Cursor saw more torches as they walked a few meters into the trees. A squad of auxiliary infantry stood around a tree stump. A battered suit of Centurion’s scale armor lay across it, the scored helm set on top. Another stump jutted from the ground a couple feet away, and in it a gladius had been thrust.
“This is exactly how we found it, sir,” a trooper said with a salute.
“That’s Rodolfo’s armor alright,” Cursor observed.
“We know he can’t have been captured,” the Decanus added. “Otherwise they would have taken his armor and weapon. It’s as if he just laid down his arms and left.”
“Why would he leave his weapon?” another trooper asked quietly.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Cursor asked.
The Decanus shook his head. “No, sir. I came to fetch you as soon as we found it. I asked the lads on the gate if they saw the Centurion leaving, and they said they had. He was on his horse, and it looked like his saddle bags were full. They asked where he was heading, and he told them to mind their own fucking business…well, with a reply like that, a mere trooper is not exactly going to question a Centurion further, now is he?”
A breeze caused the torches to flicker in the blackness.
“Why would he leave us like this?” a trooper asked to no one in particular.
The Tribune stared at the man and then understood. These particular infantrymen were from Batavia. They probably did not even realize that Rodolfo was a Frisian by birth.
“Take his gear and follow me,” Cursor ordered as he walked back towards their camp. He let out a sigh as his fears regarding Rodolfo bore down on him.
Were he but a mere trooper, his absence would not have been noticed for some time. As it was, Rodolfo was the senior ranking Centurion within the Rhine Army’s Auxilia. He had been Cursor’s organizational second-in-command for several years, and the two men had grown close over that time. The Centurion had reassured him constantly that though a Frisian, his loyalty was to Rome. He had kept his oath and fought with valor. Cursor now reckoned that, in the aftermath of battle, the truth had been too much for Rodolfo to bear. So far, word as to the reasons behind the war had not been made public, but Cursor knew it was only a matter of time. In spite of their losses, the Romans had defeated the Frisian army, and now had their entire force on the far side of the river. And yet no orders of a pending advance. Even the lowest legionary knew that Rome did not cross into hostile territory and simply stop after defeating the enemy’s army. The senior officers all knew the real reasons, and this include Centurion Rodolfo.
After passing through the camp entrance he made his way directly to Rodolfo’s tent. As he pulled back the flap of the tent, he was not surprised to see many of the Centurion’s personal effects missing, along with the blankets for his cot. On Rodolfo’s desk sat a large chunk of wood. It was an unfinished bust of a horse that he had been working on.
“Set his gear on his cot,” Cursor ordered.
The men did as they were ordered, their faces still showing their befuddlement. The Tribune then ordered the men to leave. He called out to the Decanus as the man walked out of the tent.
“Sir?” the auxiliary asked.
“Good work finding this,” Cursor replied. “Let the officers of the watch know that with the exception of authorized patrols, no one is to leave camp without my expressed permission. I don’t care what their rank is; no one leaves unless I personally clear it.”
“Yes, sir,” the Decanus replied with an understanding nod.
Cursor then sat down on Rodolfo’s cot and rested his chin in his hand. He was very tired and could not remember how many of his men were of Frisian origin. How many of them would attempt to desert when word about Rome’s betrayal of their people reached them? Cursor then shuddered at the thought of that vile word…desertion. All the evidence showed that Centurion Rodolfo had deserted his post, an offense that was punishable by death. He let out another sigh and looked around the tent.
He lit the lamp on Rodolfo’s desk and tried to see if there were any clues. In the dim light he saw a piece of parchment sticking out from underneath the horse bust. Cursor unfolded it and knew what it would say before he even read the first word.
My friend and honored brother, Aulus Nautius Cursor,
It is with a heavy heart that I write these words. For nearly thirty years I have served Rome in the Auxilia. And now, at the last, Rome has betrayed me and my people. I cannot return to my people, for I have committed unjust war against them. I also can no longer serve the Empire that used me as a weapon of atrocity. Therefore, I am without a nation that I can call my own. Please do not come looking for me. I go to start my life anew.
I regret that I was unable to finish carving the horse for you.
Your loyal friend,
Rodolfo
“Do you mind explaining this to me, Tribune?” Apronius snarled as Cursor stood rigid. “Here I have an order signed by you, approving a leave of absence for Centurion Rodolfo, and at the same time you request a leave of absence for yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” Cursor replied, keeping his eyes looking straight ahead. The Legate shook his head, disbelieving what he was hearing.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he snapped. “I hope you realize we are still in Frisian territory…”
“Just for another day or so,” Cursor interrupted.
Apronius slammed his hand on the table, silencing him.
“I forgive your insolence only because it was your ten thousand that saved us in Braduhenna,” he said slowly. Apronius then looked away for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what the Tribune was asking of him. His voice softened slightly as he addressed Cursor once more. “You know, I would hate to have to present you with a court martial the same day you were awarded the Grass Crown. Oh, stand easy already!”
He then threw a pile of papers down in front of Cursor. They were awards recommendations. Even in the wake of such a horrific battle, with names of the dead and wounded still being tallied, the efficient Roman bureaucracy still thrived. Officers, who even if they could not stand were still able to read and write, had hastily written awards recommendations for the most valiant of their men who still lived. Most were narratives for the Silver Torque for Valor. Intermixed were a handful of Civic Crowns. Apronius then showed Cursor another parchment. It was a large roll of all the awards and their status. At first glance it looked as if all of them had “approved” scrawled next to them. It was then that Cursor saw Rodolfo’s name on the Civic Crown list.
“You saved the entire Valeria Legion,” Apronius observed. “For that you have Rome’s eternal gratitude. With that in mind, I think you had better explain to me what is happening with your Centurion.”
“Yes, sir.” Cursor then told the Legate how his men had found Rodolfo’s armor the night before, along with the message the Centurion had left for him.
“I want to give him an official leave of absence until I can find him,” the Tribune explained. “In light of the circumstances, I do not wish to charge him with desertion.”
“And what of the other men in this army that are of Frisian birth or ancestry?” Apronius asked. “Centurion Rodolfo is hardly the only one who had to face the possibility of fighting members of his own family. Rumors are already running rampant as to what really happened between us and the Frisians, especially in light of our pending withdrawal. If we allow Rodolfo to arbitrarily leave, then what’s to stop the other Frisian auxiliaries from doing the same thing? Hell, I have legionaries whose families were originally from Frisia!”