The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 17

Coast of Sardinia, The Mediterranean

Valdar stood at the bow of the BNS Bellona, the wind whipping through his hair as his ship cut its way across the water. Ahead of them, still a speck in the distance, was the island of Sardinia, their current target. After months of clearing out the western end of the middle sea and laying waste to every Carthaginian port on that side of North Africa, he was finally comfortable moving his fleet further east, working to clear out southern Italia before the Consul’s legions could reach it.

His preference would have been to just push hard all the way across the sea, and then swing back to pick up any stragglers they might have missed on the way. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his preference this time. Soon, hopefully, the Consul would be ready to cross to Africa, which meant a large number of supply ships taking the place of the overland logistics he was using now.

While Valdar’s caravels might be a plague on Carthaginian ships, Britannian and allied shipping was much slower, and their current supply situation was such that they couldn’t afford to absorb the losses of being less thorough.

“Here they come,” his first mate said next to him, staring at the small island in the distance through a spyglass.

“You have to hand it to them, they certainly are brave,” Valdar said, squinting as he tried to make out the distant shapes. “It’s nice of them to bring their ships to us to be destroyed, instead of making us chase them.”

“They could still turn and make a run for it east. It looks like they’re all under our copied sail plan.”

“Won’t matter. It’s better than oars, but their ships are still not built from the ground up for it like ours. It might take us a little longer, but we’ll catch them. How many?”

“Twenty, I think. It’s hard to tell. They’re sailing in a very tight formation, bunched up.”

Valdar frowned. That was not typical of how the Carthaginians sailed. They fought with their fleets like they did their army, trying to spread out and outflank the other side and surround them, so they could get as many of the soldiers waiting on deck onto the opposing ships as fast as possible.

“Can you see any of the ships in the middle or back?”

“No, admiral I … wait, they hit a swell and had to separate a bit. I think they might have catapults on some of those ships,” his first mate said.

“Signal to the fleet, prepare to head on a westerly course, holding a formation four abreast. Lower to half-mast but prepare to return to full sail as the enemy closes. Bellona will take the rear.”

Instead of relaying, the sailor looked at him, his head tilted in confusion. “Admiral?”

“Those catapults are for throwing the gunpowder they’ve started using, and if you haven’t noticed, our ships are made out of wood. I want our ships held at long range and they’ve got the wind. Since they’re able to come straight in and fire, once they’re close enough, we’ll start to tack for broadsides and pick up ground to restore distance. I’ll make this slower, but I’m not ready to surrender any of our ships to those things.”

The man looked back out at the enemy ships for just a moment, working through the implications of what Valdar had said before turning and rushing off to the signalman.

“Not today, you sneaky bastards,” Valdar muttered to himself, watching the Carthaginians close the distance between them.

The signal flags began flying with agonizing slowness as his fleet and the Carthaginian fleet continued to edge closer and closer. While the flag system the Consul instructed allowed a level of coordination unimaginable before, which was needed when fighting as floating cannon platforms, that level of complications meant everything took so much longer.

Finally, his ships began their slow arc, turning away from the oncoming Carthaginians. They had been sailing in line, with his ship at the front which meant, for the time being, only his ship would have a clear field of fire at the Carthaginians as they turned.

“Prepare broadside. Fire as she bears!” Valar bellowed to his gun captains, forcing his voice above the sound of the wave and wind.

As his ship became parallel with the enemy fleet, his starboard cannons fired, long tongues of flame reaching out toward the Carthaginians. Through the billowing smoke, he saw several hits across the front of the Carthaginian line, with the lead ship looking to have taken several as it began to drift south uncontrollably, its fellows forced to adjust suddenly to avoid it.

“Nicely done,” he said to his first mate, who’d returned.

“Order the fleet to tack on my command once we’ve created enough separation. Keep it tight, I don’t want them to gain any more than they have too,” Valdar said.

Looking through his spyglass, he saw the Carthaginians did them a favor, slowing as ships moved in to replace the damaged ships. As they did, the Bellona finished its turn and began to sail steadily westward, putting distance between the fleets.

It took almost twenty crushingly slow minutes for his ships to open up enough range for his ships to reopen enough space, even with the Carthaginian fleet slowing briefly to reshuffle their line.

“That should about do it,” Valdar said. “Order the back line to tack south and fire as they bear, then returning to the westerly course.”

“Yes, admiral,” the man said, shouting instructions to the signalmen and ships helmsmen.

Valdar watched as his four rear ships, which included the Bellona, began turning south. They had been sailing abreast, meaning each ship had a clean line of fire, although his ship furthest south had to turn almost south east before he could get his guns on target.

Each belched fire as their ship got on target, their months of practice over the winter and core of trained and bloodied sailors paying off as the majority of the fire hit. Unlike his first salvo, his men had known it was coming enough ahead of time for his gun captains to get their guns fully on target, concentrating all of the fire on the first three ships in line. Cannonballs ripped through the galleys, tearing away masts and punching holes through the decks, sending the ocean rushing in.

One might end up salvageable, falling away as his predecessors had done, no longer seaworthy, but the other two were completely lost, already starting their journey to the bottom, listing to the side.

“Maybe only three ships next,” Valder said. “The Alfhildr made too wide of a swing and is lagging too far behind.”

As if to make his point, an object came arching out of the center of the Carthaginian fleet toward the Alfhildr, which was still turning to get back to the rest of the fleet, forced to give up speed in exchange. The projectile was still well short of the ship, but the explosion no doubt worried everyone aboard when the jar burst into a flaming ball a few handspans from the ocean.

“It’s okay, they’re slowing again,” his first mate said.

Valdar lifted his spyglass again. Sure enough, the Carthaginian fleet slowed again, shuffling their ships forward to replace those sunk or damaged in the last pass. The longer he watched the ships repositioning themselves, the less pleased with the Carthaginians slowing he got.

“Damnit,” he finally said.

“Sir?”

“They’re using those ships as shields. That’s why they slow down every time we sink some, to keep us from hitting their catapult ships. I’m sure of it.”

It made sense, especially with the way Carthaginians liked to fight. They’d prefer to power their way through every challenge, sacrificing things they saw as ‘expendable materials,’ such as their own people, to gain position and victory. And because his ships had to do a series of maneuvers each time, while they could just sail straight in, meant they just needed the Britannians to slip up, or the winds to drop enough where their oars could counter the better Roman sail plans, to get within range.

Worse, it just might work.

His first mate must have seen this playing across Valdar’s face because he said, “Perhaps we should disengage.”

“No. For one, it’s not like it will make this problem go away. They’ll still be here, waiting for us. For the other, I told the Consul I’d have the waters around Italia cleared by the time he reached the end, and I mean to. If conditions shift, we can re-evaluate, but right now, we have the wind on them. As long as we don’t get sloppy, we should stay ahead of them. And they don’t have an unlimited supply of ships to lose. Eventually, they will expose their catapult ships, and then we can end this.”

Unfortunately, eventually turned out to be a very long time. For the next two hours, Valdar’s fleet swung back and forth, slowly whittling the enemy down, sinking a handful with each pass.

Valdar never left the deck, straining through his spyglass with each pass. In spite of what he said, he knew there were bound to be mistakes, no matter how good his captains were. This kind of fight of attrition was bound to wear down on any crew, no matter how well trained. Although he kept the Bellona on the rear firing line, he cycled his other ships out to give their crews a rest between each volley.

Even with all of that, there were mistakes. Nearly very costly mistakes.

On the forty-third pass, the wind suddenly dropped, not completely, but enough. Most of his captains saw what was happening right away, unfurling their top sails and bracing the yards as best they could to pick up enough extra wind to keep their lead. All except the Kvasir, which delayed several long minutes before it joined them.

Horlf was a good man and an experienced seafarer, but he hadn’t noticed fast enough. The Carthaginians, whose orders allowed them to continue pushing forward as his lagged, didn’t have nearly the same disadvantage, surging forward in the calm conditions.

Valdar watched, a pit in his stomach as first one, then a second and then a third container was launched from the Carthaginian fleet, closing the gap between them rapidly.

Two landed well short, harmless as the few other times they’d fired their weapons. The third was much closer. Had the Carthaginians’ aim been better, they would have had the Kvasir. As it was, the container exploded perilously close to the ship. No fires were started, but there must have been some kind of shrapnel, either in the container or made of pieces of the container, because Valdar could see injured men on deck and rips appear in the canvas sails.

“Prepare to come about! Signal the fleet to come about and engage, The Alfhildr will pull aside and render aid to the Kvasir!”

It would make all their patience for naught, turning this into a slugfest Valdar was sure to win, but not without damage or casualties. He wasn’t prepared to give up one of his ships though. If his men were quick, they could punch through the shielding boats and sink the catapult galleys before any of his own ships was hulled. He hoped.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that as the gods looked down on their fool of a servant, blessing him. Before the signalman could send the message, the wind picked up once more. Valdar could feel the Bellona surge forward beneath his feet. More importantly, the injured Kvasir also picked up speed, starting to widen the gap, the next Carthaginian volley landing close, but behind his ship, which meant they were widening the distance.

“Belay that order,” Valdar shouted to the signalman, thankful he didn’t have to commit his fleet to such folly.

They returned to their pattern, the Carthaginians now barely even waiting to change out shielding ships as it pushed forward, apparently buoyed by their near success. Part of Valdar wanted to disengage and try again when his men were fresh, but knew that wasn’t really an option. All he could do was worry, and pester his men to stay alert, working his signalman’s limbs to the bone with the constant signal traffic.

Thankfully, the men had taken the close call to heart. As he knew it eventually would, the wind dropped a second time. His men all performed well, reacting quickly, keeping their distance from the Carthaginians.

By the third hour, the Carthaginians were running low on ships to use as shields. Valdar thought they might withdraw, their tactic firmly failing, but they did not. Instead, they persisted, leaving their catapult ships exposed for longer and longer gaps until, finally, the supporting ships were taken by surprise, reshuffling their position when his fleet hit, creating a sizable gap in their lines while his ships were still in firing position.

“Signal the fleet. All ships are to turn and fight. We finish this now,” Valdar commanded. “Helmsman, hold your course. Guns to fire as they bear, targeting the catapult ships in the center.”

One by one, the Britannian ships swung about, fanning out to bring their full broadside armaments to bear. Valdar didn’t wait for them, his ship holding a southerly course, angling to keep the enemy fleet in his broadside. The Carthaginians didn’t even slow, maybe thinking this was another opportunity to strike one of his ships.

His gunners dissuaded them of that notion as they finished reloading, their tubes billowing smoke in a second volley. The other three ships in the firing line were close behind him, their captains seeing his ship hold its course and reading his intentions before the signals even finished. The Fabius and the Einar both fired their second volleys less than a minute after his. Clear of obstructing shielding ships, the effect was instantaneous.

A hail of iron rained upon the enemy, slamming into ships, men, and, most importantly, catapults, pulverizing any in its path. One ball must have hit their gunpowder storage, as the vessel disappeared in a colossal explosion as its payload caught. His ships didn’t slacken their fire, the gunners working their weapons with practiced efficiency, sending a third volley a minute and a half later. The second ship was hulled a dozen times over. While not the impressive explosion of its companion, it died all the same, listing hard to the side, until the catapult slid into the sea, followed by its sailors and then the ship itself.

They had courage, Valdar had to give them that as the third catapult ship continued its course, launching its payload, maybe trying to take one of his ships with it. Unfortunately, the enemies’ skills did not match their fortitude, the payload missing his ship by a wide margin.

His men did not give them another chance, as all three ships poured fire into the remainder, literally ripping it to shreds. The other two took water rapidly, sagging into the sea.

That was enough for the rest of the Carthaginian captains, some of whom struck their colors while the rest turned to try and flee eastward.

“Order the fleet to round up the surrendered ships. Have the sailors secured in the hold and prepare to scuttle their vessels.” He paused, considering the situation before continuing. “Send the Einar and the Fabius to chase down those runners. They’re to sink who they can, but stay within range of the fleet, even if it means letting some escape.”

As the signalman began relaying orders, Valdar watched the handful of ships making a run for it. Most of those would get away, scattering in all directions, but it didn’t matter. They’d gotten the catapults and put more Carthaginian gunpowder to the bottom, which was the real threat. He’d also bet this was the last major fleet around Italia.

They’d clearly known he was coming and prepared for him, launching as soon as he was within sight, instead of waiting to draw the Britannia ships in closer, which is what he would have done in their place.

Not that it mattered. By this time tomorrow, he’d be back to Sardinia, shelling the docks to ensure nothing else could be launched from it. Then it was on to the next target.

***

Imperial Forum, Devnum, Rome

Medb sat in the far back corner of the forum’s spectator section, where the overhang created a bit of shadow, allowing her to blend in as much as possible. Despite the poor vantage point, she had made sure to arrive early to claim the seat, isolated from the bustling crowds filling the tiered steps along the perimeter of the cavernous central chamber.

The lowest, and closest steps, to the center were the most prized seating area, which started to quickly fill up with the more prominent merchants and tradesmen who sent representatives to hold their place since early in the morning, to ensure they would see, and be seen, in attendance. The rest filled up almost as quickly by not just merchants and tradesmen, but common citizens of all stripes crammed shoulder to shoulder for more than an hour before the session was scheduled to start.

She had to admit the empress’s decision to open the Senate sessions to public viewing had proven more popular than she’d expected. Medb couldn’t help but wonder how much of their interest was concern for the future of the empire and how much was just people searching for a cheap form of entertainment. While not quite to the level of the colosseum, the bickering could be fun to watch, she supposed. Although sometimes she found herself annoyed with the sheer confidence some of their ‘leaders’ had in their own stupidity. At that thought, she allowed herself a smile. It was a truism she’d found, that the dumber a man tended to be, the more confident and sure of themselves they became.

For her, if she would have preferred to be anywhere else than listening to these men bicker and argue, and would have been if she didn’t have to be here for one specific subject being discussed. The problem was, the Senators never gave an indication of when specific bills and discussions were happening. She didn’t know if that was just due to their inability to organize themselves or because they thought being able to surprise their fellows gave them some kind of advantage, but it meant she had to sit here and listen to them prattle on for hours.

So there she sat, bored, as the proceedings unfolded below. Senator after senator took their turn at the central square, arguing about the next stage of the telegraph lines going into Caledonia or the rail line beginning to extend toward Londinium, as much preening for the spectators as an act of actual governance.

Finally, Taenaris decided to get off his rear and present what she’d actually come to see. She rolled her eyes as the man slowly walked to the center, standing there for nearly ten seconds just looking from one delegation to another, like some kind of preening prima donna.

“Honorable Senators, esteemed guests, fellow Britannians,” he finally began. “I come before you today to address a grievance that has plagued our great empire. Since the empire’s formation, Rome has been treated unfairly by its partners in this great enterprise, who have taken advantage of Rome’s legendary magnanimity. While this pervades many aspects of our society, today I speak of the distribution of our empire’s wool industry. While we have toiled and labored to produce the finest quality product, our partners have reaped the benefits, leaving Roman wool producers with the scraps.”

Medb smiled to herself. She wasn’t sure she agreed with what he was saying, but she couldn’t fault his performance. If this didn’t achieve the results she wanted, she didn’t know what would.

“The time has come to propose a solution, a fair and just solution that will benefit all parties involved,” he continued. “While I would never dream to tell private industry and buyers how or where they should procure their goods, I do believe this body has the right to have their say toward the biggest buyer of wool, the empire itself. Specifically, my proposed legislation would require the equal distribution of what the empire buys in terms of wool. Instead of favoring only Ulaid goods, we must ensure that Roman wool producers receive their fair share as well.”

Before Taenaris could even stop speaking, the Ulaid and Caledonian delegations were up on their feet, protesting.

“This is an outrage!” Roti yelled, his voice managing to carry above the rest of the shouting delegates. “You dare accuse us of taking more than our share? Rome dominates almost every industry in the empire. Yet the moment we have success in one area, you immediately cry foul and demand a redistribution!”

Roti, who already talked with his hands quite often, was gesticulating wildly as he spoke. Taenaris held up his hands in a calming gesture, waiting for the shouting to subside.

“Please, this is simply a proposal for discussion,” he assured them. “I am open to counter-proposals on how to make allotment of industries more equitable. I would also say that it is unequivocally false that we ‘cry foul’ when one of our partners finds success. Your own nation, for example, has gained a high level of prominence in mining, and there has been nary a complaint from my people.”

“Rome doesn’t even have the mines if they wanted to,” Enniaun, one of the other Caledonians said. “I’m certain if you did, it would be in the list of things you felt weren’t equitable.”

The Caledonian senators shouted their agreement, pounding fists on stone benches. Taenaris raised a hand for silence once more, maintaining his calm demeanor.

“I understand your perspective,” he replied evenly, “And if it were as simple as two equal groups providing produces, I think it should be up to the empires factors what to buy, based on their necessary requirements. What I cannot, will not, abide by is an agent of one of the wool concerns actively interfering in who the empire choses to buy from, artificially elevating one group above the others.”

Again, the senators erupted into shouts, this time demanding that, if he has proof that someone was manipulating the purchases of the empire, they had a right to know who it was. As the bickering dissolved into squabbles over rights and minor points of law determining when and how information was disclosed to the senate, Medb tuned them out.

Taenaris had played his part well. She did wonder how much of what the Roman had said was true. Was Fiacha, and she had to assume that had been a reference to the Uliad senator, doing more than blocking the empresses’ proposals. Could he have had someone inside the empire’s treasury, influencing where they purchased their wool?

It wouldn’t surprise her if this was the case, since it seemed exactly like something the Uliad senator would do. She also didn’t care very much, one way or another. This entire stunt was simply to smoke the man out, get a reaction out of him. If he was involved in other layers of malfeasance, then maybe Ramirus would credit her with saving the empire some money outside of what she’d promised to fix.

She also noticed Fiacha was not one of the ones in a fit of hysterics over the proposed law. Instead, he silently fumed in his seat, his jaw clinching and grinding with each word Taenaris said.

When Taenaris agreed to hold his amendment for a few weeks while discussions happened behind the scene, and the rest of the senators began frantically whispering, probably seeing if there was a way they could eke some kind of advantage out of the situation, Fiacha just sat there, looking away from his colleagues, just staring at the spectators.

And then he saw her, his eyes locking with Medb’s, a moment of recognition and anger spreading across his face as he finally started connecting the dots. She blandly looked back at him, having to will herself to keep from rolling her eyes at just how slow he really was.

He broke eye contact, looking to Taenaris, and then back to her, fury building behind his eyes. She responded by giving him the smallest hint of a smile, and then a wink.

Then, before he could react or explode, she broke eye contact and stood smoothly, lifting the hem of her skirt as she mounted the stairs and made her way up and out of the forum.

That had gone just about as well as she had hoped.