Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (19 page)

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 be
en 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 the
ir 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 you
r 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.