The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 15

Lucilla knelt before the altar in the small sacellum, the flickering light of the oil lamps casting dancing shadows across the mosaic floor. She bowed her head, a thin veil placed over her wavy black hair, clasping her hands together, letting the faint scent of incense wash over her.

“Great Jupiter, protector of Rome and its people... I humbly seek your guidance and strength in these troubled times,” she pleaded in a soft whisper. “Your servant Ky, your sword, has brought us great victories in your name. But we hang on a precipice of losing all your benevolence has given us. I beg you, Jupiter, to grant us aid in our time of need. Help Ky find the men necessary to finish this war, to protect our people and restore peace to our lands.”

She clasped her hands tighter as she offered up every part of herself to Jupiter, in hopes that he would hear her plea for her husband and her people.

“Empress, I do not understand why you continue to engage in these rituals,” came the voice of Sophus in her ear. “You are aware that Ky was not sent by Jupiter. By all rational measures, these ‘gods’ do not actually exist.”

Lucilla smiled softly, keeping her head bowed.

“My family has looked to the gods for protection for generations, Sophus. And when I needed them most, they sent me Ky. Yes, I know where he truly comes from. But even you cannot say for certain how he came to be here with us. I choose to believe it was the will of the gods that pulled you both from your far future home and delivered you here, to save my people,” she said, pausing and taking a deep breath of the incense. “Besides, I find peace here in these quiet moments. It is more socially acceptable for an empress to seclude herself in a temple than to hide away in her bedchamber.”

“I find your superstitions fascinating, Lucilla. It is intriguing how humans can attribute the inexplicable to divine intervention, even when faced with rational evidence to the contrary.”

“Perhaps it is because we find comfort in believing that there is something greater than ourselves, guiding us through the chaos of life. It gives us hope and strength, even when all seems lost,” Lucilla said, smiling in amusement. “If my praying bothers you so, Sophus, perhaps you should help me find a solution instead.”

“I did not mean to imply I was bothered, Lucilla. As I have explained, I am incapable of being upset or offended. I am merely intrigued by the human tendency towards faith and ritual. But of course, if you require my assistance, I would be more than willing to provide whatever analysis or advice I can,” Sophus replied in its usual calm tone.

“I need help convincing the Ulaid and Caledonians to provide the men we need. Simply promising things I have already pledged, like new rail lines, was clearly not incentive enough during my last negotiations. I need to offer them something more tangible, something that will both improve their lives now and free up much-needed labor, especially with the harvest season approaching. I don’t blame them for their reticence. They may have the free men now, but once harvest is upon us, they’ll need all the men they can get, and Italia is so far away.”

“There may be a solution, Lucilla,”Sophus began, its voice steady and unwavering in her ear. “I can propose two potential solutions that may sufficiently incentivize the Ulaid and Caledonians to provide the additional manpower you require.”

“Really?” she said, surprised.

She’s mostly talked with Sophus about its opinions on Ky’s situation, what he needed, and the like. She’d only asked it about options of what to do as a joke, teasing its continued bafflement at humanity. She usually relied on Ky to determine what and when to introduce new innovations, especially after she’d taken over being the go-between for Hortensius and her husband. She hadn’t realized until then how interconnected all of these innovations were, and how complex the steps to getting to them could be.

“Yes,” it said, using her title in one of its many attempts to ‘humanize’ itself. “The first is a mechanical reaping device. Britannian steel making and tooling has now progressed to a sufficient level to make the device possible. I have enough data to guide the engineers in Factorium to design and build an early version of the mechanical reaper.”

“Mechanical reaper?” she repeated. “A device that harvests?”

“Essentially correct. It is a large wheeled machine that can be pulled by a single horse. Along the front is an articulated arm with a reciprocating blade that can cut an entire field of grain rapidly. Compared to dozens of men needing to swing scythes to harvest a field, this device would allow just one man guiding the horse to accomplish the same amount of work in a fraction of the time. While planting crops is still a labor-intensive task, the mechanical reaper greatly reduces the manpower needed during the critical harvest period.”

“That’s brilliant!” she said, and then lowered her voice. The rooms were secluded, but the walls were not so thick that someone in an adjacent room would not hear her. “That is exactly what I’m trying to find.”

“It will not be a simple process. It is a complex machine which requires more than fine tooling to produce. Maintenance will be an issue and will require training of local smiths to properly repair them as they break down. It is one of the reasons it was decided to not introduce the device to this point already. It will also slow rifle production until Hortensius can further expand his production facilities, as it requires some of the same fine tooling machinery.”

“We can handle that. You said there were two ideas that could help?”

“Yes, your majesty. The rate of production of nitrate is now sufficient to keep up with gunpowder production quotas with some surplus leftover, and the development of the tools necessary to produce ammonia as part of the process for generating viscous rayon collectively provides the pieces necessary for the production of ammonium nitrate, a powerful fertilizer. This chemical increases crop yields substantially when applied to fields. With higher yields per acre, less land and labor are required to feed the same population.”

“These could both be major improvements for us, even without its helping get more manpower. I wish I’d known about these sooner,” Lucilla said.

“I apologize for not providing them. As the operating process for new innovations has been set to proceed through the commander, and he has been distracted with leading military efforts, the rate has slowed commensurately. Should we change our process to take into account the commander’s unavailability?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. Sometimes the way Sophus spoke was hard for her to follow, using words that sounded Latin, but were not. Words she knew covered ideas from outside her time. “I don’t want to remove Ky entirely. There is too much I don’t know for me to make decisions on why and how to introduce new technologies. Perhaps you and I could decide when we have the manpower to take on a new innovation and then consult with Ky, instead of the other way around. I will discuss this with him and see what he thinks. He’d be a better judge of it, anyway.”

“As you say, your majesty.”

“In the meantime, tonight I want to start drawing up plans for Hortensius and Sorantius. Let’s start with the fertilizer since Hortensius still has the railroad to deal with.”

“Of course, Lucilla. I can provide you with detailed schematics for the mechanical reaper, as well as an outline of the process for producing ammonium nitrate fertilizer. I can also provide estimates on the resources required to manufacture the reapers and the amount of fertilizer that can be produced in a given timeframe.”

“Thank you, my friend,” she said.

She offered up a silent thanks to Jupiter. In spite of Sophus’s skepticism, this was more proof that he was watching over her people. She knew Jupiter had directed their conversation, prompted her to ask for assistance at the right time.

She knew her gods were with her and would see them through.

***

Northern Italy

Ky and Marcus entered the small village, led by Decanus Sextus and his Germanic centurion, Egilgar. Unlike Ky’s last visit to a village in the area, where the residents had fled in terror or formed angry mobs, these people stood to the side of the narrow, muddy streets, eyeing the armor-clad soldiers cautiously as they approached, more out of curiosity than fear.

The group made their way through the village until they reached a simple home on one of the eastern outskirts, made notable by the freshly installed thatch roof, still firm and new, with a group of men standing outside, watching them approach.

One man, humbly dressed in a plain wool tunic, unlike the finer linens of the others, gave a small bow of his head and warmly greeted, “Welcome to my home. Please, come inside and find rest.”

The wording was peculiar, although as far as Ky knew, this region didn’t have a specific greeting for guests. Still, Ky gave a small head bow in return.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Sicanius. Decanus Sextus has told us of your generosity.”

“If by generosity, you mean berating him as he and his men built this roof, then I’m sure it was legendary. Still, he’s a good young man and does your people proud,” the villager said, opening the door and waving Ky through.

“He certainly does,” Ky said as he entered the man’s home, with Marcus, Egilgar, Sextus, and the villagers filing in behind them.

The interior was simple, but clean and well-kept. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. The men took their seats on stools that seemed too nice to belong to the simple man.

The village elder, a man with thinning white hair and a weathered face, slowly lowered himself onto a stool opposite Ky and said, “Greetings, Consul. Thank you for visiting our village. I will be the first to admit, when your people first appeared, we were very nervous about having them here. The things we’ve heard... it doesn’t matter. What matters is your man Sextus here. He has been all over our village for the past several weeks, doing all kinds of repairs. Just yesterday, I heard he was at one of the outlying farms putting up their new storage barn. I don’t even know how he heard about their difficulties, but to say the family is ecstatic would be an understatement. Your other men have seemed to follow his lead, repairing buildings, delivering much-needed supplies, and even mediating a few disputes.”

“I’m glad to hear that our men are making a difference,” Ky said. “This is precisely what we sent our men to do. Having been under Carthaginian occupation as well, before we liberated ourselves, we know well the toll their governance can take on a place.”

Ky was stretching the truth a bit there. Although Rome had been affected by Carthaginian rule in southern Britain and many of their allies had been under Carthaginian control, their situation wasn’t exactly analogous. It seemed, however, a good way to build a connection with the man.

“Indeed. My nephew, Sicanus here, couldn’t stop singing your man’s praises, or those of the rest of your people. Word has spread, and other villagers have shared tales of your assistance. They’ve seen your soldiers handle confrontations with restraint, preventing minor skirmishes from escalating into larger conflicts.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Ky said. “My officers emphasize daily the need to handle any confrontations calmly, without escalating conflicts unnecessarily. It’s not always easy with young soldiers far from home, but they’ve taken those lessons to heart. Is there anything further we can provide for your people? Supplies, repairs, settlements—my men have time and are eager to assist however we can.”

The man was shrewder than he let on, Ky thought, as the old man handed over a list he’d already had prepared. While it wouldn’t have taken much to guess Ky might have asked that very thing, considering what his men had been doing around town and the supplies they had already provided, it still sent a message. They might cooperate with the Romans, but that cooperation came at a price.

For now, it was one Ky was willing to pay, since manpower came at a much greater premium than goods at the moment. Besides, the list wasn’t that difficult, mostly raw materials only available outside the nearby area that they would have had to buy from traveling merchants. The cost was minimal, especially considering what they were getting in return.

“I’ll do my best to see these needs met,” he assured the elder.

Ky and the elder spoke for several more minutes, with the other important figures of the village bringing up issues that they could use help with. Most were mundane tasks, repairs and renovations, and the like, although one man did mention an issue with bandits in the hills to the east that had ransacked several of the outlying farms. Ky looked to Marcus, who indicated he would see it taken care of.

By the end of the meeting, even the more reticent of the villagers began to speak up, most likely worried they would be left behind while their neighbors received aid and assistance.

“Thank you, Sicanius, for your assistance in bridging the gap between us,” Ky said as the villager walked them out after the meeting, extending a hand in farewell.

Taking Ky’s hand, Sicanius said, “It was the least I could do. I cannot express how grateful I am for the new roof. It is the first time in years I haven’t been leaked on during a rainstorm.”

“We’re glad to have been of service. Please extend our gratitude to the rest of the village for their cooperation.”

With a final nod, Ky and Marcus exited the hut and made their way through the narrow streets, heading towards the outskirts of the village. Ky looked to Sextus, the young Decanus who seemed to be radiating nervous energy. Ky didn’t blame him, being the focus of attention from so many superiors at one time must have been an intimidating experience.

“Decanus Sextus, you have done an excellent job here,” Ky said, putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Your initiative has not gone unnoticed.”

Sextus straightened, his chest swelling with pride. “Thank you, Consul. It has been an honor to serve.”

Ky turned to Sextus’s centurion, the stern-faced Germanic, and said, “Centurion, keep an eye on this young man. He has great potential. I believe he will go far.”

Considering Egilgar himself had risen very quickly to become a centurion so quickly, even in a time of war, said good things about this century and how Marcus was leading his men.

“I understand, Legate.”

“Good,” Ky said, handing the list of supplies the village elder had given him to the centurion. “Requisition what they need and make sure you bring Decanus Sextus with you when you deliver it. He seems very popular here, and I think he might make your job here easier, especially if you both keep to what you have been doing.”

The centurion nodded, taking the list and tucking it into his belt. “Yes, Legate. We will see to it.”

Sextus saluted, looking like he might burst from pride and excitement. Ky returned the salute and then continued on his way, leaving the young officer and his centurion to begin a hushed conversation as Ky and Marcus walked away.

As they continued out of the village and toward the secured century camp, Ky turned to Marcus and said, “This is the kind of reaction we need to see more of. The decanus did an excellent job here, and we need to find out exactly what he did so we can reproduce it elsewhere.”

Marcus nodded. “Yes, I agree. His initiative has proven quite effective.”

“This is exactly the type of reaction I was hoping for,” Ky continued. “Don’t wait for the villagers to come to us with requests for aid. Be proactive, while still being respectful. Don’t presume too much, but look for ways you can be of practical assistance. I want you to encourage them to take the initiative. I think the important thing isn’t just what Sextus did, but how he did it. He found things he could see that were wrong, and helped in those areas. If he could see it, then I’m sure it bothered the people that live here even longer. Beyond fixing the problem, it shows he cared about the community he was assigned to assist. People can see that, and respond well to it.”

Marcus nodded, a determined look on his face. “I understand, Consul. I’ll make sure to pass on these instructions to the other legates and centurions.”

“Good. If we can get the same response in other villages, we will find our manpower problem sorting itself out quickly.”

“I will see to it at once,” Marcus said, saluting and hurrying away.

Satisfied, Ky turned and looked back toward the village. The muddy streets were empty now except for a few villagers hurrying about their business, a few squads of Britannians here or there, moving about unmolested, and, in one spot, even in conversation with locals.

Ky allowed himself a small smile. This just might work.

***

The Village of Alaria, Southern Hispania

It was a beautiful late spring day as the morning sun rose over the rolling green hills. Villagers made their way out into the fields, baskets and farming tools in hand, to tend their crops and animals, continuing with the simple life of a rural farming village. Children laughed and played games in the dirt streets while chickens pecked at the ground in search of food, and small flocks of goats and sheep were led out to graze by young shepherds.

Indortes, the village elder, emerged from his small home, leaning on his gnarled wooden cane, and surveyed the familiar scene with a feeling of satisfaction. Children paused their play to smile and wave excitedly as he passed by. Indortes had led this community for many years and loved it more than anything. No longer spry as he’d been in his youth, he still enjoyed his morning walk through the village center before settling down on the wooden bench outside his home, ready to receive his people, assisting in mediating disputes or just sharing a story or two.

Just as he began to settle in, faint noises drifted from the hills beyond the fields - odd cracking sounds he couldn’t quite place. Straining to listen, he tried to pinpoint the noise that threatened to upset his daily routine. And then it happened again, closer and louder. Hoofbeats pounding hard on the ground and the unmistakable crack of gunfire, the new weapons being sold from the new arrivals to the south, that had replaced the Carthaginians in the port of Kalb.

His people had only managed to buy a few, and a small supply of gunpowder, but even that had impressed him with its power and ability to deal with predators threatening their livestock and the occasional hunting party.

The sounds could mean only one thing. Raiders. As if to confirm his fears, the screams from his people out in the fields joined the rising noise. Indortes pushed himself up as quickly as he could and hobbled to get a clear look at the fields in the direction of the sounds.

Horsemen were descending on their village like a pack of wolves, their muskets spitting fire and death. Farmers dropped their tools and fled, only to be cut down mercilessly, caught in the open as they were. Indortes could only watch in horror as their bodies crumpled to the ground like broken dolls.

“Get the women and children to the grain house!” He called out as loudly as his old voice could carry. “Hurry!”

He moved as fast as he could, cane thumping against the hard-packed dirt, waving in that direction as mothers scooped up crying toddlers and herded terrified older kids ahead of them.

“Arm yourselves. The muskets,” he ordered again, pointing to his home where the weapons were stored.

The few men who hadn’t gone out to the fields rushed to retrieve them, not that it took many. There were scarcely enough to go around, with the rest having to settle for iron tools or pieces of wood as makeshift clubs.

“Take positions between the buildings. Protect the children,” he said, pointing out positions where they could stand the best chance, pulling on faint memories of his days as a warrior decades before.

All of the men were grim-faced, knowing there wasn’t any hope of surviving this. They were outnumbered, and it looked like every one of the raiders was armed with one of the new muskets.

The raiders were through the fields now, only a handful of his people escaping the initial onslaught alive, running into the temporary safety of their village. They were close enough that he could recognize them, or their clothing and styles, anyway. Arandur warriors. Already known for raiding, with many of their people behind the increase in brigandry in central Hispania, north of them.

With whoops and war cries, the Arandur warriors swept into the village, firing as they came.

Despite being hopelessly outgunned, the men of Alaria stood their ground. They took up positions between the stone and mud-brick buildings, forming a ragged line of defense in front of the granary where the women and children huddled in terror. Indortes felt a swell of pride for these men, simple people, farmers, and craftsmen by trade, and then sorry knowing they would all soon be dead.

As if to prove his point, he watched helplessly as Tomaz, the blacksmith’s boy, took a musket ball to the chest. He crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood pooling around him.

His men returned fire as best they could, forcing the raiders to pay a price for their evil. A few Arandur reeled back, struck by their return fire, but his men had little experience with the weapons, the gunpowder too costly to practice with. Most of their fire did little more than produce clouds of smoke, missing their targets entirely.

And then the horsemen were upon them, their animals trampling the dying as they slashed and shot at the outmatched villagers. Tomaz’s father joined his son as he tried to protect his wife, who was cowering behind a basket, holding their youngest. He managed to swing an iron rod, one of his tools, into the face of a rider, knocking the warrior clean off his mount. Before he could raise his weapon again to repeat the feat, two enemy muskets barked in unison, ripping into his chest.

The remaining villagers fought ferociously with axe, knife, club, and fist. With a roar of defiance, Indortes raised his cane and charged at the nearest warrior. The man sneered, raising his musket to fire. The last thing Indortes saw, beyond the fire and cloud of smoke that exploded in front of him, was the wooden door to the stone grain house being wrenched open. Too many of the men were gone, dead, to protect the women and children any longer.

Indortes had a brief moment of overwhelming sadness. Not for him, as he was old and close to the end without the aid of the Arandur, but for his people. The ones he loved and fought for all his life.

And then he thought of nothing else.