He had considered simply finding a blanket for Diana and letting her sleep where she lay, not wishing to wake her. He then thought better of it and did not wish to leave his wife in the sticky room that a few hours before had smelled of fine wine and delicacies, but now stunk of spilled wine, sweat, and even a trace of vomit and urine.
“Patricians do know how to party,” he said with a crooked grin as he bent down and picked his wife up.
Diana moaned quietly and put her arms around his neck, her eyes still shut. The night air felt good as he carried his wife the few blocks over to Pilate’s house. The upstairs floor where the guest quarters were was cool, dark, and quiet. It was a far cry from where they had just come.
He helped Diana out of her clothes. She was semiconscious, though her eyes had remained shut the entire time. He got himself undressed and opened a window, letting the cool breeze caress his body. He then lay down next to his wife and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter XII: A King Undone
A group of five of Olennius’ henchmen stood outside the door to King Dibbald’s hall. They carried clubs, and their leader wore a sword on his hip. It was this man who greeted the King with a sneer.
“The magistrate wishes to see you,” he said through his teeth.
Queen Femke found it laughable that the man was trying to look fierce, even though he had the face of a ferret, with a bowl cut hair style that looked ridiculous on his oblong head. Dibbald let out a sigh.
“It is the end of the day,” he replied. “I was retiring for supper. Perhaps the magistrate can wait until morning.”
The thug immediately drew his sword and pointed it at the King’s chest. A pair of warriors who escorted Dibbald drew their axes and stood protectively in front of him. The King placed his hand between them and gently pushed them off.
“I see you still have at least some sense,” the ugly man with the sword replied. “Wouldn’t want to cause a fuss and have to call on the legions, now would we?” He gave a sickening grin as he signaled for the King to follow him. “Oh, and gather all the people from the capital into the public square. Master Olennius needs to address them, too.”
Amke clutched Klaes’ hand as she watched her uncle walk up onto the dais in the center of town. In front of him was a large tarp, and she wondered what could possibly be underneath it. She guessed that whatever it was had something to do with why the entire town was summoned to see Olennius so late in the day. The magistrate was standing smug next to the King, who bore a look of resignation on his face.
“People of Frisia!” Olennius shouted to the assembly. “It would seem that there are traitors in your midst, people who would undo the years of peace and prosperity that have existed for nearly four decades! Behold the traitors!” With his last words, two of his men threw back the tarp, revealing the corpses of the messengers that Dibbald had sent. Women gasped at the sight of the men, their eyes bulging and tongues protruding from their gaping mouths. Purple marks on their necks showed that they had been strangled.
“These men,” Olennius continued, “carried with them messages of treason! One even had words of slander to be delivered to the Emperor himself! Look well upon them and see the fate of all who would disrupt the harmony of our corner of the Empire!” He then nodded to two of his men, who forcefully removed the King’s tunic. Olennius then picked up a corded whip off a bench.
Dibbald raised a hand, staying those who sought to rush to his defense. Amke released the grip on her cousin’s hand and started to rush forward, drawing her axe. Klaes quickly restrained her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away.
“Let me go!” she shouted. “By the gods, it’s your father they are going to whip!” The shouts and protestations from the crowd drowned out her words.
“Not this way!” Klaes said into her ear. Amke ceased in her struggles and faced her cousin, whose tears matched her own. “Please cousin; there will be a time, but not today…not yet.”
Both turned back towards the raised dais. Olennius appeared to be enjoying himself. He snapped the whip on the platform in an attempt to silence the crowd.
“Your own King has allowed these traitors to run free within his domain!” he called over the shouts of the people. “For this he must be punished. Even a king is not above the law!”
With that he stepped behind Dibbald and with much flamboyance lashed him across the back with the whip. The slap of the cords against his flesh caused even Amke’s stomach to turn. She held a hand over her mouth as Olennius lashed the King repeatedly. The cries of protest had turned to ones of revulsion. Amke could see Queen Femke being held close by Tabbo, whose face was purple with blinding hatred. King Dibbald made not a sound as the whip scored him again. The clenching of his fists was the only sign he gave of the agony he was feeling. After more than a dozen lashes, Olennius rolled up his whip.
“Let this be a lesson that your people never forget!”
Without another word he and his henchmen left the dais and walked out of the town square. The crowd was in a state of shock at what they had witnessed. All was quiet as Amke forced her way to the front. She and Klaes then climbed onto the dais. Dibbald could no longer hold back his tears of shame, though he still made not a sound as they ran down his cheeks. Amke, her own face soaked in tears, placed her hands on either side of his face, and at last he allowed himself to look at her. She then placed her arms around her uncle, careful not to touch his bloody and lacerated back. The King’s strength left him as Amke and Klaes helped him down, practically carrying him back to his hall. Tabbo and his wife held onto Queen Femke as they followed close behind. The will of their King was broken, and with it the will of the Frisian people.
“I will gut that bastard myself!” Amke snarled as she furiously ground a sharpening stone across the head of her axe later that evening.
Lourens was much more slow and methodic as he ran a whet stone over the blade of his cavalry spear. As head of the King’s household cavalry regiment, he worked in tandem with the Daughters of Freyja as part of Dibbald Segon’s personal guard.
“In due time, love,” Lourens replied.
Amke hated it when he called her that. It was no secret that the Master of Horse held a certain amount of affection for her, despite being fifteen years her elder, as well as married with a son that was a couple years younger than she. To his credit, whatever his personal feelings may have been, Lourens always maintained a professional rapport with the King’s niece.
“Time for what?” Amke retorted. “Our people go hungry, the King has just been humiliated in front of the entire kingdom, and our will to fight is all but broken. What exactly are we supposed to be waiting for? For famine and disease to render our people so weak that we cannot possibly fight the Romans?”
Lourens ceased in sharpening his spear and gazed at the young woman, whose face shown in the light of the nearby fire. He hated himself for the feelings he had for her, for he knew it was inappropriate. He knew that now was not the time to deal with such things, so he forced any fond thoughts of Amke from his mind.
“Tabbo and Olbert are seeking a way to fight the Romans,” he replied after gathering his thoughts. “With any hopes of contacting the Roman authorities dashed, we need to find a way to deal with the situation ourselves. Your uncle had hoped to find a solution that would avoid bringing the wrath of the legions upon us. Our warriors are brave and they excel at the same type of close combat that the Romans do, but there are many things we lack. The Romans have auxiliary cavalry that will overwhelm our own, as much as it pains me to confess. Our weapons and armor are also severely lacking when compared to theirs. The Roman army is simply a better equipped and more efficient killing force than ours. And even if they don’t let loose the legions against us, they can simply withdraw their protection and leave us at the mercy of the Cherusci and other tribes to the east.”