The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 8

Carthage

Another body found floating in the harbor. That made for two so far this month, along with a man stabbed in an alley, a woman whose neck was broken when she inexplicably climbed onto a roof of a small row of homes and then fell off, and another man who just disappeared with no trace anywhere.

That one had seemed promising. Valto, a man of similar means to Geral, but with no connection to her previous agents. He’d indicated knowing some of the very low-level people Geral had identified for her as being involved in the rebel activity, giving him at least some sort of in with the group. He’d contacted her once since he made contact with those friends, to let her know he’d had success and should have something for her soon.

The Praetorians had kept an eye out for him from afar, confirming his whereabouts and that he was still active in the poorer districts. He still went to his home and was visible.

And then one day, nothing. She’d had his home under watch since his disappearance and he’d never returned to it.

Medb scowled. All this seemingly random violence all connected by the fact that these were all ‘agents’ of hers she’d been trying to get into the rebels still operating in the city. The death toll was climbing, and this didn’t include the dozen more who, while still alive, had provided little more than mild gossip and secondhand rumors.

It was true, she didn’t have time to properly train any of these people in intelligence gathering, since time was of the essence right now, but the same had been true of Geral, and he had gotten deep into the conspiracy.

She’d have thought she might at least stumble on someone with a modicum of ability by now.

But no. They either allowed themselves to be sidelined or ended up dead.

She crumpled the latest report and hurled it at the wall. After a year of this, she still had no knowledge of what these people were doing.

A sharp knock interrupted her brooding.

“Enter,” she said, straightening in her chair.

It wouldn’t do for people to see her sulking. Claudius stepped inside, nodding to the two Praetorian guards who stood outside Medb’s office before closing the door behind him.

“I assume you have something,” Medb said, a statement and not a question.

“I believe so. I’ve had men mixed among the night shift dock laborers for weeks now, and we have seen several of these unusual ships you mentioned. The ships themselves are flagged under multiple nations. Hispania, Italia, Scandi, Britannia... even some Greek vessels. As far as I can find, there is no pattern to it.”

“One or two groups working together, that I could believe, but something like this cannot be that widespread.”

Claudius opened his mouth to speak but Medb continued, “Maybe Geral was wrong, and he was just seeing patterns where none exist. It would be a striking coincidence, but still, it wouldn’t be the first time we’d been led down false paths.”

“My lady,” Claudius tried again.

“I was so sure, though. Geral was quite clever, and in his note, he sounded certain this was the key. Certain enough to die for whatever he discovered.”

“My Lady,” Claudius said when she finally paused, “there’s more. My men have noticed one peculiar thing that ties the vessels together. Every single one of these ships, regardless of flag, had crew members who spoke Egyptian.”

“Egyptian? That’s... unusual. As a people, they’re not generally known for their sailing prowess. Too accustomed to the calm waters of the Nile and the Middle Sea.”

“Which is why it garnered my people’s attention. Most merchant crews we’ve seen have been Scandi, regardless of the origin of the ship. There are exceptions, of course. But what’s truly noteworthy is that my men found no trace of Egyptian sailors on ships that operated more normally. They appear only during these nighttime operations.”

“That is notable.”

“What’s more, these Egyptian crew members seem to hold authority over the ships’ regular crews during loading. They never leave the vessels, even during the brief periods when other crew members are granted shore leave, which is rare enough for these particular ships. So far, it’s the only thing notable about these ships beyond the hours they keep. Without that, they would be odd, but otherwise innocuous. Though I confess I can think of no reason for their involvement in whatever this is.”

“I can think of several reasons,” Medb said darkly. “None of them good.”

***

Factorium

Hortensius shut the heavy wooden door behind him, wanting nothing more than to flop in his padded ‘thinking’ chair and close his eyes for a few minutes.

He’d spent the night on a train from the far southern tip of the country, examining the fields where the consul had marked future drilling, once the mechanics for the drilling platform were all worked out. Beyond just designing it and getting it prepared, he had to make sure the areas they wanted to build them were actually clear. The Consul may know where this special oil was located, but he didn’t know who was living there.

It was a good thing he did. Several were under active farms and small villages, and one was right under where a train depot had been built to provide services for one of the more rural populations. The train station he could move. It would cost, but it was doable.

The villages were harder, and something he’d have to leave up to the Empress and her ministers.

Except for that wrinkle, the trip had been overall successful, with the exception that, as wonderful and life changing as trains had been, sleeping on one for an overnight trip was all but impossible. The blasted thing never stopped moving or vibrating, was loud, and didn’t insulate well enough to keep you from freezing on the cars.

All in all, not a great way to spend the night. He’d been looking forward to falling into his thinking chair and catching a few hours of rest.

That wasn’t going to be an option as he walked into his office and saw a thick packet that he recognized. For a man who was busy leading the legions in a life or death struggle in the east, the Consul did send a lot of these packets. It never ceased to amaze him how prolific the Consul could be.

Of course, it was the new weapons that Consul had them constantly producing and improving that enabled them to defeat Carthage and what was going to finally allow the Western Alliance to push back against the eastern threat, so he had to be.

Dropping his things, Hortensius picked up the packet and broke the seal, unsurprisingly finding stacks of technical documents and drawings, each more intricate than the last.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw what it was. For more than a year, they had been doing work that the consul had said was going toward a new weapon system. Even knowing that was what they were working toward, for Hortensius, it had seemed impossibly in the future. Something on the horizon that they would never reach.

Part of that was because the Consul hadn’t shared his plan for how each step fit with the other, but Hortensius understood the reasoning for that. Even the Consul’s extraordinary output had limits, and he knew the volume of instructions that he received, and that he was not the only one getting these kinds of detailed diagrams. Sorantius, Lucan, and others had equally detailed work assigned to them from the consul, with many of the projects intertwined together, fitting like an intricate mosaic.

Seeing this, though, it was like reaching the summit of a mountain after a long climb. Not that Hortensius was one to climb very many mountains.

The consul had mentioned, in passing at least, what the weapon would be, but that had not done justice to it. It was such a far cry from the rifles they had been using since the last war. Loaded quickly from the bottom by sliding the metal-cased bullets into a long, tube-like magazine, with a lever that the soldier would have his hand through when firing. As each round fired, he would work the lever, which would automatically eject the casing from the previous round and load a new round into the firing chamber.

Where it took twenty to thirty seconds for a soldier to load one of the current rifles, pouring powder down the barrel, ramming the ball home, priming the hammer, a soldier using this could fire a round every second.

Admittedly, the magazine had limited capacity, holding what looked to be maybe seven rounds, which could quickly be expended, even loading of those was faster. A soldier could have another seven rounds in the magazine in a matter of seconds as well. If he was reading this right, a legionnaire with this rifle could fire all seven rounds and load in seven new rounds in the time it took a current soldier to load his rifle once.

The volume of firepower would be enormous.

As would the speed at which the men went through ammunition. The consul had warned them that they would need to have significant production of both gunpowder and the metal casings once the new weapon systems were in place, and Hortensius had begun expanding their facilities to produce more, but until this moment, it had not occurred to him just how much more they would be firing.

He’d tripled the production of both on the Consul’s warning, thinking he was going overboard but not questioning his instructions. It was clear that, instead of being overboard, he had missed the mark by several factors. They were going to need to seriously up production of both, to build up a stockpile of rounds ready when the first of the new rifles came off the line.

They had some time.

Looking at the diagrams, it was clear this would not be an easy feat to tackle. There were going to be hurdles. The lever mechanism was complex and would take time to get the tooling down, and he was concerned about the magazine spring which pushed the bullets forward.

Just looking at the diagrams, he could see that wear would be a problem, with the spring losing tension over time. This would be the part that wore out the most, without a doubt. Well, and maybe the small pin that was used to transfer motion from the trigger to the firing mechanism.

Both were so thin that the current steel they had, even the alloys, would wear quickly. He would have to get with his gunsmiths and foundry foreman and see what thoughts they had about increasing the strength of these parts without making them unworkable for their given task, especially important in the spring which had to not be so stiff it lost functionality.

The Consul’s notes seemed to indicate he would accept a level of failure, and they should prepare a large number of these parts to be replaced in the field. Hortensius would follow that, but if he could improve on the design, he would.

This would take time and it would be months if not a full year until these reached service.

When they did, however … this would change the nature of warfare again.

***

Devnum

Lucilla hadn’t realized how much she had missed home. While it had been good to see Ky after almost a year of separation, and she’d needed to see her people serving on the front line, and more importantly be seen by them, this was where she belonged.

The city and country had run well in her absence. With Medb in Carthage, and Cormac with him, and Llassar in Italia working with the new government there through its fledgling difficulties, she’d left Talogren in command. The old warrior had been less than pleased with the honor, since he was ready to settle down, and had been happier than she’d been to see her return.

After years as a bachelor, more concerned with building up his people and glory than anything else, she’d been happy to see him finally realize he could turn to a more domestic life, retire from the command he’d held for so long. It had been a hard transition for him, to be sure. The man was a warrior at heart, one of a breed who looked forward to an end in glorious combat, and never considered living into old age.

She had also missed Titus desperately while she’d been gone. She didn’t know if her father had experienced ruling when she and her brother had been young, but for her it had been difficult. She understood her responsibility to her people and wanted to do everything she could for them, but in her heart, she wanted to be here, with him and Ky, just living their lives in Devum.

Of course, her throne made that impossible.

It required sacrifices, one of which was walking into the audience chamber. The pair, clearly Greek in heritage but in more traditional Egyptian dress. She’d met with them before, and they embodied every bad trait she loathed about the Ptolemies. An unpleasant combination of constant feigned obsequiousness over a barely hidden layer of haughty superiority.

And yet, even in their current state, Egypt was a force to be recognized. The riches of the Nile made it powerful even without being as closely aligned with Britannia as some of the polities on the continent had been.

Worse, they knew they were still important.

Which is why she met them in the less formal conference room, as Ky liked to call it. Still well-appointed with tapestries, fine decorations, and beautiful furniture, it was much less formal than the official audience chamber.

She’d hoped it would set them at ease, make them feel important enough, being given this more private venue, to actually listen and work with her for once.

“I trust your journey from Alexandria was without incident?” Lucilla asked, gesturing for servants to pour wine into ornate silver cups.

Arsinoe, a tall woman with sharp features, inclined her head. “The seas were favorable, Your Imperial Majesty, though the weather grew harsher as we approached your shores.”

“Having just completed a journey of my own, I well understand the unpleasant nature of making such a journey, and I appreciate your coming at our request.”

Diodorus, the older of the two envoys, said, “Your hospitality is most gracious, Empress.”

“Hospitality is the foundation of diplomacy. Though I fear we must move beyond pleasantries to discuss graver matters. The situation on the continent has become serious, and gets closer to your own home every day. The loss of Macedone, Thessaly, and Thrace have changed the balance of power, and it is clear the war will be moving to a new front there.”

“We have heard troubling reports,” Arsinoe acknowledged. “But surely, Britannia’s legendary military prowess, it is a situation you can handle.”

“We are not giving up and I believe we will ultimately be victorious, but we are being tested as never before. The entire continent is united, and we’ve committed unprecedented resources to this fight, but this new enemy is not just another Carthage. We maintain a technological edge, but they are much more advanced than your former rulers ever were. Which is why every nation that values its independence must join this fight.”

Arsinoe’s painted lips tightened. “Egypt has always valued its friendship with Britannia...”

“And we value that friendship. However, friendship is not enough. Not against this threat. I would think you, of all people, understand that, having lived under the heel of a foreign ruler for so long. You have prospered these last five years, regained some of your past glory. I have often commented to my husband how pleased I was that we were able to play a part in that.”

“We have not forgotten,” Diodorus said quickly, before Arsinoe could respond. “But internal matters require careful consideration. The timing of such commitments...”

“If the easterners were any closer to Egypt than they are now, they would be marching across the Sinai at this very moment. I there are commitments that supersede that.”

“And yet, they are not. The desert is a grueling place and our men stand ready to guard our borders from any threat. Trust me when I say, we have little to fear from foreigners,” Arsinoe said. “Even those who come as friends.”

“It is interesting, the talk of friends and what we might fear from them. For instance, there are times when people will come to you as friends and then attempt to undermine that friendship by working with groups hostile to their new friend,” Lucilla said, prompting a subtle but clumsy response from the envoys, who looked at one another. “For instance, there are times when someone who was thought to be a friend might be involved in shipping to and from rebel elements, offering them support and assistance. That is something that should be taken notice of.”

Arsinoe’s face tightened, the careful application of kohl around her eyes making the sudden narrowing more pronounced. “What, exactly, are you accusing us of?”

“Nothing. You were speaking about dealing with foreigners, even those who have come to us as friends, and I wanted to agree that it is something we should all be aware of. It is my strongest desire that our people have close ties and work together, just as we did when Carthage held sway over your lands.”

“That was a different time,” Diodorus interjected.

“And yet, here we are, facing a new enemy with seemingly massive reservoirs of manpower, bent on enslaving everyone under their boot. So … is it that much different? I think it does us good to discuss how things used to be and how they could easily end that way again. In order to avoid misunderstandings that could endanger the friendship we all hold so dear.”

“It seems to me you want to hold your assistance over our heads forever. That does not make us your vassals, nor require us to jump to your every call,” Arsinoe said.

“I would never claim either. Let me speak plainly. I remember well how your people lived under Carthaginian rule. How many Egyptian ships were allowed in your own harbors? How many of your nobles could travel without Carthaginian escorts? How many decisions could your leaders make without consulting their masters?”

“We are well aware of our history.”

“Are you? Because it seems to me your people have forgotten. Forgotten when you were closed, taken over by Carthaginian gods. Your religious leaders were put in chains. When your grain fed Carthaginian armies while your own people went hungry. I remember those times clearly.”

“That was before,” Diodorus tried again.

“Before Britannia intervened. Before we spent blood and treasure to free your lands. Before you could sit here as equals, rather than supplicants begging for scraps of authority from your masters.”

“You overstep,” Arsinoe snapped, rising halfway from her chair. “Egypt is sovereign…”

“Because we made it so,” Lucilla’s voice cracked like a whip. “Because our legions fought and died to break Carthaginian power. Because we chose to restore your independence rather than claim Egypt for ourselves.”

Diodorus placed a restraining hand on Arsinoe’s arm. “Your Majesty, while we appreciate Britannia’s past support…”

“Do you? Then explain to me why you are so reluctant to support us in terms, now that we come to you for help? We were there, in your hour of need. Where are you in ours?”

She paused, giving both of them a serious look. One that would send her own people cowering in fear. Diodorus, for his part, looked at least worried about the turn the meeting was taking. It was Arsinoe that concerned Lucilla the most.

She was not here out of happenstance. Niece to the current Ptolemaic king, who liked to style himself Pharaoh of a new dynasty, she was hostile and arrogant as ever. Lucilla had tried to play it coy, but they Arsinoe was immune to diplomatic niceties. She believed the world owed her something because her family once ruled a major empire, without realizing they no longer did so.

Egypt may be in resurgence, but they did not have the power they once had. It was time for her, and her uncle, to realize that.

“Let me be direct. Egypt must choose its path. Will you join the Western Alliance and contribute meaningfully to this war effort, or will you stand aside and watch as the Eastern Empire marches to your border? If you choose the latter, know that Britannian legions will not come to you a second time. A bitten hand does not offer aid twice.”

“You dare…” Arsinoe began.

“I do dare. The world is at war, and it is time your people realized it. I give you two weeks to contact your uncle and provide your answer. Not to negotiate, not to deliberate, to answer. Will you join the Western Alliance? Your contribution need not match ours in scale, but it must exist.”

Arsinoe’s face flushed beneath her makeup. “Who are you to make such demands? Egypt is not some minor province to be ordered about by Britannia. We are the heirs to thousands of years of civilization, while your empire is barely old enough to walk!”

“Your empire would not exist without us,” Lucilla replied. “The world has changed. The old ways of playing both sides, of careful neutrality, they no longer serve. The Easterners will not stop at Greece. You are fools if you do not see that.”

“Perhaps we do not fear them as you do,” Arsinoe shot back. “Perhaps we see opportunity where you see only threat. There are other powers in this world besides Britannia.”

Diodorus raised his hands. “Please, let us not speak in haste. Surely we can find common ground…”

“No,” Arsinoe cut him off. “I will not sit here and be lectured like a child. You freed us from Carthage? We freed ourselves! Your assistance merely hastened the inevitable.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Lucilla asked. “That you would have somehow thrown off their chains without our legions? Without our ships? Without our blood?”

“We did not ask for your intervention!”

“No. You were too busy collaborating with your masters to ask for anything.”

Diodorus tried again. “Your Imperial Majesty, perhaps if we took some time to discuss terms…”

“The time for discussion is past,” Lucilla said. “Two weeks. That is all the time you have to decide whether Egypt stands with the West or against it.”

Diodorus grabbed Arsinoe’s arm as she started to rise. “We should consider carefully before speaking further.”

“Yes,” Lucilla agreed. “You should. Two weeks. I suggest you use them wisely.”

“This is outrageous!” Arsinoe wrenched her arm free. “We will not be bullied or threatened. Egypt is not your vassal!”

“No. You are our ally. Or you were. Now you must decide if you wish to remain so.”

“And if we decide otherwise?”

“Then you will learn the difference between friend and foe. I suggest you consider carefully which you wish Britannia to be.”

“Consider this,” Arsinoe snarled. “Perhaps we already have.”

She stormed from the room, Diodorus hurrying after her with a hasty bow. As the door closed behind them, Lucilla flopped back in her seat.

That could have gone better.