Chapter 11 Fighting in the Fields Part I

Days had passed since Marcellus and his army of Roman soldiers had embarked from the recently conquered city of Valence. Their destination was Lugdunum, a major center of power in Roman Gaul. Currently, the young General sat on horseback as his army marched behind him. Latching onto his back was his beautiful Suebi slave.

Marcellus had dispatched his scouts ahead to locate and report any significant threats to the army, and just now they had returned to the primary host. The men were practically out of breath as they reported their news to their superior officers.

“You’re sure of this?”

The scout silently nodded his head, his brow soaked with perspiration. The very idea of that which he had seen frightened the young man. Ultimately, the officer sighed before giving the scout further orders.

“Maintain a close eye on their location, and report any sudden movements to me the moment you become aware. You are dismissed.”

After saying this, the officer rode his horse through the Roman formation until he had come across Marcellus who was enjoying the march as if it were on a leisurely stroll.

“General! I have news to report from the path ahead!”

Marcellus’ brow raised as he heard these words. He quickly permitted the young officer to approach him and report what he had heard. When the man got close, he whispered to Marcellus what he his scouts had seen, ensuring that panic would not arise among the soldiers of the Roman Army.

“Our scouts report a large host ahead. It is composed of the usurper’s forces, and a group of Suebi foederati. They are preparing an ambush for us. I advise we should change our route in order to escape the trap that they have lain.”

Marcellus gazed off into the distance, attempting to get a glimpse of the enemy formation. However, he was too far away, and the sun blocked his sight. Thus, he could only shake his head as he responded to his officer’s suggestion.

“If the Usurper wishes to fight in the field, then we shall oblige him. I am confident in our ability to win any battle we may come across. However, we will not be walking into their trap, instead we will set one of our own.”

After saying this with a proud smirk on his face, Marcellus leaned in and whispered to the officer about his ploy. A bright smile appeared on the man’s visage as he heard his general’s schemes, resulting in the nod of his head and a salute as he responded in the affirmative.

“It will be done, General.”

After saying this, the officer scurried off and prepared to enact Marcellus’ plot. Sigefrida noticed the look on his face and tapped him on the nose with her finger, dragging his line-of-sight straight into her ice-blue eyes.

“Just what schemes have you thought up of this time?”

Marcellus responded with a simple smirk and nothing else, causing the woman to pout as she rested her head against his back. After a few moments of silence, he grasped ahold of her dainty hand and gazed off into the distance where the enemy was located.

“You know what to do, right?”

The woman nodded her head with a downcast expression before responding.

“I know…”

After saying this, she hopped off the back of his horse and made her way to the rear of the formation where the followers were located. Upon seeing this, his troops drew deep breaths, mentally steeling themselves for what was to come.

The fact that the general sent his precious slave to the rear meant there was a battle ahead. The soldiers gazed up at their commander, looking for their orders, but his gaze told them all they needed to know. Despite this, Marcellus chuckled before issuing his command.

“What are you all staring at me for? Keep marching forward!”

The Roman soldiers did as they were commanded and continued their march for some time. Completely unaware that the cavalry among their forces had circled off into the woodlands, preparing for an important role in the upcoming battle.

When the Romans travelled another two miles, they came across a peculiar sight. A large army was gathered and awaiting in formation. They were blocking the path of the river crossing, which was needed for the loyalist army to get to their destination. When Marcellus gazed upon this, he hopped off his horse and sneered in disdain before giving his orders.

“Shield Wall!”

The moment this order was given, the Romans and their Foederati allies rushed into formation like a well-oiled machine. Arrows and rocks fell on their location, and despite this, few lives were taken. Thanks to Marcellus’ commands, most of his men were well protected from these threats before they were encountered.

After the volley of missile fire failed to penetrate the thick oval scutum of the Roman Army, Marcellus issued another command as thousands of hostile men rushed towards his position.

“Plumbatae!”

The Romans did not hesitate to act. They sheathed their blades and reached into the lining of their shields, grabbing ahold of a heavy, weighted dart before lobbing them into the air. These simple weapons rain down upon the enemy from the skies above at a distance of over fifty feet.

Those unfortunate enough to be struck in the leg lost their ability to charge. However, that paled compared to those unarmored forces who were unlucky enough to have their torsos skewered. A single roman soldier could carry five plumbatae, and they were quick to rain them down upon the enemy’s ranks, dwindling their numbers with each toss.

Upon seeing hundreds of his enemies lying dead before the armies clashed, Marcellus smiled as he lobbed his last plumbata. After doing so, he quickly unsheathed his spatha from its scabbard and braced his shield alongside his brothers, waiting for the impact of the enemy forces.

In a matter of seconds, an enemy collided with his shield, which he quickly used to press off, and thrust his noric steel blade into the man’s torso. With a vicious slash, Marcellus withdrew his sword, and spilled the man’s innards onto the ground below. Despite this horrific scene, the Roman General was quick to raise his shield once more to deflect an oncoming blow.

After having a maul collide with his shield, Marcellus felt as if the impact had broken his wrist. He snarled in pain as he pushed past his limits and pressed the enemy off, once more thrusting his sword forward. The cold steel pierced through the heart of his enemy before being savagely withdrawn from the dying man’s rib cage. Marcellus merely shouted as he engaged the enemy at the front of his infantry’s formation.

“Hold strong!”

Despite having a fractured wrist, the young general continued to use all of his might to raise his shield and block further oncoming blows, using his strength to shove the enemy backword and pierce through the torso with his spatha. However, such a strategy would not last for long, as the roman army suffered losses.

Amidst the bloody melee, Romans fell by their general’s side, and in their place, the enemy lunged forward with a savage ferocity, desperately wanting to claim his head. Despite this, Marcellus did not fall back, instead he used the chaos of the battlefield to cut down oncoming soldiers left and right.

After dispatching a Suebi warrior with a quick slash to the wrist, chopping off the man’s hand. Marcellus kicked his victim to the ground, where he pressed his scutum against the warrior’s neck, pinning him to the bloody grass.

With a fierce roar, the young General inserted his blade with all his strength through the man’s mail armor and into his rib cage, slowly claiming his life. The sheer hatred in the barbarian’s eyes as he witnessed his own consciousness snuffed away by the Roman blade was a sight that Marcellus would never forget.

Before the Marcellus could fully realize what he had witnessed, a heavy blow collided with the back of his head, immediately dropping him to his knees, and concussing him at the same time. It took a few moments for the roman general to turn around and see his attacker’s face.

However, when Marcellus finally did so, he witnessed the sight of a thick and burly barbarian warrior chuckling. The man carried a sturdy wooden club in one hand, and a large round shield in the other. Intense resentment filled the man’s sky-blue eyes as he called out Marcellus for his previous actions.

“I am Osoarius, brother of Selmirus! Roman dog, you have murdered my brother, and today I shall claim your skull in his stead!”

Marcellus struggled to gain the strength to rise to a fighting position as the barbarian warrior brought his club down upon his head once more. Just barely did he raise his shield in time and deflect the oncoming blow.

His already fractured wrist suffered more damage as he collapsed to the ground and protected himself from the oncoming blows with the length of his oval scutum. It was do or die, and Marcellus was currently on the losing side of this battle.