Heir of Aurelian

Months passed since the negotiation took place between Marcellus and Yazdegerd. As time flew by, the military buildup on the borders of Illyricum continued to escalate. During this time, Marcellus had spent as much money as possible equipping his armies with the best weapons, armor, and training they could get.

By now, the western Roman Army had roughly one hundred thousand men, supported by eighty thousand foederati. Though much of the western forces were centralized in the troublesome provinces of Gaul and Britannia. Marcellus had ensured that a healthy amount of soldiers were in Illyricum and Italia, waiting for the day Eastern Rome bared its fangs.

Today, on the edge of Illyricum, was just an average day, both the west, and eastern roman empires had their soldiers stationed across from one another, gazing across the distance between their encampments, and hollering at one another, daring each other to make the first move.

By now the numbers of eastern roman, and Sassanid soldiers in the region were anywhere from fifty to seventy-five thousand men. As for the western Romans, they had pledged three legions to the area, for a total of eighteen thousand men, and had recalled most of the Gothic Foederati back to the area. They had at most fifty thousand soldiers ready and waiting for the east to make the first move.

Neither side was willing to start the conflict, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before one of the many unarmed skirmishes that occurred between the soldiers of the west and the east escalated into something larger.

As on any other day, the sentries of the western roman army would patrol on the invisible line which drew a border between West and East. As they approached the area, they were met with an eastern unit of approximately the same size.

Whether it was West or East who first sent their sentries to patrol the border, the other side would always send their own unit to keep an eye on the enemy. Insults were common, as were unarmed brawls. However, up until now, nobody had been killed or severely wounded in these skirmishes.

Today was different. Rather than send the usual Roman Century to the border, Alaric had dispatched his own warriors. Perhaps the Gothic Chief had grown weary of waiting around for the fighting to begin. Perhaps he was sick of following Marcellus’ orders and instead wanted to spark the conflict so that he could have his vengeance against Yazdegerd. Whatever the reason, Alaric had sent heavily armed Gothic Warriors to the border, an action which broke the unspoken terms that both sides recognized.

Upon spotting the western roman sentries, the eastern roman century rushed over to meet them, and were surprised to see that they were not facing their usual opponents. Instead, these Goths had dressed in full armor, and had their swords sheathed on their waists, while gripping their thick, round shields in one hand.

At the head of the eastern century was a particularly ugly man, he was a short and fat man with a toothless grin, severe scarring on the face, was balding in the worst way imaginable, and had a sparse beard, as if he was simply incapable of growing such a thing.

Despite this horrific appearance, the man was a Roman, and like all Romans, he considered himself above everyone else. Thus, it came as no surprise when this man, who had nothing to be proud of but his heritage, called out to the Goths who were patrolling the border in a less than friendly way.

“What the hell are you fucking barbarians doing here? What, do you intend to raid across the border, and burn our villages? Tell me, why else would you be so heavily equipped? Are you filthy vandals not even aware of the rules? Pfft, you dimwitted fools probably can’t even speak Latin!

Though most of the Goths did not in fact speak Latin, the leader of the war-band was familiar with the language, and instantly approached the ugly roman who had offended his people. Standing at least a foot above the fat bald man, the Goth stared the man down after pushing him to the floor, and cursed at him in the Latin tongue.

“You pudgy sack of flesh, we are not Vandals, we are Goths! How about you shut your mouth before I make you swallow what few teeth you have left!”

The violent action immediately caught the attention of the other roman soldiers, as well as the Gothic warriors who crowded around the two men and their dispute. The short fat man rose to his feet and dusted off his tunic before putting his finger in the Goth’s face and yelling at him.

“Vandal, Goth, what does it matter? You’re all a bunch of fucking barbarians, and if you don’t get on your knees and suck my cock this instant, I will have your fucking head!”

In response to this ultimatum, the Goth merely punched the fat man across the chin, knocking him down to the ground with a solid, overhand right. Immediately, a brawl broke out between the two factions as the men began to punch, kick, and wrestle each other in a display of unarmed violence.

However, the short fat man could not take the insult lying down, and as the Gothic warrior chased him down onto the ground in an attempt to bash his teeth in, the eastern roman pulled out his dagger and shoved it into the Goth’s throat, killing him on the spot.

The moment the Gothic warriors saw the leader of their war-band killed in action, they drew their swords and plunged them through the chests of the eastern roman soldiers. In a single moment, the unarmed brawl turned into a slaughter, as the Germanic spathas lopped off heads and pierced through hearts.

The eastern romans began to panic as they came under armed assault, and quickly unleashed their own blades, attempting to parry the oncoming blows, and defend their lives. However, the Gothic Foederati had superior weapons and armor, and because of this, they were able to cut down the Eastern Roman forces, many of which were lacking any armor other than a helmet.

As the Germanic warriors stood victorious, they quickly realized the consequences that would occur from this brief, but bloody, skirmish, and fled back into their borders with the single goal. Warn Alaric that the war had begun.

What started as just any other day at the borders of the West and East turned into a bloody affair which would kick-start the war between the two halves of the Roman Empire. Though it was unclear who officially started the war, as any man who had seen the short fat man plunge his blade into the Goth’s neck had died in the conflict. It truly did not matter. This massacre at the border was just the excuse both sides were looking for to begin the war.