by Alex Gough
‘You joined the army for fun?’ Scaurus whistled. ‘You must enjoy pain.’
‘What about you, Atius?’ asked Memnon. ‘Why did you join? You were an auxiliary, right?’
Atius thought for a moment. It really wasn’t that long ago. He was not a grizzled old veteran, not in chronological time. And yet what he had been through over the last couple of years…
His thoughts drifted off, and he stared into the flames as images of executions, murders, assassinations, riots and battles flashed behind his unseeing eyes.
‘Atius?’ Eustachys put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped.
‘Sorry,’ said Atius. ‘Joining up?’ He brought himself back to the present with an effort. ‘It seems a long time ago now, but I think it was the girls. My mother wouldn’t let me spend any time with girls. So I joined the army to get away from home, and to get laid.’
They all laughed uproariously at that, and all the tension was broken. Scaurus took out some bread and passed it round, and they smiled and talked. Atius returned to staring into the flames.
* * *
The weather didn’t break for the rest of the day, nor the next night. But the following morning, the clouds had gone and the sky was bright blue, the sun reflecting off the fresh snow cover with a brilliance that made them shade their eyes. The journey was even slower now, with this depth of snow, but they were all pleased to be on the move once again. More than once tempers had frayed in those close confines, and Atius had had to step in to prevent physical violence.
They made their way onwards through snow that varied from ankle to armpit depth. But the sun shone all day, and if Atius turned towards it and closed his eyes, he felt he could just imagine some faint heat upon his skin. They marched largely in silence, concentrating each on their own myriad miseries, their frozen toes and fingers, their fatigue as they struggled on, gasping air that chilled their lungs. As it reached higher into the sky, though, the sun began to do its work on the powder, and snowmelt dripped off trees and ran in small brooks.
Aldric led them along a narrow animal track, the grass worn away in a thin line punctuated by cloven hoofprints. Wild deer or domesticated animals? Atius speculated idly.
The answer came suddenly, as they rounded a rocky outcropping and came face to face with a dozen goats and a startled boy.
The goatherd could not have seen more than ten winters. He was pale, blonde-haired, smooth-skinned and terrified. For a moment, the legionaries and the boy, separated from each other by the small herd, stared at each other in shock. Then the boy turned and bolted like a hare flushed by hunting dogs.
Atius was at the front of the group, alongside Aldric. The German guide didn’t react; he clearly thought it wasn’t his problem. Atius cursed and set off in pursuit.
But first he had to make his way through twelve confused caprids. The goats’ shoulders barely reached to his knees, but they milled this way and that, and he stumbled over them, leaning down to push them out of the way, and kicking the backsides of the slowest. It took him only moments to emerge out of the other side of the small herd, but it was enough for the young lad to gain a decent head start. Atius sprinted, arms pumping, his ankles twisting on the uneven ground, scattered with rocks and pocked by hoof indentations.
The boy was quick. He was long-legged and skinny, and in his own environment. But Atius was an adult in his prime, also tall and fast, though maybe a bit too bulky for a prolonged chase.
The fleeing youngster turned and saw Atius gaining on him. He took an abrupt right-angled turn, and began scrambling up the rocky slope of the hill that bordered the path. Atius climbed after him, using stony outcrops as footholds, grasping snow-laden branches to haul himself upwards. One shallowly rooted shrub came away in his hand, causing him to slip back down the slope half a dozen yards before he managed to dig his boots into the icy ground enough to break his fall.
He was panting heavily by the time the slope began to plateau out, and his quarry had increased the distance between them even further.
But now the ground was even and level, and in a straight foot race, the child would never beat the man. At least, not this child, and not this man.
When Atius finally caught up with him, he grabbed a trailing arm and pulled. The boy swung round involuntarily, but used his momentum to bring his free hand around in a close-fisted blow to Atius’ head. Atius grunted, head rocking sideways, but he kept his grip. The boy tried to hit him again, but this time Atius caught his other hand, and held them both firm, squeezing painfully until the boy cried out. He wriggled in Atius’ hold and tried to knee him between the legs, although he only managed to impact Atius’ inner thigh.
‘Enough!’ Atius roared and lifted him into the air, then threw him on the ground. The boy landed heavily and lay still, momentarily winded. Atius gasped the air back into his own lungs, and rubbed his bruised leg and face. Then he knelt down and lifted the boy up by the collar of his tunic.
The boy spat unintelligible curses at Atius, so Atius smacked him around the side of the head, a blow that should have been hard enough to set the lad’s ears ringing. It seemed to do the trick, and he was able to half lead, half drag the boy back down the slope to where his men waited at the bottom.
‘A dangerous foe,’ commented Eustachys, straight-faced.
‘Looks like he nearly got the better of you, centurion,’ said Scaurus, and Memnon and Drustan laughed with him.
‘He’s got some legs on him,’ said Atius, still somewhat breathless from the chase.
‘Maybe some more fitness marches would be in order, sir,’ said Memnon, joining in the ribaldry.
Atius smiled, taking it all in good part. It did no harm for the men to mock their superiors from time to time, as long as they were obedient when it mattered.
‘And now what?’ asked Eustachys. And everyone fell silent as they looked at the boy. He stared up at them defiantly, but there were tears in his eyes, and some had rolled down his cheeks, leaving paler trails down the dirty skin.
Atius turned to Eustachys helplessly.
‘Why did you chase him?’ prompted Eustachys.
‘To stop him revealing our presence,’ said Atius, knowing exactly where this line of questioning was going.
‘And how will you prevent that, now you have caught him? Will you take him with us?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You will let him go? Then why catch him in the first place?’
Atius turned back to the boy. He obviously didn’t understand the Latin they were speaking, but knew they were discussing his fate. Atius thought about where he had been when he was that age, living in Hispania with his mother, helping on the farm and dreaming of running away to join the legions. And of all the things he had done since, all those experiences that make a life, good or bad. Could he really take all that away from this youngster?
Let the children come to me, do not hinder them, the Christos had said. Atius wasn’t too good at keeping the commandments of the Lord and his son, but he had vowed to do his best.
Vow. Oath. Aldric had taken an oath to obey his chief, presumably on their barbarian gods.
‘Aldric. Would a boy of this age feel the need to keep an oath sworn on his gods?’
‘Of course,’ said Aldric. ‘We are taught from our earliest age to respect the gods and oaths taken in their name.’
‘Good, then tell him this. Tell him if he swears to reveal to nobody that he has seen us, for at least, let’s say, the whole cycle of the moon, that we will let him go. And if he does not so swear, that we will kill him, here and now.’
Aldric gave Atius a hard stare then nodded. He spoke to the boy in their harsh, guttural language. The boy still seemed defiant, argued with him. Aldric spoke back firmly, pointing at Atius and gesturing at the sword at his waist. Finally, the boy’s chin drooped and he gave a small nod.
Aldric took his knife out, grasped the boy’s hand and sliced the palm. The boy winced but did not cry out. Blood dripped onto the g
round, and Aldric spoke words that the boy then repeated. After, the boy seemed beaten, defeated, head bowed and shoulders rounded, looking like he would burst into tears at any moment.
‘Is it done?’ asked Atius.
‘It’s done,’ confirmed Aldric.
‘Very well. Let him go.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Scaurus had watched it all play out with silent bemusement, but now the child was about to be released, he couldn’t hold back.
‘Watch your tone,’ said Atius, no longer brooking insolence.
‘If you let him go, he will tell his family, who will tell the local elders, who will summon a party to hunt us down.’
‘It’s a risk,’ said Eustachys, not directly contradicting him, but clearly expressing his reservations.
Atius nodded. ‘It’s a risk. But I will not kill a child in cold blood.’
‘Then I’ll do it,’ said Scaurus, drawing his sword and walking towards the boy, who shrank back.
Atius put himself between the rough soldier and the scared child. Atius did not put his hand on his hilt, just crossed his arms over his chest. Centurion and legionary stared into each other’s eyes in a silent battle of wills.
Scaurus looked away first. He sheathed his sword and stepped back, spreading his hands apart.
‘Fine, you’re in charge. But it’s all our heads you are risking here.’
‘I understand that. But he made his vow. That will have to be enough.’ He clapped the boy between the shoulders, and pointed off into the hills.
‘Go,’ said Atius. The boy did not need to wait for Aldric’s translation. He took off like there were hounds nipping at his heels, and was soon gone from sight.
‘I hope your decision doesn’t endanger this mission,’ said Eustachys with a sigh.
‘If that boy doesn’t keep his oath, the mission will be the least of our worries.’
* * *
That night, they camped in a coniferous copse, the canopy of which had prevented most of the snow from reaching the floor. Scaurus was still unhappy, but his grumbles were all under his breath, and Atius did not challenge him.
When they woke in the morning, and they hadn’t been massacred, everyone’s mood became lighter. They broke camp and set off, and on the march, Atius shared his water flask with Scaurus, who gave him a nod and a grudging word of thanks. Much of the melt had refrozen into treacherous ice but the sun thawed it anew, and their way became easier.
Though they had time on their side, it was not limitless, and Atius feared the consequences to whatever the mission was of arriving too late. Eustachys too seemed agitated by the delays. Moreover, Atius had no desire to spend more time in Germania Magna than was necessary. Though they had seen no sign of pursuit since the death of Toutorix, and the previous snowfall would surely have covered their tracks completely, Atius still felt uneasy, a crawling sensation down his spine, which he thought was not just due to drops of sweat under his layered clothing.
By the third day since the blizzard, the snow had turned to slush, which though it was unpleasant underfoot, cold and muddy, made for better time. When they camped for the night, in another deserted barn, Aldric announced that one good day’s march should take them to their destination, and the men gave a rousing cheer to that.
* * *
Some miles back along their route, a German warrior, wrapped tightly against the cold, fingered a small piece of cloth that had been tied around a branch. He showed it to his companion, who nodded and raced back along the trail, to update the main party.
* * *
The attack came just before dawn. Atius was in a deep sleep, dreaming about being buried alive in a snowdrift. He woke, gasping for air, to the sound of shouts. He was instantly up, grabbing his sword and looking around wildly.
The barn they had spent the night in was in better repair than the previous one, with a fully weatherproof roof and walls of interwoven sticks. They had avoided repeating the mistake of kicking in the door, which remained intact. The commotion was coming from outside, so Atius ran to the door and yanked it open. An arrow hit the frame, sending splinters into his eye, making him stagger back, blinking. As he did so, Drustan and Scaurus, who had been on watch, came charging in.
Atius wiped his eye, which was streaming tears. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Fucking Germans,’ gasped Scaurus. ‘Out of nowhere.’
‘How many?’
‘How the fuck should I know? It’s still dark.’
‘Then fucking guess!’
They heard shouts from outside, coming from different directions.
‘At least ten,’ said Drustan. ‘Probably more.’
‘Ten what? Warriors? Farmers? Fucking wet nurses?’
‘Warriors,’ said Drustan. ‘No armour, just bows, axes and swords.’
‘Romans!’ came a loud, barbarian voice from outside. ‘Come out!’
‘Fuck you, you barbarian cocksuckers,’ yelled Scaurus.
‘Scaurus, shut up,’ hissed Atius. ‘The more they hear from us, the more they will be able to judge our numbers, and our positions.’
Scaurus mumbled an apology.
‘Is it the same men who killed Toutorix?’ asked Memnon.
Atius looked around to see if anyone else had the answer, then he shrugged. ‘How could it be? Surely it would be impossible to track us with all this awful weather we have been through.’
‘I bet it was that barbarian kid we let go. I told you we should have killed him. Atius, this is what you get from being too fucking soft!’
‘Romans,’ came the voice again. ‘You are trespassing in our lands. Surrender now and we will make your deaths quick and honourable.’
‘What a tempting offer,’ muttered Eustachys. The civilian was clutching his sword like it was a child’s bulla, offering some magical protection.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Atius. ‘It’s not an option.’ He looked around him, assessing the defensive capabilities of their shelter. It wasn’t promising. There was no brickwork, so everything could yield to an axe swing. There was a door that was similarly flimsy. There was one window in each of the two walls which formed right angles to the wall with the door in, small openings about a foot square for ventilation. Atius crept up to one of the windows, and risked a look out.
Though his field of view was limited, he saw shadowy figures darting around. The sky was a dark blue in the east, the first indication of dawn, but it would be a good hour before the sun rose enough for them to count their enemies properly.
He saw a man suddenly stop, peer at him, raise a bow.
He ducked back and an arrow flew through the window and thudded into a straw bale just to one side of Scaurus’ midriff.
Scaurus yelped, and darted to the cover of one of the walls. Atius gestured for everyone to do the same, so they were out of sight and out of the field of fire of archers.
‘I will count to a hundred, Romans,’ came the barbarian voice.
‘There must be ten of them at least,’ said Scaurus, ‘for him to have that many fingers to count on.’
Aldric shot Scaurus a glare, but didn’t retort.
‘When I reach a hundred, we will attack. You will die, or you will be captured, and wish you had died. I am counting now.’
The barbarian was either counting in his head, or genuinely couldn’t count, and was just estimating. Atius didn’t know, but he wasn’t prepared to leave the initiative to the barbarians. He looked around at his men, refreshing his mind on their strengths and arms. They were not armed like legionaries – this was an escort mission, not a legion marching to war. But they wore light armour, and each carried a short sword. Memnon and Drustan carried heavy pila, the sort that were as useful thrust as thrown, and did not bend on impact. Atius and Scaurus carried light composite bows made of horn and wood. Eustachys had just his sword, and Aldric bore just a knife, which would be useless in this sort of fight.
He beckoned Scaurus over to him, and they stood either side of the small wi
ndow. Atius nocked an arrow and gestured to Scaurus to do the same. He waited until he estimated the barbarian would be halfway through his count, then nodded to Scaurus.
They aimed their bows through the window, scanned for targets, then loosed almost simultaneously. Atius’ target moved at the last moment, so the arrow shot through the space his chosen warrior had just vacated.
Scaurus had more luck. His arrow found its mark, and his target went down. The ongoing cries and screams suggested it was not a clean kill, but that didn’t matter. The warrior would be out of action for the rest of the battle.
They darted back into cover as soon as they had shot, even as three arrows chased after them. Two came through the window, and one hit the wall by the window frame, the head and half the shaft protruding through, half a foot from Atius’ neck.
‘So that is your answer!’ the German roared. ‘Then hear ours.’
There was the sound of whistling in the air, and some dull thuds and cracks as arrows landed on the roof and impacted the walls. At first Atius couldn’t understand what they were trying to achieve, until one arrow penetrated the roof, half of the shaft protruding through, and he saw with shock that the head had been wrapped in an oily cloth and set alight.
‘They’re trying to burn us out,’ cried Eustachys. Atius was already moving. He reached up and plucked the arrow out of the roof, then stamped on it to put out the flame.
But then he heard a crackling sound, and smoke began to seep in between the small gaps in the roof material.
Atius thought quickly. He wasn’t facing an army, and they wouldn’t have a limitless supply of fire arrows. Even if they had a plentiful supply of oil, which was unlikely for a small war party, they would have to start ripping up their own clothes for more rags, which in this weather would be reckless. He tossed his bow and quiver to Drustan, who fumbled, then held it.
