The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 11

Northern Italy / Devnum

Ky sat at the wooden table in his headquarters tent, catching up on what he missed during his trip to the Seventh Legion. Dexippus, one of Bomilcar’s tribunes, whom the general left behind when the rest of his legion continued south, was a competent man and had a good handle on what needed to be done. But with his cohort split into individual centuries and spread across villages throughout the region, there was a lot for one man to do.

Or at least, that was what he was ostensibly doing. In reality, he was waiting for Sophus to notify him that Lucilla was available to talk. Because of time changes and time being based on the sun and not something standardized, when Lucilla finished for the day could be unpredictable, although she usually wasn’t this late. He was about to ask Sophus for more details on what she was doing, something they’d decided neither would do, for privacy’s sake, when the AI finally signaled him that she was available to talk.

“Everything okay?” he said into the comms.

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft and worn. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I know it’s probably late there.”

As with all things, Lucilla had adapted to the time difference aspect of long-distance instant communication just as she had with the other knowledge he’d shared with her.

“It is, but I had things to do. Being away all day let things build up.”

“How was your trip?” she asked.

“No. You first. You sound tired, and you didn’t answer my question, not really. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I promise it is. I just had a meeting with the senators, and it didn’t go as well as I had hoped.”

“Is there anything I can...”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “For one, you have too much to focus on there; for the other, what exactly would you do this far away?”

“I could listen while you tell me how horrible they all are,” Ky offered.

“I appreciate that,” she said. “However, as grueling as meetings with the senators are, I am not likely to lose my life doing it. Not if Modius has anything to say about it. I’m more concerned with what’s happening there. So I ask again, how did your conversation with Bomilcar go?”

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Ky admitted with a sigh. “After talking with the general, it’s clear my goal to push through Italy quickly and be in Carthage by the beginning of summer is not going to happen.”

“Is it the unrest?”

“Yes. I had to pull several cohorts from Bomilcar’s legion to shore up our lines of communication and supply. The attacks have been relentless—bridges sabotaged, convoys raided. Aside from the telegraph lines being cut, we’ve already lost two shipments of gunpowder and food. Aelius has started sending centuries with the shipments until they can be handed off to Marcus’s men, but it’s slowing everything down. At the rate it’s going, by the time we finish with Italy, we’re not going to be combat effective anymore.”

He paused and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling of the tent.

“Assuming we do manage to fix the supply problem, I’m worried that even once we fight through Italy, I may be left with only one full legion to invade Africa. Against a single Carthaginian army, we could prevail. But once we’re on their soil, they’re going to turn their eastern forces from Persia back west. They can’t afford to let us take the capital. One legion simply can’t fight attacks from both sides, no matter how advanced our weapons.”

“You think we need another year to build up men, then?” Lucilla asked, her tone even, not betraying what she was thinking.

She’d put on her empress voice. He loved her and loved how strong she could be, but he didn’t love when she did this. Detaching herself from the conversation to work the problem, observe it from a distance. It was a good skill to have, ensuring decisions were reasoned and not emotional, but he wanted to vent to his wife, not strategize with his empress.

But so went the life of a couple whose main responsibility was ensuring the survival of their people, Ky thought, making a face at the empty tent wall.

“Yes. Maybe. I think Bomilcar might be right. Even if we manage to push through Italy with the legions we have, we just won’t have the strength to take Carthage itself this year. It could be another year at least before we’re in a position to truly threaten them.”

“No,” Lucilla said firmly. “There has to be another way. We cannot drag this war on any longer than necessary. The people are weary, resources are stretched thin. Even if we take another year, I’m not convinced we’ll suddenly find an influx of new recruits that we haven’t tapped into this year. We must find a solution.”

“I’ve wracked my brain trying to find one, but I just can’t see another viable path forward right now. All we’d really need to hold Italy is enough men so the legions can keep pushing. They don’t even need to be proper legionnaires. But we just don’t have them.”

“That’s exactly the issue I was discussing with the senators today,” Lucilla said.

“How did it go?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. I asked them to provide more recruits, even just warriors who didn’t need or want to go through the training, as you said, but they refused. They feel they’ve given enough and they need men for their industries and internal matters. I think the real issue, though, is that with Carthage off our islands and most of the continent, they don’t have the immediate threat anymore to show them how important this is. It’s become something over there, far away. Something that can be ignored. They’ve allowed themselves to relax.”

“Can’t they see we’re still under threat?” Ky demanded, a little more harshly than he intended. “We may have control of the continent and pushed them back, but they still have a lot of territory and large manpower reserves they can pull in, especially with their willingness to empty villages to fill their ranks. If we take the pressure off now, they’ll be back. It’s why I didn’t want to put off attacking Africa this year.”

“I know, and I told them as much, but they believe their people are tiring of the war, and just want to go back to their lives, and if they force the issue, it will cause unrest in their own lands. They act like we’ve already won. I sent messages to Talogren and Conchobar to try and plead with them directly, but I have no doubt they’ll be getting similar arguments to the ones I received from their own people.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then I shall find another way. Recruits or not, I will not let this drag on any longer than necessary. One way or another, I will find you the men you need, my love.”

“I hope you can,” Ky said, his tone bleak. “I really do.”

***

Factorium

Hortensius leaned over maps and diagrams arrayed before him, tracing his finger along the snaking line that made up the proposed route of the new railway as he listened to his engineers’ reports on the project.

“We’re behind schedule,” he said. “I know it’s still early, but at this rate, it will be fall before we finally complete the line, which means it will offer no help at all to supplies for the legions. We need to move things faster.”

Aemilius, his chief engineer, frowned and said, “Yes, we’ve encountered more changes in elevation than expected. The consul’s notes you gave us did warn us about drastic grade changes slowing the trains, but dealing with it firsthand has proven even more difficult.”

“But the line is so straight,” Hortensius pointed out.

“We were attempting to maintain the most direct route possible to facilitate speed and efficiency,” one of the other engineers said.

“I know the goal was to keep even gradual changes in direction to a minimum, but I’m concerned that what you save in efficiency there you’re going to more than lose with the momentum as it climbs these hills. For instance, this,” Hortensius said, tapping a section of the line with markings for terrain elevation in circles around it. “This is far too extreme. I know it probably didn’t seem so when looking at it with the naked eye, but, unless your surveys produced inaccurate numbers, the engine will have to bleed off a lot of speed to get up this slope. Yes, you’ll pick up some on the downside, but then you have another right after it.”

“But...”

“No buts,” Hortensius said. “Like I said, I understand what you’re trying to do, but the goal is to maintain the overall efficiency that the train is moving. Otherwise, the boiler has to work harder, you have to stock more coal, which means the train increases in weight and becomes even more inefficient. You need to step away from the immediate issue and keep the line as a whole in mind.”

“I thought, perhaps, we could build a separate set of tracks here,” Aemilius said, pointing at the area of hills he was discussing. “Just to test and see what the real drop-off is. Yes, we can determine some using the formulas the consul provided to us, but wouldn’t it be better to test it independently and know which route is better?”

“Perhaps, but this is not the last one of these we’ll hit, and I don’t want to have to build test tracks along the entire route. It will be late fall or even winter before we finish this one line if we do that. We need this line up by summer, to help lessen the time it takes to get supplies to the continent. I won’t accept slowdowns. No. You need to go back and resurvey with the goal that, if the grade must change, do so gradually, no more than, say, one percent incline per one hundred paces. And do not hesitate to curve the tracks if needed. Speed can be regained; a derailed train and lost cargo helps no one.”

“Yes, Hortensius,” Aemilius said, looking unhappy at the prospect.

“There’s another issue, sir,” said Vires, one of the junior engineers. “For the tracks we’ve already laid, we’ve had locals wandering out to them. Between livestock on the tracks, which has caused several accidents already when the supply train comes to bring materials further down the line, and locals tearing up parts to take the metal and wood, we’ve had to relay several sections multiple times.”

Hortensius rubbed his chin, frowning. “That is a problem. Livestock I can understand, but deliberately sabotaging the tracks? Has anyone explained the importance of these, why they should leave them where they are and the benefit the train will bring to communities in their area?”

“We have tried,” Vires said. “Most don’t believe it or really understand what the purpose is. They’ve seen the engines, of course, but to them, they’re just loud, smoky things that scare the game in the area and upset livestock. It’s going through unclaimed land, for the most part, so they believe it is public. We’ve also explained that it’s owned by the empire and they can’t damage it, but they don’t seem to care. They won’t even really admit that they did any of it. All of their answers hidden in ‘if someone was to’ and ‘it’s possible that,’ instead of just saying they took it. We’ve asked the Praetorians to help patrol more, but they can’t be everywhere. The locals come right back out again as soon as the soldiers leave. We’ve considered just fencing off the track areas, but we wanted to ask you about it first.”

“No. No. No fencing,” Hortensius said. “We need the people to embrace this technology, not see it as something being forced upon them. I think we just need to do a better job convincing them it’s worth keeping.”

“We can try to go back to them,” Aemilius said. “Try and convince them.”

“No, I’ll go. You lot need to stay focused on the job at hand. We have a lot of rail to finish and the Empress wants us to start the line to Caledonia before the end of summer and start looking for places where we might be able to build one for the Ulaid. On that note, I know some of you need to get back to the building sites and you’ll want to take the last supply train down, which is leaving soon. Let’s call this a day. I’ll let you know what happens when I talk to the village elders.”

The men collected their maps and gave slight bows before showing them out as Hortensius dropped himself into a chair, smacking hard against its curved backrest. Not one of the consul’s more flashy adaptations, but one Hortensius liked, especially after spending hours working on whatever the latest project was.

Pushing himself back up, he began scribbling notes again, trying to think of what he’d say to these villagers. He was no diplomat, but it seemed a better choice than sending someone more adept at negotiation but unconnected to the project in his place.

He just had to figure out how to approach the problem.

***

Devnum

To look at the docks, it would be impossible to tell there was a war going on. Five new piers had been constructed and four more were under construction, and still ships sat out in the harbor, waiting their turns.

It was a loud, raucous place full of sailors, laborers, and seagulls. Everywhere someone looked, there were people coming and going in a constant hustle of activity.

Except around Lucilla as she made her way down the docks, her guards ahead of her and following in her wake, parting the crowds, causing all eyes to turn toward her. Aware she was being watched, Lucilla held her head high and tried to present the air of a confident ruler to the people around her. She didn’t get this far out into public often, so it was a good chance for the people to see, and be seen by, their monarch.

She finally reached the sleek schooner moored at the end of the pier. The empire had commissioned a fleet of these nimble vessels last year, modeled after the designs Ky had introduced. Their shallow draft and maneuverability made them ideal for swift raids and skirmishes across the sea lanes.

This particular ship, the Skidbladnir, was one of the first put out to the seas, and had seen battle and traveled from the Middle Sea to the edge of the Mare Suebicum, to trade in far-off Sarmatia. As she approached the gangplank, a tall, broad-shouldered man with red braids and piercing blue eyes strode to the rail.

“Your Majesty,” he called out in a booming voice. “What brings you out among the rabble?”

“I’m always happy to be among my people,” she said, offering a pleasant smile. “I was hoping I could come aboard and talk to you for a minute.”

“I always have time for monarchs,” the giant said with a mocking bow.

She’d only met the man once, and briefly, but she liked him instantly. She knew Valdar felt somewhat differently, finding him off-putting, but she had a soft spot in her heart for candid men who said exactly what they meant, and meant exactly what they said.

She walked up the gangplank carefully, having to stop twice on the rickety boards, to the amusement of the sailors, who she’d seen bounding up and down them, adjusting to their sway as they ran. It was clearly a learned skill, and she smiled, joining in on the joke, happy she didn’t add to it by falling into the bay.

“We can talk in my cabin,” he said as she got on the ship proper.

She followed him through the deck, crowded with men and cargo, to a small door at the rear of the ship, underneath where the wheel and helmsman stood.

As they reached the door and he put a hand on the latch, he turned and said, “No need for all this lot to crowd my little cabin. You, the skinny one with brown hair. You can come along to guard Her Majesty. The rest of you, wait here.”

Lucilla hid a smile as he singled out Cynwig. Any of her guards would have fit the description, but of all of them, the Caledonian was most like the Scandi captain. Brash, blunt, and unafraid to speak his mind. She was pretty sure the two would get along, if they ever spent time together.

Yrsa led them to his cramped cabin at the ship’s stern, knocking maps, logs, and navigation tools off the small table to clear space. He gestured brusquely to the only two chairs as Lucilla and Cynwig entered.

“So what brings the empress herself all the way down to visit my humble ship?” Yrsa asked, dropping into the remaining chair.

Lucilla met his gaze directly. “The empire has need of your services once again, Captain.”

Yrsa grunted, bushy red eyebrows drawing together. “The empire’s been making that claim more and more these days. Customs fees are higher every time I make port, patrol ships stopping me to search for Carthaginian stowaways. That’s on top of you taking my best crew for your navy last season.”

“I’m certain those men saw a benefit in fighting for the empire, and as I’m sure has been pointed out to you, fees are only charged on the sale of specialty goods to non-Britannian captains. If you were to join the empire, swear the oath of fealty, I’m certain…”

“No thank you. I took the deal to work for you lot to get my hands on this ship, and I’ve seen how often you ‘require’ things of your subjects. I’ve made peace with my deal, but I don’t think I’ll be signing any more.”

“I don’t fault you for your choice and wouldn’t try to argue you out of it. I’ll only say I can’t apologize for doing what’s necessary to ensure the empire survives this war, other than promising the harsher costs will come down when the war is over and the need drops. On that, you have my word.”

He grunted and said, “So what is it you need old Yrsa for this time?”

“I need warriors, Captain. Men who can help secure our supply lines and garrison occupied territories as our legions march on Carthage itself. I’m not asking them to join the legions or fight on the front lines. The lands of Italia have been in Carthaginian hands for a long time, and they’ve profited well off the conquering of others. They are not finding it easy to lose their connection to power, and have been fighting our legions as invaders instead of liberators. Right now, the legions are spread across the peninsula, trying to keep the peace while still pressing forward, trying to take the region as a prelude to attacking Africa itself. To do that, we need to consolidate our forces, and leave the pacification of Italia to someone else, which is where your people come in.”

Yrsa grunted, bushy red eyebrows drawing together. “My people are traders and sailors, Your Majesty, not mercenaries.”

Lucilla nodded. “That isn’t always true, Captain. In hard times, your people have sold their sword arms to others for coin or plunder. Or turned to piracy.”

“True, when times were lean and bellies empty. When we had no other choice. But this isn’t one of those times.” He gestured around the well-appointed cabin.

“Isn’t it?” Lucilla arched an eyebrow. “The only reason these aren’t hard times is because of your people’s connection to the Empire. When Carthage controlled Britannia and the Continent, sealing off trade, those were very hard times indeed.”

“Can’t argue with you there. Still, it’s hard to convince men of that when things are comfortable and their stomachs full.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lucilla muttered. “If we fail in our campaign against Carthage, those hard times should be back, and worse. Carthage had already spread across Germania, and was making its way across Britannia and Eiru. How likely do you think they would have been to stop when they hit ocean? They covet all the land they can see, and they would need new places to plunder to continue paying for the vast military needed to control the lands they’d taken. In reality, any assistance you provide is as much for yourselves as it is for us.”

“That may be true, but I guarantee most will have difficulty seeing it. Perhaps... perhaps my people could be convinced, but they’d need something more than promises of safety from potential future danger.”

“We would offer more than promises,” Lucilla said. “For any village that sends men to serve, they will earn the right to trade for items restricted only to our allies. So far you’ve been able to buy tools and arcuballistae, which I know has been profitable. But that market will likely dry up as we redirect production towards the war effort and our newer weapons become available to more people for trade. I am prepared to offer your people the chance to buy firearms and cannon for your ships. Not our most advanced models, but effective, sturdy designs nonetheless.”

“Really?” he said, leaning forward, his interest obviously piqued.

His own agreement with the empire, to work for them as needed, had netted him not only his ship but the same cannon that Valdar used on his ships and the right to buy gunpowder for those ships. He’d seen firsthand the difference having those weapons could make, and had probably received a lot of interest from his countrymen on his trips back home.

“Yes, really. Any village that contributes warriors will have exclusive access to purchase muskets and select models of cannon. We will also authorize an ongoing deal for the purchase of gunpowder as well. Amounts will be limited, but we are increasing our production facilities daily, and those numbers will go up. This availability only comes with a single caveat. None of the weapons you are sold to trade can be sold to our enemies, or allies of our enemies. Any village caught doing this will have our markets closed to them, as will any village that sells to an embargoed neighbor. On this, we will not budge. Our technological advantage is what gives us the ability to fight the Carthaginians, and we will not allow that advantage to be sold away for gold.”

“A tempting offer,” he said, covering his earlier surprise.

“There’s more. That is for the villages that send men to help us. We will also, of course, reward those individuals who come into our service, even temporarily. Beyond every man being paid handsomely in coin, they also bring home the breech-loading rifles they serve with - a much more advanced design than even the muskets I’m offering your villages.”

“Additionally, those who come to Italy themselves to support us against the Carthaginians, working alongside my Praetorians, will be allowed to become citizens without the requirements other new citizens are asked to go through. I know that might not be something your people want, but some might, after seeing the empire and its people up close, and hearing about the benefits, so the offer stands.”

Lucilla watched as Yrsa turned her proposition over in his head, weighing the potential benefits against the risks. Not to himself, of course. He’d already committed to working with Britannia to get his hands on this ship, but he still needed his people for trade and new recruits for his ship. They were already suspicious of him for selling his services, as it were, and bringing something like this to them would only make that suspicion grow.

“I understand your hesitation, Captain,” she said. “Believe me, Captain, I understand why this is difficult, both for your people and you personally. If there were any other way, I wouldn’t ask, but there isn’t. Make no mistake; this war with Carthage determines the fate of all our peoples. If we fall, no one will be safe from their domination and cruelty.”

Yrsa grunted, his gaze drifting out the small porthole of his cabin, lost in thought. Lucilla wanted to say more. To convince him. But she remembered her father’s advice that sometimes pushing too much makes a negotiation harder, not easier. Sometimes there are too many words, and it is better to let the other person negotiate with themselves instead. So she remained silent, giving him the space he needed to come to a decision.

After what felt like an eternity, Yrsa finally turned back to her, his eyes meeting hers.

“Alright, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll make the offer to my people, but I can’t guarantee they’ll accept it. They’re traders and sailors, not soldiers. And they’re fiercely independent; they won’t take kindly to being told what to do, even if it’s for the greater good.”

Lucilla nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I understand, Captain. And I appreciate your willingness to even consider it. That’s all I ask.”

Yrsa grunted again, rising from his chair and gesturing for Lucilla and Cynwig to follow him. They made their way back out onto the deck, the sounds of the bustling harbor washing over them. It wasn’t a victory, but it was a step in the right direction.