The room fell silent, suddenly pregnant with excitement.
‘Do you think they will be sending us Sir’ one of the squad leaders piped up, unable to hide his excitement.
‘I fucking well hope so,’ Titus growled.
***
The Lucky Legionary Tavern stood a short distance from the fortress walls, in the sprawling, civilian town that had grown up around the army base. Fergus, clad in his simple, white army-tunic, boots and a belt from which hung Corbulo’s old sword, pushed his way down the crowded street towards the tavern with its modern, red Roman-style roof tiles. It was early evening and it was starting to get cold. Around him, the town’s shop-keepers were crying out, advertising their wares and services in brash, confident and loud voices. The long and narrow, terraced strip-houses lined the street; the front rooms acting as shops and workshops, whilst the inhabitants lived in the middle and back rooms. A bewildering array of signs, price boards, graffiti and bawdy, humorous adverts were plastered on every available inch of wall. The shop fronts were lined with endless examples of merchandise; leather shoes; chunks of meat; dried fish; roots; herbs; tunics and fine iron-tools. The smell of stale-urine and pig shit mingled with that of unwashed-bodies and wood-smoke. Ignoring the street hawkers, Fergus paused beside a flower shop and bought a bunch of pretty looking flowers. As he turned he caught sight of the large, welcoming sign, hanging above the entrance to the tavern.
He was indeed the lucky legionary, Fergus thought, as a smile of anticipation slowly appeared on his lips. The ‘Lucky’ as it was known amongst the legionaries was run by Galena and her father, Taran - both local Britons. It was here in this very building, during one of the occasional soldiers’ brawls, that in a drunken rage, Fronto had tried to murder him. It was here too, whilst hiding out with Galena and Taran in the cellar, that he’d discovered that Taran had been there with his grandfather on his last day and had seen Corbulo die. But that was all in the past. Galena was his woman now. She was seventeen and the most beautiful and sexy woman he’d ever known. It had taken him some time to work up the courage to ask her out, but when she’d said yes, it had been one of the greatest moments of his young life. And now that she was his woman, she had woken something in him. A fierce, insatiable lust and hunger for sex. It was all consuming and at night, in the barracks block he shared with his mess mates, he’d spent long hours thinking of nothing else. Galena and he had done it everywhere and on every occasion they’d met, going at it often more than once. They had humped in the loft of the tavern, in the cellar, down by the river, in the forest and, on one memorable summer occasion, at night against the walls of the Legionary fortress. He’d been insatiable and there had been many a time when she’d begged him for a rest. Fergus grinned, as clutching the pretty flowers, he approached the entrance to the tavern. He’d been out in the mountains with his company for a long time, but tonight he was going to get some pay back.
The tavern was nearly empty. A few, older locals were reclining on chairs around a table in the corner beside the empty hearth, but it was too early for any off-duty legionaries. Most of the young civilians did not visit the tavern, for this was known to be an army, drinking hole. Taran was standing behind the bar, counting coins that had spilled from a leather pouch. He was a big man with a grey beard and a belly that sagged a little too much over his belt. As Fergus approached, nodding a greeting, Taran acknowledged him with a strange, sympathetic look.
‘She’s around the back, cleaning the jars,’ Taran muttered gesturing at the door around the back of the bar. ‘Good luck.’
Fergus nodded again and frowned as he turned towards the doorway. That was odd. Taran was alright and seemed to approve of him, but he was fiercely protective of his daughter and not usually in the habit of giving him a sympathetic look. What was going on?
As he stepped out through the back door, he saw Galena. She was bent over a large ceramic amphora, cleaning the inside of the container with a sponge. As she saw him she straightened up. Her fine, beautiful, long, blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a heavy stained, leather, work-apron. Seeing the flowers, her lips twisted into a smile. Then she dropped the sponge and hurried towards him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her head against his chest.
‘The company just came back today. I came as soon as I could,’ Fergus said as he ran his fingers through her hair and felt her breasts pushing against his chest. ‘I have got a couple of hours before I have to be back.’
She broke free from his embrace and looked up at him with her sharp, intelligent eyes and, as she did, he marvelled at how stunningly, beautiful she looked.
‘There is rumour going around that some of the soldiers are going to be sent away to fight in a distant, foreign war. Is it true?’ she exclaimed.
Fergus shrugged and smiled.
‘Maybe, I don’t know, I don’t get to make those decisions.’
‘Maybe you and your company will be going,’ Galena said, staring up at him. ‘They say that the soldiers will be gone for a few years, some may not return at all.’
‘It’s possible,’ Fergus shrugged and then playfully reached out and placed his hand on her bum but she quickly reached out and removed his hand.
‘When will you know?’ she said sharply.
‘When the Centurion tells us. But the chances are that they will send some other Cohort. Don’t worry.’
Galena was silent for a moment. Then she looked away and Fergus suddenly saw the tension and raw emotion on her face.
‘Remember what I said to you, that night when you stood up and told the whole tavern about your grandfather,’ Galena said looking up at him. ‘Look at me, Fergus. What did I tell you?’
‘You said that if I wanted you to be my woman, it should be forever and it should only be you,’ Fergus said with mounting unease.
Galena nodded and gazed up at him and, as she did, she suddenly gasped.
‘I am pregnant Fergus,’ she whispered, ‘It’s been three months. The doctor confirmed it last week.’
Fergus stared down at her in shock. Nervously he swallowed and for a moment, he seemed unable to speak and, as he gazed at her, he suddenly realised why Taran had given him that sympathetic look.
‘That’s fantastic,’ he blurted out. Then he gasped as the full realisation that he was going to be a father sank in. Quickly he raised a hand to his mouth and, as he did, a little tear started to make its way down Galena’s cheeks. She smiled up at him through her tears.
‘I want to be married before you go,’ she whispered clasping hold of his chin and forcing him to look at her.
‘I can’t get married,’ Fergus sighed trying to avoid her gaze. ‘The army doesn’t let men like me marry. You know this. It’s not legally possible.’
‘I know,’ Galena said hoarsely, ‘but we are going to do it anyway. We will do it in secret and the ceremony will be in the manner of my forefathers. No one except us needs to know. But I want this Fergus. I want us to be married before you go.’
‘They haven’t decided which units are going to be sent,’ Fergus stammered.
But Galena shook her head and the tears streaming down her cheeks could not wash away the determination that was clearly written across her face. ‘They will send you, I know they will,’ she whispered. ‘I want us to be properly married and I want you to make a soldier’s will. I told you Fergus, I am no harlot, no man shall have me except you, even if you don’t come back. I gave myself to you and I will be yours until the day we die. Now promise me that you will do these things.’
Chapter Three – A Roll of the Dice
The solid, stone walls of the huge Legionary Fortress were protected by a muddy, deep, V shaped ditch and, at the rounded corners of the playing-card shaped base, watch towers rose up. Along the ramparts sentries were patrolling. Fergus however did not notice the impressive fortifications. He looked stunned. Staring down at the ground, lost in thought, he strode back towards the camp, completely oblivious to his surr
oundings. It was getting dark and along the street, the shop keepers were closing for the day. He was going to be a father. He was going to have a child. In a few days’ time, he was going to get married - in secret. It was all happening so suddenly. The heavy burden of responsibility suddenly weighed on his shoulders. He’d given Galena his word and now he was going to have to support her and the baby and he also had to make a will. He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. He was going to have a son or daughter. He had never thought about children and if he was honest, he didn’t know whether to feel happy or worried. But it was happening and there were things he needed to do. No one could know about the secret wedding. The army would force him to divorce if they found out, and making a will was going to be problematic, not because the army objected, but because legally it was Marcus, his father who owned everything. Fergus had no legal right to leave any of his family’s possessions to anyone, not until he was head of his family. But no one had heard from Marcus in over a year. Maybe Marcus had perished. Maybe he, Fergus was already the legal head of his family? But who determined that, when his father was still missing? Wearily, he shook his head. And at some point, he would have to let Kyna and Efa back on Vectis know what was happening.
Distracted and without looking up, he stomped through the gates of the Fortress giving the guards the day’s password and thus he was oblivious to the three men loitering near the gate.
‘Heh,’ a familiar voice suddenly cried out, as Fergus was struck by a pebble.
Annoyed, Fergus halted and looked up. Fronto and two of his mess mates were approaching. Fronto’s lips curled in contempt as he sized Fergus up.
‘What,’ Fergus hissed in an annoyed voice, as he turned to face his rival. And, as he did, his hand dropped to rest on the pommel of his sword.
‘There is no fucking way that you are going to become the next Tesserarius,’ Fronto growled aggressively jabbing a finger at Fergus. ‘That position belongs to me. The whole company knows that. So here is some advice for you, pretty boy. Don’t get in my way. Don’t compete with me and don’t try to bribe your way to the top, for if I hear you are trying something, me and the boys will have to come around and teach you a lesson. Got that.’
‘Did you really need to have two of your goons with you to tell me that,’ Fergus retorted. ‘Not man enough to come and tell me that on your own.’
Fronto’s face darkened in suppressed rage. ‘Just remember what I said,’ he hissed. ‘There is a lot of trouble coming your way if you don’t.’
And with that, he gestured to his mates and strode away.
Fergus watched him go, his chest heaving with a mixture of nerves and disgust. Fronto was the worst of the worst. A bully, a thug and petty criminal, with a strong sense of entitlement, whose violence was feared and loathed by the men in the company. But he was also a good soldier and smart enough never to cross the officers and get himself into trouble. Tensely, Fergus bit his lip. He had to be careful. Fronto’s words were no idle threats. The man had already tried to murder him once and he was perfectly capable of trying again. It would be difficult whilst Fergus had his men around him and the officers were watching, but there were always times when he would find himself alone, vulnerable and unprepared. And there was not much he could do about it for he had no Patron’s amongst the senior officers of the Legion, who would protect him and there was no police force to which he could report the threats. And Titus the Centurion would only care if the disturbance affected the performance and standing of his company. Anything else was fair game. The Legion and its Fortress, brimming with five and a half thousand highly-trained professional killers, was a dangerous, violent place. The only thing that stopped the legionaries from running riot, looting and settling scores, was the severe and harsh, army discipline with its beatings, capital punishment and court martials.
***
Sighing impatiently, the signifer of the Second Company of the Second Cohort sat down behind his desk and began to sift through the pile of small, wooden tablets. Fergus stood before him, his hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the neat writing and numbers that covered the hundreds of thin, wooden tablets. The small, office annex inside the Principia, the Legionary HQ that served as the company’s administrative office, was cluttered with a vast bureaucracy of wooden tablets, receipts, accounts, lists, army records, letters and blank, bronze diplomas.
‘Fergus, Fergus, Fergus,’ the signifer muttered to himself as he thumbed through the army personnel records. ‘Ah here we go.’
The signifer pulled out a wooden tablet and sighed again, as he stared at the writing. Then, in an impatient voice, he started to read out aloud, summarizing as he went.
‘Joined us eighteen months ago; father sent a letter of recommendation; confirmed citizen; age upon joining - 18; in good health; passed the physical examination. No distinguishing body marks. No homosexual behaviour. Pay grade is the standard legionary rate; promoted to Decanus; no disciplinary remarks; funds in account as of 1st January of the year 857 since the founding of Rome 300 denarii. Standard pay 300 denarii per annum; no bonus granted; account supplemented by two quarterly payments each of 75 denarii; withdrew 110 denarii at the start of this year for food and equipment, twenty denarii were transferred to his pension, plus on January 20 withdrew 50 denarii; on February 14 withdrew another 60 denarii; on March 6, 60 denarii and on April 7 another 135 denarii, leaving us with the grand sum of 15 denarii remaining until the next pay day.’
The signifer looked up at Fergus. ‘That’s it,’ he growled. ‘You have 15 denarii left in your account. I am in a hurry, so do you want the money or not?’
Fergus cleared his throat and stared down at the thin wooden tablet that contained all his army personnel details. Fifteen denarii! Was that all he had left from his account. It was a sad state of affairs and the year was barely half-way through. Half-heartedly he raised his hand in the air.
‘What would be the best way for me to invest the remaining money?’ he muttered.
The signifer glared at him, as if he had just said the stupidest thing. ‘My job is to look after the company’s records and the soldier’s pay but I don’t hand out investment advice,’ he growled. ‘Now do you want the fifteen Denarii or not? I haven’t got all day.’
Fergus stared down at the jumble of personnel records, strewn across the desk. Then he nodded and with a relieved look, the signifer turned towards the iron, pay-chest in which the whole Company’s pay was kept. Fitting a large key into the lock, he unlocked it and peered inside.
Fergus looked down at his feet. A few days had passed since Galena had told him that she was pregnant and he’d thought it prudent to ask the company signifer to check, on how much money he still had in his account. With a baby on the way and a new wife, he would be needing money. But fifteen denarii for the rest of the quarter. That was shocking. Looking guilty, he studied his army boots as the signifer counted out the coins, carefully placing each one on the desk for him to see. There was a reason why his finances were in such dire straits. A reason which he’d kept from Galena, for he didn’t have the courage to tell her that he’d lost three hundred and five Denarii he’d withdrawn throughout the year to gambling. Three hundred and five Denarii! It was over a year’s salary. Gone for good with nothing to show for it. He had not told her about his gambling habit. It was a stupid habit, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. The lure of the cup and the roll of the dice was simply irresistible and now he was paying the price for his addiction.
‘What about credit?’ Fergus muttered lifting his head and looking at the signifer.
The Standard Bearer paused and glanced up at Fergus. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘The army doesn’t give credit,’ he murmured, ‘But if you are desperate there are always the money lenders in town. But I would not advice it boy. They charge a phenomenal amount of interest. If you are short, then borrow from your mates. But getting into debt is never worth it. Stay away from debt if you ask me, it’s dangerous.�
��
Fergus looked away as the Standard Bearer closed the pay chest and locked it. But he couldn’t live off fifteen denarii for the rest of the quarter, Fergus thought. That was impossible. He would have to find a way to increase the amount. Signing a wooden receipt with his own hand, he scooped up the coins, counted them and then slipped them into a pocket, before turning for the doorway.
Outside he blinked in the afternoon sunlight. The spacious courtyard of the Principia, the Legionary HQ at the centre of the Fortress, was surrounded on three sides by the administrative offices and storerooms of the Legion and, close by too, were the personal quarters of the Legionary Legate and his family. The open, sandy square, used sometimes as a parade ground, was today empty except for a few men hurrying towards the entrance into the fine stone basilica, the great hall, that towered over the courtyard. Fergus, looking glum, headed back towards his company’s barracks. What was he going to do? The army wouldn’t give him any credit. Asking his mess mates for money would be a humiliating experience and he didn’t like the thought of going to the money lenders in town. That left him with the unappealing option of writing to Kyna, his mother and asking her to send him some funds. Fergus groaned. That would not go down well on Vectis, and his mother, would be furious with him. But what could he do? He needed more than fifteen denarii for the next three months.
As he approached his barracks block he suddenly paused and thoughtfully rubbed his fingers across his forehead. Then he sighed and looked down at the ground. There was just one thing for it. Tensely he turned and headed back towards the barracks block of the Third Company. Right at the end of the block, closest to the outer wall and furthest from the main street, was the Cohort’s premier gambling den. The small, twin rooms that housed this particular eight-man squad, were well known and it was here that he’d lost a fortune playing dice.
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 3
