The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 15

North of the Pyrenees, Sixth Fort Construction Site

Velius walked slowly across the muddy ground, surveying the scene before him with a grim expression. Bodies of Carthaginian soldiers were being hauled away by the grave detail teams, stacked in careless heaps before being tossed into mass burial pits. Though they had given far worse than they got, the sight of so many dead still turned his stomach. This was the fourth assault they had beaten back as they constructed the line of protective forts, and Velius was certain it would not be the last.

The men had done well, working tirelessly, building impressive fortifications with stunning speed, even in the face of constant attacks. His pride was tempered somewhat by the sight of the Britannians’ own losses, lined up awaiting burial.

The problem weighing on him was the size of his protective force. When the string of forts was completed, they would become the rapid reaction force, moving between strong points to counter Carthaginian incursions. But their numbers were dwindling at an alarming rate. Carthaginian raids and ambushes were taking a toll; even when his men emerged victorious, the situation was unsustainable.

Finished with his rounds, Velius spotted Gordianus, his face smeared with blood and dirt from the recent fight.

“What’s the count?” Velius asked, catching up to his second in command.

“Sixty-two dead, this time around, and another two-hundred and twelve wounded, although the majority of them have minor wounds. Most will recover in a few weeks,” Gordianus replied.

Velius nodded, thinking. Considering the hundreds of dead on the Carthaginian side, it was a stunning victory, but the Carthaginians could afford such losses, and he could not. They weren’t going to survive many more of these victories.

“At this rate, we’ll be bled dry long before the Carthaginians run out of men. Our defensive lines are stretched perilously thin and get thinner with each fort, since we have to leave behind a contingent at each one.”

Gordianus nodded, “More concerning is how swiftly they’re able to mount these raids and ambushes. The last intelligence sent to us from Devnum said that the main part of the Carthaginian forces were still amassing at their port on the Middle Sea. They have to run out of men at some point.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that the Carthaginians will never run out of men. Send an urgent request to the Empress in Devnum. Tell her we desperately need additional support if we are going to stay in the fight. It doesn’t have to be full legions; we’ll take whatever men are currently trained and available.”

“They could take that to mean a few centuries, which wouldn’t be enough to change our distribution of forces,” Gordianus pointed out.

“I know, but I don’t want them to wait until they have a legion ready to go. That could take months, and we don’t have time to wait. I want them to send us whatever they have. As soon as we get them, we can slot them into our existing units. When we have enough, we can then look at breaking them out into their own command. While we’re at it, send word to the Consul in Germania. Apprise him of our situation and implore him to detach whatever auxiliary cohorts he can spare to reinforce us.”

Velius knew reinforcements would likely take weeks to arrive, if they came at all, but it was his only option. This area was mountainous, not terribly hospitable to human life, and only sparsely populated before the Carthaginians showed up. After a hundred years of their control, it had become almost barren. There had been tribes further north, in Gaul, but that had also been the location of most of the Carthaginian forces on the western end of the continent, which had the effect of either depopulating or completely cowing the populace that remained. He wasn’t going to find local allies like the Consul had.

“I don’t think we’ll have any more luck with the Consul,” Gordianus said. “We just received that report that stated his men were spread out, trying to deal with the Carthaginians’ new strategy of burning out anyone who supports us. That’s a lot of land for them to cover, even with his additional legions.”

“I know, but we won’t get anything at all if we don’t ask. Still, I’m not going to sit back and wait on either of them to save us. Send word back to Port Invictus. I want two of their cohorts sent to join us, which should be enough to keep us going if the reinforcements never come. If we do get reinforcements, they can keep enough of them there to bring their force back up to strength.”

“Speak your mind,” he said to his second in command, seeing the man’s troubled expression.

“Pulling our reserve cohorts from Port Invictus leaves the port dangerously exposed. If the Carthaginians target it while the bulk of our legions are spread thin …”

He left the implications unsaid. He wasn’t wrong, and Velius understood the risk he was taking, but saw no better options before them.

“I know, but we don’t have a choice. Once these forts are built and manned, we’ll be able to counter the largest Carthaginian forces and have more flexibility. Considering the small number of men we have to carry out our mission, it’s the only way I see us accomplishing it. Right now, we’re between the Carthaginians at their base and Port Invictus, so we should have some time or at least warning if they head that way. We just have to hold on until our reinforcements arrive.”

Gordianus looked unconvinced but did not protest further.

“Let us hope the Empress responds swiftly then,” he said quietly, saluting and leaving to carry out his orders.

Velius watched him trudge away. While he didn’t disagree with his subordinate, there wasn’t much they could do about it. They had a job to do, and they were going to do it, reinforcements or not.

***

Devnum

The busy streets of Devnum bustled under the midday sun. Vendors called out their wares, travelers hurried to their destinations, and citizens went about their business. Hidden among them, Claudius blended into the crowds, discreetly following the priest Vesnius through the maze of city lanes.

Claudius wore the simple garb of a common laborer, his Praetorian armor traded for rough-spun peasant clothes. With his hood pulled low, he was just another anonymous face passing through the busy thoroughfares. Still, he kept a watchful eye on Vesnius ahead of him, trailing the priest at a careful distance.

It was an unusual assignment, and one Claudius felt was better suited for one of Ramirus’s spies instead of himself. Being a blacksmith’s apprentice, a Praetorian guardsman, and an optio commanding a small guard, working as part of the city guard, didn’t exactly prepare him to follow anyone, let alone do it stealthily. He’d actually made those arguments to Faenius when he’d been given this assignment, since he’d honestly prefer to be with his men, clothed in the garb of the Praetorians. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and he liked the respect his position gave him.

Unfortunately, it seemed good work often resulted in more duty instead of rewards. His commander was impressed that he’d recognized the problem Vesnius had presented in the marketplace and how he’d chosen to handle it, keeping the situation from devolving into a riot. He told Claudius he needed someone with that kind of decision-making skills to handle this assignment.

So here he was, tracking the old priest through the city, trying to keep an eye on him without being seen and, more importantly, without anyone else noticing that he was following the priest. Faenius had told him they thought someone else was inciting the priest, who had always been difficult but never considered an agitator, into giving the inflammatory speeches. They hoped that Claudius or one of the other men tasked to follow the priest might see who that person or persons were.

Ahead, the priest paused, looking around, forcing Claudius to lean into a stall like he was looking at something. Watching the priest out of the side of his eye, Claudius saw him look around once more before turning down a smaller side street. Setting down the small bowl he’d picked up and had been pretending to examine, he ignored the shopkeeper and quickened his steps, determined not to lose sight of the colorful vestments that stood out even in the crowds.

It said a lot about the man’s ego that, even trying to be discreet, as his antics a moment ago suggested, he still wore his full symbols of office. It did make him easier to track, for which Claudius was thankful.

Claudius kept his head down as he maneuvered through the alley and back onto a busy street, focused on not losing sight of Vesnius’s colorful vestments ahead of him. The priest navigated the crowded lanes with familiar ease, weaving between merchants and shoppers until he turned down another empty side street. Staying back, Claudius glanced around before following.

He slowed his pace as he reached the narrow alley, cautious of being seen. Vesnius had stopped halfway down the shadowed passageway, speaking with a figure in a dark, hooded cloak. Claudius slid into an alcove, near some crates and a stinking pile of garbage, holding his breath as best he could, but unwilling to move since this was as close as he could get to them without being seen, and hoped he’d be able to overhear their conversation.

From his position, tucked in tight against the rotting vegetables and refuse, he could peer through small gaps and catch intermittent sight of the pair. That was how he caught a glimpse of the hooded figure as her hood slipped, revealing the face of Medb, the consort of the Ulaid prince. She’d become a figure of note in Devnum, regularly creating a spectacle when she went out, always dressing flamboyantly with retainers in her wake. To her credit, she’d managed to have more sense than the priest, scaling down her dress for this meeting, matching Claudius’s costume as just one of the mob, instead of something memorable like the priest wore.

“… ever wanted to come here. I was forced to by his damned father after they took my people,” Medb was saying in a hushed but impassioned tone.

“And yet you are here. Had I known it was you that sent the message, I would have never come,” Vesnius said, turning to leave, forcing Claudius to shrink back.

There was a rustling sound, followed by Medb saying, “I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. All I want is to return my people to Connacht, and leave your land to your people.”

Vesnius paused, “But you married the prince, and he certainly holds ambitions for my people.”

“Only because I was forced to, but he’s young and foolish. He only cares about fighting wars and winning glory. He wants to return home too, but he’s afraid of his father. He trusts me though. I have his complete confidence. Enough, that he’s told me about his father’s plan.”

“There’s a plan?” Vesnius asked, clearly hooked.

“Yes. One that he and Talogren made shortly after the Ulaid were brought into the Empire. They only joined this alliance because they see it as a way to defeat their greatest rival, one they could have never defeated through arms alone. They now control the Imperial Senate and, until the Empress has offspring, there is a place for them in the line of succession. They know that if they get the throne before that, they will have it and two-thirds of the senate. They will have taken over without a drop of blood being spilled. They can then make rules replacing Rome as the primary power, taking your wealth into their own lands and leaving you destitute and reliant on them. That’s been their plan all along.”

“I knew it,” Vesnius crowed before putting a hand over his mouth, as if he suddenly remembered this was supposed to be a secret meeting. “I cannot allow that to happen. The gods will not allow it.”

“I know, and I’m willing to help you stop them,” Medb said. “All I ask is that once the true Romans are in control of their own lands and the alliance is shattered, you help me regain my people’s independence. I know you have no desire to control Ériu any more than my people have a desire to control Rome. We could be partners, allies.”

“We don’t need any barbarian as an ally,” Vesnius said condescendingly.

“No, probably not, but there is still value in trade, and you would owe us for breaking the alliance,” Medb said.

The old priest must be some kind of fool, Claudius thought, to not hear the suppressed rage in Medb’s voice at his insult. He clearly didn’t, though, based on how he responded.

“Maybe you’re right, and we would honor any pledge we made in exchange for your help. The gods would require it.”

“I know, that’s why I came to you. You honor your gods as we honor ours, and you are as furious over your people’s betrayal of your gods as I am furious that Conchobar has made my people betray ours.”

“I am just a priest. I do not have armies or the power to overthrow an empire,” Vesnius said.

“I know, and I’ve heard how the last attempt to stop her father from creating this Empire ended. I’m not sure outright insurrection is the way to go. This can’t be a few rich men demanding a change; this has to come from the people. It’s why I came to you. Who else better to represent the people and to speak to them? You’re the only one who can convince the people that they must rise up and demand a change, just as you’ve been doing. Eventually, the Empress won’t have any choice but to listen, if she values her throne. She knows as well as you do what can happen if the mob is unheeded.”

Vesnius considered her words before nodding, “That’s true, and very wise. What would you need from me?”

“For now, just continue as you’ve been. Let the people know this Empire isn’t right and isn’t what the gods want. Let them know that they aren’t the only ones being offended by this alliance. Tell them that the Empire is forcing this alliance on other people too, and that we want to leave but aren’t being allowed to go. Maybe then they’ll understand that it’s their leaders who are forcing this to happen and realize where they need to direct their anger. Not at other people of their status, but at the Empress and the senators. The people really making the decisions.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. If you need anything, I still have resources and I have access to some of the Empire’s resources. I’ll have my messenger check with you from time to time, and will get you whatever I can.”

“Fine. As long as we understand each other and what needs to happen in the end.”

“We do, now go. We can’t have anyone seeing us together.”

With one final nod, Vesnius swept out of the alley, as hastily as he arrived. The queen watched him go, her mask dropping when he was far enough away, revealing her repulsion toward the man. After another breath, the ex-queen pulled her hood low and turned, slinking off in the other direction.

Claudius pressed back into the shadows, waiting until Medb was well out of sight before dashing off in the direction Vesnius had taken. Moving swiftly, he trailed after Vesnius, catching up with him as the priest rejoined the crowds, the man’s garish robes making him easily identifiable.

Although he was following the priest, his mind was on the conversation he’d just overheard. It was clear she, or her agents based on their conversation, were the ones pushing the priest on his mission. Vesnius was too naive, apparently, to pick up on how he was being manipulated, but it was fairly obvious to Claudius. The question was, to what end? Did she think he’d somehow put her in control? He couldn’t see how an uprising in Rome put her back on her throne. The Ulaid had a solid hold on Ériu, enough so that it was all but impossible she’d get followers to win it back.

Besides, if she was right and she had control of Cormac, then there were more options for her. Including somehow getting herself installed as some sort of consort of an Emperor Cormac. That seemed far-fetched, but who knows what people like that plan. Either way, it was above his pay grade. He just needed to follow Vesnius until he got back to the temple, where he could pass the duty off to one of the other men assigned to trail him. After which, he could return to the Praetorian barracks and inform Faenius about what he’d overheard.

***

Waldhügel, Germania, North of the Rhine

Ky, Bomilcar, and a small contingent of legionaries, along with Ky’s personal guard, rode into the central Istvaeones village, one of the few untouched in the Carthaginian sweep of the region.

The recent rains had turned the ground into mud that sucked at their horses’ feet, but the villagers, who were trudging along performing their daily tasks, barely seemed to notice. Other than an odd glance here or there, they didn’t even seem to acknowledge the arrival of the outsiders, despite it being an unusual sight.

Ky and Bomilcar dismounted outside the largest hut which bore the banners of the Istvaeones chieftain. Leaving his guards unhappily outside, Ky ducked inside the hut, which was filled with tribesmen, and not all from the Istvaeones. Members of several other allied tribes who made their home in the vicinity of the Rhine, and who’d caught some of the Carthaginian fury, had also made it a point to attend this meeting.

Trasundia, chieftain of the Istvaeones, sat cross-legged at the head of the room on a pile of furs. His braided blonde hair fell to his waist, and he wore a necklace of bear claws that marked his station. His pale eyes narrowed as Ky approached, sizing him up.

“Greetings, Trasundia,” Ky said respectfully with a nod. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”

“You should have come sooner. You have much to answer for, Roman,” the chieftain said.

Ky didn’t bother correcting him. Although Rome had never become the global power that it would have in his timeline, people knew about them and still felt more comfortable using that name instead of the name of their new Empire. It probably didn’t help that Ky wore the traditional Roman-style armor, or that the rest of the Britannians, even the Caledonians and Ulaid, did too.

“I wanted to discuss the disposition of your men with you,” Ky said, settling on the ground across from Trasundia and the other Germanic chieftains in attendance. “We’ve begun our offensive that will, hopefully, slow down and stop the attacks on your villages and push the Carthaginians out of Germania altogether, but for that to work, we need your help.”

“Slow down,” Trasundia scowled, his bushy mustache twitching. “When you showed up, you promised to free us from the death worshipers. That you and your mystic weapons would crush them. Instead, you’ve sat in your camps, teaching the collaborators to walk in lines while the Carthaginians burned our villages and slaughtered our people.”

“Damn you,” the Angelli chieftain, who led the tribe that had most adopted Carthaginian dress and culture, said. “We did what we had to to survive. Don’t act like your people have done differently. Enough of your men joined their armies and killed in their name. Just because you can’t adapt to new ways of war, always throwing your men into slaughter, doesn’t make us any less than you.”

“I’ll show you slaughter,” Trasundia said, reaching back for a large sword leaning against a wall of the hut.

This was getting out of hand.

“Stop it,” Ky said, his voice cutting through the noise as other men began reaching for their weapons. “This is how you lost to the Carthaginians in the first place. So focused on fighting among yourselves that you didn’t fight them. Trasundia’s right. We haven’t done enough to stop your people from being killed, and we’re trying to fix that. When we arrived, we promised we’d help free you. We promised we would stand beside you and fight your battles with you. We did not promise that this would be bloodless. Yes, our weapons are powerful, but they do not make us gods. The Carthaginians still greatly outnumber us, and just charging into their armies would weaken us to the point that we couldn’t do anything to stop the armies that will follow in this one’s wake, even if we are victorious.”

Meeting Trasundia’s glare directly, he said, “What we can’t do is fight this on our own. Their leaders have finally started to show some intelligence and won’t follow us onto ground of our choosing. They’re willing to take losses no one else would ever consider, which allows them to overcome most of the advantages our technology gives us. For our attack to work, we need to keep them in front of us and on clear ground; otherwise, they’ll just wrap around us and crush us. We need your men to help pull them into an area of our choosing. They’ve only seen you in hit-and-run raids and expect you to run when the odds start going against you. They’ve already shown they’re willing to chase you, especially if they think they can press you against a river or hillside where you can’t run.”

“So, you want us to be your bait?” Trasundia said.

“Yes,” Ky replied. “It’s not glorious work, and I know your warriors don’t like running, but I’m sure they don’t like losing their families even more. If we do this right, we can crush this entire army, which will let my people push south and take the ports that allow them to bring in reinforcements.”

“And what about my people?”

“Abandon your villages. Send your people north. The other tribes can take them in for a short time. Once this is over, we will help you rebuild. We will give you supplies and techniques to allow you to make your lands even better. To grow more crops. To build sturdier homes. We aren’t your allies just in war, and we will be here with you in peace as well. But for that to happen, we have to win first. Which means you need to get back into the fight, even if it means losing more of your wives and children. It’s cruel, I know, but if we lose, they’ll all be sacrificed anyway, either directly or by being sent to serve in one of the Carthaginian slave armies.”

“It’s easy to ask our people to die or surrender their homes for your war,” Givellan, the Vandili leader, said.

“It’s your war too, unless you want to continue living under their yoke,” Bomilcar replied, finally speaking up. “We could have sent all of our forces far to the south, instead of splitting them, but we recognized that we need allies and were under the impression your people were willing to fight to be free. We are sacrificing Britannic lives here, just the same as you, fighting for your lands. I understand having your women and children in harm’s way isn’t the same thing, but the only way to actually protect them is to win. So I ask you, what would you have us do? Put a contingent in every village along the front? How many men would we have left to take the fight to the Carthaginians after that? Spread out like that, would we have enough men in any one village to fight off a Carthaginian attack? We’d be inviting them to make small meals of us, eating our forces up a little at a time until we had nothing left. Is that what you think we should do?”

None of the tribesmen had anything to say to that, most looking away, not making eye contact. It was one thing to demand someone do something, but these were their people’s leaders, and they had to do more than just demand ‘something.’ They had to make the actual plans and lead their people to execute them, and should have known what they were asking for was impossible, or at least ill-advised.

“I know this is hard,” Ky said, taking the lead back. “I know our progress has been slow, but we have made progress. How many of your villages feared a visit from Carthaginian overlords, and now are free to plan for the future? For every village along the front that is in danger, how many are behind us, safe? They are attacking your villages because they know our attacks have weakened them, and they need to stop us. They want us to pull back to protect your people, giving them time to resupply and get reinforcements. This is what we’ve been waiting for. It’s a signal for us to attack. A few victories and the line will be south of the Rhine, and your villages will be safe.”

After a beat, the chieftains leaned back, whispering among themselves, arguing. While Ky could hear every word they were saying, he neither wanted them to know that nor felt it was his place to interject. He needed them to join willingly if this alliance was going to work long-term, which meant letting them come to this decision on their own.

Besides, there wasn’t an upside to letting them know everything he could do.

Finally, they leaned back, and Trasundia said, “Very well. We will support your strategy for now and go where you tell us to go. But know that our loyalty has limits. We have to answer to our people just as you have to answer to yours, and if our losses grow too large, we won’t have enough people left to keep fighting. If you’re going to stop them, you need to do it soon.”

“I understand. If our attack is successful, we should push them back over the river, and maybe even further, if not scatter this army entirely. There are enough of them that it’s unlikely they’d stay scattered for long, but it will give us breathing room. If we keep the pressure up, there won’t be time for more attacks against your villages.”

Although the conversation went on for another thirty minutes, the decision that mattered had been made. Everything else was logistics and bargaining.

As they left, Bomilcar said, “That could have gone better. They might have agreed, but what they said wasn’t just hedging their bets. They gave us one chance to get this right, and if we fail, they will pull their support. For good this time.”

“Well then, we’d best not fail. Ready the men. We have a war to fight.”