Roman-Aztec Relations & Stories

[TacCovert4]

January 9th, 1923.

Near the Geronimo/Nova Francia border:

The cold wind whipped across the yard as the fires inside the ranch house burned bright.  It hadn't been the harshest of winters, but the Crossed Saber Ranch was looking forward to spring nonetheless.   The herds were hunkering down by the river and in defiles, and the cow punchers were mostly playing cards in the bunkhouse or tending to the riding horses,  the Apache riders out checking on the herd of horses in the south pasture nearest the river. 

It was nearly dark when the butler called out "rider coming in".  Sure enough a lone horseman was coming up the snow covered road at about as fast as any sane rider would work up the slippery track.   Not even the trucks could reliably work in this crap, the man thought.

Going to the door to meet the butler,  rancher Mattheiu Cipriani found a partly frozen dispatch rider from the local garrison,  two days noderate ride.  In between the chatter of his teeth he bit out "message....for....colonel"

"She'll be down once the kids are asleep" he said, decades of experience allowing him to dispense with the stupid questions about what the message could be.   Only her sultan, or the territorial governor, could have a message important enough to not wait for her to go to town like she did every two months.   

Wearing a wool house coat, Atlacoya stepped downstairs to find the marginally defrosted dispatch rider and her husband drinking coffee by the fire.   

"Ma'am, I bring an urgent dispatch from Tenochtitlan,  from his Majesty"  the rider says, half bowing when he says the title,  one never heard out here.  Atlacoya begins paying even more attention.   "He requires that you be recalled from retirement Colonel, and make all haste to establish contact with the Roman Army."

Atlacoya snatches the letter and indeed it bears both the marks of the Snake Warriors high command,  and the Royal Seal.   Reading the message thoroughly she mumbles "war with Peoples Republic likely.....no current ambassadors.....need to ascertain Roman intentions and maintain relations in case of war to avoid additional front"

Mattheiu looks up in shock, setting his coffee down.  His wife just sat down in her chair, dumbfounded.   It was a day any soldier knows can happen,  but recalls are so rare.   "Gregorius, show our guest the bunkhouse and make sure his horse is cared for" he says to the butler,  one of a few Roman's on staff here.   

After everyone has left the parlor, the two stare at each other.  "Its been years.   I guess I thought it would be over.  The boys, how will they...." Atlacoya chokes up, thinking of all of the things that would change.   "They have their nanny and they have everyone here.  They'll do just fine."  Mattheiu replies.  "And you, how will you do the spring drive?"  She says.  "I'll manage."

Mattheiu watches his wife walk into her small office or parlor depending on the day, and open a big chest, pulling out uniforms unworn in years, and a scimitar she thought she had retired for good.    She left the pistols,  long since having a better carbine and pistols for ranch work, one of them even of Roman manufacture.   As she began preparing, he hooked his arm around her.  "You don't have to leave tonight.   The storm will blow over by day after tomorrow."

Mattheiu then walks into his own office to prepare. The old blue grey uniform was dragged out and stuffed in a saddlebag.  There was no need for him to wear it yet.  The pistols, there was always the chance of bandits on the border.  None would set foot on his ranch,  his mix of veterans and Apache amongst his employees ensured that was suicide.  But on the trail, his old revolvers might be necessary. 

Two days later,  Colonel Atlacoya,  her new eagles on her collar,  hugged her sons and left them with the very retired color sergeant Metzli, the trooper needing her cane due to the cold.   Certain that she'd look after them while Mattheiu ran the herds, she strode to her horse to find him astride his.   With a pair of pack horses indicating that he didn't intend to just ride with her to the border of their, really her, ranch.....incidentally the border of Nova Francia. 

"You didn't think I was going to let you go again?" He asks, reminding her of the last time she had gone to war.  She laughed, looking at her rancher husband wearing a Cavalry gunbelt and his old broad brimmed hat festooned with the imperial eagle and crossed sabers, itself part of the inspiration for their ranch brand.   "No, I guess I didn't"

With their loyal staff and sons watching,  the two rode down t he trail, and under the arch crowned by a scimitar and saber crossed....and onwards, towards yet another war.

[snip]

February 26th, 1923.

Carine Amerighi leaned heavily on his cane. Refusing the offered seat while waiting was done on stubborn principle. It had been years since he had set foot in the city of Rome. On his return from the new world in late July 1914, he wound around the continent. Refusing the summons of then Emperor Trajan whether they found him high in an alpine village or in the sweltering heat of the Nile valley, Carine had been content to leave the Imperial government to its own devices. The summons eventually stopped, and a short time later Trajan had died. Wisely, in Carine's opinion, the summons did not return. Until a week prior, when an Imperial courier had arrived outside the small cottage, he was occupying in the eastern Albian hills.

The courier was polite, succinct, and did not overstay his welcome. The letter he left with the former ambassador stat unopened on the kitchen table for a week. On reading it, it still took two days for Carine to make up his mind and book passage to Rome. As noted, a driver was waiting for him at the train station, and he was whisked to the palace. He was informed the wait would be short, yet another lie from the Imperial family as far as he was now concerned.

As his contemplation of the time wasted on this journey wound yet another circle around his mind, Carine's contemplation was interrupted by the appearance of a member of the palace staff.

"The Empress will see you now." The staff member far closer to an automaton than human. "Please follow me."

Carine merely narrowed his eyes and then began following the younger man. He was led to a non-descript open door. Without waiting, Carine stepped inside.



Amelia sincerely regretted the delay in receiving former ambassador Carine Amerighi. Once someone had been sent to fetch him from wherever the palace staff had stashed him. Amelia stood from her chair and walked over to one of the room's large windows. She idly scanned the grounds outside, internally rehearsing the conversation to come. Footsteps and the click of a cane behind her indicated the time for rehearsal was over. She turned to greet her guest.

She noted the displeasure on Carine's face was modestly masked, he did not want to appear too disappointed but at the same time felt no need to hide it. As the door was closed behind him, Carine gave the factual minimum of a bow in her direction.

"Ambassador Amerighi." Amelia began warmly. "Thank you for making the journey to speak with me today. I do hope the travel was uneventful."

"Empress Amelia." Carine answered. "The journey was fine."

Amelia interpreted the monotone disinterest of the reply as invitation to sidestep any additional pleasantries and get right to business. "I request that this conversation not leave this room. A little over a month ago, I received a diplomatic packet from Tenochtitlan. In it, were two letters from Sultan Ali 8th. One of them was addressed to me, regarding the current crisis over affairs with the People's Republic. In this letter, Ali signaled his intent to rescind the banishment of our formal diplomatic offices."

Carine's expression took on a slight shade of interest at the last sentence.

Amelia did not wait for a reply to continue. "The second letter was addressed to you. You will find it sealed, please accept my personal guarantee that nobody aside from its author has read it. Given the nature of the letter to me, I endorsed the request to require you to receive it in person. I will give you time to read it now, if you wish."

Carine nodded and picked up the letter from the room's small coffee table. He cracked the intact seal, unfolded the page, and began to read. Minuets later, he lowered the letter from eyesight and met Amelia's watchful gaze.

"Your Highness." Carine's blunt tone was now softened with a dash of respect. "Are you aware of what the Sultan has asked?"

"Do you accept the Sultan's request?" Amelia answered with a question of her own.

Carine sighed. "Reject this opportunity to repair what was cast off and destroyed in 1914, absolutely not."

"I had hoped you might say as such." Amelia walked over to the small writing desk in the corner and picked up a folder with several documents inside. She approached Carine with the folder outstretched. "A car is ready to take you to the Foreign Ministry now. Thank you, Ambassador, for your time and service. May we meet on better terms in the future."

Carine bowed, more formally this time, and left the room.

[TacCovert4]

January 20th, 1923,

New Rochelle, Nova Francia:

The pair debarked from the trains they had bounced around on for nigh on a week and retrieved their horses from the back of the train.  Mounting up it was notably warmer here than back on the ranch as they rode through town towards the Imperial Republican Army HQ.  A most unlikely pair, an Aztec Colonel of Queen Fatima's Light Cavalry, and a Sgt. Major of the Imperial Republic, though his uniform showed a few tell-tale signs of being somewhat out of date and in need of some regulation items to replace very civilian ones.  Atlacoya thought as she rode, wondering if the Romans had been given warning of her arrival, or if she would have more than the dispatch she had received to complete her mission of coordinating with Rome in the event of war with the Mayans, and preventing the border, including their own ranch, being swept up in the fires of war.

[TacCovert4]

February 20th, 1923.  New Rochelle, Nova Francia

It had been a whirlwind of a month.  First, two weeks to authenticate that she was a liason officer, and that her letter from the Crown was legitimate.  Along with more correspondence as she tried to speak to the local military and civil authorities about maintaining good relations with the Sultanate, without knowing exactly what the Sultan really wanted.  Finally, in the last week, things had settled down somewhat.  Mattheiu had been able to secure an apartment, so no more being bounced from hotel rooms as various Roman Officials came through the city.  And she had been able to get access to the new proposal, offering any assistance the Sultan could provide in ensuring security of trade and the seas.  Colonel Atylacoya knew she wasn't being stonewalled by the Romans, they were merely following protocol, as diplomatic relations with the Sultanate had been informal at best since 1914, and had frequently been rather icy. 

[snip]

March 7th, 1923. Ministry of War Office, Saint Rochelle

Mattheiu Cipriani made the mistake of looking at the clock again, confirming over an hour had passed since he had arrived and been shown to a rather uncomfortable bench. What reading material there was long exhausted, his thoughts had long ago drifted to his sons.  The clicking of boots on the stone floor drew him back to the moment at hand.

"Marescallus Sforza will see you now." The far to young adjunct left no room for interjection. "Follow me please."

The office was empty when Mattheiu was deposited at its door. He stepped inside and stood, waiting for the owner to return. As if summoned by Mattheiu's thoughts, Manuel Sforza stepped through a second door to the left of the desk. The marshal's insignias gleamed from his shoulders, contrasting with the familiar blue-grey of the jacket. The more salt than pepper mustache and hair neatly trimmed. His blue eyes gazed intensely, but not negatively, at a book opened in his hands.

Manuel looked up from the book and made eye contact with Matthieu. "At ease Sergeant Major."

Matthieu complied, having slid to attention out of admittedly dulled instinct. "Yes Marescallus."

"Please be seated." Manuel gestured with his free hand at the leftmost of the two chairs on the public side of the desk as he took the one behind it. "I was taking a moment to refresh myself on your record. 44th Dragoons was a former command of mine."

"I'm sorry I did not serve under you then sir." Matthieu took the offered chair. "Thank you for making time to speak to me."

"It has been rather, well I'm sure you know to an extent." Manuel set the book down. "How has life on the other side of the boarder been treating you?"

"It has been a good few years." Matthieu answered. "My sons are growing into strong young men and our ranch continues to produce some of the finest cattle."

"I do hope someday I can put that claim to the test myself." Manuel replied. "I must say, you are in quite the unique situation because of your wife. How is the Colonel finding our fair city?"

"She much prefers the open land." Matthieu found no reason to obfuscate the truth. "A calvary officer though and though."

"I understand completely." Manuel replied. "I am of the understanding that a conversation with Colonel Atlacoya is warranted. I do believe however that having an Aztec officer show up here may cause a few to many rumors for my liking. That, coupled with the return of a more formal diplomatic mission already underway, a fact which I trust you will keep between yourself and the books, does complicate things. So, I'm afraid I cannot speak with her, officially, until the new diplomatic mission arrives. That said, I would like to extend an invitation to dinner at my villa outside of town on Friday. Isabella and I would be honored to have both you and Colonel Atlacoya attended. I would not dream of boring dinner guests with any sort of official conversation, but you know what happens once conversation leads to current events."

"Thank you Marescallus." Matthieu replied, reading between the lines. "We would be honored to attend."

"Wonderful, hosting you both for dinner is the least I can do while we wait for the more formal contact that is necessary in these difficult times." Manuel stood. "My adjunct will make the arrangements for your transport, please see him before you leave. My apologies for cutting this conversation sort Sergeant Major, but I have another meeting I must be on my way to."



Later that day

Matthieu closed the door to the apartment. He called out to the small space.

Atlacoya appeared from around the corner of the small bedroom. "Welcome back. How was your meeting with Marescallus Sforza?"

"Short." Matthieu answered with one word while sitting to undo his boots.

"A good short or a bad short?" Atlacoya replied.

"Both." Matthieu grunted as he removed his boots. "To make summarize our conversation, he cannot officially meet with you. It seems the wheels have been set in motion at the Foreign Ministry for reestablishing a more formal diplomatic relationship, of what sort he didn't say, and his authority was therefor limited until that is established."

"Did he give any timeline for when that could be expected?" Atlacoya asked.

"Not to me, and before you say it, I agree the politicking of this is stupid." Matthieu replied.

"So, what are we going to do?" Atlacoya threw the question more to the room at large then her husband. "I'll have to send something..." the thought trailed of. "You said he can't meet with me officially."

"We are invited to dinner with Marescallus Sforza and his wife Isabella on Friday." Matthieu answered the unasked question.