He glared at his captain with eyes full of questions. “Wretrauernej dem œbe hen schpækenkan wurisk schpake. (We cannot trust them even if one of them speaks our tongue.)” The experienced soldier warned, feeling naturally paranoid about a band of outsiders.
“Ja, ets unmœjliket kengen eb dejes wirkliket wrebœndedisk aller nej. (Yeah, there’s no way for us to know whether their friend or foe.)” A young soldier backed the captain’s aide. “Dades wæl dej fœred de fændne heer. (Afterall, they led the enemy here.)” Reminded of what these guests have said, he seeded the captain’s mind with doubt that ran deeper than personal paranoia.
A fourth man joined the party, his hands tense on the pommel of his sword. “Aller, dejes kan fændisk… (Or, they could be the enemy themselves…)” The low-voiced sergeant grumbled. “Worsigdet bitten, kapidæng. (I beg you take caution, Captain.)” He neared the balcony, looking down at the century whose resolute eyes forced him to retreat from the edge.
When his comrade’s hand lowered, the captain sighed as he stared at a corner in thought. Whatever he chose to do, to follow his heart or the words of his counsel, he had the final say. Pivoting around on his heel, his thumb held onto his belt, his hand tapping on his pockets as he pondered. He slowly returned to the balcony and showed himself over the walls to the perceptive century who noticed his reappearance. But his demeanour was slightly changed. Still, he may have felt uncertain. However, the pressure from his sergeant’s gaze seemed to have coerced him into deciding in favour of what the majority wanted most.
Gritting his teeth in guilt, the captain’s hands tensed. “Huisk kamreadne hineeren kannej. (We cannot allow you to enter.)” He declared.
“Aben… (But…)” Dumbfounded, Julien raised his voice.
“Deres en mœjlik dadesnej siket, wurisk fændne kan warden fer wurisk bœjgdorne œffnger. (We do not know for certain, but our enemy may be waiting for these gates to open.)” The captain interrupted his pleas, convincing himself with the arguments of his aides. “Ets en risket wretrauer fremdiskne. (It would be a gamble to trust any outsiders.)” Hoping that the corporal would agree, he explained with patience.
The advice of the gatehouse commander undid the efforts of the blonde-haired corporal, who believed their passage was virtually guaranteed. “Wrewægen huisk hineer es sœjnden. Weres wundednæsk— (You cannot possibly deny our access. We have wounded—)” Julien was visibly rattled, his words having quickened as he repeated his urgency.
“Ruhen hu! (Silence!)” The voice of a commander finally surfaced out of the captain, despite never wanting to have to yell. “Schpækennej! (We will speak no more!)” He denied them, growing more steadfast in his decision.
The walls and the century fell silent from the murmurs, and their eyes were diverted towards the captain. Except for the sea breeze, none on either side dared make a sound.
Finally understanding the power he could wield by voice alone, he committed to his judgement. “Umdreer huisk kamreadne und gæwæden. (Turn your men around and be away.)” As negotiations soured to a point of no return, demands began to fly. “Haller kan nonde leber. (You may yet live.)” Then, because of his unusual behaviour, he suddenly uttered a threat.
His line of garrisoned soldiers, hundreds in number, drew their rifles and pulled back on their bolts to load their rounds. Clacks and pings rang out across the front, and locked in their chamber were their bullets primed at the century, their fingers lying on the trigger guard. The survivors flinched on seeing their allies turn their guns at them, and the eighty were forced to draw their weapons out of instinct. They were prepared to hold their ground even if their lives could meaninglessly end in a flash.
Despite an unexpected turn of events, the lieutenant-elect remained composed. “Wait, don’t.” Arminius assured his comrades that all was well.
The sight was upsetting enough, but having marched for nearly a week through blood and mud, having slept with one eye open in the sludge and snow, and having endured near-starvation only to be greeted by allies wielding rifles pointed at them—anyone would have been beyond provoked. Knowing that death awaited them even if they turned around, they could only move forward. Even if they had to fight their allies, who outnumbered them by a disgraceful margin, they still needed to get through. Whether the fort’s walls had to be scaled or its gates had to be smashed down, retreat was not an option.249Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW0Ub81Sdr7
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