Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  “That’s Rodolfo’s armor alright,” Cursor observed.

  “We know he can’t have been captured,” the Decanus added. “Otherwise they would have taken his armor and weapon. It’s as if he just laid down his arms and left.”

  “Why would he leave his weapon?” another trooper asked quietly.

  “Does anyone else know about this?” Cursor asked.

  The Decanus shook his head. “No, sir. I came to fetch you as soon as we found it. I asked the lads on the gate if they saw the Centurion leaving, and they said they had. He was on his horse, and it looked like his saddle bags were full. They asked where he was heading, and he told them to mind their own fucking business…well, with a reply like that, a mere trooper is not exactly going to question a Centurion further, now is he?”

  A breeze caused the torches to flicker in the blackness.

  “Why would he leave us like this?” a trooper asked to no one in particular.

  The Tribune stared at the man and then understood. These particular infantrymen were from Batavia. They probably did not even realize that Rodolfo was a Frisian by birth.

  “Take his gear and follow me,” Cursor ordered as he walked back towards their camp. He let out a sigh as his fears regarding Rodolfo bore down on him.

  Were he but a mere trooper, his absence would not have been noticed for some time. As it was, Rodolfo was the senior ranking Centurion within the Rhine Army’s Auxilia. He had been Cursor’s organizational second-in-command for several years, and the two men had grown close over that time. The Centurion had reassured him constantly that though a Frisian, his loyalty was to Rome. He had kept his oath and fought with valor. Cursor now reckoned that, in the aftermath of battle, the truth had been too much for Rodolfo to bear. So far, word as to the reasons behind the war had not been made public, but Cursor knew it was only a matter of time. In spite of their losses, the Romans had defeated the Frisian army, and now had their entire force on the far side of the river. And yet no orders of a pending advance. Even the lowest legionary knew that Rome did not cross into hostile territory and simply stop after defeating the enemy’s army. The senior officers all knew the real reasons, and this include Centurion Rodolfo.

  After passing through the camp entrance he made his way directly to Rodolfo’s tent. As he pulled back the flap of the tent, he was not surprised to see many of the Centurion’s personal effects missing, along with the blankets for his cot. On Rodolfo’s desk sat a large chunk of wood. It was an unfinished bust of a horse that he had been working on.

  “Set his gear on his cot,” Cursor ordered.

  The men did as they were ordered, their faces still showing their befuddlement. The Tribune then ordered the men to leave. He called out to the Decanus as the man walked out of the tent.

  “Sir?” the auxiliary asked.

  “Good work finding this,” Cursor replied. “Let the officers of the watch know that with the exception of authorized patrols, no one is to leave camp without my expressed permission. I don’t care what their rank is; no one leaves unless I personally clear it.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Decanus replied with an understanding nod.

  Cursor then sat down on Rodolfo’s cot and rested his chin in his hand. He was very tired and could not remember how many of his men were of Frisian origin. How many of them would attempt to desert when word about Rome’s betrayal of their people reached them? Cursor then shuddered at the thought of that vile word…desertion. All the evidence showed that Centurion Rodolfo had deserted his post, an offense that was punishable by death. He let out another sigh and looked around the tent.

  He lit the lamp on Rodolfo’s desk and tried to see if there were any clues. In the dim light he saw a piece of parchment sticking out from underneath the horse bust. Cursor unfolded it and knew what it would say before he even read the first word.

  My friend and honored brother, Aulus Nautius Cursor,

  It is with a heavy heart that I write these words. For nearly thirty years I have served Rome in the Auxilia. And now, at the last, Rome has betrayed me and my people. I cannot return to my people, for I have committed unjust war against them. I also can no longer serve the Empire that used me as a weapon of atrocity. Therefore, I am without a nation that I can call my own. Please do not come looking for me. I go to start my life anew.

  I regret that I was unable to finish carving the horse for you.

  Your loyal friend,

  Rodolfo

  “Do you mind explaining this to me, Tribune?” Apronius snarled as Cursor stood rigid. “Here I have an order signed by you, approving a leave of absence for Centurion Rodolfo, and at the same time you request a leave of absence for yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cursor replied, keeping his eyes looking straight ahead. The Legate shook his head, disbelieving what he was hearing.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he snapped. “I hope you realize we are still in Frisian territory…”

  “Just for another day or so,” Cursor interrupted.

  Apronius slammed his hand on the table, silencing him.

  “I forgive your insolence only because it was your ten thousand that saved us in Braduhenna,” he said slowly. Apronius then looked away for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what the Tribune was asking of him. His voice softened slightly as he addressed Cursor once more. “You know, I would hate to have to present you with a court martial the same day you were awarded the Grass Crown. Oh, stand easy already!”

  He then threw a pile of papers down in front of Cursor. They were awards recommendations. Even in the wake of such a horrific battle, with names of the dead and wounded still being tallied, the efficient Roman bureaucracy still thrived. Officers, who even if they could not stand were still able to read and write, had hastily written awards recommendations for the most valiant of their men who still lived. Most were narratives for the Silver Torque for Valor. Intermixed were a handful of Civic Crowns. Apronius then showed Cursor another parchment. It was a large roll of all the awards and their status. At first glance it looked as if all of them had “approved” scrawled next to them. It was then that Cursor saw Rodolfo’s name on the Civic Crown list.

  “You saved the entire Valeria Legion,” Apronius observed. “For that you have Rome’s eternal gratitude. With that in mind, I think you had better explain to me what is happening with your Centurion.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cursor then told the Legate how his men had found Rodolfo’s armor the night before, along with the message the Centurion had left for him.

  “I want to give him an official leave of absence until I can find him,” the Tribune explained. “In light of the circumstances, I do not wish to charge him with desertion.”

  “And what of the other men in this army that are of Frisian birth or ancestry?” Apronius asked. “Centurion Rodolfo is hardly the only one who had to face the possibility of fighting members of his own family. Rumors are already running rampant as to what really happened between us and the Frisians, especially in light of our pending withdrawal. If we allow Rodolfo to arbitrarily leave, then what’s to stop the other Frisian auxiliaries from doing the same thing? Hell, I have legionaries whose families were originally from Frisia!”

  “Just give me a few days, I know I can find him and reason with him.”

  “Even if you are able to find him,” Apronius interjected, “I doubt that you will be able to convince him to return to the ranks.”

  Cursor closed his eyes and tried to think fast. He then came to the most likely and reasonable course of action he could fathom.

  “Rodolfo has spent more than thirty years in the army,” Cursor replied calmly. “He’s done his duty and proven his valor more than any man I know. He can retire from the army at any time, and to be quite blunt, he has earned the right to take a few liberties at the end.”

  Apronius sat with his chin in his hand. It was clear he did not wish to make an example out of Centurion Rodolfo. He also knew that while good order and discipline had to be ma
intained, Cursor was correct.

  “Alright,” he said at last. “I will see to what needs to be done. But know this, I hold you fully responsible for the morale and discipline of your men. Your men may be heroes now, but any lapses in order because of this and I will personally take it out of your hide!”

  “Sir, the loyalty of my men has never been in question,” Cursor responded. “The responsibility for their actions is mine alone. I take it then that my leave has been approved?”

  Tabbo helped to redress Amke’s wounds. The young warrior maiden was awake, though in terrible pain. The gash on her arm he stitched up with some thread that he found among the supplies, as well as the wound on her hip. A bandage was wrapped around the young woman’s head, as well. Spouses and loved ones returned to the grove to aid the wounded. Even Queen Femke assisted in bandaging and treating the more serious injuries. She had yet to let the impact of losing her husband and her son break her, not when so many were suffering and in need of aid. It had barely sunk into Tabbo’s mind that he was now King of Frisia, even after his negotiations with the Romans. While he was consciously aware of it, he was still the warrior at heart, and right now his fellow warriors needed him.

  “I had one,” Amke said weakly. “My sisters were falling all around me, but I got through their shield line, and I had one of them. My axe failed me…it bounced off his armor, as if the gods were mocking me. It was then that he did this to me.” With her good arm she pointed to her face. “I bested a legionary, and it was only his armor that saved him.”

  “You fought well, sister,” Tabbo said, the sibling term showing he viewed Amke as an equal. “Do not think that because the Roman survived that you are any less worthy as a warrior. Our war with Rome was short and terrible, but now it is over. A legionary may not have fallen by your hand, but you did help make our people free.” Amke tried to force a smile, though the pain made her groan once more.

  “I guess one more dead legionary would have made little difference,” she reasoned. “Still, it sickens me that more than half of the Daughters of Freyja died out there, and I could not avenge them with even a single Roman.”

  “Most of our greatest warriors did not get the chance to kill a Roman either,” Tabbo replied. “Many of those who did are now on funeral pyres themselves.”

  “I just hope the bastard who caused all this suffering pays for his crimes!”

  “I have the personal reassurance of the Roman Governor General that he will,” the King said. Amke looked at him in disbelief.

  “And you trust this Roman?” she asked. Tabbo nodded in reply. “Why?”

  “Because he has kept his word to our people,” he answered. “The Romans are preparing for their withdrawal across the Rhine even as we speak. He paroled every last one of our wounded who had been taken prisoner, even going so far as to have his men tend to their wounds first. I think it will be a long time before a Roman crosses into Frisia again.”

  For the King of Frisia there was no rest. No sooner had Tabbo left Amke’s side than he felt he needed to seek out Queen Femke. He had yet to see his own wife, Edeline, and wondered if she even knew that she was now Queen of Frisia? Thousands had gathered in and around the grove, and it was no wonder he could not find his wife. Families of the dead were carrying off the bodies under a cloud of mournful wails. Those who tended to the wounded did so with a feverish desperation to save those who were on the doorsteps of the afterlife. Frisian medicine paled in comparison to Roman, and Tabbo felt their wounded would have been better left as prisoners of war.

  It was only by a stroke of luck that Tabbo found both Femke and Edeline together as they tended to a badly injured young Frisian warrior who looked to be little more than an overgrown boy. The lad was covered in sweat, and he was convulsing violently as he spewed bile and blood from his lips. Then, suddenly, he was still, his eyes staring lifelessly into the night. A shriek from his mother, who held his hand during the ordeal, caused the two women to cringe and back away slowly. Tears were in their eyes as they felt the mother’s pain of loss. They stood and both caught sight of Tabbo at the same time. Edeline gave a sigh of relief upon seeing her husband.

  “My King,” Femke said with a deep bow. Edeline’s mouth was agape, and Tabbo surmised that she did not know what had transpired in Braduhenna.

  “King?” she asked.

  Tabbo nodded sadly. “By the last words of Dibbald Segon before he passed into eternity,” he replied. Edeline then turned and placed her arms around Femke, who finally let loose the tears she had been holding back for her husband and son. Tabbo embraced both women, his wife clinging to him as she tried to comfort Femke.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said repeatedly.

  Femke was unable to speak and could barely gasp for breath as the weight of her loss consumed her. Tabbo guided them away and onto a patch of grass just outside of the light of a nearby fire. Edeline sat and leaned against a tree, holding the queen dowager close to her. The King was suddenly very tired. His wife sensed this and held an arm out for him. He sat down next to her and laid his head on her shoulder. He had not slept since before the Romans drove them from Flevum. Edeline laid Femke’s head in her lap and wrapped both arms around her husband, who was already fast asleep.

  For the Romans returning from Frisia, theirs was also a time of mourning rather than celebration. Diana stood with many of the officers’ spouses, common law wives of the men of the ranks, as well as other family members as the Third Cohort slowly made its way through Cologne towards the fortress. Unlike previous campaigns, there was no music, no celebrations, and no laurels of victory. Their brave legionaries and their auxiliaries had triumphed, yes, but at such a terrible price that there was no mood for celebration, only sorrow. It had been a slow week of travel to bring them back to Cologne.

  As bad as she had been told it was, nothing prepared Diana for the sight of the Second Century. Only sixteen men marched behind the Signum, which was now carried by a Decanus. Signifier Rufio was amongst the wounded, along with the rest of the Century that had not made their final journey into the hereafter. Diana’s heart broke at the sight of her husband. Artorius was slumped in the saddle of his horse, the weight of his helmet threatening to send him careening forward off his mount.

  There was no massed formation of the Legion, or even the individual Cohorts. Centurions halted their centuries wherever they saw fit, briefed and then dismissed their men. Artorius’ injuries had been severe enough that he should have been with the hospital train, but he had insisted in coming home at the head of his men, even if there were only sixteen left fit for duty. Diana watched Praxus and Magnus ease him down from his horse. She was glad to see that they had survived relatively unscathed, although Praxus’ arm was in a sling, and the side of Magnus’ face looked swollen and purple. Both men had numerous scars and bruises all over their bodies. The Centurion then took off his helmet and a few words were spoken amongst the men. Diana smiled sadly as she watched her husband, helped by his friends, walk up to each one of his men, clasping their forearms and grabbing each by the shoulder. He said a few words to each that she could not hear.

  He then seemed to notice her for the first time. She could tell he wanted to smile, but all he could do was let out a sigh. Praxus and Magnus attempted to help him steady himself as he walked towards the woman he loved, but he waved them off. He let out another sigh as he stood face to face with her. It was as if his mind was unable to comprehend that he was really there. His face was pale, his one open eye vacant and red. Diana put her arms around him and guided his head onto her shoulder. He closed his eyes and slowly wrapped his arms around her waist; hesitant, as if he were afraid that maybe it was only a dream and in an instant she would be gone. His armor felt rough against her, and she knew the sooner she got him out of it the better. He smelled rank of sweat, dirt, blood, and even death. Though he had hoped she would not notice, one of the first things Diana saw was the terrible gash in the side of his chain mail where the links had been split. Sh
e shuddered at the pain such a fearsome blow must have caused him.

  Servants opened the doors to their manor house as she helped him up the few steps that led inside. His arm was across her shoulders, hers gently locked around his waist to help support him. A pair of maidservants helped Diana get Artorius out of his armor. They also took his weapons and helmet and then Diana signaled for them to leave. She had already arranged for a hot bath to be drawn for her husband. She helped him out of his tunic and removed the crusted bandage from his side. She cringed at the sight of the stitched up gash. It was her turn to sigh as he suddenly looked down at the floor as if he were now ashamed.

  Diana removed her stola and guided Artorius into the steaming hot water. He sat on a submerged bench, the water coming up to the middle of his chest. Even though he winced when the hot water touched his healing wounds, he gave no resistance as he let his wife bathe him. They spent some time in the bath, for Diana knew that not only did he desperately need to be cleaned, but the heat would help sooth his devastated body. After helping him from the bath and drying him off, she redressed his wound and guided him to their bedchamber. Though it was but a couple hours past midday, she knew that what her husband needed most was rest. She was completely exhausted herself, both physically and emotionally. Not a word had been said by either of them since his return and Diana knew not what the right words could possibly be. Artorius’ body was broken, his very soul devastated, and her heart completely broke for him.

  She guided him to their bed, only a hint of light coming in through the heavy curtains she had had installed recently. It was a warm day, though a cool and gentle breeze blew in through an open side window. As Artorius lay down on his side Diana pulled a thin sheet over them and placed herself behind him on her side. She tucked one arm underneath his neck, while the other she carefully placed over his torso. He took that hand and pulled her as close to him as he could. It was then Diana finally broke the silence. There was really only one thing she could say to him, and it was all that mattered.