The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 14

Carthage

It was startling to Medb every time she had been in this audience chamber just how ornate it was. She had always loved finery and the symbols that befitted her status when she was queen, but even she would have blanched at the gaudiness of these surroundings.

And yet, the Governor had done everything he could to increase that lavishness. And nowhere was that more evident than the throne Cormac currently sat on. Golden with arms that resembled intricately carved fern leaves and a high back, the top of which resembled a crown, it was more of a throne than even the one used by the Empress, and definitely not the kind of thing a governor should be using.

Especially since, after looking into the province’s financing, Medb had found that it wasn’t a leftover from the excesses of the Carthaginian emperor, but something designed specifically for the governor at his request.

Just one in a long list of reasons she and Cormac were here today.

The governor usually started his day very late, a side effect of his common late-night entertaining, which is why she and Cormac had come here so early. She wanted to start this off in the right way, putting the governor back on his heels. She knew she was successful as soon as the man showed up, responding to the summons Cormac had sent, requesting the governor’s presence.

Eoghan’s first steps into the room had his normal arrogant confidence, but that faltered as soon as he saw Cormac seated in ‘his’ throne, Medb at his side. Eoghan was a lot of things, but an idiot wasn’t one of them, and he got the message that Medb was sending loud and clear.

“My prince,” Eoghan said, stopping in front of the throne, clearly unbalanced by the reversal in position. “I’m … this is a surprise.”

“Should it be, though? Considering the sheer scope of incompetence and avarice we have seen in this city, and the recent riot in one of its markets, I would have thought you might have predicted our needing to have a conversation.”

“I will admit, the riot was unfortunate and I am working hard to deal with its root causes. And of course, I am happy to entertain any questions you might have.”

“The time for questions is over, governor. We have completed our investigations into the governance of the province and have found you wanting. This is not an audience, governor. This is an accountancy for your failure.”

“I… I don’t understand what you mean. I know there have been some problems, but …”

“I mean, you have failed in every aspect of your duty,” Cormac said. “I’d like to just believe you are incompetent and unable to carry out your duties, because at least then you wouldn’t blacken the name of all of our people, but it has become clear to me that this goes beyond mere inability to do your job. Graft is rampant. For example, huge sums of tax revenue are disappearing after being collected, a problem we’ll get to in a minute, but the provisional treasury is still strained. Do you care to explain where this money has gone?”

“I assure you, there is no graft, my prince. The tax money has been used for city improvements and additional security measures.”

“I’m happy to hear how diligently you’ve been working to improve your domain. I think it would then be easy for you to provide proof of these improvements. Or even evidence of the additional security forces you’ve supposedly funded. I’ve looked at the treasury’s ledgers, but they show nothing but shortfalls and unexplained expenses.”

Eoghan shifted uncomfortably. “These projects are in progress, my prince. It takes time for such things to show results, and…”

“According to the records, you’ve been siphoning funds for these so-called projects for over a year,” Medb said. “Yet, there’s no sign of any improvement, and the only additional security has been for your personal estate. Are you telling me that you have other ledgers, perhaps, that reflect this work… ledgers outside the official records?”

“My prince,” Eoghan said, looking to Medb but addressing Cormac. “That would be a violation of my duty. All my dealings are above board, I assure you.”

“And yet you can provide nothing to show the work you’ve done? That is confusing, governor. As is the fact that the taxes you’ve been collecting are higher than what was authorized by the Senate. What’s more is where the taxes are going. You’ve been withholding a portion of the collected taxes for ‘special projects’ that have no clear documentation.”

“My prince, if there has been any oversight, it is not intentional. Perhaps my subordinates have misappropriated funds without my knowledge. I can only say that any additional taxes beyond what the empire has approved me to collect were necessary and approved by local officials to ensure the city’s stability.”

“It’s interesting you should bring up the officials who helped approve these increased taxes,” Cormac said. “Our interviews have brought up a surprisingly large number of stories about some very lavish sounding parties where you happened to invite much of the cities elite, including the very same individuals who approved these increased taxes. An interesting coincidence.”

“My prince, those gatherings are merely to foster good relations within the city. It’s essential for smooth governance. If anyone is telling you they were unnecessary or excessive, they are simply lying.”

“And I suppose the timing of these approvals and your extravagant soirées is purely coincidental?” Medb interjected.

“Absolutely. There’s no connection between the two.”

“Really? Because we’ve noticed several of these local officials have suddenly begun living far beyond their means. Their estates have expanded, their wardrobes have become more luxurious, and their influence has grown considerably. All since you began implementing these new taxes.”

That’s…” Eoghan started, but Medb cut him off.

“A coincidence as well? How convenient for you, Governor.”

“What isn’t a coincidence is that your attempts to retain control of this region have made it worse!” Cormac said. “The streets are filthy, crime is rampant, and the people are on the verge of revolt. Meanwhile, you and your cronies grow fat off the suffering of others.”

“My prince, you don’t understand the complexities…”

“I understand perfectly,” Cormac snapped. “You’ve failed in your duties, plain and simple.”

“We’ve spoken to the people, Governor,” Medb said. “They’re angry, desperate, and losing faith in Britannia’s rule. Your mismanagement threatens everything we’ve built here.”

“The situation is under control,” Eoghan protested weakly.

“Under control is not what we’ve seen. And amazingly, you have been foolish enough to take the same approach you have taken with the city itself with the Praetorians entrusted to you for management of the province. The payments to the Praetorians have been consistently short, so much so that they have lodged a formal complaint. And at the same time, you have been using them for activities outside of their, and your, mandate such as intimidating local merchants, shutting down businesses that do not pay your new taxes, or don’t give enough kickbacks to your tax collectors.”

“The Praetorian Guard serves to maintain order, which is all I have asked of them. As to their payments…”

“We have spoken to some of your tax collectors and managed to convince them to give us an honest accounting of their activities. Besides confirming to us that a portion of the money that ends up back in your pocket comes from them, as part of the requirement for being allowed to shake down the populace, we have also confirmed that the tactics of punishing, under the color of law, is part of that directive to your tax collectors.”

Apparently, there was nothing the governor could say to that or excuse he could invent to cover it because he opted for a much more aggressive response instead. “You have no right to come here and make these accusations! This is my province to govern as I see fit!”

“No, Governor. This is the Empire’s province and one entrusted to you to govern as the empress sees fit. Something I believe you have forgotten.”

“This... this is all a misunderstanding. I simply…”

“I am done with your excuses. Pretorians!”

Claudius, who had been holding along the back wall of the room along with more than the normal complement of men needed for a ceremonial post, stepped forward.

“Eoghan mac Ailill, you stand accused of graft, abuse of power, dereliction of duty, and high treason against the Britannic Empire,” Claudius said as two Praetorians flanked him on either side.

The color drained out of the governor’s face as the realization that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this sank in.

“This is preposterous!” Eoghan sputtered, backing away from Claudius. “You cannot do this to me! I am the governor!”

“You were the governor,” Cormac corrected. “Praetorians…”

Before Cormac could give the order, Eoghan made a sudden lunge toward the nearest exit. His attempt at flight was pathetically brief as Claudius’s men grabbed him, pulled him back, and restrained him.

“You will regret this! Both of you!” he shrieked, all pretense of dignity abandoned. “You do not know who you are dealing with!”

“Take him away,” Cormac ordered in disgust.

As the Praetorians dragged Eoghan towards the door, he continued to rant. “You have made powerful enemies today! Mark my words, you will pay for this! Both of you!”

The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off Eoghan’s invective. A weighty silence settled over the audience chamber.

Medb turned to Cormac, giving her husband a small smile. “Well, that was certainly dramatic.”

***

Caralis, Sardinia

Llassar had never seen himself as a diplomat, having grown up as a warrior fighting for his tribe and then Caledonia, and yet ever since becoming a Britannian, it was all he had done. If anything, it had become more post-war, with him traveling across the continent along with a few others, negotiating treaties and partnerships with the newly formed nations, as the Consul called them.

In that time, he’d been in tiny meeting halls and open squares and massive marble structures covering the breadth of architectural styles found in these places. The most common, though, was an amphitheater. They were able to hold a lot of people and, thanks to the Carthaginians by way of the Greeks, they had spread widely over most of the western world. So it was not a surprise that he was once again in one of the bowl-shaped, open-air venues to talk to the assembled leaders. In most towns, this was the largest space available, and Llassar preferred to be in a place where he had more room to move, should things turn hostile.

Which seemed like it might be a problem here. The Sardinians that he had met so far in setting up this meeting had been nothing short of bristly, and it turned out those were the ones predisposed to listen to him. As important men came from the surrounding area and even distant towns, it became clear there was a hard bias against unification, and anyone who advocated for it.

He could feel the tension coming off of the assembled men in waves as he made his way down toward the center of the amphitheater.

“I thank you for convening on such short notice,” he began. “You do not know me, but I know your situation well. Not long ago, my people were like yours, scattered towns and villages that fought and argued with ourselves and our neighbors, blind to greater threats just over the horizon. Thankfully, we listened to wiser voices in time to prevent those threats from overwhelming and destroying our people as they did so many others. Italia now stands at that crossroads, and Sardinia stands with them. Your people, Sicilia, and the mainland have been connected for generations. You share blood and coin and each of you is strong with the other, and weaker alone. That couldn’t be more important than it is now.”

He paused, giving it a moment to sink in. Over the years, he’d grown more comfortable doing this type of thing, and had learned, both from watching people like the Empress, who were true masters of the art, and through his own trial and error, that there was a rhythm to this type of thing that had to be followed.

“A new threat has come out of the east, and already begun to cut deep into the continent. In Germania, where its people are unified, we have managed to stop the incursion and stand against it together. Unfortunately, not everyone in the easterners’ path has been prepared to do what they needed to do to protect themselves. Greece stood fragmented, as you are now, and the easterners have cut far into their lands, burning their cities and enslaving their people. They are on a path for Italia, and you along with it. Now is the time to stand up and do what you need to for your people, to ensure their future. I know you have concerns and need assurances, and I have been entrusted by Italia and the Britannic people to give those I can, and listen to what you need to make this happen.”

A portly man with a well-trimmed beard that Llassar had met briefly when he’d arrived and knew as one of the leaders of Caralis stood up from his seat near the front.

“You speak of unity, but what of our autonomy? Sardinia’s needs are not those of the mainland. Our ports, our trade routes, our very way of life - they’re unique. Why should we bind ourselves to them?”

“You raise a fair point, but are you as autonomous as you think you are? Do you truly have the breadth of natural resources to fend for yourselves? Your ports are valuable, yes, but they rely on trade. And trade relies on the stability of your neighbors and biggest trading partners. And when you do trade with the mainland, do you want to be taxed as a fellow citizen or a foreigner? I don’t think your profit lies as closely with your autonomy as you might think.”

Llassar had never been a trader himself, but he’d come to realize over the last five years that money more than manpower decided the fate of nations. It wasn’t a coincidence that much more time was spent discussing economic policy and trade relations than military arrangements when drafting agreements between foreign powers.

“We’ve managed well enough since the fall of Carthage, haven’t we?”

“You have,” Llassar conceded. “But only because you’ve benefited from the protection of other powers. Italia has been subsidized by Britannia for the last five years, and we have made their policy with an eye toward stability in the region and not profit. If Italia unifies without you, do you think your relationship with the mainland will not change?”

“And what of our culture?” Someone else, a planter by the look of him, asked. “I’ve worked this land for decades. Our traditions, our very identity will be swallowed up by the mainland!”

“Unification doesn’t mean erasure. You only have to look toward Britannia. I am Britannian but I am not Roman nor am I Ulaid. I am Caledonian. The two are not incompatible. You can be part of a whole without becoming the whole. Besides, I’ve seen what happens to those who cling too tightly to the past at the expense of the future. The world doesn’t stop changing just because you wish it would.”

Llassar paused again. Money wasn’t the only thing that could convince them, or at least it shouldn’t.

“You should also take the threat from the east seriously. They have rivaled us in weapons and technology and have a seemingly huge manpower to pull from. We are working to regain the technological advantage, but they adapt as fast as our own people do, which means we cannot rely on advanced weapons this time. The only thing we can rely on is each other. Standing together, we can present a force they have to take seriously.”

“We’re an island, far from the path of these invaders. Why should we concern ourselves with mainland affairs? Why should Sardinian men die for them?” someone else asked.

“You were an island when Carthage conquered you, were you not? How many of your men died when Carthage first came to your shores? The sea is no barrier to a determined enemy with superior naval power, and we have seen their navy. It is large and formidable.”

The man sat back down, looking to the portly man who’d spoken earlier.

“What specific protections or autonomy might Sardinia retain under unification?” the man of Caralis asked.

That was the first non-confrontational question asked, and one that suggested he was willing to listen. “That’s certainly open for discussion. As I said, unification doesn’t mean subjugation. The rest of the tribes of Italia are willing to guarantee some level of autonomy in exchange for your participation.”

“We’ve seen their promises before,” one of the wealthy landowners said, giving the man from Caralis a pointed look. “They offer the world and then provide nothing when it’s done. We thank you for your words, but it is the same as we’ve heard before. I suggest we postpone any decision. We need more time to consider all the implications.”

The landowner stood up, which seemed to be the signal for the rest to follow suit. Llassar stayed silent. Chasing them or demanding they stay wasn’t the way to go. This result had been pre-ordained, and until he found out why.

Llassar could see the man from Caralis holding the landowners’ gaze, and then looking away, almost defeated. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening. The landowners were blocking Sardinia from joining Sicilia and the mainland, but why was the question. The port he could see. It would allow them to make their own trade deals and decide what fees to charge. Lassar was almost certain that was what he meant by having their autonomy.

Farmers, though, they’d want more markets for their goods. If anything, their stances should be opposite.

He needed to find out why before he tried again.

***

Factorium

Hortensius knelt next to the small hydrogen balloon, making some final adjustments. Small was subjective and he couldn’t help a small smile at the reaction he would get from someone outside the project for calling the massive metal and fabric contraption “small”.

Roughly the size of a large wagon, horses included, it took up a large space on the testing field and looked massively impressive. It was, however, a fraction of the size of the final balloon. It would be massive, larger than many buildings. They’d been forced to build a huge production facility to assemble and finish the balloons with massive doors to get it in and out. Transport had actually been a problem as well.

It wasn’t until he’d started working on this process that he’d realized how many of the small, and even large, projects over the last five years had been building blocks to projects like this. From the massive steam-powered with its heels covered in a rolling circle of wide metal that prevented it from digging into the ground from the weight it carried to the new metal that the Consul had taught them to make.

The metal itself, which the Consul called aluminum, had been an interesting process, and one Hortensius had not been convinced was needed when it had first been proposed to him. The process of even getting the metal separated from rock and into a workable state was involved, needing an electrolysis process very similar to the one they’d created for the batteries to make the telegraphs work. After all of that, what he got was a metal that was indeed lightweight but did not have the durability of even lower quality steel, let alone the most recent type of steel they’d begun working with.

It was all but useless for barrel linings or gun parts or even swords. Now, however, he could see a use. One of the biggest concerns in the early designs for the airship, as he’d been calling it, was weight. To make it anything more than a hanging basket off a balloon, he needed a semi-riding frame with enough room to carry men or a payload, along with a minimal crew.

Steel was his first thought, but the weight created a real problem, which was amplified by a scaling problem. Each time the balloons got bigger to account for the weight, the frame would have to get bigger, and so on and so on, with the balance point between the two creating a massive structure much too large to be feasible.

The aluminum fixed this problem. There were still some steel parts, of course, where there could be no acceptance of lower strength thresholds, but the majority of the parts were this new metal, which meant the Consul had been working toward things like this all along.

It made Hortensius wonder how much else he was given was just preparation for something more in the future.

The sound of wheels grinding against gravel caught his attention. Turning, he saw Sorantius approaching with several assistants, pushing a wagon filled with large barrels.

“Right on time,” Hortensius called out, waving his colleague over. “Did you finish testing it?”

“As best we could. It’s impossible to know what’s going to happen to it up in the sky. As the Consul describes it, the air is much more wet and we’ve seen firsthand in our current balloons how much the temperature drops. I have tested it on those balloons and it did not seem to have a noticeable effect, but if these airships of yours do go as high as you say they will, it seems like it will get even colder.”

“I appreciate the warning, but we’ll have to take our chances with it. As long as it works on the ground, I am willing to test it in the air. I’ve finished the checks and I believe we are good to begin,” Hortensius said, waving at men far off to one side next to another large wagon with two large, cylindrical tanks.

 “Let’s begin the fill,” Hortensius said, gesturing to the lead assistant.

The men pulled a thick, leather hose with large, copper attachments on either end out of the cart, attaching one side to one of the tanks and the other end to one of the numerous small balloons attached to a honeycomb of aluminum brackets that made up the hydrogen ‘bay’ of the balloon.

“Is it safe having that much hydrogen?” Sorantius said, jutting his chin toward the tanks sitting on the wagon.

“It should be. We have not had a leak since the last set of protections we put in place, and we have thoroughly tested the hoses as well.”

“You’re not worried about sparks when connecting the metal ends?”

“Until that leather is pulled, a rubber and leather seal keeps any hydrogen from coming out. It also helps protect from any of the hydrogen leaking out after they’re disconnected. The rubber does degrade over time, so we have to replace them often, but that is worth the extra safety.”

Sorantius nodded, and they fell silent as the assistants filled each leather sack, causing the metal superstructure to lift slightly off the ground after each one. It was a time-consuming process, but Hortensius felt it was superior to a single hydrogen-filled bag that, if punctured, would suddenly release all of the hydrogen in one go, both creating additional fire hazards and causing the airship to fall out of the sky.

When the final hydrogen bag was filled, the entire thing was floating, held down by dozens of ropes tying the vessel to the ground.

As his assistants pulled the hose back and disconnected it entirely from the tanks, Hortensius said, “Now I believe it is your turn.”

Sorantius nodded and followed Hortensius’s lead, waving his men forward. The assistants wheeled the wagon over and offloaded the drums, bringing them closer to the frame. When the lids of the barrels were removed, the smell of the substance inside hit Hortensius. It was strong, almost overwhelming. The men then took out brushes on long poles, dipping the brush end into the bucket, and then proceeding to ‘paint’ the hydrogen bags with the dark substance.

Hortensius had proposed to dip or even soak the bags in the liquid prior to installing them onto the frame, but Sorantius had vetoed that idea. Aside from the fact that the substance would have to be reapplied often, which meant that the procedures they developed needed to also work with the bags that were still filled with gas, there was also apparently an issue with the drying. The liquid hardened the bag’s viscous nylon slightly, as if it formed almost a lacquer around it. This did help add another layer of protection, but if allowed to dry and then the bag was filled, it would cause severe cracking.

It was one of the reasons it had to be reapplied. The fireproofing would crack, chip, and fall off in patches just from normal use. The last thing they needed to do was to speed up that process.

He’d seen the tests though, and had been impressed that even when fire was applied directly to regular cloth, it didn’t burn and the lacquer didn’t melt. Sorantius said prolonged flame would eventually melt the liquid and cause it to run off enough to stop protecting the material, but Hortensius had a solution for keeping prolonged flame away from the hydrogen bags.

As with filling the bags, painting them took time, even with a dozen men involved in the painting. They would have to time this and determine just how many men they could get to work on preparing a balloon for flight before the efficiency dropped. Even at their most efficient, though, this would never be a rapid process.

Once they were out of the way, Hortensius shouted, “Close the outer shell.”

His men scrambled forward again, securing a large outer shell of fabric over and around the hydrogen-inflated balloons and the superstructure to which it was attached. Once that was done, another cart with another shoe was brought forward.

Seeing the wide range of supply wagons needed for this, they would have to find a permanent launching area for these vessels, so that they had better storage facilities for preparing them for flight. In the field, of course, it would be back to a range of wagons loaded with equipment and supplies, but he needed to look toward creating something more permanent, at least in major cities where these ships would dock regularly.

Instead of hooking this hose to a tank, it hooked to a small motor of some kind, which itself was hooked to a large, but portable, steam engine.

“You’d mentioned the outer shell, but not this.”

“After seeing our design, the empress contacted the Consul, who had new ideas for design to better improve upon my shell idea.”

The two shared a look, both of them doubting the public story that all of the ideas came from the consul to the empress across the telegraph lines. Messages were almost certainly sent and received, but Hortensius was convinced an easier, and more fantastical, option was correct. Not that he planned on speaking the words out loud. Even if Sortantius had guessed what he had, it did not do to make accusations, even if he knew them to be true.

Whatever the source of the instructions, the empress had not yet failed to supply him with what he needed for a given project, and he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“We’d talked about filling the outer bag with air, but I was concerned about it pressing only the hydrogen bags, which would defeat the purpose. The empress had a suggestion of a pump that essentially compresses air, creating pressure inside of the void between the outer shell and hydrogen bags. We’ve attached another valve on one end of the ship that, as the pressure reaches a certain level, would automatically open and let some of the compressed air out. More ingeniously is the scoop at the front. As the airship moves forward, pushed by the steam propellers, it uses the force of the air itself to push in new air, expelling already compressed air out the back. This allows for, if there is a rupture, air to continue to be added, keeping it from deflating and the moving air will allow any escaping hydrogen to be diluted by the air around it and expelled. Which is useful, as there will be times we will be forced to manually reduce the amount of hydrogen available to lower altitude. We have the ropes to pull us down without expending hydrogen, but there will be times descent is needed away from prepared positions, and just filling the shell with hydrogen is not exactly a good idea.”

“That is clever, but I’m still not convinced of this propeller idea. I know you like calling it an airship, but water and air are very different, and I cannot see how moving blades will force the ship forward.”

“I will not lie, I have some similar concerns,” Hortensius said. “But, the Consul’s instructions do say that it will work, so we have to assume it will.”

A cheer broke their concentration. The outer shell had filled, giving the top of the balloon almost an egg shape, flat at the bottom where it attached to the frame. The frame would, later, be attached to the carriage that would hold payloads or people, but that was a secondary concern to getting the balloon section working correctly.

“Let out the ropes fifty hands,” Hortensius called out, and the assistants hurried to each of the moorings, releasing the ropes holding it in place slightly.

It was a jerky process as the ropes were released not all at the same time or evenly across the frame, and would need to be perfected before anything sat underneath the balloon, but for now it worked. Slowly, it ascended into the sky, until it hovered well above them, the ropes pulled taut.

“I’ll never not be amazed by that sight,” Sorantius said.

“And just imagine what it will look like full-sized, capable of carrying hundreds of talents. We are entering a new age, my friend.”

“We are at that,” Sorantius agreed.