Touching the Past

by Stephen Lake

s.lake37@ntlworld.com

Marcus Marinious shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sunlight bouncing off the walls as he climbed the wooden steps to the fort battlements. It was middle of summer in Britain, yet he still felt cold.

He spotted a fellow Roman soldier standing at the far end of the wooden walkway and walked apprehensively towards him.

The tall muscular sentry watched Marcus approach and nodded a greeting when he finally halted in front of him. 'You must be my relief,' he said, his voice deep and guttural. 'You're a bit early, but no matter.' Propping his spear against the wall he took off his helmet and pushed a calloused hand through his greying, short-cropped hair. 'I don't remember seeing you before. When did you arrive?'

'Last night,' said Marcus, staring at the old soldier's battle-scarred hands and brown weather-beaten face. His helmet had dents in places, and the leather cheek guard was almost black with years of sweat ingrained into it. He also noted the gleaming metal breastplate and the threadbare, but immaculate tunic underneath.

'Typical!' said the old soldier, shaking his head. 'You'd think they'd give you a few days to settle in first before doing sentry duty.' He gestured at the thick stone walls of the fort, which surrounded a grass covered square dotted with small tents in the middle. 'Welcome to Gariannonum,' he declared. 'Built in this rat-infested, stinking bog to watch over the river in front of us.'

Marcus glanced at the mud-coloured river one hundred yards away. In between the wall and the river was a waving sea of bulrush and reeds, which partially hid a narrow, well-trodden causeway.

'How many replacements came with you?' said the old soldier, who hadn't introduced himself and Marcus was too afraid to ask.

'Just me,' said Marcus, pushing out his chest and feeling the raw skin on his shoulders rub against the coarse wool of his tunic.

In the square below, soldiers lit campfires for their evening meals and Marcus touched his stomach; he was still feeling queasy after eating a cold meal of horsemeat sausage and watered-down wine.

The old soldier sighed as he scrutinised the young soldier's boyish face and thin spindly legs. 'You're the first we've seen in over six months. Rumours say that there's been trouble in Rome and they're pulling legionnaires back from all over the Empire to defend it. Bloody Huns, no doubt, or the Goths.'

Marcus shook his head. 'I don't know. I've never been to Rome, have you?'

The old soldier smiled. 'It must have been over twenty years ago,' he recollected. 'It was just after a battle where I got this.' He lifted up his heavy woollen skirt to show an eight-inch scar on his thigh. 'A beauty, isn't she? Anyway, I was sent to Rome to recuperate.' His smile turned into a grin. 'The young women of Rome, eh!'

On the river, a lone curlew called out its haunting cry and Marcus shivered.

The old soldier scratched his bristly chin and chuckled. 'So, why have you joined the army, girl trouble back home?'

'Sort of,' said Marcus, pulling his thick woollen cloak tighter about his shoulders. 'Is it always this cold?'

'This is Britain's summer, my little sparrow legs,' the old soldier joked, replacing his helmet and gently tying the strap under his chin. 'Wait until the winter, then you'll know what cold really is, and if you're still alive after that, an eagle you'll become.' He laughed at his own joke and picked up his spear. As he began to walk towards the wooden steps, he stopped and turned around. 'Keep your eyes peeled, my little sparrow legs. Watch out for pirates, brigands and ne'er-do-wells. I don't want my throat slit whilst I sleep, and you can thank the gods that Boudicca is no longer here to keep us awake at night.'

'Boudicca?' said Marcus, stamping his feet in an attempt to keep warm. 'Who is Boudicca?'

The old soldier suddenly grinned mischievously. 'She was the leader of the Iceni tribe and they massacred hundreds of our troops. Cut open their stomachs and ripped out their tongues before impaling them on wooden poles they did. Some nights the ghostly screams of dying legionnaires can still be heard.'

Marcus touched the pommel of his sword.

'They also say Boudicca's hair was aflame with fire of red and gold and she was legendary for throwing a spear further than the best of our soldiers. And when she roared her battle cry even the bravest would wet themselves.'

The sausage meat churned around in his stomach and Marcus felt as if he was going to be sick.

The old soldier reached the bottom of the steps before he spoke once more. 'This was her land and some say that her ghost is still seen looking for Roman soldiers to kill.'

Marcus watched him until he disappeared into the sea of tents, his wicked laughter still ringing in his ears. Swallowing nervously, he began marching along the battlements. Every twenty paces he would stop to stare out over the parapet. On the river, he could see a lone fisherman in a small wooden boat, his oars gently dipping in and out of the water as he glided silently by. Marcus sighed and felt a shiver run through his body. Would he ever get used to this British weather?

Below the wall, bulrush and reeds kissed each other in the gentle gust of wind that was bringing a bank of fog towards him. Reluctantly he resumed his patrol, not looking forward to when darkness fell.

He stopped and sniffed. He could smell something that he instantly recognised. Searching the wall, he finally found it in a crack between two large stones. It was a small flower with yellow petals. ‘Sedum acre, the Biting Stonecrop,’ Marcus murmured. Tugging it from its hidey-hole, he closed his eyes, put it to his nose and gently sniffed the strong perfume. The peppery smell reminded him of his home in Ostia that he had left many months ago. How was a flower so beautiful growing in such a desolate place as this? He pushed it deep inside his tunic. The last time he had seen one he'd been with Angelina. Would she ever forgive him for running away?

Holding the edge of his cloak with one hand and his spear in the other, he continued his lonely vigil.

In the distance, four large boats edged into view, but before he could get a good look at them, they disappeared once again into the fog that was creeping ever closer. He thought of calling out the guard, but knew he would be ridiculed if it turned out to be nothing. Maybe the boats had Roman soldiers in them. He didn't know.

It wasn't long before Marcus was inside a grey, swirling fog that a hazy sun desperately tried to penetrate. He became aware that one false step could send him off the edge of the walkway and stood still, his every sinew straining to catch even the slightest sound. He felt as if he was the only man left alive in the fort and gripped his spear tightly. Was that the sound of an oar slapping on water? He could feel himself beginning to panic now. Maybe he should call the Guard Commander...

Antonio closed his mobile phone with a snap. 'I've managed to book a table for two Sophia, but we'll have to hurry if you want to shower and change first.'

She looked down at her husband of one week and smiled. 'Why, thank you, Mr Rossellini. Ten more minutes, please?'

He laughed and pulled himself up onto the wall beside her. Spending their honeymoon exploring old Roman sites of Britain hadn't exactly been his idea of fun, but deep down Antonio was rather enjoying himself.

'Look at the mortar between these stones,' said Sophia, trying to scrape some out with her fingernail. 'This fort has been here two thousand years, yet our house has already got cracks in the walls and ceilings. When was ours built?'

Antonio shrugged his shoulders in typical Italian fashion. 'About fifty years, I'm not sure.'

'Our ancestors certainly knew how to build things in their day,' she said with a sigh.

Antonio and Sophia leant on the stone parapet and watched a small boat in the distance chugging slowly along a narrow river.

'Isn't it peaceful here, Sophia?'

She placed her hands on the cold stone, feeling the roughness on her fingers. 'I don't know. It seems as if this place is different than the rest we've visited.'

Antonio glanced at his wife. 'I'm sure you said the same thing in York and also when we were at Hadrian's Wall.'

Sophia shook her head. No, it's not that.' She stared at the thick battlement walls of the fort. 'It feels as if this place is trying to tell me something.'

Antonio leant down and kissed her neck. 'That's just the archaeologist in you.' He released his embrace and glanced at his watch. 'We'd better get going or we'll be late.'

Sophia took one last lingering look at the sun slowly dropping closer to the horizon sending long shafts of sunlight dancing across the river. Suddenly, in the heat of the late afternoon sun, she could smell pepper in the air. She sniffed loudly.

'What's up?'

'Can you smell it?' She began searching amongst the stones of the wall.

Antonio shrugged and shook his head.

'It's a small yellow flower called Biting Stonecrop that grows near my village. It has a peppery smell that I would know anywhere.' Her search eventually found what she was looking for. 'There you go!' she exclaimed, pulling Antonio beside her. 'See the small flower?' She pointed at a tiny clump of yellow flowers growing out of a crack in the wall.

'Oh yeah, I can see it now,' said Antonio, reaching down.

'Don't,' said Sophia, grabbing his arm. 'It's unlucky to pick them.'

'Whatever you say,' said Antonio, not believing a word of it.

Sophia gently rubbed one of its leaves and held her fingers to her nose. The smell took her instantly back to her childhood.

'We really have to hurry Sophia, or we'll be late. I'll go and get the car started.' Antonio headed for the wooden steps.

Sophia soaked up the atmosphere for a few more seconds and then turned to leave. She was not alone.

A young Roman soldier with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen was standing on the battlements with her.

Sophia had never believed in ghosts before. Yes, she had been startled and had jumped when she first saw him, but she wasn't frightened, she knew he meant her no harm. She took in his thin spindly legs, a uniform that looked far too big for him and the huge spear grasped in one hand. He was watching her intensely and in the silence that surrounded them, he slowly put his other hand inside his tunic and came out holding something in his fist.

In the distance, Sophia heard Antonio start the car engine.

The soldier waited.

Sophia felt confused. What did he want? Without thinking, she slowly raised a hand in greeting and smiled at him.

He nodded his head and smiled back at her and as he slowly faded away, yellow flower petals fluttered gently to the ground.

Sophia felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and peace, as if over the two thousand years between them they somehow touched, but how could that be? How could she touch the past?

©2008 Stephen Lake

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