Triumph of Venus - Chapter 8

Devnum

Lucilla felt a pounding in the back of her skull. For days, she’d been trying to figure out any way to get troops for Ky’s legions as he’d approached Italy. He’d already begun the attack two legions down, and he was going to be dispatching another when they reached northern Italy.

Three legions was a very small number as they headed toward the heartland of Carthage. But try as she might, there was just no where she could dislodge more men. As it was, Faenius already complained about the levels that had been levied from the praetorians and every manufacturer critical to the production of war material were understaffed. It was also the beginning of planting season, which needed a fair number of hands. There just weren’t enough people in the entire Empire.

She’d sent emissaries to their Germanic allies, but they were already working with Ky and Ursinus, so it wasn’t clear how much they could spare.

All of which put her in a bad mood as a fist raped on her office door. Part of her hoped it was Hortensius, sending a messenger to tell her he had something new to show her. At least that would get her out of the palace.

“Yes,” she said.

It wasn’t Hortensius. The door opened and Medb walked into her office, back straight and head up like she was still queen, as always. Lucilla schooled herself her face. The woman was many things, one of which, unfortunately, was incredibly intelligent.

“What can I do for you?” She asked calmly.

“I need something to do,” she declared, walking up to Lucilla’s desk and sitting on one of the stools opposite her without being bidden to. “Being on the council is slowly draining the life out of me from sheer boredom. With Cormac in Hispania and me here, away from the life I’ve known, I’m bored senseless.”

Lucilla studied Medb for a long moment before responding. “The council position is something I’ve granted you, to demonstrate you can be trusted with responsibility and are willing to contribute meaningfully. If you find it so disagreeable, I can certainly relieve you of the duty.”

She folded her hands on the desk. “But I’m not sure there is much else we could provide you at present. You must understand the precariousness of your situation.”

“You claim to want me to integrate into the empire and contribute value, rather than oppose you,” Medb said angrily. “But now when I ask for more, you tell me this is all there is. Act as if I’m the one overstepping my bounds. I thought this was what you wanted, my taking a more active role in my new home.”

“It is, but on our conditions. You have yet to show me you can be trusted to take on more substantial roles. I know the council isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but it is the one where you can do the least damage, and was designed as a first step to being given more. If you did the work and showed we could turn our backs on you without you putting a knife in them. Do I need to remind you it wasn’t that long ago you and I had difficulties because you couldn’t stop challenging my decisions?”

“We did, but have you had any problems since then? And do you blame me for pushing back. I was given an ultimatum, cooperate or lose my head, and I was told that if I cooperate, I would have a chance at station and real privileges again. I’ve cooperated, and yet, nothing.”

“Not causing problems is not the same as cooperating, and I think we both know that. This isn’t about working down a list, confirming things you’ve been forced to agree to before you buy a horse or a wagon. This is the fate of my people, and I’m not willing to turn that over to you until you show you can be trusted with watching over the people who offer their allegiance.”

“I know all about watching over a people. I was a queen in my own right.”

“And then you handed your country over to Carthage and were their de facto commander in Eiru. As a selling point for doing the best by the people who you govern, that isn’t one I’d want to flaunt.”

“Do you think I had a choice? Conchobar can feel all high and mighty, as far away from the Carthaginians as he could get. I didn’t have that luxury. If you’d waited six more months, he would have bowed to them just as I did, to save his people. It’s easy to say resist until you have nothing left when you still have something. Look at the other kingdoms around mine who did resist. They’re cities are still smoldering, their people either dead or scattered. I kept my people safe,” Medb said, her voice rising to the point that Modius, who’d been lurking in the rear of the room ever since she entered, took a step toward her.

Lucilla waved him back, but didn’t answer right away. While it was true the former queen was ambitious and power-hungry, she wasn’t wrong about why she’d joined the Carthaginians. If there had been any hope of actually negotiating a settlement short of complete annihilation, her father might have worked out a similar deal. It was hard to judge her for that decision.

But, none of that meant she could trust the woman either.

“You’re right,” Lucilla said finally. “All of the points you’ve made are valid, and I understand what you did. I’m also right, in that there’s no way I can trust you, based on your recent actions here. However, I did promise you a real chance to prove yourself, and the council clearly isn’t that. Maybe running the palace household would be a better place to start.”

“Managing servants and ordering meals?” Medb asked. “Is this an insult, that I’m to be some glorified maid?”

“Not at all,” Lucilla countered. “It’s a position of prestige and responsibility that a lot of people want. You’d oversee all palace affairs - staff, provisions, maintenance. It’s no small task.”

“A task fit for a steward, not a queen,” Medb scoffed.

“You keep forgetting you are no longer a queen, and statements like that are why I keep coming back to the thought that you’d only be happy with my place.”

Medb sat back, crossing her arms. Lucilla fought back a smile. She’d finally found an argument Medb couldn’t counter with a snappy retort.

“I’m not saying this is what you’ll do forever. This is a test. But prove yourself in this role, and more opportunities may arise.”

Medb glared, resentment simmering in her eyes. Still, Lucilla sensed she was considering it.

“Running the palace wasn’t meant as an insult,” Lucilla continued. “Deciding who gets audiences, deciding who supplies goods, working with the praetorians, overseeing staff - this is real power and responsibility. It’s more than you’ve been entrusted with up until now.”

Lucilla waited, the silence stretching out between them. She could see the wheels turning behind Medb’s eyes, probably working out the ways to take the most advantage of the situation. There were places for that in the position, mostly graft, but Lucilla doubted Medb would set her sights as low as simple theft.

“Very well, I accept your offer,” Medb said finally.

Lucilla nodded, keeping her face impassive. “Good. I believe this arrangement will benefit us both.”

She rose, signaling the end of the meeting. Medb stood as well, adjusting the folds of her gown.

“However, let me make something clear,” Lucilla added, her voice taking on a steely edge. “With increased access comes increased scrutiny. Until you have conclusively proven yourself trustworthy, I will continue to keep you watched at all times. The privileges I grant can be revoked if you overstep your bounds.”

Medb’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

The two women regarded each other for a long moment. Lucilla was under no illusions that Medb had suddenly become her loyal subject. But this new role would keep the ambitious former queen busy and provide a channel for her talents that was not overtly threatening. It would also allow Lucilla’s agents to monitor her more closely.

“Very well then. Talk to the steward tomorrow morning and he will begin your transition,” Lucilla instructed. “I’ll make sure they’re ready for you, although I have no doubt you’ll figure everything out in short order.”

Medb inclined her head once more, then turned and swept from the room in a swirl of skirts. After she had gone, Lucilla dropped back into her seat. Whether this gambit succeeded or failed, only time would tell. But for now, it offered a break from Medb’s constant maneuvering.

***

Gades, Southern Hispania

The village was filled with raucous cheering as Cormac went sailing through the air, landing in the dirt hard before rolling back to his feet, his stance wide and arms in front of him. A circle of men, some bare chested competitors and others elders who watched but did not participate, surrounded Cormac and his competitor.

Cormac was grinning ear to ear, a stark contrast to the sour Llassar behind him, who stood arms crossed, the expression on his face clear to everyone he thought this entire endeavor a bad idea. Cormac didn’t care. He knew how to get to the men in the new delegation. Unlike the Turdetani, the representatives from some of the other major tribes were run by warriors and had an ethos that Cormac understood.

They weren’t the type of men to stay inside all day, arguing and reasoning. They craved the same thing Cormac did, deep down: excitement, adventure. Which is how he settled on this little contest. After his initial introductions, the men sent to see what these new Britannians were doing had seemed all but bored, except during the demonstration of the muskets they’d already come to an agreement to sell to the Turdetani. Which is what had given Cormac his idea.

If they didn’t want to sit in a room to discuss treaties and terms of selling these weapons, they could choose a new venue. Strangely enough, in this match, he’d ended up against the bearded Turdetani that he’d mistaken for a leader on that first attempt at diplomacy that he’d failed so badly.

Although it was still early spring, and not terribly hot, Cormac still wiped away dirt and sweat from his brow as he circled his opponent. The bearded Turdetani was spry and skilled, but Cormac could tell his endurance was fading. As the older man lunged forward, throwing a series of quick jabs, Cormac deftly slipped each blow before countering with a swift knee to the ribs. The Turdetani buckled over with a grunt.

“Had enough yet?” Cormac asked with a cocky grin.

The man might have not understood Cormac’s words, but he understood the expression. Instead of responding, the man spat dust and charged forward again. But he’d had enough. One more throw and the man signaled defeat. Cormac didn’t gloat over him or preen, even though in his heart, that was what he wanted to do. The man had been full of bluster when he first came into the circle to face Cormac, sure his larger size and experience on the battlefield would give him the day.

If they’d had weapons, he might have been right. After all, Cormac hadn’t fought the years of wars pressed into Carthaginian service like these men had. They didn’t have weapons though, and this type of contest Cormac had years of experience, as it had been his favorite hobby in Eman Macha. Llassar had been insistent, however, that he was to accept every loss gracefully and every win with humility. He’d been against this entire idea, but he said if Cormac was going to insist on it, he was going to remember this was still diplomacy.

So no, Cormac didn’t strut. Instead, he reached out, extending a hand to the fallen warrior, helping him off the ground and clasping arms with him as the onlookers cheered and laughed.

Cormac waved the next two men in and made his way to a container of water, which he took and gulped down greedily.

“Not bad for a young whelp,” a deep voice rumbled behind him.

Cormac turned as the legionnaire next to him translated the words, smiling as he recognized one of the Callaeci chieftains. Beler, maybe his name was.

“I may still be wet behind the ears, but I can handle myself,” he replied.

This was a test, and he knew it was coming. In the weeks since his original failure, he’d finally started listening to Llassar and the lessons he’d worked so hard to impart. Of how things might go as the other tribes began to arrive, how they might try to gain the upper hand.

Even with his new found respect for Llassar’s method, it had taken a large part of that time for the old warrior to convince him that there were better ways to deal with probing insults than fists and anger.

Beler chuckled. “Indeed.”

“Have you given any more thought to my offer,” Cormac asked.

“I have, but I’m not sure how my people, or any of the other tribes, can trust your word. Yes, you can sell us wonders, but at what price? The last time your people were in our lands, your battle with the Carthaginians left our villages in ashes and clans fighting over fish bones for scraps.”

“A fair concern, and one that leads me to ask, was it our battles that did that, or the Carthaginians and their relentless greed? I have read the reports of those contests, and our armies only marched north east, away from your settlements, from the port we won from the Carthaginians. My understanding was it was the Carthaginians who stripped your villages of supplies and men and burned other villages to keep them from negotiating with us. Given that, I would think you and your neighbors would be more interested in protecting yourself from it happening again. That’s what we’re offering, as well as our friendship.”

“When you say friendship, I hear slave,” the man said, the joviality gone from his face.

“You hear words I didn’t say. We can offer engineers and craftsmen to help rebuild your villages, as we did with our new allies in Gaul and Germania.”

“And if instead you march in legions? Will your empress claim our lands to protect them?”

“We seek allies, not vassals or terrain. Did our legions remain after our fight with the Carthaginians ended? Or did they march east, to continue the contest? Did I come with more than a handful of soldiers as protection? Even our port, the only base we currently operate on the entire peninsula, has only enough men to protect it and our shipping. Everything we have done has shown you our intentions. While I do not begrudge you your fears, I would counsel against letting yourself be ruled by them.”

“And if this is a ruse?”

“Then what would we gain that we wouldn’t by marching our armies in now? You’ve talked to the Turdetani and I have no doubt they described the fortifications of our port. We have a secure base and if we wanted to use that as a base for attack, we would just do that, not attempt to sneak and connive. Don’t trust us? That’s fine. Watch us, be wary. Give us the chance to show you our intentions.”

Beler slowly nodded and walked away without another word, moving to speak with some of the other tribesmen from his region. Conferring.

Cormac knew this wasn’t going to solve everything, not in one day, but if it opened the door to communication, that was what they were looking for. Besides, it kept everyone too busy to think about raiding into Gaul or each other.

Cormac watched as the contests continued, men from different tribes and regions facing off against each other in tests of strength and skill. He was impressed by the raw power and determination on display, these warriors hardened by years of conflict and survival.

After a time, it was Cormac’s turn to enter the circle again, matched against a burly Vettones chieftain from a village he wasn’t sure he could identify, let alone pronounce. The Vettones chieftain was all brute force, charging and grappling like an enraged bull. Cormac remained light on his feet, evading and counter-striking until his opponent tired. Then, in a sudden burst, Cormac swept the man’s legs out from under him, following it up with a submission hold that forced the man to yield as he slowly blacked out. Cormac pulled the man to his feet as soon as he yielded only to be brushed aside. This was the danger of this kind of contest. Some men were going to get their egos bruised at a loss, and might take it personally.

Thankfully, the chieftain rebounded well, laughing with his warriors as they jibed him about losing to a boy a fraction of his age.

More contests followed as Cormac and the day wore on, the fights slowing as men finally tired. When no more volunteered to enter the ring, Cormac stepped forward and raised his hands, calling for attention.

“Friends, I want to thank you all for coming today and participating in these contests of skill. It has been too long since I’ve had a day of such fine sport,” Cormac said, getting murmurs of agreement.

“Before we retire to the boars my men caught and prepared for you, I wanted to give any man willing a chance for a final match?” Cormac challenged with a grin.

To his surprise, Llassar stepped forward from the crowd. “I accept your challenge.”

Cormac was surprised, to say the least. He knew Llassar was a far superior fighter and could hardly fathom why the old Caledonian would have challenged him here, when this was all about proving his value and building camaraderie before they feasted. But with all eyes on him and he couldn’t refuse. The circle of warriors cheered as Llassar entered the ring, especially the older warriors who hadn’t fared as well as the young men all day.

Cormac readied himself and dropped into a stance, Llassar just standing there, his confidence mocking Cormac. He only moved when Cormac did, mirroring him. The two men circled each other, Cormac warily searching for an opening before moving in to grapple. Seeing Llassar move a step too slow, he seized the opportunity and rushed in to grapple.

Reaching low, he attempted to wrap his arms around the Caledonian and lift him up before slamming him onto the ground. That had been what he’d tried to do, but the older warrior suddenly twisted his torso, breaking Cormac’s grip. Before Cormac could react, Llassar stepped in and put him in a tight bear hug. Cormac gasped as the air was squeezed from his lungs by Llassar’s powerful arms.

He struggled to break free, wriggling and squirming, but Llassar’s hold was unbreakable. Finally, just as Cormac’s strength was about to give out, he managed to slip one arm free and jab Llassar hard in the ribs with his elbow. The older man grunted in pain and his grip loosened just enough for Cormac to twist free. The two men stepped back, both breathing hard.

Cormac tried to keep him from recovering by dashing in again almost as soon as they were apart, hoping his youth and vigor would win out over Llassar’s age and experience. He’d been sure the old warrior was unprepared, but as soon as he came in, the Caledonian’s leg swept out, knocking Cormac to the ground. He landed hard on his back, the air rushing from his lungs on impact. Before he could react, Llassar pounced, planting a knee firmly on his chest. Cormac gasped and writhed, trying to twist out from under the crushing weight, but Llassar had him pinned fast. The Caledonian seized his flailing arms and slammed them back down above his head. Cormac bucked and thrashed but he was well and truly caught.

The watching warriors roared their approval as Llassar held him down, his weathered face betraying the hint of a smile. Cormac grunted and strained, summoning every ounce of strength, but the old warrior had him. After a seeming eternity, Llassar finally released him and stepped back, offering a hand to help him up. Cormac felt embarrassed and angry at being beaten so easily, but remembered at the last moment their purpose for being here, and took the offered hand instead of slapping it away.

“See, it can be done. I was worried you might all think we brought an unbeatable man,” Llassar said, putting an arm around Cormac. “Cocky as my young friend may be, he can still be beaten!”

At that, the spectators roared with laughter and approval. Cormac flushed red briefly, but his anger dissipated as Llassar walked away and the warriors gathered around, slapping him on the back for a match well fought. He had lost, but their respect remained.

Once again, Llassar was teaching him without Cormac realizing it.

“I don’t think any of you here doubted you could beat me, but I thank my elder for showing me humility once again,” Cormac said, getting a ripple of laughter out of the men as his translator gave them his words. “You’ve all done your villages proud. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such skill and strength before.”

The men murmured at the praise. They were all smart enough to know he was plying them in preparation for negotiation, but it was hard for any man not to take some pleasure in the compliments.

“Now, before we eat, I know many of you have asked about the weapons we demonstrated earlier in the day. The muskets that you saw pierce tree and plank.”

At the mention of the firearms, some of the men who’d walked away circled back. While Cormac liked to think it was his skill in the ring that kept the men there all day, he knew that was just ego. From the moment he’d had his legionnaires fire the muskets they’d brought for the Turdetani, he knew the rest were hooked. Everything else was only about setting the stage for the negotiations to come.

“As I explained to the elders here, we are willing to trade these weapons, along with the knowledge to make the black powder that fires them, to all tribes who agree to our terms of friendship and alliance.”

Muttering broke out among some of the men. Cormac raised his hands for quiet.

“I understand your hesitation. You have been mistreated and exploited too many times before. After so long under the Carthaginian boot, I would be just as suspicious of such a bargain. But we come in friendship, not as conquerors.”

He looked each man in the eye as he spoke.

“As I told the elders here in Gades, we came without armies, just enough men for protection, and we plan on leaving no armies beyond the port we captured from the Carthaginians. The peninsula is yours to do with as you will. If invited, we would set up trading areas and even offer to come to the assistance of our partners, if needed. All we ask is that anyone who partners with us, who takes our weapons, uses them only for the defense of their homes and providing for their family. What we want, more than anything else, is this region to be safe and secure.”

There was a suspicious rumble around the men, who Cormac was sure had heard similar words before.

“I know. Trust me, I know what you’re feeling. I will be honest with you as I was with the elders here. We don’t do this out of altruism or love for your people. We do this because we are at war with the Carthaginians, and now that your region is behind us, we need it at peace, so that we can focus on the war in front of us.”

The muttering softened but did not fully abate.

“The Turdetani have already agreed to reasonable restrictions on how these weapons may be used, which is why we brought some of the small amount of the weapons we have today, as a gift on a bargain struck. We simply ask that you agree to the same terms.”

Beler stepped forward, his face unreadable.

“And if we refuse these terms?”

Cormac met his gaze calmly. “Then we will not trade weapons to you. Other items, farming implements and the like, but not weapons. But neither will we retaliate against you. Nor will we threaten or invade your homes. The choice is yours.”

Beler considered this for a long moment. Finally, he nodded.

“We will discuss your terms.”

Cormac smiled and extended his arm. Beler gripped it firmly.

“That is all I ask. Tomorrow we will meet and strike a bargain, if we can. For tonight, we feast.”

That was what the men wanted to hear. They’d smelled the boar on the large pit roasting all day, and after so much exertion, every man present was salivating. Formalities concluded, they turned as a group and descended on the food. Cormac didn’t follow immediately. They’d agree, he was sure of it. He felt a swell of pride as he realized he’d done what he’d been sent here to do.

Yes, it had been a rocky beginning, but he’d shown he could learn from it. He still looked forward to converting this success into a command of his own, but he realized he’d be willing to take a similar assignment again.

Maybe diplomacy wasn’t so bad, after all.