The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 11

“Come,” Lucilla said at the knock on the door to her quarters.

She’d been up all night writing out the rubber process details for Sorantius, and planned to get a late start on the day, after getting a few hours sleep. It occurred to her somewhere near dawn that Ky must have been doing this all those times he was locked in his quarters at night. She knew he’d told her that he could go much longer without sleep than anyone in this time, because of the alterations made to his body, which she still didn’t really understand. It wasn’t until she tried to do the same thing and felt the crushing weight of exhaustion that she really appreciated how well he continued to operate after spending so many nights with little sleep.

She was looking forward to at least a short nap, but she had one other thing she needed to attend to before she could rest. Thankfully, the person she needed to complete her last responsibility had finally arrived. The door opened as one of her guards, Rhys, she thought his name was, escorted Ramirus in.

“You sent for me, Your Majesty,” the spymaster said, bowing low.

Lucilla waved a hand, “Please Ramirus, you were my father’s longest serving advisor and have known me since before I could walk. Formalities aren’t needed between us.”

“Then, as an old family friend, might I mention how dreadful you look?” he said, an expression of concern on his face.

“Just the kind of thing a lady likes to hear in the morning.”

“I … You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, a bit flustered. “You look very tired. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday, and I know. I plan on getting some rest as soon as we’re done here. I had some things I needed to attend to that took longer than expected.”

“Well, if I’m the one delaying you from proper sleep, why don’t we get started so we can finish quickly?”

She couldn’t stop the small smile that escaped. She teased him, but she knew of all of her advisors, he cared for her the most. He was closer to a cherished uncle than a simple advisor, really.

“Please,” she said, feeling more tired by the minute. “I wouldn’t have pushed so hard, but this is very important. I’m sure your people have already told you that our shipment of flowers from Asia arrived, the ones Ky requested.”

“They have,” he said, not bothering to deny he had people watching everything, both enemies and friends.

She knew he was watching her for sure, and not just through young Gaius. She suspected several of her household staff were placed there as an additional line of defense, and to keep their master informed on what was happening in the palace.

“We’ve officially run into a manpower problem, and this shipment will make the situation worse. Lurio tells me we are falling behind in multiple sectors and Hortensius and Sorantius have all but begged for additional labor to build new weaving and chemical facilities, and that was before the flowers arrived. We are stretched too thin, and I’m not sure how we’re going to get through this. I’ve tried to work out the problem myself, but to no avail, and was hoping you might have some insight.”

“I see,” the older man said, his angular features creasing in thought. “There is one workforce we have available but so far haven’t tapped into.”

“Where?” Lucilla said, suspiciously.

“We have those camps just south of the city full of able-bodied men. They remain able-bodied because you and Ky have dedicated a not insignificant portion of our limited supplies to keep them fed and clothed. Right now, all of those men are just sitting around, waiting for the war to end, one way or the other. They could solve our manpower crisis, or at least the worker part of it.”

“You’re talking about the prisoners of war?” Lucilla demanded.

“Yes. Right now, they are a massive drain on our already strained resources. This would at least allow us to get some of our value back for everything we’re doing to keep them fed and healthy.”

“That sounds an awful lot like the servitude Ky specifically fought to get outlawed last year,” Lucilla said, frowning. “How can we tell the landowners they must free their slaves and then we create our own?”

“It isn’t the same. I don’t doubt some of the more disgruntled landowners will try and paint it in that light, but it isn’t. For one, these people will be released to return home as soon as the war is over. Before the Consul came, they would have simply been put to death or become slaves for the rest of their lives. We already have some prisoners working on construction gangs, so it’s not unprecedented.”

“That’s different. Those men were given the chance to volunteer, and chose to do that work. The men still in the prisoner camps specifically chose not to work. Putting them to work regardless of what they want is tantamount to slavery.”

“Tough,” he said, meeting her expression without pleasure. “Empress, these men are here because they tried to destroy us. Each of those men had plans of raping and pillaging their way through this city until we Romans as a people no longer existed. I understand your compunction, but this isn’t slavery. These men are treated better than any prisoner in any war I have ever heard of. Even if we make them work, they are still living better than half the people in the known world. They’re fed, clothed, and kept safe from harm. They’ll be allowed to return home when this is over. If our legions were to lose a battle, those men not slaughtered outright would be put in chains, dragged to some gods-forsaken land, and forced to live the rest of their days in backbreaking work living on barely enough food to stay alive, until they grow old and die, or are worked to death and die. Hell, most of these men were slaves in all but name, conscripted soldiers in the Carthaginian armies, fighting under the threat of the deaths of their families back home. They are living better now, as our prisoners, than they did as part of the Carthaginian army. It’s your duty as Empress to make the hard decisions, to put your feelings aside to do what’s best for the Empire. Things are safer now and everyone is feeling less pressure, but we are still in a fight for our lives and we must use every tool in our possession. These projects are all critical and need manpower. We have that manpower and we should use it, regardless of your personal feelings, or your feelings about what your husband might think. Respectfully.”

He took a slight step back, dipping his head slightly, as his head of steam wound down. She knew her father had, at times, complained about being manhandled by Ramirus, but she hadn’t experienced how forceful he could be until today. She felt like she was nine years old again, being lectured by her tutors for breaking some aspect of protocol.

Worse, he was right. She didn’t like the idea mostly because she was worried about what she’d tell Ky when he found out she’d basically reinstated a form of slavery, but they were stretching to the point of breaking. If they didn’t find a way to reduce their manpower shortage soon, things were going to start slipping, badly.

Lucilla pursed her lips, mulling over Ramirus’s proposal.

“If we were to do this, how could we ensure we wouldn’t be creating a security nightmare for ourselves? Gathering so many hostile prisoners outside the secured camps poses risks. They could attack their guards or, worse, slip away and become brigands or commit acts of sabotage. Most of our legions are away and the Praetorians are already stretched thin as it is.”

Ramirus nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a valid concern, Your Majesty. However, measures could be enacted to mitigate such risks. I know the Praetorians are stretched thin, but they continue to recruit, especially among the Germanics and Ulaid who’ve decided to settle here in Rome. We could extend their presence to provide additional security. We might also rotate a small detachment from the new training legion to guard work details. It would slow down the training, which I’m sure the Consul would have issues with, but if we take them out a century or two at a time, after they’ve completed most of the basic combat training and put them through a one-week session to learn the basics of security and guarding, they could do the job. We hold them for a month or two and then send them back to the legions to complete their training and ship out with the next batch to go to the continent. It would slow down what reinforcements the legions get, but the troops they do receive would be trained in security and have practical experience, which could be useful.”

“You’re right, the Consul will not like that,” she said grimly. “At the same time, there will be a day when the war ends, and I imagine we will have to occupy at least the core Carthaginian territories for a time, to ensure that locals who feel allegiance to their emperor don’t try and reinstate that empire.”

She paused, staring at nothing, weighing all the options and consequences. Everything Ramirus had said was true, and they’d been left with little choice. They needed manpower if they were going to keep pushing to counter the growing Carthaginian manpower. That meant having to accept some rather unacceptable risks.

“Very well,” she finally conceded. “Begin preparations to start using prisoners, those who will not be too big of a security issue, for building projects and look at setting up at least one of the factories in Factorium, maybe several close together, in a secure area, where prisoners can work inside on routine things that do not give away the secrets of our technology. But, I want measures in place to prevent security issues or mistreatment. And once the war ends, they are to be released immediately.”

Ramirus bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll coordinate with the Praetorians about training legionnaires right away.”

“Also coordinate with Hortensius on where this new manpower can be used, and about securing the factories.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing slightly again. “I’ll see to it.”

“May the gods grant us mercy,” Lucilla whispered to herself as the spymaster left.

***

‘The streets are full today,’ Claudius thought as he and his squad of Praetorians marched through the crowded streets of Devnum on their mid-morning patrol.

He knew most of his fellow officers disliked this part of the job, pushing through the endless crowds of people and the packed market with its mixture of smells, but he actually enjoyed it. There was a feeling of excitement and optimism in the city that only grew by the day. Before the Sword had arrived and forged them into the Britannic Empire, everything had been gloomy and hopeless, since every citizen knew how close they were to being destroyed by the Carthaginians on their doorstep.

Back then, he’d been an apprentice blacksmith. He knew he’d been lucky, since most citizens had trouble finding any work outside of the legions, but he’d always hated the hot furnaces and backbreaking work. Which was probably why he found he loved talking to the people they were assigned to protect and patrolling the streets. He would take this any day over banging a hammer on metal for hours on end.

They pushed into one of the markets, which was one of the busier spots, since a better outlook for the future of the Empire didn’t inspire the cheats and pickpockets to not steal what they could, when a commotion ahead drew his attention. At one end of the market, he could hear a swell of impassioned voices, loud enough to make out above the din of noise from the market itself.

Gesturing for his men to follow, he pushed through the crowd as fast as he could until they got to an area where the crowd opened up, forming a semicircle around a makeshift stage of upturned crates, atop which stood Vesnius, the Flamen Dialis, one arm raised in the air as he spoke ardently.

“Our great city falters under foreign influences that dilute the glory of Rome and threaten our way of life!” Vesnius declared, full of zealotry. “These outsiders must be expunged before they corrupt us further, bringing damnation upon our heads!”

Part of the crowd cheered while others, most of whom Claudius would have pegged as Caledonians, Ulaid, and even a few Germanics, from their dress, were equal parts angry and worried. They were right to be worried, considering how riled up many of the Romans, who made up the bulk of the crowd watching the preacher, were.

“We must cleanse our city and rid it of the corruption of their foreign influence. Until we began treating them like equals, the northerners lived in huts, in the dirt. They have no place among us, and they’ve made no attempt to become a part of us. All they want is our wealth, and they will stop at nothing to take it. They anger the gods, and allowing these people to remain, to taint our culture, threatens to bring our gods’ wrath upon us. We must cast out these foreign vermin before they wholly corrupt our Empire!”

The crowd roared their approval, raising clenched fists. More Romans began to gather, drawn by the commotion, while most of the Caledonians and Ulaid began to slip away, rightfully fearing for their safety.

Knowing if he let this go on too long things could get out of hand, Claudius motioned for his men to remain where they were as he made his way to the preacher.

In hushed tones, Claudius said, “Pater patrum, I think it might be best if you conclude your speech and urge everyone to return home. The people are becoming agitated, and this could lead to an incident.”

Vesnius scowled and loudly proclaimed, “I am the messenger of the gods, Praetorian. I will not stop until the people have heard their decree that Rome be cleaned of the non-Romans!”

Claudius suppressed a frustrated sigh and said, “Pater, please. I do not want anyone hurt, and this kind of talk can lead to a riot, especially here in the market.”

“Then let them riot,” Vesnius spat. “We have lived under a foreign yoke long enough. Let the true citizens vent their righteous anger on the interlopers.”

Claudius suppressed another frustrated sigh as he motioned for his men to come forward. It was clear that Vesnius had no intention of ending his inflammatory speech voluntarily. The zealous priest was too caught up in his religious fervor to care about the potential consequences of his words.

As the Praetorians approached, Claudius raised his voice to address the crowd, “Citizens, for your own safety, I must insist you disperse immediately and return to your homes or places of business.”

His announcement was met with angry shouts and jeers. The people were worked into a frenzy by Vesnius’ fear-mongering rhetoric and had no desire to go anywhere. Claudius noticed more than a few fists clenched around makeshift weapons, boards, tools, even rocks picked up off the street. This situation could turn violent very quickly if he didn’t gain control.

“I will not ask again,” Claudius said firmly. “Anyone who does not clear this area immediately will be detained.”

At this, Vesnius pointed an accusing finger at Claudius, “You dare to obstruct the will of the gods, Praetorian? I am their appointed messenger, and you seek to silence me through force! The gods will have their vengeance upon you for this!”

More angry shouts rose from the crowd. A small, late winter cabbage, probably grabbed off one of the market stalls, flew through the air, narrowly missing Claudius’ head. Things were getting out of hand.

With no other options, he gave the order for his guards to forcibly disperse the mob. The Praetorians marched forward in tight formation, shields raised as they pushed back against the angry throng.

“Back! Get back!” Claudius shouted above the din.

The crowd cursed and shoved against the guards, but slowly gave ground under the inexorable advance. Vesnius scrambled down from his makeshift podium, glaring venomously at Claudius as he retreated.

“You will pay for this. If you refuse to stand for Rome, you will be treated as one of the invaders and dealt with the same,” the priest threatened as he disappeared into the mass of bodies.

The Praetorians continued forcing the mob back, detaining those who resisted, receiving angry outbursts and protests in return. Rocks and debris rained down on the guards, along with a torrent of threats and warnings, but the firm shoving with their shields combined with the arrests had the desired effect. One by one, the agitators peeled away, slinking off resentfully. Soon, only the faithful few who’d been arrested remained.

The last few holdouts were slapped in irons and dragged away, the market seemed to revert back to its previous state, as if nothing had happened. The mob was ever fickle, able to be riled up in an instant, and to forget about that outrage just as fast.

Turning to Titus, one of his subordinates, Claudius said, “Report this incident to Tribune Faenius. Make sure he knows about the things the Flamen Dialis was saying and that I had to use force to disperse the mob.”

Titus nodded, “Yes, sir, right away.”

As his men resumed their patrol, Claudius couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He’d thought he’d seen the end of this kind of scene with the death of the last of the insurgents. Of course, the fears and anger that the insurgences had spread were still there, under the surface, just waiting for someone like Vesnius to stir up, but he’d hoped no one would be stupid enough to do that again, considering the carnage and destruction the insurrection had brought.

This wasn’t quite the same, since the priest wasn’t calling for overthrowing the Empress, but it fed into the same fears and prejudices.

He just wished the Empress and her advisers could figure out a way to quell the unrest before it boiled over, because it would be people like Claudius and his men, out in the streets, who would have to deal with it when it did.