THE EXPECTANT VIRGIN

A wounded soldier sees a story begin to unfold...

The old soldier knew he'd been treated badly, but then it was par for the course.

There was no room in the mighty Roman army for a cripple, and he was most assuredly one of those. Not that it had been his fault. He'd been soldiering in what was looked on as a peace-keeping capacity (which meant keeping the locals under control and dealing with anyone who didn't like the idea of being dominated by a centurion and his cohorts by whacking them with the flat side of his weapon) when he'd been set upon by a group of thugs. It was clear they'd been watching him, waiting for him (or one of the company, it didn’t matter to them which) to isolate himself from the rest, and when he'd wandered (under orders from above) away from the barracks they'd jumped him.

Without going into any details they smashed both of his legs and took the sight from one of his eyes. And that meant only one thing: dismissal from the army.

There was no sympathy for a fallen soldier, no muttered endearments and a pension for one who'd met an unfortunate fate, just you'll have to find work elsewhere, soldier, you're no use to us, and bugger off…

Soldiers like him were the lowest of the low, life has taught him that much.

And that had been that. No work, and nobody would employ him because he was dismissed into the world where he worked, amongst enemies. Nobody would even feed him so he had to learn how to steal �" and he became adept at that. He could steal big-time. It's what an ex-soldier had to do, or starve.

And he took to sitting on the dusty road with his back to a wall and watching the world go by, trying his hand at begging but not receiving very much. At first he'd been taunted and treated with what could only be called cruel spite, but his more sympathetic ex-colleagues with their smart uniforms and sharp weapons helped out and made him untouchable.

So he watched the world go by. He saw life as it was lived. He became privy to the underbelly of the minutiae of society. He followed the stories buried in the lives of strangers, and he relished them.

And had he been bothered to write it down he saw a particular event, and his recording of it might have coloured the retelling of it for the next two thousand years and longer. But his literacy was almost non-existent, so he merely watched.

It was a hot day and he was sitting in the dust and leaning back against his favourite wall. A drunk staggered by and spat at him, but there was nothing he could do to retaliate, so he merely shrugged it off as another of life's b*****s and sat and stared. When you can barely walk, he thought, you don't want to be crawling up onto your feet and chasing drunks.

Then he saw the officer walking arrogantly along the road, kicking up dust from his sandalled feet. He knew this Captain. He was somewhere between being a thug and a libertine, a combination that some women for no tangible reason seemed to find attractive. The old soldier tried to pull back into his own shadow so as not to be noticed.

The Captain, it seemed, was in no hurry. He marched past where the Old Soldier, invisible as ever, rested and came to a forking of the way, where he paused and, out of character, whistled.

It was a piercing whistle, and it was effective.

As if in response to that whistle a girl, clearly trying to look unobtrusive, sidled through a doorway and scurried up to the Captain.

“So, Maria, you are here for me,” boomed the Captain.

The old soldier knew of Maria. She scurried quite a bit, and usually towards young men. It was said that a man with gonads bursting would find cheap relief in a few minutes with Maria. He also knew her age and that she was not much more than a child, twelve if she was a day. But her relative youth did not seem to bother anyone, and is was said that her betrothed, a carpenter who could be careless with wood and thus made a meagre living, was happy to live off any gifts she was offered. The Old Soldier knew quite a lot about almost everyone because all he had to do was sit by his wall, and stare, and he had worked Maria and her kin out, all right. It was his favourite game, getting a surrogate second life from the intrigues of strangers.

Trying to look as if he didn’t have a clue what was going on, he stared like the invisible can.

Maria giggled. She obviously liked the Captain, and from the look on his face he seemed fond of her.

They disappeared into the house where Maria lived. Even though she was betrothed to the carpenter she was still accounted too young to marry in an age when even babes in arms sometimes got betrothed, and the house belonged to her father, who worked in the fields some distance off. Her mother had passed away in childbirth two summers earlier, denying her a sister or brother, the b***h, and her father spent long periods away from home, scraping his living wherever he could. But young Maria had opportunity for a great deal of freedom, which she used profitably.

The Old soldier sighed. He'd have liked half an hour with a Maria himself. He'd not been with a woman since before his discharge from the army, and that had been years ago. All men need it sometimes, he thought, it's not easy going without the good old fashioned comforts...

He was still there, sitting in the dust against his wall, when the Captain came back out onto the street, a look of huge satisfaction on his face. He turned to the house, and Maria stood in the doorway.

“Remember your story,” he hissed, clearly intending to be not overheard, though the crippled old soldier heard him. He heard a lot because most folks believe that cripples don't count, that they're too stupid to understand what they hear even if their ears actually work and they do hear stuff.

“You are an angel anyway,” she giggled. “... and I like what you do to me!”

“You and me both,” he hissed. “But if that woodworker of yours wonders why you're growing fat, tell him it was an angel that did it!”

“He believes every word I say,” she laughed.

“And convince him you're still the sweet little virgin he thinks you are.”

“I'll have him believing I was touched by an angel from Heaven,” she whispered. “It'll be fun, watching his face.”

“Good girl. Now when shall I see you next? Maybe tomorrow because we're off on manoeuvres for a few weeks after that and I won't get a chance to see you for ages.”

“Tomorrow, then. I can't wait, my big strong and very well hung angel!”

The Captain winked at her, and turned and walked away, smartly like Captains do, with a swagger in every step he took.

Maria mouthed “don't you dared tell anyone” to the Old Soldier as he disappeared from sight, and winked at him like she often did.

As if I would, he thought, the swine round here deserve everything they get! Spitting at cripples like me! But they'll learn! I'll bet any one of them a sesterce to a button that girl's in the family way and she's got a rare story concocted in case they find out as they’re bound to! Her angel indeed! Pah!.

© Peter Rogerson 06.11.12, re-edited and modified 21.11.16

Author's Note

This is classified as fiction for very good reasons that most people accept these days. Originally posted elsewhere four years ago and re-written today.