Chapter 142 One Fell Swoop

Marcellus gripped the hilt of his spatha as he watched the battlefield unfold from the cliffs above. In what he could only call an act of foolishness, Yazdegerd had sailed a large section of his army into the Italian heartland, in the hopes of removing Marcellus from his throne of lies.

Naturally, being so far away from the rest of their forces. This did not end as the Sassanid King had intended. Currently, The Eastern Roman Army, along with their Persian allies, were trapped between the shores of the sea, and a massive shieldwall belonging to the western roman army.

In preparation for this war, Marcellus had taken a policy of quality over quantity. Because of this, his soldiers were equipped with vastly superior armor. Though this may not sound like much when compared to the sheer volume of troops Yazdegerd possessed. When combined into the force of a proper legion, this was truly a significant advantage.

The battle began not long ago, and yet the eastern roman army had already suffered massive casualties because of the heavy missile fire that Marcellus’ troops had rained upon them. Now they were fighting for their lives against an opposing force that was armed, trained, and equipped better than they were.

Tides of iron crashed against one another as bodies fell to the ground left and right. Yazdegerd gritted his teeth with rage as he witnessed his army surrounded by their enemies, and in a desperate position. He knew not how he could break through Marcellus’ forces, and escape from the enemy encirclement.

Yazdegerd’s ships had already landed on the beaches and sent their troops to shore. If he were to give the order to retreat by sea, the enemy would rain thousands of projectiles upon them. The losses he would suffer would be severe.

However, the only other option was to punch through a weak point in Marcellus’ defenses, and seize the high ground. From there, the overwhelming numbers on Yazdegerd’s side could provide a proper defense where they would emerge victorious.

Ultimately, the Sassanid King had to weigh the benefits and the risks. Withdraw now, and fight another day. Or make a Hail Mary attempt to secure the high ground, and emerge victorious. Perhaps it was sheer stubbornness that guided Yazdegerd’s hand, but ultimately he made a play for the latter. With a furious shout, he issued the orders to his troops.

“On me, we are breaking through their left flank!”

It took some time for these orders to be relayed to his troops, but when they were, the eastern roman soldiers, and their Sassanid allies gathered together on a single section of the western roman army’s line, and used their full force in an attempt to break through the enemy’s defenses.

Unfortunately, this was a risky strategy. In order to pierce through the weak point in Marcellus’ defenses. Yazdegerd would have to focus his entire army on a small section of his left flank. This meant he would be giving up his own flanks, and would eventually be surrounded by the enemy, where there would truly be no escape. In other words, it was a race against time to see who would prevail.

Marcellus observed this act of desperation from the cliff above and sneered in disdain. Yazdegerd had truly behaved recklessly until the very end. In an effort to prevent the eastern roman army from returning to the sea. Marcelus quickly gave an order to the nearest centurion, who in turn relayed his message to the soldiers on the ground.

With this order given, the Western Roman forces in the left flank that Yazdegerd was trying to break through slowly dispersed, allowing the enemy to push through and out the other side. By the time Yazdegerd and his soldiers made it through, they had already lost half their army.

They had completely mistaken the deliberate dispersion of western roman troops for an actual breakthrough, and immediately ran forward towards the high ground where they could shift the tides of war.

However, they did not get far. With the ringing of a trumpet, thousands of Cataphracts descended from the cliff side, and charged onto the beaches towards the eastern roman army. Who were now incapable of getting back to their ships.

Had Yazdegerd bitten the proverbial bullet, and ordered a retreat on their ships, he may have lost thousands of soldiers, but in the end his army would have been able to escape and fight another day. However, because he fought to break through Marcellus’ ranks and gain the high ground, he had trapped himself between a wall of iron, and the thunderous charge of thousands of cataphracts.

At the head of these Cataphracts was a peculiarly dressed man, who couched a lance beneath his arm. His clothing was all purple, but there was no plume on his helmet, instead there was a radiant ridge. This man’s face was also obscured behind a gilded face mask. It took one look for Yazdegerd to assume the man’s identity. He hissed through his teeth the name of this man who so brazenly charged forward into battle.

“Marcellus!”

Despite the hatred in Yazdegerd’s voice, it did little to repel the oncoming lance, which struck his armor, and drove through his body. The impact was so fierce that Marcellus’ lance shattered, and in doing so, embedded the lance head into the Sassanid King’s chest. Yazdegerd fell to the floor in disbelief as his armor was punctured with little effort.

He did not know what trickery Marcellus had used to stay seated on his horse, nor how his lance could cause such damage. However, as he fell to the ground, he gazed upon the rest of the heavy cavalry which collided with his army to a similar effect.

In a matter of moments, what remained of Yazdegerd’s forces had either surrendered their arms, or had been impaled on the spot. The Sassanid King lie dead in a pool of his own blood, where Marcellus quickly dismounted from his horse, and unsheathed his spatha.

Marcellus approached Yazdegerd’s body with a tilt of the head, which gave off an ominous feeling due to the gilded facemask. He then proceeded to sever the Eastern Roman regent’s head and hold it up high for all to see.

The battle was over, and the invasion of Italia had failed before it could even begin. Yazdegerd was dead, and the young Eastern Emperor Theodosius was left without a regent. Despite severing the head from the snake, so to speak. Marcellus did not plan to cease his war here. He intended to sail his army to Constantinople and lay siege to the eastern roman capital. All the while, his soldiers in Illyricum would push the enemy back to their own lands.

Though Yazdegerd lie dead, the war was far from over. What would come in the following days was a brutal battle between the Western Roman Army under the control of Constantius in Illyricum, and the Eastern Roman Army, who still laid siege to the various fortresses Marcellus had constructed on the border.

Marcellus had lost one of his most valuable commanders in this conflict, and though he had slain the King of the Sassanid Empire. He had not fulfilled his quota for blood. He knew the Goths would demand the heads of the Eastern Roman and Sassanid leadership in exchange for the death of their King, and he intended to give it to them.