The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 22

Wendhom, Anglii Territory, Germania

In spite of the warm mid-summer temperatures, Lucilla pulled her cloak tightly against herself as she stepped off the gangplank. As soon as they docked, she could see that the vast majority of the ships here were unloading cargo and not passengers, making her appearance noticeable. It was made all the worse by Modius and Cynwig following behind her. Even cloaked and not armored, both couldn’t hide what they were, which made Lucilla glad she’d stood against Modius’s insistence that they bring even more of her people along.

They’d barely stepped off the ship and already she felt like every eye in Germania was on her. It wasn’t until she got to the bottom of the gangplank, however, that she realized that at least two of those eyes were definitely staring directly at her. Although she might have kept her head down anyway, to keep from being recognized, she’d been forced to keep looking down as she stepped off the ship, focusing on keeping her balance as she made her way down the rickety gangplank.

She finally looked up as her foot hit the deck, and found herself staring directly into the face of Yrsa, the Scandi captain. She stopped so suddenly in surprise that Modius and Cynwig almost slammed into her, both being forced to hop off the gangplank and onto the deck on either side of her to avoid the collision.

“Captain Yrsa,” she said, quickly recovering her composure. “What are you doing here?”

Yrsa gave a bow, smiling slightly, and said, “I was actually on my way to Britannia to see you, when I heard word that you were, in fact, already on your way here. I thought it easier, for me at least, to come straight to Wendhom and meet you when you docked.”

“How did you know which ship I was coming here at all, let alone which ship to meet?”

“Come now, your majesty, you must know how sailors like to talk, and nearly every vessel that trades between Britannia and the continent has some kind of connection to one another. The old trading families are so intermarried at this point, that we’re all essentially one people by now. There was little to no chance you could board one of those ships and other captains not find out.”

Lucilla pressed her lips together, annoyed. She had paid well for the her ship captain’s discretion, above and beyond the exorbitant cost she’d agreed to pay for the transportation itself. The fact that he had talked anyway was more than a little unsettling. Beside her, she could feel Modius shifting, probably already checking for the dozens of assassins he was now sure lurked among the dockhands and sailors.

“Don’t worry, your highness. They wouldn’t have spoken about it to their crews. Captains are a gossipy lot, but usually only among other captains. It’s difficult to maintain discipline among these rabble if you socialize too frequently,” Yrsa said, waving indistinctly at the various sailors scattered across the docks.

“I see,” Lucilla said, not entirely convinced. “I guess since you found me, I should hear what you needed to speak to me about. I assume it has to do with the mission I sent you on to your Scandi countrymen?”

“It does. I’m afraid my efforts met with little success. While eager to maintain free and open trade, most are reluctant to officially back either side in the war. Some because they don’t want to become embroiled in it themselves and others because … well, because they want to keep selling to both sides.”

“They understand if Carthage wins, it is only a matter of time until they make it north to your homeland, right? To the Carthaginians, there are only two types of people, subjects and victims.”

“I did explain that. Most have their heads buried below decks, refusing to look out at the horizon. The ones selling to both sides, I believe, think they will be the exception to the rule. In fact, I believe some of those have already begun selling some of the things they’ve learned from you. I believe they were the source of the Carthaginians’ swift copies of your inventive sail plans.”

“Do you think they are behind the sudden appearance of gunpowder in Carthaginian hands?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve heard rumors that it isn’t just resold Britannian stuff. Some of the men who’ve seen it have pointed out how much lower quality and volatile it is. And I don’t think my people could have copied it like they did the sail plan. While that was inventive, it’s not that much different than the sails we used before. Once we saw it in use, it wasn’t hard to work out what you did and what made these sails different. The gunpowder, however, is completely foreign, like nothing we’d seen before. Even though I know what goes into it, I would have no idea how to make that into actual gunpowder. So no, I don’t think my people did that.”

“I see,” Lucilla said.

Part of her wished they had, simply because it would explain the mystery behind the Carthaginians’ possession of it, which had baffled even Ky. Yrsa was right that it was worse quality, but the fact that they had it at all was concerning, since both Ky and Sophus had thought their “reverse engineering” of it, to use their phrase, was unlikely.

“I do believe, however, I have a plan that might work, but I wanted your input on it before I tried. Which is why I was heading back to Britannia when I heard word of your coming here.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I think we should speak to the merchant captains who’ve been benefiting from trade with Britannia. The families behind them, and most of the larger merchant concerns are fun by families, wield a lot of influence across Scandia. The leaders might not listen to me, since I’ve always been something of a cast off, but they have to listen to them. Most of the taxes and trade through their villages are at the whims of these merchant families. If one decides to pack up and move to another port, it isn’t unheard of for the previous port to try up and become abandoned. If they can convince their home villages to assist us with manpower, I suggest we offer them some of the things we’ve offered the Germanic tribes.

“Such as?” Lucilla asked.

“For one, the same lower tariff that tribes in Germania have been receiving. It’s something they’ve been grumbling about all winter, since the local Germanic traders have been able to undercut them often since getting that benefit.”

“Which they got in exchange for supporting our war effort,” Lucilla pointed out.

“Exactly, which is why it is a good opening offer to the families. Beyond that, I think we also need to allow them to by muskets and gunpowder. I know,” he said quickly, as she began to protest. “I know the sales of it have been limited because you didn’t want to face your own products but with Cormac selling them in Hispania and the sales we’ve made here in Germania, you’ve lost control of that. Even gunpowder is being sold second-hand. Not a lot, but some. I’m assuming that is why you’ve only sold the muskets, and not your much better rifles, or the newer cannon that just started showing up. What Hortensius’s factors called howitzers, I believe. You knew this was inevitable.”

“Fine, anything else?” Lucilla asked.

He was right, of course. Ky had already pointed out that, no matter how much they restricted it, the proliferation of those weapons was inevitable. As much as she liked Captain Yrsa, she didn’t want to admit that to him though. Especially not that she now knew how free he and the other Scandi merchants were with one another.

“Yes. I know it’s not practical to do now, with the navy still growing, but we promise, once the war is over, to allow Scandi merchants, or really merchants of any of our allies, to buy Caravels or other new ship designs that come along. I see the way my countrymen look toward those massive ships. As much envy as there is toward my schooner, the idea of the mass that can be transported on one of those is stunning. This, I think, would be the thing that pushes them over the edge to really putting pressure on the villages where they’re based.”

Lucilla was quiet for a minute, thinking. It wasn’t surprising he would be asking for similar provisions they were already giving out to others. Lucilla hadn’t offered those up front, because it would be harder to control on a village-by-village basis, which was essentially what Scandi was. Not pressured to form more comprehensive alliances with neighbors the way the people of Germania and Hispania had been, there was too little cohesion to force controls she wanted in place for the sale of weapons and tools that could be used directly against them.

“I agree that allowing Scandi merchants access to our muskets and gunpowder is sensible,” Lucilla said. “You’re right that we’ve already lost control of that technology spreading. I’m also amenable to lowering tariffs, eventually allowing access to our ship designs, and the other concessions you outlined.”

“Good,” Yrsa started to say, before Lucilla held up a hand.

“However, I do not want to negotiate agreements piecemeal with individual villages. If one village goes rogue and violates our arrangement, I want recourse beyond just cutting off trade to that specific village. We learned that lesson already in Hispania. When Cormac allowed tribes to purchase weapons individually, some used them against neighboring tribes, despite promises to the contrary, and it has caused unrest across the entire region. The tribes that upheld their word had no power to stop those who did not. I will not repeat that mistake here.”

“Then what would you accept?”

“I am willing to make an agreement with a coalition of Scandi villages and merchants. Sell to any traders who are part of that organized group, that way there are consequences if any village breaks their word. If one village betrays our arrangement, tariffs return and sales halt for the entire coalition until amends are made. It is the only way to give your people incentive to police their own actions. Additionally, Any Scandi village must be eligible to join this coalition, and none can be barred from entry. But any can also be removed by vote if they undermine the greater good.”

“I’m not sure that will work. My people are fairly independent and don’t work well together well, and competition between ports and families runs deep - they will be reluctant to cooperate.”

Lucilla hadn’t considered that. She’d worked with a few of the captains, and knew that, as compared with other areas, there was less cohesion among their various villages, but she hadn’t considered why. Still, she was convinced that, in this, she was right. She wanted their help and men, but she wasn’t willing to create another mess like Cormac was dealing with to get it.

“I have no doubt you’re right, but, as you said, these are things your people have been longing for for some time. If anything was to break through and convince them, I think this has a chance. It’s at least worth a try. If it doesn’t work, we can talk again and try and find a new path.”

“Perhaps you are right. The families are greedy bastards, that much is true. If any would let their old hatreds and grudges be bought out, it would be them. I will try as best I can, although I make no promises.”

“That is all I ask.”

***

Carthage

The procession around the golden litter weaved through the streets of Carthage, a throng of guards pushing anyone, peasants and merchants, nobles and commoners, out of the way, clearing a path for the eight muscular slaves carrying it. At its head marched a full Me’atim of the Sacred Band, the elite warriors sworn to defend the emperor with their lives. Their polished armor and scarlet crests stood out against the drab garb of the commoners lining the streets.

Not that the guards needed to push many out of the way, since most of the crowd parted in awed silence as the litter passed, some kneeling and others simply staring uncomprehendingly. It was a rare sight indeed to see the emperor outside the palace, let alone this far on the outskirts of the sprawling capital, and the people responded accordingly.

Imilcar paid little attention to the rabble, more focused on the great wall and its massive gates ahead, thinking to the message he’d received an hour before, informing him that the caravan he’d been waiting for was finally approaching his city.

The golden litter came to a stop just outside the massive gates. A pair of slaves carrying ornately carved wooden steps ran forward and placed it in between the slaves maintaining the litter on their shoulders, carefully holding so that it did not rock or sway as the Emperor stood up from the fine chair he’d been sitting on. Another slave rushed forward, pushing aside the deep purple curtain, revealing the emperor, who slowly and regally stepped down the stairs laid out for him, the entire scene designed to enhance his presence and prestige as much as possible.

Not until he had stepped all the way down the stairs and away from the litter did the slaves finally set it on the ground.

The litter had stopped in front of General Hadar, who stood at the head of the large caravan of soldiers, elephants, and a horde of strangely dressed men. These men stood out among the rest both in their unusual dress and their strange eyes, traits apparently common among those from the far east.

In front of the wagons piled high with supplies sat the object that Imilcar had actually come out to see. Six wagons riding low to the ground, each loaded with a long, hollow metal tube nestled in a wooden frame.

“Your Eminence,” General said, bowing low as the emperor approached. “As promised, the emperor of the TianYou has honored our alliance and sent the weapons we requested. I am told they are called ‘cannon’.”

The general gestured to the wagons and their contents as he said the name. Imilcar had only seen one of these so far, a weapon captured from the Romans, its metal blackened and cracked along its length, apparently unusable. These weapons bore a similar appearance to the Roman version, but far larger.

“I was honored to see one of these weapons in use when we received them from the TianYou caravan. They placed a bag filled with the dark powder they called gunpowder, in front of which they placed a large stone, which had been chiseled into a round ball. They then lit something called a fuse, which they have also supplied, from the closed end, which ignited the bag of gunpowder inside. There was a tremendous sound, along with flame and a huge cloud of smoke. The ball they had placed inside was hurtled out faster than the eye could follow, smashing into a mound thousands of paces away. It was … very impressive.”

Hadar had become more and more invigorated as he spoke, only getting control of himself at the very end. One of the reasons Hadar had been allowed to survive in a position of command as long as he had was because he was so well controlled, which, in of itself, told Imilcar how impressive the demonstration must have been.

“Show me,” the emperor commanded.

“Certainly, great one,” General Hadar said, before gesturing behind him. “Along with the cannon, their leader also sent these men. Technical advisors that are to train our own people in the proper handling and use of these weapons.”

The general turned and walked a few steps toward the strangely dressed men, saying, “Demonstration.”

As he spoke, he enunciated each syllable, making the word slow and clear. Imilcar wondered, for a moment, how they were to train his men if they did not speak their language, but pushed the thought aside. That would be a problem for later.

One of the advisors, a short, slender man with long, jet black hair braided down his back, nodded slightly. Turning, he began to talk to the others in a guttural, consonant-heavy sounding language. It must not have needed much in the way of instruction because after only a few words, the others sprang into action, carefully lowering one of the long cannons from the wagon bed and onto a wooden platform with small wheels underneath. Six men arranged themselves around the cannon, three on each side, and began slowly wheeling it forward as the advisor continued to shout commands.

“Aim it at that building,” Imilcar said, pointing at a small mudbrick peasant’s hut at least a thousand paces away from them, east of the great wall.

Bowing, the advisor turned back to his crew and shouted more commands in their strange language. Two men brought over a large leather bag, which they carefully loaded into the back of the cannon. Another man held what looked like a slender rope, with one end tucked inside the back of the cannon barrel.

The advisors quickly finished their preparations before hurriedly jogging away from the cannon, putting as much space between themselves and it as possible. Once they had moved to what was apparently a safe distance, the man holding the slender rope touched the end he still gripped to a torch one of the other soldiers held out.

“Cover your ears, your eminence,” Hadar said, already placing his hands over his own.

Imilcar was a little confused but followed suit. His men had called the Roman weapons ‘thunder weapons,’ so it made sense they would be loud. Moments later, a flash erupted from the back of the cannon, along with an earth-shaking boom that made Imilcar’s bones rattle. A great cloud of dirty gray smoke enveloped the cannon, obscuring it briefly before dissipating on the breeze.

After a few moments, the results of the cannon’s tremendous blast became clear. Half of the hut was now just a pile of rubble as if a giant had reached down and swatted away half the building. The remaining half was already collapsing in on itself, the building’s integrity gone. Jagged chunks of mudbrick lay strewn about, along with splintered wood that must have been the door or roof supports.

He could faintly hear a wail from inside the structure and waved one of his attendants to deal with it. It did help give the full feeling of the weapon’s effect, putting a smile on his normally dour face as he turned to General Hadar.

“This changes everything!” he proclaimed. “Finally, we have a weapon that can match the Romans. Not just match, but surpass. Look how large our weapon is compared to the Roman version. Surely the destruction ours can reign will greatly outclass theirs.”

There was some kind of look between two of the advisors, but Imilcar ignored it, caught up in his dreams of victory. Of finally dealing with the Roman nuisance once and for all.

“When can we get more?”

“I have already requested additional cannon and gunpowder from the TianYou merchants, and sent our agents to collect the necessary trade goods for them. I hope to have another shipment in a month, and more after that.”

“Can we not do it faster?”

“I’m afraid not, great one. They have limited supplies of the weapons to sell, and must produce more, and it is taking... longer to gather the supplies for trade than I’d hoped, since we have lost so much of our territories.”

“Take whatever you have to. Demand they produce the weapons faster. The Romans have a dozen or more of these weapons on each of their ships, not even counting the ones with their armies. We cannot win with only ten.”

“At once, your eminence,” Hadar bowed, rushing back over to the advisors, communicating with hands and gestures as much as with words.

Imilcar ignored them, looking back to the cannon and destroyed hut. Soon. Very soon, this would change.