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As the light of dawn shown itself upon the Roman Encampment, Marcellus awoke from his slumber; lying next to him was his slave, Sigefrida. He had taken great liberties as a General to ensure that Sigefrida was in the safety of the military camp instead of on the perimeter within the follower’s base.

One might even say he had outright broken the law by doing so; regardless, he did not care. Rome was in a state of peril, and thus Marcellus could bend the rules if he so desired. After rising from his bed, Sigefrida awoke beside him, gazing at his bareback as he leaned off the edge of the cot.

The Suebi woman crawled out from under her covers, completely naked, and immediately rose from her slumbering position as she prepared to dress her master for his upcoming duties. Her bountiful breasts swayed as she began equipping Marcellus with his attire.

The young General struggled to avert his gaze from the woman’s sublime figure but ultimately failed to do so. He continued to stare in awe at his beautiful slave as he did every morning, suppressing his desire to take her then and there. Only after he was fully clothed and armored did Sigefrida begin to dress in her ragged attire.

Though Marcellus desired to buy her nice clothing from the East, the wise woman had refused time and again. After all, she was a slave, and to wear such luxuries in her position was to invoke the ire of the people who lived above her low status. Marcellus ultimately broke the silence that purveyed between them as he began to exit the tent.

“Today, we will be advancing further into the Usurper’s territory; armed conflict is bound to occur, so stay safe….”

Upon hearing this warning, Sigefrida nodded her head as a warm smile spread across her luscious lips before responding to her master’s concerns._.

“You can rest easy; I know how to take care of myself!”

Such a response invoked a sense of calmness inside of Marcellus’ heart. This was not the first campaign he had dragged this woman on, and it certainly wouldn’t be her last. By now, she was well accustomed to protecting herself from friend and foe alike.

After looking upon Sigefrida’s exceptional beauty one last time, Marcellus exited out of his tent and into the temporary encampment that had been established near the borders of Gaul. After departing from his quarters, Marcellus ventured forth through the camp with an arrogant stride; everywhere he stepped, his soldiers stood up and saluted him with respect and fear for the position he held.

Eventually, the young General came across a man he held significant disdain for. This man was sharpening his blade on a grinding wheel. He was a Gothic Chieftain by the name of Sarus, and he was the Commander of the Foederati attached to Marcellus’ army.

The moment the two made eye contact with one another, the atmosphere that surrounded them became tense; they had a long history together. The two of them had served alongside one another during the invasion of Italy by the Gothic Chieftain Radagaisus two years prior.

During that conflict, Marcellus had earned a fearsome reputation as a slayer of Goths, putting any man, woman, and child he came across who belonged to that tribe to the sword. If Sarus were not aligned with Rome as a member of its Foederati, he too would have suffered such a brutal fate.

The memories of Marcellus’ cruelty as he ordered the massacre of entire populations of the Gothic people had forged an intense sense of dread within Sarus’s heart towards his General. It was for this reason that though he obeyed Marcellus’ orders; he did not treat him with the respect a man of his position was afforded.

Sarus sneered in disdain as he gazed upon Marcellus’ handsome visage before speaking to him with a tone of contempt. The sarcastic use of the Roman victory title did not go unnoticed by the young General.

“Gothicus, surely you are not thinking of spilling my blood here and now, within your camp?’

The title of Gothicus was usually given to Roman Generals who had achieved significant victories against the Goths. Yet, despite his achievements in the past two Gothic Wars, Marcellus had not earned such an impressive title. As such, when Sarus referred to Marcellus in this manner, it was an insult to the man’s pride, as it reminded the young General of the glories that Emperor Honorius had denied him.

Marcellus looked upon the Commander of his Foederati with utter disgust; he would not deign such an insult to his pride with a response. Instead, he merely turned his gaze away from the Barbarian Chieftain and followed his path towards the center of the encampment.

Sarus, on the other hand, gazed upon Marcellus’ back with a hint of scorn in his eyes before shifting his attention onto the young General’s tent. He knew that there was a Suebi beauty hidden away inside and swore the moment that Marcellus met his death; he would take her as his prize.

However, for now he would wait; after all, though he did not show the General respect, he greatly feared the man. In the eyes of the Gothic chieftain, few men were as cold-hearted and ruthless as Marcellus was; as such, he disregarded his wicked thoughts and got back to work sharpening his blade.

Eventually, Marcellus reached the center of the encampment where a command tent was located; he quickly entered the structure and saw Lucan and the other commanders under his command gathered together as they studied a map. This map showed the known positions of the usurper’s forces and that of the barbarian invaders.

Lucan immediately stood up and saluted his General as Marcellus entered the tent, as did the other officers beside them. The young General returned their salute as he shifted his attention to the map sprawled across the table.

“Have we received word from our scouts?”

Lucan smiled and nodded as he quickly repeated the information he had received not long ago.

“Our scouts have reported a sizeable force of the Usurper’s army stationed within the city of Valence. It is led by one of his Foederati Commanders by the name of Nebiogastes, who is a Frankish Chieftain. If we can lay siege to the city, we might be able to trap the enemy commander within its walls and eliminate a large portion of the Usurper’s army.”

Marcellus gazed upon the wooden figures that represented the various forces that lay within the borders of Gaul and their current estimated locations. Upon seeing the Frankish Foederati and their position, he decided on a course of action.

“Our armies will surround the city and lay siege to it, where we will annihilate the enemy within. Whether they be Roman or Barbarian, any man who pledges his loyalty to the Usurper Constantine will have his head removed!”

The various officers beneath Marcellus’ command immediately nodded in agreement as they made the necessary plans for such an assault. After a while, Lucan broke the silence by bringing up the subject that none of them wished to discuss.

“And what if the foederati beneath our command betray us? They make up two-thirds of our forces; if they side with the enemy, we will be vastly outnumbered, with no chances of survival!”

As Romans, the men within this room were all too aware of the frailty of the alliance between Rome and its barbarian mercenaries. Every time they marched to war, they had to fear the potential reality of their allies turning on them amid battle. Yet Marcellus remained undeterred as he scoffed at the reaction of his top officers.

“You think Sarus will betray us? He may be a filthy barbarian and a two-faced scoundrel, but he knows the price he would pay should he betray me. Even if it were the last thing that I accomplish in this life, I would find a way to take him with me to the grave.”

Lucan nodded his head; he could not deny that Marcellus had gained a fearsome reputation as a slayer of barbarians; as such, he disregarded his previous concerns and asked the following question on his mind.

“When do we set out?”

Marcellus had no hesitation; he knew the sooner they marched onto Valence, the more likely it was that their plan would succeed; as such, he boldly declared his orders for all his commanders to receive and enact as an extension of his will.

“We march at noon; I want to be in the vicinity of the city within a week!”

Upon hearing this, the gathered officers quickly saluted their General and affirmed their orders.

“Yes, sir!”

Before long, the Roman Encampment was torn down, and the army was on the march once more. The enemies of Rome would soon be facing an army at their gates. As for whether the Foederati would indeed betray their Roman counterparts, only time would tell.