“You going to be alright?” Cursor asked as he watched his ranking Centurion pack his kit into his saddlebags.
Rodolfo turned and gazed at him, perplexed.
“I fail to see why I wouldn’t be,” he replied. Cursor gave a brief smile, then bit the inside of his cheek, thinking he needed to phrase his next words carefully.
“It’s just that I know you are of Frisian ancestry…” he stopped speaking as he watched Rodolfo tense up.
The Centurion had turned back to fixing a strap on his bag when Cursor spoke.
“I thought you knew my loyalty better than that,” he said quietly before turning to face the Tribune. “You want to know if fighting my kinsmen will be hard for me; well the answer is yes. This is not easy for me, and I daresay I will have many a sleepless night over the pending ordeal. The other thing you want to know is if I am still loyal, and will I still fight. If you are questioning my…”
Cursor raised a hand, catching the growing anger in Rodolfo’s voice.
“I have never questioned your loyalty,” he replied. “You have been as loyal a soldier and friend as any could hope. It’s just…well, I cannot help but think how unfair this must be for you.”
Rodolfo cocked a sarcastic half smile.
“Forgive me, sir, but since when has life ever been fair? I confess I am deeply troubled by this sudden rebellion in my former homeland. One of the war chiefs, Tabbo of Maloriks, was a close boyhood friend of mine, and we briefly reconnected after Idistaviso. I cannot imagine what would have driven him to fight against Rome.” Rodolfo shook his head while gazing at the ground. He then nodded in resolve and faced Cursor once more. “Whatever their reasons, they have broken alliances and committed treason against the Emperor. I swore an oath, the same as you. I will honor it!”
Cursor ran his hand over his bald head as he walked back towards his billet. Though a fancy manor house could have easily been his, he reasoned that while deployed with his cavalry regiments, it was far more practical to live in similar quarters as his troopers. He smiled when he saw a familiar face dismount his horse and walk briskly towards him.
“Indus, old friend!” he said enthusiastically as he clutched his former mentor’s shoulder, and Indus grasped his.
“Forgive my manners, sir,” Indus replied. As soon as he released Cursor’s grip he rendered a salute to the Tribune.
Both men laughed as Cursor returned the courtesy.
“It’s good to see you,” Cursor said with a relieved sigh. “I have a feeling I’m going to need you more than ever, before this is done.”
Indus shrugged in reply as both men walked towards the Tribune’s billet.
“The Frisians don’t have shit for cavalry,” he observed casually. “They have but a single regiment, and that is little more than the King’s personal bodyguard. Our own cavalry will smash them readily enough.”
“It’s not their cavalry that concerns me,” Cursor stated. “There is much we don’t know about the Frisians. They’ve been left to their own devices for so long, we have no idea what their actual fighting strength is. I imagine if they’re serious about this rebellion, they will have mustered every man and boy old enough to carry a weapon.”
“And girl,” Indus added, causing Cursor to raise an eyebrow. “Oh yes, the Frisians are among those who allow their women to fight. Many are inducted into a warrior caste called The Daughters of Freyja. While their position is largely ceremonial, they will be called upon in dire times to defend the homeland.”
“And this is as dire of a time for Frisia as any,” Cursor observed.
Apronius furrowed his brow as he contemplated the information Cursor gave him. The Legates of the First and Fifth Legions sat around the table with him, as did the Chief Tribunes and Master Centurions. Behind Apronius sat the First Cohort Centurions of the Twentieth Legion. Apronius was a capable commander in his own right, though part of that competence came from relying on the counsel of his most experienced Centurions.
“Do we have any census figures for Frisia?” the Governor General asked.
“No, sir,” his Chief Tribune answered. “Unfortunately, during the census under Augustus, the Frisian population was rolled into that of Germania Inferior. We have no way of knowing how much of the population came from each district.”
“Which makes it more difficult to determine just how large of an army they can field,” the Legate of the First Legion added.
“What we do know is that the Frisians are professional warriors,” Cursor replied. “They fielded two cohorts of auxilia infantry during the Germanic Wars. Not a large number, mind you, however their valor and fighting prowess was noted by both Germanicus and Severus. These are not mindless barbarians we will be facing.”
“I have here a report compiled by Commander Indus that adds a bit more detail to what he told you,” Apronius said, holding up a scroll. “You are correct that they are a highly organized fighting force, broken into numerous regiments that include the all female one you spoke of. The question we cannot answer is just how many regiments they have.”
Legate Labeo of the Fifth Legion then spoke up. “On that note, sir, I would add that I don’t think the Frisians will muster all of their forces at once. After all, rounding up and equipping every young boy and old man and sending them into battle may do them more harm than good. Think about the number of times amateur allied forces have gotten in the way of our legionaries.”
“Regardless, we do have a sizeable army of our own,” said the Fifth Legion’s Master Centurion, a battle hardened veteran named Alessio. “Between our three legions we have approximately fifteen thousand men, plus an equal number of auxiliaries. I think thirty thousand men should more than suffice. Even if they can muster every man, woman, and child against us, they are less experienced and poorly equipped compared to our men; and besides, it is not like we have never been outnumbered before!”
This remark brought a number of affirmative remarks and gestures from the assembly. Apronius sat with his chin in his hand. The Master Centurion’s statements held true, and the fact that timidity was not the way to deal with a rebellion, something still troubled him, nonetheless. He knew he had to exude confidence to his men, and he could not be indecisive on a mere whim.
“Labeo, your Master Centurion makes a valid point,” Apronius conceded. “I confess that I do not like going into battle unless I know all I can about the size and disposition of my enemy. However, it looks like we have all the actionable intelligence that we are going to get for the time being. Our scouts either can’t find them or never return. Tribune Cursor, your cavalry will have to be our eyes and ears. It is up to you to find out exactly what we are up against.”
“Yes, sir,” the Tribune replied confidently.
Chapter XVI: Flevum
Tabbo stared across the open ground at the wall surrounding the Roman fort. It was occupied by a single cohort that was detached from the First Legion out of Cologne, along with a handful of auxilia archers. All told, less than five hundred Romans remained on Frisian soil.
“I can’t wait to cut my teeth into the flesh of a Roman jugular!” a nearby warrior spat. “It is time they paid for what they have done to our people!”
Warriors around him shouted similar curses towards their former occupiers. Tabbo quietly shook his head. He felt no animosity towards these particular Romans. They were simply stationed in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had hoped to take the fort before the Army of the Rhine arrived, though he knew that Flevum was not the real prize.