The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 17

Carthage

Summer in Carthage was dreadful, especially for someone like Cormac, who had grown up in the cooler and much wetter climates of Ériu. Cormac had thought it got warm in the summers, but he now realized it was nothing compared to Africa.

Even Hispania in the late summer could not compare to the oppressive heat here in Carthage. He was glad, at least, that the new standards for military officers, which he still styled himself as at least in dress, regardless of the fact that he spent little time with the legions themselves. The wool uniform might be a little stuffy, but it was still worlds more comfortable than heavy metal breastplates in the sun, that would become unbearably hot while cutting into the shoulders, no matter how much padding was used.

It was going to be a long day, so at least comfort wasn’t one of the things he was going to have to deal with. Standing on top of the steps, Cormac looked out at the sea of faces from all walks of life in Carthage. Every one of them was angry.

He had tried to keep today’s news, at least the topic of it, secret, but word had leaked out. The palace, although run by the Britannians and with a heavy Britannian staff, was still full of Carthaginians. Running a government took manpower, and only so much could come from the home islands. The rest was made up of vetted locals, but even with vetting, not everyone brought in could be completely trustworthy. People could be very good at hiding connections and intentions. His wife had made sure he learned that lesson.

The place leaked like a sieve. It made Cormac wonder how Eoghan had ever thought he would keep his graft a secret.

There was nothing to do about it but start, unfortunately.

“Citizens of Carthage, I stand before you today with a heavy heart and a solemn duty. The unrest that has gripped this city can no longer be ignored. It is with great reluctance that I must announce the implementation of martial law, effective immediately.”

Even though it seemed most of the onlookers knew what he was going to announce, there was still an almost shock that rippled across the crowd.

“What does that mean for you? A curfew will be strictly enforced from sunset to sunrise. Anyone found on the streets without a pass from the palace or an official escort will be detained and investigated to ensure they are not part of an insurgent group. This will be inflexible, so if there are essentials needed, you must get them before the sun goes down, or you will be held accountable for your flaunting of martial law. Furthermore, to limit large gatherings, all but three markets, which we will designate, within the city will be closed. The three markets that remain open will operate under strict regulations. They will be cordoned off and only a limited number of people will be allowed in at a time, where they must do their shopping quickly and leave, and no one is allowed to gather at the entrances of the markets to wait for their turn. We will be testing different systems to find the one that will allow the most people in throughout the day, but these rules are immediate and go into effect as soon as the markets are closed. Any illegal markets that spring up will be swiftly dealt with. Vendors and patrons of these unauthorized markets will face arrest, and all goods will be confiscated without exception.”

The mutterings got louder, as people became more incensed at hearing the specifics of their new limitations. Cormac had a ring of praetorians around the area, in case things went badly, but for now he held them in place. He didn’t begrudge them their anger, only required them to follow these rules they were given.

“Finally, there will be no public gatherings of any type unless authorized by the provincial government. Any groups larger than three people are forbidden to gather on the streets and homes may not house more than three guests beyond their normal occupancy. Shops may remain open, but they must also abide by the three-person limit inside their stores. Those that break those limits will find their businesses closed or evicted from their homes permanently. Repeat offenders who continue to break curfews or assembly rules will find themselves detained.”

Again a rumble throughout the crowd. Cormac knew that, between this and the closed markets, it was going to make life in the city hard for most of its residents, but it was the only thing he’d been able to think of to limit the crowds that had been causing violence. The graffiti and plotting were problems, but they did not directly destabilize the city. The rioting, on the other hand, was getting out of control.

“Down with Britannia! Carthage for Carthaginians!” A man near the front said.

Two more men next to him picked up the chant.

“Guards! Arrest these individuals immediately!” Cormac said, pointing at the men.

The praetorians swept in, pressing against the crowd, as three came around front to grab the men. This was what Cormac had feared, since this kind of thing could turn the entire gathering into a mob.

Thankfully, no one tried to pull the men deeper into the crowd or protect them, and after a minute, the men were hauled away, still shouting.

“Let me be absolutely clear, we will not put up with any foolishness. We will try and protect the people of this city and allow them to go about their days without harassment, but any instances of violence, the carrying of weapons, or damage to public property will be met with swift and severe consequences. These measures may seem harsh, but they have become necessary due to the lawlessness that has overtaken this city.”

The crowd made noise, but after the arrest of the three men, no one acted out.

“I understand these measures may seem severe, but I assure you, they are not the only changes coming to Carthage. The taxes instituted by the previous governor have been abolished. I know that some have heard about this already, as we ended them the day the governor was removed from his position and arrested, but we are announcing it now. In addition to their end, the special tax collectors appointed under his rule have been removed from their positions as well.”

This at least got something of a positive response. The tax collectors were universally hated by everyone in the city. No one would miss them.

“Moreover, The Britannic Empire acknowledges the wrongs inflicted upon this city and we look to make amends for that. Our goal is to see Carthage once again a shining jewel of the Mediterranean. But we cannot achieve this if the city descends into chaos. The restrictions I’ve outlined are temporary. The sooner peace returns to Carthage, the sooner we can lift these measures, so it is up to all of you to ensure the lawlessness and wanton destruction of late ends. Return reason to your city and we will return freedom and peace.”

There was some grumbling, and Cormac knew that asking them to inform on their neighbors was a hard sell, but some would do it, if for nothing else but to end the restrictions. Medb was right, though. There was a chance this would backfire and unrest would grow instead. Unfortunately, he saw no other option to stop the unrest in the city.

He just hoped she was wrong and it worked.

***

Port Vikhavn

Valdar and a few guards lent to him by the garrison made his way up to the village, a few hours’ walk from the port, where the major tribe in the area was based. Actually, it would be more accurate to say where the current major tribe in the area was based. The Ikondi tribe had not been the largest of the tribes in the area when Valdar had first arrived, but they had been the ones closest to the estuary where his ships had sailed and the ones most open to working with the foreigners.

The first year, it had taken a lot of work to get the port up and running and a lot of food. Not only did the Ikondi help build the port and provide food for its people, it also protected the men he’d left there to establish the port from other tribes that had preferred not to let foreigners establish themselves in nearby lands.

It was because of that protection that the commander of the garrison had given the tribe the first shipment of muskets and taught them to use it. The Ikondi wasn’t a small tribe, but they were struggling to deal with all of the enemies they’d made defending the Britannians. Had things continued to progress, there was every chance they would have been forced to step aside or let fall with the Britannians in those vulnerable early months.

They had taken to the weapons well, and by the end of the first year of the port’s existence, the Ikondi had crushed or absorbed most of the neighbors, pushing the remaining few into conflict with tribes deeper into the continent.

All in all, it had led the Ikondi to be amenable to the Brittanians, and the Britannians to them. There had been a few difficult points, as happens any time two peoples are in close contact, but they had managed to work through them. Mostly because the port really did need the locals, if to supply foods and other usable goods that would be expensive and difficult to ship in continually, and the locals needed the Britannians to supply the weapons that gave them superiority over their neighbors.

Valdar arrived at the chieftain’s hut, which was now closer to a Roman-style house, another thing they’d taken from the Britannians, and stood aside, waiting head patiently bowed, not facing the door, as was the Ikondi’s tradition to show respect and deference to a chieftain.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Ekoko was a decent sort and didn’t flex his rights. At least not against the Britannians. Valdar had to stand only for a minute, which was the traditional time the chieftain’s guards made them wait, for honor’s sake, before they ushered him inside. He found the chieftain inside with one of the small books that had begun being produced by the new printing presses put into service shortly after the war.

This one was a ‘primer’ as the consul called it, teaching children how to read Latin, Caledonian, and Uliad, as well as Scandi and several other languages of the continent. Valdar had to admit, they were easier than how he’d been forced to learn as a child, through listen and reputation with his mother.

“Admiral! It is good to see you again. I trust your ship repairs are going well?”

Latin had been growing in popularity, mostly because of trade with the port and its visitors, and no one had worked to learn it better than Chief Ekoko, who frankly spoke it better than Valdar himself did.

“Yes. Most of our ships are repaired as well as they can be until we can get them back to the docks in Devnum.”

“You should consider building one of these … drydocks, I believe, here. So that we may make ships for all.”

Valdar smiled. Ekoko had already seen the small stem of trade here, and how that had enriched his people. He’d made numerous trips to the port and talked to the sailors and men who came through, hearing about Kalb and Devnum and all the great trade and wonder that would go through there, and wanted it for his people. He was convinced, probably rightfully, that if the Britaiians built out this port more, and put more of their resources through it, his people would see some of the wealth from that.

Already, many of his people had started coming in to work at the docks, paid in wages that they then used to buy goods from the few merchant houses based out of the port. Those goods then made it back into the villages, which only increased the need for Britannian goods more.

“I know, and if we ever do more work around the coast or set up a more permanent presence, it might be possible, but this is just an outpost on the edge of our empire, and we do not want to infringe on your people more than we already have.”

“Yes. Always thinking of us. Your generosity knows no bounds. So, what is it that my people can do for our Britannian friends?”

His tone was sarcastic, but not actively mean or angry, although it was often hard to tell exactly what the chieftain was thinking.

“I come bringing news about the enemy we told you about almost a month ago. Our scouting ships have spotted them making their way north, finally. It seems as if they’ve finally finished their repairs and have decided to bring the fight to us. Our best guess is they will be here in a few days’ time.”

“They are weak if they must repair all of their vessels in order to attack you again, instead of pressing the attack. You had your men ready to fight again in just days, and most of your ships ready in half the time they have taken, according to what people have been saying at the docks.”

“It’s not that simple. These ships are hard to repair underway and even those repairs are limited in effectiveness. While we at least had a port here with supplies and were within a few weeks’ sail of a supply run from Kalb, they are months’ sail from home and, as far as I know, have no relief supplies. They would have had to repair under sail or beach their ships. Both time-consuming processes.”

“And you still think they have a larger number of ships than the impressive fleet in our harbor?” the chieftain asked.

Valdar repressed another smile. It was always ‘our harbor,’ regardless of the fact that his village was several hours from the port. He knew that, in his heart, the chieftain partially considered the Britannian port part of his domain. For now, it was an unspoken thing, but it could change the entire nature of relations in this part of Africa when that shifted.

“Yes. Even with the reinforcements, they have a larger fleet than us, and their fleet is entirely the size of our caravels while a third of ours are the smaller schooners with their lighter load of cannon. And that’s assuming they have not managed to be reinforced in that time, and that is what they were waiting on.”

“I see. So what can my people do to help our friends, the Britannians?”

“We should be able to handle the initial assault, which I think should be a straight-up assault on our port. That’s how they handled the other port of ours they assaulted and the battle we had with them consisted of very straightforward tactics, preferring overpowering to finesse. If that’s the case, we should be able to repulse that attack. Our forts are overarmed at the moment and can throw a massive weight of fire at ranges that should outperform any shipboard cannon, with significantly greater range. They can also take a significant pounding while a ship can only afford a few solid hits before they are in great danger. Should they get past the forts, well, then they will have my ships to worry about. So other than keeping your people on land when they begin their assault, I don’t see much of a need for additional effort. My real concern is that once they realize a direct assault is futile, they will attempt to land forces outside the range of our forts, either north or south along the coast. From there, they could march overland to attack the port from the rear.”

“And you do not think you could defeat these people? Even with your fine weapons?”

Another thing the chieftain often mentioned was that the Britannians never shared the rifles with his men, who had figured out from both talking to the legionnaires stationed there and seeing their target practice that the weapons the legionnaires carried were significantly better than what was sold to his people. Again, he didn’t do more than hint at it, but the port commander had always warned Valdar to not get too comfortable with the chieftain, who was much more crafty than he let on.

Valdar tended to agree, but he also thought that Ekoko was too clever to try and take over the Britannians’ holdings, at least by force. He might seek to get an edge but was smart enough to know that he’d need continued Britannian cooperation, if only for expendable things like gunpowder, if nothing else.

“Just as their ships rival ours, so do their weapons. They will be armed much the same as ours. They aren’t numerous, and maybe less numerous than us, but we have to guard two forts that require a day’s march all the way around the estuary to bring in reinforcements, meaning one of the forts could fall. Should that happen, it’s likely the port would go with it.”

“You will, of course, not stand alone,” Ekoko said, his teasing tone from before gone. “These are the lands of the Ikondi. We know every trail, every rock, every stream. If the invaders try to sneak past your defenses, they will find us waiting for them.”

“Thank you, my friend. I would not ask such a serious thing of you if our need wasn’t dire.”

“There is no need for thanks between brothers,” Ekoko replied, clapping Valdar on the arm. “The Britannians have brought prosperity to my people. We will stand with you against any threat.”

“Good. We don’t want you to stand unprepared. I know it’s not the rifles you’d like, but in this last shipment, I arranged for more muskets and gunpowder for your people and will have them delivered shortly. I’ve also instructed the commander of the port that all limits on the amount of muskets and gunpowder you want to buy are lifted, if the port has the supplies to spare, of course.”

“Your generosity is appreciated, as always.”

There was a little disappointment there, Valdar was sure, but he also sounded appreciative. Having enough muskets to arm every man in the tribe would give him an even wider lead against his neighbors. Valdar had not wanted to upset the local polity this badly, but he had little choice, since it was that or die. And who knew what the easterners would do in their stead.

“I’m sorry it can’t be more, but I will talk to my empress about you. About how loyally you stand with us.”

“I would appreciate it. Tell this empress of yours that we wish nothing more than to be your friend. To show that, we will ensure your people remain undefeated in our lands. These people will leave or they will die screaming.”

Valdar had no doubt the chieftain meant it.

***

Caralis, Sardinia

Medb stepped off the ship onto the sun-baked docks of Caralis, glad to be on land again. With Sardinia isolating itself and not trading as widely as some of the members of the Western Alliance, and so much of that trade now diverted to war supplies, there were not very many ships that sailed from Carthage to the island. She had been forced to take a ship to Kalb and then one of the messenger ships set up specifically for Llassar’s mission. A small schooner, trimmed down and light, designed for speed and not comfort, she had been thrown into the first officer’s tiny cabin. If she could stick to trains and avoid ships for the rest of her life, she would gladly do that.

She had never been to this island, let alone this small port city, which meant she had little to no idea where to go. The boat captain had known that Llassar was operating out of the offices of the small trading factor that one of the Britannian merchant companies had set up here, although the reason why any of the Britannian merchants would want to operate out of this place, she’d never know.

Sardinia had little in the way of natural resources or manufacturing that they could not get closer to home and, because they were not part of the Western Alliance, any trade through here was subject to the tariffs that helped pay for the empire and the war.

Even the city itself felt out of place from what she’d grown used to. The places she’d traveled since the end of the war, Carthage, Gaul, Hispania, even Egypt, had begun to adopt some of the Britannian customs and style. Here, however, felt like entering any Carthaginian port right after it had been liberated. The city felt like it was trapped in a moment from five years ago, not changing with the times.

No telegraph wires, no sounds of steam whistles or trains. Really no indication of the modern technology Britannia had introduced to the world.

Seeing a guard, still wearing armor and carrying a pike of all things, Medb made her way to him.

“I’m looking for the Britannian trading house. I’m to understand it’s somewhere on these docks,” she said in Latin, still the common language of Italia, and she hoped the island.

The man looked her up and down, almost sneering, and in a thick Punic accent he said, “Over there.”

He pointed to the rough set of buildings off to one side of the port. They were small and run-down looking and none seemed attached to a warehouse. It was clear, however, that he had no intention of clarifying his answer or giving more specifics.

“Thank you,” she said in Phoenician, getting a small eyebrow raise from the man, but little more.

She made her way across the docks and past larger warehouses to the collections of doors. Thankfully, a few had signs set near the doorways to tell you what business you were looking at. Most were in Phoenician, but one was in Latin, and clearly the place she was looking for.

Walking inside, she found several men sitting around a small table, looking at what looked like figures on paper, another sign of Britannians, who preferred the new ways of accounting to the tally system still used by many other cultures.

“Llassar?”

“Who are you?” One of the men asked in a rough Roman accent.

Roman merchants were common, but usually for land-based concerns. The Scandi immigrants in Britannia had all but captured that section of the economy, with most ship masters and dockside accommodations run by them.

“I was sent by the imperial government. He’s expecting me.”

Her tone made it clear she was not planning on handing out other information, and he would be a fool for pushing for it. As usual, they backed down. Men, especially outside of the large cities, just did not know how to deal with an assertive woman, making it easy to put them back on their heels.

She raised an eyebrow when they didn’t answer right away.

“Through there,” one of them said, jutting his chin at a doorway.

“Thank you,” she said, and left them to their accounting.

The whispering started before she’d made it to the closed door, but she didn’t care.

She knocked on it as she opened the door, finding Llassar sitting at a small table, looking through papers as well, although these looked like letters of sorts.

“Medb,” he said, standing and offering his hand. “I’m glad you made it.”

Closing the door, she took his hand, placing her opposite hand over his. She liked Llassar. He wasn’t an idiot for one, and for a warrior he wasn’t completely ruled by his emotions. He’d also made himself into a fair diplomat, although he still saw situations very directly and had trouble when it came to things that were not cut and dry. Which is almost certainly why he’d sent for her.

“I heard you were having trouble getting unification pushed through.”

“You could say that, although I’d say there are people blocking unification,” he said, offering her a chair. “Everyone seems to agree on the benefits and what the mainlanders are offering, but there are holdouts, and I think they are not doing it for ideological reasons.”

“Why?” she asked, sitting across from him as he settled back into his own seat.

“For one, it’s who’s behind the problem. Most of the city and port leaders agree that it’s in their best interest and it’s the landholders who are fighting it. But looking at what’s being offered, the landholders have so much more to gain than the cities and ports, so if anything, it should be the other way around. The other reason is it isn’t something that came about naturally. From talking to leaders who want to see unification go through and from the few meetings of the landholders I’ve been able to arrange, it seems clear that there is one man in particular named Nuraian who’s influencing the rest to follow his lead in blocking unification. They look to him whenever their reasoning is challenged, and he most often speaks for them. While that is somewhat natural, considering his position in the overall hierarchy of the area, it feels like there’s more.”

“Which is why you say you think there’s outside influence?”

“Yes. I just don’t know how to go about proving my suspicions. If I can, I think I could use that to convince the others to abandon him, as their biggest reason for not wanting unification, in actuality, is how fiercely independent the island is. If he was seen to be in someone else’s pocket, he would lose face with them and I think they’d abandon him.”

“Perhaps,” Medb said.

It wasn’t that she disagreed. If he’d studied the society as closely as he did most of the societies he visited, then he’d probably know if that were true or not. It was more that she distrusted selecting any conclusion before she had enough information to support it. Keeping an open mind to the data, as the Consul sometimes called it, made her more willing to accept the answers it supported. Something the Consul called target lock, a phrase she still did not understand.

“Have you noticed any recent changes in trade patterns or economic activities that might explain the landowners’ resistance to unification?”

“Now that you mention it, there’s been a surprising amount of trade with a Britannian trade house on one of the Gallic coasts. It’s unusual, given the tariffs and the island’s typical isolationist tendencies,” Llassar said, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Is the trade going back to Britannia?”

“I believe so. They have heavy rail use, from what I know.”

“Is it connected to this trade house?” she asked, waving at the building around her.

“Yes. They’re the only ones operating on the island, from any of the ports, but Caralis is the most northern port, closest to Gaul, so it makes sense they would trade with someone located here.”

Some pieces fell into place for Medb, but she did not want to say anything yet. The closer she played this, the better.

“Okay, I think I have some places to start, but I’ll need to dip into the funds you have on hand. You’ll probably have to send a messenger boat to Kalb for more. We don’t have the personnel here to use our own manpower, so we’ll have to buy the people we need.”

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“I also need you to find out which Britannian ship captains are doing business here. And after I’m done here, I’d like you to meet with the Britannian trade factors. Was it those men, or someone more competent?” she asked, pointing toward the outer room.

“Someone else. He doesn’t come down to the docks much. I can arrange both.”

“Good. Let’s get started then. The sooner we unravel this mystery, the better. I still have matters left unattended in Carthage,” Medb said, standing.

Llassar rose as well, saying, “I appreciate you coming in spite of that. I’ve already arranged for logging for you and I will take care of those other things.”

She smiled at the aging Caledonian. Competence, it was such a rare quality, and still one she admired. It should make this, if not easy, at least bearable.