The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 31

Carthage

The room, usually bustling with courtiers and petitioners, was eerily silent. Imilcar slouched against the gilded backrest, not even bothering to hide the lines of worry and fatigue any longer.

He could see the few courtiers and generals attending him looking concerned, but he didn’t know if it even mattered. The recent landing attempts by Roman forces so close to his capital had dealt a devastating blow to his already waning confidence. He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain control and order, but now it seemed that everything was slipping through his fingers like sand.

“Gentlemen,” he began, his voice low and somber, “it appears that our efforts to repel the Roman invaders have been... insufficient. Only the forces we put along our coast kept them from landing directly on top of us. While they did an excellent job repelling their landings, we do not have enough men to cover the entire coast. It is now apparent that we will not keep them out of Africa.”

The men shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with their emperor, as they usually did, waiting for his outburst. For the orders to execute whoever was in charge of the latest fiasco.

Instead, Imilcar said, “In light of this development, I have come to a difficult decision. We must withdraw all our forces from across the empire and consolidate our defenses around Carthage itself. I know most of the continent is abandoned, but what forces there still are in Greece or anywhere else on the continent, as well as Asia, are to return home at once.”

A wave of shock passed through everyone in the room.

General Hadar cleared his throat and said, “Your Excellency, does this include our vital regions in Persia and Egypt?”

“Yes, General. All regions.”

“But, Your Eminence, Egypt is of strategic importance to us. It serves as the primary trade route for receiving trade shipments from the TianYou. This includes both the gunpowder and cannon. If we lose control over Egypt, we effectively cut off our supply of weaponry.”

“And what do you suggest, General? That we spread our forces thin, trying to defend every corner of the empire while the Romans march on our capital?”

“No, mighty one. Of course not. I just... I am not sure we can hold off the Romans without these weapons.”

Imilcar wasn’t sure they could hold off the Romans with them either, but the general had a point.

“Very well, General Hadar. We shall maintain our presence in Egypt to protect the trade route. But Persia and Anatolia must be abandoned. We cannot sustain our holdings there any longer, not with the Romans bearing down upon us.”

“As you command, Your Excellency. But what of the forces currently stationed in those regions? By the time they reach us, the enemy will already have set foot on African soil.”

“A point,” Imilcar said. “They are to consolidate their forces and engage the Romans directly, with orders to inflict as much damage and as many casualties as possible. They are to use their entire forces if they must, but I want the Romans utterly weakened before they reach our walls.”

“Sire?” an advisor said, stepping forward. “These commands. Such a strategy... it would mean...”

“It would mean,” Imilcar interrupted. “That we are no longer the empire we once were. We are now a power confined to Africa. Unless you have armies tucked away inside your robes, or the favor of the gods to bring the sun down and crush our enemies, I’m not sure what other option we have. Make no mistake, gentlemen. This is our last stand. We will make the Romans bleed for every inch of ground they take. We will fight them in the deserts, in the mountains, in the very streets of Carthage if we must. But we will not surrender. Not while a single one of us still draws breath.”

The room fell silent as the gravity of Imilcar’s words sank in. He wasn’t done yet, however.

“To that end,” he continued. “Any town, village, or people that could aid the Romans or provide them with supplies is to be destroyed as our forces withdraw.”

“Your Excellency, are you suggesting we... eliminate our own citizens?”

“I am ordering exactly that. The populace is to be either absorbed into the army or... dealt with. We cannot risk leaving anything behind that the Romans could use to their advantage.”

“But, Your Eminence,” another general interjected, “many of these people have been loyal to Carthage for generations. To turn against them now...”

“Loyalty means nothing if it leads to our downfall,” Imilcar snapped. “I want the Romans starving and weakened by the time they reach the gates of Carthage. If that means sacrificing our own, then so be it.”

“As you command, Your Excellency,” Hadar said, before anyone else could offer new arguments. “We shall begin the preparations immediately.”

“See that you do, General. And remember, failure is not an option. The survival of Carthage depends on the success of this plan.”

Dismissed, the generals and advisors filed out of the room, leaving Imilcar with only a few intendants as he stared at the ornate map of the empire that dominated the far wall. The once-vibrant tapestry of colors representing Carthage’s vast holdings now seemed to mock him, a reminder of all that he had lost and all that he stood to lose.

He wasn’t going down without a fight. If his reign ended with him, he’d take as many of the damned Romans as he could with him and leave nothing of his vast empire but blood and sand.

***

North African Coast, West of Egypt

The darkened waves lapped at the longboats as they glided towards the North African coast. Unlike the last time, there was no artillery or horde of men forced into the ocean at arrow point. They were days sail down from their last attempted landing, which Ky hoped was enough.

Already, half a legion was on shore, formed up and prepared to counter an attack, should it arise. Not that it seemed to Ky they’d be that surprised. While not exactly the Sahara, the land was flat and lightly covered in trees, allowing his enhanced vision to see well into the distance. Other than some herders and a few huts scattered about, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of hostile soldiers to challenge them this time.

It had been a tough landing, with the lights covered or put out on the ships and men forbidden from using torches and lanterns after they landed, but Ky had been adamant in his orders. Even this far from Carthage, Ky didn’t trust that the enemy didn’t have mobile units, waiting to be signaled by scouts spread along the coast. He wanted enough time to get all of his men ashore before they were hit by whatever the Carthaginians had waiting for them.

“How’s it coming?” Ky asked Aelius, whose small command detachment met them as he hopped from the longboat.

“We should have both legions ashore in the next hour,” the legate said.

“Good. Very good. Once they’re ashore, move the men in shore just a little bit, far enough that we can entrench and build a proper defensive position while still close enough for the ships off shore to offer some protective cover. Keep two three cohorts on watch, one set up in each direction and have everyone else being building a temporary camp. I know wood is at a premium here, so use what the ships will unload. We’ll have to waste time digging up the stakes and everything each morning, but in this kind of climate, there’s not much other choice. We’ll have to set up a rotating schedule where those on the deconstruction detail in the morning get up first, tear down while the rest of the forces march, and then fall in the back of the line and can avoid new defensive work preparations that night. Get with Bomilcar’s aide and work up a schedule that can be given out to the cohort commanders. Also, all legionnaires, even those on construction, are to keep rifles and minimum ammunition on themselves all times while in Carthaginian territory. I won’t take any chances now we’re this close.”

“I will see it done Consul but … is this wise?” Aelius asked. “We’re a long march from Carthage. If we stop to build fortifications every night and take them down each day, it will increase our journey by weeks, opening us up to attacks.”

“It’s what we’ll have to deal with. The Carthaginians have made it clear they are willing to throw every person capable of holding a spear at us, and this is their homeland. If you thought we faced problems in Italia, that is nothing compared to being in Africa itself. I will not let our men get whittled down each night by harrying attacks just to save a few days march.”

“It will slow us down more than a few days march,” Aelius pointed out.

“Still, my point stands. We are on the verge of winning these, and I have looked at the histories, of how they took down Scipio Africanus. I will not fall to the same mistake.”

“As you command, Consul,” Aelius said, and then paused, as if unsure about the next sentence. “I apologize if it seemed like I was questioning your …”

“Think nothing of it,” Ky said, interrupting him. “I want my officers to feel free to offer their thoughts and opinions of my orders, as long as it happens at the appropriate time. I’m not a tyrant.”

“Certainly not,” Aelius said, smiling again. “I’ll see to the disposition of the men.”

“Good man,” Ky said, staring out into the darkness. “Good man.”

It took several hours to get the rest of the legions, along with their equipment, wagons, artillery, cavalry, and horses, and the rest of the tools of war off the ships packed along the coast and onto shore. The men did him proud, moved with a quiet efficiency, unloading supplies and equipment from the ships in the dark with little complaint, and then setting to their task of constructing a temporary fortification for the night, in spite of the late hour and their exhaustion.

Under the guidance of their commanders, they dug trenches and erected wooden palisades around the perimeter. They even used it as a learning experience, with some of the more experienced soldiers demonstrating the proper techniques to their younger comrades, ensuring that the defenses were sturdy and well-constructed. Ky couldn’t help but smile at that. Time may change, but soldiers learning in the field, in the midst of battle, how to be better soldiers from their lower officers and friends was something that never changed.

As the night wore on, Ky patrolled the camp, observing the progress and offering words of encouragement to his men.

“Keep up the good work, lads,” he called out to a group of legionnaires who were driving stakes into the ground. “Remember, these defenses could be the difference between life and death.”

By midnight, the camp was finally complete and most of the men not on watch settled into their small tent groups to catch a few hours’ sleep before they had to be up and marching west. Ky had allowed torches to be lit once the palisades were up. By now, if there were scouts out there, they would know the Britannians had landed, lights or no. And his legionnaires didn’t have the same advantage he had.

Ky himself found it difficult to enter his normal rest state. After years of fighting, they’d finally made it to the heart of Carthaginian territory. The end of the war was so close he could taste it.

Just as he was beginning to finally settle, a shout of alarm jolted him back to focus. Ky bolted out of his tent, his hand instinctively grabbing his sword, before the rest of him was aware it had happened.

“Carthaginians to the south,” a sentry cried out.

Ky dashed to the parapet wall to get a better look. He wasn’t even sure how the sentry had seen them, as they were still several hundred yards away, but Ky could make them out clearly. Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of Carthaginian horsemen thundered toward the Britannian positions. Already, a rifle spoke here or there, although Ky seriously doubted the man firing could see what he was shooting at.

“Form a firing line,” Ky called out as more legionaries showed up, half dressed and unarmored, but carrying their rifles and cartridge pouches. “Fire by volley.”

The Carthaginian cavalry had already started to turn, flowing across the Britannian fortification, letting arrows fly into the camp. Ky could hear cries from the men unlucky enough to be in the way of one of those blind-fired arrows.

The horses thundered around the camp, reversed themselves, and went back the other direction. In a normal situation, pre-firearms, this would have worked well, as most archers needed room to fire and were trained in arched volley fire, which meant moving horsemen, who changed direction randomly, would be harder to hit, giving the attackers more time to rain their own arrows into the stationary camp.

Rifles did not fire in arched volleys, and the Britannians had enough to cover the entire perimeter of the fort. The time between a commander calling for a volley and that volley impacting was measured in fractions of a second.

“Fire,” Ky called out as the horsemen came back across his section of the line.

His men reacted instantly, a crackling wave sweeping the side of the palisade, its fire lighting up the night. Dozens of saddles emptied as his men fired. Within seconds, his force was ready to fire again as the man in each spot was replaced by the man behind him, his weapon already loaded.

“Fire,” Ky called again.

Again, horses and men crashed to the ground as fire raked across their side.

If charging the temporary fort manned by rifles had been foolhardy, what the enemy did next was even worse. Bunch up together, they tried to ride away from the defensive works toward some semblance of safety. Instead, they opened up enough range to allow the cannon, loaded with grape shot, to take aim on them.

The artillery men had been waiting until the horses were no longer so close to the fort that they could not depress their weapons enough to fire, and they had orders to take shots as they saw fit.

As soon as the horses tore away from the palisades, the first cannon opened up, its deep baritone boom distinctive from the lighter, higher pitched cracks of the rifles. For the horsemen, it was like the gods themselves had pulled a hand across the earth, smashing through men and animals. Entire ranks fell after the first blast. After the other cannons had their say, almost none of their attackers survived. Those that did were riding hell for leather to the horizon, away from the death behind them.

“And that,” Ky said as Aelius joined him on the battlement. “Is why we need fortification.”

***

Four hours later, Ky was still awake in his command tent, listening to the sounds of activity across the fortification. The first cohort of legionnaires had already roused, eaten, and were preparing to file out to the west to begin the long march to Carthage. Meanwhile, the temporary fort itself was already being dismantled, piece by piece, ready to be loaded on carts that would accompany them to their next stop.

The few they’d lost in the battle were already wrapped for final rites and cremation, their personal effects given to comrades or put in a pouch with letters to return to their families back home.

Ky doubted this was the last night his men would go with little sleep, as the Carthaginians would almost certainly try that again, probably with gunpowder and cannons as they got closer instead of horse archers. It had been a risk, not having enough patrols out the night before, but Ky didn’t want tired men out in the dark. At the next stop, they would better fortify their position and set up a patrol schedule to give them time to react to an attack.

Ky knew they’d lose more men, but he wasn’t going to let them falter. Not when they were this close.

Around him, his aides darted about, carefully packing maps, dispatches, and other vital documents. Ky’s personal belongings, sparse and utilitarian, had already been secured in preparation for the day’s march.

“Consul,” Aelius said from the entrance of the tent, or rather the south-facing wall, which had already been rolled up in preparation for the entire tent to come down.

“Aelius, good,” Ky said, picking up the last of his things and taking the legate by the arm, leading him away from the tent. “We should get out of their way before they bring the whole thing down.”

“Consul, I wanted to apologize for questioning your decision regarding the fortifications last night. It was not my place, and clearly I was wrong.”

“As I said last night, there’s no reason to apologize. Your input is valuable to me.”

“Thank you, Consul. I’m just glad we have you with us. I’m afraid my legion would have been decimated by the attack last night.”

“I think you would have done better than you suspected. However, since you bring up your legion, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

A flash of worry passed across the legate’s face that caused Ky to laugh in spite of himself.

“No,” Ky hastily said. “It’s not like that. I meant I have orders for you and your men.”

“Ohh,” Aelius said, clearly relieved. “We are, of course, yours to command.”

“We captured a few of the injured Carthaginians from last night’s skirmish. The men didn’t know much, but what they told us was alarming. It seems the Carthaginians have ordered all of their forces, save those in Egypt, to return home. That includes the armies in Persia, which are the largest not in Carthage itself.”

“They’re abandoning Persia? After all the blood they’ve spilled to conquer it?” Aelius said.

“It seems the Carthaginians have finally realized the gravity of their situation. This is no longer a war of conquest for them, but a fight for their very survival.”

“I assume this changes our strategy.”

“It certainly does. We cannot allow the Carthaginian army in Persia to march in behind us, smashing our forces between their armies. Which is where your legion comes in. Bomilcar and I will continue west, pushing toward Carthage with the Seventh Legion. You will take the Ninth legion and head east. Your mission is to block and, if possible, defeat the Persians before they can reach us. I’m not sure how long it will take them to disengage their forces and begin their march this directly, but I want you to only go as far as Egypt, even if you beat them there. I don’t want you venturing out into the desert. Establish a defensive position around the delta. Hold it if you can, but fall back rather than being destroyed. This isn’t about conquering Egypt, but keeping their army from preventing our attack on Carthage.”

“In a strong position with cannon and rifle, I think I can defeat them,” the Legate said.

“Maybe, but you’re going to be outnumbered and it’s unclear what you will face in regards to the local populace. Do not take any risks. If possible, you have leave to make any alliances necessary with the Egyptians, following the structure we’ve already established. What’s important is that you remain in contact at all times. As you advance, have your men set up telegraph lines. I will split our supply fleet and send half with you, which you can also use to carry messages if need be.”

“Consul, with my legion heading east, will the Seventh Legion be enough to take on Carthage by itself?”

“I hope so,” Ky said. “I’m not sure we have much choice. Both of our forces will be outnumbered, but at least we’ll have seaboard support. If we stay together, we risk being smashed into a single group, attacked from all sides. This is the only option I see.”

Aelius only nodded. It was a tough position and it said good things for the man that he was already thinking of the larger strategic picture. It showed potential for leading larger scale forces in the future, not just units as part of a larger force.

“One last thing. Either in Egypt or, if you fall back, along the coast further west, I suggest you maintain hold as long as you can on a port city, using it for your base of operations. It’ll allow you easier resupply. That’s just a suggestion, however, and I leave the specifics up to you. You know your men and their capabilities better than anyone.”

“I won’t let you down, Consul.”

“I know you won’t. Now, get with your Tribunes and prepare for your march. And Legate... make sure you set up defensive positions at night.”

“I absolutely will,” Aelius said with a smile.