Blood Forest Read online

  It was enough of an agreement for Titus, and he cast his eyes about for further confirmation.

  ‘I agree,’ Moonface managed on his second attempt.

  ‘Stumps?’ Titus pressed.

  ‘I’m going to live forever,’ the soldier forced out, using every ounce of his spirit to muster a smile. No one laughed, but Titus’s lip twitched in affection at the effort. ‘But if I don’t,’ Stumps continued, ‘then please, do what you must. Please.’

  ‘Boys?’ Titus asked, turning his attention to the section’s youngest soldiers. ‘It’s time to man up. Wipe the fucking snot from your faces, and give me an answer.’

  ‘I agree?’ Micon said, as if unsure he was being given a choice, his tone as flat as ever.

  ‘I agree,’ Cnaeus stuttered a second later.

  Titus rubbed a huge hand across his stone face. ‘And I expect the same treatment from any one of you, if I get fucked up. No one left behind. Now get off your fucking arses and prepare to move,’ he ordered, and the five exhausted forms roused themselves from the floor, so bone-weary that even the usual litany of curses was absent.

  As Titus turned from them, he saw me on his shoulder and met my look. ‘What?’ he asked, eyes narrowing.

  ‘You didn’t ask me,’ I told him, wondering why. Maybe, even after all we had been through, I was still not a part of this section.

  The man’s face twisted into a savage smile as he gave me my answer. ‘I’ve got a feeling you’ll outlive us all, lucky one,’ he said, brushing by me to the tent’s flap and calling over his shoulder in a voice of iron: ‘Come on, boys. Dawn’s coming.’

  I turned my eyes from him to the other members of the section, seeing the gaunt-faced men hauling armour over their heads and down on to tired shoulders. I was sure that my own appearance was no better – worse, even – than theirs, and yet in this pitiful state we had to face the violence of nature and of our enemies, for it was time to break camp.

  It was time to go back into the forest.

  36

  We formed up in the darkness, our depleted century standing shivering in three files. Despite the burden of shield and equipment, we pressed ourselves together tightly for warmth and reassurance in the face of the unknown.

  I found myself on the right flank of the century, which gave me the uncomfortable choice of wielding my sword in my left hand – a pointless task against anyone but the most poorly trained enemy – or leaving my right side open to the forest and its dangers. To the left of me was young Cnaeus, Titus having ensured that the youngest and greenest soldiers were packed into the formation’s centre, encased by a solid shell of veterans.

  We had left the section’s tent standing, Pavo having issued the orders that the century’s baggage would be left behind. As Chickenhead had predicted, we would be carrying only our arms, armour and the most basic of foodstuffs with us into the forest. A certain amount of extra equipment would be carried on the legion’s mules now that they were relieved of their carts, and amongst that would be tents, but the soldiery expected that these shelters would be reserved for the higher echelons of the command, and perhaps the legion’s elite First Cohort of veterans. For the foot-sloggers in the meat of the army’s fighting arm, the promise of an escape from the elements lay beyond the forest, and in a Roman fort on the Rhine.

  ‘May the gods help us,’ I heard Moonface pray. The devout soldier had doubtless come to the same conclusion, and knew that our days of misery were far from over, even if the Germans were to quit the battlefield. Despite his begging, the divine ones seemed disinclined to interfere with war or weather, and as the first band of dirty yellow light appeared on the horizon, we were given the hushed order to march with wind and rain lashing our pale faces.

  Gone were the trumpets. Gone were the drums. This morning, an army slunk away towards the west like a whipped dog.

  Such was the section’s misery that no one commented when the order of march became evident in the gloom: our own Second Cohort was leading the legion, and therefore the army. As the Second Century in that division, I found myself some thirty ranks back from the tip of the army, a hundred men ahead of me, more than fifteen thousand to my rear, and the gods only knew what host of enemies all around, though I expected we would meet some of their number soon enough.

  With such grim thoughts in mind, I narrowed my eyes against the sheet-rain that drove hard towards us. The gale was so strong that it was almost as if the winds wanted to save us the horror of the forest, trying to drive us back within the earthen ramparts of the marching camp.

  But we pushed onwards towards the black line of the forest. Towards the terror of the enemies’ traps and ambushes, just as infantrymen are supposed to.

  No voices could be heard, only chattering jaws and the rattle of equipment. By the thick black belt that stretched across the horizon, I saw that we were almost within the forest. Then, as the first men entered, what had been a smooth march across the open ground became a stop-and-start stutter, those soldiers who had not yet withdrawn into themselves cursing as their sandalled feet hit half-buried tree roots or slipped on the cloying mud. Was this how Varus planned for his army to slip away from the German tribes who had shown themselves to be a step ahead of us at every turn? If I hadn’t been so terrified, perhaps I could have laughed. We were fucked, I knew deep down, but to survive I had to pretend otherwise.

  Knowing that my balance could make the split-second difference between life and death during the ambush I was certain was coming, I tried to empty my mind of anything but my foot’s placement on the forest’s treacherous floor. I was tired, wet, hungry and bruised, but the sad truth was that I had been existing in such a state for months. My new life in the legions had brought me my first real shelter and proper food in as long as I cared to remember, but now I found myself drifting back to the most basic of animal instincts, shutting my mind to my wretchedness, and concentrating on the sounds and sights – as few as they were – about me. That meant I was one of the few soldiers who did not stalk into the back of the man in front as the column came to a shuddering halt and the whispers began.

  ‘Obstruction on the track.’

  ‘Fuck. What do we do?’ I heard from muted voices.

  What we did was to wait in the darkness, senses tight. Men turned out to face our exposed flanks, shields pulled tightly against their chests like babes to their mothers. As we crouched in the gloom, I knew that scouts would be inspecting the barriers in our path, officers conferring over the course of action. I thought I knew what it would be.

  ‘Second Century to the front.’ My pessimism was justified.

  We moved off at a half-step, the First Century having pushed out on to the flanks of the track, allowing us to stumble our way through their middle, the wall of shields a gutter to funnel us in the direction of the trail’s obstruction.

  ‘There’re logs across the path,’ Pavo whispered, joining us.

  Even in the darkness, I could see that his skin shone bright and pale. He was shaken.

  ‘I’ve sent two sections to clear the closest ones,’ the centurion went on, the slightest of tremors in his voice. ‘Titus, you take your section and clear the smaller logs on the other side to them.’

  ‘Protection?’ the big man rumbled, his tone sounding like distant thunder.

  ‘First Century have men pushed out.’

  ‘Ahead of us?’ Titus pressed.

  There was no answer, which gave us all the answer we needed – we were putting our head into the bear’s jaws.

  Titus had heard enough. He pulled his sword free of his scabbard and, without a word, made to lead off.

  Before he could take a step, Pavo gripped him by the mail of his sleeve.

  ‘There’s more,’ the centurion whispered, attempting to be a voice of calm and order. He failed, his tone cracking. ‘Above the logs. There’s …’ His voice trailed away as he sought out the words.

  After a moment, he gave up trying to find them. ‘Be careful, Titus,’ h
e said instead.

  Behind me, I heard Stumps utter a curse. Every other man was silent, doubtless picturing, as I was, the nightmarish surprises the Germans had left for us. We would have to find them in the darkness, for the rising sun was struggling in its battle with the gloom, and despite the beginnings of a ruddy red glow on the leaves, it was in the long shadows that we moved forward.

  Titus led the way, and this time Pavo did not stop him. A natural motion now, I slipped in behind the big man, the other members of the section following on in single file. Chickenhead, as solid as any man, brought up the rear, ordered to do so by Titus in case any of the section tried to run in the face of the enemy.

  In this order, we drew level with the first work party, soldiers of our own century, their yellow teeth grimacing in the gloom as they worked to haul the thick oaks from the army’s path.

  ‘Quieter!’ a voice of authority hissed from the shadows.

  ‘Come and do it yourself, you cunt,’ came a reply, the insubordination cloaked by the night.

  Led by a soldier of the First Century, Titus skirted the work party, the section winding its way through the labouring soldiers towards our own task. A scream carried from far into the trees somewhere in the night. The sound of it made my balls climb up into my stomach.

  ‘We’re at the head of the army,’ I heard Stumps whisper behind me. He had come alive now that he was beneath the canopy of leaves, his adrenaline pumping. ‘Our section, at the head of the fucking army.’

  But he was wrong. There were soldiers ahead of us. Roman soldiers.

  They were waiting for us.

  Vomit pattered the forest floor. I stood open-mouthed.

  ‘Gods,’ Stumps whispered. ‘Fucking fucking gods.’

  The waiting soldiers were merely silhouettes at first, but as my eyes focused in the grey dawn, I could make out the straps of their sandals, the cut of their tunics and the rope that was twisted thickly about their necks.

  The men hung from the branches like rotting fruit.

  My stomach wanted to leave my body as I looked over them, seeing dead faces twisted in agony or mutilated beyond recognition.

  Then, beside me, I heard a gasp of pain so terrible that I thought we had come under attack. I turned on instinct, bringing up my shield, expecting to find bloodshed and enemies.

  Instead, I found Titus, a titan frozen in grief, choked words fighting to make their way out of his tight throat.

  I had never thought to see him so shaken, so human. I followed his eyes to the cause of this pain, and saw a soldier who waited to greet his comrades in the trees.

  It was Rufus.

  Our comrade’s body swung from the branch with the storm’s violent gusts, each motion causing the tree to creak, the groan as lifelike as if it were coming from Rufus’s own mouth. I looked from the body to Titus, seeing a mountain that was close to toppling.

  ‘No,’ he breathed heavily as the picture sank into his mind. ‘No, Rufus, no.’

  He stepped forward. I looked over my shoulder. In the dirty light of a storm’s dawn, I saw the faces of the section wide-eyed in horror and grief.

  ‘Keep them with the century,’ I told Chickenhead, slapping his shoulder hard to drive home the point. The man acknowledged me with a nod. Then I closed up on to Titus’s shoulder.

  He did not acknowledge me as he paced slowly forward, his limbs seeming to struggle with the effort, his eyes never leaving his friend’s face.

  My own eyes were sweeping the forest floor, desperately searching out some trap that the enemy might have laid in our path, using our fallen comrades as bait. Then, as the rope and its branch creaked again in the wind, I looked up at the man who, for a short time, had been my comrade. A man who I knew was a loving father and a trusted brother to his friends.

  Even in the gloom, I saw enough to know that Rufus had not died a good death. I wanted to look away, but some sick sense made me stare at the carnage. The image seared into my mind, where I knew it would dwell forever, with all of the others.

  I fought down the wave of nausea as I took in the sight of him. Rufus’s guts hung from him like uncoiled rope, his belly sliced apart like a sow’s. His jaw was hinged open grotesquely, likely broken before death, the mouth now held wide by his own cock and balls.

  ‘Fuck,’ was all I could utter, for it was as ignominious an end as any man could suffer.

  The defilement was too much for Titus – it would have been too much for any comrade of the dead men in the trees – and that, I knew, was what the Germans had been counting upon.

  ‘Bastards!’ he roared, regaining some of his strength and making as if to climb the tree and cut down his friend’s body, desperate to restore some dignity to his comrade.

  I could see no traps in the shadows, but experience told me that what he was doing would only bring more death to our section.

  ‘Bastards!’

  ‘Titus, don’t,’ I hissed against the wind.

  I was ignored. He began to climb.

  ‘I’ll kill all you bastards!’

  ‘Titus,’ I hissed again as he began to make progress into the branches.

  There was no getting through to him. I knew that my next action would as likely kill me as an enemy snare, but fuck, what choice did I have?

  I grabbed one of Titus’s exposed ankles and jumped, putting all of my weight on to the man who was already straining the tree’s thin branches. They snapped instantly, and we fell the short distance to earth, the air driven from my lungs as the giant collapsed on top of me.

  ‘You cunt,’ he growled, raising his thick fist.

  I had been expecting the attack and rolled away quickly; Titus’s knuckles pounded into the dirt beside my head. I prepared for the second attempt, but the big man soon forgot me as he caught sight of his friend’s swinging feet; once again, he was lost to grief and not in control of his actions. Titus scrambled from the slippery mud of the forest floor and made to pull Rufus down from the branches as I had done to him.

  ‘Don’t!’ I called, rushing to his side.

  But I was too late.

  Titus pulled on his friend’s bloodied legs with all of his might, snapping the branch, and Rufus and his entrails dropped to earth.

  Bringing the enemy’s trap with him.

  It was a solid mass of deadfall that crashed through branches as it plummeted towards us, splinters showering the forest floor like confetti at the games. I was already moving, my momentum giving me enough power to hit Titus side on with my shoulder, the big man spinning backwards and clear, but the crash sent me tumbling. I hit the ground alongside Rufus’s body, my hands sliding into the cold slime of his guts. I had no time for disgust; using every ounce of strength in my battered body, I pushed with my arms and rolled away to my side.

  The deadfall smashed to earth a split second later, obliterating the corpse of the man who had been Titus’s closest friend and showering me with his blood and churned dirt.

  ‘Rufus!’ Titus wailed. Beyond grief, the big man pulled his helmet from his head and cast it like a pebble into the forest’s shadows – where I heard it hit metal.

  Before I could breathe, the enemy attacked.

  37

  The Germans charged from the gloom with a violence that matched the storm, their war cry promising murder.

  Titus seemed to smile as he turned to face them. He’d lost his sword in the chaos of the deadfall. He would meet the enemy with bare fists and bared teeth.

  ‘Titus!’ I called, tossing him my own blade and pulling my shorter dagger from its sheath. There was no time to run back to the shields of the century – German spears would impale our exposed backs long before we made it – and so there was nothing to do but face the rush and fight like dogs for every extra second of life. I did not assume there would be many.

  The Germans’ silhouettes looked huge in the gloom. I intended to use my smaller size to my advantage, placing my back against a tree so that my own shadow was faint, my rear defended from Ger
man blades.

  The first tribesman was on me in moments, axe raised high, shield low. With such poor handling of his weapons, I knew that he was a green soldier – this would be his first and final taste of combat. I stepped inside the arc of his unwieldy swing and killed him with the first thrust of my dagger, the blade punching through his unarmoured chest to burst his heart; his death cry came as a strangled gurgle.

  I took up the dead boy’s shield with no more than a second to spare; there was a harsh clang of metal on metal as a weapon struck against its surface. I whipped my blade low, slicing across shin, then drove it upwards into an exposed groin, the man howling in agony as he stumbled away into the trees. I let him go. From such a wound, he would be dead within minutes.

  I pressed my back against the tree and held the shield across my chest. I saw the shadows of the enemy coming from the mist-shrouded trees like ghouls: an army of the undead, it seemed. Many of them ignored my presence, charging instead towards the battle that I could now hear raging behind me. The vanguard of the army had been engaged, and myself and Titus were inconsequential distractions for those few soldiers who yearned for single combat.

  In the gloom I caught sight of the roaring section commander. Titus stood like a volcano on the forest floor, death to all those who came within arm’s reach, his blade chopping and hacking like a berserker’s. Consumed by rage, not content to stand on the defensive, he ploughed into the enemies who had so cruelly killed his friend.

  Titus reaped a terrible revenge. With my own eyes, I saw him dispatch more than a dozen men. The sword I had thrown him abandoned in sucking flesh, Titus wielded an axe in each hand, the metal heads chopping into meat as if he were the butcher and the enemy the frightened sheep.

  In all my days of combat, I had never seen a man so single-minded in his slaughter.

  I pushed a dead German from my blade. Wiping blood from my eyes, I saw the beginning of daylight penetrating the forest. There were no rays of sunshine, only a gradual raising of the gloom, but it was enough for me to see the faces of our enemies now, some defiant, others terrified. It was enough for me to see Titus, more gore than man.