By many hailed as Emperor, Mavius stood tall on the rise overlooking the camp. The sun, low on the horizon, bathed the sprawling tents and banners in a fiery orange glow. His gilded armor gleamed in the fading light.
A column of cataphractarii, their heavy armor clinking faintly with each step of their steeds, delivered the latest batch of prisoners into the camp. The captured barbarians trudged forward in a ragged line, bound by thick ropes that snaked between them. They wore for the most part little more than fur pelts, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt, their heads bowed low in defeat.
Mavius observed them with an inscrutable expression. There were 340 prisoners in all—warriors of the tribes that had dared raid the empire's borders. These men had been caught during the rout after the devastating charge of the cataphractarii had broken their ranks and crushed their hopes of escape.