Blood Forest by Geraint Jones

Author:Geraint Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michael Joseph
Published: 2017-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

The dawn was dark, the sky thick with clouds that unleashed rain on the tiny marching column, four men wide and twenty deep. Wind buffeted our ranks as we slipped towards the encampment’s northern gate.

Sentries from an auxiliary cohort watched us pass, their dark features scowling against the storm, no doubt pitying those who were stepping from within the relative safety of the marching camp.

Pavo strode at the head of the column. With his drawn sword and his considerable height exaggerated by the crest of his helmet, he made for an imposing figure.

‘He’s keen,’ Stumps sneered.

‘Just wants to get this over, like the rest of us,’ Rufus opined, the usually silent soldier casting restless glances over his shoulder towards the camp’s centre.

‘Forget something?’ Titus asked him.

‘My guts.’ The Gaul forced a smile.

We cleared the rampart. The forest was three hundred yards ahead of us, silent and sullen. Behind the sheet of rain, it was impossible to make out individual trees in the dawn’s gloom, let alone any trace of ambush.

‘Cavalry are on their way out,’ Stumps commented as the first of the mounted detachments thundered their way from behind us, striking for their own chosen paths. ‘Lucky bastards,’ he added, enviously eyeing the troopers’ steeds.

‘You’re better off on foot in a forest,’ Chickenhead countered. ‘Smaller target. Too easy to get picked off from a distance with a horse.’

‘I see you’re a bundle of joy this morning.’

‘Shut it, now,’ Titus ordered.

The forest was twenty paces away.

As we entered the trees, I half expected to be greeted by a chorus of screams and war cries. Instead, the barrage of sound decreased, and the foliage gave some small shelter from the wind and rain.

I hadn’t been the only one expecting trouble to welcome us, and its absence caused more unease amongst the century than an attack would have done; helmeted heads bobbed and twitched as men scanned their surroundings. Ahead, Pavo forged on, and it wasn’t long until we found an obstruction across the track – a tangle of branches brought down by the wind. It was easily negotiable for men on foot, but the already struggling baggage train would need it cleared.

‘Work party up,’ Pavo ordered. The command was passed along the ranks in a hushed whisper, men daring to hope that they could remain in the forest undetected. Eight soldiers – armed with axes, saws and entrenching tools – made their way up to the obstacle, while the other legionaries of the century turned out to the flanks, crouching behind their shields with javelins ready.

I looked over the iron rim of my protection, trying to methodically scan the woodland ahead of me. The rain made identifying details impossible, and with the dawn a carpet of mist was beginning to rise from the forest floor. There could have been a war band a stone’s throw away, and we would have been none the wiser.

The sound of chopping axes and biting saws mixed with the rain, and I turned from my shield to glance at the men dragging the deadfall from the track.

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