The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 23

Gaul, North of the Pyrenees

An argument was in full swing as Bomilcar ducked through the entrance to the command tent, which came to an abrupt halt just as the general made his sudden appearance. Aelius, Gordianus, and several of their tribunes were gathered around a rough map of the area and had clearly been in a heated discussion about what to do next. Now, all five men were staring at him, shocked.

It was a testament to how chaotic things must have been along this line that he and a full legion had managed to come in from the north and outpace any warning the legates might have had, telling them reinforcements had arrived.

“Gentlemen,” Bomilcar said in his deep baritone.

“General,” Aelius said. “Thank the gods you’re here. Please tell me the Consul sent you with reinforcements.”

“He did,” Bomilcar said, coming all the way inside the tent, making room for Auspex to enter. “We brought a legion with us, which should bring us up to more than ten thousand men. Not counting the thousands still stationed in the forts.”

“It does. With that, we should be able to finally stop retreating and hold the line against these bastards,” Gordianus said. “Before the port fell, Legate Velius ordered us to avoid contact and continue falling back until we received orders from the Consul. I was starting to worry those orders wouldn’t arrive before we got pushed back to the last fort in the line.”

“Tell me what’s been happening. We heard of the loss of Port Invictus, but haven’t received much information since then.”

“The situation has been dire,” Aelius said, looking much older than he really was. “Ever since we lost Port Invictus, it feels like we’ve just been running with our tails between our legs, trying to stay ahead of them. Even with the losses they sustained at the port, they still have massive numbers over us.

“Worse, we haven’t been able to use any of our fortifications. We’ve had to abandon fort after fort just to avoid being surrounded and wiped out. Seeing what they did to Port Invictus, we dare not let them surround us. We can’t escape by sea like we did there, and with their trenches and gunpowder, it would only be a matter of time before they’d destroy us. This is the fifth fort we’ve pulled back to since the escape from the port, and we’ll have to leave by daybreak if we want to avoid them. Recently they increased their pace considerably, giving us barely any time to rest the men.”

“Which is why we’re going to be changing tactics. We aren’t going to hold this line at all. In fact, we’re going to be pulling off the line entirely. We’ll leave only a single century at this fort and those remaining to the north, taking all of the gunpowder and cannons you’ve been moving from the previously lost forts with us. There, we will wait for the rest of your men to join us.”

“The rest of our men?” Aelius asked, confused. “This is all of the men we have available.”

“No, it’s not. You also have the men in the forts. You’re to send a message along the line ordering them to retain one century at their fort and send the rest to meet us, pulling the bulk of their gunpowder and cannons with them. The men left in the forts will continue doing as you’ve been doing, pulling back to avoid contact, all the way down the line of forts. That includes the century we’re leaving here. Their job is to keep the Carthaginians fixated on these forts by making it look as if we’re still all here and retreating. They’re to leave behind signs of a retreating larger force and pull large wagons weighted with rocks to simulate the evacuation of the guns. Hopefully, the Carthaginians take the bait and continue chasing them, for a little while longer, giving us time to consolidate.”

“What are we doing once we do?” Aelius asked.

“Once the forces from the forts arrive, we’re going to swing around and attack the Carthaginian forces left at Port Invictus,” he said, pointing at the fallen port on the map.

“Why?” Aelius asked, a little horrified. “Why bother retaking the destroyed port? Even if we do recapture it, it will take time to rebuild and even if we do, the Carthaginians can just destroy it again. They’ve shown us what they can do when we allow ourselves to be backed into a corner.”

“We aren’t going to hold the port,” Bomilcar clarified. “We’re removing any enemy forces behind us and making ourselves a threat to the Carthaginians from the west. Once we defeat the enemy at the port, we’ll push east again, hopefully forcing the Carthaginians to turn around and come for us.”

Moving his finger from the port up to Germania, Bomilcar added, “The Consul is bringing an army down from the north directly toward the Carthaginian port on the Middle Sea. Either the Carthaginians end up between us, or they retreat to the port and we and the Consul’s forces will converge, confining them in their port. If the fleet does its job, we’ll have them bottled up, where we can destroy them.”

“Either way, mobile or with the Carthaginians trapped, it deprives them of their new tactics and weapons,” Bomilcar concluded, looking at the men in the tent. “Does anyone have any other questions?”

Aelius didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t ask any more questions, nor did Gordianus or any of the other officers.

“Good, then let’s get moving. As you pointed out, we don’t have a lot of time until the Carthaginians close on this fort, and we need to be well out of the way before they get here. I want the new orders relayed to the remaining forts immediately with instructions for the bulk of their forces to withdraw and join us at the rendezvous point. Make sure the men remaining behind understand their orders. They must ensure the Carthaginians believe we are still retreating down the line of forts. I do not want the enemy to know we’ve retreated north until it’s too late.”

“We’ll take care of it, General,” Gordianus said, saluting.

“Good. They must understand that they need to keep moving, I don’t want any of the men we’re leaving behind to try and do anything foolish. No heroic last stands. The Consul will be here soon, and they’re to join his army until we can collect them.”

Gordianus nodded and left the tent, following the rest of the men. They were good leaders and had shown they were capable, carrying on after the death of their commander. Bomilcar had liked Velius, even though it took time for the legate to warm up to him. He and Aelius didn’t know each other well, but they didn’t have time to go through the same growing pains he and Velius had gone through.

Time was the one thing he didn’t have, not anymore. They’d have to operate as a team, without second-guessing, if they were going to get the Carthaginians to fall into the trap. And they had to do it now!

***

Outside Devnum

Cormac made his way through the Roman legion camp, the sounds of men training all around him. The clash of wooden training swords and the grunts of men learning to kill other men. Cormac ignored them, looking down the row of identical tents, searching for his friend Tullius.

At Medb’s urging, Cormac had been making friends with the new legionaries training just outside of town. It had taken some time. Most of the men he’d approached had been standoffish, but others had been receptive, and Tullius had been the most interested. He was also popular with the rest of the men. Cormac reasoned that if he could cultivate Tullius, he could use the soldier to reach out to his comrades.

It hadn’t been easy, though. Cormac hadn’t grown up needing to be subtle or circumspect. He wasn’t a spy or a diplomat. He was a warrior, born to a family of warriors. This was important, though. Medb had convinced him that change was needed. His father had tied their kingdom’s future to that of the Empire, and Lucilla and her foreign husband threatened that future.

Spotting Tullius concluding a sparring match, Cormac hailed him cheerfully. The soldier turned, surprise flashing across his sweat-slicked features before it shifted into an odd expression. He glanced around furtively before walking over to join Cormac.

“My Lord,” he said with a stiff bow. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

Cormac raised an eyebrow at the man’s demeanor, so unlike their past cordial encounters. Tullius’s eyes shifted continuously, and he stood with rigid formality.

“I thought we were friends,” Cormac chided lightly. “Why so formal?”

He gave the man what Cormac felt was a disarming smile, but Tullius remained withdrawn. Cormac frowned. Something was very wrong. Before he could inquire, Tullius stepped closer, dropping his voice.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but I … I don’t want to have any more of our conversations.”

“What’s wrong, Tullius?” Cormac asked, his brow furrowing. “Has something happened?”

The soldier shifted his weight and glanced around again. “I shouldn’t be speaking to you.”

“Come now, Tullius. There’s no harm in two friends talking.”

Tullius hesitated, clearly conflicted, before saying at a near whisper, “Please, you must go. There are … instructions to my cohort. We’ve been ordered to report on any soldiers who are seen conspiring with you.”

“What? Ordered by whom?”

“I don’t know. There have been Praetorians talking to all of the legionaries. Asking if we’ve spoken with you and about the nature of our conversations.”

That was a problem. Cormac hadn’t said anything against his father or the Empire, but if taken out of context, it could sound insurrectionary. Lucilla was a weak ruler and could take any questioning of her ability or fitness as treason. Aside from that, if Tullius wasn’t willing to talk to him anymore, it was going to completely derail his plans.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Cormac said. “Questioning the way the war is being fought isn’t treasonous. As a soldier, it’s what you should be doing. All you want is for the Empire to thrive, for us to win the war.”

“It goes beyond that, Prince, and you know it. We’ve … I’ve said things I shouldn’t have. Worse, I think some of my friends have seen us talking. I’m certain they’ve reported it to the Praetorians, who’re going to be looking at me now.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You haven’t said anything treasonous or even concerning, but I understand this undue suspicion worries you. We can still be friends though, right? You and I?”

Tullius didn’t respond, just shuffling his feet, trying to avoid eye contact.

Cormac sighed. “Can you at least tell me why you’re supposed to report any interactions with me? I’m still a noble, and I think I deserve to know if I’m under suspicion.”

“I don’t know, My Lord. I only know we’ve been ordered to report any communications with you,” he said before raising his voice to a normal speaking volume. “I’m sorry, but my loyalty is to the Empire.”

With an abrupt nod, Tullius hurried away, leaving Cormac standing there stunned. Why were the Praetorians monitoring him so closely? That wasn’t just routine. If he was a soldier or a politician, sure, but he was the son of a king, heir to one-third of the Empire. They wouldn’t just start investigating him unless they thought there was something to find. Yes, he’d been asking questions, expressing doubt about Lucilla and her consort, but that wasn’t enough to have men spying on him. Asking questions of anyone who spoke to him.

It had to be Llassar. The old fool had been giving him more lectures of late, ‘instructing’ him on the right way to do things. He’d wondered why the incessant lectures lately, but this could explain it. The Caledonian had apparently decided he was a traitor and had talked his friend, the Empress, into spying on him.

This was the man his father had entrusted him to. The man he was told to learn from. A snake, who slithered behind his back, poisoning those who might work with him.

He had to be careful. He was in enemy territory, and Llassar had the ear of the Empress and her people. His father was a long way away and had given Llassar some semblance of authority over him. Maybe Medb would have thoughts about this situation. She was clever and could see through to the heart of things.

Or maybe not. She’d pushed him to stand up for himself, and he valued her opinion of him. He didn’t want her to start thinking he wasn’t capable of handling things himself.

He needed to find out what Llassar was up to and why the old man was watching him.

***

Outside Factorium

Empress Lucilla stepped out of her carriage, accompanied by her entourage of personal guards and aides that seemed to be growing larger every time she left Devnum. In the distance, Lucilla could see the soaring smokestacks and blocky brick buildings that formed the heart of the Empire’s industrial complex.

A sizable crowd had gathered, surrounding the large swath of grassland just outside the city, held back by guards, forming a very wide ring. Excited murmurs rippled through the onlookers, some looking in her direction but others observing the workers swarming across the open center area.

At its heart stood Hortensius and Sorantius, deep in discussion as they fussed over the fantastic contraption laid out on the grass. Mounds of fabric stretched out from what looked like a basket made of reeds or sticks; she wasn’t sure which. The balloon’s pear-shaped linen envelope had been dyed a vibrant imperial purple, which she hadn’t expected. The last time she saw it, it was a dull gray, which she had assumed it would still be.

Hortensius looked up as Lucilla approached, his kindly face crinkling into a broad grin beneath his bushy gray beard.

“Your Majesty, welcome!” he exclaimed. “We are honored by your presence.”

Lucilla smiled warmly at her friend.

“The honor is mine, Hortensius,” she replied. “Ever since I read about this in Ky’s notes, I’ve been excited to see it in use. I just look forward to the day when I can take a ride up in your device and see the sky as the birds do.”

“I understand completely. Of course, we have to make sure it’s safe before we send a person up in it. For now, we are putting in stones that should approximate the weight of two grown men.”

“Very wise,” she said, reaching out to squeeze the older man’s calloused hand warmly.

Of course, she didn’t think he would allow her to take one of the first voyages, not with something this unknown. She did want to go, however. Ky had told her stories of flying through the clouds and stars. While she could never see the amazing sights he had, she could at least experience some of the thrill with this vehicle.

Hortensius gestured eagerly to the balloon. “As soon as Sorantius is finished with the ballast adjustments, we will be ready for launch. With your permission, of course, Your Majesty.”

Lucilla granted it with an approving nod. “Of course. This is your show, old friend. I’m simply a spectator. Don’t let me delay you.”

“I think that’s it,” Sorantius called out, beckoning Hortensius over.

With one more glance at Lucilla, the manufacturer hurried to join him. The two men worked swiftly. Sorantius lit the small fire contained in the metal burner affixed below the balloon, while Hortensius untied the ropes securing the large linen envelope to the stakes driven into the grass. As the flames roared to life, heat billowed into the purple-dyed envelope, causing it to fill and expand before their eyes, slowly lifting off the ground as if plucked from the ground by the invisible hands of the gods.

“That’s it, nice and steady now,” Hortensius said, anticipation in his voice.

Around them, the gathered crowd seemed to hold its collective breath, pressed forward but held back by the wall of guards. Lucilla’s excitement matched that of the two men and she desired to join them. Only her regal bearing and knowledge that others were watching kept her in place, her face passive instead of filled with awe.

Slowly, steadily, the balloon rose, lifting skyward as the hot air built up inside it. The ropes drew taut, then lifted off the ground. A cheer went up from the onlookers, applause and excited shouts filled the air. Lucilla beamed, unable to continue hiding the pride and wonder welling up inside her.

The balloon ascended, floating nearly at head height, several dozen hand spans off the ground, still secured to the ground by ropes.

“It works!” Sorantius whooped, throwing his fists in the air triumphantly in the biggest show of emotion she’d ever seen from him.

“Patience,” Hortensius cautioned, though he couldn’t hide the excitement in his eyes. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we can call this a success. More tests to run.”

Lucilla opened her mouth to congratulate them when a chorus of alarmed shouts rose from the crowd. Her head snapped around just in time to see the wicker basket erupt into flames, fire clawing ravenously up the side.

“No!” Hortensius cried.

Before their horrified eyes, the fire spread with terrifying speed, engulfing the basket and ropes in a matter of seconds. The balloon overhead jerked violently as the basket came apart, no longer able to hold the burner’s weight. Gaping holes tore through the fabric, flames shooting through the punctures.

Hortensius and Sorantius shouted, scrambling for buckets of water kept on hand should a fire break out, waving over assistants and even onlookers to help. It was too late. With a groan of rending fabric, the balloon plummeted earthward, trailing smoke and flickering scraps of burning cloth. The envelope hit the ground with a heavy whump, its fire-blackened scraps scattered across the grass.

Lucilla tried to rush forward, only to be stopped by her guards, who grabbed her by the arms, holding her back. She could only stand helplessly and watch as a soot-streaked Hortensius desperately splashed water on the smoldering wreckage. The green field was quickly turning muddy as more and more water was applied, although the fire had been all but quenched at this point.

The danger passed, and she finally managed to free herself and rush over to her friend, who stood helplessly among the wreckage.

“Are you all right?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice hollow with shock and dismay. “I just don’t understand how it could have failed so badly.”

She watched as he moved slowly among the charred remains of the balloon, sifting through the debris with an expression of profound sadness. Here and there, he paused, lifting a fragment to examine it more closely before letting it fall from his soot-stained fingers. After several long minutes, he bent down and retrieved a twisted lump of metal and melted wicker; all that remained of the burner and its basket mounting.

“The basket and burner shouldn’t have ignited like that,” he murmured. “The flames were not even touching them directly …”

He trailed off, brows furrowing pensively. At last, the old man looked up, his trademark curiosity returning.

“The casing overheated,” he said, looking over the thin, twisted metal. “With the gauge, I didn’t think it would, I thought that the heat would dissipate before it got that hot. Maybe it was the flume, compressing and directing the heat. The restricted airflow might have allowed it to heat more. I don’t know. Either way, clearly the metal was too hot to hold anything flammable, which is a problem.”

“Can it be prevented from recurring?” Lucilla asked gently.

Before either Hortensius or Sorantius could answer, Sophus’s voice echoed in her ear. Or maybe it was as they answered. It was hard to concentrate on multiple voices and streams of conversation as Sophus spoke, its voice and the words of the people around her overlapping and clashing.

“Empress, I may have a solution,” Sophus said calmly, its voice almost causing her to jump. “Creating a porcelain enamel to coat the steel casing may provide sufficient insulation. The casing would still be dangerously hot, but should no longer ignite the balloon’s components.”

Lucilla nodded absently, waiting while Hortensius finished talking about restarting the project.

“What would we need for that?” she said, hoping Sophus picked up that the question was directed more towards it than the inventor.

“The enamel and porcelain require kaolinite and other clays, along with quartz, feldspar, and borax,” the AI rattled off, its voice clashing with Hortensius who was answering the same question, although as it related to the burner. “The materials are abundant and should be available on the islands controlled by the Empire but require processing to produce both porcelain and enamel. I can provide specifications.”

“I believe I have a solution to your problem,” she said, cutting Hortensius off mid-sentence.

“Really?” he stopped, his eyes narrowing.

After a moment, he gave a small nod of understanding. He had probably reviewed their conversation and realized that she hadn’t been listening to him at all. He’d already made comments that he knew she was getting these plans from Ky in a way he couldn’t understand, so this would just be another piece added to that puzzle.

Sorantius, who hadn’t seemed to catch on, was more surprised, giving her and then Hortensius a curious glance.

“What did you have in mind, Your Majesty?” Sorantius asked.

“I remember seeing something in Ky’s notes called porcelain enamel. I have to double-check, but I believe it can coat the steel casing and prevent it from igniting the balloon’s components. It will still get very hot, but it won’t be enough to catch the basket or ropes on fire.”

“That sounds promising,” Hortensius said, overriding Sorantius, who seemed inclined to ask more questions about how she knew about it. “As disheartening as this failure is, I’m always pleased to take the opportunity to learn something new.”

Lucilla squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I have every faith in both of you. Consider this but a temporary setback on the path to success.”

The old inventor patted her hand gratefully before turning to examine the wreckage with renewed interest. Sorantius joined him, and the two were soon muttering theories and making plans.