Triumph of Venus - Chapter 5

Southern Caledonia

Claudius rode swiftly through the wooded hills of southern Caledonia, his back and legs tired after weeks of chasing the escaped prisoner across Britannia. If it had been left to him, he would have abandoned the chase a long time ago. Either the elements or local patrols would have eventually captured them, and it wasn’t like these were the only bandits operating in the less populated parts of the country.

The problem was, it wasn’t easy to find a small group of men in a country still torn apart by years of brutal war, and one where a large percentage of the men were not even on the island, leaving villages mostly full of women, old men, and young boys. There were burned-out villages and the refuse of war across Britannia. Of course, it wasn’t just about stopping banditry. He understood that the escape of the prisoners had been something of a political black eye for the Empress, which is why she had pushed Faenius so hard to apprehend them, and why Faenius had pushed Claudius.

Nothing pointed to the tricky politics of the situation more than the six Caledonian praetorians riding with him. Though officially assigned to “assist” in the search for the escaped prisoners, Claudius suspected the real reason the warriors accompanied him was to keep watch on the Roman interlopers. Although they were, ostensibly, countrymen now, the Caledonians had been given promises that they could maintain their own territorial security, and having a century of Roman praetorians seemed to be making them nervous.

Which was almost certainly going to mean someone from Caledonia complaining to the Empress, which would lead the Empress to complain to Faenius that the search had now caused diplomatic unrest or the like, which would result in runners to Claudius at the bottom of the extended chain of misery.

Claudius slowed his horse as the Cait, their tracker, came into view. The man tended to range far ahead of the body to keep his own men from obscuring the tracks. Him being stopped usually meant he had found something. Claudius held up his hand for the column to stop and rode ahead by himself to speak to the tracker.

Thankfully, the Caledonians stayed behind this time. The first several times this situation had happened, they’d insisted on joining him, sending Cait into apoplexy as they proceeded to destroy the tracks he’d been trying to show Claudius, setting the column back several days as he worked to reacquire the prisoner’s tracks.

“The tracks are getting fresher,” he reported when Claudius caught up. “These men are tiring, I’d wager. Running low on food as well.”

“How can you tell?” Claudius asked.

“They’ve doubled back on themselves three times, and they’re becoming more spread out. I think they’re looking for a new village to raid. They don’t have any idea how sparse this region is.”

“Our luck,” Claudius said. “It’s why their tracks have gotten easier to follow too, I bet. They’re growing desperate.”

“Probably.”

“Do you think we could catch up to them today?”

Cait scratched his beard. “Maybe, if we’re swift about it. They can’t be more than a few hours ahead now.”

“Then move out as fast as you’re able. I’ll ensure the men keep up.” Cait snapped a sharp salute, then leaped into his saddle, spurring the horse to a brisk canter. Claudius turned to his century. “You heard the man. Ride hard, but pace your mounts. We may have to fight before day’s end.” With a chorus of acknowledgment, the praetorians formed up. Claudius glanced at the six Caledonian warriors accompanying them. Their leader, Bress, met his gaze and nodded.

Satisfied they would keep up, Claudius spurred on his horse, leaving the rest to follow.

They rode on for hours, keeping a brisk enough pace that the horses were starting to show the effects. They weren’t the only ones. His men were wearing out. If this went on for much longer, he’d have to send someone to catch up to Cait and pull the tracker back in for the night, leave the prisoners until the following day, and hope they didn’t give his men the slip. Again.

Just about the time he was ready to give up, they caught up to Cait again, who was waving him back as soon as they were in sight. Claudius signaled the column to halt and rode up to the tracker by himself.

“They’re just ahead, in a gulley,” Cait said. “I caught a glimpse of a cookfire.”

Claudius assumed it was far enough ahead that the thundering hoofbeats wouldn’t alert them. The pair rode back to his line, where Claudius dismounted and handed the reins over to one of his men. Ordering them to wait there, he and the tracker walked almost twenty minutes through the trees and up a small rise before Cait signaled him to get low and crawl to the edge of an overlook.

Peering over the edge, he couldn’t see much. More trees a short drop down, but otherwise more undisturbed forest. He trusted the tracker, though, and kept searching until he found it. Wisps of smoke rising up from a section, the tell-tale signs of a campfire. That could be anything, though. Hunters, trappers, or maybe completely unconnected bandits.

If they were going to charge in, they needed to be sure. So he and Cait lay there as the sun continued to get closer and closer to the horizon, trying to peer through openings in the trees and see something. They waited long enough that Claudius began getting nervous. If it was much longer, they would either have to move to get a closer look, a possibly foolhardy move, or get his men and go charging in, and hope for the best. An equally poor option.

Then he saw it. Staring through his spyglass, looking through a thin opening in the trees, he saw a ragged, bearded man shuffle into view. He didn’t recognize the man, but he recognized the tattered clothing. It was one of his prisoners.

Scowling, Claudius backed away from the edge and hurried back to his men.

***

They broke through the trees into the clearing with a roar, sending the small band of prisoners panicking. Claudius hadn’t noticed it until they were almost on top of the prisoners, but the location they had chosen was a double-edged sword. It protected them from being seen unless they were stumbled upon, but it also formed a dell. A small area where sound was blocked from the surrounding hills, muffling it or preventing the sounds of the horses from being heard before his patrol was right on top of them.

Caught unawares, most of the escaped prisoners were cut down in the first savage moments. A few managed to grab weapons and try to rally a defense, but they were hopelessly outmatched. They had been running for months, starving and weakened, and were trained to fight in phalanxes, not as individual guards as the Praetorians had.

Still, Claudius had to admire their ferocity, cornered as they were. One massive bald man wielding a woodcutter’s axe charged straight at Claudius with a bellow. Claudius easily turned the wild blow aside with his spatha before recovering and countering, ramming the weapon into the man’s ribs. He collapsed with a gurgle, axe falling from limp fingers.

Even as he fought, Claudius kept one eye out for prisoners. Most were dead already, but he spotted a younger one scrambling away from the carnage. Claudius whistled sharply and pointed. Two of his men broke off and tackled the fleeing man.

Within moments, the brief struggle was over. Bodies littered the campsite, only a handful still breathing. Claudius cleaned his blade on a scrap of cloth.

“Bind the ones still alive,” he ordered. “Make sure they won’t cause trouble on the ride back.”

As his men set to work, Claudius took stock of their own casualties. Nothing serious, though young Castor would likely carry that axe scar on his cheek the rest of his days. Claudius watched one of the men who’d run and then been dragged back into the clearing, a lanky man with a scraggly beard, his hands tied behind his back, being thrown roughly to the ground, next to the bodies of the men he’d been on the run with. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead. Walking to him, Claudius grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him upright.

“You’ve caused a lot of trouble these past months,” Claudius said, glaring at the man.

The prisoner met his gaze and spat. “Go to hell, Roman dog.”

Claudius backhanded him across the face. “You’ll pay for the innocent civilians you slaughtered. The villages you raided and burned.”

Claudius knew this wasn’t his job. He’d been sent to capture the men, nothing more. Certainly not to teach them a lesson. But he’d also been forced to witness their atrocities across Britannia, and part of him wanted payback.

“We did what we had to do to survive,” the man snarled. “It’s no less than what you Romans have done to us.”

The man started to respond with another insult, and Claudius hit him again, harder this time. The prisoner’s head snapped back, blood spraying from his mouth.

“You’ll learn the cost of that survival when we get you back to Devnum,” he said to the man, dropping him back to the ground. “Round up the ones that can walk. Any too injured to move, slit their throats and leave them here.”

That was an act of mercy, more than any of these men deserved. He should have left them here, bound in the dirt, left to bleed out.

Still, as they got the men ready to travel, Claudius looked around the makeshift campground, at the bodies of the dead prisoners, and took a moment to be satisfied. It had been a long chase, but they’d finally run the bastards to ground. Justice was served.

***

Daramouda

Ky sat atop his horse just outside the gates of Daramouda, watching as row after row of legionaries marched past him, down the wide dirt road leading east. Though winter snow still capped the distant peaks, the roads and fields had thawed enough to mark the beginning of another campaigning season. His third since arriving in this version of his past, and since joining the war against the Carthaginians. More than anything, he hoped it would also be the last year of their protracted war.

“The men look ready after their long winter, my lord,” remarked Vibius from one of the horses next to him.

Aelius was still in the city, and Marcus, one of their newer legates, had marched out at first light at the head of the nearly reformed second legion, which left Bomilcar, Auspex, and Vibius to watch the men’s march out of the city. Ky liked to use this as a sort of informal review, a chance to let his commanders see the men, marching in good order, and for the men to see their commanders. Once the campaign started, things could get chaotic, and this was a good opportunity to build unit spirit, which in the end helped the overall cohesion of the legions themselves.

“Let’s hope so,” Ky said.

“This is going to be different than the previous years, you know,” Bomilcar said. “So far you’ve been fighting in barely conquered territory, where the empire didn’t have a foothold. They’ve controlled Italy for centuries. This will not be the same fight.”

“I know, but it’s the fight we have,” Ky said. “I just wish we weren’t as spread out. We’re going to be down three legions by the time we make the turn south.”

“What other choice do we have?” Bomilcar said. “We have a lot of ground to protect. The Carthaginians may have been pushed out of Western Germania, but they still control most of the east, along with all of Persia, Syria, and all of Africa. That is a lot of ground to protect ourselves from, and they will stop at nothing to defend the homeland.”

“I know,” Ky said.

They had been having the same argument all winter, trying to decide the best disposition of their forces. Some wanted to leave everything but Greece to the allied tribes and pull all of the legions in for the attack on Italy and Africa, while others wanted to add a year to the war, focusing only on clearing the rest of the Continent, including eastern Germania and Greece to the Aegean, before they turned their attention to Africa next year.

While Ky didn’t agree with leaving the entire continent to their allies, he also didn’t want to add another year to the war, which had left him with the worst of all options. Spreading themselves out to try and both attack a fortified Italy and Africa while providing protection for their new allies, blocking the continent from re-invasion by the Carthaginians from the east.

It meant they were strong nowhere, even more reliant on their technological advantage than they had been before.

“Speaking of the campaign,” Auspex said, interrupting a repeat of the disagreement between Ky and his general that seemed to never end. “Have we received any updates on the situation in Germania?”

“Just, in fact,” Ky said. “A messenger arrived this morning while you were getting your legions organized. He’s moving east with the Fifth Legion to assist some of the tribes still battling remnants of Carthaginian forces in Eastern Germania, and block them from pushing back into our allied tribes. He expects to start encountering resistance from organized pockets within the month.”

“That’s a lot of land for his one legion to cover,” Bomilcar said.

Ky sighed. Bomilcar was a brilliant man, one of the best strategists he’d ever met, in fact. He was also like a dog with an old bone. Once he sunk his teeth into a subject, he seemed incapable of letting go.

“It is, which is the only reason he’ll have any challenge at all. There are no significant Carthaginian forces in Sarmatia, at least not that any of our allies have heard of, including the ones Yrsa talked to when he traded for the components to start making rubber. Had the Carthaginians had an army out there, we would have heard of it. So yes, it’s a lot of ground to cover, but for once, we have more forces in that part of the world than they do, and there are good indicators that the tribes there are willing to work with us. Our western allies are in contact with them and have sent emissaries with Ursinus’s men to ensure their cooperation. Together, that should give the Legate more than enough tools to do the job.”

Ky gave Bomilcar a hard look, hoping this time his argument actually sank in.

“I didn’t mean to push, Consul,” the general said, finally getting Ky’s displeasure.

“I know. I know. Trust me, I wish we could choose either of the other options, but this will work. Have faith.”

“Have we decided about how to deal with the remaining Carthaginian forces in Greece and Anatolia?” Auspex asked.

That was another topic that they had yet to decide on, as there had again been a split, although this time with Bomilcar agreeing with Ky that they should deploy only a holding force to prevent Carthaginian attacks as they turned south, and the younger legates preferring a more aggressive approach of taking the entire region, pushing the Carthaginians back across the Dardanelles.

Just as he had with Bomilcar, he’d heard them out, weighing the options, but in the end, he couldn’t see a way to justify supporting an advance that would pull from the main thrust toward Africa, and they didn’t have the material or men to do both.

“Yes. Once we reach northern Italy, Vibius, I want you to take your legion and march west to the Tilavemptus River. Hold that line to prevent any Carthaginian forces from invading Greece or points east.”

“Yes, Consul,” Vibius said, giving a glance to Marcus, who’d been on the ‘assault the Carthaginians everywhere’ side of the argument.

Unlike Bomilcar, though, neither tried to argue the point, and Ky left it alone. He had no issue with subordinates disagreeing with his orders, as long as they followed them.

“With luck,” he continued his instructions, “Valdar should be able to prevent them from transporting significant forces from Africa to the Aegean or up behind you, but do not take any chances. Scout aggressively in all directions, so you are not caught off guard. We may continue to push their forces, but there is no guarantee we get them all.”

“Of course, Consul. I will be vigilant,” Vibius said.

Ky nodded in approval before shifting focus back to Bomilcar, “That leaves the three of us plus Marcus to march south through Italy with the remaining legions. As much as I’d like to bypass it, we will take Rome, cross to Sicilia and then Africa.”

“Three? I thought it was decided he would march to Africa?” Bomilcar said, bringing up yet another disagreement they had had.

“We had, but then I received word that the Empress sent Cormac to deal with our problem in Hispania, and I do not feel an overabundance of confidence that he will find a solution to our problem there. Until he does, or until another solution presents itself, Aelius stays as a barrier between Hispania and our Gaulic allies.”

In truth, he’d known about Cormac since mid-winter when Lucilla had tasked the young man with negotiating an alliance of the tribes in that region and ensuring their cooperation with the war. Unfortunately, Ky couldn’t tell anyone he knew that, which meant he had to operate as if he didn’t need Aelius to remain behind until the courier arrived with the official word.

He’d hoped they could get word on the telegraph, at least, and speed up the process of pretending he didn’t know something before word got through officially, but they’d been having issues with tribesmen tearing down the poles from the Gaulic coast to the Mediterranean, and would almost certainly continue to have issues until the issue with the tribes was settled. So he still had to wait for a courier, which at the distances they were now communicating, was quite some distance.

“She put the prince in charge!?” Auspex said, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them.

He didn’t blame the legate for his dismay, although he would have to have a talk with the young man about comporting himself in public. The relationship with the Uliad was still young, and it wouldn’t do to have one of his commanders insulting the heir to the Uliad throne in public.

He’d had much the same opinion when Lucilla had told him. He’d been forced to wait and pretend he didn’t know about any of it until the messenger arrived, however, since doing so beforehand would invite questions Ky wasn’t sure the world was ready for him to answer.

“Yes. It was decided this would be an excellent opportunity. Besides guarding our supply lines, he helps with your concern. Assuming Cormac can make progress in Hispania, should need arise in either Greece or Germania, or with us down the Italian peninsula, Aelius can serve as a reserve force and be brought up as needed.”

“I see,” Bomilcar said, giving a pointed look to Auspex.

‘On the other hand,’ Ky thought, ‘perhaps I should leave correcting Auspex to Bomilcar.’ Over the winter, the Carthaginian had transformed from Ky’s advisor and newly appointed legate of the Seventh Legion to his de facto second in command. Much of the preparation for the current campaign, working with the men, including their Germanic allies, on strategy using the Britannians’ rifles and cannon.

Many of those units had served as auxiliary forces the previous year, deployed for guards and when close combat fighting was needed, mostly because there hadn’t been the time to get them trained for the completely new style of tactics the rifles introduced. Not all, of course. A few of the tribes had fared better and already integrated into the legions, but every unit was understrength as winter started, and to refill those slots with their Germanic allies had taken a fair amount of work.

Work that Bomilcar seemed well suited for.

As if summoned, Aelius rode up to the gate as the last cohort marched past, ending a long and snaking line that extended into the far horizon.

“That’s the last of them,” the Legate said.

Ky nodded, satisfied to see his army underway after the long winter. “You’ve all done excellent work getting them ready. You each have your assignments for the coming campaign. Hold the lines, keep our supply routes open, and the next time we’re all together, it’ll be at the gates of Carthage, their armies in ruins.”

Sticking his arm out across his horse, the legates reached in one by one, putting their hands on top of his.

“Good fortune to you all. For Britannia!”

“For Britannia!”

***

Devnum

Lucilla paced the balcony, ignoring the beautiful moonlit courtyard below. She had spent the last hour talking to Ky. She’d tried to remain upbeat through the entire conversation, as a way to keep his spirits up, but she felt uneasy the entire time. Since she disconnected, she had paced, trying to put her finger on exactly what was bothering her.

“Sophus,” she said, stopping her pacing and speaking into the air.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the calm, emotionless voice said.

“Are we making a mistake?”

“A mistake with what?”

“Ky. The legions. The campaign. This last push against Carthage is going to be difficult, and our forces are spread dangerously thin across the continent. Recruitment over the winter has not kept pace with our losses, meaning all of the legions are under-strength, and yet he sends half of the legions available in directions other than the one he’s marching in.”

“The Consul is an adept strategist,” Sophus replied. “He will adapt his plans accordingly.”

“Yes, I know, but ability with strategy does not negate the reality of manpower. Last year he had four legions in Germania, with another two fighting in the south, splitting the Carthaginians’ focus. This year he has just three legions to press towards the enemy’s heartland. And yet, we’ve committed fewer troops to land the enemy is certain to defend even harder. Adaptation is all well and good, but you can’t adapt more men, and he’s made it quite clear that keeping legions in Greece, Germania, and Gaul is critical, so it’s not like he can pull from those should something go wrong.”

“The Consul believes we will be able to recruit additional support for his legions as he moves into new territory. He believes that, while he only has three trained legions available, he could be able to acquire enough native assistance to allow him to focus his legions specifically on assaulting the enemy. That, combined with our forces’ significant advantage in technology, should be sufficient to overcome any forces the Carthaginians can muster, in the consul’s estimation.”

Lucilla resumed her pacing.

“I’m not so sure. Germania and Gaul were the last regions added to our empire, besides Persia. The people there will be the quickest to rebel if we show any weakness. Hispania may provide some recruits, assuming Cormac has some success, but that is a very large caveat. Italy? Greece? They’ve been under our rule for generations. No one alive today remembers a time before Carthaginian control. The people there identify as Carthaginian now, or at least not as allies of Rome. I am skeptical that we’ll find armies willing to join our cause in the home territories,” she said, stopping again and leaning on the railing of her balcony. “I fear Ky is underestimating the depth of support we’ll find abroad.”

“Have you considered speaking to Ky about your concerns?” Sophus asked.

“He’s got enough to focus on. Besides, he’s convinced himself that he’s right. I haven’t talked to him, of course, but I get the feeling this is why Bomilcar has argued for a continent this year, Africa next strategy. He sees the problems coming, and knows we need to be at full strength before we assault Africa.”

“I believe your assessment is correct. The Consul and I have spent many hours discussing the problem.”

“Then why not take Bomilcar’s suggestion? It’s not like they’re going to get any stronger if we take more possessions from them.”

“He is concerned that time will not help our manpower problem, and the losses will continue to accumulate during attacks on other areas of the continent without doing direct damage to the center of Carthaginian forces in Africa. Moreover, he has concerns about how quickly they managed to acquire gunpowder. Even at the lower quality, he’s concerned that it might signal an ability to catch up to our focus on other technological fronts. If that should happen, the chance for our success decreases with each advancement the Carthaginians make. The primary factor in our victories so far has been technological advantage.”

“And what are the chances of our success if things stay as they are, he makes the assault on Italy and Africa, and does not get the support he’s hoping for?”

“Fifty-four percent, assuming the legions maintain the same casualty rate they did over the previous year,” Sophus said.

“That isn’t reassuring,” Lucilla said. “We’re going to have to figure out something to help him.”