The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 3

Carthage

Tabnit marched through the massive bronze doors leading into the emperor’s throne room, his polished armor and red cloak swishing around his ankles with each step. His upright walk didn’t give any indication of the bone-deep exhaustion he was feeling. He had been in Cairo five days ago, putting down another pointless revolt by the Israelites, when he received the summons to be at the capital within five days. It had taken almost eighteen hours a day in the saddle, changing horses numerous times, to meet that deadline, but everyone who served the emperor long enough knew the penalty for disobeying even impossible orders.

If he had forgotten that, the string of flayed corpses on the walls were an apt reminder. Although unrecognizable, he knew one was his former commander, sent to lead troops in Hispania preparing to re-invade the British Isles and deal with the Roman upstarts. Although Tabnit had been elevated to his own command and dispatched to Egypt before that failure, he couldn’t help but be concerned that his association with his former commander was enough to seal his own fate. Of course, running in fear would probably result in the same outcome, except his family would be there with him. Better to stand before the emperor and hope he was feeling reasonable today.

The throne room itself was impressive, especially compared with the courtyard beyond, with its permanent dark stain left from the scores of men who met their end there at the emperor’s command. The long room was flanked by a series of massive, imported marble columns, disappearing into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. At the end of the long hall, lit by braziers of scented oil, loomed the emperor’s throne upon a towering dais.

Tabnit approached the base of the dais, falling to one knee as etiquette demanded, his eyes downcast. He had only been in the emperor’s presence once before, but minions waited outside the outer doors telling anyone who entered the protocols and warning of the consequences if they forget them.

Time stretched for what seemed like forever as the emperor remained silent, letting the tension build. Tabnit could feel his gaze like a physical weight, assessing him. That, in itself, was actually a good sign. The general had heard about some of the audiences that had ended with the person in his position hanging on the wall, and the tales all involved nearly-instant yelling and abominations, not silence. Tabnit hoped that, if the emperor was trying to make him uneasy, he was doing it for some reason other than terrorizing him before his death.

After the long, pregnant pause, the emperor finally spoke, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “I understand you have fought in Hispania and Germania.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, looking up but remaining kneeling. “My previous command was in Hispania last year, and I spent most of my early days in the armies pacifying the northern Germanics.”

Another long pause. “I see. And you have been in Egypt since then?”

“Yes, Great One.”

“What do you know of what has been happening in the west with the Romans and Britannians?”

It was Tabnit’s turn to pause. How he answered that question was tricky. If he made it sound like the empire was doing poorly, he could be declared disloyal or of defeatist thinking, either of which could end this audience abruptly … and fatally.

“I know some commanders in those areas have not been performing their duties adequately, allowing the Romans to gain control of that small island.”

The emperor leaned forward, his eyes full of fire, and said, “It is worse than that, General. The Romans have developed new weapons that produce great clouds of smoke, thunder, and fire. Weapons that can tear through armor and flesh as if they were nothing. It is like nothing we’ve ever seen.”

As always, Tabnit’s first thoughts were how such a weapon would be used tactically. The advantage to the Romans was obvious, as something like that could negate his own people’s numerical superiority and send the less well-trained conscripts, that made up the bulk of every Carthaginian army, into flight.

“How long have these weapons been employed, Your Majesty?”

The emperor waved a hand dismissively. “The specifics do not matter. What matters is that they were employed against both our fleets, trying to reclaim the British Isles, and our armies, sent to stop the invasion of Hispania, destroying both utterly. I will not tolerate such losses again, General.”

Tabnit inclined his head, still unsure of where he fit in this conversation, and said, “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

The emperor settled back into his throne, steepling his fingers, and commanded, “I have been gathering a new army, one that will dwarf the force sent against the British Isles. You will lead this army into Hispania and crush the Romans beneath your heel, destroying their new weapons and all traces of resistance. You will take whatever losses are required to accomplish this, General Tabnit. The only outcome I will accept is total victory.”

Tabnit kept his features neutral through sheer force of will alone. The emperor described a situation where other armies, who also outnumbered the Romans, were completely destroyed, and now he was being ordered to run into the jaws of the same beast and hope to win just because he had more meat to feed it.

Tabnit bowed his head, choosing his words carefully, “Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness, but how am I to succeed where others have failed against such a formidable foe?”

The emperor’s eyes flashed with anger, his fat hands gripping the arms of his throne. “You defy my orders, General Tabnit?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Tabnit said hastily. “I merely wish to understand how I might gain victory where none who have come before me have prevailed. The Romans’ new weapons provide them a nearly insurmountable advantage.”

The emperor studied him for a long moment, then settled back into his throne, his unnerving gaze never wavering from Tabnit’s.

“You are right to recognize the threat these weapons pose,” he growled. “Fortunately, we have acquired new weapons of our own from lands to the east, weapons that will counter those of the Romans. They have not yet arrived in full, but once they do, you will have the means to overcome the Roman dogs.”

Tabnit couldn’t help but wonder what those weapons could be. If they were something as powerful as what had been described, why hadn’t they gotten their hands on them before? It wasn’t like the emperor was holding back or wanted to keep casualties of their enemies low in the past. Still, he’d survived asking one question. He doubted he’d survive a second.

Instead, he said, “I am grateful to hear that, Your Majesty. With such weapons in hand, victory will be within our grasp.”

Even the pause had been too much, it seemed.

Used to immediate obedience, the emperor jabbed a finger at him and said, “See that it is, General Tabnit. I did not elevate you to this position to hear defeatist talk and doubting questions.”

Tabnit bowed lower, genuflecting, and said, “My apologies, Your Majesty. I weep at the faith you have placed in me. I will not fail you.”

“See that you don’t, General. If you fail, if you allow those Roman dogs to defeat you as they have others, the price will not be yours alone to pay. Your family will accompany you into the afterlife to witness your failure for eternity. You dying on the field of battle won’t save them from my wrath.”

Tabnit had faced death in battle countless times. He’d had Germanic axes fall a breath’s span from his face and arrows impact close enough to cut his ear. None of those experiences sent a shiver of fear down his spine like hearing this threat from the emperor. His death, he could handle. The death of his wife and two sons, however, he could not. And yet, this had always been the threat hanging over everyone who lived in the emperor’s shadow. Success was always rewarded with a harder task and failure with brutal punishments. It was their reality. So far, Tabnit had not only survived that reality but thrived in it. He would just have to continue to do so, for his family’s sake.

The emperor finally looked away from him, since the audience started entering the throne room, waving a dismissive, meaty hand, saying, “Enough. You march in one month’s time. Go now and prepare.”

Tabnit finally stood, bowing as he backed away.

“By your will, Your Majesty.”

When he reached the appropriate distance, Tabnit turned, already thinking about the task ahead. He was nearly at the ornate doors when the emperor’s voice reached him with one last warning.

“Do not forget what hangs in the balance, General.”

***

Devnum

Medb, once Queen of Connacht and now Princess, through marriage, of the Ulaid, sat at the plain wooden table in their quarters, staring out of the window at the orange sky as the sun dipped below the horizon, the dying light reflecting through her curly red hair.

Quarters. She should think of it as it really was. A prison. Nicer than any dungeon, true, but a far step down from the luxury she once lived in.

Here she sat, day after day, waiting for the fool child Cormac to return from whatever lesson he had that day, learning to be a king. That wasn’t fair, really. Cormac wasn’t a bad man. She’d been saddled with, and sometimes even saddled herself with, many suitors over the years. It was the curse of being a woman in power. Men always felt she needed a man to guide her and saw her ability to bear children as her primary function in life.

Of the men she’d taken on as consorts over the years, Cormac was probably the best option so far. Of course, this time she was his consort and he was in line for power instead of her, but it had kept her neck off the executioner’s block and had given her time to figure out how to reclaim what was rightfully hers. She was surprised when she thought of her new husband warmly. He might be naive, but he wasn’t a fool like Fergus, and he wasn’t a coward like her first husband. He listened to her intently, never belittling her opinion because she was a woman, and he was eager to learn … in all arenas.

She was considering keeping him once she reclaimed her throne. While his family’s hold on their throne was new, and therefore still tenuous, the people seemed to like him, and he would make it easier to keep them in line. Besides, he was cute.

As if her thoughts summoned him, Cormac Cond Logas, Prince of the Ulaid and current representative of his government in the Britannian capital, came striding in. Today he was wearing the current style of Britannian segmented armor that he wore when he was in the field with the legions instead of the simple tunic he was forced to wear when observing and learning from politicians. It also explained his good mood since, like all boys, he preferred holding a sword over reading scrolls any day.

“You are stunning,” he said, stopping to admire her in the light.

“You’re just smitten,” she replied, giving the thin, off-set smile that seemed to work best on him.

She got up from the table and came around to begin helping unstrap his armor. Men liked it when women served them, and he sighed as she began tugging on the buckles and leather holding the metal in place.

“That is true,” he said, placing an arm around her, cupping a hand on her bottom.

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm,” she said, removing the hand. “It makes helping you with your armor harder.”

Cormac held both hands in the air comically, saying, “Point taken. Who am I to stop you from undressing me?”

She had to hand it to him. He had enthusiasm … and stamina. Unfortunately, she’d already worked out her current plan of attack for today, and she needed him talking. As much as she enjoyed other methods of controlling him, not all of the methods had the same uses, and she’d already had him wrapped around her finger. Today she needed to get him angry and focused.

“How were the legions today?” she asked, trying to get him talking.

Only two things would distract Cormac from their bed. Talking about how he should be in charge and talking about the legions.

“Good, actually. Normally, I don’t think much of taking farmers and tradesmen and putting them in armor, since they tend to make poor warriors, but the Romans really have worked out a system for building an army using the simplest of people. Both legions should be ready to travel to the continent by the spring.”

“Such praise? From what you said yesterday, it felt like there were things you thought they were doing wrong. Was today that much better?”

“It was, actually. Last week they were just … I don’t know, not moving fast enough. Or I thought they weren’t, but Llassar said to wait and I’d see there was a point to how they were preparing the men, and he was right. I’m just used to how we did things at home, which I’ll admit is a completely different way of fighting. Seeing the whole process, it starts to make more sense.”

Medb frowned, but quickly hid her reaction and said, “I see. It is heartening to hear we’re in good hands then. I was starting to worry about our fate in this war, hearing you talk about how slow and timid the Romans were in everything they do. I’ve just found real joy in you, and now I’m afraid I might lose it all if they allow the Carthaginians to return to the island.”

Cormac pressed a hand to her cheek, looking at her lovingly, and said, “I would never let them hurt you.”

“I know, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve fallen for you, but … I just want to know everything that can be done is being done. You’d tell me if it wasn’t, wouldn’t you?”

“I would. And yes, they still move too slowly. You’re right about that. Seeing these men today, they are ready to take the field now, and then more men could be put into training. The legions are on the continent now where there is a lot more manpower available. If they started conscripting those men, sending them back for training now, we’d have four more legions in the spring instead of just two.”

“Have you made that suggestion to Llassar?” Medb pressed.

“I have, but he never listens to me. I tried to explain that now, this year, we have the Carthaginians where we want them. They’re spread too thin and have been pulling men from lands they control that are further and further away, based on the knowledge we have gained from prisoners we’ve taken. They need to start conscripting and training more men for their armies, but even with their style of fighting, that will take some time. If we pressed now, or at least as soon as the snows started to melt, with everything we have, we could be in Carthage by summer, before they had a chance to put together new forces. They’re just too cautious about everything, really. They don’t understand that aggression is what’s going to win this war. And they’ve got this hang-up about conscripted soldiers that is … frankly, perplexing.”

He paused, but Medb could feel him building into a solid rant, and waited patiently, not wanting him to lose his anger.

“How do they think they can win anything if they aren’t using the people they free to continue the fight? This decision that only volunteers will fight in the legions is a weakness. And I know there are men in both the Senate and the legions who agree with me. They have all this manpower in the factories and growing crops, and all these soldier prisoners just sitting in tents, doing nothing all day. If they took all those men and put them in the factories and the fields, forcing them to work, they could take all the free people and conscript them into the legions. We’d have thousands more men under arms in a day. But the Consul’s womanly laws against slavery stop them. It’s foolish.”

Medb pursed her lips, her face a facade of worry and concern.

“I can’t believe they won’t listen to you. I gave my kingdom over to the Carthaginians because I saw that we didn’t have the power to stop them, and it was all I could do to save my people. The Britannians have that power, but if they’re too afraid to do what must be done, then I’ve just thrown myself and my people into the jaws a second time. I wish they’d come to their senses and realize the opportunity they’re throwing away, ignoring what’s right in front of them.”

“I know. I’m not giving up, though. I’ll convince them. If the alternative is losing you, I would carry the world on my back if that’s what I had to do.”

“I know you would. You have such a strong heart; it’s why I’m so frustrated. I don’t even think they know how lucky they are. If you decided your people made a mistake and wanted your kingdom free and on its own, like it was before the Britannians forced your father into that agreement, it would be the end of this Empire. With your people mixed in with theirs and what you know about war, you could create an insurgency that would rip the Romans to pieces. And yet, instead of listening to you … taking you seriously, they just ignore you.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. There are benefits to our union. Their new weapons and the things they are still adding, make not only their armies powerful, but everything a little stronger. I’ve seen the Imperial Senate at work, and we do have a fair voice, I think, especially since the Caledonians are more like us than the Romans. Several times the Roman position was rejected in favor of the one we wanted. I think we’ve made the right call; they just need to start making better decisions militarily.”

Medb took his armor and turned her back to put it on the rack where it was stored, so it would not warp or bend, and so she could hide the disapproval on her face. Cormac was naive, but he wasn’t an idiot, and that was making this harder than it should have been. He had anger, which she could stoke and fuel, but getting him to turn it on his new allies was proving more of a challenge than she’d thought it would be.

“Ohh, I know there are benefits,” she said, taking his hand and sitting him at the small table so she could serve him food she’d had a servant bring up from the kitchens when she’d seen the men returning from training. “I guess what I meant was that the new Empress doesn’t seem to recognize talent when it’s presented to her. What did she say when you presented these ideas to her directly.”

“Ohh, I haven’t … I’m not …”

“She hasn’t invited you for a consultation? But you are the direct representative of one-third of the Empire. I know Llassar has meetings with her regularly as the Caledonian representative. Why wouldn’t she give you the same honor?”

“I … I don’t know,” he said, obviously never considering the slight before.

“Do you think Llassar has been keeping you from her? I mean, your father placed him in charge of your training, so maybe they all think that makes you just some kind of apprentice, and not a real leader.”

“They don’t think that,” he said defensively.

“Ohh, I know,” she said soothingly, sitting next to him, putting an arm around his middle. “I was just trying to come up with some explanation of why you would be slighted so. You are one of the most talented men I’ve ever met, I just wish they’d listen to you more, take advantage of your skills. It’s selfish, I know, since that wish is partly for my own safety and partly for my desire to see you with the status you deserve, since I’m no longer a queen and can give in to simpler desires now, like wanting to see my husband receive the recognition he deserves.”

“Thank you,” he said, setting down his spoon and putting his arm around her. “Truly, I’ve never had someone with this much faith in me before, and … I appreciate you. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down. I’ll make them see me.”

“Good. That’s all I ask. Now, finish your meal so I can welcome my warrior home properly,” she said, letting her arm drop lower, her hand resting on a muscly haunch.

Cormac gave her a lecherous glance, and Medb looked away, partly to maintain the demure attitude men seemed to like, and partly to get a handle on the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

Men were so easily led!