I walked from man to man. There was little to say, and so we simply stamped our feet against the nagging cold and exchanged tired looks.
I came to Statius, the soldier I had beaten for his disrespectful attitude. Beneath the rim of his helmet, his face was yellow and purple, lips swollen. I could imagine the pain he was feeling in his body, the agonizing stiffness of bruised limbs and ribs. I felt the beginning of pity for the man, but forced it down. His attitude had justified the punishment. Still, I felt it important to explain to him why he had needed to suffer violence.
‘Individuals won’t survive this.’ My words caught him off guard. ‘We’re going to live or die as a section. If you don’t understand that, I’ll beat you again until you do.’
I saw the flash of anger in his eyes. A flash of arrogance, and pride. There was nothing he would love more than to spit me with his javelin, and yet…
‘I’m sorry,’ the young man apologized. ‘New section and people I don’t know. I thought I should stand up for myself, so I don’t get shat on.’
‘Look who’s outside the walls,’ I told him, jutting my chin towards the enemy. ‘There’s no time for the usual barracks bullshit here. No one’s going to get fucked over and have to clean an entire section’s kit. We’re on the battlefield, Statius, not a parade ground.’
The man grunted an acknowledgment.
‘Last night,’ I asked him. ‘Your first taste?’
Grudgingly, the man admitted that it was. He wasn’t happy with that fact, but I was still unsure as to whether that was down to the feeling of inadequacy that plagues many young and ambitious soldiers, or because he desired to be anywhere else but in the killing grounds; I could hardly find fault if it was that second reason.
‘Can I rely on you?’ I asked him.
‘Yes.’
It was not the most convincing reply I’d ever heard, but it would have to do. Centurion H called me from along the wall.
‘I’ve got some of the women to go and find something hot for the troops,’ he told me. ‘I sent a runner to the new quartermaster but I’ve heard nothing back. Useless bastard, he is.’
I smiled. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’
H laughed. ‘Why didn’t you say so? Next time you’ll go. It’s always like getting blood from a stone with that lot. “Stores are for storing. Sign here. Account for that.” There’s a fucking army on our heads, for fuck’s sake. What are you going to do? Beat them off with your ledger?’
I let the centurion’s light-hearted rant run its course. He smiled at himself.
‘I’m not sure how long the prefect will keep us stood to like this, but it seems pretty clear that the goat-fuckers aren’t doing anything else for now. Once we get the order to stand down we’ll go back to normal duties, and I’ll rotate the sections so everyone can get a couple of hours’ sleep at least.’
We both looked out at the German army. It was close enough for us to see the breakfast campfires and the movement of horses and men as the tribes licked their wounds.
‘I’ve been on this frontier for sixteen years,’ H then confided in me. ‘And I’ve never seen the Germans stand together like this. I don’t think it will last, Felix.’
I turned to face him. There was not a hint of a lie in his features. He really was that optimistic.
‘The Germans love a few things,’ he began to explain. ‘Beards and goats, obviously, but then they’re like us in loving victory and plunder. The difference between us and them, though, is that when we don’t get victory we usually die trying, and when we don’t get plunder we bitch and moan, but we still get on with soldiering. Not them, Felix. When they don’t get it, they go home.’
I considered the man’s words, and heard a resounding truth in them. Arminius had brought together the German tribes, but though they shared a common tongue and heritage they were not one people, as was supposedly the case in the Empire. Each tribe had its own agenda. Its own leaders. Its own politics. Those chieftains who had joined Arminius and brought men to his banner had done so for their own ends, and no one else’s. Once they decided that their effort was being wasted, then they would return home. Some might even switch sides and pledge allegiance to Rome, if the tides of war shifted back into the Empire’s favour.
‘There wasn’t much loot in the forest,’ I found myself agreeing. ‘The baggage train, but that was mostly camp supplies. Tents, rope, picks.’
‘The same tents they’re living in now, I imagine, but not exactly much to keep you at war, is it? They want gold and coins, not fucking tent pegs.’
H’s prophecy began to materialize that afternoon. Relieved of our duty on the wall, we were stripping our armour in the barrack block when the news was brought to us by a civilian boy.
He beamed. ‘They’re goin’!’
Dropping the chain mail back on to sore shoulders, I ran to the rampart with Brando close behind me. My heart beat with anticipation as I reached the wall’s top, and looked out over the battlements.
The child was right. The enemy were leaving. The host shifted and moved as large sections of the camp began to empty.
‘Some of the tribes are leaving him,’ the big Batavian guessed. ‘They’ve had enough.’
The temptation to watch the enemy breaking camp was overwhelming, but I told myself that it could all be a ploy. We needed to be rested. We needed to be ready to fight.
‘Come on. We need to sleep. Whatever happens is going to happen. Us watching won’t change that.’
I was intrigued but I resisted the urge to stay at the wall. Deep snoring and Dog’s rancid breath greeted me as I entered the barrack room. As I fell on to my mattress I noticed that Stumps’s bunk was empty, but I dismissed the thought, assuming he’d gone to the latrines. When I woke to take a piss myself some hours later, there was still no sign of the man.
I knew that sleep would elude me. Perhaps for that selfish reason alone I took hold of my arms and armour from the block and set out to find my comrade.
It seemed likely that Stumps would seek out his friend Titus, and so the quartermaster’s was where I headed to begin my search. As I walked the fort’s wet streets I felt my soldier’s instincts chafing – I was being watched. That didn’t surprise me. From wide-eyed urchins to frowning crones, the fort was home to many who did not trust the very soldiers who were there to protect them. I did not begrudge them this fact, as I had seen many a legionary rape and rob those he might one day lay down his life for. Such was life in the Empire. Still, the tension in the fort was palpable. Fear had a scent, and it was thick in my nostrils as I recognized Stumps’s silhouette, his back to me as he looked at a construction of marble.
It was an altar, I realized.
I made my angle of approach wide so that my friend would see me in the periphery of his vision. I did not want to disturb a man deep in prayer.
‘Felix.’
His eyes were open.
‘I thought you might be praying.’
‘Nah. Seems like a waste of time that, doesn’t it?’
‘This an altar?’ I asked.
Stumps nodded. ‘An altar dedicated to Drusus, the great general. He died when he got pissed and fell off a horse. A glorious end.’ He chuckled darkly, and I realized then that the late Drusus was not the only drunk present.
‘You should have told me you wanted a drink. I’d have come with you.’
Stumps pressed his lips together and made a noise. ‘I like drinking alone. Only way I can be sure of good company and intelligent conversation.’
He then revealed a wineskin, pulling it from his cloak. ‘Here,’ he offered. ‘I think the closest it got to grapes was a goat eating them, then pissing this, but it’s strong.’
I took a mouthful. He was telling the truth, and the drink burned my parched throat. As I handed it back to him, Stumps poured a generous amount on to the altar.