Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  Olbert joined Tabbo as he walked through the woods towards the river. The war chief’s face was hard with determination. Olbert had lost his usually jovial manner, the reality of what awaited them bearing down on him.

  “Can the Romans be beaten?” he asked quietly. Even in the middle of the forest he still felt as if eyes were watching them. After what had happened to the King’s messengers no one felt safe.

  “I don’t know,” Tabbo replied. “I try to assure our people that we can achieve victory, but to you, my brother, I cannot lie. I have seen them fight, and they will be a fearsome enemy. I have an idea that just might work, or at least will give us a fighting chance. Archers are scarce amongst our warriors, and I will need every last one for this plan to have a chance.”

  “I’m listening,” Olbert replied, his determination matching his war chief’s.

  “Next spring, when that bastard comes to collect his tribute…” Tabbo began, his eyes filled with rage.

  Chapter XV: Another Way to Die

  Ljouwert, Frisia

  March, 28 A.D.

  ***

  Spring had come to Frisia and with it the Olennius and his tax collectors. At night on the day before they were expected to arrive in Ljouwert, a host of men gathered in the sacred grove dedicated to the goddess, Freyja. Tabbo understood his King’s hesitation, as did the other warriors present.

  “Rome,” King Dibbald began, “has long been an ally to the people of Frisia. I served with Tiberius many years ago in Pannonia, long before he became Emperor. Our efforts to make him aware of our plight have been in vain. Our ambassadors have been assassinated. Our pleas for assistance have gone unanswered.” He paused and gazed up at the sky, as if asking the gods for an answer. He knew that what he was about to propose amounted to treason against the Empire, as well as to his friend, the Emperor. Tabbo spoke up quickly.

  “Sire, Tiberius may have been your friend, but will we allow our people to starve to death before he hears of their suffering? Whatever your command, know that all the warriors of our nation will follow you!”

  “Starvation…enslavement,” Dibbald continued, his resolve renewed with vigor. “These are what our women and children have been subjected to. If we do nothing to protect them, then we have failed in our duties as men and warriors of Frisia!”

  The warriors stood silent, though there was intensity in all of their faces.

  “What will you have of us do, sire?” Lourens asked.

  “The magistrate Olennius has given us an ultimatum,” Dibbald replied. “It is time he had his answer, in the only way left to us.” As he spoke his eyes reflected the flames of vengeance.

  Two dozen tax collectors stood idly in front of the raised dais in the center of Ljouwert. Olennius was so convinced of the Frisian’s docility that he had but a few personal bodyguards on either side of him. As per his orders, the wives and daughters of the noblemen stood gathered in front of the dais. He knew that the Frisians would be unable to meet his taxation demands, and he and his taxmen had already made a list of who amongst the noble women would make the finest prizes for the slave trade. Olennius had his eye on Queen Femke herself. The bitch stood with an air of noble defiance at the center of the women, head held high and looking past him as if he didn’t matter. The magistrate looked forward to having her as his slave. A few lashes of the whip would put her in her place, as it had her husband.

  “People of Frisia!” Olennius shouted. “It is the spring equinox; the time has come for you to give Rome what is due to Rome! Have you my tribute, or shall I take it in the form of your wives and daughters?”

  “We have your tribute!” King Dibbald roared as he lunged through the crowd of women. As he stood in front of his wife, he drew a hand axe from beneath his cloak. “And here it is!”

  With a flash the axe flew from his hand and embedded itself in the skull of the nearest tax collector. The man never saw it coming, his eyes crossed, tongue jutting out of his twitching mouth as blood and brain streamed down his face. Olennius’ eyes grew wide as the slain tax collector fell face first off the dais.

  A universal cry of rage echoed forth from the gathered host. Cloaks were thrown back, swords and axes gleaming in the sunlight. The magistrate stumbled backwards and jumped from the dais as warriors swarmed his tax collectors and bodyguards. Only two men managed to escape with him, dropping their weapons as they ran for their lives. No one noticed at first, as their wrath was spilled forth on the hapless taxmen who were in shock as they were violently pulled from the dais and beaten. Though armed, the bodyguards were untrained and quickly overwhelmed.

  “Don’t kill them!” Tabbo shouted above the howls of rage from his warriors. “We have something better in mind.” Vicious laughter replaced the war cries as they drug their helpless prey through the streets. It was just then that a warrior spotted Olennius and two of his bodyguards riding away on horseback.

  “Here! Those bastards are escaping!” Tabbo leapt to the top of the dais and was enraged once more when he realized that the one man they wanted the most had gotten away.

  “Freyja damn them!” he swore quietly in frustration.

  “Those barbaric bastards! They killed my taxmen and almost had me as well!”

  Apronius sat quietly while Olennius ranted, his voice breaking in panic. Finally he raised a hand to quiet the hysterical magistrate.

  “The Frisians have been loyal for many years,” the Legate observed. “Why would they…”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter why!” Olennius bellowed.

  He was quickly silenced as a fist slammed onto the table. It was Master Centurion Calvinus, his face red with anger.

  “Know your place, magistrate!” he snarled. “You will show respect when addressing the Imperial Legate or I will deal with you myself!”

  Olennius glared at the Master Centurion, but he said no more. Calvinus stood and nodded to Apronius, who had remained composed in spite of the magistrate’s blatant insult.

  “Make a full report and have it ready to address the Senate,” the Legate directed. “Doubtless they will want to know the details surrounding the potential loss of a province. I will take care of informing the Emperor myself. In the meantime, I suggest you rest and make ready to ride to Rome. We will handle the Frisians.” There was an air of finality in his words.

  Olennius opened his mouth to protest, but caught sight of the Calvinus, who was clenching and unclenching his fist, the expression on his face daring the magistrate to speak out of turn again. Instead, he turned and quickly exited the Principia. Once he had left, the calmness of Apronius’ demeanor evaporated.

  “How the hell that man ever became a magistrate is beyond me,” he said, his face bearing a look of utter disgust.

  “I knew Olennius when he was in the ranks,” Calvinus conjectured. “Let’s just say his promotions were not based upon merit.”

  “Hmm, no love lost between you two then,” Apronius remarked. “Still, it is the way of the Empire; friends in the right places will always get one further than merits or ability. I mean, we’ve all been guilty of it, having used an influential colleague to get what we want, or even using our own status to help a friend.”

  Calvinus’ face frowned at the remark, but he knew it was true. He was then reminded of Centurion Fulvius, who had been slain by then-Optio Artorius. That sorry excuse for a Roman had been another glaring example of the wrongs within the system. Given his connections, had he lived, Fulvius surely would have become another Olennius.

  “Start mobilizing both legions,” Apronius ordered while the Master Centurion was still in deep thought, “and send word to Legate Labeo of the Fifth Legion.”

  “Right away, sir,” Calvinus answered, quickly leaving the office. Apronius then turned to his Chief Tribune, who had been silent throughout the entire affair. “I want you to personally go find Tribune Cursor and Commander Indus. I think we shall need their assistance.”

  “We are with you, my King!” a warrior cried, raising his
axe to the sky as King Dibbald rode past on his magnificent charger. Tabbo and Lourens rode at his side, and both men were elated to see just how many of Frisia’s warriors were now massing at the sacred groves, a scant few miles east of the northern Rhine bridge.

  “The Daughters of Freyja are with you, sire!” Amke shouted as the King and his entourage rode past her regiment. The women warriors of Frisia had a fierce air of determination about them, anxious as they were to prove their worth to their King and nation.

  “All our people are with us,” Tabbo emphasized as they gazed upon the hordes of warriors assembling. “And more will come.”

  “Praise the gods!” Dibbald replied. “I had feared that many of our people had lost heart.”

  “Sire, every man and boy of fighting age will come,” Lourens responded, “to say nothing of your niece’s own regiment.”

  “The Daughters of Freyja are indeed brave,” the King concurred with a nod. Then he muttered quietly to himself, “I just hope they are not needed.”

  Tabbo’s face twitched at hearing the King’s thoughts, though he could not blame him. If time came to commit the Daughters to battle, then things would have taken a dire turn indeed.

  “I have all the sub-chiefs breaking their warriors into their assigned regiments,” Tabbo stated. “Every man knows where his place is. Our forces that have arrived over the last two days alone outnumber the Army of the Rhine. With hundreds, possibly even thousands more to come, we will give the Romans hell for what they have done!”

  “Easy, friend,” Prince Klaes said, riding up behind his friend. “Do not forget your own counsel on what the Romans are capable of.”

  “Of course,” Tabbo replied with a nod. “I am simply heartened that our people have chosen to stand and fight, rather than cowering and starving in the dark.”

  The war chief then rode off on his own, for it was he who would lead the Frisian army on their first steps towards freedom. Just across the Rhine the small fort at Flevum was still occupied by legionaries. All the way to the bridge the path was crowded with Frisian fighting men, as well as any boy deemed old enough to carry a weapon. At the clearing just short of the bridge were a number of sub-chiefs, the regimental commanders of the Frisian army. Unlike many of their neighbors, the Frisians were highly organized, similar in structure to the Romans, though tailored to their methods of fighting.

  “Hail Tabbo! Chief of chiefs!” one of the warriors cried, raising his sword in salute.

  “Hail Tabbo!” the assembled leaders echoed. He could not deny that it flattered him deeply to be referred to as such. It had been twelve years since he had swung his weapon in anger. The irony was that he was now fighting against those whom he had fought beside all those years ago. There were men of the First Legion that occupied the Flevum Fort who were veterans of Idistaviso and former brothers-in-arms. It mattered not. Friendships went out like a candle in storm, and these men were now his mortal enemies.

  “What orders do you bring for us on this glorious day?” Olbert, who was one of the leading regimental commanders asked.

  “We are to lay siege to the fort at Flevum,” Tabbo replied, eliciting an excited cheer from his men. “Easy, my friends! Remember, the fort is not the prize we seek. The King does not wish to lose men needlessly assaulting it. We will give the Romans time to surrender peacefully. If they refuse, then we will take the fort by force.”

  “Why give the Romans any time?” Sjoerd asked, stepping forward in front of his men. “We gave them two years while that bastard Olennius starved and brutalized our people! Why should we give these Romans any quarter?”

  “Because if we don’t, the Emperor Tiberius will unleash the entire Roman Army against us,” Tabbo retorted. “Let us not forget their response to the Cherusci. Some of you fought beside me at Idistaviso. You know the enemy we face. If we are to bloody the Romans, it will be when they send the Army of the Rhine against us. I have no doubts that they have already been mobilized and are on the move. Besieging Flevum is little more than a tactic to drive them into us.”

  “And where do you plan to face them?” Olbert asked, to which Tabbo smiled and pointed to the ground at his feet with his axe.

  “Right here,” he replied. “The Romans will not be able to mass their forces while crossing the bridges. If we can smash just one of their legions it will avenge our people. It will also make the Romans think twice about trying to attack us on Frisian soil. As soon as the Army of the Rhine has been halted and thrown back across the Rhine in defeat, the King will sue for terms with the Governor General, provided he survives. Legate Apronius is the type of Roman who leads from the front, so there is a great possibility he will fall during the battle.”

  “All the better for us!” Sjoerd shouted, which brought further cheers from the host.

  “One question that troubles me,” Olbert interjected. “How do we intend to contain a single legion on this side of the river and not allow the rest of their army to cross?” The ominous grin that crossed Tabbo’s face told his men that he already knew how to deal with containing the Army of the Rhine.

  As the meeting broke and Tabbo started to walk his horse away, a voice calling his name interrupted him. It was Amke, her voice filled with annoyance. Tabbo already knew what she wanted to talk to him about.

  “I beg you,” she pleaded. “Let the Daughters be one of the regiments to attack Flevum!”

  “It is not my place to do so,” Tabbo replied with a shake of his head. “Your warriors are part of the King’s personal guard, therefore only he can allow you to take part in any battle.”

  Amke’s face darkened at the explanation.

  “Why is my uncle holding us back?” she asked, glaring at the war chief. “Are we to be nothing more than fetching girls, carrying weapons and wearing scant leather armor for the old warriors to jerk off to?” She was enraged, and her frustration had reached the boiling point.

  “Amke, why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because that’s all I am!” she retorted. “As great a warrior as Lourens is, his lust for me makes me feel dirty. Were I not clad as I am, enabling some twisted fantasy in him, and doubtless others, he would not spare me a second glance! It makes everyone feel good about having a regiment of female warriors, as if that makes our people more civilized, and therefore superior, to other tribal nations. And yet if we are not allowed to fight, then we are nothing but sexual fantasy material for a bunch of perverted old men and pubescent boys!”

  Tabbo let out a sigh and knew Amke made a compelling argument.

  “Daughter, I sympathize with your plight, believe me. Know this: the siege of Flevum will be but the first step towards freedom for our people. Also, remember what I showed you of the Romans. Though the King wants to avoid as much unnecessary bloodshed as possible, I know that Apronius will unleash the entire Army of the Rhine on us. Our warriors are encouraged because they have been without hope for so long, but deep down they understand that this victory will come at a terrible price. Many will die, and I promise you that some of the Daughters of Freyja will be amongst them. The King knows this, and he fears for your safety. He also knows that he will need every able-bodied warrior before this is done. I give you my word; you will get your chance to avenge yourself against the Romans. Just be careful what you wish for.”

  Gaius was practically giddy with excitement as his section laid out their tent and all its components. It was standard practice before any unit movement to inventory and check the serviceability of all equipment they would take with them.

  “Weapons and full kit inspection will be done before supper tonight,” his Decanus said as he read off the wax tablet where he had hastily taken as many notes as he could during the Century’s leadership meeting. “Any issues will be fixed before first formation tomorrow. Centurion Artorius and Optio Praxus will be conducting an inspection of the entire Century. They will have more details about the pending expedition then.”

  “And I thought I was going to serve out my
entire tenure in the legions without seeing any real action!” a legionary stated, causing a short laugh from Gaius. “What? I’ve been in the army for six years now and haven’t done shit with my gladius except sharpen and oil it! I mean, how many years has it been since this legion saw any real action?”

  “Eight,” the Decanus answered abruptly. He then let out a sigh.

  Though still a young man himself, the Sergeant was the only soldier in his squad who served during the rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus. He had enlisted just after the campaigns of Germanicus Caesar, so he understood how his men felt. He realized that the soldier who had asked the question was the oldest in the squad besides him. As he glanced at their collective faces he saw young boys. Three of his men, including Gaius Longinus, were fresh out of recruit training. The Decanus then shook his head. Youthful they may have appeared, but these were still trained legionaries. They would soon embark on the final test that would define them as men.

  Artorius sat deep in thought as he scribbled notes on a copy of his Century’s roster. Though he knew most of his men by both face and name, there were many that he had to stop and think about before realizing who they were.

  “You alright?” Praxus’ question startled him. He did not even realize that the Optio had been standing in front of him the entire time.

  “Sorry,” he replied, sitting back in his chair. “I was just going over the roster. I’m still trying to put all the names to faces of our men.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you have an overly successful recruiting drive,” Praxus replied with a wink. “Hell, I worked with them through recruit training, and I’m still trying to remember all their names. Of course, you know in another twenty years this century will be going through another mass discharge when they retire.”