Triumph of Venus - Chapter 2

Devnum

Lucilla sank back into the cushions of her chair as the last senator filed out of her office, blowing out a long breath in relief. The day’s meetings had tried her patience to its limits. Senator Alypius, that pompous windbag, had prattled on for nearly thirty minutes about the state of security for Rome in specific, and the empire in general. Amazingly, without ever offering any useful suggestions or even really getting to a point beyond ‘people are unhappy.’

Of course, he failed to mention that the unhappy people he talked about were unhappy because of his proxies, which had been on street corners and inns, banging on and on about escaped prisoners and plots in shadows hatched by ‘foreigners.’ It was no surprise that, no matter how hard Ramirus’s men tried, they could never quite work out what foreigners these mouthpieces were talking about. That was the point. To get power, you had to get people motivated, and fear was by far the easiest way to motivate the mob.

The heavy oaken door opened again as Modius ushered in Faenius, who followed the captain in, ramrod straight as ever. Faenius had an air of somber duty about him that Lucilla found equal parts reassuring and wearying. Though she trusted the Prefect’s judgment, he lacked the agility of thought she often required of her advisors.

“You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

“I did,” she said, letting more of her annoyance with the senators slip out than she intended. “The prisoners, Faenius. I want to know why we haven’t been able to recapture them yet. It has been months, and they are still out there. These are foreigners, with no support and no supplies, that somehow seem capable of avoiding the entire might of my empire.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty. The fugitives have proven difficult to capture. It remains my highest priority, and I have nearly half the men assigned to Rome as a whole, out scouring the countryside for them.”

“And yet they continue to evade you,” Lucilla pointed out again.

“Rome is a large place, especially for a few dozen people, to disappear in. Much of the southern areas are still empty, with the ruins of villages scattered across them, remnants of a century of Carthaginian rule. There is even the possibility that some Carthaginians remain in those areas, having escaped the fall of Londinium, assisting these escapes.”

Lucilla paused, trying not to be as annoyed with him as she was. She felt for the Praetorian and knew the challenge she’d given him was large, but she also needed it accomplished quickly, and he hadn’t.

“Faenius, you have served me loyally and proven your worth countless times over the years. But in this matter, I’m afraid you are failing me.”

Faenius blinked, the only outward sign of his surprise at her blunt words, “Your Majesty, I assure you my men and I are doing everything in our power to recapture the fugitives.”

“And yet they continue to roam free, terrorizing my people. I’ve heard the reports, Faenius. Robberies, ransacked farms, women accosted. They grow bolder by the day. I cannot have these men terrorizing our citizens, not when I need the entire empire focused on what matters. Finishing our fight with the Carthaginians. With the enemy gone from our shores, it’s easy for the mob to think they are gone for good. You and I both know this is different, but it is difficult to convince the farmer or factory worker of this fact, especially in the face of more local problems. I need results, Faenius. And I need them now.”

“Your Majesty, I humbly beg your forgiveness for my failure in this matter. My men are stretched dangerously thin as it is, limiting how many men I have to search for them. Many skilled veterans have been reassigned to train your new Praetorian cohorts in Caledonia and Ériu, or to the legions to help with security, and recruitment has been very slow. With the war entering its third year, the legions require every able-bodied man. My traditional recruiting grounds within the legions themselves, are from the veteran core, but those men are required for the ongoing fighting. We’ve attempted to train raw recruits, but the majority of the men we get are sent to the legions, leaving very few to train as Praetorians. I’ve attempted …”

Lucilla raised a hand, cutting him off. “You need not explain further, Prefect. I am aware of our manpower difficulties.”

Lucilla studied Faenius for a long moment. Faenius had always been dependable, and she disliked having to be so harsh with one of her most loyal retainers, but she had been backed into a corner that left her with little options.

“I understand the difficulties you face, Prefect, and I do not envy the position you are in. Recruiting able warriors has ever been a challenge, more so now with legions spread across the continent.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I assure you, my men and I are employing every resource at our disposal to hunt down the fugitives.”

“That is good to hear. However … there are greater concerns here than just the security of these men. There is a political price that must be paid, in addition to the dangers they pose to our security.”

Faenius started to speak, probably to apologize or defend his efforts again, but Lucilla held up a hand, stopping him.

“It was my edict that created the prisoner work camps, which means the responsibility for their escape also sits with me, at least in the eyes of the Senate and the people.”

Faenius’s lips thinned, but he held his tongue.

“I know you to be a trusted ally, Faenius,” Lucilla continued seriously. “But as Empress, I must be firm in the face of failure, regardless of fault. I will give you until winter’s end to recapture the fugitives. If they remain free beyond that …”

She trailed off significantly. Faenius’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head in acquiescence.

“I understand, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”

“Very well. I leave the matter in your capable hands.”

Faenius thumped a fist against his chest in salute, “By your command.”

He pivoted sharply and left, spine rigid. Lucilla watched him depart, fingers drumming against the arm of her chair. She disliked placing undue pressure on a loyal subject, but the political situation left her no choice.

He wasn’t the only choice she didn’t have much control over at the moment, either. As soon as the Praetorian left, she saw Gaius, her aide and unofficial guard, waving at her from near the doorway that the next person to see her was here.

She grimaced. If anything, this was going to be a more troublesome meeting than the one with Faenius. Giving Gaius a gesture, she watched as the young man stepped outside, the doors opening to admit Cormac Cond Logas, Prince of Ulaid, noble of the merged imperial house of Germanicus, and a pain in Lucilla’s posterior.

He was an energetic young man with dreams of glory floating around his head, and little else to get in his way. Lucilla knew that wasn’t fair. Cormac wasn’t stupid, or she wouldn’t have picked this assignment for him. He just wasn’t as smart, or clever, as he thought he was. That, coupled with his near boundless energy and propensity for boredom when his whims weren’t catered to, made him a risk.

Even with that, he would be a solution to multiple problems … if he could be corralled.

For his part, he was a lot less enthusiastic than normal. After everything that had happened with his wife, the former queen Medb, and the absence of the man ostensibly put in charge of him by his father, Cormac seemed, if anything, uneasy. Perhaps he thought he was being taken to task for some of his wife’s recent unfortunate choices.

“Prince Cormac,” she greeted him, inclining her head respectfully. “I hear from Llassar that your studies are going well. That you’ve taken great strides over the last year not only learning about the running of the legions and logistics needed to supply them, but you have spent a lot of time with the senate, learning how that august body functions.”

She didn’t mention that in his spare time, he’d conspired with, if not actually helped, his wife’s attempt to undermine her rule in an ill-fated gambit to get some kind of control for herself. Due to his father and how at arm’s length he’d been, he’d managed to skip the consequences of his wife’s actions, and now decorum required they all pretend it never happened.

“Oh yes, it’s been incredibly productive,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. However, as productive as it’s been, I’m aware you feel somewhat underutilized here, perhaps even bored, since arriving in Deva.”

Cormac’s false smile faded and he nodded, “I admit I grow restless studying ledgers and sitting through endless council meetings. I want real challenges.”

“I know. I also know your father’s reasoning for sending you here was sound. You’re young and there is a lot to learn about governing. However … I also understand you’re not the kind of person who can take this kind of life easily.”

“You’re sending me to join the legions?” he asked, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice.

Lucilla regarded him steadily for a moment before saying, “No, I’m not.”

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “If not the legions, then where?”

“I’m sending you to Hispania,” Lucilla replied. “While the legions march toward Africa, we have a problem in their rear. Their supply lines run past Hispania, and while we have allies in Gaul, those allies do not get along with the tribes of Hispania. We also have concerns that, with us siding with their more traditional rivals, those tribes may be forced back into the arms of the Carthaginians, further endangering our final push. What we need is someone to lead efforts there in, at the very least, negotiating with the tribes to sit out the conflict, without choosing a side. Our actual hope is that they can be convinced to join our cause actively and become part of the larger alliance we are building, perhaps even contribute warriors to join the fight.”

“My empress,” he said, clearly frustrated and trying hard to be respectful. “I … While I appreciate you think I am ready for more important service, surely the legions would be a better …”

“Cormac,” she said, interrupting him. “I know that you would prefer a military posting as opposed to being given the responsibility like this; however, a leader must go where he is most needed, not simply where he wants. Securing Hispania and its supply lines is critical to the success of our campaign against Carthage. By entrusting this task to you, I am demonstrating my faith in your abilities and my trust in you.”

“Oh,” he said, apparently not considering that this was more than a punishment.

“Beyond your duty, this is an excellent opportunity for you to prove that you have absorbed the skills you were sent here to learn and are capable of putting them into action. Make no mistake, while this is a symbol of my faith in you as a leader and a man, this is also a test of whether the faith we put into you is misplaced or not. Of whether you are going to be more than just a general, leading men into battle.”

“The consul is in charge of a legion. Multiple legions, in fact. Kings lead their men into battle. It’s what makes a good king.”

“There were a dozen kings in Ériu leading armies against your father. Where are they now? Did that make them good kings, these men who put their people under the yoke? My husband would be the first to tell you that he is a soldier, not a politician. He’d be the first to tell you he is not cut out for the intricacies of the palace. If you want to succeed your father one day, you have to stop thinking like a soldier or a general, and start thinking like a ruler.”

“And how do I do that?”

“The first step is to realize that leaders lead men, while rulers lead generals.”

“Oh,” Cormac said.

“Indeed. This is a great moment for you, Cormac. A moment for you to realize who you could be, if you want it enough.”

“I think I understand, but …” he said and paused, the bravado stripping away for maybe the first time since he came to Devnum. “How do I know where to start? I’ve watched the senate and talked to your advisors, but I’ve never negotiated with tribes before, let alone convinced them to do something that might be more in my interest than theirs. I’m not sure how to do that.”

Lucilla smiled, the first real smile since he’d been ushered through the door, and said, “I’m not sending you there alone. You’ll have the legions at Kalb as needed, and their commander is one of your countrymen and, as I understand, a capable leader. I’m also sending Llassar with you. I know you two have clashed since you arrived, but there’s a reason your father gave your training to him. He has been leading men for longer than either of us has been alive, and not just into battle. Talogren, before we joined into the empire, moved mountains to arrange the first organized league of Caledonians. This wasn’t a hereditary seat with the weight that a kingdom puts behind its heirs. He was a chieftain, convincing other chieftains from a wide array of clans from across the width of Caledonia to follow him under his banner. And a lot of that work was done by Llassar. It’s why we sent him to Ériu to negotiate in the first place. He will be a valuable asset.”

“Oh,” Cormac said again, deflating slightly.

Lucilla knew what he was thinking, because she’d thought similar things when her father had given her responsibility for the first time. Thinking that she was in charge, that she would show everyone that she was more than capable of being empress one day, even when that seemed an impossible outcome with her brother around. She’d felt the same way upon hearing that she, in fact, had a wet nurse to make sure she didn’t do too badly.

It wasn’t until she got older that she realized that the wet nurse was needed, and how little she really knew when she was twenty.

“He’s there as your adviser, as are the centurions in Kalb. I would strongly suggest you listen to their counsel when making decisions, however. The command of this mission is yours, not theirs. In the end, yours is the final decision. It’s up to you to decide how those decisions are made. And it’s your burden to deal with the consequences of how events play out.”

She hoped he’d listen to and seek advice from Llassar, but if he didn’t, he’d learn the taste of failure. This went beyond just Hispania. Just as they were straining for men for the legions, they also needed to start working on leaders, not just for the legion but for the empire as a whole, and leaders took a lot longer to train than soldiers.

“I’ll do my best, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing.

Lucilla had to refrain from shaking her head. She could see her words sinking in as he finally realized the opportunity he was being given.

“Good. Good luck and keep us informed of developments,” she said.

Llassar would, at least, make sure to send messages back and to keep those messages objective, but she’d want to see what he’d report all the same. If this went well and he was to take on bigger responsibility, she’d need to know how he would respond if things went poorly, and if he’d try to cover the mistakes up. She’d make sure to tell Llassar to keep any reports he made quiet, so Cormac didn’t know there were other accounts.

He bowed once more and left, his back a little straighter as he marched out. She hoped he succeeded, she really did. And not only because of the need to get Hispania on their side. She hoped she’d finally have shown the young man he could be of use, if he tried.

***

North of Eboracum, Britannia

Claudius walked through the charred remains of the village, his boots crunching on blackened wood and scattered ash. All around him lay the devastation from the attack days earlier. The handful of people who managed to escape and run to the next closest village had confirmed that the culprits were most likely the escaped prisoners.

For people on the run, they’d been amazingly effective. Little remained of the village that once stood here, only homes reduced to piles of rubble, livestock slaughtered, bodies strewn about, frozen and stiff. Even the well at the center of the village had been fouled, a final act of viciousness.

It had taken two days of hard riding for Claudius and his century to reach this remote village in the foothills. The last sign of them had been miles south when it seemed like they were heading for Londinium and a coastal town to make their escape to their homeland. At some point, they’d turned back north, although following them had been hard. The men had mostly been soldiers and understood the need to cover their trail, which is why scenes like this had been scattered at best.

From what Claudius could tell, they only raided a village or a farmstead if they were discovered or forced to find supplies, but if they were discovered, they were brutal. They probably figured since they’d suddenly left a trace, then the next best outcome was causing as much destruction as they could.

And they’d certainly done that here.

They made a mistake each time, however. It was hard to cause this kind of damage and not leave some kind of trail, and they’d left one again here. It was easier this time, now that the first snows had started, which made tracking them all the easier. Claudius was going to catch them; of that, he was certain. He’d almost had them before their sudden, unexpected turn north several weeks ago.

He wouldn’t be caught by surprise like that again. Claudius was just stopping to examine another burned-out house when Cait, one of the Caledonian recruits who had a particular knack for tracking, came jogging up from the northern edge of town.

“Sir, I’ve found fresh tracks leading north. A group passed through here less than two days ago. Soot in footprints, so they were here when the village burned.”

“Well done, Cait. Have the men mount up immediately.”

Claudius gave one last glance over the burned village, adding it to the tally he would collect from these men’s hides, and went to his horse, pulling himself up into the saddle. The men gathered quickly, staying far enough behind not to ruin Cait’s tracks, as they followed the Caledonian out of the village.

It was slow going, but Cait was diligent, often dismounting to examine faint disturbances in the snow. After several hours, he paused and waved Claudius forward.

“They camped here, sir. Maybe two or three nights back, judging by the snow cover on the old fire pit,” Cait reported, pointing at a ring of stones with charred wood scattered around it.

Claudius examined the abandoned campsite. Several empty sacks and bundles lay discarded near the remnants of the fire. Probably from the village they’d just left, although it wouldn’t have taken them long to reach this point. Why they would have abandoned the sacks they’d taken to carry the supplies was a question, since they’d still have most of the supplies left this close. They’d also been careful, going so far as to bury refuse to keep from being tracked, making this seem a bold move for them.

“Sir, I’ve found two sets of tracks leaving the camp,” Cait said, suddenly appearing back in the makeshift camp. “One heads due north, maybe half the group. The other half branches off, leading back east. Then those tracks, or maybe one part of them, it was hard to see, double back here to the camp before turning north again.”

Claudius furrowed his brow in confusion. Why would some of them split off, go east, then return here just to continue north? It seemed a strange diversion, wasting time when they knew Britannian forces were in pursuit.

“They must have had a reason to take such a roundabout path,” Claudius said, dropping the refuse and remounting his horse. “Fabius, take Cait and half the century and continue the chase, but do not attack unless they are preparing to attack another village. I’ll take the other half and look at this diversion. Send runners back if you’ve found them or if the path diverges too much for us to follow easily.”

The century quickly split, unconsciously mimicking the behavior of the escaped prisoners. Claudius and his men followed the diversionary tracks east. They didn’t have to follow them long, coming to a small cliff overlooking a river less than an hour’s ride from the camp. Since the tracks seemed to end here, Claudius had his men dismount and begin to search once more.

Snow had fallen here as well, covering most of the ground and the tracks, but after a few minutes of searching, edging close to the cliff face, Claudius spotted something himself. A familiar rusty brown coloration peeking through the snow. Gently moving the top layer of snow, he quickly uncovered more of this.

“Blood,” Claudius said. “There was a fight here. Look around for m …”

“Sir,” one of the men standing closer to the edge said, interrupting him.

Claudius joined him by the edge and immediately saw what the man was looking at. Below, on the rocky bank of the river, were several bodies. The height wasn’t huge, but enough that it was doubtful anyone who went over the side would have survived the drop. It was also hard to tell how many men were down there since the bodies seemed to be all on top of each other.

“Let’s go check it out,” he said, circling his hand in the air as a signal for them to all mount up.

Claudius nudged his horse forward, picking his way carefully down the steep trail leading to the riverbank below, his men following behind him toward the gruesome sight of tangled corpses on the rocks.

Dismounting a few paces from the bodies, Claudius approached cautiously, one hand on the pommel of his sword. The corpses were indeed some of the escaped prisoners they had been tracking, although the state of them was shocking. They’d only been given tunics, rough breeches, and sandals by their captors, but even those would have been riches compared to the filthy remains of tunics and feet bound in rags they now wore.

“Search them,” Claudius ordered tersely. “See if there are any clues as to what happened here, why they were thrown off the cliff.”

As the men began rifling through the corpses’ rags, Claudius walked around the scene. Not all their wounds were from the fall. He’d seen enough sword wounds in his life to recognize the damage of a blade here or there. There hadn’t just been a dispute up top. There’d been a fight.

It was obvious they’d had some kind of disagreement, with some of the men running off and the remainder splitting up, with a few chasing after the deserters while the rest headed north. But being pursued as they were, what was the point of it?

“Sir.”

Claudius turned to see one of his men holding up a small cloth sack, the rough fabric stained dark. Claudius took it and loosened the drawstring, peering inside. Gold coins. At least two dozen, glinting dully in the fading winter light. His gaze sharpened.

“Money?” he asked, to himself as much as to the men around him. “They’re running for their lives and they have a fight over the spoils from one small village? Madness.”

His men didn’t respond; they knew his process, how he liked to say things out loud as he was thinking. Still, it answered his question, no matter how unsatisfying the answer was.

“Take anything useful enough to return to the villagers, then leave the corpses,” he ordered. “The crows can have whatever’s left.”

His soldiers quickly rifled through the dead men’s rags, confiscating a few more coins missed in the first search, a belt knife, and some trinkets likely snatched during the group’s raiding. It wasn’t much, but anything would be helpful to the few survivors.

As the last man stepped back, Claudius waved his hand toward the horses. “Mount up! We’ve wasted enough time on this lot. Their split has slowed them, and given us a chance to catch up to the bulk. We need to rejoin Fabius before these bastards can spring any more surprises.”

Claudius led his men up the ravine’s slope without a backward glance at the corpses. Their deaths were a gruesome sight, but not one these men didn’t deserve. Now there would be fewer left to torment the next village they stumbled across.

Reaching the top, he pressed his men forward as fast as he could without winding the horses. He wanted to catch up to Fabius by evening, so they could take them all together.

It wouldn’t be long now.