Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  Tensely, Fergus picked up his shield and Vittius handed him his spear and helmet. As he pulled his helmet over his red hair, Fergus glanced at his commander. Titus was conversing in a low voice with Lucullus and Furius. As he watched the officers, Fergus suddenly noticed Fronto, staring at him from amongst the trees. Fronto was down on one knee and surrounded by the eight men of his squad. There was a contemptuous sneer on the Decanus’s face as he glared at Fergus.

  ‘He didn’t like that acknowledgment Titus just gave you,’ Vittius murmured softly leaning in towards Fergus.

  Fergus grunted as for a few moments he coolly held Fronto’s gaze, before turning to look away. Fronto might be a few years older than him and the more experienced soldier, but the two squad leaders were both the same rank, which was the problem. Fronto blamed Fergus for thwarting his promotion to Tesserarius, a position, which had gone to Furius, Fergus’s old squad leader.

  ‘That murderous swine will get a knife in his back one of these days,’ Catinius whispered behind Fergus. ‘I will do it myself.’

  ‘Quiet,’ Fergus hissed as he adjusted his helmet.

  The officers had finished their discussion and were moving apart. Lucullus, the grey-haired Optio, clutching his long staff, was coming towards Fergus.

  ‘Fergus, with me,’ the officer snapped, ‘The company will advance in line at a walk. Your men will be on the extreme left. None of those bastards in that cave are to escape. If Arvirargus is with them, he is to be taken alive.’

  ***

  The legionaries emerged from the forest and slowly started to walk up the slate-covered slope towards the cave entrance. The men were spread out in a long, thin line, holding up their large rectangular shields to protect themselves and menacingly pointing their spears at the cave entrance. Fergus tightened his grip on his shield, as he warily studied, the dark cave-mouth. The Britons must have seen them by now, but there was no reaction. All remained quiet. Lucullus, the Optio, clasping his long staff in both hands, strode along a few paces behind the men and, in the centre of the Roman line, Fergus could see Titus leading his men straight towards the cave. On the right flank Furius, the Tesserarius, was doing the same. Steadily the Romans converged on the cave mouth and still there was no reaction. Tensely, Fergus exhaled. The rebels had left it too late. There was no way they were going to be able to escape now.

  When he was a dozen paces from the cave-mouth Titus, the Centurion, raised his arm and around him the legionaries came to a halt, crouching down behind their large shields, their spears raised and ready to be flung at anything that came out of the cave. Fergus glanced at the men of his troop. They were all staring at the dark cave entrance, their faces taught, nervous and excited. For a moment the mountain slope remained silent, except for the gentle whine of the western breeze.

  ‘You, in the cave, come on out and throw down your weapons,’ the signifer clutching the company standard, suddenly cried out in the Briton language, ‘If you surrender, we will spare your lives.’

  From the cave there was no reply.

  As the silence lengthened Titus turned and gestured to the small rear guard of legionaries, clustered behind him. Instead of their shields these men were holding tree branches, which they had cut from the forest and two of the men were also clasping burning torches. Hastily the soldiers surged forwards and flung their branches into a heap just in front of the cave entrance, before hurriedly retreating. Within a few seconds the men carrying the torches had set the pile of branches alight. Thick, dark smoke belched upwards into the air as the flames spread, crackling and devouring the wood and soon the breeze was blowing the smoke straight into the cave. Outside in the morning light, the legionaries crouched and waited.

  They did not have long to wait. From within the cave, Fergus suddenly heard an enraged bellow, like that of an injured bull. Moments later, a single spear came flying straight out of the cave and caught the Optio in his shoulder, sending him spinning and tumbling to the ground. The spear was followed, a split second later, by a group of men, who came charging and leaping through the wall of flames and thick smoke, as if they were immune to heat and suffocation. The warriors were screaming and roaring, their fierce faces painted with blue woad or covered in tattoos and they were armed. They were met by a merciless hail of spears that killed half the group before they had barely cleared the fire. Fergus cried out in warning as close by a huge warrior launched himself at Vittius, crashing into his shield with such force that his friend was knocked clean of his feet and onto his back. The huge warrior, clutching a spiked club, was accompanied by an older companion with a handsome face and long black hair, holding a spear in one hand and a Roman gladius in the other. The men slashed and hacked at the Romans around them, as they desperately sought to break through the Roman line. But it was an unequal fight. Without thinking, Fergus sprang forwards, his shield catching the smaller warrior in his side and knocking him to the ground. At the same time Aledus, and one of the other legionaries attacked the huge warrior, stabbing him from behind and in the side and kicking him to the ground. Close by, the older warrior was grimacing in pain. The man had lost his spear, but as Fergus approached, he slashed out at Fergus’s ankles with his sword. Fergus sprang back just in time. Wildly he raised his spear to finish the man off. On the ground the warrior, seeing that all was lost, suddenly raised his head to look up at Fergus and as he did, his fury faded and a calm, resigned look appeared on his face.

  ‘You will never defeat us Roman,’ the man hissed in the Briton language, ‘Another will take my place when I am dead. You cannot destroy freedom.’

  ‘We need them alive,’ a Roman voice roared across the smoke-filled and corpse strewn slope.

  Fergus hesitated. From the corner of his eye he saw several of his men approaching the fallen warrior, their swords stained with blood, their faces filled with wild murderous intent. Then before he could act, the warrior on the ground grimaced, bared his exposed neck and slit his own throat with his sword.

  ‘Fuck,’ Fergus cursed as he dropped his shield and hastily wrenched the sword from the dying man’s hand. But it was too late. The blood was welling up and gushing down the warrior’s chest. With a last flicker of his eyes, the man gurgled and stared up at Fergus. Then he died and his head rolled to one side.

  Fergus swore again, as he knelt over the fallen warrior. But there was nothing he could do. Around him the legionaries were gathering, their heavy laboured breathing mingling with the roar and crackle of the fire. Moments later a figure pushed his way up to Fergus and crouched down beside him. It was Titus. The Centurion was looking down at the corpse, his chest heaving with exertion.

  ‘Is that him? Is that Arvirargus Sir?’ Fergus exclaimed.

  Titus did not reply. He was staring down at the fallen warrior with an anxious frown.

  Fergus steadied his breathing and then repeated to the Centurion what the warrior had said to him and as he did the frown on Titus’s face darkened.

  ‘Furius, have a section search the cave,’ the Centurion cried out as he rose to his feet ignoring Fergus completely. ‘And I want these bodies placed on stretchers. We will take the corpses with us to the Tribune’s camp. If he is amongst the dead, there are family members of Arvirargus there, who will be able to identify him. And I want a runner to go on ahead to warn the surgeons that we have wounded.’

  Without another word the Centurion hastened up the slope towards the spot where Lucullus had fallen. He was closely followed by the signifer clad in his wolf skin cloak and clutching the company standard. Slowly Fergus got to his feet and as he did he caught Furius’s eye. The Tesserarius and third in command of the company gave him a disapproving, questioning look but Fergus shook his head and raised his shoulders in a defensive gesture. This time it really wasn’t his fault that the warrior had managed to elude capture.

  Chapter Two – The Promise

  As the column of Roman legionaries, a thousand or so strong, approached the gates of the Legionary Fortress at Deva Victrix
, a solitary trumpet call rang out to welcome them home - from up on the stone walls. The column was led by a solitary tribune on horseback and the standard bearer, proudly holding up the vexillation standard of the Twentieth Legion. Along the side of the road, the civilian inhabitants of the town, that had sprung up around the huge fortress, had gathered to stare at the returning legionaries. The monotonous tramp and crunch of the soldiers’ hobnailed boots on the stone road was, however, drowned out by another noise. Bringing up the very rear of the otherwise silent marching column, Fergus and the eighty men of the Second Company of the Second Cohort were in full and lusty-throated song, as they came on towards the fortress gates, their armour, weapons and shields glinting in the noon sun. Led by Titus, their Centurion and the signifer, clutching the unit banner, the company were singing with gusto, belting out their favourite marching song - a bawdy, rude song about the Legate’s love life. Fergus, his head held high, his voice lost amongst those of his comrades, felt the hairs on his back stand up with pride as the town’s folk stared at the company. A few days earlier, at the Tribune’s HQ in the mountain valley, Arvirargus’s relatives had confirmed that the man with the long black hair had indeed been their kinsman. The news had sent ripples of excitement coursing through the whole counter insurgency task-force and in recognition of their role in killing the last fugitive rebel leader, the Tribune had granted Titus and his whole company the honour of being the only company in the taskforce that would be allowed to sing upon their return to the Legionary base.

  As the vanguard of the column started to enter the fortress, Fergus suddenly saw that the walls of the army base were lined with legionaries. All of them were eagerly staring at the Second Company. At the sight of his comrades, up on the wall, a flush appeared on Fergus’s face. The whole Legion and indeed the whole province would soon know, that it had been his company that had finally managed to catch up with the famous Briton rebel. That was an honour that would not soon be forgotten. Ahead, the gates loomed up and, as he drew closer, Fergus caught sight of the envious faces of the men staring down at him from the walls. There would not be a single soldier up there, Fergus thought, who wouldn’t be wishing he was down with us right now.

  Belting out their song, the company was the last to pass through the gates and into the camp. Ahead of them the other infantry companies were beginning to disperse to their quarters amongst the long lines of dreary-looking barrack blocks. Then at last, Titus’s deep booming voice, brought the company to a halt.

  ‘Second Company, stand to attention,’ Titus roared as the singing abruptly ceased. In the middle of the street that led towards the Principia in the centre of the camp the whole company smartly, and smoothly, straightened-up in ten rows of eight men, as if they belonged to a single, living-organism. Fergus, staring straight ahead, suppressed the urge to laugh. The company was performing its parade-ground drill in the middle of the street, in full view of the whole camp. There was no need to do that. The Centurion was showing off. Titus may be a stoic, but he must be enjoying this moment every bit as much as the rank and file.

  ‘Men,’ Titus bellowed, staring at the rigid legionaries standing before him. ‘The Tribune has granted you all a free afternoon. All of you are released from regular duties until dawn tomorrow. Make the most of it.’

  Amongst the eighty legionaries, standing stiffly to attention before their commanding officer, not a man moved or made a sound. Fergus bit his lip. From experience, the whole company knew that their Centurion was only finished with them when he uttered his immortal words of dismissal, for which he had become known in the Legion.

  ‘Furius and all squad leaders however, will report to my quarters in an hour,’ Titus cried out, his face stern and streaked with dust and sweat.

  From the corner of his eye Fergus noticed Aledus’s mouth, working on a silently spoken sentence, as if he was anticipating what Titus was about to say next. Seeing Fergus’s disapproving frown, Aledus replied with a cheeky smile.

  ‘That’s all,’ Titus bellowed, ‘Rome conquers all.’

  As if released from a magic spell, the company relaxed and broke up, as the men started to head towards their barrack’s block.

  ‘Rome conquers all,’ Catinius repeated quietly as, with a grin, he, Aledus, Vittius and the other members of the squad clustered around Fergus. Fergus shook his head with a little smile of his own. Then he adjusted the focale, the white neck scarf that was tied around his neck to stop his armour from chafing on his skin.

  ‘Well you heard him, make the best of your free afternoon. I will see you all back in the tent before nightfall,’ Fergus said, giving them all a nod.

  The five men in his squad, however, did not move and gazed at him with a twinkle of humour in their eyes as if they were waiting for something.

  ‘I am not going to say it,’ Fergus blurted out with an embarrassed grin, as he suddenly realised what they waiting for. The men were baiting him, trying to get him to dismiss them in the same way in which Titus did.

  With a chuckle the men turned and strode away, leaving Fergus standing alone in the middle of the muddy street. Fergus watched them go and then slowly shook his head. At only nineteen he was young to have been promoted to Decanus. He knew that. It had initially been hard for him to exercise authority over the men of his squad, who were, all older and more experienced, but he had managed it. He had managed to gain the respect of his comrades and that was quite something, he thought, as he turned and started to head in the direction of his barrack’s block.

  ***

  The Centurion’s quarters were at the end of the Company barrack’s block and they were far more spacious and luxurious than the cramped, two-room squad-quarters, which Fergus shared with his men and their equipment. Titus, still clad in his body armour, was splashing water from a bowl onto his face and over his short, grey hair, as the ten, silent, company squad-leaders stood motionless in line before him, their hands clasped behind their backs. Fergus stood, staring fixedly across the room at the far wall, on which hung a bronze diploma. The writing was however, too small for him to be able to read what it said. There was no sign of Lydia, the Centurion’s young wife. It was one of the privileges of his rank, that Titus was officially allowed to marry. Furius and the signifer, both with their helmets smartly tucked under their arms, stood to one side waiting patiently for Titus to speak. Taking his time, the Centurion wiped his face on a cloth, scratched his head and then turned to stare at his NCO’s and, as he did, Fergus saw that the old man looked troubled.

  ‘Right,’ Titus muttered glancing at Furius, ‘I will get straight to the point. Lucullus is wounded. The good news is that the surgeons say that he will live. The bad news is that he is going to be out of action for a long time. He’s been transferred to the base hospital.’

  Titus paused and, for a moment he studied the line of men standing before him, as if trying to guess what they were thinking.

  ‘I can’t be without an Optio,’ he said at last. ‘So with immediate affect I have promoted Furius to fill Lucullus’s position. Furius will be acting, second in command until Lucullus has fully recovered. That though, means that the position of Tesserarius is once again vacant.’

  Fergus stiffened and ever so slightly, he turned to glance at Fronto. His arch rival gave no indication that he’d noticed Fergus’s glance, and continued to stare straight ahead at the far wall. The position of watch-commander, Tesserarius, keeper of the daily password, third in command of the company was the highest rank his grandfather Corbulo had ever attained, Fergus thought. Was Titus about to announce another promotion? It was a position every ambitious squad leader aspired to and it came with extra pay.

  ‘In this company,’ Titus said, turning to stare at his NCO’s, ‘I expect, demand that every one of my squad leaders should aspire to becoming my watch commander. It is a privilege to hold this rank. We are the best company in the whole Legion and I will not tolerate weak leaders. So, I have made my decision.’

  Fergus tensed, swa
llowing nervously. If Fronto was given the job, the man would become his superior and the only thing he could expect from Fronto, would be an endless stream of shit, abuse and pain.

  ‘The position will remain vacant,’ Titus said sharply, ‘It will be filled by the best and ablest man for the job. You all will compete for the position. Only the best one of you will be promoted. Is that clear?’

  The ten NCO’s remained silent as they stared fixedly ahead. Fergus could barely breath. What was this? Titus was leaving the position open. He hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘The position will stay vacant until I have made up my mind which one of you deserves it,’ Titus growled. ‘This could be weeks or months. In the mean-time each one of you will prove to me how good you are. I want this company to excel at everything. I want the Legate himself to see how fucking good we are. Hell, I want the gods themselves to take an interest in us. I want you all to inspire your men to be the best. You think you did well out there in the mountains. Our orders were to take Arvirargus alive and we failed. We failed! The Tribune and his staff may not really care whether we caught him alive or dead, but I do,’ Titus barked.

  The room fell silent as the Centurion glared at his junior officers.

  ‘So starting from tomorrow,’ Titus growled, ‘we will be drilling and training the men every day for an hour longer than the other companies.’

  Titus paused and rubbed his hand across the grey-stubble on his chin. Inside the room not a man made a noise.

  ‘And there is something else,’ Titus muttered, ‘something I have just been made aware of. There is news. Whilst we were away in the mountains, a dispatch arrived all the way from Rome. It seems that war has broken out again between us and the Dacians on the Danube frontier. King Decebalus has attacked our garrisons along and beyond the river. The Emperor is said to be organising an expeditionary force. The despatch we received contained orders. The Twentieth Legion is to send a vexillatio to the Danube to take part in the war. The Legate will decide shortly which units will be going. That’s all I know.’