Heir of Aurelian

After the battlefield was cleaned up, the Romans had returned to their posts at the temporary encampment that they had established while on campaign. Which lay on the border of the Diocese of Gaul. Though the men beneath Marcellus’ command wanted to celebrate their great victory over the Suebi, their first duty was to protect the Empire’s borders as men in the Roman Military. Thus, there was no grand celebration on this night.

Marcellus stood within his command tent, gazing upon a map sprawled across his table, which was illuminated via candlelight. While he was studying the reports from the scouts within his army, the shadowy figure of a busty woman appeared behind him.

Without warning, the young General felt the warmth of a woman’s dainty hands wrap around his shoulders and the softness of her chest press against his back. Rather than turn around and entertain the buxom beauty who had latched herself onto him, Marcellus merely replied with a stern tone after drinking from his chalice.

“Not now, Sigefrida!”

The woman instantly began to pout as she turned around and sat on her master’s bed. Upon hearing the displeased sound escape from her lips, Marcellus turned around and stared into the eyes of the beautiful woman sitting before him. She wore a collar around the neck, signifying her status as a lowly slave. Yet, despite this position, Marcellus placed down his drink and sighed as he apologized to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m just having a hard time thinking straight….”

A look of worry spread across the gorgeous slave’s face as she walked over to Marcellus and checked on his condition.

“You are not wounded, are you? I swear to the gods if one of those Suebi bastards hurt you, I will wipe out their entire tribe!”_.

Marcellus laughed as he heard this ludicrous statement; he quickly grabbed hold of Sigefrida’s chin as he attempted to kiss her on the lips. However, she immediately tilted her head, resulting in a peck on the cheeks. Seeing that his efforts were thwarted, Marcellus immediately scratched the back of his head and dispersed the woman’s worries by under exaggerating the extent of his injuries.

“I’m fine; I just got hit on the head a little; it is nothing serious.”

The slave began to blush as she pushed herself away from Marcellus’ embrace; though she would love nothing more than to be intimate with her master, there were good reasons that she was forced to reject his advances.

Sigefrida knew that if she were to have any other master, she would be severely punished for such actions. Nevertheless, Marcellus allowed it and merely drank from his chalice once more as the woman chastised him for his lifestyle.

“Seriously, Marcellus, after all of these years, and you are still looking for comfort in my arms? Why don’t you get yourself a wife already?”

Despite the casual tone used by the woman, the Roman General merely laughed at her comment before finishing the rest of his wine. After doing so, he placed the container on the nightstand next to the flagon, where Sigefrida was quick to refill his cup. As she did so, he responded with the same line he used every time she asked this question.

“You know me, Sigefrida. I am married to Rome.”

The slave woman immediately rolled her eyes as she heard this comment for the nine millionth time this year and began to preach the qualities that made so many young women chase after her master.

“I am just saying that you are wealthy, you hold the prestigious title of General at your young age, you are descended from one of the most prominent patrician families in the Empire, and you are dangerously handsome. What Roman woman wouldn’t want you as their husband?”

Marcellus refused to discuss this topic further and raised his hand in the air, hinting for the woman to be silent.

“I appreciate your concern, but I am fine the way I am!”

Noticing that she had overstepped her bounds, Sigefrida immediately ceased pouring the wine and walked up to Marcellus, where she began to comfort him by stroking his olive brown hair. As she did so, she started to speak in a tone like that of a mother or a concerned older sister.

“I am just worried about your future, that is all. When you aren’t on a brutal campaign, you live alone in your villa with only me and a handful of other slaves to keep you company. What would your mother say if she knew how you spent your days?”

Marcellus grabbed ahold of Sigefrida’s hand and looked deep into her ice-blue eyes with a kindhearted glance. Sigefrida was a Suebi by birth, and as such, her features were Germanic in nature. She was tall, with an hourglass figure and ivory skin that had a slight pinkish pigment. Accompanying her excellent physique was long platinum blonde hair that was currently tied up into a ponytail.

“You are all I need….”

Sigefrida immediately glanced away as she heard these words and began to reflect upon her past. She had come from a Suebi family, and was taken captive along with her mother by Romans after her father, and the other warriors of his war-band were defeated in battle. Ever since she was sold into slavery to Marcellus’ family as a young child, it had been her job to look after the boy.

Despite her feelings, Marcellus’ mother had strictly warned her not to get involved with him romantically. Even though they were now adults, and she was exclusively his slave, the fear within her heart towards that woman kept her emotionally at arm’s length.

Upon seeing Sigefrida’s reaction, Marcellus sighed before picking up the chalice of wine that she had refilled and began to chug its contents. After a few moments, he turned away from her and walked towards the door. As he did so, the woman began to call out after him with a hint of worry in her tone.

“Where are you going at this hour!?!”

Marcellus, slightly annoyed with yet another one of Sigefrida’s rejections, shouted back a quick retort before exiting the flaps of the large tent.

“To keep watch!”

After Marcellus had left Sigefrida alone in his quarters, she sighed heavily and toyed with the iron collar around her neck. A single thought passed through her mind as she lamented her position in life.

If only I were born a Roman…

As for Marcellus, he marched through the temporary encampment for some time before arriving at its palisade. He proceeded to climb up the watchtower, where he gazed out towards the direction of the lands occupied by the usurper known commonly by the name Constantine III with a stern expression on his face. As he stared off into the distance, a familiar voice called out to him. It belonged to none other than the Commander who bore the name Sextus Cornelius Lucan.

“I see you are standing watch yet again; a man of your position should not trouble himself with such petty matters.”

Marcellus remained silent as he gazed at the high-ranking officer, who was older than him by close to two decades. Lucan had been in the service of Rome for nearly thirty years and had proven himself repeatedly in battle. If it were not for Marcellus’ close ties to Flavius Stilicho, then this man would likely be the one in his position.

Despite this blatant nepotism, Lucan did not seem to mind that he was second in command of the field army. After all, since its inception, Rome had always shown favoritism to those with close friends in high places, and Marcellus had won the lottery with his birth.

Not only was the young General the son of one of the most prominent patrician families, but the Supreme Commander was his godfather, allowing him to rise through the ranks of the military rapidly. A man in Lucan’s position had to accept the cards he was dealt in life. As such, there was no resentment in his heart towards Marcellus. The young General sighed as he returned his attention to the camp’s proximity before expressing the thoughts on his mind.

“The scouts report a great power rising in the east; they say this force is responsible for driving the Germans into our lands. They show no mercy as they butcher every man and animal they come across while enslaving the women and children. God only knows what horrors they inflict upon their captives. Is it just me, Lucan, or does it appear that the world is coming to its end?”

Lucan sighed heavily and answered his general’s question with a stoic expression on his aging face.

“I believe every generation gazes upon the madness of the world and expects it to all come crashing down around them. However, our ancestors have fought bravely to maintain Rome and all its Glory, and now that task falls to us. For if we falter here, then it will truly be the end of the world as we know it. Have faith, my friend, if not in God, then in the loyalty and strength of your brothers in arms!”

After speaking of his philosophy to Marcellus, the officer known by the name, Lucan, turned away and climbed down the ladder of the watchtower. As he slowly descended, he left one final piece of advice to the young General.

“Marcellus, I suggest you get some sleep; we have a long campaign ahead of us, and the last thing we need is for you to be exhausted.”

Marcellus silently nodded his head in response; he would continue to watch over the border for another thirty minutes before heading back to his tent, where he immediately stripped off his gear and climbed into bed with Sigefrida.