The Sands of Saturn - Chapter 14

Londinium

Carus made his final round between the three warehouses his men were allocated between, his impatience growing, carrying a crate that he’d been moving from warehouse to warehouse, giving him an excuse to check on his men. The last of the men he had been expecting had shown up two days ago, which should have meant they were ready to launch the assault. And yet, there had been no word from the consul or anyone else since the last soldier came through.

The senior legionnaire had known they were the last group to come through and passed that word to Carus that he had all the soldiers he was going to get. Carus understood not sending a note with instructions on what would happen next. It wasn’t worth taking the risk of the soldier carrying that information being caught, so he was glad the consul hadn’t made that mistake. He knew Ky had something up his sleeve to let him know what to do next, but he had no idea what that would be, he just wished it would happen soon.

He was almost to the warehouse close to the docks when Marius showed up looking … puzzled.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, since the fishing boat captain was heading directly towards him, with that strange look on his face.

“I … something happened on my boat.”

“What? Were one of the guards …”

“No, nothing like that. There was a voice, or something, coming from the ship. I was the only one on board and I checked everywhere but couldn’t find anyone. It almost sounded like it was coming from below, but there wasn’t anything in the hold and the water line was clear.”

“It could have been someone hiding underwater.”

“I don’t think so. The voice wasn’t … human. It was like a demon, or something, was speaking, and it was saying your name.”

“Show me,” Carus said, already walking toward the dock, forcing the captain to catch up.

Once at the boat, the captain refused to go on board. He stayed at the end of the dock, as far from his boat as he could get while still being able to see it, while Carus continued on. Nothing looked amiss at first glance, although he thought he could occasionally hear a slight hum in between the sounds of water lapping against the hull.

Giving one last pass over the deck, Carus headed into the hold beneath where the rowers sat and where the soldiers had stored their armor during the trip into the city. As soon as he was below deck, cutting some of the sounds of water, he could hear the hum, which sounded like it had gotten louder.

“Hello,” he said out loud when nothing or no one jumped out at him.

After a beat, there was movement at the end of the hold, coming out from behind some barrels. He recognized it. It was the small disk with a glowing circle underneath that reflected off the floor. It was thin, almost like a plate. He’d watched the consul throw it in the air several times, although neither he or his fellow lictore had asked what it was. He’d just assumed it was one of Ky’s magical tools, like the weapon he carried that melted stone.

“Kaeso Vedius Carus. Do not be alarmed. I have a message from the consul.”

“Are you alive?”

It probably wasn’t important and any message, delivered at this moment, was probably about the upcoming attack and important, but he couldn’t help it. The voice came from the device but seemed to resonate from all around it.

“That is a difficult question, but the device in front of you is just a tool that I am speaking through. It has no communication receiver, so the consul isn’t able to speak to you directly. I was able to adapt the telemetry system to interface with the onboard broadcast speaker normally used for playing recorded messages to speak with you.”

None of those words meant anything to Carus, but he got the gist. The thing said he wasn’t in this disc, and it was just a tool, which he understood, at least. Something, although not the consul, was speaking through this thing and could apparently hear him, although the metallic voice was like nothing he’d ever experienced, sending chills down his spine.

“You have a message from the consul?”

“The city defenders have settled into a routine. Although the men on the north wall rotate out for meals to keep the wall fully manned, the other walls, including the west gate, are undermanned enough that for meals, they have to take men away from the gate to eat. They also have no kitchen facilities near the gate, except for a house commandeered nearby for their use. Although officers go to that house for meals, the conscripted soldiers must walk around to the center of the north wall to where the other conscripted soldiers are forced to take their meals. When they do this, the force at and near the west gate falls to approximately two-dozen soldiers. They are almost entirely conscripts, poorly trained and likely to flee at the sight of trained soldiers.”

“So the consul wants us to attack the west gate?”

“Correct. The north wall is a more defensible position, the assault of which would lead to extensive casualties. The consul has been staging the lines to make it appear as if the attack will come against the north wall, which the Carthaginians seem to believe, as they have been shifting their better-trained soldiers almost entirely there, weakening the other walls and leaving mostly conscripts and junior officers to defend them. The consul believes this will be a less costly target for our attack. His orders are for you to take your men at the appointed time, march quickly up the main thoroughfare and assault the gate, raising it and forming a defensive perimeter to ensure it remains clear long enough for the troops he has massing on the west side to cross the ground and attack the city.”

“How will I know it’s mealtime?”

“This drone has to return to recharge, but the consul will send it back to the largest warehouse where you normally sleep. Using the telemetry circuits like this puts more power through the system than it is rated for and shortens its lifespan, so there will be no audio confirmation. Instead, look to the north rafter, which is blocked off from view except at the extreme south end of the building. I will flash the guide light three times in quick succession, which is the signal that it will be time to march out. Have your men armored by first light, so they are prepared. It is critical you move quickly up the main thoroughfare and get to the gate before they can get troops to you, as it is unlikely you will make it the entire way before someone raises the alarm. They will not be able to form full phalanxes in the limited space of the streets around the gate, which should give your men an advantage.”

“I understand, and I’ll be watching.”

***

Ériunia, Northern Connacht

It took the better part of a day to round up the soldiers and get the wounded on wagons back to the temporary fort his men had built on the coast, where his messengers could cross back to Britannia and they could receive supplies. Now that he was completely out of Ulaid territory, he had to use a significant portion of his cavalry to secure his supply lines, which was going to deprive him of their use in the next battle, but there wasn’t much choice in the matter. One of Ky’s early pronouncements was that they not strip the countryside bare as they marched through, instead paying for what they needed as they went.

Velius understood the concept. They were trying to free these areas and they needed the locals to support them, joining the ranks as soldiers or, at a minimum, providing intel on the Carthaginian movements. It would be hard to convince people to switch allegiances if you were taking everything they needed to survive. So far, it had been working, but it did make their foraging significantly harder and increased the importance of the supply lines.

They were finally on the move again, or had been until they stopped to dig out temporary headquarters, a precaution he had his men take every night when in hostile territory. It ate up a significant amount of time and the men grumbled every evening when they stacked shields and picked up shovels, but he’d seen what happened to legions that failed to protect themselves. It also allowed a small force to man the temporary barricades, letting the bulk of the men sleep through the night, which meant he had a better-rested force each morning for sustained marches and, more importantly, fighting.

He had just finished riding the fortifications that enclosed the three legions when a commotion near the temporary front gate drew his attention. The guards didn’t sound the alarm, and as he rode closer he could see the banners of the Ulaid and the standards of their king, and sighed. Although they’d crushed the leading Carthaginian army, they still had a lot of work ahead of them to clear the island of hostiles. Most of the Carthaginian allies still had fully intact armies and the Carthaginians still had a fair amount of troops themselves, all of which had to be dealt with before Velius could take his army home. True, none of them could match the size of the last two armies sent against Rome, but they still outnumbered his three legions.

He had better equipment and better tactics, but that didn’t make them invulnerable. Rushing in like they were unbeatable was a good way to get routed, and he had a bad feeling that was what his new allies were going to push for. Being a legate was as much about politics as it was fighting, especially in the Roman military prior to Ky’s reforms. Politicians, even kings and emperors, always wanted things faster, so they could show their success. They often had little patience for war by strategy and movement, wanting only battles and victory. If he could achieve a victory by maneuvering his men into positions that forced the enemy into surrendering without losing a man; he’d take that over a battle, any day.

Still, politics were what they were, and he had to keep relations with their new allies on a good footing. Ky’s ultimate goal was to bring the Ulaid into the alliance, adding their manpower and natural resources to the Empire, hopefully giving them a strong enough base to stop fighting defensively and take the war to the Carthaginians. That meant Prime Legate Amulius Tettius Velius had to play nice.

“Your majesty,” Velius said, as he pulled up in front of the procession. “Welcome to our camp. I’m sorry about the lack of a proper reception. Had we known you were coming …”

He spoke slowly, the language of the Ulaid finding its way into his mouth with some difficulty. Although it was very similar to the language spoken by the Caledonians, which he was still working hard to learn and was far from being fluent in, there were enough differences that he was finding it difficult to learn.

“Nonsense,” the king said, interrupting him, sounding a lot more convivial than he did the last time Velius stood in front of him. “I just wanted to see the men that won such a great victory. You told me you would defeat our enemies and end the threat to my people, and you did that in a spectacular fashion. If my observers with your army are correct, you absolutely crushed the rebels and have chased all of them off of Ulaid land.”

The Ulaid who’d traveled with his legions and had come to see their king were smiling ear to ear at their king’s praise, in spite of only acting as observers and ‘advisors’ and not participating in the battle at all. His men, or at least those within earshot, looked on stoically, not sharing in the revelry. They were veterans of the Battle of Devnum and the Battle of the Venonis, which wasn’t accurate since they had been almost a day’s ride from the city of Venonis, but was what the soldiers had started calling the engagement which had ended up clearing the Carthaginians from all of south Britannia with the exception of Londinium.

These men knew that they weren’t done by a long stretch, and the hard work of taking the cities and capitals of the Carthaginian allies still lay ahead of them. Although he was sure the consul would find a way to take Londinium without a great loss of life, for mere mortals the siege and sacking of a city was a costly business, and there were several major settlements, all of which had fortified keeps, that had to be taken before they could say the island was truly pacified. Many of these men would die before the campaign was done, which meant they’d miss the celebration.

“If you will follow me to my tent, I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can,” he said to the king, before turning to one of the aides. “Find Llassar and have him meet us.”

Although Velius was pretty sure the king didn’t speak Latin, he must have heard him say Llassar’s name, which meant they’d have an interpreter, which is probably why he didn’t continue the conversation as they rode through the camp, soldiers beginning to gather along the main avenue to see what the commotion was about.

Either the messenger found Llassar easily or the Caledonian had seen the procession and guessed where they were headed, because he beat Velius, the king and his entourage to the tent.

“Welcome to our camp,” Llassar said as Velius led the king into the tent. “I take it news of the victory already made it back to Emain Macha.”

“It has. As I said to Velius, when you promised to take care of the rebels, I didn’t expect success this soon.”

“It was a good victory, but we still have a ways to go,” Llassar said, noticing the frown on Velius’s face as he translated Conchobar’s statement. “It is unlikely they will meet us in the field head-on like that again.”

“Which is why I am here. Although I did want to see the men who won this great victory, it isn’t the only reason for my visit. Knowing that you have more fighting ahead of you and that you can deliver the victories you promised, I wanted to make sure you had our entire support and my people were playing their part in freeing our land. In this vein, I have begun recruiting more soldiers for the effort. Now that we have the first shipment of the weapons you promised, we are prepared to take our place in the vanguard of your army, showing our enemies what it means to come for the Ulaid.”

“I am happy to hear about the support and that our weapons shipment arrived on time. I think that … uhh … perhaps …,” Velius said looking at Llassar, his brow furrowing as he tried to compose his thoughts and find a way to say what he wanted to say without creating a diplomatic incident.

Llassar, apparently, had different ideas. Although he spoke in the Ulaid dialect of Celtic, Velius was able to follow along. He’d always found understanding easier than speaking, and wished he spoke the language well enough to participate. Not that he didn’t trust Llassar, considering the work he’d done so far for the empire, but the Caledonian tended to be less diplomatic than he should be at times. And this seemed to be exactly one of those times.

“What the legate is trying to say is he doesn’t trust your men to lead the attack, considering their previous performance.”

“Llassar,” Velius said warningly.

“What do you mean?” Conchobar said, his smile fading.

“I mean, in every engagement, your men were defeated. Badly. It wasn’t just the weapons. Your enemies here have roughly the same quality of weapons as your men, but were able to beat them in several engagements, even before the Carthaginian soldiers arrived. All it took was numerical superiority.”

“That is how war is,” Conchobar said, sounding equally confused and annoyed. “The army with the most troops wins. Yes, you won a victory here, but you had about the same number of soldiers, which is why the better equipment made a difference. With our men, we will outnumber each of the other kingdoms’ armies, which will give us victory.”

“Unless they bring their armies together,” Velius said, although Llassar ignored him, continuing on his own point.

“Do you know that the Romans beat a Carthaginian army four times their size just a few months ago? Not only defeated it, but destroyed it, killing tens of thousands of men and capturing many times that number. You haven’t seen them in action, I have. I fought them as their enemy and I fought with them as their ally, and I can tell you their organization and discipline is what makes them such an unstoppable force. Before we joined together to form our new empire, I thought the same way as you. Warriors fought combat as individuals, each victory a glory to their ancestors, showing their strength and ability. I thought, if we ever managed to get enough people together to face the Romans, who fought as cowards behind their shields, we’d show them what we could do. Now … I think we would have been slaughtered.”

“So you don’t think we’d win against the Connacht, the Laigin, or the Ivernis? We have fought them off before and for generations we’ve been the power on Ériu.”

“One, they are being supplied weapons by the Carthaginians. Maybe not quite as fine as the Roman’s … or I should say ours, since we are now countrymen, new steel, but still better than what they had before, making the difference between you a lot less. And two, before you were fighting them one at a time, and they were fighting each other. Now, every kingdom left on this island has rallied together against you. You are still outnumbered, unless you can somehow defeat each army individually, with the rest waiting for you to finish with their allies before they attack. You will also have casualties in each fight, whittling down your forces. Now look at what the Britannic legions achieved. A fraction of the wounded you would have had in a similar victory. The reason for that isn’t material, it’s training.”

“So what are you saying, you don’t want our men? I thought you wanted us to join this alliance, so you could add our manpower to your own. Now our men are too poor quality to be worth fighting with.”

“No,” Velious said, beating Llassar to the response, although sticking with Latin, forcing the Caledonian to translate again, and hopefully keeping the Ulaid king from becoming so insulted he kicked them off his island. “We definitely want you as part of our alliance and need your warriors to join our legions if we are to have hope of taking the fight to the Carthaginians and ensuring they never invade either of our islands again. But, we need to be able to integrate your men into our units, instead of being two separate forces fighting in the same direction. We have experience working with warriors such as yours in their own units, but under our command and working towards our objectives, so that is an option. Ideally, we’d like to begin training some of your men to integrate them into our legions directly. If you look at some of the forces here, you’ll see that, although they wear the same uniforms and fight in the same way, they are a mixture of Romans and Caledonians. True, there are more Romans than Caledonains, but that is because our alliance is new, and it takes time to train men to fight in our system.”

“You let your men fight like this, instead of as true warriors?” Conchobar asked Llassar.

“Those who want to. I know it seems like they’ve surrendered their honor and lost all chance at personal glory, but I’ve fought against them and I can tell you they are difficult to defeat. We never managed anything beyond hit and run against scattered forces. Most of our men felt like you, and fight in their own units, and have plenty of chances for glory, with the added benefit of winning more than we lose. Ultimately, I think your and my way of waging war is a thing of the past. If you want to win, you’ll listen to them.”

Conchobar thought for several moments, then shrugged and said, “I’ll think about it. We still have to find men who are able to fight.”

After Llassar translated, Velius said, “We look forward to working with your men and appreciate any that choose to fight with us.”

Kings do not, as a rule, like having their commands ignored or turned down, and Conchobar was no exception. Velius could see the man visibly rally as he pulled himself straight to make his next pronouncement, which the legate knew he would need to find some way to accept, allowing Conchobar a way to regain some of his monarchial dignity.

“My son has accompanied me on this journey. He has recently come of age and has yet to find glory in combat. This war against my kingdom is a war against my household and it is fitting that a member of my house have blood in this fight. I am going to leave him with you, so that he can gain experience in battle and lead my people to victory.”

Velius almost wished he’d agreed to the first command, so he could argue against this one. Allowing a unit of locals, most of whom would be farmers and laborers at this point, would have at least given him people who’d more or less follow orders. A prince, however, was much less likely to listen to anyone. He didn’t know Conchobar, so he didn’t know how he raised his son, but he’d seen men like Caesius, who thought they knew everything simply because of their birth. Even before his treason, Caesius was a petulant, demanding fool who thought he knew more than anyone around him. That was the last thing Velius needed to deal with right now, and also something he had to accept in the name of diplomacy.

“We’d, of course, welcome your son,” Velius said, and then hesitated. “As with your men, we ask that he understands he is under my command while he travels with the legions.”

“Of course,” the king said, thankfully not sounding offended. “I want you to show him how your people fight and hopefully give him a chance to win some glory of his own, as long as his personal guard accompanies him.”

“We welcome him and his men,” Velius said.

That could have gone worse. Now he just had to deal with a princeling, keep him from getting himself killed, and let him find glory, all while fighting the Carthaginians and their local allies.