The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 22

Hispania, North of the Pyrenees

The Carthaginian encampment blanketed the hill’s base, tents and men sprawling as far as the eye could see. At the center of this makeshift city sat the abandoned Roman fort, looming over the Carthaginians from atop the small rise.

The men cheered Tabnit as he rode through the camp, which was still being assembled. Certainly, they were happy to not have the fight everyone had been expecting and seemed to attribute their painless taking of the fort to their general’s brilliance. Tabnit was much less pleased. He’d wanted a fight and finding the fort empty had been more than just a disappointment. It was a sign that his strategy wasn’t working as he’d hoped.

Nabalsa and Hasdrubal, his two most senior officers, were both already at the fort’s entrance, waiting for him. They picked up on Tabnit’s expression, where the soldiers had not, turning serious when they saw the look on his face.

“Did we at least make contact?”

“No, General. They pulled back rapidly well before our approach, their last men leaving the fort over an hour before any of our men got here.”

“Were they running? Throwing supplies behind them to lighten their load?” Tabnit asked, his voice so flat that it had become threatening in its lack of emotion.

“No, Your Excellency.”

“Then how did your men not catch them? An hour? That should not have been enough of a lead to stop you from catching them.”

“The scouts attempted to, but their thunder weapons cut down any who got within range. My men would have had to run for hours to make contact, while the Romans walked. They’d be too exhausted to fight once they did catch up,” Hasdrubal said, defensively.

“Then they should have run,” Tabnit said, his voice hard. “Instead, you set up camp around a useless, empty building. We weren’t trying to take their fort; our goal was to kill their soldiers before they could join up with any others. Instead, you let them escape and live to fight another day.”

Hasdrubal didn’t respond, knowing there was no good way to answer. Tabnit knew his anger was somewhat displaced. He’d seen the Romans’ weapons in action. They didn’t seem to require the physical effort that bows or swords did, which meant their soldiers were not going to lose effectiveness as they marched, while his men would indeed be too tired to fight well. None of that lessened his anger, however.

“It’s worse than that,” Nabalsa, whose command had been further behind and therefore not expected to keep the Romans in place. “All of their thunder weapons are gone from this place, even the largest ones that must be very heavy, and all of their fire powder. What supplies were left behind are fairly mundane. None of their more advanced weapons or items are here.”

“How?” Hasdrubal pleaded. “How could they have gotten them all out? The Romans use entire teams of horses to move them. You expect me to believe they saw our forces approaching, pulled all of their cannons off the walls, loaded all their fire powder on to wagons, and got out while our men were still an hour away from their fort?”

“I’m just reporting what we found to the General,” Nabalsa said with a slight smirk.

Tabnit, however, looked thoughtful.

“Unless they started removing everything before we saw them. After we came across the first fort, allowing the Romans in this fort to flee. No doubt they gave warning, assuming we’d try to attack the next fort in line, and prepared for the retreat before we marched away from the previous fort. Which means they’re already arriving at the next fort and are pulling their thunder weapons off the walls, preparing to remove them. At this rate, we will capture and kill no Romans. Capture none of their weapons as required by the emperor. Nothing.”

Tabnit looked around the fort again, his annoyance growing. After the victory destroying the Roman port, nothing else had gone their way. The Roman legion behind the port walls had escaped. The Romans at the first fort had escaped. And now this.

“We need to quicken our pace. I want us hitting those forts before they have a chance to escape. They’re hauling weapons and supplies, in addition to moving their men. Get your men moving now, on the double march. We’ve already tarried too long here and if that fort is empty, don’t stop. Continue on to the next one. You can leave a detachment behind to guard the fort, but I don’t want you to slow down.”

Nabalsa frowned.

“But, sir, at that rate, we cannot properly scout ahead. The Romans could lay a trap or escape to the north, to join their armies there. We could lose them altogether. We’ll be moving blindly.”

“That’s a danger I’m willing to accept. I don’t think they’ll go north. They’ll want to collect all of their garrisons first. Even if I’m wrong and they do turn north, they’ll be forced to abandon those garrisons, and we can destroy them, but only if we move fast enough. Even if we don’t catch them, they’ll at least have to abandon their weapons, which we can collect. Then we’ll be able to learn the secrets of them. There are so many to understand. But only if we move fast enough to get them.”

Waving his hand, as if swatting the suggestion away, Tabnit continued, “I’ve made my decision. The armies are to move as quickly as possible. Leave anything that slows them down; supplies, the sick or wounded, anything gets bypassed or left behind to catch up. The next fort is a day and a half’s foot march; I want it done in a day. If that fort is empty, I want us at the next one in twenty hours. Do you understand?”

Nabalsa opened his mouth, and Tabnit could see another objection forming. He understood their hesitation. What Tabnit was asking for was nearly impossible, moving this many men that quickly, and there were risks. But he was sure this was the right call. He still had the numeric advantage, but the battle for the port had narrowed that lead, and the Romans still had their weapons. He needed to be aggressive if they were going to keep the Romans from consolidating their forces. The vacant fort before him was proof enough of that.

“That’s an order, Commander,” he said, fixing the man’s gaze to make sure he understood.

“Yes, sir,” Nabalsa said reluctantly, saluting. “We’ll see to it at once.”

Tabnit watched his commanders hurry off, already barking orders at the soldiers to break down camp. Tabnit surveyed the crumbling ramparts one last time. This was it. The last one. There’d be no more retreats. No more empty forts.

He was going to catch the rest of this army, destroy it, and then take care of the one up north. Then he could turn his sights to their pitiful little island.

***

Devnum

“… are concerning. So far, it’s limited to a handful of officers, and the questions have been strongly hedged, without him asking anything too pointed. But she’s definitely influencing him.”

“But does it go beyond him just questioning and pushing for more responsibility, into him forwarding whatever her plans are? He’s ambitious and egotistical, but I didn’t get the impression he was this mercenary. His father made it clear he wanted Cormac to learn how to grow Ulaid as part of the Empire, so why would Cormac try to tear it apart? Does Medb have that much influence over him?”

“He’s also very naive, and Medb is very smart,” Llassar said. “His questions so far have been more about opinions on strategy, asking what they need, building relationships, and similar topics. It suggests she hasn’t pushed him to supporting her plans more fully, although I doubt she’d ever tell him what she’s actually trying to do.”

“Which is what? I get she’s trying to destabilize my rule, but to what end? She can’t believe she’s going to rule the Empire in my place?”

“No. If I had to guess, she wants her old throne back and thinks pulling the Empire down from the inside will weaken Conchobar, maybe to the point of his kingdom falling apart.”

“Cormac would never support that, I don’t care how naive he is,” Lucilla said.

“Like I said, I doubt she’ll ever tell him what she’s actually trying to do. She’ll use him to wreak havoc until she doesn’t need him anymore.”

“So we bring him in, explain it.”

“He’s smitten, and he’s young. I’ve sounded him out a few times, and he won’t believe his bride would turn on him or use him. Not without irrefutable proof.”

“Putting her in chains would be proof,” Lucilla said.

“There’s a danger he’d see that as proof of our plotting against him, trying to weaken the Ulaid or something along those lines. For him to be questioning soldiers the way he is, she’s got him well under her thumb. Arresting her now might cause him to rebel more openly. Conchobar needs us, but he still doesn’t trust us. It’s why he sent Cormac here in the first place. If his son comes to him with a story that you are trying to weaken the Ulaid’s participation in the Empire, he’s going to believe it, at least without irrefutable evidence, which we don’t have yet.”

“We’ve witnessed her pushing Vesnius into rebellious actions,” Lucilla said, annoyed. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I’ve talked to the legionary Claudius about what he saw after he reported the episode with Medb. It’s not as direct as that. She was questioning your rule, but she didn’t tell the priest to take any specific action. The priest’s prejudices wouldn’t allow it, which is why she was more circumstantial, but it makes our case against her weaker. Cormac will hear what she said, and it won’t be enough,” he said and then paused, choosing his next words carefully. “You’ve only been Empress for a short while, and the Empire is less than a year old. It’s still fragile. We’re still generations away from people thinking of themselves as Britannians instead of Romans or Caledonians or Ulaid. You still have to be careful.”

Lucilla looked out the small window, recently fitted with the new glass that was made by one of the smaller factories, letting light into the room. It wasn’t perfect. Not like the glass Ky had described. It wasn’t fully translucent like the glass her people had been making, but there were still wavy lines in it, causing the light to spread out, almost move on its own. She hesitated because he was right. It was hard to face how easily her father’s Empire, her Empire, could fall apart. That, in spite of everything she and Ky had done, they were still one rabble-rouser away from losing it all.

Sighing, she looked back at the Caledonian and said, “All right, we’ll proceed carefully until we have enough evidence. I want Cormac under close surveillance, though. Medb can cause trouble, but the Ulaid in the city look up to Cormac as their leader. If he starts taking active measures against us, things could escalate quickly. If it seems like he’s going to do something drastic, or if he starts causing active problems, we must step in.”

“I’ll speak to Ramirus and Faenius. Medb’s not being as subtle as she thinks she is. We’ll find something,” he said, standing up, softly groaning as he did.

“Actually, while you’re here, I’d like your opinion on something else.”

She and Llassar hadn’t worked that closely together. At first, Ky had most of the interaction with the Caledonian, and then he’d been in Ériu, emptying it of Carthaginians. Since returning, nearly all of his time had been spent with Cormac, instructing the young prince. But she was hesitant to reach out to Ky at this point, worried that she’d distract him if he was doing something dangerous, and since Ky trusted Llassar’s opinion, she would too.

“I’m happy to serve,” he said.

From most of her subjects, courtiers, and leaders she normally dealt with, that would just have been the language of etiquette, said without being thought about. For Llassar, it was said almost with a wink, poking at the etiquette everyone else relied on.

“I received a messenger from Admiral Valdar this morning. He’s requesting two to four centuries to capture a port he’s blockading. Specifically, a port right at the mouth of the Middle Sea, separating it from Oceanus, that the Carthaginians were using to control access to it. He’s currently blockading it, but he points out that the port will cause issues with any supplies moving in and out of the Middle Sea once he continues further into Carthaginian waters. Controlling it will also allow us to keep them from sending any other ships through the Middle Sea. They still have their ports on the western shores of Africa, but we’ll have an easier time controlling those than all of the Middle Sea.”

“I assume there’s a reason not to send them,” Llassar said, but from the way he said it, he probably already guessed what the problem was.

“Yes. We’ve been sending men to the continent as they’ve completed training, and we currently have just over two centuries which were intended for Port Invictus until it fell. We were waiting to hear from the Consul what his next move would be now that the port has fallen, and where the new troops would best be utilized. I know he sent Bomilcar south with a legion to join with Auspex, and he himself is taking two legions toward the Carthaginian Middle Sea port, which means he’ll have need for reinforcements soon. Because we’ve been sending men as soon as they’re trained, it will be a month or two until we have enough to send another century. All of which is to say, if we send these men to Valdar, the armies on the continent will see no reinforcement for months, and their losses already have them weakened as it is.”

“I see,” Llassar said, cupping his chin in one hand, stroking his salt and pepper beard. “The Carthaginians are getting reinforcements as well, right? One of our biggest issues has always been the disparity of manpower, and up until now, that gap has been closed by the Consul’s technological advancements. With their addition of gunpowder, they’ve taken away some of that advantage. Unless the Consul has some new weapon he hasn’t unveiled that’s ready to go, the best option is to take away some of their advantages. Which means cutting their reinforcements. That gives Valdar’s fleet the priority, especially when you’re only talking about two hundred men. That won’t turn the tide for the Consul, but if Valdar can use them to close their ports down, it will.”

Lucilla was a little stunned. That was, quite possibly, the most she’d ever heard Llassar say at one time. He was also right.

“You’re right,” she said, echoing her own thoughts. “Your reasoning is sound. I think I knew that, and I was letting my own personal concerns get in the way. I’ll dispatch the soldiers today. I appreciate your counsel.”

“I’m happy to serve,” he said, giving a slight bow.

Again, she wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, his flat measured tone was hard to read.

“Just make sure Cormac or Medb don’t give us any surprises.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, bowing again.

Now she just had to break the news to Ky.

***

Carthage

The emperor sat on his throne, clad in imperial purple and gold, not bothering to hide the annoyance on his face. All day, a stream of officials and ministers had come before him with bad news. Ports blockaded, ships sunk, and their trade at a standstill, causing shortages in Carthage for the first time in his reign. Not for him, of course, but the already meager living the average person subsisted on had begun to drop to levels that lowered their productivity. Which meant further shortages. Shortages they could not afford, not in the middle of a war.

“Rise, Tariq, and report,” he commanded to the latest arrival.

The governor of Iudæa stood, keeping his gaze lowered respectfully. “Your Majesty, the rebellion in my province has been suppressed and the rebel leaders executed as you commanded. The monotheists have mostly scattered, especially after we burned the last of the temples we allowed them.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, but if you’ve managed to finally perform your duties, then why have you traveled all this way?” the emperor demanded.

“We are short on soldiers, Exalted One,” Tariq said nervously. “With so many men requested to reinforce the armies on the continent, there are not enough men to properly garrison the province. We’re already seeing resistance from groups in the …”

Imilcar raised a hand, cutting the governor’s words off. “Do not think to make your failures my concern. You were charged with governing, Tariq, stamping out all resistance to my rule, and you have sufficient resources to do so. If you cannot perform this task with the forces allotted to you, I shall find a governor who can.”

The governor’s expression shifted, and for a moment it seemed like he might continue to argue. An unheard-of response that would almost certainly get him executed.

He managed to regain control of himself, at least, and instead said, “It shall be done, Your Majesty.”

“See that it is,” rumbled the emperor. “You are dismissed.”

Tariq bowed and hurried from the throne room as Imilcar watched, his irritation growing. Another disappointment among many. He was surrounded by incompetence and ineptitude, and it was causing his empire to falter. The next fool that came before him was going to feel his disappointment, of that Imilcar was certain.

The doors opened again, admitting the next petitioner, who gave the emperor pause. Instead of one of the nobleman or a court official that were normally admitted, it was a young messenger, really just a boy, walking toward the dais nervously. Imilcar was intrigued by the novelty of it, if nothing else. Messengers were normally stopped by a courtier, who’d take the message and relay it.

The boy approached, eyes downcast, and fell to one knee.

“Rise,” Imilcar commanded, sitting forward in his seat.

The boy stood, still not meeting the emperor’s gaze, and said, “I bring a message from General Tabnit in Hispania, Your Majesty.”

His voice quaked as he held up a scroll. An attendant moved to take the scroll from the boy, but Imilcar waved him away.

“Tell me what it says,” he commanded.

The boy gulped visibly and opened the scroll, breaking the seal. His voice was shaky when he started, “General Tabnit reports a great victory against the Romans in Hispania, Your Majesty. He assaulted the port the Romans built on the coast, where he says the trenches and gunpowder did exactly as the advisors you sent said they would. He was able to breach the walls of the port and kill the defenders with acceptable losses. The port was destroyed by the Romans to prevent the capture of their weapons, and everyone inside was killed. The survivors were forced to retreat north of the mountains, and his army is in pursuit.”

The boy lowered his eyes again quickly, feeling the intensity of the emperor’s attention upon him. The way the boy spoke, Imilcar had the impression it wasn’t a recitation of the message he’d been sent to deliver.

“You were there with the army, weren’t you, boy?” the emperor asked, leaning further forward.

“Y…yes, Your Majesty,” the boy stammered. “I was assigned to the general as a runner and messenger because I can read.”

“And did you see this victory?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Describe it to me.”

The boy swallowed again, looking side to side as if he wanted an escape. It was understandable. The entire room was designed to make generals and nobles nervous, aware of their insufficiency. It would undoubtedly be worse for such a young man.

“The catapults … they launched the clay jars, which burst into fire as they hit the wall. One of them hit near the top of the wall, near one of the Roman thunder weapons, and a massive fire erupted, tearing a hole in the wall. The general, he ordered that more catapults target that area. I … I took that message to one of the crews. With every hit, the hole widened until an entire section of the wall collapsed. Our army charged in, and then it was like the world itself shook. A massive eruption of fire went high into the sky. It was so loud, my ears hurt. It was like the underworld cracked open and reached up. I think we lost many men, the ones closest to the walls, but I don’t know. I was knocked down by it. When I got up, smoke was rising into the sky, and our men were shouting and cheering.”

“Interesting,” he said. “Very interesting. You can go. Return to the army with my congratulations to the general.”

The boy scrambled backward, clearly relieved that he’d been dismissed. The emperor put him out of his mind and turned to one of the aides standing silently along the far wall.

“Send ships and a messenger at once to our contact in the East,” he barked. “He’s to open talks with the Eastern Emperor to obtain more gunpowder and whatever other weapons the Far Eastern Kingdom possesses, along with a request for any additional experts they are willing to send to show us the best way to use these weapons. He’s to move quickly, with all haste, and is authorized to make any concession short of giving away provinces.”

The aide bowed. “It will be done, Exalted One.”

As the aide hurried from the room, Imilcar stroked his beard thoughtfully, the folds of his neck moving with each caress. A victory, at last. With more weapons, he could crush the Romans for good and ensure no one else dared to challenge his power again. He had to have more. He’d strip the treasury bare if it meant getting the tools they needed.

The emperor clapped twice, the signal for the next petitioner seeking an audience to enter. The doors swung wide once more, admitting the next person who’d come to beg for some scrap or forgiveness. Imilcar barely heard them. In his head, he was dreaming of their next victory.