The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 9

Carthage

The city was quiet as it turned to evening. Winter in Africa was a far cry from how it was in Ériu, but even without the thickly packed snow, the pace slowed down this time of year.

Without harvests to sell, most of the markets were a far cry from the bustling centers of commerce they were in midsummer. People still came to the city to sell and trade wares, but as they neared the end of winter, most stayed home, limiting their need for food and supplies as much as possible as what they squirreled away all year dwindled.

This decrease in the daily ebb of population had the side effect of sending most of the rebels into hiding. With a smaller overall populace and fewer people on the streets, it was difficult for them to blend in as much, naturally curtailing their activity.

While this was good for the overall safety and well-being of the city, it was a temporary fix at best. Worse, when they were less active, it made any of the people she used to try and get information on them easier to find, and it was harder to keep tabs on what activity they did have.

Which was why she was on this tour of the city.

Not that she thought she was going to find something that Claudius's men missed. She more wanted to publicly remind them that she was still out here, and they were not forgotten.

A juvenile response to their lack of success, but she was running light on choices.

She was a little surprised when Claudius and a few praetorians turned out of a side street and veered toward them, matching pace.

"The tour going well?" he said casually as he waved their guards back as they continued to walk, giving them a little space for privacy.

"It is. You seem to have things well in hand."

"Only on the surface. Maintaining this level of control is costly, both in manpower and gold. The rebels may be quiet, but they haven't gone away. Just last week we lost two men to an ambush."

"Things are as they must be. I assume you are here now, however, because you have something for me?"

"I do, my lady. We've managed to examine some of the suspicious crates."

She didn't need him to elaborate on what he meant by suspicious crates. She also wasn't happy to hear this news.

"You risked alerting the smugglers? I thought I made it clear we couldn't risk spooking them before we understood the full scope of their operation."

"You did, and we did not alert them. My men have been ... strategically clumsy over the past week. A dropped crate here, a wedged container there, all in full view of the crew, who never leave their cargo unattended. Nothing that would raise suspicion beyond normal port mishaps. They only caught glimpses of the contents, but the watchers were more focused on berating the stupid worker to notice them peeking at the contents."

"Clever. And what did they see?"

"Problems. The crates contained powder, not the low-grade stuff we sell on the open market or that we've found in the hands of rebels. The same stuff used by the legions, in their original shipping pouches."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely. And that's not all. We found rifled muskets. We couldn't look to see the maker's mark, but these are only produced in Factorium and not sold. The worst, though, were several cases of the new fused artillery shells as well. The ones with the new shape."

"What?" Medb said, stopping cold, an unusual display of acknowledgement from her.

"Which is why I wanted to talk to you right away. I can't help but wonder how the Ptolemies acquired it. These aren't just a few. It was several cases packed with the weapons."

"While the Egyptian connection is clear enough, it doesn't necessarily mean the Ptolemies are the source. There are other possibilities to consider."

"What? We would have heard of raids on military depots or armories?"

"Those would not be the only places to acquire them. Equipment can be lost in combat zones, later collected and sold, or shipments might be getting skimmed during production and transport. God knows we've had enough officials inside our own government arrested for corruption by now. There are many hands involved in moving weapons from factory to frontline."

"With respect, I find it unlikely that Hortensius would allow such theft from his facilities," Claudius objected. "The man guards his innovations like a mother hen with her chicks."

"True enough," Medb conceded. "But Hortensius can't watch every worker, every cart, every warehouse. The supply chain has grown complex as production has increased."

"Which is my point, my lady. The level of coordination needed to get equipment at its source, or to put together the network to gather scavenged supplies in this quantity, is beyond a normal smuggling operation. That isn't even considering the shipping involved with it."

"I agree, which leads us to a more pressing question. Why go to such lengths? What purpose do these particular weapons serve?" she said, starting to walk again as she began to get her thoughts back into some sense of order.

"It's not for here. I think Carthage is only a waystation in whatever's happening. We've seen no evidence of rebels using the rifles or shells. Some captured insurgents had Britannian powder, yes, but nothing approaching this level of sophistication."

"Precisely. If their aim was simply arming local malcontents, there are far more practical options. Basic firearms, traditional weapons, items that wouldn't draw immediate attention."

"But a smuggling operation like this makes little sense from a pure profit perspective. The quantity is too small to be worth the risk and the quality is enough to bring unwanted eyes. There would be cheaper ways to make a coin."

"Unless what we're seeing is merely the visible portion of a much larger enterprise."

"My lady?"

"We may have only intercepted a fraction of the total shipments. Other crates could contain conventional weapons or valuable goods meant for rebel forces or black market sale, to offset their costs, and explain the funding of the rebels. As you said, the rest, this could be just a stop along their journey. Your own men report that most of these crates don't remain in Carthage. They're transferred to other vessels and shipped elsewhere. The question is where?"

"The Egyptian connection seems clear enough, but..."

"Proving it is another matter entirely." Medb's said. "Particularly given the likelihood of high-level involvement. We've already seen how corruption can infiltrate even the most trusted institutions."

"We're making progress on getting someone aboard one of these ships, and we've secured a schooner to track vessels leaving port."

"Good. As always, I appreciate that you think ahead, though I expect our quarry will take precautions against being followed."

"The captain is experienced in such matters. He'll maintain distance, use multiple vessels to relay positions. His name was on the list you gave me from Ramirus."

"Excellent." Medb's approval was genuine. "You're on the right track and doing good work. Stay on them, and hopefully they will do something soon that will finally give us more answers than questions."

"Yes, my lady."

He bowed and left quickly, the two men who'd accompanied him breaking off and following him while Medb's own guard closed ranks again to finish their tour.

Claudius was doing well, anticipating what she would have done, even when he still had questions as to why.

Now she only had to hope they finally found that break before whatever these people were doing came to fruition.

***

Factorium

Sorantius entered the main workroom of the munitions factory, the familiar wave of chemicals and soot hitting him as he did. He had been out checking on their latest shipments headed to the front, mostly ether and other medical supplies, and hoped it had been enough time for his people to make progress on setting up for the latest tests.

While he wanted to be there for the actual first run of new chemicals, his time was much too valuable to spend setting up the apparatus needed to take care of it.

Thankfully, he had trained his assistants well and they were busy meticulously cleaning glassware and setting up the specialized equipment needed for the day’s experiment. On the table, brass clamps held thick glass containers steady, including the new mercury-filled thermometer to replace the older version the consul had introduced several years previously. It was a delicate instrument that would hopefully allow them more precise control of the volatile reaction they were about to undertake.

Or at least that was what the Consul had promised.

“Where are we?” He asked as he walked behind the busily working men, who all jumped in surprise at his voice.

One of the chemists straightened, wiping his hands on a clean rag before answering. “The nitrocellulose is ready. We’ve double checked it and made sure it was a well-washed batch. We’ve also confirmed the ether-alcohol mixture is at the required ratio, three parts ether to one part alcohol, by weight.”

Sorantius picked up a glass beaker, tilting it to examine the pale liquid within. The faint, sharp smell of the mixture filled his nose as he gave a short nod.

“Good. Any problems?”

“None, sir. The mixture matches the Consul’s specifications exactly.”

Satisfied, Sorantius moved to the opposite side of the table, where a large copper basin sat atop a reinforced stand. A small valve near the bottom connected to a water pipe, while a burner rested beneath it, ready to adjust the temperature as needed. Sorantius crouched slightly, running his hand along the base of the setup, noting the heavy insulation.

“Sir,” another assistant said hesitantly behind him. “While the water has been preheated to just below the minimum range, we’re unsure if we’ll be able to maintain a constant temperature throughout the entire process.”

Sorantius straightened and gestured toward the thermometer resting on the table. He picked it up and held it between his fingers, the slim column of mercury flowing as he turned it.

“That is why the consul had us develop this. It should allow us to monitor the temperature with precision. The bath must remain between 45 and 50 degrees on the consul’s measurement scale, no higher. If the mercury rises beyond the top marker here,” he said, pointing to the etched lines on the glass. “The reaction will accelerate uncontrollably. It’s why one of you was assigned to always watch the line and alert you if it does. You can add cool water if it rises too high or increase the flame if it drops.”

“Yes, sir,” the assistant replied, nodding and checking the new device attached to the tub.

Sorantius, giving one last sweep of the table, turned back to his team and said, “Okay. Let’s begin.”

The assistants moved quickly, one uncorking a sealed jar of nitrocellulose while another brought the ether-alcohol mixture closer to the table. The first assistant began adding the nitrocellulose slowly, using a wooden scoop to transfer it into the waiting solvent. Each scoop was small, and the process was deliberate, too much at once could destabilize the reaction.

As the nitrocellulose was introduced, two other chemists began stirring the mixture with long-handled paddles, also moving slowly. Numerous accidents over the years had taught all of them the dangers of not treating these chemicals seriously.

Sorantius leaned in, watching the pale strands of nitrocellulose swirl and dissolve into the clear liquid, creating a faintly cloudy appearance. He adjusted one of his assistant’s arms, nudging it up to correct the angle of the man’s paddle, which wasn’t properly scraping the bottom of the container evenly.

“Temperature?” he called out without looking up.

“Forty-seven degrees,” the assistant with the thermometer replied.

“Good. Keep it there.”

He watched, moving around the table, as it was carefully mixed. Even though he knew it was going to happen from the Consul’s notes, it was amazing seeing the way it thickened gradually as more nitrocellulose was added. If he was adding a solid like flour or dirt into liquid, he would understand, but adding a liquid and having that reaction was another amazing thing the Consul had delivered.

“Slow your additions,” he ordered the first assistant as he saw some of the tell-tale signs the instructions had indicated. “We’re approaching the critical point.”

The assistant obeyed, reducing the size of each scoop and waiting longer between additions. The others continued to stir, sweat beading on their brows despite the cool draft seeping through the windows. Sorantius occasionally adjusted the angle of the paddles or added small splashes of solvent to ensure the viscosity remained consistent.

“Temperature?” he asked again.

“Fifty degrees,” the assistant said, glancing nervously at the thermometer. He turned the valve to release a trickle of cool water into the bath, lowering the temperature to forty-nine.

Sorantius frowned at the man, who paled slightly. The man should not have waited for him to say something to make the adjustment.

Someone he would have to keep a closer eye on in the future.

Giving the man one last forceful glare, he refocused his attention on the thickening mixture. Its consistency had shifted dramatically in the past few minutes, becoming gelatinous and opaque. He reached out with a gloved hand, touching the surface with the edge of a stirring rod. The resistance was faint, but growing.

“It’s thinner than I expected,” one of the assistants commented hesitantly, peering over the edge of the container.

“We’ve followed the instructions precisely,” Sorantius said. “Continue.”

The assistants exchanged uncertain glances but resumed their work. The mixture thickened further, the paddles meeting greater resistance with each pass. Sorantius adjusted the stirring speed once more, hoping it was right. Temperatures and measurements were one thing, but when the notes talked about rates of combination and other handling, things became less precise.

Another costly lesson learned over time.

Suddenly, the mixture began to change rapidly, solidifying at an accelerated pace. The paddles moved sluggishly now, and one assistant grunted with effort as he tried to keep the motion even.

“Stop stirring!” Sorantius barked. “Remove it from the water bath immediately.”

The assistants scrambled to comply, lifting the container carefully and placing it on a nearby flat surface lined with clean parchment.

The man who’d been by the thermometer said, “The temperature hit the upper limit just before it started to thicken.”

Sorantius frowned, but his expression quickly shifted to one of calculation rather than frustration. He’d been watching it as closely as them, and had been the one deciding changes. It was as he’d worried about, human action being the uncontrollable variable.

He just hoped it wasn’t enough to ruin the experiment completely.

“That explains the acceleration,” he said, gesturing for the assistants to spread the gelatinous mass out for examination. “The reaction likely sped up due to the temperature reaching the threshold.”

The mass was more solid than he had anticipated, but it matched the descriptions provided by the Consul closely enough. Sorantius ran his gloved fingers over the surface, noting its texture and flexibility.

“Unexpected,” he muttered, “but not unworkable.”

One of the assistants leaned closer, studying the material with wide eyes.

“It’s … remarkable,” he said. “The consistency, it could be shaped or formed easily.”

A stupid statement, as that was one of the things the Consul’s instructions had indicated. The man had read it, so he shouldn’t be surprised when it was as the Consul predicted. He straightened, gesturing for the assistant whose only job was to document every detail of the process for their own corrections and to send to the Consul.

“Record everything,” he instructed. “From the exact measurements to the unexpected deviations. We’ll refine this further, but for now, begin drying it. Once it’s stable, we’ll cut it into grains for testing.”

As the assistants moved to obey, Sorantius allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

Another successful development to report to the Consul.

***

Devnum

Lucilla stood at the threshold of the Imperial Forum, trying to calm her nerves. This was a moment her father had never been forced into, even when Carthage was on their doorstep. She hadn’t even contemplated it as a possibility until Ky brought it up, and had fought him over the proposal for weeks now.

But with every point countered, it became more and more clear that he was right. She had tried to forestall it by convincing either the Egyptians or the Scandi to see the light and join them.

And she had failed.

Yes, they had added some of the Greek states to their ranks, but that had made things worse, not better, as its curved front following the borders of their new allies nearly doubled front lines. In return, they had gotten not enough men to pad out their existing lines properly, let alone man the new ones.

Not that she had ever considered turning the Greeks away. Aside from it being the right thing to do, adding more land, men, and resources to the enemy would have just made things worse for them.

That all made sense when she’d worked with her advisers and Senator Taenaris to work out the details on what she was about to propose. Now that she was on the very literal threshold, however, it seemed a much less smart decision.

And yet, the decision was made. There was no choice but forward.

As she crossed into the chamber, Lucilla could feel the eyes of the assembled senators boring into her. She did not address the Senators often. The last time had been to announce the beginning of a new war. Her presence was guaranteed to put the assembled men on edge.

“Esteemed senators,” Lucilla began as she took her place in the center of the chamber, with everyone looking down on her. “I stand before you today burdened by an urgent duty concerning the future of our empire. The situation grows increasingly dire.”

She paused, letting the words settle in.

“The forces amassed by the east are staggering. Our Western Alliance, already stretched perilously thin, has expanded again, reaching out to embrace Greece, the center of our civilization. But doing so has a cost. In Africa, Admiral Valdar has begun spearheading efforts to fortify new ports along Africa’s coast to protect our homeland from new attempts at an eastern invasion from the sea. But doing so has a cost.”

Again, she paused.

“To protect our civilization and our lives, that cost must be paid. And it must be paid now. That is why I am bringing before you new legislation to drastically increase the size of our legions with the conscription of seventy-five thousand able-bodied men between the ages of twenty and forty.”

The chamber erupted into discordant shouts as senators sprang to their feet, yelling raised in opposition, cutting off what she had planned to say next.

“Madam Empress!” Senator Brendi from the Caledonian contingent said, his face reddening with indignation. “Have you lost your mind? Our farms are already short-staffed with all of the volunteers who have already joined the legions. We cannot bear more!”

“And what of our industry?” one of the Roman senators added. “We cannot simply pluck men from their livelihoods without consequences! How will we clothe and feed these recruits? Who will build the weapons rolling out of Factorium? The last statement from Hortensius to this body asking for more funds indicated how direly short-staffed his factories were.”

“Senators,” she said, her voice carrying over theirs with an air of authority she learned nearly from birth. “I would not ask this if it were not necessary. We have not made this decision lightly, and we are aware of the burden it will place on our people and have carve-outs to ensure the empire may continue. Men involved in critical industries will not be drafted. We will focus on those who work in non-essential sectors, those whose absence will not endanger our food supply or production capabilities.”

Any hope that would placate them was instantly rebuffed. The backlash was immediate and fierce.

“You underestimate how interconnected our industries are! If we start taking away from agriculture or textiles…”

“Of course, I understand how interconnected they are. Our lead industrialists and sector leaders will take part in discussions to determine where these conscripts will come from. We are not walking into this blindly.”

“How do you propose to manage such a selective process?” came another objection from across the room.

“We’ll have chaos on our hands!” yelled yet another voice.

“What chaos will we have if we lose? What is your wealth worth if we fall?” she said. “Because the easterners will not wait for us to find a solution every man here will agree to. They will not slow their assaults on us because you do not want to pay more for your dinner. They are coming. That is a fact. We have held them so far, but only just, and our numbers depleted every day, faster than we can recruit new volunteers. We will reach a point where we are no longer able to defend the Alliance’s border. When that point comes, there will not be time to make a decision. The moment will have passed.”

“We cannot ignore this threat while hoping others will come to our aid, our allies falter as well! Egypt has refused the call. Scandi has refused the call. The friends we do have look to us. We assembled this alliance. We called for this war. If we dither now, how long until they start seeing capitulation as their only chance for survival?” 

“Your Majesty, we have never needed conscription before,” Senator Uticensis, a Roman and usually one of her supporters, said. “Our volunteer legions have served us well through countless conflicts. Perhaps if we doubled the legionaries’ pay, we would see more men willingly take up arms.”

“This is not like wars we have fought before. We cheered when the Consul added new weapons, allowing us to kill Carthaginians by the thousands. I cheered along with you, because at the time, we desperately needed that to survive, but those decisions have now come back to us. We now face the same weapons, turned on us. War is more brutal and deadly now than it ever was, and we no longer fight for an island, a few thousand men here and there. We fight for a continent. That is why simple volunteers won’t work. The current combined legions of the western alliance number barely a hundred thousand men, spread thin across twice that length of Sarmatia and Greece. Even with our Greek allies contributing another thirty thousand, it is not enough.”

“Increased pay might bring in five thousand new volunteers, perhaps ten thousand at most,” she continued. “But we need seventy-five thousand to maintain our defensive positions and have any hope of mounting counter-offensives. Without reinforcing Greece, the eastern armies will simply roll through their territories and outflank our entire defensive line.”

Senator Brendi jabbed a finger toward her. “Why is this all on us? You speak about how bloody this war is, why must the blood be solely Britannic.”

“This is not only on us. Our allies in Germania, Hispania, Italia, Greece, and Gaul are already preparing similar measures. They recognize the danger as much as we do, and are preparing to conscript the same, or even more, men. Germania has committed to conscripting a hundred thousand men. Gaul to matching our seventy-five thousand. We are not the only ones paying the costs due for freedom. I have spent the past three months in personal negotiations with every allied leader. They face the same challenges we do. This is not Britannia acting alone, but part of a coordinated response across the Western Alliance.”

“You would turn us into another Carthage!” Senator Brandubh of the Ulaid delegation said. “They built their empire on the backs of conscripted slaves, forcing men to die for causes not their own. Is that what we’re to become?”

“That is unfair, Senator. Carthage treated its conscripts as disposable tools, marching them to death without training or proper equipment. Our conscripted soldiers will receive the same thorough training, the same quality weapons, and the same opportunities for advancement as any volunteer, and they will be fighting in defense, not to expand an empire built on cruelty. It is why we must do this now, and not bicker and argue. It will take months to get every conscripted man trained and ready to fight. We do not have time to discuss this.”

“This is unacceptable!” Senator Kaeso shouted. “If you persist with this madness, we will block all military funding requests that come before this body. We will have no god-king like the Carthaginians.”

He stood up and angrily stormed toward the exit of the forum, more than half of the gathered senators standing and following him out.

Lucilla fumed as she watched them go. Why must it always be this way. Shortsighted men unable to see the whole picture beyond their own coin purses and fears.

When only a handful remained, mostly those like Taenaris who had helped craft the proposal, she said, “This is foolishness. You need to convince your colleagues to return and support this measure, or prepare yourselves to learn Eastern tongues and bow to Eastern masters. Because if we do not do this, we will lose.”