Travis Starnes
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The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2023-08-18 17:12:00 +0000 UTCDevnum
Medb sipped her calda, a mixture of wine, spices, and warmed water that she found oddly pleasing in spite of herself, as she watched Cormac stand adjusting his tunic in front of the mirror, its clear and even glass reflection one of the several miracles she’d seen since coming to the capital. The very sight of him primping frustrated her. Another day of him wasting time as an observer in the Britannian Senate.
Months had passed since he’d been sent here to observe and act as his father’s direct representative. It had seemed a real opportunity for her at the time, especially after the disappointment of learning she would be forced to marry him in order to keep her head; a chance to reclaim some of her lost power. Yet here they still sat, guests of the Empress, as her naive husband still clung to notions of loyalty and duty.
Medb set her cup down loudly, the sharp sound breaking the silence.
“You seem weary of late, my love,” she said, forcing gentle concern into her tone.
Cormac glanced over with a weak smile and said, “Just tired. The days in the Senate are long and boring.”
Medb rose and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I know this is not the purpose you hoped for when we came here,” she said, suppressing her mounting frustration.
Cormac nodded reluctantly, “I know, but what can I do? I’ve argued that I’m wasting my talents, but Llassar and the Empress refuse to listen. I’ve made suggestions to improve the legions, but they are ignored or pushed away as ill-conceived. Until my father changes his mind or Llassar says I’m ready, all I can do is continue my lessons and do what I’m told.”
She turned him gently to face her, meeting his eyes with feigned sympathy.
“Loyalty is an admirable quality, but you must not forget your own ambitions,” she said gently. “When your father passes on and you take the throne, it must be as your own man and not some lapdog seen doing everyone else’s bidding.”
“I’m not a lapdog,” he said, stepping back indignant.
She suppressed a frown. She’d pushed too hard.
“No, of course not. I meant just that you can’t be seen to be one by your people. Do you disagree with how the army is run? Do you think the Senate is making the right decisions, giving away so much power to peasants and ex-slaves?”
“No, but Father agrees with them. Or at least agrees to follow them.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to peacefully do the same. You could change things if given the chance. With your skills, you could forge an unstoppable force,” Medb said, stepping close, running a hand down his chest. “But they will never simply give you the chance to do it on your own.”
Medb watched carefully as Cormac turned from the mirror, frustrated.
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You should be on the battlefield, not locked away listening to old men.”
“You keep pointing that out, but what can I do? I’ve tried to argue my case, but the Empress refuses to hear me. Llassar just keeps telling me to be patient. Until my father or Llassar give the order, my hands are tied,” Cormac said bitterly.
“I know it’s frustrating, but you can’t be the only one who feels the Empire’s resources are being squandered. Surely you’ve met others who share your … frustrations? Men who understand the art of war, as you do, and chafe at inaction?” Medb asked, her other arm snaking around him, pressing herself against him. “I understand your reluctance. Your duty to your father comes first. But you must also think of the future … your future.”
Pulling her arms back, she walked slowly around him, trailing a hand lightly across his shoulders. “Even a king needs allies. People whose loyalty is assured. That starts early, by making connections. By building relationships.”
Cormac shifted uncomfortably, “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting nothing improper. Merely that it would be prudent to ally yourself with those who share your … vision. Your goals for Ériu and the Empire. Look around you! The Empire squanders its resources, restrained by timid old men and former slaves in the Senate. The military command wastes your talents. Does this seem right to you?”
Cormac walked away from her touch to stand next to the window, gazing thoughtfully down at the orderly streets of Devnum below. After a moment, he turned back to her.
“No. No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure what I can do about it. Not yet, anyway.”
“Right now, you can have patience. Your time will come,” she said, coming back to him and squeezing his arm reassuringly. “And when it does, it would be prudent to know exactly who your allies are. Both here and at home. Friends in the right places, who want what’s best for you … for Ériu.”
Cormac nodded slowly, “You may be right. I have heard some complaints, but nothing concrete.”
“Talk to those men. Listen to their concerns, find common ground. Share some of your own frustrations. Let them know you hear them and understand their complaints. Use these men to start building bridges. Making connections. The like-minded men who will stand with you when change comes.”
“I’ll try,” he said, his expression pensive. “You may be right. Perhaps I’ve been too passive.”
“That’s all I ask,” Medb replied gently, touching his cheek. “You should be going. The day awaits.”
Cormac nodded and headed for the door before pausing to look back at her, “Thank you, Medb. For the advice … and the confidence in me.”
She smiled warmly in return. “Of course, my love.”
After he left, Medb let her composure slip. Her smile faded into a scowl. Finally, some progress, she thought. But still so tentative. She would need to keep pushing him along.
Medb sighed, sinking into a chair. Patience was required, despite her frustration. Cormac was still too deferential, too naive. She needed him hungry for command, not dutifully awaiting it.
Still, she had finally gotten some of the seeds planted. She just needed to continue nurturing his ambition, his resentment. Then, maybe, she could find a way back to where she belonged.
***
“How are we faring?” Valdar asked Haakon, his ship’s purser, as he approached the man who was watching crates of supplies being loaded onto the Bellona.
Winter was coming to an end, and the snows had already begun to melt, but a cold breeze still blew off the ocean, cutting through his thick furs. The new ships were about to roll off the docks, and he would finally be able to begin the trip south to what the Romans called the Middle Sea, finally taking the fight to them instead of patrolling endlessly.
“All of the supplies for the new ships, aside from food, are ready. We’re just waiting for the ships to be in the water, and we’ll get them loaded. I’ve managed to set aside enough dried foods, and I’ve arranged with several plantations to get some of their last winter harvests, so we’ll have some fresh food, at least for the start of the journey.”
“Any problems?” Valdar asked, hearing an undertone in Haakon’s voice despite the encouraging words.
“Yes. We’re short on gunpowder. The Imperial Treasury has provided just a fraction of what was requested.”
Valdar’s expression darkened, “How little did they allocate?”
“Barely a fifth of the amount needed,” Haakon said grimly. “I’ve managed to cut corners to amass a little more, but even with that, we won’t have even half of what we projected we would need.”
Cursing under his breath, Valdar paced in frustration.
“Damned bureaucrats. Don’t they realize how critical those supplies are? Have we put in a request to the Empress directly?”
Haakon shook his head, “Not yet. I planned to once the tally was complete, and I knew exactly how much I was going to be able to pull together from other sources. But it’s not looking promising.”
“Remind the treasurer that control of the sea is critical to winning this war,” Valdar said, gesturing out at the row of moored ships. “Without enough gunpowder, how can they expect us to sail into the heart of Carthaginian waters and interdict their shipping? They want us to slow the reinforcements to their armies on the continent, force them to march all the way around through Persia and Greece. We can’t do that if we can’t shoot at them.”
Haakon just shrugged. He was, in his own way, a bureaucrat. Valdar knew it wasn’t his job to make strategic decisions and was mostly venting his frustrations on the man.
“They keep telling me the legions take priority,” Haakon said.
Valdar sighed and kicked at a rough spot on the wooden planking.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this,” Valdar told Haakon firmly, leaving the man to carry on with his work.
The busy docks, with the cacophony of gulls crying overhead mingled with the shouts of foremen and laborers, fell behind as he passed through the massive sea gate and into the city proper. In spite of the cold wind and the last snow still clinging to the recently improved gutters, part of the Consul’s health and public cleanliness decree, the streets were packed with merchants, citizens, and praetorians.
Valdar was used to the cramped space on the ship, where it was impossible to get more than a few steps from another man, but the shoulder-to-shoulder pushing in some sections of the thoroughfare was a bit much even for him. It was a relief when he got to the cordon that surrounded the palace, forming a protective ring around it. People were still allowed in, but after the insurrection, the praetorians were not letting crowds push too close to the buildings, controlling the access to the Empire’s leaders.
Valdar, a frequent visitor and, supposedly, one of those leaders, was waved through without issue, left to find his own way to the treasurer’s offices. For as important as Lurio was to the Empire, keeping track of all the gold that moved through the capital and all the supplies the Empire paid for, Valdar was always surprised by how empty his offices were. Of course, the Empress didn’t call on him but made the treasurer go to her whenever she needed something; still, Valdar had assumed there would be more people waiting to talk to the man.
Instead, a clerk waved him through, past rows of men tallying, to a small office in the back.
“Enter,” came Lurio’s brusque reply when Valdar knocked on the closed door.
Light filtered through the narrow windows overlooking the palace courtyard, the Spartan furnishings and lack of decoration reflected the stoic treasurer’s utilitarian nature.
Lurio sat scrutinizing pages on his heavy wooden desk, only briefly glancing up at Valdar.
“Admiral Valdar. To what do I owe the honor?” he said, his tone almost disinterested as he continued reading.
“I want to discuss the fleet’s gunpowder allocation. Our current amount is dangerously inadequate for naval operations.”
“As I told your man, that is what is available. The legions require the bulk of our resources. We have limited supplies, and no one is getting everything they’ve asked for.”
Valdar bristled at the man’s dismissive tone but maintained his composure.
“With respect, the Empress has ordered my fleet to take the fight into the heart of Carthaginian waters. Without sufficient gunpowder, the fleet cannot effectively blockade ports nor engage enemy ships, which will leave the legions vulnerable. My request is part of their mission and in direct support of it.”
Lurio set down the pages and finally looked up, meeting Valdar’s gaze. “I understand its importance, but I do not set military strategy or priorities. I can only go by the decisions of the Empress and her commanders, who instructed me that the bulk of our supplies, and specifically gunpowder, was needed for the legions. As of now, we are still not producing enough to meet their requests. According to their quartermasters, they believe I am indulging you and spending too much on gunnery practice, and they suggest reducing your allotment even further. If you want a change in the distributions, you’re going to have to take it up with the Empress herself.”
“I see,” Valdar said. “I guess I’ll do that.”
He had hoped he could take care of this here and now, but he was willing to talk to whoever he needed to, up to and including the Empress, to get the materials his men needed.
“She’s in Factorium today. You should speak to one of her aides about scheduling a time to see her,” Lurio said as the admiral turned to make his way to the palace.
Valdar suppressed a groan. Nothing was ever easy.
***
Port Invictus
Velius stood before a large table on which a detailed map of Hispania was laid out. The bitter winter winds still howled outside, and the fire burning inside the large hearth of the command hall did little to warm the gathered men, none of whom seemed to care. After the disastrous failed march to the Middle Sea, they were eager to reassess their situation and come up with a new plan to accomplish their goal.
“The freezing rain and snow may persist a while longer, but soon the paths through these mountains will be passable again,” Velius said. “That means the Carthaginians will start operating in force again, which limits our options for cutting and holding a corridor to the Middle Sea. I’d hoped outracing them over the winter would get us there, but since it didn’t we have to decide on a new tactic.”
He looked around the table at the gathered men, most of whom had argued against that plan. While Velius still stood by its validity, he knew its failure had shaken the confidence of some of these men.
“There is some good news, however. While we were gone, we received the final shipment of rifles and cannons along with enough gunpowder to fully arm the Third Legion, meaning that all of our forces will be properly armed for the coming fight, which does give us options for what we’re going to do next.”
“It sounds like you have a plan already,” Auspex pointed out.
It was said without emotion or accusation, but Velius knew his fellow legate had been the most opposed to his previous plan and could feel the unspoken accusation in it. Auspex was one of the youngest legates in the legions, but he tended towards a more carefully measured approach to war than Velius did, leading the two to clash often.
“I do,” Velius said, leaning over the map again to trace his finger on a line just north of the Pyrenees towards the coast of the Middle Sea. “I propose we divide our forces and fortify seven positions along this route at intervals under twenty mille-passes. I know this means, at the very best, one and a half cohorts per position, which wouldn’t be enough to defend any of them from a full-scale attack by the Carthaginians and no manpower to react to anything outside of defending these positions. That’s why what I want to do is to construct a series of small, defensible forts manned by a cohort each, leaving three cohorts here at Port Invictus, and an entire legion free as a mobile force to react as needed.”
“The interconnected forts would be a day’s march from each other, meaning any fort except the one closest to the Middle Sea would be able to be reinforced from the forts on either side of it, which should be enough to allow the still mobile legion to counter the Carthaginian movement and force the enemy to stretch their supply lines far enough to stay out of reach of our forts. In return, our own supply lines will be protected, as any convoy will be in sight of one of the forts and never out of the protection of their forces.”
“Which legion did you plan on splitting up?” Auspex asked.
“I’d split up the Third Legion, leaving you to be based here with three of your cohorts,” Velius said, giving the legate the answer he was probably fearing. “You won’t be out of contact with them, however. We’ll also establish a semaphore system between the forts for communication. This will allow the forts to communicate with each other and the forces in the field, helping coordinate our defense and reinforce where needed. We’ll also provide some cavalry support to each fort to maintain scout patrols that should increase the time we have to arrange support and, if things work well, get our mobile force to the location in time to pin the Carthaginians between that legion and the fortification. With both armed with cannons and rifles, the effect should be deadly.”
“Even if we do not manage a decisive blow, all we need to do is hold the forts across this line,” Velius said, tapping his finger on the Middle Sea coastline depicted on the map. “That leaves just the Carthaginian port to take, which will be the responsibility of the Northern Army, although if we do remove any mobile Carthaginian forces, we might be able to achieve that too. Either way, we will have secured our main objective and established a protective corridor across to the Middle Sea.”
“Won’t this spread us out too thinly?” Auspex asked. “With less than five hundred men at each fort, the Carthaginians have the manpower to surround multiple forts, keeping them from coming to each other’s aid, wiping out at least one of them before we can get our mobile force on the scene. It’s also possible that, even if the forts on either side send men to respond to the threat, they will not have, collectively, enough manpower to defeat the Carthaginian numbers. The disparity in manpower has always been our biggest issue in fighting them, and this makes the problem worse.”
“Yes, that is a concern, and why I didn’t pick this tactic at first, even though we would have been able to build more safety had we done it in winter instead of waiting until the beginning of spring to build our forts. We have enough cannons to arm each fort with ten pieces each, and rifles for every man. You saw what we did to the Carthaginians with six cannons and a single legion armed with rifles in the fall, and we didn’t have walls to protect us. The Consul is always talking about how these weapons are a force multiplier, and we’ve seen them in action. I’m just suggesting that we use that to our advantage.”
“Five thousand rifles is very different than five hundred, though,” Gordianus said.
“That’s true. I’m not saying this isn’t a risk, but anything we do is a risk. The alternative is we march one or one and a half legions across to their port on the Middle Sea and attack it, leaving the remainder here, but I don’t think that achieves our goals. They can still move forces up from southern Hispania, and we have a hundred and twenty mille-passes uncovered between the two positions even if we do take the Middle Sea base. The cohort is only a start. We are expecting a third legion in reinforcements sometime this summer, which should be when the last forts go under construction, which means we can at least double our manpower at each if need be, or have two mobile forces. Also, the Consul should be starting his campaign to fight south to us with our new Germanic allies in support, which will alleviate pressure from that direction. By itself, yes, this is a risky proposal, but our operations aren’t isolated.”
“What happens if we lose a fort?” Gordianus asked.
“Then we replace it and reinforce. We go after the force that they sent. The Carthaginians have larger forces, but they aren’t infinite and we aren’t the only ones they’re fighting. They’re also going to have a harder time getting men into the fight here once our fleets start clearing the Middle Sea. We only need to buy time for the Consul to bring his army to us and for our new legions to arrive.”
“Like I said, I know this is a risk. If you have a better idea to achieve our goal, I’m open to suggestions.”
The commanders looked at each other, maybe hoping someone else would have a response, but no one did. Velius had spent a lot of time on the problem during the retreat from his failed winter campaign, and this was the only thing he could come up with that would achieve his goal. He was confident now that none of his subordinates could counter it either.
“It seems we are decided then,” Velius said, looking around the table. “During the construction phase, I want all of the cohorts that will be assigned to man the forts to make up a protective force for the men building the forts. As a fort is finished, we will peel off the cohort assigned to that fort. I will also keep the Seventh operating in the area of each fort as well, to ensure we have no disruption of the construction. Have your quartermasters start their logistics planning. We’ll need to identify resupply points and organize convoys to keep each fort continually provisioned. I want a full projection of needs and a provisional schedule ready by tomorrow.”
Turning to his chief engineer, Velius said, “Coordinate with Gordianus’ team and start planning the fortifications. We need defensible perimeter walls with firing platforms for the cannon crews. Include barracks, supply warehouses, stables, everything required to sustain five hundred men long-term and capable of holding twice that many as needed. I want draft plans drawn up within the week.”
“I won’t lie; this will be difficult and dangerous work. But if we succeed, we secure our supply lines and open the path inland. We don’t have to defeat their whole army, just hold the line long enough for reinforcements to arrive which will shift the odds in our favor. I have faith that together, we can accomplish this.”
The men nodded. They were professionals and once the decision was made, he knew each would do their best to ensure the plan was carried to fruition.
“Very good. We all have our assignments. Let’s get started.”
Comments
Phil
But that would close down that storyline too soon 😉
Phil
Mesb needs to be assassinated.
