“Just give me a few days, I know I can find him and reason with him.”
“Even if you are able to find him,” Apronius interjected, “I doubt that you will be able to convince him to return to the ranks.”
Cursor closed his eyes and tried to think fast. He then came to the most likely and reasonable course of action he could fathom.
“Rodolfo has spent more than thirty years in the army,” Cursor replied calmly. “He’s done his duty and proven his valor more than any man I know. He can retire from the army at any time, and to be quite blunt, he has earned the right to take a few liberties at the end.”
Apronius sat with his chin in his hand. It was clear he did not wish to make an example out of Centurion Rodolfo. He also knew that while good order and discipline had to be maintained, Cursor was correct.
“Alright,” he said at last. “I will see to what needs to be done. But know this, I hold you fully responsible for the morale and discipline of your men. Your men may be heroes now, but any lapses in order because of this and I will personally take it out of your hide!”
“Sir, the loyalty of my men has never been in question,” Cursor responded. “The responsibility for their actions is mine alone. I take it then that my leave has been approved?”
Tabbo helped to redress Amke’s wounds. The young warrior maiden was awake, though in terrible pain. The gash on her arm he stitched up with some thread that he found among the supplies, as well as the wound on her hip. A bandage was wrapped around the young woman’s head, as well. Spouses and loved ones returned to the grove to aid the wounded. Even Queen Femke assisted in bandaging and treating the more serious injuries. She had yet to let the impact of losing her husband and her son break her, not when so many were suffering and in need of aid. It had barely sunk into Tabbo’s mind that he was now King of Frisia, even after his negotiations with the Romans. While he was consciously aware of it, he was still the warrior at heart, and right now his fellow warriors needed him.
“I had one,” Amke said weakly. “My sisters were falling all around me, but I got through their shield line, and I had one of them. My axe failed me…it bounced off his armor, as if the gods were mocking me. It was then that he did this to me.” With her good arm she pointed to her face. “I bested a legionary, and it was only his armor that saved him.”
“You fought well, sister,” Tabbo said, the sibling term showing he viewed Amke as an equal. “Do not think that because the Roman survived that you are any less worthy as a warrior. Our war with Rome was short and terrible, but now it is over. A legionary may not have fallen by your hand, but you did help make our people free.” Amke tried to force a smile, though the pain made her groan once more.
“I guess one more dead legionary would have made little difference,” she reasoned. “Still, it sickens me that more than half of the Daughters of Freyja died out there, and I could not avenge them with even a single Roman.”
“Most of our greatest warriors did not get the chance to kill a Roman either,” Tabbo replied. “Many of those who did are now on funeral pyres themselves.”
“I just hope the bastard who caused all this suffering pays for his crimes!”
“I have the personal reassurance of the Roman Governor General that he will,” the King said. Amke looked at him in disbelief.
“And you trust this Roman?” she asked. Tabbo nodded in reply. “Why?”
“Because he has kept his word to our people,” he answered. “The Romans are preparing for their withdrawal across the Rhine even as we speak. He paroled every last one of our wounded who had been taken prisoner, even going so far as to have his men tend to their wounds first. I think it will be a long time before a Roman crosses into Frisia again.”
For the King of Frisia there was no rest. No sooner had Tabbo left Amke’s side than he felt he needed to seek out Queen Femke. He had yet to see his own wife, Edeline, and wondered if she even knew that she was now Queen of Frisia? Thousands had gathered in and around the grove, and it was no wonder he could not find his wife. Families of the dead were carrying off the bodies under a cloud of mournful wails. Those who tended to the wounded did so with a feverish desperation to save those who were on the doorsteps of the afterlife. Frisian medicine paled in comparison to Roman, and Tabbo felt their wounded would have been better left as prisoners of war.
It was only by a stroke of luck that Tabbo found both Femke and Edeline together as they tended to a badly injured young Frisian warrior who looked to be little more than an overgrown boy. The lad was covered in sweat, and he was convulsing violently as he spewed bile and blood from his lips. Then, suddenly, he was still, his eyes staring lifelessly into the night. A shriek from his mother, who held his hand during the ordeal, caused the two women to cringe and back away slowly. Tears were in their eyes as they felt the mother’s pain of loss. They stood and both caught sight of Tabbo at the same time. Edeline gave a sigh of relief upon seeing her husband.
“My King,” Femke said with a deep bow. Edeline’s mouth was agape, and Tabbo surmised that she did not know what had transpired in Braduhenna.
“King?” she asked.
Tabbo nodded sadly. “By the last words of Dibbald Segon before he passed into eternity,” he replied. Edeline then turned and placed her arms around Femke, who finally let loose the tears she had been holding back for her husband and son. Tabbo embraced both women, his wife clinging to him as she tried to comfort Femke.
“I’m so sorry,” she said repeatedly.
Femke was unable to speak and could barely gasp for breath as the weight of her loss consumed her. Tabbo guided them away and onto a patch of grass just outside of the light of a nearby fire. Edeline sat and leaned against a tree, holding the queen dowager close to her. The King was suddenly very tired. His wife sensed this and held an arm out for him. He sat down next to her and laid his head on her shoulder. He had not slept since before the Romans drove them from Flevum. Edeline laid Femke’s head in her lap and wrapped both arms around her husband, who was already fast asleep.
For the Romans returning from Frisia, theirs was also a time of mourning rather than celebration. Diana stood with many of the officers’ spouses, common law wives of the men of the ranks, as well as other family members as the Third Cohort slowly made its way through Cologne towards the fortress. Unlike previous campaigns, there was no music, no celebrations, and no laurels of victory. Their brave legionaries and their auxiliaries had triumphed, yes, but at such a terrible price that there was no mood for celebration, only sorrow. It had been a slow week of travel to bring them back to Cologne.
As bad as she had been told it was, nothing prepared Diana for the sight of the Second Century. Only sixteen men marched behind the Signum, which was now carried by a Decanus. Signifier Rufio was amongst the wounded, along with the rest of the Century that had not made their final journey into the hereafter. Diana’s heart broke at the sight of her husband. Artorius was slumped in the saddle of his horse, the weight of his helmet threatening to send him careening forward off his mount.
There was no massed formation of the Legion, or even the individual Cohorts. Centurions halted their centuries wherever they saw fit, briefed and then dismissed their men. Artorius’ injuries had been severe enough that he should have been with the hospital train, but he had insisted in coming home at the head of his men, even if there were only sixteen left fit for duty. Diana watched Praxus and Magnus ease him down from his horse. She was glad to see that they had survived relatively unscathed, although Praxus’ arm was in a sling, and the side of Magnus’ face looked swollen and purple. Both men had numerous scars and bruises all over their bodies. The Centurion then took off his helmet and a few words were spoken amongst the men. Diana smiled sadly as she watched her husband, helped by his friends, walk up to each one of his men, clasping their forearms and grabbing each by the shoulder. He said a few words to each that she could not hear.