Heir of Aurelian

An appropriate amount of time had passed for the meeting between the western roman emperor, and eastern roman regent had taken place. Currently, Marcellus sat on horseback, as his army of 1,000 Palatini cavalrymen stood by his side. These men were not only experienced lancers but also trained in the art of horse archery.

These members of the Palace guard were a special unit of heavy cavalry that Marcellus had fostered since his rise to power. With the sole purpose of protecting their Imperator. In the distance, the eastern roman palatini could be seen marching on foot, while their swarthy regent sat proudly upon his steed with a smug smile on his face.

The two forces confirmed that they were alone before meeting up in the agreed location. Marcellus hopped off his horse with ease, thanks to his stirrups and strode up to the location where the two leaders would be negotiating for an end to the feud that had arisen between their two empires thanks to the brief border skirmish that occurred early in the year.

It took Yazdegerd a few moments to get off his steed, as he did not have access to the miraculous technology that Marcellus had invented and used among his cavalry. After strolling up to the western roman emperor, as if he was a mere petty king, Yazdegerd’s body guards announced his arrival.

“Kneel before the Sassanid Emperor and the Eastern Roman Regent!”

When neither Marcellus nor his men did as commanded, Yazdegerd’s expression grew grim. Marcellus, on the other hand, measured the man from head to toe. He was a swarthy man, as was to be expected, with a finely groomed dark beard and matching eyes. His hair was a bit long, but was concealed beneath an extravagant crown. Yazdegerd was dressed in exquisite silk trappings, as if he was entirely unafraid of the threat Marcellus posed to him.

Meanwhile, Marcellus had the opposite appearance. He was dressed in his usual armor, which showed signs of wear. He had been fighting for all of his adult life, and his brass lorica squamata had never been replaced, only repaired over time. Thus, some scales were shinier than others.

There were also obvious signs of age on Marcellus’ leather shoes, as if they had been carefully maintained over years, while still seeing extensive marches. His Tyrian purple silk tunic was just about the most luxurious piece of clothing he had, and even then it failed to compare in opulence to the attire Yazdegerd was adorned in. Besides his equipment, Marcellus had a neat and tidy appearance. However, he did not wear a crown, instead he held his helmet beneath his arm with a confident grin on his face.

The contrast between a military dictator and an emperor groomed from the day he was born to succeed the throne was on full display as the two men stared each other down. Despite Yazdegerd’s supposed fearlessness, one could observe a shirt of mail beneath his silk tunic, showing that he was not so careless as to show up in such a dangerous situation without ample protection.  Ultimately, Yazdegerd was the one to break the silence as he commented on Marcellus’ state of attire.

“You proclaim yourself an emperor, and yet you do not bother to maintain the appearance of one. Why should I take you seriously when you show up to a diplomatic negotiation in such a haggard appearance?”

Marcellus merely scoffed when he heard this insult before trading words with the man.

“I never asked to be emperor. It was a position that was forced on me through circumstance. At the end of the day, I am just a General who has taken it upon himself to lead the Empire through this crisis. I do not care about extravagant clothing or jewelry.

I am a soldier, and I am fulfilling my duty to the Empire. What you see before you is the appearance of a man who has seen a hundred battles and lived to tell the tale. Not some gilded turd who has never achieved anything meaningful in his life. Are we here to insult each other, or come to an understanding.”

In response to these words, Yazdegerd merely spat on the ground in disgust before making his demands once more.

“My demands are simple. I want five thousand pounds of gold, and thirty pounds of silver for the attack on the lands that belong to the eastern roman empire! As for the perpetrators, they are guilty and will be punished accordingly. There is no negotiation to be had, however, you claimed you had evidence that my people were somehow in the wrong, and thus the burden of proof is on you to provide it!”

After listening to such nonsense for so long, Marcellus yawned, before pulling out a piece of paper and showing it off to Yazdegerd with a cunning smile on his face.

“Of course I have evidence of your wrong doing, and it is fairly damning to say the least. This is a situation report, and a notice of punishment signed personally signed by your Dux stating in exact words what had transpired on the border.

Plagued by fatigue, and lack of pay, your soldiers abandoned their patrol and approached my caravan in an attempt to extort them to give up their hard earned coin. When they refused your men attacked them, only to be driven away by the mercenaries who were hired to protect said caravan.

Now that I have proven your wrongdoing, I demand that you pay the western roman empire 5,000 pounds of gold, 30,000 pounds of silver, 4,000 silken tunics, 3,000 hides dyed scarlet, and 3,000 pounds of pepper. I also demand you hand over 50,000 slaves in compensation. I also demand that you release the men you have wrongfully imprisoned and return them to the west safe and sound.

If you do not adhere to my demands, I will make this information public, which will thoroughly ruin your relationship with your trading partners. How can they trust Constantinople to engage in trade with them, when its soldiers are acting as brigands?’

Yazdegerd stared in disbelief at the evidence which Marcellus maintained a firm control over. He could not believe that Marcellus had gotten his hands on such a thing, especially after he had ordered for all evidence of the incident to be purged. The eastern roman regent could only stammer in protest as he tried to claim it was a fake.

“That’s not possible. There is no such evidence that exists. It is clearly a forgery!”

However, Marcellus quickly showed the seal of Constantinople upon the document, proving that it was indeed legitimate. Which immediately caused the Persian man to snarl in anger as he tried to find out the origins of such a document.

“Where did you get that? I refuse to believe you have such a thing!”

This comment caused the western roman emperor to chuckle as he made fun of the Sassanid emperor for his failures.

“You really should pay your soldiers better. Not only are they willing to engage in robbery, but they’re also willing to sell state secrets in exchange for coin and the promise of a better life. So how about it? Will you comply with my demands now?”

Yazdegerd knew that this evidence would cripple whatever trade agreements the east had with its neighbors. If there was proof that the soldiers of Constantinople had tried to rob a caravan, and bury the evidence afterward, then they simply could not be trusted.  Marcellus had expertly put the eastern roman regent in his place, forcing him to concede in defeat. Yazdegerd sighed heavily as he said the words Marcellus wanted to hear.

“Very well… You will have your compensation… But mark my words, this isn’t over! Far from it!”

After agreeing upon this, the two men parted ways. Where once he was out of hearing range, Yazdegerd cursed his rival with all the hatred in his heart.

“Damn you Marcellus! We will see how long you have that shit-eating grin on your face, for this is hostile territory and you never know when a war band of barbarians are around the corner!”

Thus, peace had been achieved between the East and West, or so it seemed. In reality, both parties planned to stab each other in the back on their journey home. Who would survive and who would die? Only time would tell.