The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 25

Lucilla made her way into the palace from the courtyard, preferring to take the back way in to avoid the throngs of petitioners and citizens coming and going on business, official or otherwise.

She couldn’t wait until the telegraph was finally installed, after hearing Ky describe what it would be like, enabling communication with a far-off city in an instant. She spent the last four hours in a carriage on the bumpy roads, returning yet again from visiting Factorium to give the latest notes to Hortensius and Sorantius. It was important, and up to her since she was the only one with a direct connection to Ky and Sophus, but she didn’t enjoy the bone-rattling trips.

“Empress,” Ramirus said, appearing almost out of thin air as she passed through the side entrance. “Llassar is here, asking to speak with you. He has the prince with him.”

Lucilla frowned. They hadn’t taken direct action with either Medb or Cormac yet, but it was coming soon. Llassar and Cormac being here meant something had changed, which was rarely a good thing.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing that I know of. They just showed up a little bit ago, saying they needed to speak with you. It’s impossible to guess with Llassar, but the boy seems nervous.”

“Have them meet me in my office,” she said, waving the spymaster off and turning into her quarters.

There wasn’t time to wash the dust from the road off, but she could at least change into a fresh stola. She took her time, basking in the silence for a moment before diving back into the political mud. With a sigh, she steeled herself and left the peace of her quarters.

“Alright, let’s deal with this,” she said to Chief Protector Modius.

Llassar and the prince were already in her office when they arrived. Cormac was pacing nervously, stopping like a deer caught in the wild when she walked in. Llassar simply looked in her direction, unperturbed as always.

“Empress,” he said, not rising as many did when she entered a room.

It didn’t bother her. She didn’t stand on ceremony, and the Caledonian had proven himself as a supporter of the Empire enough times to skip formalities.

“I wanted to talk to you about my wife,” Cormac said, before Lucilla had time to sit down, dropping into a chair across from her desk. “Llassar told me what she’s been doing. I … I’m still having trouble accepting it but, if he’s telling the truth … I don’t want her to die. I know she’s been talking to people, fomenting unrest, which is treasonous. I know she needs to be stopped, but I beg you, there has to be a way to fix this without sacrificing her.”

She looked at him, calculating. The boy squirmed under her gaze. She hadn’t expected him to accept what was happening so easily, although she didn’t know what had been said between him and the Caledonian, nor had she guessed that he’d be so passionate about Medb’s survival. Not that she would let his pleading change what needed to be done.

“It’s more serious than you know,” she said, gesturing to Ramirus.

“We’ve been watching her closely,” the spymaster said. “And the preacher isn’t the only one she’s been talking to. She’s been all over town since winter ended, talking to anyone who’s made public statements criticizing the Empire. We may have cleared out the remaining insurrectionists, but there are still people not pleased with the Empress’s rule, how the Empire is run, or the Empire’s existence in the first place. She’s managed to find a good number of them and has had a lot of conversations with them. We haven’t overheard all of what they’ve said, but in the ones we did hear she said about the same things as she did with Vesnius. She’s pushed their prejudices and fears, telling them tales of planned foreign invasions and hatred for Rome by your father. She has gone well beyond fomenting unrest.”

“I don’t know what she’s said to you,” Lucilla said. “Although Llassar speaks highly of you, it’s clear she’s been playing you just as she is everyone else. I don’t know her end goal, but she’s causing chaos which we cannot allow to continue. Not in the middle of a war.”

“I … I didn’t know,” Cormac said, almost on the verge of tears. “Please. I know she can be good; she’s just having difficulty transitioning from being a monarch in her own right to her position now. But that’s not all she is. She can be better, I know it.”

“You say that, even knowing she’s been manipulating you, convincing you to break your oaths, putting you on the brink of treason?” Lucilla asked, a little surprised he’d keep arguing for her even after accepting the truth of what was happening.

“I’m not a fool, Your Majesty,” Cormac said, calming himself and turning serious. “I know she’s been using me. With everything I now know about what she’s been doing, it’s impossible to not see it. But I also know the other moments we’ve spent together. Moments I’ve seen the real her come through, and she’s worth redeeming. Not simply because of how I feel about her, but because she has a lot to bring to the Empire. She’s clever, as clever as anyone in this room. Yes, she has ambition, but if that ambition could be turned in our favor, it would be a huge benefit.”

“I’m not sure that’s as convincing of an argument as you might want it to be,” Lucilla said. “Someone with the combination of intelligence and ambition that you describe isn’t someone that can be harnessed. Will she ever stop? It’s hard to believe. She’ll just keep trying, working to find a way to free herself and get back what she lost.”

“I know, but I have to hope she’ll come around. I… I’ve never had a relationship like this before. It’s not just … I love her. Maybe she doesn’t feel it and maybe she just managed to convince me of it as part of her plan, but in my heart, I hope she feels it a little too. All I know is, I don’t want her to die. Please.”

Lucilla regarded him pitifully before glancing at Llassar. The Caledonian met her gaze, face impassive, not giving a hint of what he thought. Ramirus, who could be equally stoic, wasn’t hiding his feelings this time. She knew what he would do in her position. She also knew what her duty told her to do. And yet.

“I’ll give Medb one chance. If she ceases her treasonous activity and gets in line, I will allow her to live,” Lucilla declared. “If she doesn’t, there will be no second chances. However, I don’t want to give her that chance, yet. She has done us a favor, in a way, pulling up the rotten portions of the city and pointing them out to us. Before we give her a chance, I want to first make sure we can scoop up all the people who’ve joined her in treason.”

“Maybe if I talk to her …” Cormac started to say until Lucilla cut him off.

“I’ve made my decision. You will say nothing to her, and when she’s given her chance, I’ll be the one to do it. I want to be clear; your actions were not that different from hers, although you were participating somewhat unwittingly. Your first duty is the one your father sent you to carry out, to ensure your people’s role as part of the Empire. Part of the Empire. If you cannot keep your responsibilities in mind and your personal feelings under control, I will send you back home with a warning to your father about your unreliable nature. This is your last chance, as well.”

Cormac hadn’t yet seemed to consider his own culpability for his actions. Maybe it was just the way of princes, unable to see their own faults, but she didn’t want him to leave without understanding he was in danger as well. Maybe not of execution, which would cause more problems than it would solve, but if his father heard of his actions and Cormac was returned to him, the repercussions would be severe. And Cormac knew it.

The boy slid back in his chair, crestfallen as the realization hit him. She felt for him, but they didn’t have time to coddle him. Now was the time for him to show he could handle his responsibility or decide this wasn’t the life for him.

Cormac bowed his head and said, “You’re right. If I’m being honest, it’s not all Medb’s doing. I’ve been blinded by my own selfishness. Of what I wanted, and not what I was entrusted to do.”

He paused for a moment, looking at his hands, before raising his head and looking back at her, meeting her gaze.

“Thank you, for giving me a chance to make it right. Llassar has tried to tell me I was failing, but I guess that I really didn’t listen until I almost messed up for good. I can’t change what I’ve done, but I’ll try to do better. I’ll fix this.”

It was a hard lesson for any man to learn, much less one so young. But he wasn’t a commoner. He was a prince, with the duties that entailed. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see if he got away with his mistakes.

“Good. I hope you do.”

***

Port of Kalb, Mouth of the Middle Sea

Admiral Valdar stood on the forecastle of his flagship Bellona, one foot propped on the railing as he surveyed the Carthaginian port of Kalb. The city’s crumbling stone walls looked back at him, a sad testimony to what they once had been. They had been strong and proud, holding off pirates and attacks for generations, but they were not made to withstand months of cannon fire. To preserve ammunition, he had kept the bombardment slow but steady, never giving the city a moment’s peace.

For several months, the blockading fleet had gripped Kalb tightly, strangling the flow of supplies and reinforcements from the Middle Sea. It was important, but it was tedious, especially as the number of Carthaginian ships that attempted to sally out to meet him or run his blockade slowly dwindled. He was impatient to continue with his mission, but he couldn’t until he took this port and secured his supply lines.

“Sail ho!” came the lookout’s cry. “Ships approaching from the east!”

Valdar raised his spyglass, smiling as he recognized the lean profiles of Britannian caravels tacking toward him. He knew they were about due to roll off the docks, but he hadn’t expected them quite this soon. With these additions, his ship count would be brought up to eighteen, which gave him many more options.

“Signal from the Branwen,” the signal officer said, looking through his own spyglass at the flags raising and lowering on board the lead ship sailing toward them. “She bears resupply of food and gunpowder and two hundred legionaries, with the Empress’s compliments.”

“Excellent,” Valdar said, lowering his spyglass. “Signal the fleet. All captains are to repair aboard with due haste for a consultation and preparation.”

This is what he’d been waiting for. He was more than ecstatic that the Empress had heard him out and decided to send the legionaries he’d requested. With the port blockaded and the armies to the north too engaged in the land war to respond, the port was weakened, and should be easy pickings for rifle-armed legionaries.

Valdar paced his cabin, waiting for his captains to arrive. After months, this was what he’d been waiting for, and he was impatient to get started. Finally, the last of the captains arrived, taking their places in the now much too cramped cabin.

“Before we get started, I have some bad news from the north,” he began. “Port Invictus has fallen and the Legate is dead.”

Murmurs rippled through the room as the captains reacted to the news.

Valdar raised a hand for silence. “As bad as that is, everything isn’t lost. The Consul is marching south with his legions to assault the main Carthaginian port on the continent.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Einar, captain of the Aquila asked. “Shouldn’t we support that attack? I understand the value of this port and blocking Carthaginian shipping out of the Middle Sea is crucial, but until we shut down their traffic inside the sea, our armies are vulnerable.”

“I agree,” Valdar said. “Which is why we’re going to do both. I’m sending our five most experienced crews, not counting the Bellona, to blockade their shipping and support the Consul’s attack. The Aquila, Tyrfing, Seadreki, Bolvastr, and Europa will be under your overall command, Einar. You’re to blockade the port and patrol the nearby coast as best you can, sinking any ship you find inside the Middle Sea. Assume anything floating is Carthaginian. You’re also to support the Consul and answer directly to him. I assume he’ll want you to shell the city at some point, so be prepared. You’ll have to work with him for supplies, since the coast between here and there will still be open waters and I don’t trust any of our supply ships to make it that far. Not until we finish sinking all their ships. Is that good enough?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Einar said, sounding both surprised his recommendation was taken so quickly and excited he was getting his first independent command.

“Good. As for the rest of us, we are going to prepare to take the port. I’m not sure what kind of leadership the Empress sent along with the two hundred centurions, but it’s likely a fairly low-level commander in charge of them. I want to spend a few days discussing the assault with him and, possibly, take a ship and the legionaries back out to Oceanus to find a bare strip of Hispania to do a few test runs before we take the port for real. Until then, let’s keep the city busy. I want to increase bombardment, focusing on the western and eastern portions of the port, leaving the center corridor and the docks themselves for our men to move through. Let’s turn the rest of it into rubble. I want them too busy to notice us doing anything else. You’ll also be given your responsibilities for the landings that I want you to read over and work with your crews to prepare for. Use the bombardment as an opportunity for target practice, especially you men on the newly arrived ships. When we start our land assault, I don’t want cannon balls landing on our troops. If you have questions, hold them until you’ve gotten your assignments.”

All of the captains glanced at each other, no one moving. Only a handful of them had participated in the assault on Insula Manavia, so this was going to be a new experience for most of them. He could feel their excitement and nervousness in the air.

“Get moving. We have a lot to do.”

***

Ruins of Port Invictus, Hispania

The Seventh Legion emerged from the wooded hills overlooking the plain, above the ruins of Port Invictus. Bomilcar watched from the edge of the tree line as the legion flowed steadily past him, observing what was left of Port Invictus. It was odd, seeing it from this position. Although hastily constructed the year before, it had been solidly built. Now, little more than tumbled masonry and charred timber remained, darkened by the fire from either the gunpowder pots the Carthaginians had thrown or the explosion set off by Velius.

More amazing was the landscape itself, marred with the trenches left behind by the siege of the port, breaking up the legionaries’ formations. Aelius had described the scene to him, the deep furrows winding their way toward the wall, but that description hadn’t prepared him for seeing it in person.

The lessons from a past battle were not, however, what his attention was focused on. His real concern today was the Carthaginians left behind to guard what was left of the wreckage. The Carthaginian general had most likely reasoned that the detachment would be a deterrent against a second attempt to build a port in this location. His scouts had reported the enemy pulling back into the ruins of the fort as they approached. A wise move, since the thousand men left behind would not be enough to stop his legion.

The movement in the ruins wasn’t hard to spot, as the Carthaginians panicked, moving into positions within the ruins, using the cover to protect them from the Britannian weapons that they’d learned to fear. He could also see the edges of catapults, well-positioned to be protected by the walls. No doubt they would be loaded with gunpowder pots, the same ones that had led to this port’s destruction in the first place.

He turned his attention to his own line, watching as his men threaded their way through the scarred landscape. It was good the enemy wasn’t concentrated because his army was badly segmented by the trenches. His line cohesion was very poor. It would be worse when they got to the wall. If they had to assault through the rubble, it would be brutal fighting. While his victory was assured, they could bleed him badly in the assault.

Which is why he had no intention of charging the rubble. Raising his hand he signaled the trumpeter near him, whose instrument called out a series of notes. The army responded instantly, pulling to a halt, the men in even rows, or as even as they could be on the broken ground.

“Now … we wait,” Bomilcar said.

The reaction of the defenders to his legion halting was visible confusion. The enemy soldiers shifted about uncertainly within the ruins, likely trying to decide why the massive force marching towards them had suddenly stopped outside the range of their defenses and what it meant for them. They knew they were outnumbered and certainly doomed, which always seemed to breed an odd anticipation. Men, knowing they were going to die, often wanted to get it over with instead of delaying it.

If they were confused now, they would be truly upset when the rest of Bomilcar’s plan unfolded. Right on cue, trumpets sounded from the north. Bomilcar glanced up the coastline to see another legion emerging, the Third Legion under Auspex.

Mostly because of the sandy ground and low water table, the trenches had extended from the east, with only holding forces north and south of the fort, giving Auspex’s legion a much easier time holding formation. Instead of taking advantage of this, however, the newly arrived legion stopped at roughly the same distance from the port.

For a time, neither legion did anything except face the defenders. Like the strategy of having a delay before the appearance of the Third Legion, this was a calculated pause. What Bomilcar wanted most was for the Carthaginians to just surrender, saving him the bloodshed that would come from having to dig them out. In an environment such as the destroyed port, it would be all but impossible to blast them out with cannon, which would ultimately mean having to send men in to clear out the remaining defenders. Bomilcar had neither the men nor the time to waste on such an endeavor.

“That should be enough time,” he finally said to Gordianus, sitting on horseback next to him. “Roll out the guns and signal the Third.”

Having pulled all of the cannon from Velius’s line of forts, the legions under his command were now heavily armed with artillery, and he planned to make the most of it. ‘Shock and awe’ was how the Consul had once described the effect of massed artillery to him, but until today, he hadn’t seen it in full effect. They’d used artillery lightly, in limited engagements, or on the defensive. This was the first time anyone, that Bomilcar was aware of, had massed artillery to hammer a single target.

The signal went up, and the cannons started to fire, maintaining their fastest rate of fire for the first ten minutes before slowing to a more steady but maintainable rate. A gentle breeze off the coast helped keep the entire field from being blanketed in smoke, but even that wasn’t enough to make the destroyed port visible as shells slammed into it nearly continuously. A thick gray haze of dirt and concrete dust was more or less constant, occasionally broken by a flash of bright orange fire when a lucky shot hit their catapults or waiting ammunition.

The resulting minimal-sized explosion was a testament to Aelius’s report of the much lower quality gunpowder the Carthaginians were using. It was still a mystery how they acquired it, but whatever they’d done, it was clearly not to the same level as that used by the Britannians.

After thirty minutes, the cannons ceased firing, another part of the highly choreographed ballet of destruction Bomilcar had arranged. Who knows what the defenders thought about the pause, although perhaps they hoped the Britannians had run out of ammunition.

At least until they heard more bugle calls, this time from the south. The Ninth Legion emerged from the southern hills, joining them outside the ruined port. They halted just beyond the range of the defenders’ catapults, joining the ranks of the Seventh and Third Legions, arrayed to the east and north.

Bomilcar watched as more panic ensued inside the fallen port and felt a tiny amount of pity for those men, who must be terrified knowing the destruction about to befall them. Not so much pity that he was going to spare them their fate, however.

With a signal, the cannons of all three legions opened fire once more, enveloping the shattered remnants of the fort from three directions. Again, plumes of dirt and debris erupted continuously as shell after shell slammed into the rubble.

Bomilcar considered the devastating effectiveness of the barrage, realizing it mirrored the tactics the Carthaginians had used against Velius. But whereas they had required extensive trench works to get within range, his legions could unleash their firepower without such preparations.

Either way, what was clear was that once their enemies obtained cannons and firearms like the Britannians possessed, static fortifications and walled cities would be rendered obsolete. Given enough guns, any defenses could be pounded to dust. The age of fixed bastions was over.

Not that destroying them was simple. Even with the destruction raining down on them, the defenders still had not surrendered. Part of the problem was one that his barrage was actually amplifying. The walls of the port were already all but destroyed, which meant most of his shots were just rearranging rubble piles without really clearing them away. On top of that, they were tearing deep gouges in the earth, making more places for the defenders to cower in.

This part, he’d actually considered beforehand. After twenty more minutes of bombardment, he called another halt, giving the defenders another brief breather before the final stage of his plan.

The final act began as one of the armed sloops came into view. It had been sitting and waiting as its captain, Yrsa, watched the battle proceed through his own spyglass until the three legions were in place and had finished their last bombardment of the port. Which was his signal to move his ship into position outside the port.

As soon as it was stationed, one side facing the ruined port, its cannon fired. Most ended up short, smashing into the water or ruined docks. Bomilcar had been clear in his communications with the captain that he preferred the ship fire short, sending its cannonballs into the sea, rather than overshoot, potentially sending its rounds past the ruins and into his legions.

The second barrage, however, was aimed perfectly, the captain having made adjustments from the first ranging shots to find their target. The sloop’s broadside smashed into the enemy, who didn’t have the benefit of ruined walls to hide from in that direction.

As soon as the ship began firing, his legions’ cannon picked up the call and added to the cavalcade, destruction now raining down on the defenders from every direction. That tipped the scales. The defenders had spent the last several hours under massive bombardment, maybe hoping for an all-out charge where they could take some Britannians with them. This newest attack, however, was just too much for them to bear.

Although he missed it at first, having difficulty seeing the enemy through the haze of dust and destruction, Carthaginians began holding up their shields, a sign that they surrendered.

“Signal cease fire,” Bomilcar told the signalman next to him, who saluted and ran off to carry out his orders.

It took almost five minutes to get all the artillery to fall silent. There was almost an echo, or maybe just a ringing in his ears, after the firing finally ceased. It had been louder than anything Bomilcar had ever experienced, which meant it must have been hellish to be on the receiving end of it.

“Send a rider out under a flag of truce. They’re to throw down their weapons and march out single file, carrying any wounded. Make it known that if we see any weapons or they attempt treachery, all of their lives will be forfeit.”

As the aide rode off to dispatch the messenger, Bomilcar turned his horse towards Gordianus, who was back with the command group waiting for orders.

“We’ll leave a century behind from the Seventh to guard the prisoners and accompany them as they are ferried to Britannia and the prison camps. As soon as we’ve checked to make sure the enemy have all been rounded up, I want the legions ready to march. We have a lot of ground to cover to catch up with their army, and I do not want to wait until they’ve marched all the way to their port, or they realize we’ve all but abandoned the entire line of forts. I want the army to move with all speed. Clear?”

“Yes, General,” Gordianus said, saluting and riding off to follow his instructions.

Bomilcar let a wry smile escape. He may have been made legate, but so far, everyone still called him General. It had become almost a moniker of sorts, instead of his former rank. Knowing soldiers as he did, he didn’t take it as an insult. If anything, the men adopting a nickname for their commander was one of the highest compliments they could give.

Now he just had to prove that their faith in him wasn’t misplaced. This fight had been simple and the outcome was never in doubt. The next one would be more difficult and much more deadly.