The Wings of Mercury (Imperium Vol II #1) - Chapter 1

Port Amicitiae, Africa

The port commander sat hunched over his desk, poring over the day’s shipping manifests and schedules. The scratching of his pen, one of the Consul’s many inventions and much superior to the writing sticks they previously used, had become almost hypnotic over the hours. When they’d sent him down to command one of the farthest outposts of the empire, Arn had imagined it as the peak of his career since joining the Britannian legions and becoming a citizen. He had pictured dealing with strange and interesting people and all the chances for glory that would come his way.

Yes, there had been strange and interesting people, but mostly to ensure they paid the tariffs and the conflicts with the locals didn’t get too out of hand. Mostly though, there had been paperwork. So much paperwork.

He’d just finished the latest stack and was contemplating a stroll out on the docks, just to clear his head, when there was a series of aggressive knocks on his door.

He hadn’t even bid the person enter before the door thrust open and a flush-faced legionnaire, his breath coming in short gasps, rushed in and said, “Tribune! Strange ships have been sighted on the horizon!”

It wasn’t clear what this man was so excited by. They got ships in, while not all the time, this far on the edge of the known world, on the far southern coast of Africa, regularly. They were, in fact, expecting a supply fleet anytime and had word that ships out of the Sea of Reeds should be stopping here on their way around the cape.

“What do you mean, strange? We were expecting the …”

“No, sir. Not one of our ships. They’re huge, larger even than a caravel, with strange sails. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

Grabbing a spyglass off his desk, he went to the window and looked out. The ships were still a bit away, but he could see them closing. It wasn’t a few ships either. There were maybe fifteen, that he could see, but bunched as they were, it was hard to tell if there would be more behind those.

The newest spyglasses were good, better even than those used during the war with Carthage five years ago, but the ships were still a little hard to make out. They may be large. Actually, they were very large by his estimation, which had become a lot more expert since becoming the commander of a major port. The ocean, however, had a way of making everything smaller.

He squinted, staring at the ships as they grew larger and larger in his eyepiece. There was something familiar about them. Something in the back of his brain. And then it hit him.

He’d seen reports of these ships with some of the same features, including a reminder earlier this year about their design, along with the instruction that ships with those odd, folded sails that seemed to go the wrong direction should be considered hostile.

Ships with similar sails, although described with many differences, had fought against Admiral Valdar in the famous Battle of the Sea of Reeds, which helped close out the war.

“Sound the alarm. I want every available man armed and ready to defend the port. Dispatch message boats for Port Vikhavn telling them what we found and request the message relayed to Britannia. Man the cannons of the fort. Now.”

The legionnaire didn’t even bother to salute. He just turned and dashed out of the office.

Arn was about to call out for another messenger, to order the only warship in port at the moment, the schooner BNS Lugh, but he saw its Ulaid captain had already begun to push away from the dock. Good. At least some of the men had their wits about them.

Grabbing his gladius leaning against the wall and thankful they no longer had to don armor for battle, Arn ran after his legionnaire, toward the small fort on the far left of the port.

He’d only made it halfway to the fort when alarm bells began to sound, the urgent clanging sending people and merchants running for cover. At least, some of them.

There hadn’t been an attack since the war, when the port had been just a few damaged ships cannibalized for parts, but Arn and his predecessors had been warned thi day might come, and they bell never rang more than three times in a row. Insistent ringing was saved for true emergencies. For war.

The newest arrivals and some of the locals from out in the grasslands to the west, come to trade cattle for wares, stood around looking confused, but they’d figure it out wonce the cannon started fighting.

“Man the battlements,” he commanded as he arrived at the fort. “Roll out the cannon.”

“Already done,” The centurion in with watch of the fort said. “Additional powder is being brought up from stores now.”

“Good man. Order all civilian ships to load and flee. Tell them not to wait for any crew not aboard or any merchandise. If they don’t get out now, they won’t be leaving.”

The order gave away any pretense that the port would survive this. Not that any seasoned officer would believe otherwise. He just hoped the Lunch, which had already made its way out of port and was picking up speed as it headed toward the enemy fleet, would buy them enough time to get people out. It was a suicide mission and anyone on board had to know that. But, they were buying time for civilian ships to flee.

Besides, what else could they do?

He saw the Lugh cut north, bringing its broadside to bear smartly, and the flashes of fire before the booming sound of the cannon made its way to them. The battle had begun. The first salvo had been deadly accurate, and the lead ship coming toward them began to drift south, as the top half of its main mast was severed and sent over the sides.

The enemy wasn’t sitting still and was turning its broadside in turn, but much slower. It was clear whoever had designed these massive ships had done so without care for handling. The smaller Lugh was already turning around to sail back toward the port, probably in order to swing south and try to get out of their broadside.

Breccan, its captain, almost succeeded, managing to make a small circle and begin traveling south as he brought his other broadside to bear. But only almost.

The enemy fleet, which was indeed more than fifteen ships, Arn could now see, had turned as well, and salvo after massive salvo thundered from the front six ships.

The poor little schooner never had a chance. Their aim also didn’t seem quite as good as the Lugh’s, but it didn’t need to be with that weight of fire as dozens of cannonballs smashed into the smaller ship. Its speed dropped dangerously as spar hole after hole appeared in the sails. The mast didn’t go, but enough spars had been sheared off to cause half the sails to droop and sag, no longer able to catch significant wind.

Breccan managed another salvo of his own, shot low into a single ship, with most of his shells landing. They must have hulled it low because it started to drift lower and lower as its front dipped and the belly filled with water.

And then a second salvo sounded from the enemy. Arn could see whole sections of the Lugh disappear as it began to roll over. Men were jumping into the water, some looking like they wanted to swim back to the port.

Not that it would do them any good. That many ships, Arn was under no illusion that his port would survive much longer than the schooner did.

***

Devnum, Britannia

Ky hunched over his desk, studying a map of the rail lines in eastern Germania. Hortensius’s work, or at least the surveyors he’d sent out for this mission the previous summer, had done excellent work and Ky could see very few changes that needed to be made. They’d already made great progress connecting most of Europe, especially the more heavily occupied western half, but the east still only had two lines going past what had once been, or would be, it was still hard to determine how to phrase that, the borders of Germany.

Those areas had been fairly depopulated during the war as Carthage stripped every meter of their former empire for conscripts, but they were repopulating as more and more people arrived from further east. So far, the arrivals had just been looking for a new land to settle, and there was plenty of land available, so there hadn’t been any problems. If that was going to continue, they needed to integrate the newcomers into what Ky had started to think of as The Western Alliance, which was essentially all of the regions that had allied with Britannia during the war and had consolidated into regional powers since.

They were also still deep in negotiations with the Greeks, who were not willing to see the benefits of modernization, or at least the benefits of doing it under Britannia’s direction. Ky was confident Lucilla would untangle that knot eventually and wanted to have the support infrastructure in place when they did.

“Up early and back at it, I see,” Lucilla said behind him, drawing his attention from the map.

He turned, smiling as he saw her standing in the doorway, their three-year-old son Titus balanced on her hip.

“I am. Hortensius has made good progress so far, but there is still a lot of work to do, and I want to make sure Sophus runs his numbers before we start. It’s a large investment and correcting it will be even more expensive.

She walked over, handing him Gaius. “I don’t doubt it, and the empire will always be grateful for you, but you don’t need to push yourself like this. We’re not at war anymore. You can take things more reasonably... like you’re the equal of ten men, instead of twenty.”

“I try,” he promised, lifting Gaius and making a face at him, eliciting a giggle. “How are my two favorite people this morning?”

“We’re doing well, although I think your son is more interested in playing than being held at the moment.”

Ky set Gaius down, watching as he immediately started exploring the room, picking up and examining everything he could reach. “He’s curious.”

“Like his father.”

Lucilla moved to her dressing table, picking up her brush and starting to work it through her long hair. Ky watched her, marveling at her beauty. Motherhood had done her wonders, and she was a little more radiant every day.

“So, what’s on your agenda for the day?” she asked, glancing at him in the mirror. “Aside from rail lines.”

“I need to speak with Fannius about the peacekeeping forces we still have in Carthage. It doesn’t look like that situation will be resolved anytime soon. If anything, things have started to degrade. We need to discuss what kind of additional forces he can commit to the region. After that, I’m meeting with delegates from the Gallic states and the Germanic alliance to discuss trade agreements and border security.”

“Roti’s reports don’t indicate any serious problems.”

“No, but the steady trickle of injuries does. Well, maybe not serious, but they indicate something’s going on. I at least want to put a word in his ear about it, have someone look into it.”

“I see,” she said, frowning.

Ky knew her. She was already working through the possibilities of what that could mean, how it would affect other parts of the empire and their network of overlapping alliances, and what she could do with it. She was always an excellent politician and administrator, but during the war, necessity held her entire focus on the needs of the moment. The last five years, however, she had really honed her skills.

It was also why, other than building out capabilities and some minor work with Sorantius, the chemist, the technology level of the empire had held relatively static since the end of the war. Part of Ky had wanted to continue to push ahead, moving them beyond the industrial age and into early twentieth-century levels of technology, but Lucilla and Sophus had argued against it.

They had believed that industry needed to shift to supporting their allies reaching the same level of technology that Britannia had reached during the war, and ensuring that living standards reached all parts of both their allies and their own empire, instead of just the major settlements. She had received serious pushback on that, from elements inside of the Empire who wanted to hoard the technology for themselves, and supply every other nation, making them beholden to Britannia.

Lucilla had argued that they were building more than their own wealth. They were building toward true stability. Not just militarily, but politically and socially. They weren’t giving everything away, of course. Military technology was still hoarded and limits put on what they could sell, keeping rifled artillery and muskets for only their forces. Everything else though, they’d begun to give out. It had been a slow process. Most of their allies were now able to produce much higher quality steel, had better medicine and sanitation, but were still catching up on everything else.

Even five years later, a lot of rebuilding had to be done to make up for the toll of Carthage’s long reign, and the war that ended that reign.

“It’s under control,” Ky said. “Faeinus knows his job. If there is anything wrong, he’ll tell us.”

“Fine. I’ll leave it alone,” she said, faux-sullenly. “Besides, I have enough to deal with. I have a host of meetings today.”

“Still the Ptolemies?”

“Yes. I’m not comfortable with their demands for restricted military supplies, or just how many of our senators are supporting those demands. They say the right words, claiming they’re looking to build an alliance and foster goodwill but…”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Ky finished.

“Not. Not right at all. Besides, even if I give in to them, it’s a dangerous precedent to set. If we give in to these demands, what’s to stop them from asking for more? My first meeting is with Medb and Ramirus. I want them to look at our own Senators first. If any have sold their allegiances, I want to know it.”

“Just… be patient. Even if they come up with evidence of something, think it through. Talk to Ramirus.”

“I’m not that bad,” she said.

“Do I need to remind you about Fiacha?”

The Ulaid senator, who had been slapped down by Medb during the war, felt after the war he could profit on some of the things she knew, and some of the people he had access to. Medb had given the man a chance, and he’d been foolish enough to try again. A furious Lucilla had him and his brother-in-law, who’d joined him in the endeavors, executed, his family stripped of titles and lands, and his wife exiled. Even among Lucilla’s supporters, it had been seen as harsh.

“He deserved his fate. But I get your point,” she said. “I’ll play nice.”

“Go0d,” Ky siad, glancing over to where Titus was was attempting to pull a large tome off a low shelf. “I should start getting ready too.”

He crossed the room, scooping up their son and tossing him over his shoulder, much to the child’s delight. “Why don’t we send for the …”

Ky handed Titus to Lucilla and crossed to the door, finding a young Praetorian at their door. He was wearing one of the new uniforms Ky, Lucilla, and Sophus had designed to replace the heavier segmented armor the Romans had been wearing during the war. A simple tunic that was similar to that most Romans would wear, although they had a heavy, full-length wool jacket that could be worn in rain or cold weather combined with wool trousers and closed-toed boots; it was both lightweight but offered good protection from the elements on long marches.

One of the nice additions, beyond the weight reduction, was the cap that held rank insignia and unit insignia just above the brim, making it easy to know where the soldier you were addressing came from.

“Your Majesty, Consul, forgive the intrusion, but I bring urgent news,” the man said, visibly sweating and panting in spite of the snow still on the ground outside.

“Catch your breath, Decanus,” Ky said. “Then speak.”

The man nodded, gulping air.

“Port Amicitiae has fallen,” he said after a moment, steadier.

“What? How?” Lucilla said behind him.

“We received a telegraph from Londinium. Four ships from the port arrived an hour ago. They said there were ships, strange ships with odd sails, that came out of nowhere, attacking with cannon. They said a schooner had sailed out to meet them, but there were dozens of the attackers.”

“Did they give any specifics on what they meant by strange ships?”

“They described them as huge, far larger than our own, and said the sails were very different. They were square, but with ridges going down, like they folded that direction, segmenting the largest sails.”

It was vaguely familiar. Valdar had faced ships like that during the war, ships that belonged to the foreign power from the east that had been supplying the Carthaginians with rudimentary cannon.

“Thank you. Go back to your command, but slowly,” Ky said to the messenger, who gave a thankful smile, and then turned to the Lictore at his door. “Send word for any commanders in the city to gather here in an hour, along with Ramirus.”

The man saluted and ran off in the same direction as the messenger.

“The easterners?” Lucilla asked as Ky closed the door.

“Probably.”

“But why now? It’s been five years without a word from them.”

“I don’t know, but I imagine they feel ready to deal with us. We may have lost one ship we sent to open relationships with them, but four means they were sinking anything we sent, and had no plans toward diplomacy.”

“I know, I just … it’s been so long, I’d hoped they’d given up, or something had happened and they’d collapsed.”

“Apparently not. This is just the beginning. Port Amicitiae was the closest port we had to them and would be one of the first targets they might choose if they were coming around for us. We won’t know for sure until they make their next move, but I think we should begin preparing for war.”