“I’ve sent servants ahead to find us suitable quarters in Rome. Meantime, I think we are going to refresh ourselves at the nearest tavern. You joining us?”
Artorius shook his head at his Cohort Commander’s question.
“Would love to, but my lady and I have someplace else to be.” He took Diana’s hand as he spoke.
Vitruvius caught both of their smiles and then remembered that this was Artorius’ home.
“Of course,” he replied with a nod. “I forget myself sometimes. Well, if you want to send your servant, Nathaniel, with mine, I’m sure he can find you suitable accommodations.”
Artorius nodded in reply and turned to Nathaniel, who was at his side. The slave gave a short bow and left with Vitruvius’ manservant.
While everyone else was getting settled in their housing in Rome, Artorius and Diana had another trip to make. His last trip home had been a sad one, and Artorius was determined that this one would be different. Though it was a few miles to his father’s house, he and Diana elected to walk instead of procuring a wagon. He had given directions to Proximo, with explicit instructions to wait at least a couple hours before leaving the docks once they secured a place to stay. Artorius wanted some private time with his family without being assailed by the details of handling both servants and baggage.
The situation would prove worse than even Tabbo had feared. Tribute was normally collected during the first part of spring, and the Frisians had already sent off their cattle hides for the year’s payment. Olennius had sent word that additional resources would be necessary to cover the administrative costs of his tenure. A taxman pounded a nail into the notice on the mead hall door before walking away. Tabbo, who knew how to read, scowled as he read the latest edict from the Roman magistrate.
“What does it say?” a young woman asked him as he spat and turned away in disgust.
“It says that in addition to ox hides we must now supply the magistrate with a ration from our corn and grain supplies.”
“But we barely grow enough to support our families and animals as it is!” a farmer protested as he slammed the butt of his scythe into the dirt. “We won’t have enough to eat, let alone maintain our lands and livestock!”
“I know,” Tabbo said quietly as he walked briskly over to the King’s hall.
Dibbald knew why the war chief had come, for he, too, had seen the edict. A copy of it was crumpled in his hand.
“I know why you’re here,” the King said, raising a hand before Tabbo could speak. “This Roman has gone too far. I have already sent three riders with messages telling of our plight; one to the Governor General, another to the Senate, and one to the Emperor himself. If the governor or Senate does nothing, I know that the Emperor will!”
“You put a lot of faith in Tiberius,” Tabbo replied, still burning with anger at the situation. He would rather Dibbald had dealt with Olennius himself. The fact that a sovereign king would have to defer to the Roman government infuriated him.
“I know Tiberius,” Dibbald replied. “I served with him during the Conquest of Raetia more than forty years ago. We were both very young then. It was his brother, Drusus Nero, who brought our people into the fold of the Empire. A number of our people had joined an alliance of Germanic tribes and raided into Gaul, only to be routed by Drusus and driven back across the Rhine. My father felt it best to accept the deal brokered by Drusus. The tribute was nominal, and the protection offered by the legions allowed our people to prosper in peace without threat of attack from our ever hostile neighbors.”
“And one man seeks to undermine all of that!” Tabbo snapped. “Olennius abuses his post and threatens to unleash the legions on us if we do not comply.”
“The elders of our people remember what happened the last time Roman soldiers marched on our lands. The legions cannot be defeated in open battle.”
“The Cherusci did it,” Tabbo countered, referring to the ambush in Teutoburger Wald that had destroyed three legions seventeen years before.
“Yes, but Arminius also had an alliance of twelve nations on his side,” Dibbald replied. “We have no such allies here, particularly after we dispatched warriors to fight against the Germanic Alliance during the invasion by Drusus’ son, Germanicus Caesar.”
“So we must rely on the Emperor to save our people,” Tabbo acknowledged, nodding his head in resignation. He then looked his King in the face again. “I will find a way for us to beat the Romans, just in case your messengers should fail us. The gods have mercy on us.”
Lourens accompanied Tabbo to the Roman drill field outside the Flevum fort. The war chief and master of horse sat on the hill, watching as two centuries drilled together. Olbert had joined them, and though he still scoffed at some of the Romans’ tactics, he studied them in silence. Tabbo sat with his chin in his hand, watching the legionaries; Lourens looked awestruck. Frisia had not sent any cavalry to fight during the Germanic wars and he had never seen the Romans fight. He watched the men formed up into four ranks, and though he could not understand the commands shouted by the Centurions, his eyes grew wide as each rank unleashed a storm of javelins in rapid succession. Since each man carried a pair, eight volleys were unleashed before the soldiers unsheathed their gladii with a loud shout. Lourens shook his head in disbelief as he saw the ground littered with javelins.
“An entire wave of our warriors would be cut down with each volley,” he said quietly.
“Their weight gives them extra penetrating power,” Tabbo added, his eyes still fixed on the legionaries. “You’ll notice the metal shafts at the end are pliable and bend upon impact. A simple, yet effective tactic; it makes it so that their javelins cannot be thrown back at them, and any shields that they penetrate will be rendered useless.”
“So how do we counter this?”
“We don’t,” Tabbo replied.
Lourens shook his head and looked down at the ground.
The war chief looked back at him and gave a crooked smile. “Don’t worry; your cavalry will be safe enough from what you have seen. I cannot see the King wasting your men so recklessly against that. Besides, you will have your own problems to deal with.”
“You’re referring to Indus’ Horse,” Lourens observed.
Tabbo nodded while studying the legionaries, who were now battling a mock foe and executing rapid passages-of-lines.
“The Romans rely heavily on their infantry,” Tabbo continued. “Their cavalry are few, though regrettably ours are even less. Your regiment of the household cavalry is really all we have to speak of. And while I mean no disrespect to your own valor, you had best hope that you never have to face Julius Indus in open battle.”
“They can be beaten,” Olbert said at last. “I know they can! We are smarter than they are, and it is our home we will be defending. We know the land, they do not. We must find a way to use that to our advantage.”
“You are finally learning, my friend,” Tabbo replied with a partial grin, “You are finally learning.”
Artorius tried to drive the memories of his last journey home from his mind as he and Diana walked up the now paved road towards his father’s house. It had been little more than a dirt path since he could remember, but now it was paved with flat stones all the way to where his father and stepmother lived.
“That’s a lovely little cottage down there,” Diana said, pointing to a small house down the hill to their right. She did not notice Artorius wince when she said that.
“That’s Juliana’s old residence,” he replied.
The last time he had been there was when he found Camilla’s body laid out on a bed, having died that very day. Diana knew about Camilla, as both had made certain to come clean about their pasts and avoid any unpleasant surprises. She knew that Camilla had passed away when Artorius was last in Rome, but not that she had been staying at the very cottage she now admired.