Chapter 15 A Dark Day in the History of the Empire

In the hills outside of Lugdunum, the remnants of the Roman Army stood gathered. Their General Marcellus gazed upon what remained of his once mighty army with sorrow. Within each of his soldier’s eyes was the same defeated look that he himself wore. Try as he might to conceal his lament, such harrowing losses ate away at his soul, visibly displaying the torment he felt inside.

Never before in the General’s life had he suffered such a brutal defeat, and the worst part of it all was that he was damn near victory. Out of the thousands of men who marched into Gaul under his command with the goal of bringing the usurper to justice, just under three hundred of them remained, and that included the Gothic foederati who followed Sarus into battle.

The young general clenched his fists as he sat on his horseback, his lovely slave by wrapped around his back with an equally depressing stare. He gritted his teeth as he proclaimed the Roman withdrawal from Gaul and the return of its survivors to Italy.

“It is with a heavy heart that we leave the corpses of our brothers in arms behind, at the mercy of the usurper Constantine! However, we have no choice. I blame no one for this monumental failure besides myself, and vow to take full responsibility for our defeat in Gaul.

I made a miscalculation and we have all paid the price for it. It was my understanding that the Franks who had sworn their allegiance to Constantine were undergoing a power struggle after the death of Nebiogastes. I was unaware that a new leader had assumed command, nor that they were in the vicinity of our conflict.

The fact of the matter is, we simply lack the means to continue this campaign, and it is because of this, that I, General Titus Claudius Marcellus hereby announce our withdrawal from the Diocese of Gaul, and our return to Italy! You have all fought bravely, and should not blame yourselves for this defeat. The responsibility of failure falls unto me, your commander…”

The remaining soldiers of the Roman Army gritted their teeth, curled their fists, and clenched their eyes as they struggled to endure the torment of this speech. As much as Marcellus was a hardass for discipline, and a man who seldom followed the rules regarding followers, had until this point been an excellent commander on the field of battle.

They did not blame him for their defeat, rather the injury that caused him to sit on the sidelines. If not for this, the men of Marcellus’ army were convinced that victory would be assured just as it had been time and gain before this horrific loss. After giving the soldiers a moment of silence to grieve their losses, Marcellus issued the command to move out.

“Forward March!’

With that said, the Roman soldiers marched towards their home with a sense of overwhelming despair, knowing that their failure would surely be punished severely. As for Marcellus, he wore a stoic expression on his handsome face as he struggled to come to terms with the death of his friend and advisor, Lucan. The man who had helped him maintain order and discipline among his army’s ranks was gone from this world. Never again would Marcellus gaze upon his kind yet rugged face.

The Army marched for several weeks before arriving at the borders of Italy. During this time, they had come under attack by small war bands of Vandal, Suebi, and Gothic raiders. It took everything they had to repel these attackers, but the losses continued to grow with every step taken.

By the time they reached the borders of Italy, roughly two hundred of the three hundred or so survivors remained standing. Despite the long and brutal death march, they had finally returned home, safe and sound. Or so they thought, but just as they were crossing through the alps, Marcellus and the Romans found themselves surrounded.

Who would dare to surround a Romany Army near the borders of their heartland? That would be the Bagaudae. The Bagaudae were various groups of Roman peasant insurgents who had risen to prominence within the less stable regions of the Empire, such as Gaul and Hispania, during the Crisis of the Third Century. Nearly two hundred years later and they were still a thorn in the Empire’s side.

When Marcellus realized he had walked into a trap prepared by these Brigands, he could only sigh in defeat. There were nearly a thousand of them in total, and the young General knew he could not fight them and emerge victorious, thus he immediately called out to the Bagaudae seeking to negotiate.

“I am Titus, Claudius, Marcellus, General of the Roman Empire! Whoever is in charge of you men, come forth, and speak of your price for safe passage through the Alps!”

A short and stocky middle-aged man appeared from among his forces before jumping down from the cliff side onto the ground in front of the Roman Army. He had short, grey hair and a matching beard while missing several of his teeth, which was displayed with his grin. The man called out to Marcellus in a haughty tone, as if he was superior to the Roman General.

“If you want to buy your safety, then you will have to pay the price in silver and flesh. A thousand solidus, plus that beautiful barbarian woman you have by your side, will suffice.”

Marcellus immediately frowned when he heard this, with an overwhelming sense of rage over taking his brain as he lashed out at the Bagaudae commander.

“Bastard! How dare you make such demands of me? Do you have any idea who I am? I will not yield my house slave to a lowly peasant such as yourself! Speak to me in such a manner again and see how willing I am to die in the face of such humiliation!”

The Roman soldiers gazed up at their General with bitter expressions. If he did not hand over his precious slave, they would mutiny and force him to. There was no way they were willing to die for a filthy slave.”

Marcellus’ words enraged the Bagaudae who raised their bows and strung their arrows as they prepared to fire. However, in the next moment, the man in charge raised his hand, signalling his troops to halt their actions. A toothy grin appeared on his face as he came up with a fiendish idea.

“Very well. If you aren’t willing to part ways with your slave, then I have a better idea. Become our hostage, and I promise I will send your slave, and your men on their way back to Rome or whatever city you may hail from. I am sure, being the important person who you claim to be, that your family will be more than happy to pay whatever ransom we demand for you to return to them in once piece…”

When Sigefrida heard this, she became overwhelmed by panic, and began protesting, knowing full well that Marcellus would take this option.

“Dominus, don’t do this! I am a lowly slave and am unworthy of such a sacrifice. For a man in your position to become a hostage is the ultimate humiliation for yourself, and Rome. It will destroy your future!”

However, Marcellus did not listen to the woman’s commands, and instead focused his gaze onto Sarus, who he struck an accord with.

“Sarus, ensure that Sigefrida returns to my villa safe and sound, and I promise you a fortune in return. However, if a single hair on her head is harmed in my absence, I will hold you responsible.”

Sarus merely scoffed and nodded his head, before he grabbed hold of Sigefrida and pried her away from her master.

“You don’t need to threaten me, Gothicus. You had my interest the moment you promised me a fortune…”

Sigefrida struggled to stay latched onto Marcellus, but ultimately Sarus prevailed, taking the woman from his horseback and holding her close to his side. After this, Marcellus removed his gilded plumed helmet to reveal his thick brown hair, and light olive skin as he stepped off his horse and surrendered himself to the Brigands.

The soldiers in Marcellus’ army did not attempt to intervene. By now, they were exhausted and simply desired to return home and see their families. If the General was willing to commit political suicide by surrendering to these peasant insurgents than that was none of their business.

Eventually Marcellus was bound and lead away by the Bagaudae who fulfilled their promise and allowed the broken and battered remnants of the Roman Army to return home. The entire time, Sarus had to struggle to contain the fury of Sigefrida, who would rather suffer a horrific fate than allow her master to throw away his future for her sake.

In doing this, Marcellus had not only humiliated himself, but the entire Roman Empire. A General being taken hostage and held for ransom was a black eye on the face of Rome and all its glory. Even if he were to survive captivity and one day return home, his rivals would drag his name through the dirt, and any influence that came with it. However, such was the price that Marcellus was willing to pay in order to ensure the safety of his beloved.