Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 7
***
Fergus stood stiffly to attention in the blood soaked snow, staring rigidly into space as Furius slowly circled the body of the prisoner, which still lay where it had fallen. The decanus was shaking his head in disbelief and was running his hand across his forehead in an agitated manner. Clustered around the fire, Vittius, Aledus, Catinius and the others were watching their commanding officer in silence. Catinius had a blood stained bandage wrapped around his neck and was grimacing with pain and one of the older men was squatting beside their wounded comrade, who was lying on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. The man’s eyes were closed. Wherever he lived or not was in the hands of the gods now, the doctor had muttered.
“Do you realise how annoyed and angry Titus is?” Furius hissed as he rounded on Fergus, his face contorted in rage. “We were tasked with guarding the prisoner. It was our job to keep that fucker alive so that the boys on the legate’s staff could interrogate him and find out where these rebels are holed up. But instead you go and kill him.” Furius’s finger jabbed painfully into Fergus’ chest. “You had to fucking well kill him didn’t you, so now we have no prisoner and no intelligence and the commander has just given me an earful of shit. Don’t expect he will grant us any favours anytime soon.”
“I prevented him from escaping Sir,” Fergus replied clearing his throat. “The riders came to rescue him.”
“I know that,” Furius roared bringing his face right up against Fergus’, “But he is still dead and it is your fault that he is. You ran him through with your spear!”
“So what was I supposed to have done Sir,” Fergus said struggling to remain calm.
“You were on guard duty,” Furius bellowed, “You should have sounded the alarm and woken us. We could have saved our prisoner if you had done that, you fucking brainless fool.”
“There was no time Sir,” Fergus muttered, “They were upon us before I could act. They must have been watching us for a while because those horsemen knew exactly where the prisoner was being held.”
“Are you trying to be smart with me?” Furius roared.
“No Sir,” Fergus replied lowering his eyes, “Just pointing out that these Britons should not be underestimated. Ariovrargus has been on the run for a long time. He will not be so easily caught. We should have posted a stronger guard.”
For a moment Furius stared at Fergus in silence. Then he shook his head in despair.
“Where the fuck did they find you Fergus” he growled, as frustrated, he turned and gave the corpse a savage kick.
Chapter Ten – The Run
Fergus sat on the freezing, cold, stone floor of the cramped barrack room grinding the grain into a fine flour with a small portable stone hand mill. It was dawn and beside him Catinius, a blood stained bandage wrapped around his neck, was quietly repairing a tear in his tunic. The only other occupants of the eight man, Contubernium, barrack room, Vittius and Aledus were lounging on their bunks hungrily watching Fergus preparing breakfast. The men’s equipment, armour, swords, spears and shields lay neatly stacked against the far wall of the stone room and a small glowing hearth provided some warmth. A single night had passed since Fergus and his company had returned to their barracks at the legionary fortress of Deva Victrix.
“Porridge or pancakes boys?” Fergus called out as he finished grinding the grain and carefully scooped the fine flour into a bowl.
“Pancakes,” Catinius growled, “the water is rotten around here, just like the bloody weather and women.”
Fergus raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Catinius was a born pessimist, grumbler and liked to complain about everything when he got the chance. As a boy he’d witnessed his family being butchered by Germanic tribesmen, who had crossed the Rhine to raid Roman territory and the experience had left him with a fierce hatred of any non-Roman people.
“Should we not wait until Furius is back?” Vittius replied guardedly. “He should be back soon, best let him decide.”
Fergus glanced cautiously at the doorway. The decanus had gone to collect the day’s orders from the company Centurion, Titus, and would be back soon, together with the others, and when he returned there was going to be hell to pay, Fergus thought, for he was certain to get the shittiest job going that day. The decanus was not about to let him forget about the embarrassment he’d caused him.
“Fuck that,” Fergus muttered, as he stiffly rose to his feet. “Pancakes it is.”
“Yeah screw him,” Aledus said elbowing Vittius in his ribs, “Fergus is right. I am tired of that arsehole’s bullying and I am not going to pay him anything either. Do you see how the others bribe him in exchange for the easy jobs?”
“All I am saying is he’s in charge,” Vittius exclaimed giving Aledus a shove, “You should be careful, he can make things a lot worse for you.”
“So why are you not one of his friends then?” Aledus sneered, “Or do you secretly suck his cock at night and rat on us during the day?”
Vittius shook his head in disgust but refused to rise to the bait. Instead he ran his fingers over the little amulet to Mithras that hung around his neck. He was by nature a serious young man and very religious, never ever missing his three daily prayer’s to the sun god at sunrise, noon and sunset.
“Leave him alone Aledus,” Fergus said, “Of course Vittius is one of us and I for one, am happy to have him standing beside me in the line.”
“Do you think he is going to make it?” Catinius said abruptly changing the subject.
Fergus said nothing as he carried on preparing breakfast and for a long moment the barracks room was silent as the men’s thoughts turned to their wounded mess mate, who’d been transferred to the camp’s hospital.
“He’s not going to make it. He’s as good as dead. That wound looked pretty bad,” Catinius muttered at last.
“I bet you,” Aledus exclaimed raising a finger in the air, “that he lives. I have heard that those doctors over at the hospital are pretty good. One denarii says that he will live.”
Fergus shook his head and Catinius frowned. Aledus, a native of Londinium was a cocky, confident spirit and his good looks and natural charm had, he’d boasted, gotten him more girls, than the years he’d lived.
But before any of them could answer the door, was flung open and Furius stomped into the barracks room.
“I’ve got the company orders for the day,” the decanus snapped as he pushed his way through towards the fire to warm his hands. “The day’s password is Trajan. The company is to help unload the grain wagons that are arriving from the supply depot.” Furius paused and turned to glare at Fergus, and for a split moment, Fergus thought he detected a hint of satisfaction on Furius’s face. “Everyone except you four.” Furius continued pointing his finger at the men. “You have another task. Due to the recent disgrace you have brought to the company, Titus has ordered you to run ten laps around the camp. And if any of you fails to complete the run you will all repeat it again tomorrow. The centurion has detailed one of his men to make sure you complete the exercise. So get yourself ready, breakfast can wait.”
The barracks room went silent. Ten laps around the perimeter of the legionary fortress, that was nearly twelve miles, Fergus thought. He glanced at his mess mates and saw the same gloomy resigned look on their faces but none of mates uttered a word of protest.
“Sir, if the centurion wishes to punish us,” Fergus said at last slowly rising to his feet, “It should only be me. I was the one who killed the prisoner. The others were asleep. It was not their fault. It was mine alone.”
“No Fergus,” Furius replied sharply, “Titus has ordered that all four of you are to do the run and if you speak out again, I will make you all run naked.”
“But Sir,” Aledus said carefully, “What about the others? Will they join us on the run? Fergus is right, we were all tasked with guarding the prisoner. It’s not fair.”
“What the fuck did I just say,” Furius growled, swinging round to stare at Aledus. “The centurion has ordered that it be just you four. Now move it. Titus wants you out their sweating within the hour.”
***
The flurry of snow balls came flying towards the four jogging men as they neared the main gates into the vast legionary fortress. Fergus ducked just in time but ahead of him Catinius was hit on the shoulder and from the gates the legionaries on guard duty raised a triumphant cheer which ended in laughter and a few shouted insults. Fergus and his three mess mates however ignored the guards as they ran on towards the watch tower marking the far corner of the playing card shaped camp. The four of them were clad in their hobnailed army boots and simple white tunics with short sleeves and despite the cold, their faces and backs were covered in sweat. It was the third time they had been pelted by their bored comrades. Fergus raised his head and glanced quickly at Catinius who was leading. The bandage around his mess mate’s neck was stained dark red with fresh blood and Fergus could hear his friend’s laboured breathing.
“That’s lap four boys,” Fergus cried out, “We’re nearly half way. Come on we can do this.”
The others said nothing.
Fergus lowered his head and clenched his hands into fists as he stared at the snow covered ground moving beneath his feet. However hard they had made his army training he was not going to give up. He was going to succeed. He was not going to quit. He was going to take everything they threw at him. He would suffer the harsh, relentless physical exercise, the training swims in freezing cold water and the hours of boring guard duty and latrine cleaning duties handed out to new recruits. He was going to be a legionary for somewhere his grandfather, Corbulo, was watching him, judging him, and he would be damned if he was not going to make his grandfather proud. He was going to make Corbulo proud. For that was all that really mattered and no punishment run, nor a bully like Furius was going to change that.
As they started down the side of the fortress a few civilians paused to stare at them. Fergus raised his head again and glanced at Catinius. His mess mate was starting to flag and slow. He should never have been forced onto a punishment run, not with his neck wound, he thought.
“Aledus,” Fergus gasped, “Take over the lead from Catinius, we’ll each lead for one lap, change when we reach the gates.”
Aledus said nothing as he silently moved to the front and began to set the pace and as Catinius drifted back, Fergus gave him a nudge with his elbow.
“You alright mate?”
Catinius replied by shaking his head. His face was lathered in sweat and one of his eyes was twitching uncontrollably. He looked exhausted.
“You are doing well,” Fergus gasped, “You are doing well. Not far now.”
“What do you mean?” Vittius exclaimed with a red face, “We’re not even fucking half way yet.”
“Shut up,” Fergus hissed, giving Vittius a furious glance.
“I get it, I really do,” Vittius snapped, “If one of us fails to complete the run we all do it again tomorrow. But I am telling you, we’re not even half way yet.”
“We’re going to make it,” Fergus said with sudden conviction in his voice, “Don’t any of you dare doubt that. I am not going to face Furius and the centurion and report that we failed to complete this task. Fuck that! Don’t any of you dare give up. Don’t you even think about it!”
Vittius did not reply and Fergus turned to look at Catinius.
“We’re going to do this,” Fergus gasped, “We’re going to complete this run together. We are going to show that piece of shit, Furius, who we really are.”
***
“Final lap, final lap,” Fergus cried out excitedly as he led his mess mates around the corner of the fortress walls and they once again started to head towards the gates leading into the legionary camp. Behind him Aledus and Vittius were supporting Catinius, who was stumbling along leaning heavily on his mess mates for support. Their gasps, groans and panting seemed to be the only noise. Fergus stared at the gates expecting the usual flurry of snowballs and insults from the guards but none came and suddenly he noticed that the ramparts of the fort were lined with off-duty legionaries. He blinked in disbelief and as he did so a great roaring cheer rose up from the walls, a roar of encouragement and as he heard it, a hot flush of pride appeared on Fergus’s face.
“Come on,” he cried out turning to his fellow runners, “We’re nearly there.”
“Take over from me,” Vittius gasped closing his eyes in utter exhaustion. “I am done.”
Fergus slowed his pace and grasping Catinius’s left arm he slung it over his shoulder. Catinius’s eyes were closed and his head was lolling about as if he was sleeping and the back of his tunic was filthy and stained with sweat and fresh blood.
“Listen to those cries,” Fergus roared, somehow finding the strength to raise his voice. “We are going to do this. Don’t give up, not now. Don’t you dare.”
No one replied as they stumbled past the gateway and onwards towards the watch tower marking the north western corner of the fortress. Grimly Fergus bit his lip as they slowly turned and began to make their way down the side of the camp. The stone walls and deep V shaped ditch looked formidable and intimidating. At his side Catinius grunted but did not open his eyes. Spittle was trying to escape from his mouth but his body was too dehydrated to allow it and instead it clung to his chin in a hopeless embrace.
Fergus lowered his head. His legs felt heavy and his breath was coming in ragged gasps and his mouth was bone dry, so dry he could barely swallow. Not far to go now he thought.
As the four of them wearily turned the corner for the final stretch, Fergus raised his head and blinked, trying to focus on the finish line. As he drew closer he saw two men standing beside the gate watching them approach. It was Furius and Titus the company centurion clasping his vine stick. Furius shook his head in silent disapproval as Fergus and his mess mates came to a stumbling, groaning halt before him. Aledus let go of Catinius who instantly collapsed onto his knees and then onto his side. With a sudden rush of energy Fergus straightened up, turned to face the officers and saluted.
“I report Sir, that we have completed our task, Sir”, he gasped as his chest heaved with exertion. “And I will not kill any prisoners again without permission, Sir.”
A little bemused smile appeared on the veteran centurion’s face as he stared at Fergus for a moment before turning to gaze at the gasping, exhausted men lying on the ground. Then gently Titus tapped his vine stick against his thigh and turned to Furius.
“These men are to receive a pass to leave the camp tonight. They have earned themselves a drink; make sure they do,” the centurion said again, and with a final glance at Fergus, he strode away.
Furius watched the centurion walk away. Then slowly he turned to face his men with a sour look.
“I hope you have learned your lesson today,” Furius snarled. “Now get yourselves back to the barracks and cleaned up. When you are done we are going to the hospital to visit our comrade. The doctors say he’s going to live.” Furius paused and then turned towards Fergus. “All of us except you Fergus. I have another task for you.”
Chapter Eleven – Fergus decides
Fergus plunged his face into the barrel of ice cold water and rapidly withdrew it, sending water droplets flying in every direction. The water was instantly refreshing and just what he needed. Around him the rows of identical, single-storey stone barracks blocks stretched nearly all the way to the fort’s outer walls. It was late in the afternoon and it was already growing dark. The temperature too was dropping. Snow covered the tiled roofs and close by a few legionaries, clad in their winter cloaks were warming their hands over a small open fire. For a moment Fergus stared at the men. Then abruptly he rubbed his face with both of his hands and ran his fingers through his hair before cautiously turning to glance at the door leading to his barracks room.
What did Furius want with him now? Was the decanus preparing yet another humiliation for him? The others had already gone to visit their wounded comrade in the camp hospital but Furius had told him to wait.
“Fergus,” Furius suddenly called out from within the barracks room.
Fergus stooped, picked up his leather army belt from which hung his sheathed gladius and quickly fixed it around his waist. Then he strode into the barrack’s room. Furius was sitting on a wooden stool beside the table. The decanus was furiously scratching something onto a small wooden tablet with an iron tipped stylus. His writing however was confident, neat and precise.
“Sir,” Fergus muttered coming to a halt and clasping his hands behind his back.
Furius did not look up and continued his furious writing and for a moment the only sound in the barracks room was the scratching of the iron pen on the soft wood. Then with a flourish Furius finished and laid down his stylus and studied the neat sentences inscribed on the small wooden tablet.
“Take this to the quartermaster’s office,” the decanus growled at last, holding up the wooden letter. “Ask for a man called Janus. It is important that this letter is delivered to him and him alone. Do you understand?”
