For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion-Chapter 13B3 : Getting Ahead of the Problem

B3 Chapter 13: Getting Ahead of the Problem

Marcus was on his way back to the command post when Marquis Morozov lost his head. Literally.

The resulting flurry of activity saw the surrounding Legionnaires spring into action like a nest of hornets had been kicked. Duke Redcliffe was surrounded by several Legionnaires and pulled away from the headless corpse before it had even slumped to the ground. No one tried to heal the wound. Not even the Legion and their impressive abilities could heal death.

The duke’s sword was seized as the men bound and held him. The man struggled at first before enduring the treatment in grim silence. His complexion remained flush with fresh rage, the color evident even through his thinning hair.

Marcus arrived at the scene just as Tiberius and his personal guard did. The man looked… displeased. Not outright angry. It was more the look of a frustrated parent who realized too late that they'd expected too much from their child.

It was honestly understandable. Redcliffe's actions were… problematic, to say the least. At best one could consider it a costly lapse in judgement that robbed the Romans of a potential resource. But on top of that… it directly undermined the power and authority of the emperor.

Might Tiberius have decided to execute the leader of the opposition regardless? Maybe. Marcus would have actually put money on it, given everything he'd seen so far. But the opportunity to make an example of Morozov—and therefore more firmly establish his leadership—had been taken from him.

He had no doubts that Tiberius understood the same thing. They were still technically in Redcliffe, which was the duke’s only defense. There was an argument to be made there that justice was his to carry out. But it was a weak one. Especially since the emperor was standing right there.

Everyone held their breath as they waited for the emperor to speak. More people arrived, including Legatus Sylendor and a grizzled man who bore a striking resemblance to the duke himself. Considering the crest on his armor and the confidence with which he held himself, Marcus guessed this was his son Devin Redcliffe, the commander of the forces that had just arrived.

Tiberius stood silently, looking over the situation as Marquis Morozov’s headless corpse continued to bleed onto the battlefield. But the one to break the silence was not him.

“My apologies, emperor.” Duke Redcliffe said through gritted teeth. “It appears I lost my temper.”

That seemed to Marcus to be the understatement of the century. Even now, each word came strained as though it were a rabid dog on a taut leash. Which perhaps only made sense. Marcus well knew the history between house Morozov and Redcliffe had been… unfriendly, to say the least. And given the late marquis’s ability to get under people’s skin as though he had a skill specifically meant for it? This outcome wasn’t particularly surprising.

Tiberius said nothing, simply staring down at the duke until the man was forced to blink. Then, Tiberius let out a weary sigh.

“This displeases me.”

The duke’s demeanor shifted. His back stiffened and the red flush of rage receded just the slightest bit. [Critical Reception] informed Marcus that the man was coming to his senses, albeit slowly. Which meant he doubtless realized what would come next. He would have to be made an example of. What form that example took… Well, it depended on how merciful the emperor was feeling today.

Marcus almost stepped forward to interject, to act as a mediator in the situation. Perhaps he could prevent things from becoming too extreme. But he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Looking back, he saw Gaius’s uncharacteristically serious face looking back at him.

The new Legatus gave a subtle shake of his head. Marcus frowned, but relented, remaining in place as Gaius released his shoulder. He supposed the man was right. Stepping in now would risk undermining the emperor as well, albeit less than the duke’s actions had. He just had to trust that the Roman saw the value in keeping his allied leader alive.

“I will think of a suitable punishment for your insubordination.” The emperor declared. “Until then… you are relieved of field command until such time as I see fit to reinstate you.”

Marcus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Obviously, Tiberius wouldn’t have killed the man. That would be a surefire way to lose the support of his forces, not to mention putting himself at odds with the young Redcliffe heir.

The duke visibly winced. “My men—”

“—My men,” Tiberius interrupted, “Will not be ordered by one who has proven unable to control his impulses. A commander led by his emotions is liable to get people killed.”

The duke’s frown deepened, his fists tightening. Likely he’d been banking on his usefulness and necessity for the assault on Novara to shield him from any real repercussions. But relieving him of his soldiers? Such a thing was unheard of. They were the duke’s and belonged to the dutchy, not to his liege.

Unfortunately for him, things worked differently in the eyes and minds of the Romans. Their loyalty was not to any lord or lady or lesser noble. Their loyalty ultimately was to the emperor. And if any objected or saw it differently… then Marcus had seen what happened to those whose loyalty to Rome was called into question. Though Tiberius was not so naive as to think that viewpoint would be so quickly adopted by all.

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Besides, Marcus suspected the duke’s support was seen as more of a bonus than a central keystone of his strategy. Given how little time this coalition had been together for, he wouldn’t put it past the man to trust only in the abilities of his own original Legionnaires—although those were certainly nothing to scoff at.

“As you say, emperor.” The duke forced out, clearly unhappy with the result. “If I may suggest that my son be placed in command in my stead.”

Tiberius glanced over at the younger Redcliffe, then back at the duke. “No. I have need of a commander I can trust to follow orders. Primus Quintus!”

At the emperor’s call, Quintus stepped forward and saluted. Tiberius spoke to the centurion loudly enough for all to hear. “You are to take command of Redcliffe’s forces, effective immediately. The main force’s current commander shall serve as your aide and advise you on their capabilities. I expect you to lead them well.”

“Sir!” Quintus saluted again with an affirmative nod.

Marcus saw a range of reactions to the proclamation. Redcliffe’s forces seemed disquieted by the change in command, as did Devin himself. The duke’s lips pressed into a thin line and he remained silent as though he would object. He shot a look over to his eldest son, exchanging a silent conversation through looks alone. Eventually, he bowed his head.

"I understand, emperor," he said. “It will be done.”

***

Quintus couldn’t help but feel like Tiberius had it out for him.

Well, not entirely. In a vacuum, the old man’s actions made sense. The duke had committed insubordination, and thus command of his forces needed to be transferred to another. It was only reasonable.

But though the act was ostensibly a punishment for the duke, it also had the secondary effect of forcing Quintus into just the kind of leadership position Tiberius had reprimanded him for “evading” earlier in the battle. Really, he’d felt like a good amount of the words directed toward Duke Redcliffe could have been aimed at him as well. Though perhaps he was overthinking things.

Either way, Quintus found himself in a rather unenviable position rather quickly. He’d been placed in charge of men he’d never met or worked alongside, nor whose capabilities he fully understood. Technically one could say he’d fought alongside them during this latest battle, but their units had been physically distanced enough that they may well have been fighting a different one entirely.

It was that understanding that immediately led him to call a meeting with Devin Redcliffe. Quintus needed to not only understand what he was dealing with, but also gauge the other man’s disposition toward this new arrangement. If he was as wary as Quintus was, then perhaps they could put some of those concerns to bed. Perhaps he could identify a way to win the men’s respect. If he was outright adversarial… Well, it was better to know such things rather than go into this assignment blind.

Devin stepped into the command tent shortly after Quintus. The man had the appearance of a raider more than a soldier, with callused hands and a rough, unshaven face. Scarcely an inch of his armor was without a dent or nick of some kind, whatever decorations or ornamentations it might have borne faded and eroded by harsh and continual punishment. Only the sword strapped across his back appeared undamaged, its blade miraculously shining and free of nicks. Enchanted, if Quintus had to guess. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Quintus might have judged the man for the failure to keep his armor and equipment in better condition. However, he’d heard the conditions that Redcliffe’s forces had been enduring at Corwyn pass. And given that Devin was these men’s commander… The clear evidence of so many battles upon his person honestly reflected well on him.

The two men sat across from each other. Quintus took a moment to size Devin up as the other man did the same. It wasn’t just the noble’s armor that bore marks of battle. A few whitened scars crisscrossed his face as well. Given what healing magic in this world was capable of, Quintus wondered at why the man hadn’t erased them completely.

“I am Quintus Carius Libo.” Quintus began, extending his hand. “Primus Pilus of our first Roman Legion.”

“Devin Redcliffe.” The other man eyed his hand before reaching out to shake. “Heir to the Redcliffe duchy and leader of Redcliffe’s Ruffians.”

Quintus raised an eyebrow. “Redcliffe’s Ruffians?”

“The men I brought from the pass.” The man jerked his head in the pass’s general direction. “Spent long enough together in that godsforsaken ice pit that we gave ourselves a name. Still Redcliffe’s men at our cores, but gotten down and dirty a bit too much to feel like the fancy knights we once were. Too much improvising, too.”

The centurion nodded, but internally he frowned. It was good that the men worked together and had this level of cohesion. Yet that might make it even harder for Quintus to establish himself as any sort of actual leader. If he could earn this man’s respect, though…

A thought occurred to him. "Why was a cavalry unit holding a mountain pass? Is uneven terrain a specialty of yours?”

“Hardly.” Devin snorted derisively. “Back around the duchy, most of our battles are fought in large open plains, where a good heavy charge is hard to beat. But our former king decided in his infinite wisdom that we were a perfect fit for the place. Whether that level of incompetence was intentional or not, who knows. I’d say it's fifty-fifty either way.”

“I see.” Quintus frowned. That certainly aligned with what he'd heard so far of the Novaran king. Though perhaps using the post as a way to whittle down Redcliffe's forces was too conniving a motive to ascribe to the man.

"Either way, though, doesn't matter now.” There was a note of satisfaction in Devin's voice. “We held that cold bitch longer than anyone could have imagined. I'm almost sad to see her go. Though it's nice to feel my fingers again.”

Quintus could empathize. He well remembered the time they'd campaigned through Gaul during the winter. The cold had seeped so deeply into his bones that he hadn't felt warm for a week afterwards.

“Anyway. Have you commanded cavalry before?” Devin asked bluntly.

“Not directly,” Quintus replied. “I have fought in the Legion for almost thirty years, and I have worked alongside them often enough to be familiar with their tactics. But never as a direct commander.”

The duke’s son grunted. “That’s a problem. Even if you know what a cavalry can do, seeing it and putting it into action are two separate things. And that’s not to say you know what my cavalry can do.”

It was a clear test, with a bit of a challenge mixed in. Quintus honestly appreciated how the man didn’t beat around the bush. And so, he decided that he wouldn’t either.

“Well.” Quintus stood. “Then I suppose you’ll have to show me yourself.”

The centurion stepped toward the tent’s entrance, beckoning for a confused Devin to follow. “Where are you going?”

“Where else?” Quintus grinned. “We’re going to hold a bit of a mock battle.”