He then seemed to notice her for the first time. She could tell he wanted to smile, but all he could do was let out a sigh. Praxus and Magnus attempted to help him steady himself as he walked towards the woman he loved, but he waved them off. He let out another sigh as he stood face to face with her. It was as if his mind was unable to comprehend that he was really there. His face was pale, his one open eye vacant and red. Diana put her arms around him and guided his head onto her shoulder. He closed his eyes and slowly wrapped his arms around her waist; hesitant, as if he were afraid that maybe it was only a dream and in an instant she would be gone. His armor felt rough against her, and she knew the sooner she got him out of it the better. He smelled rank of sweat, dirt, blood, and even death. Though he had hoped she would not notice, one of the first things Diana saw was the terrible gash in the side of his chain mail where the links had been split. She shuddered at the pain such a fearsome blow must have caused him.
Servants opened the doors to their manor house as she helped him up the few steps that led inside. His arm was across her shoulders, hers gently locked around his waist to help support him. A pair of maidservants helped Diana get Artorius out of his armor. They also took his weapons and helmet and then Diana signaled for them to leave. She had already arranged for a hot bath to be drawn for her husband. She helped him out of his tunic and removed the crusted bandage from his side. She cringed at the sight of the stitched up gash. It was her turn to sigh as he suddenly looked down at the floor as if he were now ashamed.
Diana removed her stola and guided Artorius into the steaming hot water. He sat on a submerged bench, the water coming up to the middle of his chest. Even though he winced when the hot water touched his healing wounds, he gave no resistance as he let his wife bathe him. They spent some time in the bath, for Diana knew that not only did he desperately need to be cleaned, but the heat would help sooth his devastated body. After helping him from the bath and drying him off, she redressed his wound and guided him to their bedchamber. Though it was but a couple hours past midday, she knew that what her husband needed most was rest. She was completely exhausted herself, both physically and emotionally. Not a word had been said by either of them since his return and Diana knew not what the right words could possibly be. Artorius’ body was broken, his very soul devastated, and her heart completely broke for him.
She guided him to their bed, only a hint of light coming in through the heavy curtains she had had installed recently. It was a warm day, though a cool and gentle breeze blew in through an open side window. As Artorius lay down on his side Diana pulled a thin sheet over them and placed herself behind him on her side. She tucked one arm underneath his neck, while the other she carefully placed over his torso. He took that hand and pulled her as close to him as he could. It was then Diana finally broke the silence. There was really only one thing she could say to him, and it was all that mattered.
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, the tears she would not show to his face sliding down her cheeks. She held him tighter as she felt his body start to tremble violently. His own tears, that he had been denied in Frisia, now bursting forth as he was finally able to release all the pent up emotions and sorrow tormenting him since the loss of his friends. Diana clung to him until his body’s shaking subsided. She then kissed him gently on the neck, pulled her arm off his waist and gently caressed his back until they both drifted off to sleep.
As he lay there taking in Diana’s gentle caress, Artorius’ breathing relaxed and came easily to him. Her simplest touch did so much for him, for he knew that she alone was able to heal his tortured soul. Comforted by this, he allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep for the first time in weeks. Afterwards, they would never again speak of the day he returned from Frisia.
Chapter XXIV: Call to the Fallen
This would be the most difficult thing Artorius had ever done. By Roman tradition, the names of the slain were to be called out three times; a final call to the fallen. Each cohort held its own separate vigil, with a day to themselves to honor their brothers. Each Centurion would call out the names of his soldiers, or in the case of the First Century, Optio Macer had taken the place of Vitruvius. It would be his last official duty for his century, as he was being moved to take command of the Fourth, while Centurion Dominus was selected to take over the First Century, as well as the entire cohort.
Master Centurion Calvinus was there, along with the Primi Ordinones of the Legion. Proculus had been the Pilus Prior for the Third Cohort before Vitruvius, and he still knew most of the men well. He had to be carried in on a stretcher, as he was still in terrible shape. Centurion Macro had commanded the Second Century. It pained him deeply to know his former Optio, who many had thought to be invincible, was amongst the slain. It was incomprehensible that Vitruvius should die in battle.
It had only been two weeks since Braduhenna Wood, and Artorius was still weakened by his injuries suffered in battle. Still, he had insisted on being dressed in full armor like the rest of his men. He used his vine stick like a cane to keep himself upright. As commander of the Second Century, he would be the second to call out the names of his men. He breathed deeply, trying to fight back the tears as Macer called out the very first name for the Third Cohort.
“Centurion Pilus Prior Marcus Vitruvius…Centurion Pilus Prior Marcus Vitruvius…Centurion Pilus Prior Marcus Vitruvius!”
Each call of the name stabbed Artorius in the heart. He allowed the tears to flow, knowing that even the strongest would be unable to stop them. He focused only on keeping his voice from breaking as he listened to Macer call out the names of the First Century’s dead. There were eight of them. As the last was spoken for the third time, Artorius took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had thirteen names to speak, more than any of the other centuries in the Third Cohort. Eight of these had been new recruits from the previous fall.
His voice held as he shouted the first two names. They were the Decanii, the Sergeants of Legionaries that he had hastily replaced with Valens and Felix. Though he could not see his men behind him, he knew the two Sergeants felt both the sorrow of loss, as well as the guilt associated with having earned their promotions on the bodies of their friends. He continued down the list, the three names that he kept for last he knew would be the hardest.
“Legionary Tiberius Carbo…Legionary Tiberius Carbo…Legionary Tiberius Carbo!” He swallowed hard as he continued, “Legionary Decimus Lucilius…Legionary Decimus Lucilius…Legionary Decimus Lucilius!” He tried in vain to fight back against the memories of his two friends, who had been inseparable since before he met them. Decimus had always preferred being known by his first name, rather than his family name, as was tradition. Artorius looked to the sky as he made ready to say the last name.
“Justus, my friend, forgive me,” he said in a whisper before returning his gaze front. “Legionary Gaius Longinus…Legionary Gaius Longinus…Legionary Gaius Longinus!”
“A terrible disaster!” Tiberius shouted as he read the report. “How was this allowed to happen?”
“It would seem that Gallus’ pet, Olennius, decided to set up his own system of taxation amongst the Frisians,” the Tribune explained.
Apronius had selected Cursor, personally, to be his messenger to the Emperor. The Governor General had enough to deal with in rebuilding the Army of the Rhine, and he knew that Cursor would not hold back when telling Tiberius what had transpired in Frisia.