The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 7

Devnum

Lucilla paced the length of her private chambers, wearing a deep line in the carpet. She loved the ability to hear his voice from so far away, but days like this, it was a curse as much as a gift. She’d known about the loss in Eastern Germania for hours and couldn’t say anything or even let on that she’d heard such devastating news.

Worse, she knew that Ky had been seriously wounded and had to swallow down the fear and anger that news caused. Sophus had sworn to her that Ky was alright and would fully recover, but that did not keep her from spending the day dwelling on it. Which just made her more and more furious each time someone brought her a very valid request, going about their lives not knowing how bleak the world was at that moment. Or at least her world.

So she paced and fumed and snapped at everyone who came into her presence. It wasn’t fair to them, but she wasn’t feeling fair.

Especially after hearing that the enemy was now armed with the same rifles they used. Sophus said that the rifles they were using looked remarkably similar to the model the Britannians had been using during the war. They had made some very minor changes since, mostly with the aiming mount, that was missing from the version the easterners had wielded that morning. Sophus hypothesized that they had, in fact, received a copy of weapons lost to Carthage during the war and had managed to reverse engineer them.

Apparently, their cannons had some notable differences, but Sophus had been less sure if that was because they had not gotten an intact cannon, if they had some way of coming up with an alternate, ahistorical design, or if they’d just been forced to work within their existing production chain and alter their previous lower quality smoothbore cannon to match the cannon Ky had introduced.

She wasn’t sure what Sophus had meant by ahistorical, or much else of what he’d said, but she got the gist of it. The enemy had weapons that rivaled those used by the Britannians, and that was bad. At least this first clash indicated that they did not have the inexhaustible supply of men that Carthage had on its side. The enemy force was larger, but Ky had also gone out with only one legion. If he had brought two, the odds would have shifted in the Britannians’ favor and suggested they might not have overwhelming numbers like Ky had feared.

Or perhaps that was just Lucilla’s wishful thinking.

Even if the manpower difference wasn’t as great as the war with Carthage, the parity in firepower meant their losses would be significantly higher, so the challenges of this war would be the same as the last.

How to get enough men to wage it.

A knock at her door interrupted her pacing.

“Come.”

A messenger with the strips of the signal service came into her office holding a slip in front of her. She snatched it from him and waved him away as she read the first few lines to ensure it was the message she’d been waiting on.

“Gaius!” she shouted before the door closed behind the messenger, crumpling the message in her fist.

Her assistant came dashing in, looking around the room, probably concerned at the tone of his voice. As assistants go, he was tall, fit, and not bookish at all, but then he’d been placed in the position by Faenius, head of the Praetorian Guard, as an extension of her personal protection. Luckily, he was also a fair assistant.

“Faenius and Ramirus. I want them in my office in the next five minutes. Not a second later,” she said, making sure he did not mistake her tone.

He did not, his eyes widening slightly as he spun on his heels and hurried out of the office. She resumed her pacing as he left, thinking through what she wanted.

Not that she needed to. She’d run the possibilities through her head again and again, all day. Not that she was confident in her decision. It came with risks. Serious risks.

The two men hurried in, Ramirus looking a little red in the face and puffing hard. Lucilla relented slightly at seeing her old friend. He’d always seemed old even when he was a child, but the last five years of building up allies and dealing with recovering the remnants of the Carthaginian empire had taken its toll on him.

But this was important.

She handed the message to Ramirus, who glanced at it only briefly before handing it over to Faenius. Lucilla eyed him for a moment. If she didn’t know better, she would suspect he knew the contents of the message before he walked into her office.

Faenius’s reaction was closer to what she was expecting.

“This is very bad. Nearly four hundred dead or missing, and another seven hundred wounded. That’s a fifth of the entire legion, gone in a single engagement. Not to mention the consul.”

“Is there any word on his condition?” Ramirus asked.

“You’ve seen the same message I have,” she said, trying to keep her face neutral and not show what she was really feeling. “But I believe he will recover. He’s resilient.”

Ramirus saw through her and seemed to know what she was really saying, nodding slightly. He’d hinted before that he’d figured out they could speak over distance, but she’d never confirmed it or even addressed it directly.

“The legion is now in retreat, and I am concerned how far they will be forced to fall back,” Lucilla said. “Even with the other legions en route, we can no longer rely on our technological advantage. Which means we cannot afford to let our forces be outnumbered. The legions need men, and they need them now. We also mean we cannot wait for our allies to train their troops.”

Faenius looked to Ramirus, silently asking where this was going. Ramirus shrugged but had a concerned look on his face.

“Which is why,” Lucilla continued. “I’m ordering that we pull half of the Praetorians currently in service across the empire and prepare to send them to the legions on temporary assignment as replacements, until such time as we get enough reinforcements to keep our forces in combat effectiveness, as Ky likes to say.”

“Your Majesty, with the increased unrest in Carthage, and parts of Italia remain unstable, I am concerned what that will do for the empire’s safety.”

“I’m aware. Cormac will have to manage with what he has when he arrives. I have faith that he will find a way to make it work. I need you to begin making arrangements now. I want them to begin marching toward the staging point for the other legions heading east within the week to join our forces. I will send notification to Bomilcar that they are on their way.”

“But…”

“This is not a debate,” she said, stopping the argument before it started.

Fenius frowned, clearly not happy with that answer, but Lucilla wasn’t here to make him happy. She met his frown with a stern expression. He understood that this wasn’t a suggestion or a debate and nodded once.

“I’ll take care of it at once, Your Majesty,” Faenius said, bowing and glancing at Ramirus, the two exchanging looks before he turned and left the office nearly as quickly as he entered it.

Ramirus waited until the door closed behind Faenius before saying, “This decision will come back to haunt us, Your Majesty.”

“I know it’s a gamble,” she said, dropping into a chair and sagging a bit. “But what choice do I have? The legion is in retreat. We need to limit how far the easterners can push into Germania and buy time for the new legions to mobilize. And I can’t wait for Ky to recover and request help.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, sitting next to her, concern in his eyes. “But you have to ask yourself, Your Majesty. Is this for the empire, or Ky?”

“The empire. I’m not some lovesick girl, Ramirus. I am, of course, worried about him, but my concern is for the empire and the alliance. We have to hold before they get too far of a foothold into Germania. It’s going to be our largest source of manpower. If it becomes compromised, we will be left in a bad position.”

“And if unrest spreads in Carthage or Italia while our forces are depleted?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. I think Italia will not be that much of a problem. Only Sardinia remains an issue, and that is more contained. If it was just Cormac alone, I might be concerned, but Medb is with him. She’s shown she is quite capable, if … what’s the phrase Ky likes to use? If she’s given runway?”

“Yes, although I still don’t understand that one.”

“Me either, but either way, I’m just going to have to rely on her to make the best decision she can.”

“I hope so,” he said.

It was clear he did not think her plan was the right decision. She could only hope he was wrong and that Medb was up to the task.

***

Carthage

Medb stepped off the gangplank of the small schooner they had chartered to take delivery to Carthage and paused, taking in the city. She had been here several times since its fall on various missions for the Empress, but the city never failed to impress. It was huge, sprawling. Maybe not larger than Devnum was now, with the massive expansion it seemed to constantly be under, but it was impressive nonetheless.

It had been spared damage in the war, so its classical buildings still stood, untouched and near pristine, with the massive palace in the heart of the city looming above everything else.

She felt a hand on the small of her back as Cormac came behind her, pointing subtly down to the docks, where a Praetorian waited for them. She pulled the hood hiding her trademark red curls a little lower and made her way off the ship.

“Welcome to Carthage, my lady. Prince,” Claudius said, greeting them both.

To an outside observer, it might seem odd that a man who was heir to the Ulaid throne and was in line for the imperial throne itself would be the first one greeted in this situation, and his wife a distant second in precedence. Those who’d worked in the palace in Devnum would have known the truth.

Not that there was anyone around to witness the interaction. The fishmongers and sailors were the only people on the docks and paid little notice to the lone Praetorian speaking with two new arrivals to the city. They had traveled here with none of the ceremony that usually followed Cormac, and Medb was glad for it. She’d found it strange that, as much as she loved the pomp her formal title gave her, she’d come to value the much more real respect she was paid now. It wasn’t just courtiers and nobles kissing up to her any longer. It was men like Claudius showing subtle indications of her standing, not for an audience but because it was what she was due.

She liked that very much. But her getting due deference was not why she was here.

“It was fine, Centurion. But we didn’t come on a pleasure cruise. Your message was alarming, to say the very least.”

“It’s worse than I conveyed in my message, my lady. I’m relieved you’ve come to witness it firsthand.”

He led them away from the docks and into the city proper. As soon as they got off the main road from the docks to the palace and into some of the side streets that would be more frequented by commoners and not by official processions, what Claudius had been talking about became readily apparent.

A few streets in, they saw the first of several scrawled graffiti with messages like ‘Britannians Go Home!’ and ‘Death to Invaders.’ There were slapdash sections of paint on other walls suggesting there had been more that had since been covered up.

“We’ve been getting a lot of these. Not on the main thoroughfare, which is heavily patrolled, but in the city proper, they keep appearing faster than we can cover them up.”

Medb only nodded, looking over the graffiti. Devnum had its fair amount of similar public artwork, and it was a common thing in most cities she’d seen. The messages were, however, concerning. This is what happened when the population was frustrated and felt they couldn’t find an outlet with the people that governed them. It was also a warning sign that the government in power should heed, since it often led to much more direct and bloody expressions of that frustration.

Entering a market area, they came across something different but equally as troubling. Rows of shops in what looked like a well-built-up area were boarded up and closed, with only a few out of several dozen left open. Several had notices on them, torn and fading but still readable, that announced the shop was closed by order of the governor.

“On what grounds?” Medb asked, pointing to the notice.

“The official reason varies. Harboring criminals, health and safety, lack of permitting, which is something that’s recently being introduced to ‘better control public services.’ In reality, they upset someone with the power to shut them down or didn’t pay off the right person.”

“The praetorians are demanding bribes?” Medb demanded angrily.

“No. My people would never do that, at least not if they wanted to remain in their position. No, the governor has a series of tax collectors that are outside of my chain of command, although we have orders to support them as needed. Which they take advantage of often, using my people as muscle for their little schemes.”

There it is, Medb thought. She’d wondered what motivated Claudius to act. He was loyal to the empire, but there had seemed more to it she hadn’t been able to put her finger on. The governor using his men in ways he disapproved of, and leaving him no recourse but going outside of the ranks to report it, made sense.

The praetorian’s domain was being encroached on, and he was unhappy about it.

“I see,” she said, not letting these thoughts show on her face. “Do you have evidence of these bribes?”

“A very little. I turned some of it over to the governor when it first happened and it was swept under the rug. Suddenly, the tax collectors were much more careful about what they said in front of my men, so evidence is harder to come by now.”

Which suggested, to Medb, that the governor was involved in the graft, to at least some degree. Medb made note of it and continued. Claudius took them back toward the main thoroughfare. As they neared it, the stink that any large city had was suddenly replaced by a wet acrid smell.

“There was a fire?” Cormac asked, identifying the smell.

Before Claudius could answer, they turned a corner where what Medb recognized as a small guard shack. The Praetorians used them in larger cities for patrols to be based out of without having to return all the way back to the full barracks during a shift. This one, however, was half burned to the ground, blackened and charred.

“When did this happen?” Cormac asked.

“Last night. Someone dropped a flask of oil and then a torch from the rooftop above. By the time the praetorians inside got the fire under control, the person was long gone, and no one knew, or would say they knew, who it was. All of our men made it out, thankfully, but no arrests are likely to be made.”

This was the kind of step in aggression Medb was worried about. If they were doing this, it wasn’t long until someone outright attacked a praetorian or some other civil servant. Claudius was right to worry. They were on the verge of the city exploding in anger.

“Take us to the palace,” Medb commanded.

Claudius gave a slight bow and led the way toward the central palace. Now, back on the thoroughfare, there were a few stray stares, probably wondering who the hooded strangers were following a praetorian. They quickly looked away though, Medb noticed, not wanting Claudius or any of the other praetorians patrolling the road to notice them staring.

They crossed a plaza to the left, where a small commotion was starting. A patrol of four praetorians and a man in expensive clothing surrounded a middle-aged woman, her cart of fruits and vegetables overturned. The praetorians looked fairly displeased, but Medb thought, perhaps not at the woman.

“Please,” the woman pleaded, “I have a permit. I’m allowed to sell here.”

The finely dressed man sneered, kicking one of the fallen vegetables. “New regulations. Your permits no good anymore.”

Claudius took a step toward the guards, but was intercepted by Medb’s hand grabbing his arm.

“Not yet,” she said.

“I can’t just …” he began.

“You can and you will. I’m sure what he’s doing is condoned by the governor, or your men wouldn’t be backing him. A confrontation now could just as easily cause a riot or embolden rebellious sentiment. Let’s get to the palace and deal with the source of the problem.”

Claudius frowned but nodded and continued them on their way.

“This happens daily,” Claudius complained. “We are given new regulations and rules, written almost as if on a whim, and ordered to enforce them strictly and aggressively.”

“We didn’t see much of this at the docks,” Medb pointed out.

“Some districts get less than others. The more affluent areas, near the palace and down at the docks get the least, the rest. It varies which district is targeted, but it’s always heavy-handed and oppressive.”

“Has the governor seen what’s happening down here?”

“I doubt it. He rarely leaves the palace these days, and when he does, it is rare down here. When he does travel he makes us clear the streets, claiming fear of ‘dissident elements,’ so there is no one for him to see.”

“How has he let it come to this,” Cormac said. “I should have him sent back home, and tell my father how he has been managing things. This is the most prestigious post any of our people have had in the Empire yet, and was a sign of Ulaid’s importance in the empire. He’s blackening not only his name, but my people’s name.”

“We will play it carefully. Yes, there is enough here to have him recalled home, but he didn’t get to this point by accident. He has friends that have to be at least soothed. We need a big enough single incident to show his ineptness, before we have him marched home in chains.”

Cormac didn’t seem pleased, but gave a slight nod to his wife, in deference. She reached out and gently squeezed his arm, the rare sign of public affection, even one as tame as that. Unlike many men, he never doubted her abilities or looked down on her. Better, he’d matured significantly since they’d been wed, to become an effective partner. She’d worked hard to train him properly, and she was pleased with the results.

This wasn’t going to be the last time they dealt with this, however, and he needed to learn patience for this type of work. She’d come to realize, over the past five years, that in an empire, spread out like they were, graft was impossible to stop. It was more about plugging the largest holes than eliminating it altogether. 

“It’s gotten very bad, my lady. The people are restless, angry. But it’s hard to tell how much of it is genuine sentiment to push us out and restore Carthage to independence, and how much is just blowback from Governor Eoghan’s policies.”

“Is there any sign of outside influence?” Medb asked.

“I don’t know. It seems sporadic and unorganized, but a smart planner could use that to their advantage. Without a central group or figure agitating, it’s hard to tell.”

He wasn’t wrong. This was the exact situation a foreign agent could use to their advantage. Moreso if there were legitimate grievances they could play on. A volatile public didn’t take much to push into acts of rebellion.

“I see,” she said, thinking. “We will have to start dealing with this and find out.”

“It’s been made worse by the drawdown of my Praetorians. I have half the number I had a month ago and the Governor’s men still draw the same number as before, leaving me very few to actually patrol the city. We’ve had to reduce the size of patrols to sometimes only two or three men. Enough that, if the unrest gets worse, they could be vulnerable.”

“Yes, we only just heard about the redeployment when we stopped in Kalb. I’m certain the Empress had good reason for it. This war she and the consul saw coming in the east ... it will mean difficulties for us all.”

Claudius bowed his head slightly in acceptance, but clearly was not happy about it. She didn’t blame him, but this was the burden of command. Sometimes you did not have the luxury of the choice you would prefer.

When they arrived at the palace, they left Claudius behind, sending the Praetorian off to his duties. If Eoghan wasn’t a complete idiot, maybe he could figure out that Claudius was the one to summon them, but she thought it best not to tie him so specifically to them.

They climbed the steps to the palace, stopping as the two Praetorians guarding the front entry stiffened, prepared to bar their way. Another concerning move, Medb thought. If the very seat of government itself was closed to those without admittance, where were the people who needed redress of their grievances supposed to go? Was there any mistake this fool wasn’t willing to commit?

Medb slowed, falling in step behind Cormac who straightened and moved in front of her as she did, understanding what she wanted of him. Another sign that she had made the right decision in keeping him. Except for rare cases such as Claudius, men tended to respond better to men, and Medb wasn’t beyond using Cormac as her messenger, if needed. He knew what questions to ask, and the more she was overlooked, the more room she had to maneuver.

Stopping in front of the guards, Cormac pulled off his hood, with Medb following suit. One of the guards had no expression change, but the other one certainly did, standing more erect in a posture of attention.

“Prince Cormac,” the guard stammered in a distinctly Ulaid accent. “We were not expecting you.”

“Because I did not want our arrival announced,” Cormac replied. “I need to see the governor. Now.”

The man looked at his fellow guard before saying, “Of course, my prince. Please, follow me.”

The guard led them into the palace, through the halls toward the audience chamber. Medb hadn’t been in the palace for several years, but she couldn’t help but notice some of the damage done at the end of the war, with legionnaires and civilians looking for valuables or souvenirs before the area was fully occupied and secured.

They were swiftly ushered inside the former emperor’s palace, now serving as the regional center of governance. As they traversed the opulent halls, Medb observed the surroundings with a critical eye. The palace appeared to have been restored to its former glory, with even the most intricate details meticulously replaced. It was evident that Eoghan had spared no expense in his lavish lifestyle, and used either forced labor or Empire funds to do it.

The throne and the dais were gone; even Eoghan wasn’t foolish enough to use those. But the room was otherwise as extravagant as it had been before the fall of Carthage, with a not-quite-throne set up in the large audience area at the far end, backed by tapestries and finery. A stark contrast to the near simplicity Lucilla preferred to keep her own audience chamber.

Which had been one of the things Medb had actually liked about the empress early on.

The other guard must have set off at a run to inform the governor of their arrival, because Eoghan burst in from the door near the ‘throne’ moment after they entered.

“Prince Cormac, Lady Medb!” he said, a little short of breath. “I had no idea you were coming. Why was I not informed?”

“The empire does not answer to you, Eoghan,” Cormac said, his voice commanding in a way that forced Medb to have to repress a smile. “In fact, it works the other way around. You serve at the pleasure of the Empress; she does not serve you.”

Eoghan’s face reddened slightly, but he quickly composed himself. “Of course, my prince. I simply meant that had I known of your arrival, I would have arranged a proper welcome befitting your status.”

“The welcome I want to see is a properly run territory, Governor. Something I have yet to see after touring Carthage.”

“I’m sorry, I stated my question wrongly. I am simply surprised to see you and was wondering what I can do to help you and your... wife.”

Medb almost reached out to grab Cormac, who heard the slight pause and started to tense up, but he pulled himself under control. Another sign of his maturation. She was used to it. It’s why she preferred to stay in Rome, where everyone treated all Ulaid the same, unlike those from her homeland, who very often treated her with contempt.

“We’ve received troubling reports from the city that contradict the official accounts you’ve been sending, and came to investigate those discrepancies and correct the management issues plaguing Carthage.”

“Who told you my reports were a lie? I assure you, my prince, I have been nothing but faithful in my duties. Whoever you’ve spoken to must have a grievance against me, besmirching my name. I have been nothing but faithful in my duties.”

“It doesn’t matter who told us of the situation, only that it exists. We toured the city before coming here and from what I’ve seen, the only lies spoken have been by you, Eoghan,” Cormac said, not raising his voice, but taking a calculated step toward the Governor with each point, his hand going to his belt near the sword, but not actually gripping its hilt. “Guard shacks burned to the ground, threats painted on public walls? I don’t remember these in any of your reports. I also saw a number of decrees about permits and businesses closed by order of the Governor. I familiarized myself with your mandate thoroughly before we sailed here, and I do not remember that being in there. Nor do I remember reading about guards barring the government center? So I am the one asking questions. Questions about your decisions and what the hell you were thinking.”

By the time Cormac stopped listing off Eoghan’s failures, he was practically standing over him, the Governor slowly backing up to avoid Cormac’s rage.

Good. Very good. She’d taught him that, how to use his body to intimidate more subtly, instead of just beating his chest and screaming like so many men tried. Intimidation was about presence and the threat of violence, not just going straight to violence itself. You wanted your target to think about what might happen, not react out of instinct.

“Minor problems, my prince, and none that should trouble you. The fires are a temporary problem that I am already dealing with, which is why there is increased security in the city. We were unsure if these people would try to come for more government facilities, which is why we put it under guard and why I’ve enacted the decrees. If we can just stamp out their support, the handful of dissidents will wither and die.”

“You’ve closed down strings of businesses! I saw an entire street of shops all but deserted, each with a notice that they were shut down by your order. This seems like quite a lot of effort to catch a few dissidents, don’t you think? And what place do these new tax collection officials, who are reporting to you directly instead of the interim city council, have in your mandate? Or these permits that they continually change, requiring people to pay taxes not levied by the city council again and again.”

“I assure you, my prince, these measures were necessary to maintain order and stability in the city. Anyone being assessed fines is likely troublemakers, or at least their sympathizers.”

“From what we saw, it was fairly widespread. We saw a lot of signs of these crackdowns. Are you trying to tell me that the unrest is so widespread that this is what’s needed to suppress it? That does not sound minor or limited.”

“I... that’s not...” Eoghan stammered.

“It’s not what?” Cormac said, interrupting him. “Limited? Because I understand your cells are crowded with just average people, who get no trial and waste away, while the more wealthy sections of the city remain untouched. Is restricting the movement around the city by certain sections of the city part of it being limited? A restriction I will note is again, only for the poorer sections of the city.”

“I’m just trying to keep peace in the city,” Eoghan said, agitated, clearly trying to find a way out of the sudden, unexpected attack he found himself under.

“Peace?” Cormac scoffed. “You’re not keeping peace; you’re creating a powder keg waiting to explode. Your actions are making the situation worse, not better.”

Eoghan’s face flushed red. “With all due respect, my prince, I have been governing this city for years. I know what it takes to maintain order.”

“Do you? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re doing the exact opposite. You’re suppressing the people, not addressing their concerns. You’re creating resentment, not loyalty.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done to keep the empire’s interests secure.”

“By alienating the very people we’re supposed to be protecting and governing? It is clear what we heard in Devnum was accurate, and we are here in the name of the Empress, as well as my fathers, to set it right.”

The governor opened his mouth to protest, but Cormac cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Lady Medb and I will be staying in Carthage for the foreseeable future. We will be sitting in on your meetings, your audiences, and correcting the mistakes you’ve made. It’s time to start undoing the damage you’ve caused.”

Eoghan’s face paled. “But my prince, I assure you that’s not necessary. I have everything under control.”

“Clearly, you don’t. If you did, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

Cormac turned his back on Eoghan, who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish, stuck in a loop, trying to figure some way out of his predicament.

Cormac turned to a nearby attendant, who had been hovering uncertainly at the edge of the room. “Prepare rooms for Lady Medb and myself. We’ll be staying in the palace.”

The attendant bowed deeply. “Of course, my prince. Right away.”

As the attendant scurried off, Cormac turned back to Eoghan, who looked like he had swallowed something sour.

“I expect your full cooperation, governor. We have a lot of work to do.”

With that, Cormac turned on his heel and strode out of the audience chamber, leaving a nervous Eoghan behind. Medb fell into step beside him.

“Well done, husband,” she said. “I think you made quite an impression.”

Cormac glanced at her, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I learned from the best.”

Yes, he had. And he’d become an excellent student.