Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  From out of the forest a horse and a rider suddenly came walking towards him. Startled, Fergus flung aside his cloak and reached for his sword. Then with an annoyed grunt he relaxed. The rider wearily raised his hand in greeting. A few moments later he was joined by six more riders, their cloaks and hoods covered in fresh snow. The Batavian scouts had returned. The Batavian Decurion slowly dismounted from his horse whilst his men did the same, silently leading their beasts towards the roaring, welcoming warmth of the fire. And as they did, Fergus saw how thin and in bad condition the horses looked.

  ‘Sir,’ the Decurion said in a tired voice. ‘We did as you instructed. We stayed behind and waited. Gaiseric and his men are on our trail alright. They are perhaps a half-a- day behind. The last we saw of them they were preparing to make a camp for the night.’

  ‘How many men does he have?’ Fergus said gazing at the Decurion.

  ‘About two hundred,’ the Decurion replied brushing the snow from his cloak. ‘We saw no cavalry but he does have a pack of hunting dogs, vicious looking beasts. They didn’t pick up our scent because we were up wind but there is no doubt Gaiseric will be able to follow us Sir. We’re leaving a massive trail for him to follow, even with all this new snow-fall. I am sorry Sir.’

  ‘Thank you Decurion,’ Fergus nodded lowering his head. ‘Get some hot food and some rest. We will be setting out again at dawn.’

  The Decurion nodded but stayed where he was gazing, instead at the company clustered around the fire at the cave mouth.

  ‘What is it?’ Fergus growled as he sensed that the Decurion was not yet finished.

  ‘My horses,’ the Decurion said in a gloomy voice. ‘They haven’t properly eaten for weeks. They are spent Sir. They are going to start dying in the next few days if we don’t find any food for them.’

  ‘I don’t think we are going to find any fresh food for them, not in the mountains, not in this weather,’ Fergus said taking a deep breath.

  In the darkness, the Decurion nodded.

  ‘Then with your permission,’ the soldier said quietly, ‘I would like to allow my men to set their horses free. Maybe they will stand a chance of surviving on their own in the wild. The men feel quite strongly about this Sir.’

  But on his rock Fergus slowly shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he growled. ‘You will do no such thing. I am sorry,’ Fergus sighed and wearily looked away into the forest. ‘We may need to eat your horses if we run out of food. Your orders are to keep them alive as long as possible. Do you understand?’

  In the darkness Fergus was aware of the Decurion staring at him in horror. For a long moment, there was no answer from the gloom.

  ‘Understood Sir,’ came the softly spoken reply at last. It was followed by another pause. ‘Why did Gaiseric attack us Sir? He was our guide. The men don’t understand why he suddenly turned on us?’

  Fergus closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead.

  ‘It’s because our esteemed Legate couldn’t keep his big mouth shut,’ Fergus growled.

  ***

  It was deep into the night when a hand roughly shook Fergus awake. Startled, he reached for his sword but a cold hand and small fingers stopped him. Bleary-eyed he stared straight at Titula. She had drawn her cloak tightly around herself and she was shivering. In her hand, however she was holding up a piece of bread and hard Batavian cheese. Gratefully he took it from her. In the rush to make sure that the company were organised and settled, he had forgotten to eat.

  Tiredly he stuffed the food into his mouth and munched away. Then when he had swallowed the last of it he muttered his thanks. Titula was watching him with her large, pale blue eyes as if waiting for something to happen.

  ‘What are you doing here, Valkyrie,’ Fergus said wearily reaching out and placing his finger on the tip of her nose. ‘What are you doing out here with the likes of me? Come on, talk to me?’

  But from the gloom, Titula remained silent. Then slowly and deliberately she raised her fingers to Fergus’s face and softly traced the outline of his nose and eyebrows, and as she did, Fergus suddenly had the strangest sense that he was being touched by a goddess. Startled, he drew back and stared at Titula.

  ‘Who are you? What are you really doing here?’ he hissed bleary-eyed.

  In front of him Titula withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze to the ground. Then abruptly and without making a sound she rose to her feet and vanished into the night.

  ***

  ‘Come on, move it, move it, we’re the finest damn company in the Twentieth Legion, we can do this,’ Fergus cried out as the weary column of men, sledges and beasts struggled past him up the forested slope. It was late afternoon and that morning the blizzard had finally died away and the sun had appeared for the first time in two days. Its return had been greeted with excited cries of joy from the men and morale had risen as the fine, blue sky had continued all that morning. The improving weather had also allowed Fergus and Adalwolf to determine their position, and shortly afterwards the company had turned due south and had started climbing up into the foothills of the Sudeten mountains. As he watched the men coming past, Fergus called out to the soldiers, adding words of encouragement to those visibly struggling and reaching out to grasp the hands of the wounded, lying on their sledges and being pulled along by their comrades. It was a display of confidence that he did not feel but it was all he could do. Attitude was the key to survival; old Quintus had once told him when he was still a boy growing up on the farm on Vectis. Attitude and instilling confidence in your men was half the battle, the retired Centurion had explained, even if you don’t share it. What is important is that your men see it and believe it, for it will give them strength and courage. And here he was, doing exactly what Quintus had once told him. Slowly Fergus shook his head in disbelief. He was barely twenty years old. He shouldn’t be in this position, not at his age, but he was. And suddenly all those old war-stories Quintus had told him, when he was still a boy, were suddenly so relevant. He was glad he had listened.

  As the rear-guard came trudging past, Fergus turned to gaze towards the south. In the fine blue skies, the northern slopes of the Sudeten mountains were very close now. The heavily forested slopes, rocky-crags and peaks were not as high and beautiful as the massive, solitary Alpine peaks Fergus had seen on the journey to Carnuntum, but they were nevertheless impressive - some of the peaks rising to over four thousand feet. Along the snow-covered forested route pine trees covered the mountain slopes; weird geological rock formations poked up above the trees; and on top of the mountain peaks, snow gleamed in the sunlight. As Fergus began to follow the company up the slope, he suddenly caught sight of a magnificent Mouflon standing on top of a rocky ledge formation twenty yards away. The red, brown goat- like animal with its fine curled horns was standing motionless up on its rock, staring straight at Fergus.

  It had grown dark and the temperature was once more dropping rapidly, when Fergus ordered the company to a halt for the night in a narrow, mountain gorge. As the men started to fan out to collect fire wood, prepare their dinner and build their fires, Fergus stomped off to the top of the gorge. The solid rock walls of the long and narrow gorge towered twenty or thirty yards above the ground, and as he reached the snow-covered summit he knelt in the deep snow and turned to stare northwards. In the night sky above him, were a multitude of twinkling stars. Fergus narrowed his eyes as he peered down into the forested plains to the north. In the darkness, there was little to see. Gaiseric was being careful, he thought, for he could see no sign of fires or light in the gloom. Fergus sighed as he stared into the darkness. The faint outline of the vast pine-forests was just about visible in the dim moonlight. That day he had tried to lead their pursuers onto a false trail, but his Batavian scouts had reported that the enemy had not been fooled. Later that afternoon he had tried to hide their trail but again the Batavians had reported back saying that this trick had not worked either. There seemed no way in which he could shake Gaiseric from their tail. Exha
ustedly Fergus rubbed his hand over his tired eyes. He could always leave Hadrian behind he thought. Maybe if Gaiseric was allowed to avenge the insult that had started all this, by killing the Legate, he would give up the chase and let the rest of them go, but as he thought about it Fergus knew the idea was a nonstarter.

  ‘What would you do, grandfather?’ Fergus muttered opening his eyes and glancing up at the heavens. ‘Please give me a sign that you are with me, please, I beg you. Anything grandfather, anything.’

  The night however remained silent and peaceful and in the darkness, nothing moved. In the gloom Fergus suddenly caught sight of a strange-looking rectangular rock-formation that looked definitely man-made. Blinking in surprise he rose to his feet. He was so tired he had not noticed what was right in front of him. With a frown, he took a step forwards and reached out to touch the slab of stone. Slowly he circled the six-feet-long stone mound running his fingers across its snow-covered top. It was a Hunebed, an ancient, stone-tomb and older than all the trees standing in the forest. Adalwolf had talked about the Hunebedden on their journey towards Mount Sleza. He had said they contained the graves of his tribe’s distant ancestors, the first men who had made these forests their home. With a surprised grunt, Fergus paused and placed his hand on the hard rock. This grave could easily be three-thousand years old. Whoever had been buried here must have wanted to enjoy the view.

  From close by Fergus suddenly sensed movement amongst the trees. Startled he turned to face the forest. Then his eyes widened in terror. Amongst the trees, things were moving, pacing up and down and in the faint light he suddenly caught sight of fur, gleaming eyes and hungry, open jaws. A moment later the night was rent with growls and whining. Wolves. Horrified, Fergus staggered backwards against the rock and then hastily clambered up onto the Hunebed. He was surrounded by a wolf pack. From the trees the growling and whining continued, and then from very close by one of the wolves raised its muzzle into the night sky and howled. The noise, so close by, was utterly terrifying and Fergus nearly pissed himself. Hastily he crouched down on top of the rock and drew his sword and pugio, his army knife from his belt, holding both weapons up in front of him. At the edge of the forest the wolves seemed to be moving up and down in between the trees. Fergus’s eyes widened in horror. Had he come this far only to be torn apart and devoured by starving wolves? Was this the fate the gods had in mind for him? At the edge of the forest the whining and growling was growing louder and more urgent.

  ‘Come on then you bastards,’ Fergus hissed with sudden fury, as he clutched his two weapons in his hands. ‘Who wants to be the first to die? Come on you fucking dogs. I am here. What are you waiting for?’

  Then he blinked, blinked again and stared into the night in confusion. Something strange was happening at the edge of the forest. As he gazed into the darkness, his eyes slowly widened in shock and surprise. In the starry darkness, an icy white-blue figure of a woman, clad in brilliant, shining-white clothes and long golden hair had appeared and was calmly striding through the pack of wolves. On her head, she had a crown of icicles and in one of her hands she was holding a knife made of shimmering light. Her face was just a blaze of blueish light. And, as she calmly strode through the milling pack of wolves she slowly turned to face Fergus, crouching on top of the Hunebed, and as she did, she slowly bowed to him. Fergus gasped. Then he closed his eyes. What was the matter with him? What was happening to him? When at last he opened his eyes again the woman had vanished and so had the wolves. Startled, Fergus rose to his feet and peered into the darkness. Had he been so tired that he had started to see things? Was exhaustion playing tricks on him? Had the wolves even been real? Wildly he peered into the night but amongst the trees nothing moved and the night was quiet and peaceful.

  Then from down in the gorge below him, he heard a sudden loud commotion. Leaping off the Hunebed, Fergus scrambled down the side of the hill, not caring about the sharp edges and ridges of the rocks. As he made it down onto the floor of the gorge he turned to gaze in the direction of the small Roman camp. Around the blazing fires, snow and towering rock-walls of the gorge, the Romans had risen to their feet and were raising their fists in the air in acts of victory and joy. And as his eyes adjusted to the light, Fergus gasped as he caught sight of Aledus and two other men who had been missing since the attack and who had been presumed to be dead. Aledus was surrounded by his mess-mates, who were hugging him and raising their fists in the air in delight.

  With sudden realisation Fergus turned to look up at the star-studded sky. Was this the sign he had asked for? Had Corbulo, his grandfather heard his plea?

  ‘Gods, fuck, thank you, thank you grandfather,’ he muttered with wild awe-struck and exhausted looking eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Five – Gallantry in the Face of the Enemy

  The rolling hills, sharp rocky walls and cliffs, towering stone-pillars and deep, winding gorges of the Sudeten mountains stretched away to the horizon. The bleak, snowy wilderness was not going to let them go without extracting its toll. Grimly, Fergus paused to catch his breath as the column wound its way across the slope of another heavily forested hill. The ground was growing steeper and more rugged the higher into the mountains they went, and their progress was continuing to slow. It was afternoon and with Adalwolf guiding the expedition they had continued to head southwards. During the night, two more of the wounded had succumbed, and as predicted by the Batavian Decurion, the first of his horses had started to die from exhaustion and starvation. Fergus sighed as he turned to gaze at his men. His face was pale and shrunken and his eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion and a lack of sleep. The men too, looked in a bad state. That morning Fergus had inquired whether anyone in the company had heard the howl of a wolf in the night but none had. Was he beginning to lose his mind? Tiredly, Fergus rubbed his hand across his forehead and turned to gaze at the men, trudging through the snow, hauling their sledges behind them across the ground. The only positive development had been Aledus’s miraculous return. The company had given him up for dead, when he had gone missing during the attack, but after hiding out in the forest for a while Aledus and the two men with him, had somehow managed to find the company’s tracks and had followed them onwards and up into the mountains.

  ‘Come on move it, keep moving,’ Fergus cried out, trying to smile at the weary, dispirited column and raise their spirits. ‘Moving keeps you warm. Moving puts distance between us and the enemy. Moving brings us a step closer home and we are going to get home boys. Do you hear me? We are going to make it back home, all of us.’

  In the snow the legionaries, Batavians, slaves and civilians said nothing as they filed past Fergus. Did they not believe him? Fergus lowered his head to the ground. He hardly believed it himself. The company were on the run, fleeing for their lives and with their progress slowing, it would be only a matter of time before Gaiseric and his men overtook them. The Germans would be only a few hours behind them. And when the attack came, his men, weakened through exhaustion, cold and hunger, would only be able to offer a feeble resistance. They would be slaughtered. The situation was growing increasingly desperate. Grimly, Fergus tried to hide his emotions as he turned and started up the slope, plodding through the deep snow alongside the column.

  It was growing dark and snow had started to fall once more, when Fergus raised his fist above his head and behind him the column of men and beasts came to a halt. Around them across the flattish land, the forest extended away into the distance but ahead through the trees was a clearing and in the clearing Fergus could see the unmistakeable signs of human habitation. Fergus’s hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword, as through the trees, he saw Adalwolf and Aledus hastening back towards him.

  ‘Well,’ he snapped, ‘is it occupied?’

  Adalwolf shook his head.

  ‘The huts are abandoned,’ he replied. ‘No one has lived here for years. It would make a good spot to make camp for tonight. The shelters are rudimentary but will shield us from the wind and hide the light fro
m our fires and there is plenty of wood.’

  Fergus glanced at Aledus who nodded in agreement.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ he muttered, raising his fist in the air and pumping it up and down.

  Cautiously the Romans emerged from the forest and into the clearing. Fergus peered at the small square-settlement. The place seemed to cover about a hundred square yards. A V shaped ditch about a yard deep which ran completely around the outer perimeter, was covered here and there in snowdrifts. Beyond the ditch were the remains of a low wooden-palisade that enclosed the settlement on all four sides, allowing for just one entrance to the south. The palisade however, looked in a high state of disrepair and here and there whole sections were missing or lay rotting in the snow. As he approached, Fergus turned to gaze at the three huts that stood in the middle of the square settlement. The wooden log walls looked sturdy enough but in two of the huts parts of the thatched roof had caved in, leaving gaping holes. The whole bleak looking place was covered with a layer of fresh snow.