Marcellus awoke in his tent. The cold air of the last days of fall penetrated through the flaps, causing the man and his lover to shiver. As a result, Marcellus clung tightly to Sigefrida for warmth. Marching, from Raetia to Italy, had taken its toll on the young general. Day in and day out, he had to pretend like he was calm and that he was in control of his emotions. However, he had never been more anxious, nor heartbroken in his entire life.
He doubted whether his mother was still alive, and even if she was, she existed as a prisoner in the dungeons of Ravenna. Undoubtedly terrible things had been done to her. Thinking upon such cruelty, Marcellus felt his heart constrict, as if a cage of thorns surrounded it, and every time the organ beat it was pricked.
