Fall From Grace

Weeks passed, and in that time, Marcellus focused on healing from his wounds. The lash of the whip was no joke. Many had died from the infections that came with such a brutal punishment. Luckily, Marcellus was a wealthy man, and could easily afford the best healers to tend to his ailment.

Having spent most of his time lying in bed, Marcellus was quite antsy when he could finally walk around as if he were a spry man in the prime of his youth. Though the carved flesh on his back had scarred, the sting of the whip remained in some phantom capacity. Still, as a man who had suffered grievous injuries on the field of battle, Marcellus was well accustomed to the pain, and walked around as if it did not even bother him.

It became increasingly clear in the days following his sentence that Marcellus' reputation was thoroughly ruined. The people of Rome were quick to turn on him, and why wouldn't they? Most human beings had short memories, and would not recollect the past glories a man had achieved, instead they would dwell on his more recent losses. Such petty creatures were quick to condemn the man they once heralded as their defender.

It was because of this social isolation from both the plebeian and patrician circles that Marcellus had holed up in his manor. Using the brief time the emperor had given him to heal from his wounds as a sort of vacation. He knew it was only a matter of time before Honorius dispatched him to some battlefield. After all, he was one of the few men capable of defeating Rome's many enemies.

At the moment, Marcellus was dining on a fine meal cooked by Sigefrida. Though he had several slaves, the barbarian beauty was undoubtedly his favorite of the bunch, and the only one he trusted to cook his meals. As for his mother, she had returned to her villa after ensuring that her son was on the road to recovery. Leaving the boy in the tender care of his many slaves.

While Marcellus ate the food that Sigefrida had prepared for him, another one of his slaves, who was a young Assyrian girl, walked into the dining hall with a man in tow. The girl had a sheepish expression on her face as she tried to introduce the man to her master. However, before she could do so, the stranger proudly strode forward and stood before Marcellus with a look of disdain on his face.

Though Marcellus did not recognize the man, he could clearly see that he was a member of the Roman Army by the uniform he was dressed in. In particular, he was a messenger most likely sent by the Emperor himself. Despite Marcellus' superior position, the man did not put on airs, and instead gazed at the young general with disgust before handing him a scroll.

"These are orders from the Emperor himself. You have been re-assigned, the information about your new post is contained in the scroll. If that is all, I will be leaving."

Marcellus did not bother wasting his time correcting the man's ill manners, and simply nodded his head, allowing the man to depart from his villa in peace. After the door shut behind the messenger, Marcellus scrolled through the message before tossing it aside with a heavy sigh. Sigefrida could immediately tell that it was not good news and immediately moved to comfort his master.

"Dominus, is everything alright?"

The young general shook his head with a bitter smile on his face. Though expected further retaliation from Honorius, he did not expect the man to go this far. He could hardly look his slave in the eyes as he admitted the reality of his situation.

"I've been reassigned..."

Obviously, he had been reassigned, as the messenger had blatantly said such a thing before departing. However, this did not explain the grim look on her master's face. Thus, Sigefrida tried to get to the root of the problem as she wore an optimistic smile.

"Well, that's no surprise, your army suffered heavy casualties in Gaul. It makes sense that Honorius would assign you to another comitatenses. It can't be that bad. Which unit are you now in charge of?"

Unknowingly, the barbarian beauty had added salt to the mortal blow that Marcellus had just been given by the Emperor's hand. He struggled to keep his emotions in check as he tried to explain the depth of his current circumstances to his beloved slave.

"You don't understand, he hasn't given me command of a comitatenses, he has tasked me with leading the limitanei on the borders of Illyricum!"

Sigefrida reacted in shock, and rightfully so. The limitanei were second-rate frontier soldiers who lived, fought, and died on the borders of the empire. Initially they had started out as professional soldiers, but by now they were part-timers who spent more time farming the fields than they did in battle. When compared to the General's past glories of leading the Palatini, this was considered a major fall from grace.

Due to the dire financial situation of the Empire, Marcellus' previous army was already considered under-equipped and undertrained. However, when compared to his new troops, the veterans of the palatini were practically special forces in terms of the quality of equipment and training. To go from leading the Empire's greatest forces to being a glorified border guard was an enormous slap to the face, and a waste of Marcellus' talents.

Sigefrida could hardly believe her master's words and quickly glanced at the message to make sure the man was not pulling a prank on her. The moment she read its contents, her expression sank just as Marcellus' had. She immediately protested the order with all the fury in her heart.

"Has he gone mad? Placing you in control of a bunch of farmers? You are one of Rome's greatest generals, and he tasks you with leading some pissant frontier fort on the borders of Illyricum? Who will lead the forces against the usurper? This is outright insanity!"

Marcellus could only click his tongue in his displeasure as he thought about what this meant for his career. It was clear that Honorius intended to have him waste away on the frontier along the borders of the Eastern Roman Empire. The only way he could now climb back to his previous glory was to win a major battle on the frontier against overwhelming odds. Such a thing was unlikely with the quality of troops he was now given command of.

It was because of this that the young general was visibly enraged, and had practically begun to shout as he condemned the Emperor for his eternal foolishness.

"Don't you see? The fool doesn't care about Rome. He would rather watch it burn in the background while acting upon his petty jealousy, then put a capable man who he hates in charge of his armies. I always knew Honorius was an idiot, barely capable of stringing a coherent thought together, but this, this is utter madness!"

After saying this, Marcellus glanced over towards Sigefrida and noticed she was nodding her head in agreement. She had an anxious expression on her face, as she suspected Marcellus might do something foolish. Obviously, she could not hold her thoughts back and quickly questioned her master.

"What do you intend to do about this?"

No matter how furious Marcellus was about his current orders, he had no choice but to obey them. Thus, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he rubbed his temples before answering the woman's question.

"What can I do? I will ride to the borders of Illyricum and defend the land from whatever threat may appear. The emperor has given me an order, and no matter how foolish such an order is, I must obey it..."

If there was one good thing that came from this whole ordeal is that it would give Marcellus time to experiment with the device he had previously seen in his dreams. Perhaps if he could create these so-called stirrups, he could raise a substantial cavalry force at a fraction of the cost it would take to normally do so. Against the threats on the horizon, such a thing was truly his only hope, as he doubted he could place his faith in the part-time soldiers who would now be beneath his command.

Sigefrida, on the other hand, was extremely worried about Marcellus' new position. The frontier troops were exactly as they sounded, the first line of defense against the myriad of threats on Rome's borders. Undertrained, and under-equipped, Marcellus would soon find himself knee deep in the blood of Romans and Barbarians alike.

Compared to the lofty arrangement he had previously had, her master would now be living in a state of constant danger. Yet there was nothing they could do. The emperor's orders were absolute. Thus, Marcellus prepared himself for the long trek to the eastern borders of the Western Roman Empire.