed that alert centurions had feared the worst, and turned their men out into the night to form up, and to prepare to receive the enemy.

No one had expected good news.

‘The Governor of Moesia has beaten a rebel army!’ Justus announced, his smiling face open and beaming in the torchlight.

What else would we do but cheer?

We should have waited until he finished.

‘Governor Severus has won an important victory,’ our centurion went on, ‘but not annihilated the enemy.’

For a moment, I envied the men who had stood in the front ranks of that army and spilled blood in combat.

‘There’s more,’ Justus went on. ‘The column that marched on Salona has been halted at the city’s walls, and the enemy have taken heavy casualties!’

Another cheer. Another moment too soon.

‘One column halted and another force badly beaten,’ Justus concluded. ‘The odds are still in the enemy’s favour, men. We still have a lot ahead of us.’ He looked over the ranks. Whatever he saw, he liked. He smiled. ‘As we’re already up, we may as well drill.’

I too grinned in the darkness. In Justus, I recognized a man who was as hungry to face the enemy as I was. He reminded me in many ways of Marcus. A professional. A leader. He just lacked the good looks, and the shining need for glory.

He drilled us past dawn. Pace by pace, we practised the dance of death’s machinery. So engaged, we were unaware of the second group of riders that arrived mere hours after the first. We were unaware that they brought news that Moesia was being raided by the Dacians and Sarmatians, and that Governor Severus had turned back his army to face this new threat. We were unaware that the Pannonian and Dalmatian generals had now seen their true opportunity. An opportunity not only to end a war, but an empire .

All we knew was that the garrison was hastily assembled at noon, and that the eyes of the staff officers were wide, their fidgeting manner that of startled horses.

They were panicked.

‘This can’t be good,’ Varo warned again, using his height to look above the helmeted ranks around him, and at the assembled force of half a legion.

When the gaunt, hook-nosed figure of our legate arrived to speak, my stomach twisted into knots of dread, anticipation and excitement.

The stern man spoke simply. ‘Twenty thousand of the enemy are marching on Italy. And we have to stop them.’

We were the two and a half thousand men of half a legion. They were twenty thousand Dalmatian auxiliaries trained and equipped for war by the very Empire they now threatened.

‘Look on the bright side,’ Octavius said to me as we trod heavily back to our barracks. ‘We’ve gone from odds of a hundred to one, to twentyten, and we haven’t even had to get dirty.’