“Rufio, stay out of this!” the Centurion barked. “Take control of the line!”
“Sir!” the Signifier acknowledged as he then gave the order for the next passage-of-lines.
Artorius took in a deep breath as he squared off against his opponent once more. He could not help but wonder how Vitruvius would fare in this situation. Of course, he had been fighting for some time before even facing this man, and he was already exhausted. Still, he had much respect for his enemy, and he surmised the feeling was mutual. The warrior came at him once more, this time attacking low with a hard backhand swing with the spiked back of his axe. As Artorius dropped his shield to deflect the blow, the Frisian brought the bottom edge of his own shield up in a hard swing that caught him just above the right eye and the bridge of his nose. Artorius stumbled back, but managed to catch the Frisian hard on the shin with the bottom edge of his shield. The man lost his balance and as he started to fall sideways Artorius lunged forward, catching him in the upper arm with a stab of his gladius. His weapon did not penetrate as deeply as he hoped, for the Frisian retaliated with another backhand swing with his injured arm as he rolled to his side and immediately back to his feet. The Centurion stepped back and caught his breath. Both men were grinning at each other, and in a strange and macabre sense, both men were, at least in part, enjoying themselves. The battle that raged beside them seemed forgotten, and each man was exhilarated by the purity of the challenge his opponent presented.
As they made ready to come at each other again, loud war horns echoed in the distance behind the Frisians. His opponent looked disgusted as he backed away and looked down at the ground and sighed. He then shouted orders to his men, who were backpedaling away from the Century. They moved slowly and deliberately, warriors in the mass behind them rushing forward to assist any wounded away. It was then that Artorius realized the sun was setting behind them, though the fog to their front was still very thick. He surmised he must have injured his foe much more than he had realized, for the man’s weapon arm was now soaked in blood. The Frisian gave a half smile, let out a bellowing war cry as he raised his weapon high. He then held the axe in front of his chest in a type of salute and gave a short bow. Artorius raised his own weapon, and saluted his adversary in return. The man then turned and joined his warriors as they left the field. A loud triumphant cry erupted from the Roman lines as the legionaries and their auxiliary allies felt they had defeated the Frisians. Artorius was suddenly aware of his Signifier now standing next to him.
“They’ll be back,” he said in a low voice to Rufio, who could only nod in reply. He then turned to his men. “At fucking ease, all of you! This battle has not ended, but only just begun!”
Tabbo collapsed as soon as he reached the roaring fire where sat King Dibbald and the other Frisian warrior nobility. His arm had stiffened up on him, and he quickly got out of his tunic to see just how bad his injury was. His shin was bleeding and throbbing in pain from the blow of the Centurion’s shield. Prince Klaes was at his side with a pouch full of herbs and a bandage.
“Here, you will want some of this,” he said as he offered to tend to the war chief’s wounds. “It will help speed the healing.”
“Thank you, sire,” Tabbo replied. His mouth was dry and he was craving some water.
Sensing this, Klaes snapped his fingers, and a warrior quickly brought a water skin over to them, which Tabbo greedily drank while Klaes bandaged his wound.
“My prince, it really isn’t necessary…”
“Nonsense, man,” Klaes replied with a grin. His father was much grimmer. King Dibbald sat on a makeshift throne and stared into the fire, his hands resting on his knees.
“You failed to break the Roman flank today,” he said quietly, though his voice naturally carried far.
The rebuke struck Tabbo far worse than the Roman’s blade.
“The Romans are a formidable enemy, sire,” Tabbo replied, staring at the ground.
Prince Klaes was quick to jump to his defense. “Father, the bulk of our men had the Roman main line just as badly outnumbered as Tabbo did the enemy on the flank, and yet they did not achieve victory today either.”
“We will finish them tomorrow,” Tabbo spoke with determination, looking into Dibbald’s face. The King continued to stare into the fire, lost as he was in thought. “They think they have been given a reprieve. They may even think they defeated us today. But no, while our warriors eat and rest, they hunger in the shivering night. No rest will come to them tonight, no respite from the terrors of the darkness.”
Chapter XVIII: Eye of the Nightmare
Several torches were placed at intervals approximately thirty meters in front of the Roman lines. Artorius was amazed that they had gotten the torches to light, given that it seemed like everything was soaked from the thick fog that clung to whatever it touched. They cast an eerie glow about the battlefield, which was strewn with few corpses. The Frisians had been able to retrieve their wounded, as well as a number of their dead.
A legionary from the First Century had been dispatched to bring Artorius to the meeting of the Cohort’s leadership. He left Rufio in charge of the Century as he and Praxus followed the legionary up the sharp slope. In the dark he kept tripping over rocks and tree roots. A single torch lit the spot where the Centurions and Options were meeting. Artorius and Praxus removed their helmets as they walked into the soft glow of the light. Vitruvius and Dominus were off to the side, arguing about what sounded like a plan Vitruvius had for a breakout of the Cohort. Centurion Statorius arrived from the other end of the line, where his Fifth Century was linked to the next Cohort on the line.
“Enough!” Vitruvius said in exasperation, holding his hand up, silencing Dominus. “We’ll talk about it later.” Both men then turned and faced their fellow Centurions. “How is the Second surviving?”
“We’re still here,” Artorius replied with a nod. “Those auxiliaries helped us hold.”
“Good,” Vitruvius said before addressing the entire group. “As you know, I just came from meeting with Legate Apronius and the other Cohort Commanders. It seems we’ve lost the entire Fourth Cohort.”
“They were wiped out?” Statorius asked, flabbergasted.
Vitruvius shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “They’ve just disappeared. The Frisians launched a sortie as the cohorts on the left were getting set, and it seems that in the confusion they ended up separated from the rest of the Legion. There’s a dwelling on this side of the river that used to belong to one of our allies. We think they may be hold up there…at least that is what we hope. All we know is the Seventh is on the extreme left and the Fourth was supposed to be next to them on the right; but when the Frisians withdrew, the Sixth was on their right with no sign of the Fourth.”
“Fuck!” the Centurion from the Sixth Century swore. “It’s as if we have all crossed into Hades when an entire Cohort just disappears.”
“How are the rest surviving?” Artorius asked.