Chapter 13 The Usurper’s Response

Rain poured from the heavens and showered itself upon the ancient city of Lugdunum. The streets had become soaked in water as a miniature river flooded through them. Thunder crackled in the air as a delegation of barbarian foederati belonging to the Frankish tribe marched towards a large villa that lie in the Gaulish capital’s center.

When these men approached the entrance, heavily armed Roman Soldiers who belonged to the fabled Palatini initially halted them. These men were the personal bodyguard of the usurper Flavius Claudius Constantinus, and they would not so easily allow these intruders to enter the man’s personal abode. However, just when they were about to chase the barbarians away, a voice called out to them from the balcony above.

“Let them pass…”

With this said, the Palatini guards parted way for the Barbarian delegates and opened the doors for their entry. Not the slightest hesitation filled their hearts as they allowed these foreign men into their emperor’s home.

Upon entering the self-proclaimed Emperor’s home, a particularly large Barbarian gazed around at his surroundings before grasping hold of an ornate and gilded artifact. A toothy grin appeared upon his rigid face as he examined the object. However, before he could conclude his estimation of the item’s worth, a stern voiced called out to him from behind.

“I would prefer it if you did not wipe your dirty hands all over my beloved artifacts…”

The large barbarian gazed over towards the Roman and scoffed before placing down the object back where it once stood. Upon being so rudely greeted, the man did not stand on formality and quickly approached the man who had called out to him, towering above his shoulders in an intimidating display of his impressive physique.

“Are you the one they call Constantine?”

The usurper gazed up at the large Barbarian from the north and nodded his head with a confident expression on his rugged face.

“That would be correct. I’m sorry, you are unfamiliar to me. Might I know your name, and the position you hold in your tribe?”

Upon seeing that he did not intimidate the little Roman, the barbarian warrior sneered in disgust at the Roman’s pride before banging his chest with his fist and proudly declaring his identity in a tone so loud it echoed throughout the halls of the villa.

“I am Balderic, son of Nebiogastes. With my father’s death in Valence, I have become the leader of the Franks, who have sworn their service to you. So tell me, what is so urgent that I need to travel all the way from Belgica to this ruin?”

Constantine’s lower lip quivered as he heard the Capital of Roman Gaul be referred to as a ruin by the barbarian chieftain. Still, he controlled his emotions as he explained the reasoning for summoning this man and the elders of his tribe.

“The man who has killed your father is marching his army to Lugdunum. I figured you would like to have the chance to avenge him. Or was I mistaken?”

Upon hearing this, the giant known as Balderic gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. It was evident by the expression he was making that he loathed whoever was responsible for his father’s death, thus it was no surprise when he accepted Constantine’s offer.

“What is your plan to deal with these fools?”

Constantine immediately began to pace around the room with a confident stride. As he did so, he lectured the barbarian chieftain in a haughty tone.

“My plan is simple. I will sally forth my army from Lugdunum and meet Marcellus in the field. When our armies meet in battle, you will lead your men to attack him from behind, cutting off his retreat, and isolating the loyalists so that you may gain your vengeance.”

When Balderic heard this, he spat upon the ground in disgust before voicing his contempt.

“You say this Roman killed my father? Doubtful, Nebiogastes was a man renowned among the Frankish people. He would not so easily fall to a mere Roman.”

Upon hearing such a spiteful remark, Constantine struggled to keep his growing rage in check. However, ultimately, he clenched his fists and took a deep breath before calming his nerves and speaking his thoughts on the matter.

“Even if Marcellus did not kill your father, he surely knows the man who did. Fight Marcellus, and beat him bloody until he tells you the information you desire, then you can find the man responsible among his soldiers’ ranks and fulfill your retribution!”

The lumbering giant of a man dwelled on this course of action for some time before nodding his head in agreement.

“Very well. I will follow your orders. The moment you take the fight to the loyalists, I will not be far behind. We will cut off the enemy’s retreat and slaughter them to the last man!”

A sinister smirk etched itself upon Constantine’s battle-worn face as he nodded his head in victory.

“Good…”

After saying this, he led the Frankish delegation to his dining hall, where a feast was prepared for them. As a civilized man, it was his duty to tend to his guests even if they were a bunch of filthy barbarians.

—

While the usurper was brokering an alliance with the Franks so that he may defeat Marcellus, the young Roman General stood before thousands of his troops as he made them do pushups. There was a scowl on his handsome visage as he issued commands to the men who performed physical exercise while in full armor.

“More! You will not stop until I see blood on your knuckles!”

Lucan and the other officers stood by Marcellus’ side as they sighed in defeat. The reason for this public display of authority was the lackadaisical attitude the Roman Soldiers had since their victory a few days prior.

On more than one occasion, Marcellus had received complaints about how heavy the armor was that his soldiers wore. After all, Rome was in dire straights and they could not equip all of their soldiers with protection for their vitals. However, as irritating as such complaints were, the final straw was when Marcellus witnessed his soldiers taking off their helmets and tossing them aside while on the march.

He immediately ordered them to halt their actions and began to punish them for their complete and total lack of discipline. Thus, it was understandable why his tone was filled with fury as he barked his commands to the men in his army.

“When I say put on your armor, and march, you do as you are told. I don’t care how heavy you think it is, I don’t care how exhausted you are while marching. Your forbearers wore armor far heavier, and bulkier than that which you are equipped with and not once are they recorded as to having complained about it.

Why? Because they knew the Glory of Rome was more important than their personal comfort! You should consider yourselves lucky that you don’t go through the rigid physical training that your predecessors went through. If they could gaze upon you now, your childish complaints would sicken them!

From now on, each and every one of you will do the most basic of exercises in the morning before we march, and you will wear your armor from the moment you awake, until the moment you lie down for sleep, just like your ancestors have done before you!”

In response to this, the soldiers merely groaned. They could not believe their General was being such a hardass about this new equipment they had scavenged. However, the moment Marcellus heard these complaints, he gave another command.

“Just for that, you are running five laps around the camp when we finish setting it up tonight!”

Though the men wanted to complain about this too, they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut this time, and merely bit their tongues in displeasure. Sooner or later, they would have their revenge for this harsh treatment.

The reality of the matter was that Marcellus was right in everything he had said. Since the days of the first Gothic Wars decades ago, there were records of Roman soldiers being so lazy, and undisciplined, that they would cast their armor to side and go out into war in nothing but their tunics and trousers. Such a thing had caused massive casualties by the Gothic archery.

If Rome wanted to survive, then this lack of discipline among its army needed to change. Marcellus knew that only by restoring the glory of the ancient legions of the principate could Rome endure what was to come. He would start by making sure as many of his soldiers were properly outfitted with armor, and that they had the strength to wield it in battle.

Thus, while Constantine planned to catch him in a trap, he ensured that his troop’s discipline was at its highest standards. After all, the battle that was on the horizon would determine the fate of the Diocese of Gaul.