I thought to answer, but at that moment, ropes came tumbling from the top of the defences.
The Batavian shrugged as he took hold of one and tested its strength. ‘At least now we’ll be on the right side of the wall.’
It took some time before we made it on to the fighting step of the fort. We were too weak to climb, and so the centurion had his men fashion loops in the rope into which we could place our feet, then be hoisted upwards. When my own turn came, I spilled on to the wooden boards of the step with as much grace as a netted carp.
It was the centurion who helped me to my feet. ‘My name’s Hadrianus,’ he said. ‘But my men call me H. Sorry for the delay, but I’ve ordered the cook to get you some scoff on. Hot scoff. Doesn’t look like you lads have eaten in a while.’
There wasn’t much to say. In truth, we were still in shock that we had escaped. The reality that we were no longer slaves had yet to sink into already battered minds. In this stony silence I followed H from the battlements, casting my red eyes over the fort; it was large enough to hold several cohorts, though the sentries on the wall seemed to be spread thinly. Civilians sat huddled between the buildings, evidently cowed by what waited for them beyond the ramparts. Many looked to be in the same state as myself, and I guessed that these were refugees who had fled in the face of Arminius’s army. It was a question for H, but it could wait. I just wanted to eat, to drink and to sleep.
H offered me something else. ‘You lead this lot?’ he asked. I hesitated, but Brando spoke up for me.
‘He does.’
‘Well, that’s good. You can keep command of your mates. Our cohort’s understrength, and I don’t want to break you lads up after what you’ve been through. You’ll be Seven Section in the Fifth Century, which is mine. We don’t have an Eight Section,’ he added.
I had nothing to say. We were back in the folds of the army, such as it was, and I had clearly been given an order, no matter how friendly. H turned to address Brando and Folcher.
‘Don’t worry about you lads being Batavian and all that. We just need you to stand watch, and fight from the walls. Plenty of time to learn the heavy infantry ways when we get out of here.’ H sounded happy, as if we were not surrounded by a swarm of the enemy. ‘Besides, plenty of dead men’s shoes. We just need to be a little creative on the record-keeping. Find you a Roman name you like. Anyway, welcome to the Fort of Aliso, boys. Welcome to the Nineteenth.’
Part Two
9
All I had wanted to do was eat, drink and sleep, but a soldier has about as much choice over the direction of his life as a slave, and so, after a legionary was directed to take my comrades to barracks and see that they were fed and watered, I did as I was ordered and followed Centurion H towards the headquarters building.
Like all Roman bases, the HQ stood proudly in the camp’s centre, and we followed the wide road that led directly from the camp gate. Huddled groups of civilians lined the way. They were miserable-looking creatures, shoulders stooped and their eyes on the floor. Even the children – usually the most optimistic and active no matter the circumstances – were subdued; what had they endured to get here, and reach the safety of the walls? What acts of war had they already witnessed at such a young age?
H spoke up. ‘Look terrified, don’t they?’
I gave no reply, for it seemed so obvious.
‘It’s not just the goat-fuckers,’ the centurion went on to explain. ‘There was a murder last night. Young girl, twelve years old. Fucking brutal. Now we’ve got to start night patrols inside the walls as well as on them. As if we didn’t have enough to do.’
My attention was then drawn from the sunken-eyed children to a group of dark-skinned men who marched towards us. They were bundled tightly up as if for deep winter, though there was some warmth in the September day. The bulky clothing made it hard to judge their size, but they were not tall men. All had short, jet-black beards. In their hands were the bows that had caused such murder from the battlements.
‘They’re from the East?’ I asked H.
‘Yeah. Syrian. We’ve got a cohort of them here. Probably them that killed the little girl, to be honest. They’re not much better than the goat-fuckers, really.’
Despite H’s words, I felt my spirits threatening to rise; a cohort of archers on the walls would punish Arminius heavily in every attack. How many men was he willing to lose? More to the point, how many were the tribes willing to lose? Arminius was only their leader so long as they decided to stand with him. The Germans had been roused for war, and had won a great victory in the forest, but with my own eyes I had seen that they had paid heavily for it. Were they willing to lose more of their youth to press on further into Roman lands, or would Arminius and his collective of chieftains be content to push Rome back beyond the Rhine before making peace?
The headquarters building loomed ahead.
‘Fort commander wants to be debriefed by you,’ H explained. ‘I’ll try and speed him up as much as I can. Don’t want you dropping dead in his office now that you made it this far.’
I muttered thanks as we passed the two sentries that stood at the headquarters building’s door. Like the other structures in the fort, it was crafted by legion hands from wood – Varus’s Lippe garrisons had been intended to be semi-permanent, before strong stone forts such as the ones on the Rhine could be built in their place, or the need for them moved deeper into Germany. Surely those dreams of expansion had died in the forest with the three legions.
I suddenly felt anxious, and realized that it was my unfamiliarity with being indoors. It had been weeks since I had stood within a structure that shielded me from the elements, and reminded me that people lived in towns and cities, where a wet blanket beneath a tree was not considered a good bed for the night.
‘Been a while, has it?’ H smiled, catching my darting looks at the tables and chairs.
‘Minden,’ I mumbled back.
‘I liked it there,’ he told me. ‘Spent a lot of my children’s savings on a beautiful blonde whore. Money well spent, it was. I didn’t even catch a thing.’
I’m not sure quite how I looked at him, but H felt moved to give me a friendly tap on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not that much of a bastard! I only spent it when my daughters died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I mumbled.
‘Ha! You’re too easy, you are.’ The man laughed, shaking his head at my naivety. ‘Sharpen up, eh? Children, my arse. What a waste of good money. Go on. In you go.’
I was ushered through the doorway into a small office space. One officer waited inside, his hair silver and eyes blue. Despite his advanced years he was athletic and vital.
‘Come in, soldier,’ he encouraged me. ‘Sit down. Relax. I’m Prefect Caedicius. I’m the fort’s commander,’ the officer introduced himself before looking to my escort. ‘H, can you go and get this man some food and water, please? Not too much, though.’ Caedicius turned to me with an apologetic smile. ‘Body has to get used to it again.’
I nodded, and took the chair that he gestured me into. I looked again at the man in front of me. As a prefect, Caedicius held the third highest rank in a legion, and the highest that could be reached by a soldier who had started at the bottom as a simple foot-slogger. Caedicius would be an experienced soldier, but he was also a lucky one; he had been here behind Aliso’s walls whilst his legion had been butchered in the forest.