Triumph of Venus - Chapter 6

Gades, Southern Hispania

A long column of Britannian horsemen, two abreast and fifteen deep, passed the first buildings of the worn-down village, the eyes of every villager on them as they rode toward the central market. Or at least, every villager brave enough not to run into hiding the moment the column of armed and armored men appeared coming up the road.

The village had been through difficulties, it was clear. The road might have been well-made and sturdy twenty years ago, but now it was little more than a dirt track with the occasional stone not pressed into the dust sticking out to trip an inattentive man or animal. The huts and small homes were not in much better shape. Holes, cracked walling, crumbling sides. This was a village barely surviving, and by all accounts, it was the largest and most well-off village in the region, which said much about the neglect of their Carthaginian rulers. Former rulers.

As much as Llassar took in the state of the buildings and roads, his real attention was paid to the cowering people watching them. These were frightened people, and for good reason. They had suffered greatly at the hands of the Carthaginians. Seeing the column of Britannians riding through their streets, it must have seemed their brief bout of freedom was about to end for good.

Llassar didn’t disagree that Cormac needed a security contingent, considering the banditry in the area, but there had been other options. Llassar, and Niall for that matter, had continued to try and convince Cormac to offer an invitation for the leaders to come to Kalb, or another neutral meeting place, where they didn’t feel like they were being invaded. Cormac, in his infinite wisdom, decided it was better to be seen coming to them, regardless of how many soldiers he brought.

Cormac rode at the head of the column, sitting tall and proud in the saddle. The overly ornate armor he commissioned before they’d left Devnum did nothing to lessen the appearance of a triumphal conqueror. As they reached the crumbling administrative building which had once housed the local Carthaginian governor, Cormac drew to a halt and signaled for most of the men to dismount with him.

“You ten come in with us, the rest, set up a perimeter, but do not interfere with the locals unless there is a threat to your lives,” the prince said, looking to Llassar as if his orders were somehow wise.

Llassar just shook his head, not bothering to make the argument again as he followed the prince, as he confidently pushed into the central meeting hall, flanked by guards. The room was sparse but functional, with stools and benches around the outskirts of the room and a small raised area at the far end with five chairs, and an open area in between. It was clearly designed for meetings and audiences, with the leaders at the far end.

A group of locals were already gathered, filling the seats along the outskirts, some running in just ahead of the Britannians themselves. At the end of the room were a group of five men, four of them older, clearly village elders, and one much younger, somewhere between Llassar and Cormac’s age.

“I am Prince Cormac Cond Logas of the Britannic Empire,” he said to the youngest of the group. “I bring tidings from my people and well wishes, and confirm how happy we are to see your village thriving now that we’ve driven the Carthaginian invaders from your lands. I have come to speak with you of cooperation and perhaps alliance so that we may work together to ensure they never return,” he said, loudly and confidently in his native tongue, looking to the scout on his right, Tribune Niall had sent with them as a translator.

Instead of translating right away, the man looked to Llassar and some of the others first, until Cormac gave him a pointed look, clearly impatient for the man to translate. Llassar didn’t speak the language, but even he could tell the words came from the man haltingly, as if he were worried about something.

As soon as the scout began conveying Cormac’s words to the younger man, murmurs rippled through the crowd gathered along the sides of the hall. The older tribal leaders glanced at each other, while the younger man’s eyes widened in evident surprise.

Llassar was a warrior, not a trained diplomat, but he knew, without a doubt, that they had just accidentally crossed some invisible cultural boundary, given offense. The offended expressions of most of the people around them suggested it was more than just a small breach of diplomacy.

Cormac, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. Or at least, didn’t seem to think it important.

“As part of that alliance, we will not only guarantee your safety and security, using the might of our armies and ships to guard the shores of Hispania, preventing any from assaulting you again, but we offer trade of both weapons and goods the likes of which your people have never seen. We would like to set up a demonstration, safely and outside of town, of course, where we can show you the power of the weapons we offer to sell you, in order that you never have to fall victim to someone like the Carthaginians again. In return, we ask only your friendship, and your help in securing peace in your regions, as well as refraining from raiding or war with your neighbors. Through mutual diplomacy and goodwill, we can help you and your neighbors achieve a lasting peace. Further, we would ask for your cooperation in helping us stamp out the Carthaginian menace, of course only to the degree you and your fellow leaders feel appropriate for the well-being of your people.”

Cormac looked particularly pleased with himself as he finished speaking. He’d clearly been practicing what he’d say, and now waited for... what Llassar wasn’t sure. The reception of the audience around them made it clear the response he was getting was far from what they would have wanted, and didn’t suggest any form of alliance was forthcoming. Either the prince was so wrapped up in presenting his practiced words he didn’t notice, or simply so foolish he didn’t care. Whichever one was true, they both achieved the same result.

One of the village elders, an old man with a deeply lined face, stepped forward holding up a hand to interject. The scout interpreted his words for Cormac’s benefit.

“My lord, your words speak of grand promises, yet we know little of you or your people. We have suffered much under the boot of the Carthaginians. They spoke of protection and prosperity when they first came, yet brought only misery and poverty.”

The old man glanced around at the desperate faces of his people before continuing.

“We thank you for driving out our oppressors, if that is what you did, but we must be cautious in choosing new friends. What guarantees can you provide that our former overlords will not return once you depart? We are simple folk, seeking only to live in peace and provide for our families. I do not wish to bring further wrath upon my village.”

Cormac looked from the young man to the older man and back again. Llassar hoped his expression was one of confusion, why their leader didn’t speak, but a part of him worried it was a sign that Cormac had taken offense. Llassar had been watching the by-play between the various leaders and was fairly certain there was something they’d missed here, in the dynamic of these village leaders. He just hadn’t been able to put his finger on it yet.

If it had been him, he would have introduced himself and then waited for the villagers to question them on their arrival, showing their hand first and setting a point to negotiate from. In not doing so, Cormac had missed something that seemed important to even the lowliest villagers present, and a sign that they had crossed some cultural threshold they should not have.

“The Carthaginians will not trouble you again, old man. We have broken their army and hold their ports. They pose no threat to you now,” he said, taking a closer step to the elder, looming over him. “But you are right to be cautious. A wise leader ensures his people’s security above all else. Hiding away will not protect you. You must stand alongside us and seize your destiny!”

Cormac pointed back towards the young warrior standing with the elders.

“Perhaps you should let younger men guide your tribe’s future. They understand strength and duty and would be better placed to make the best decision for your people. Fear will only lead to further suffering.”

Llassar watched in dismay as men around the meeting hall began reaching for weapons, anger on their faces, although for what offense it was still not clear. Cormac’s words had been hostile and much too aggressive, and even openly insulting, but the infraction had started before that. This was a culmination of whatever error Cormac had made.

Worse, several of the legionnaires responded by putting their hands to the pommels of their swords in response. Things were on the precipice of spiraling out of control.

And then Cormac attempted to make the situation worse. The prince opened his mouth, the look on his face both indignant and aggressive, as he finally noticed the hostility around him.

Stepping forward swiftly, Llassar raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, moving to stand partly in front of Cormac while facing the elder.

“Please, let us pause a moment before rash action is taken,” Llassar said calmly to the elder, before turning to the Centurion. “Stand down. Take your hands off your weapons. NOW!”

The centurion clearly seemed reluctant to comply. They were in a bad position, surrounded on all sides and outnumbered, with the majority of their men split off, outside the building. If this did turn to violence, it was unlikely any of them would escape this room.

“Honored elder, I sincerely apologize for the offense caused. We did not come looking for a fight. If you wish us to leave, we will do so immediately.”

For a moment, the old man just looked from Llassar to Cormac and back again, clearly weighing the situation. Finally, he looked back to the other old men, perhaps for approval or agreement. Llassar couldn’t help but notice they did not look to the younger man, who made no move to intercede or speak.

“Your words show humility,” he said, and then glared at Cormac. “Although if this stripling insults us again, you will leave or we will make you.”

Llassar bowed. “That is fair. You have my guarantee no further insults will happen.”

Cormac looked like he wanted to say something, perhaps defend himself. Llassar gave him a hard look, almost daring him to. The prince backed down, but Llassar knew this wouldn’t be the last of this conversation. Llassar turned back to the elder.

“Could we start again? I realize we approached this poorly, however we still seek talks beneficial to both.”

The elder’s eyes bored into him. “And why should we trust you? Strangers often bring false promises.”

Llassar inclined his head respectfully. “A fair concern after your suffering. My own people endured similar pains with the Carthaginians, only ensuring our freedom through cooperation with others who had been, up until that time, our enemy. So I understand your wariness. Is there another way we can earn your trust? Have your people never had rash youths who spoke before thinking?”

The elder barked a laugh. “Yes, we have brash ones aplenty, or we did.”

Llassar could feel Cormac tensing next to him. He didn’t care if the prince took offense. Not after the display he had just put on.

“Please accept our apologies then, and give us another chance to try, hopefully while avoiding the same mistakes that were just made. On my honor, no further insults will come.”

“We will give you another chance, but not today. Talk of friendship after offense sits poorly. Come back another day when tempers have cooled.”

Cormac again seemed like he wanted to speak, until Llassar reached out, gripping his arm hard.

“A wise choice. We shall leave and camp outside of town, if you allow it, and return tomorrow. Is that acceptable?”

The elder looked to the others, muttering in low words.

“They’re discussing your suggestion,” the translator said. “Two of them think it’s a bad idea, the others think it’s okay.”

“How well do you know these people, their customs?” Llassar asked.

“Not that well. I was held prisoner a few years by the Carthaginians with some of the people from this tribe. Learned the language, some of the games they like to play with dice, but... not much else. We were all prisoners, so it wasn’t like there was much in the way of customs or whatever. Just do what the guards said or get beat.”

Any further questions were halted when the small group of old men broke apart, and the elder who spoke first stepped forward again.

“We agree that you may camp outside of town, and return in three days. We hope, by then, you will have learned to treat elders with respect.”

Llassar gave a slight nod, suddenly seeing the error Cormac had made.

“You are generous and wise,” he said with a bow. “We will leave now in peace.”

Cormac looked as if he wanted to say something or continue arguing with the man. Llassar grabbed Cormac’s arm and forcefully pulled him out of the meeting hall, the legionnaires following closely behind. As soon as they were outside, Cormac angrily shook off Llassar’s grip and rounded on him.

“How dare you lay hands on me!” the prince fumed.

“I’ll dare that and anything else I want, if it keeps you from getting your fool neck cut off. Do you even realize how close we just came to being attacked in there? I was sent here to keep you alive and make sure you didn’t end up getting us into another war, and that’s what I’m doing.”

Cormac turned to look back at the headquarters turned meeting hall, looking offended more than worried, as he should have been.

“If they had tried it, I would have…”

“Done nothing except die. We have thirty men with us, twenty of them were outside, and both groups were outnumbered. Rifles are all well and good, but they aren’t much good in an enclosed space like that, surrounded by armed men at sword length. Also, you might remember, we came here to start building alliances. Attacking the leaders of the village is the opposite of what you should be doing.”

“I didn’t come here to attack anyone,” Cormac said. “But if they lay hands on...”

“Do you even know what happened today? Why things went the way they went?” Lassar asked, interrupting him again. “I’ve spent enough time with you to know you’re not an idiot, so I have to assume how little you pay attention to the world around you is willful at this point.”

“What do you mean? I offered them an alliance, a way to protect themselves, and the old man nearly wet himself. Maybe I was too strong in my condemnation of his cowardice, but surely the rest of them saw it. Now that they’ve been freed, they can’t want to return to subjugation, yet that’s exactly what the old man was arguing.”

“That’s what I mean. The old man was the key. Did you notice he was the oldest of the elders, and the rest deferred to him? How the youngest said almost nothing and was left out of the deliberation when they decided if we could stay near their town without causing offense? Clearly, they venerate their elders, and you openly insulted one. To his face. What did you expect them to do?”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I paid attention,” Lassar said, jabbing a finger into Cormac’s chest. “Half of conducting diplomacy is listening before speaking. Watching how your counterparts react. You were so focused on what you had to say, you missed everything else around you, from seeing what you did to cause offense to even noticing you caused offense at all. You’re lucky we still have a chance to salvage this.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“By coming back with humility. When you were outnumbered by the Carthaginians and on the verge of defeat, did your father lose his pride? Of course not. These men are no different, and as long as we hope to make them our allies, we’re going to show them the respect they desire. That means you’re going to stop this arrogant posturing and truly pay attention.”

With that, Lassar turned and strode away, not waiting to see if Cormac followed. The prince stood there fuming for a long moment before following behind.

***

Carthage

Sitting atop his lavish golden throne, the Emperor glared down at the man in the center of the room, listening to the latest in a long line of less than satisfying reports.

“As you can see, Your Eminence,” Hadar continued, carefully keeping his tone even, “the last shipment contained barely half of the requested amount of fire powder from our allies in the Far East. We have sent for more, but it will take time to receive word, let alone the fire powder itself.”

A nervous bead of sweat trickled down the man’s temple.

“This is unacceptable, Captain. You were specifically tasked with ensuring the full shipment arrived. How do you explain your complete inability to carry out even the most simple tasks given to you?”

“We took on the full cargo in Syria as requested, Great One, but with the increased control of the Middle Sea by the Romans, we lost a third of the convoy before reaching safe harbor.”

“And you allowed that to happen?”

Even Imilcar knew the demand was unfair. Although he’d been skeptical of the reports at first, writing them off as defeatist or admirals looking for scapegoats for their failures, the reports had been too numerous to ignore. Several brothers of Hexitas had witnessed firsthand the devastation wrought by Roman fire weapons on their ships, confirming the futility of attacking them with galleys.

“If I may, Your Eminence. The Romans have stopped at the Middle Sea and have no purchase to reach the Red Sea. We also know that ships from the East can come that way, at least some of the time. Rather than relying solely on shipments through the Middle Sea, I suggest establishing a new trade route, bringing the supplies across the Red Sea and then overland from Egypt.”

“The monsoons mean there’s only a limited window we can receive shipments that way,” another general, one of Hadar’s rivals, said. “Once the season changes, they would have to transport everything overland all the way from the Far East itself!”

Imilcar raised a hand, silencing the man. “While the general forgets his place, he raises a fair point.”

“While it is true that transporting goods overland during monsoon season is difficult with Roman control of the Middle Sea, we are still left with that either way. This choice allows us to at least receive shipments for at least half the year, which is better than only getting a third of the shipment, and sending the rest to the bottom of the ocean.”

Imilcar watched the two generals argue for a minute longer. He encouraged healthy competition among his men, as it bred the best and most aggressive leaders, but at times it grew tiresome.

“Enough,” he finally spoke up and put an end to the dispute. “The situation is clear - we cannot afford to lose any more supplies to the Romans. And as General Hadar says, we have little choice but to go with the overland route, at least for half of the year. I approve your plan, General. You will establish a new trade route through the Red Sea, bringing in as many shipments as you can into Egypt while the seas allow it. When the monsoons prevent sea travel, you will transport the materials overland, no matter the cost or difficulty.”

Instead of dismissing the men, however, the emperor sat back, continuing to stare at his general, while his face scrunched up in thought. Everything they’d said about the shipments, and the trouble with them, was true, but it didn’t get at their central problem.

Even with the new weapons, they could not compete with the Romans. Yes, it had been successful once, but Tabnit had had the new fire powder, and he’d still lost. They needed more than what the Easterners had decided they would allow them to have. The Romans had already shown them there were wonders beyond just the fire powder. If the Easterners were able to recreate the fire powder, what else might they be able to recreate? And what of that would they share with Carthage?

“That, however, is a temporary solution,” Imilcar said when he finally spoke again. “This supply issue must be addressed more permanently, General. Simply receiving more fire powder is no longer enough.”

“What would you have me do, Great One?”

“I am sending you as my personal envoy to meet with the rulers of these Eastern lands. We require more than their cargo; we need them as allies. These Eastern kingdoms were able to recreate the fire powder. Who knows what other secrets they may unravel? Find out if they have weapons like what the Romans have to sell us, or if not, can they take these weapons and create new ones similar to it. Offer them vast sums of gold, land, slaves, whatever it takes, as long as they agree to greater levels of support.”

“Yes, Emperor,” Hadar said, bowing deeply.

The emperor stood and took two steps down his raised dais, toward the captain. “Fail me in this, and everyone you love, everyone you’ve ever met, will be flayed alive. Succeed, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. Your children’s children will not be able to spend what I will pay you for your deed. Bring me back the means to crush Rome, by any means necessary.”

“You have my vow, Your Eminence. I will bring you weapons to raze Rome itself, or die in the attempt.”

“You will not be the only one to die if you fail, General.”