Heir of Aurelian

Chapter 151 We Are Not Spartans!

Marcellus stood within the courtyard of his Villa, while the Imperial Palace of Rome was under reconstruction, he chose to live within the home that he had dwelled in for many years. Currently, he stood tall with a wooden sword in his hand. His opponent? The young boy Theodosius II.

The Imperator of the Roman Empire, who had recently unified both the east and west, wanted nothing more than his nephew to grow into a man capable of defending Rome. As such, he was giving the boy a lesson on basic swordsmanship. Naturally, as a Roman, there were no complex maneuvers that made use of a two handed blade like those that would develop in future centuries.

Instead, a roman commanded a sword in one hand, and a shield in the other. Thus, as the boy launched his attack towards his uncle, it was quickly dispelled, as he had not kept his shield raised when he struck.

Marcellus easily parried the boy's attack, before pushing him onto the ground with a bash of his shield. It was not forceful enough to cause any harm to the child, but it was enough to remove Theodosius from his footing. With a stern tone in his voice, Marcellus lectured the boy on his failures.

"Keep your shield raised at all times. As a Roman, you are not a lone warrior, but one of many in a shield wall! If you should lower your shield for but a single moment, you will not only cause your own death, but those of your fellow Romans as well. Remember this!"

As Theodosius rose to his feet, there was a pout on his boyish face. He was quick to rebuke his uncle for this lesson in pain.

"But uncle, my shield is heavy!"

Contrary to the leniency the boy expected, Marcellus scoffed before shouting at the top of his lungs in a commanding tone which immediately drew Theodosius' attention.

"Good! It will build strength! Now come at me, again!"

Upon saying this, Marcellus raised his shield once more, and held his wooden blade tightly to his chest. The boy mimicked his actions and advanced forward, pushing against his uncle's shield with his own in a desperate attempt to make an opening. This time, when he struck at the man's knees, he did not lower his shield. Thus, when Marcellus moved for the counterattack, it was thoroughly blocked by the young boy in front of him.

The two exchanged blows in a sequence, without any gaining the advantage, before Theodosius dropped his shield once more, his arm too weary to properly hold it up any longer. As a result, Marcellus' blade reached the boy's neck, but stopped before it could cause any harm. With a heavy sigh, the Imperator scolded his nephew once more.

"And with this, you are dead! You disappoint me, Theodosius, no matter how weary your body might be. You must hold up your shield! However, you are still young, and your body has yet to become a man's. We will continue this lesson again tomorrow morning."

The boy sighed before falling to the ground exhausted, dropping both his weapon and his primary means of defense as he did so. As Marcellus walked away, Pulcheria approached with a flagon of water in her hand, which she fed to her little brother. She had a worried expression on her face as she cast an angry glance towards her uncle's backside before speaking ill of him behind his back.

"That old bastard! He thinks he can treat my little brother so cruelly! Well, I'll show him a piece of my mind!"

However, contrary to the adolescent girl's expectations, Theodosius latched onto her arm just as she was about to scamper off towards Marcellus. He shook his head before rebuking her for her actions.

"It's not uncle's fault. He is merely teaching me how to defend myself. It is I who am a poor learner. I can only blame that miser Yazdegerd for never teaching me how to wield a sword. As a Roman, it is something I should have already learned by now!"

Despite the boy's adamant behavior, Pulcheria merely sighed and grabbed hold of his head, and stuffed it into her small chest as she reassured him that none of this was his fault.

"Theodosius, you are still a child. What kind of maniac is so forceful in training a young boy on how to become a warrior? We are not Spartans! Their barbaric ways died out centuries ago! The fact that Marcellus is even thinking of training today's youth in such a capricious manner is truly reprehensible."

It was true what Pulcheria had said. Marcellus had recently enacted military academies for the young boys of Rome to train it, so that they could become proficient in the use of arms, military tactics, and survival before they even became men.

It was a controversial move on the Imperator's part, but the logic behind it was solid. The Barbarians were at the gates, and even though the Romans had, for the most part, secured their borders outside of the frontiers, the threat that the barbarian tribes presented was still very real.

As a result, every young boy at the Age of seven was required to undergo military training in several forms. Everything from hand to hand combat via pankration, to the use of arms, combined tactics, and survival skills.

Those who had natural talents with a bow became archers, those with natural talent on horseback became cavalry, those who had a fierce heart became frontline infantry, and those with exceptional minds became engineers who constructed and operated siege weapons.

Naturally, as the nephew of the current Military Dictator, Theodosius was no exception to this rule, though he had special privileges, as his training was undertaken by Marcellus personally. Still, as much as Pulcheria may reject to it, the boy actually looked forward to his daily training sessions with his uncle, and thus despite being several years younger than Pulcheria, Theodosius lectured the girl on her naivety.

"You wouldn't understand..."

After saying this, the boy rose to his feet, and walked off towards the kitchen to get a snack from his beloved aunt, who treated him as if he were her own child. As for Pulcheria, she merely pouted, and shifted his gaze off towards the direction that Marcellus had gone to before uttering one simple phrase beneath her breath.

"You bastard..."