“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.
“What orders do you bring for us on this glorious day?” Olbert, who was one of the leading regimental commanders asked.
“We are to lay siege to the fort at Flevum,” Tabbo replied, eliciting an excited cheer from his men. “Easy, my friends! Remember, the fort is not the prize we seek. The King does not wish to lose men needlessly assaulting it. We will give the Romans time to surrender peacefully. If they refuse, then we will take the fort by force.”
“Why give the Romans any time?” Sjoerd asked, stepping forward in front of his men. “We gave them two years while that bastard Olennius starved and brutalized our people! Why should we give these Romans any quarter?”
“Because if we don’t, the Emperor Tiberius will unleash the entire Roman Army against us,” Tabbo retorted. “Let us not forget their response to the Cherusci. Some of you fought beside me at Idistaviso. You know the enemy we face. If we are to bloody the Romans, it will be when they send the Army of the Rhine against us. I have no doubts that they have already been mobilized and are on the move. Besieging Flevum is little more than a tactic to drive them into us.”