“You know, old friend, life is good.”
Spring and summer would prove uneventful, though as expected, Artorius did succeed in defending his Legion Champion title once more. He was disappointed when Magnus did not enter the tournament, as he felt his Nordic friend had the best chance of beating him. He also felt that he had never fully gotten out of the shadow of his mentor, Vitruvius, who had retired from competition unbeaten. Artorius had, once in a private sparring match, fought his Cohort Commander to a draw, though this was only after being soundly beaten by him for several years.
His duties as a Centurion kept him occupied, despite the frontier enjoying a long-lasting, if ever uneasy, peace. Diana was utilizing her personal fortune to have a manor house built for them outside the fortress. Valens, whose common-law wife was Magnus’ sister, Svetlana, had allowed her to stay in a spare room at their modest flat while the manor was being built. It was crowded between the three of them, plus Valens’ slave woman, Erin, and her son three-year old son, Tynan. The thought of a Roman noblewoman living under such conditions would have scandalized most; yet Lady Diana found a sense of comfort and realism that was absent amongst the false flattery and constant political backstabbing of the Patrician class.
As summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, Artorius and Diana looked forward to the day they would become husband and wife, never knowing of the fires of hate that were being stoked on the edge of the Empire’s frontier.
Chapter VI: Frisia
Frisian Coast along the North Sea
April, 26 A.D.
Tabbo felt like a warrior without a profession. Since assimilating into the Roman Empire there had been little use for men of his trade. Frisia enjoyed the protection of Rome, though it took the war chief much doing to swallow his pride and admit it. His people were great fighters and had held their own during the constant warfare with their much larger neighboring tribal kingdoms. When Rome invaded across the Rhine during the wars against the Cherusci and the Germanic alliance eleven years ago, Frisia sent warriors to serve as auxiliaries alongside the legions. They had fought well and during the Battle of Idistaviso had even garnered the praise of Germanicus Caesar himself.
Even though he was a war chief of much renown, Tabbo was not the ruler of Frisia. That duty fell to his King, Dibbald Segon, a legendary warrior in his own right. Dibbald was the latest of the Segon dynasty and his son, Prince Klaes, had been a friend and brother to Tabbo since both were children. It was the prince who happened upon his friend, who was sharpening has war axe on a wheel grinder.
“Still keeping your axe sharp, I see,” Klaes observed with a grin.
He and Tabbo were both above average in height, with broad shoulders and strong jaw lines. Each kept their dark blonde hair pulled back, and though Klaes sported a long mustache that hung down either side of his mouth, Tabbo was clean shaven having adopted the more Roman grooming habit. The differences in facial hair aside, the two men did look so like they could, in fact, be brothers.
“I believe in maintaining vigilance,” Tabbo replied, relishing the sound of the stone wheel grinding on the warming steel.
“Vigilance,” Klaes said with a shrug, “against what exactly? Germania is pacified, and I don’t think the Romans will need our services again in my lifetime.” In a flash, Tabbo spun around and flung his axe towards the prince. It embedded itself deep into a tree stump just inches from him. Klaes didn’t even flinch.
“You missed,” he said sarcastically, arms folded across his chest. Both men got a laugh as he attempted to retrieve the axe, which was buried several inches into the wood. “Bloody hell, you bury this in someone and you’ll never get it back!”
“If one’s weapon is sharp and heavy enough, it can render even the strongest armor useless,” Tabbo grinned as he wrenched the axe free. He twirled it around in his hand and then set it on a nearby bench. He was still grinning when he faced Prince Klaes, whose face was now sober.
“You mention rendering the strongest armor,” Klaes said. “Whose armor are you referring to?”
“I’m not inciting violence against Rome, if that is what you’re accusing me of,” Tabbo replied.
“I didn’t say I was accusing you,” the prince stated, holding his hands up. “I was only kidding when I asked who you needed to be vigilant against. The gods know we will always have enemies, and a tiny nation such as ours needs all of its collective strength.” The two men took the dirt path that led into the woods towards the capital. Preparations were underway for the arrival of an important guest.
“It is our strength and resourcefulness that has kept us from being enslaved by any of the other tribes within the region,” Tabbo said. “You and I both fought against the Cherusci and the Germanic alliance, though I confess my role was born more out of malice towards the Cherusci rather than any affection for Rome.”
“If I may make a confession also, it was the same with me,” Klaes replied. “I know Father is rather fond of the Romans, though to be honest I have always been a bit leery of them.”
“Romans are like any other men,” Tabbo remarked. “There are good and evil amongst them. The difference is one evil man can ruin an entire people.”
“You speak of the new magistrate,” Klaes observed. “I don’t know much about him, just that he is a former Centurion.”
“A Centurion who gained his rank through birth and personal favors of the aristocracy,” Tabbo sneered. “I’ve seen such men before. They are as weak as they are hungry for power. They bully those beneath them because they think it masks their masculine shortfalls.”
“At least the last magistrate proved harmless enough,” Klaes responded. “He collected taxes for the Emperor and left Father to rule in peace.”
“I agree the last man to represent Roman interests in Frisia was of little regard,” the war chief conceded. “However, he was simply a lazy man fulfilling his required duty. I cannot say for certain why I feel so uneasy about this former Centurion, but something about this makes my skin crawl.”
“Any idea where he had been stationed?” the prince asked as they reached the northern bridge leading west across the Rhine. On the other side was a small Roman fort, garrisoned by a single Cohort of legionaries and a handful of Batavian auxiliaries. The two men stopped and stared across the bridge. Tabbo breathed deeply through his nose and let out a resigned sigh.
“Egypt,” he replied finally as they turned east, away from the bridge and towards the Frisian capital. He did not feel like watching Roman drill practice this day. “The bastard lived a pampered existence there his entire twenty years. Egypt has been at peace since the fall of the Ptolemy dynasty more than fifty years ago. Soldiers stationed in that corner of the Empire grow fat and spoiled gorging on Egyptian wealth.”
“As long as he does nothing more than collect the taxes and leaves us in peace it doesn’t matter,” Klaes replied hopefully.
Tabbo said nothing more, though he knew his friend had similar misgivings, as he did. He also knew that worrying about them would solve nothing.
They passed by a grove, one dedicated to their goddess Freyja. Klaes smiled as he watched his cousin, Amke, lead a number of other young women through weapons drill. Each girl carried a short war axe or stabbing spear in one hand and a circular shield in the other. The drills that Amke lead them through were very similar to those conducted by male warriors.
“I see you are not the only one who wishes to maintain their vigilance,” Klaes observed with an approving nod towards his cousin.
“Amke was the right choice to lead the Daughters of Freyja,” Tabbo said.
“A symbolic position,” Klaes added, “though one of great honor. I have little doubt that the Daughters can fight readily enough. My father, the King, has been reluctant to use them as an active regiment. Instead he keeps them close, as an extension of his bodyguard.”