The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 25

Port of Kalb, Hispania

Cormac stood in the center of the partially finished auditorium, watching representatives from across Hispania file in. He was glad to see the architects had put in the sun coverings already, as it helped with some of the late summer heat.

If he was being honest, Cormac wasn’t sure he understood why the Romans loved building these kinds of venues. The large coliseums, that hosted fights, wrestling matches, and contests, he could understand. That kind of contest was as old as time itself. These sunken performance places though, with their semi-circular design and wide “stage” area, he didn’t get. He’d gone to see one play when he’d been in Devnum, and had been bored to death by it.

Still, as a meeting venue, it was excellent. Not quite as nice as their forum, it was a far sight better than converted warehouses and barns for holding large gatherings. And this one was looking to be particularly large. When he had put word out for this conclave, Cormac had expected grudging participation similar to the last few gatherings of the tribes. He was surprised to see that he’d been wrong. He still wasn’t as versed on every tribe and its representatives yet, but it seemed to him nearly every tribe in Hispania was here, if nothing else by the volume of people arriving.

“Thank you for coming,” Cormac said, as it seemed the last few leaders made their way down the steps, finding seats. “The last time we met, there was a lot of discussion about assaults on villages and tribes across Hispania, mostly around the center regions. I sent out agents to investigate all of these claims, see where the attacks happened, and talk to their survivors. Many were exactly as was described. Small villages raided by men using weapons sold to them by Britannia. Some, however, were not. One, I know everyone here was interested in, was the assault on the Arandur village of Neitin. It was notable, because many of the attacked tribes identified the Arandur themselves as the perpetrators, and the claim that one of their villages was raided in the same way was a strong defense that they were not to blame. Which is why I know it will be of interest to many of those gathered here today to hear that, from everything my investigators found, there was no outside attack on the village.”

A ripple of conversations erupted across the auditorium.

“In fact,” Cormac continued, raising his voice over the din. “The evidence shows that what was presented as a raid on their village was in fact staged, with Villagers attacked and even killed by warriors from Arandur themselves and threats made to the survivors to offer false accusations of an attack.”

The representative of the Arandur stood and started to shout something, but Cormac had been watching him, waiting for the interruption. As soon as the man stood, he raised his voice another level and continued, speaking over the man.

“I brought these revelations to their leader, demanding answers, and I was told that if I made our findings public, it would … not could, would, incite open warfare of all the tribes. Promises were made to sow seeds of chaos and disruption across Hispania if word of the truth got out. What’s more, I was told that the only way to keep the Arandur from using one tribe against another, from raiding and killing at will, was to resume our sales of weapons to the tribe and support them as they consolidated power across the peninsula. It seems the Arandur have decided they alone deserve to rule Hispania through force and fear, replacing Carthaginian rule with a rule all their own. I tell you now, Britannia will not stand by and let that happen.”

“Lies!” the Arandur representative shouted. “More Roman deception meant to turn the tribes against each other so you can swoop in and take control!”

“We did not pluck your tribe’s name randomly from the air,” Cormac said. “Nearly every raided village, with the exception of yours, has identified your tribe as the perpetrators of the raids. Why is it that your own neighbors, who know exactly who you are, all agree you’re behind attacks?”

“Because they have been bought off by promises of gold and power by you. Scum who sell themselves, whores for Britannian favor, hold no sway.”

“Then perhaps we should hear from your own people,” Cormac said, waving toward one of the auditorium entrances.

Llassar appeared at the top of the steps, with four people in simple clothing, each sporting multiple injuries. As they walked down the steps, three of the four looked to the ground, nervously refusing to look up. The fourth, a woman, glared daggers at the Andur representative as they made their way to the center floor, to stand next to Cormac.

“These are villagers from Neitin. People injured by their own leaders’ avarice. But don’t hear it from me,” Cormac said, and stepped aside, gesturing for the woman.

“My name is Atta and I come from the village of Neitin. I lived on the north end of the village. I lived with my husband and young daughter, poor but happy. Then, a group of warriors arrived late one night. Men I vaguely knew, or at least had seen before, from the central village to the south. Indortes, my husband, went out to greet them. The leader didn’t even speak to him, only pulled a sword and rammed it through his heart. The rest came past him, into my home, grabbed me and my daughter, and pulled us out. They …”

Her words gave into sobs. Even the Arandur representative knew better than to speak up at this moment, interrupting this woman’s obvious grief. After a moment, her sobs slowed and she regained control.

“My daughter was killed in front of me. I was to be next, but Arranes, one of our neighbors, ran up, hearing my screams, and demanded to know what was happening. They killed him for his kindness, but his distraction saved me. I … I ran. I should have stayed and died with my husband and child, but … I was terrified. I ran and ran. They chased me, and would have caught me if not for Urcha. She had a burn, but she was hiding. She grabbed me and pulled me in with her. The warriors passed us, and ran on. We stayed in those woods for days, starving, too afraid to go back to the village. Only when foreign soldiers came, did we leave.”

“More lies. I will not stay here and listen to this deceit!” the Arandur representative screamed, before turning to look over the other representatives. “You should all leave now, before you allow yourselves to become slaves again!”

With that, he stormed out of the row and up the steps, toward the exit, in a huff. One other man made to follow but hesitated when no one else moved. Sheepishly, he sat back down. The Arandur man turned, face reddening as he saw no one else following him out. Spitting on the ground, he turned and left in a fury.

Cormac watched him go before turning back to the rest of the assembled leaders.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Cormac said. “I appreciate the faith you’ve all shown Britannia to serve as a neutral representative. I promise you now that, despite the provocations of the Arandur, we will continue to act in good faith and work towards a peaceful and prosperous future for Hispania.”

He paused again, letting his words sink in before he continued.

“However, I do not think that the Arandur are done. They made it clear that, if their demands were not met, they would escalate their attacks. The fact that none of the rest of you stood with them will only make their anger stronger. They will look to weaken the rest of you, and if I had to guess, I would say they will target the smaller tribes first. They may be standing alone, but that doesn’t mean they are any less dangerous. Alone, I’m not sure any of you could stand up to them, which is why, again, I propose some form of alliance between the rest of you. The only way you will stand up to them, and future challenges, is if you pull together. You won’t do it alone. Britannia offered to stand with any tribe that honors its promises, and to stand with any alliance you form amongst yourselves, and we will honor that. If you take the fight to the Arandur, Britannian’s legionnaires will stand with you.”

The men began to talk to themselves excitedly, and Cormac had the sense that this time, his suggestion was being taken much more seriously.

“While you consider that, I will add that I am a man of my word,” Cormac continued. “I already sent a request to Britannia to send men to the ruins of Port Invictus to begin rebuilding it. Once finished, I will work with whatever form the tribes here agree to function together as to hand the port and its governance over.”

Across the auditorium, men began getting up and gathering in clumps, excitedly discussing the proposal. Cormac wasn’t done yet, though. He had one thing left to add and, with as excited as everyone was, this seemed to be the best time to bring it up.

“Before you disperse to deliberate further, I have one other consideration,” Cormac said, raising his voice above the din. “As dangerous as the Arandur, they are not the greatest threat to your existence. Britannia is on the verge of defeating the Carthaginians, but our victory is not yet complete. In fact, it hangs in the balance, for want of enough men to complete the defeat of your former overlords. Britannia desperately needs assistance if we are to finish the job. Assistance in the form of additional manpower.”

Shouts, not yet angry, but at least concerned, started going up around the auditorium.

“Wait, hear me out, please,” Cormac said, raising a hand. “I’m not asking you to send your men into combat or even joining our legions. I know you’ve had your fill of being pressed into service so far away, and we would not ask that of you. We would, of course, welcome any young men who wish to see the last great war of our lifetime and take part in the defeat of the Carthaginians, but we would not ask it of you. What we ask is any additional men who might bolster our rear guard forces in Italia and the accompanying islands. We have entered regions that, instead of yearning to overthrow their masters, have lied under the yoke for so long, that they resent the removal of it.”

“If we are to take the fight to the Carthaginians,” he continued. “We need as many of our legionnaires as possible in Africa, and can not spare them for garrison work, especially since that garrison work covers enough ground that it would take the bulk of our forces to cover. This would be a limited request, and your young men will be back home by winter. We know that might affect the harvests, and we have tools we would be willing to give to make up for their absence. Beyond the tangible gain, there will be a larger chance for the tribes here to build contacts with other nations. We have made similar requests of our friends in Gaul, Germania, and Scandia to assist us in maintaining the peace in the lands. This would be an opportunity for your youths and theirs to learn of each other, become exposed to each other’s cultures, making trade and relations between neighbors as we prepare to enter a new future, where each of our people have a chance to rule ourselves as we see fit. As I said, we do not require this of you, only ask for your help. I leave the decision to you.”

With that, Cormac and Llassar left the auditorium, helping the injured Arandur villagers out, the men behind already abuzz behind him as he left.

***

Atlantic Ocean, Northwest Coast of Africa

Valdar inhaled, pulling in the deep, rich scent of the ocean, happy to be back on Oceanus again, with its dark waters and roiling waves. There was something about the vast expanse that smelled different than the middle sea had smelled. He knew landsmen would think him crazy if he said that out loud, but he knew he could smell it.

The fleet had just finished rounding the northern coast of Africa, and now turned south, sailing along the western shore. He could feel the crew’s excitement. He’d come up a merchantman, which meant sailing close to shore, working along the same path over and over again. There was a lot of unknown water, but until the Britannians showed up with all of their new technology, it had been a risky thing to get out of sight of the shore, especially out here, where the sea to the west stretched on until it reached the heavens.

That mostly meant that very few sailors broke new ground, as it were, sailing into uncharted waters. It was something to set off on a voyage that, at least partially, would lead to the discovery of new waters and bring new lands to explore.

They weren’t the first to make this sail south, below the great desert. Theoretically, everyone knew Africa ended at some point south, and that one could sail down the west coast and then back up the east. There had been enough trade up the Nile from Nubians and other nations above the farthest cataracts, with stories of the eastern shores, to tell them that. None of the ships that had ever sailed that way had ever returned, though. Of course, they didn’t have the knowledge the Consul had given him, describing the “horn of Africa” nor the tools for more precise measurements and these massive ships, built to sail the violent waters of Oceanus.

No, this was a new day, and all of the men knew it.

“Will we have enough men to accomplish our task, Admiral?” his first officer asked.

“We’ll have to make do with what we have. Maybe if we’d discovered the enemies’ shipments a little earlier, we would have arrived before Cormac took the bulk of the legionnaires stationed at the port north, but we didn’t. Not that he would have been able to spare them, from what Tribune Niall had to say. I think we’re lucky to get the thirty men we did. We’ll just have to make do with that. Niall promised to send word on the next message boat to Britannia asking for another detachment. I’ve instructed the Captains stationed at Kalb to break off one more caravel if those arrive to bring any reinforcements they send. Another batch of caravels and schooners should be coming off the docks next month to make up for it.”

Before they could discuss the situation further, a voice from high up on the main mast shouted down, “Sails sighted.”

Valdar lifted his spyglass, sweeping it across the horizon. After a moment, in the far distance, he made out what looked like a cluster of ships. He squinted hard against the glass, adjusting it, trying to clear the image. And then he saw it. A Carthaginian signante at the top of a mast. How they’d managed to build another fleet, out here on Oceanus, without anyone knowing, was beyond him. It was clear why they were, though. With the bulk of Roman ships in the Middle Sea and the legions on the continent, they now stood a much better chance of landing troops now than they did two years ago.

“Signal the carvels and schooners to fall in line and prepare to engage. The rest of the fleet is to fall back and hold position until we catch up with them. If we don’t return by dark, or they sight the enemy, they are to fall back to the Kalb and inform the fleet there of what we’ve found.”

The fleet responded swiftly, the smaller ships peeling away and turning north as the three carvels and two schooners surged forward. The Bellona took the lead, Valdar keeping his spyglass fixed to his eye as they did, watching the enemy fleet grow in his vision. As it did, he started realizing that something was different with this fleet than the ones they’d faced before, but it wasn’t until they began to close on the ships that he realized what it was. The hull shape of two of the Carthaginian ships resembled, in some ways, the Britannian caravels. The lines were crude, and there were subtle irregularities that suggested the shipwrights were trying to copy the vassals off of a brief glimpse or second and third hand information. It at least told him it was more likely survivors of battles relaying the Britannian designs, rather than some kind of espionage at the ports.

It took some time, but the Carthaginians finally began reacting. While it was Valdar would have taken his own men to task for being so slow to notice an enemy fleet, his men had known they were sailing along Carthaginian shores while the enemy had no idea that a Britannian fleet would appear, coming for them. Not that Valdar thought he’d be able to sneak up on the enemy. Not on such a clear day of sailing.

As the enemy turned, Valdar noticed something else, something more important than just the design of the ship. In a crude approximation of Britannian gunports, the enemy ships had crude cutouts along the side of each of their mock-caravels. He couldn’t see into them, and no cannon had been rolled out, but he had no doubt that more of the bronze cannon he had intercepted near Sardina lay inside those gun ports.

As the two fleets closed, the enemy fell into a line abreast formation, showing that they’d paid more attention to the technical changes in Britannian ship building, and not how they handled those ships. While typical of galley combat, where the goal was to ram the opponent and then fight a land style battle across the now connected ships, it gave away all of the benefits of cannon armed ships. If the mock-caravels in the center wanted to fire, they would have to either fall back or turn into their fellows to get their broadsides off.

They also hadn’t taken into account the speed difference between a three masted caravel and a single mast converted galley, causing their line to almost instantly become disjointed and staggered, the chaos getting worse every minute as the converted galleys struggled in the harsher conditions out on the ocean. It’s one of the reasons Valdar had all of his converted ships fall back. They just weren’t capable of precise coordination in heavy seas.

“Signal the fleet to hold formation and prepare to engage,” Valdar said as the fleets entered long gun range. “Concentrate all fire on the larger, new model ships.”

They might have bad tactics, but Valdar wasn’t about to risk his ship being overconfident. The enemy fleet had started losing enough cohesion that their cannon armed ships had enough room to turn and fire broadsides, which Valdar wasn’t going to let happen. Once the ships with cannons were gone, he could sail circles around the converted galleys, until the entire fleet went to the bottom.

“Helmsman, hard to starboard. Gunners, fire on my mark.”

The Bellona heeled over sharply as the helmsman spun the wheel, until it was sailing parallel to the oncoming Carthusians, putting himself in position to “cross the T,” as the Consul had described it, allowing his cannon to fire down the length of the Carthaginian ship, making it harder to overshoot and increasing the damage if it did.

“Gunners. FIRE!” Valdar bellowed.

A ripple of explosions erupted as the cannons along the port side of the Bellona belched smoke and fire. Splinters flew and men screamed as iron shot punched through the hulls of the Carthaginian ships.

“Helmsman, turn us north,” Valdar ordered, even as the other five ships in his line made the same journey behind him, each firing a salvo as it lined up against the Carthaginian fleet.

By the time the entire fleet had turned back north and begun picking up speed, putting distance between the two fleets, both of the mock caravels were listing hard, on their way to the bottom.

“Send my complement’s to the other captains and tell them their men handled that well.”

Valdar had been an early convert to the Consul’s insistence on continual drilling and practice with the cannon, especially aboard ship where the rolling of the deck made aiming a tricky operation. His men had taken to it well and all their hard work had paid off. Valdar smiled as he heard a cheer go up on the Seadreki, which was following directly in his rear.

“All right, let’s finish them off.”

The fleet began its turn back south, continuing the long serpentine move that allowed a line of ships to maintain range while presenting broadsides to the enemy. The enemy fleet was in disarray, or at least, more disarray than it had been prior to the engagement, the converted galleys losing all cohesion as every shipmaster turned this way and that, trying to find a safe escape for their vessel now that their two largest vessels had gone down without a fight.

It was pure chaos. As Valdar watched, one of the galleys tried to turn over so fast that it ended up swamping itself in a swell, taking on enough water to send it to the bottom.

“It’s kind of them to take care of things without us, but how about we help them along. Signal break formation and fire as you bear. Maintain distance and range,” Valdar said, pausing as he had an additional thought. “Separate message to the Bolvastr to watch crossing fire lanes.”

Egil was a good captain and one of the best ship handlers in the fleet, but he had a problem of losing the positioning of the other ships in the fleet, and sailing in front of one of his partners’ broadsides.

Outgunned and outmaneuvered, the Carthaginian ships stood no chance. One by one they were pummeled into floating wreckage, hapless crews leaping into the merciless sea. Thirty minutes after the two mock-caravels went to the bottom the last of the converted galleys followed after them, all without being able to answer in kind by cannon or catapult. It was a massacre.

“Should we blockade and shell this port while we’re here?” his first mate asked as they watched the last ship sink. “Make sure they don’t build any more and try again?”

Valdar thought about it for a moment. As easy as the battle had been, there had been a real danger here. With the Middle Sea blockaded, most of the warships had been pulled from around Britannia, leaving it vulnerable if the enemy managed to get their act together and sail a ship up to it. Had they not stumbled upon the enemies’ new cannon design and decided to intercept the shipments of the weapons from the east, he would have never known they were here. It was very possible they would have managed to get the fleet together and sail it all the way to Britannia, causing chaos at the very least.

But, there were other concerns here too.

“No,” he finally said. “We have a long trip ahead of us and a fight at the end of it, and we’ll be a long way from a resupply. We need to conserve what ammunition and gunpowder we have.”

“Then what about the port?”

“When we retrieve the rest of the fleet, we’ll send a ship back with word of this port and their attempt at a fleet to Kalb. I’ll send along orders for some of the ships patrolling from the port to sail down and deal with it. Now, let’s go find the rest of our ships and continue on our way. The longer we take, the more cannon the enemy will have delivered.”

“Yes, sir,” the first Officer said, saluting.

Valdar smiled as he went to signal the rest of the fleet. For a bunch of ships made up of merchantmen, or at least former merchantmen, they certainly were picking up a lot of habits from the legions.