Travis Starnes
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The Sands of Saturn - Chapter 17
🕑 Added 2022-10-14 19:32:42 +0000 UTCÉriunia
Velius watched the Ulaid troops sacking the city below him and frowned. Although a lot of other Romans had disagreed with the policy, one of the things Ky had done that Velius had been happiest about was the declaration ending sacks of conquered cities and the penalties put in place for those who participated. Conchobar was going to have to lead these people if they managed to conquer the island for him, and people whose homes were demolished, possessions taken, and wives and daughters sullied were unlikely to be loyal citizens.
He’d made a plea to Guaire, the commander of the local forces under his command, but the king’s cousin had ignored him. He understood why the man thought he couldn’t keep his soldiers from their rewards since, unlike the Britannians, the bulk of what a soldier could earn after being conscripted was through sacks and the sale of captured men. If the Ulaid did end up joining the Empire, they’d be forced to change their ways, but until they did, there was little Velius could do to stop them.
He’d made a big deal out of the Ulaid being allowed to govern their territory and how they wouldn’t just be simple vassals under Britannic rule, which meant in cases like this, he was mindful of how far he could push them. He’d already pushed the king hard to keep soldiers under his direct command in combat, something neither the king nor his commanders had been pleased about.
Thankfully, none of his soldiers, not even the fairly recent Caledonian recruits, had tried to join in on the plundering, and all held to their positions either guarding the outskirts of the city or remaining in the fortified camp Velius ordered built every night.
“It’s glorious, isn’t it?” Cormac, the king’s son, said.
Velius turned to look at the prince, resisting the urge to shake his head. The boy was barely into his manhood, not yet gaining the muscle and stature that he surely would in time, given his father, which seemed to be a collection of all the worst traits of both young men and less civilized societies. Cormac seemed to enjoy pointless cruelty for its own sake, was a braggart given to boasting the achievements of others, regardless of the part he played, and continually asked about more aggressive, and foolhardy, tactics during Velius’s meetings with his commanders.
The commanders, at least, ignored the boy, understanding that Velius had little choice but to let him be present at the war councils. Rome had similar problems with an emperor’s son butting into military policy until fairly recently. Ky’s new policies pushing merit over position might have started taking hold in Britannia, but they were completely unheard of in places like this.
“No, it’s not,” Velius said dryly, looking past the boy to Llassar as he prepared himself for the lecture he was being forced to give yet again. “You’re going to be expected to govern these people. You’re going to ask them to produce the food your army needs to feed itself and the weapons it needs to fight. You’re going to need them to be loyal, so that you don’t have to divert large parts of your army to pacifying territory you already vanquished. How loyal would you be if your new rulers allowed your women to be assaulted, your precious few valuables taken, and your home to be burned.”
“It’s what will make them loyal. They will fear us and know what could happen if we are forced to come back and teach them another lesson.”
Velius refrained from pointing out that his father’s army hadn’t taught them anything and wouldn’t be in the position to sack the city at all if it wasn’t for Velius and his legions.
Instead, he said, “You should look to your own histories, Prince, since your family is an example of the very thing I’m talking about. Your father was not the next in line for the throne, and the man that was is still out there, leading armies to recapture it. Your father fought to remove him from power and put in a rule that was more just for your people. You should ask yourself, is there someone like your father out there, plotting revenge for the unjust way they must feel they are being treated?”
The prince fell quiet, although Velius couldn’t tell if it was because the message got through or if he was just sulking.
“It’s going to take at least a day to get them back in order and on the march again, unless you’re thinking about leaving them behind and continuing to our objective without them,” Llassar said, from the other side of the boy.
“No, we need to take them with us. In this kind of state, it’s going to be hard for the cavalry to distinguish them from the bandits that have been plaguing the border kingdoms, and we’re already stretching our lines of communication thin enough without losing horsemen to confusion, deciding if a group in the distance is friend or foe. This isn’t a particularly large city, so they should burn themselves out, or at least the town out, by this evening. We’ll send in teams to round up anyone who hasn’t made it back to the camps in the morning, and then be on our way towards the coast.”
“They’ll be exhausted. It will slow down our progress all day tomorrow to keep them with us.”
Velius thought Llassar was probably right, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d learned a long time ago it was better to accept the reality of a situation and plan accordingly than sit wishing the situation was different, wasting time.
“Like I said, there isn’t much we can do about it. We have some time. As far as we can tell, the Carthaginians have forced their allies to pull all of their forces to the south to protect Inverness, which is the only port large enough to receive supplies and reinforcements, and they don’t look to be moving north. Best guess, since taking us head-on didn’t work out great for them, they want to let us come to them this time. They probably have something planned for us and they’ve given an all-or-nothing ultimatum to their allies, forcing them to all but abandon their capitals and join in that plan.”
“If they’ve left their capitals unguarded, shouldn’t you take this opportunity to wipe them out, so they don’t have anywhere to turn to?” the prince asked, looking annoyed that Velius and Llassar were talking over him like he wasn’t there.
“What would be the point?” Velius asked. “By themselves, they aren’t a significant threat beyond raiding. Hell, you wouldn’t have needed us at all if it was just them. Until they got the backing of the Carthaginians, you were able to keep all of the kingdoms in check. They all hated your people, but even banding together, they weren’t able to come for you, until they got help.”
“What’s your point?” Cormac asked.
“My point is, they aren’t a threat. At least not on their own. We gain nothing spending the time diverting to their cities so we can sack them. In fact, you lose something for the same reason we shouldn’t be sacking this place, but even ignoring that, it’s a bad idea. Right now, the enemy is sitting still, waiting on us. Yes, it allows them to come up with a plan to fight us, but it also means we get to choose when and where we attack, to some degree, since they’re not going to want us circling around behind them. If we sit and wait, they’ll start moving. Our scouts are good, but two moving forces add extra uncertainty to the situation, and uncertainty isn’t something a soldier wants. If I was them and I found out we were out here sacking cities, I’d move to hit us while our forces were divided.”
“They need to be taught a lesson,” Cormac muttered, just loud enough to be heard, but not looking at either Velius or Llassar.
“Your father left you with us to learn, Child,” Llassar said, leaning over and grabbing the reins of the younger man’s horse. “If you can’t listen, we can’t teach you anything, and we might as well send you back to your mother’s skirts.”
“That’s enough, Llassar,” Velius said.
He could appreciate the tough love approach Llassar was taking. It was his preferred technique with the legions, where they regularly had to turn willful young men into soldiers capable of following orders. A young princeling, on the other hand, had to be treated differently. Beyond growing up believing, and being told, that they were better than everyone else, he’d seen enough of the young man’s father to know he’d spent his life receiving this approach. If he was still this way after that, then being firm with him would never bear fruit.
“If you want to win wars, you have to think like a soldier and not a brigand. We’re not here to teach these people lessons. We’re here to win a war, which means defeating their armies and forcing their leaders to submit to peace under our terms. If you lose sight of your objectives, you’ll lose sight of your enemy, and they will make you pay the price for your inattention.”
Waving one of his aides over, Velius said, “This foolishness has gone on long enough. See if you can find any of their commanders and tell them if they can’t get their men in line in the next two hours, the legions will leave without them. We have a war to fight.”
***
Devnum
It had taken a little experimenting, but she had figured out how to secretly store the ‘drone,’ as Sophus kept calling it. At first glance, it had seemed small enough, but it was too large to fit through the opening of the pouch and, while it was very flexible, it couldn’t be folded in half to be shoved inside.
She’d eventually worked out a way to attach it to the pouch using a pair of hair clips and several small lengths of leather strip, all of it tied tight enough to keep it from falling, as long as she didn’t start running or doing some other fast movement.
The sun hadn’t gone down yet, but it was getting late in the day when she got to the foundry that was working on the cannon. The men working that day didn’t mind getting let out an hour early, especially once she told them that they would be paid for the whole day, including the time they didn’t work because she’d made them stop. Thankfully, this was one of Hortensius’s shops, which he ran under the philosophy that well-treated workers actually produce more and better-quality products than workers toiling under the whip, so she didn’t have to deal with foremen objecting.
She did have the foremen wait outside for her, in case she had new instructions, which they were less pleased with, since the idea of a short day sounded as good to them as it had to the workers, but they complied, waiting with one of her guards while the rest secured the building to keep prying eyes away from it.
Although she’d been in the foundry many times, it always stunned her how hot it was inside and how brutal the conditions for the workers must be. Even though the furnaces were now only glowing embers, no longer being stoked, and the air outside was still crisp with the last days of winter not far behind them, she could feel sweat instantly begin pooling on her neck as she began walking through the large building.
They’d finished the latest casting of the test cannon almost a week before, which had been pushed to one side of the building, waiting for Hortensius’s sign-off when he recovered. Helpfully, the foremen had also moved the molds for casting it close by, so both could be examined. She’d been surprised the first time she’d seen the cannon, discovering that it had been made out of bronze rather than iron or steel. Bronze was rarely seen outside of decorative metal working anymore, because of how much weaker it was than even the steel they’d been able to make before Ky’s appearance. It was generally considered a metal for a less civilized time, so she hadn’t expected to see the coppery-gold appearance of the cannon the first time.
Sophus had explained that the bronze cannon was lighter and more likely to crack rather than shatter if the metal failed, making it less deadly for the men using it, while still being strong enough to generally stand up to the gunpowder they were producing, but she was still doubtful. The large, metal balls they were producing to fire out of it were also of lower quality, being simple cast iron rather than more refined iron or steel. This was apparently because of weight and speed of production, and she could at least understand not wanting to spend a lot of time and money on something that would be launched at the enemy and probably never recover.
Looking around and confirming the building was empty, she reached inside her tunic and loosened the drone, pulling it out and holding it in the palm of her hand.
“We’re alone,” she said out loud to Sophus, who had no way of knowing what was happening while the drone was compact like this.
The drone instantly expanded, becoming wider and more ridged, and leaped from her hand so lightly that it surprised her. She thought there might be a push-off against her hand, like when a bird would take flight after loitering on your finger or arm, but there wasn’t. It just went up, as if by magic, which she still wasn’t convinced wasn’t the case. Ky kept assuring her it was technology, but she couldn’t even imagine a technology that would allow for something like that.
The drone circled the cannon slowly, stopping for long minutes here and there. There wasn’t any indication it was doing anything other than just floating there, but she waited silently until the disk finally finished going over the cannon and mold and came floating back to her.
“Although there are still issues, the progress is impressive and I believe it will not be long before a usable production model is achievable. An admirable success.”
“So, what needs to change?” Lucilla asked.
“The mold still does not have the precision needed to properly cast the cannon. I know Hortensius used the measurement guides that have been working for the current weapons, but the tolerances needed for this are much more exacting and have less room for variations. We might need to reproduce the measurement equipment used by this facility or adjust them to be more precise, and most likely there needs to be additional training for the men using them to adhere specifically to those measurements. I won’t know until I examine the tools being used, but my guess is this is more a case of the men deciding things are ‘close enough’ rather than a fault with the tools themselves. The issue here is the mold itself and not the cannon, which is well formed and from my measurements adheres precisely to the mold, although it could use more polishing and shaping once the metal cools. Other than the mold, which needs to be recreated, especially the cavity for the borehole, which is much too small to allow for the current horizontal borer to be properly shaped. If steam power was currently possible, we could achieve the force needed to shape the metal from a more solid starting point, but even with the metal slightly heated to allow it to be more malleable, the water-powered bore is not strong enough to get the cavity properly shaped, leading to the walls of the cannon being much too thick. Since switching to a new form of power isn’t feasible in the time we have available, especially since it can’t both be perfected and produced in quantities to be useful, the simplest adjustment is to increase the initial bore cavity, leaving less metal for the bore drill to have to remove.”
“Is there anything that can be done to the drill to make it work better?” she asked, looking at the long device that could be hooked up to the gears coming off the waterwheel that the factory was built around to give it power.
“Not that’s feasible with the current technological base. There is a need to advance to steam power soon, especially before we advance to rifling, which will need steel rather than bronze which can’t be cut by this low-powered drill, but for now, this is passable.”
Lucilla didn’t know what rifling was, but she could understand the need for a stronger drill. Although she hadn’t understood much about metallurgy a year ago, the time she’d spent working with Hortensius going over steel production, cannon development, and the myriad of other things Ky had left in her charge, both when he’d been injured and after he’d sent her back to Devnum to supervise these activities, had given her a solid base of understanding of how these things worked.
She knew, for example, how much stronger steel was than bronze, which would make it impossible to cut using the drill driven by waterpower. A large man could dent and shape it with a hammer, something they wouldn’t be able to do with steel, and the foremen were already complaining about the difficulties they were having with cutting into the metal. She’d heard both Sophus and Ky refer to a machine that could do what the waterwheel did, but with much more power, but she still didn’t understand what that was, exactly. The name they’d called it made it clear that it used steam, but how scalding water vapor could apply more force than a rushing river was beyond her.
That was for the future when Ky was back in Devnum and heading these projects. For now, the drone had done its job and pointed out where the flaws in the cannon were, and how to correct them. She told the foremen they could go home and that they would have to begin recreating the mold and recasting the cannon in the morning, when they’d be given new plans and instructions on what needed to be changed. They’d already recast the cannon numerous times in their attempts to perfect the technology, so they didn’t seem bothered by having to start over again. If anything, they seemed happy to have someone giving them specific instructions again, instead of having to do it on their own without Hortensius’s guiding hand.
She spent the next several hours, well into the evening, in her rooms, writing up the plans to Sophus’s specifications, the drone hovering over her shoulder so the usually disembodied voice could watch what she was doing and make corrections and alterations.
***
Outside Devnum
“What’s the point?” one of the men gathered around the small table said. “The Carthaginians are gone and, if what you said is accurate, Caesius has sailed for Africa. There are too few of us and there is no one left to come to our assistance.”
The home, which had once been the center of a large, landed estate, had begun to look more worn than it once had. The landowner, who’d refused to sell off his slaves when word of the anti-slave laws began circulating, had been forced to sell much of that land to the new freeman farmers that had begun popping up over the last several months. The government had paid him when they’d taken his slaves, but only a pittance of what he believed they were worth and not enough for him to make up for having to pay some of the same people who used to work in his fields for free a wage for the exact same labor, cutting into his profits every week.
“There are still a lot of us loyal to Rome and ready to do what we have to to bring our Empire back to what it was. If we rise up, the people would see it and rally to us. There are too many of us for them to stop.”
Decius shook his head. He’d heard this sentiment for the last several months, as he smuggled himself from one supporter’s home to another, trying to rally support for some kind of action while staying one step ahead of Ramirus’s men, who’d never given up trying to find him even after they murdered his son. These people were mostly angry because they’d lost something to the Emperor’s lackeys, either slaves or business when the Empire enacted its slate of new laws, business prospects when the new Britannic Empire was formed, cutting off most of the lands to the north as a possible point of expansion, or through direct retaliation when they’d dealt with the barbarians, who wanted to pretend they were civilized people. As someone who’d lost more than just money, he could sympathize with their pain and was forever indebted to them, both for their kindness in hiding him and their willingness to fight for the cause, but he was starting to see a troubling pattern.
They’d decided that anyone who disagreed with their hatred of the Emperor and his lackeys was, by default a supporter, and not someone they wanted any contact with. This had started to include anyone who worked on government projects, took government contracts, or even had a family member in one of the legions. The more extreme they got in their stances, the more isolated they became from anyone that didn’t agree with them. They started to only hear people who thought like they did, which gave them a sense that most of the ‘real’ people in Rome were on their side.
Decius had traveled the city, never staying in one place for long, and often he wasn’t able to turn to people like the landowner or the other men gathered here, because they’d started to draw attention to themselves. Dealing with only other disaffected citizens, and being vocal about it, had put them on the spymaster’s lists. More than once, Decius had been forced to find new lodgings at the last minute after learning that the supporter he was planning on staying with was suddenly under surveillance. This meeting had taken more than a month to set up and he’d been forced to all but threaten several of the members to keep to themselves leading up to it, to make sure Ramirus’s thugs didn’t kick down the door in the middle of the meeting.
Decius knew that, while there were people like them out there, the group wasn’t as large as these men believed. Even when they did have a much wider base of support, including the support of two full legions, their attempt to take Rome back had failed. Since then, the immediate threat of Carthaginian invasion had ended, and people were starting to see some of the benefits of all the imperial spending, which meant there was significantly less support now than there had been in early winter. If they rose up, they would be crushed. Easily.
Of course, these were true believers, and none of them would hear a word he had to say if he tried to bring them back to reality. Instead, he needed to get them pointed in the right direction, to at least put their foolishness to good use, before they ended up in one of Ramirus’s cells.
“I couldn’t agree more, if it were only the new ‘Consul’ and his thugs,” Decius said, making sure to use derision on the Consul’s title, since he was at the center of all of their anger. “But things are different now. We aren’t just dealing with the praetorians or Ramirus’s men. Besides the Caledonians, who are now everywhere you look, the Emperor’s daughter has begun bringing in Iberians, Germanians, and all kinds of wild men from the continent; bribed with jobs and promises of becoming citizens just like you and me. If we stand up, who do you think all of these barbarians will side with? No, we need to be smarter. We can’t just take to the streets, putting the palace to the torch. If we are going to strike, we must be smart about it.”
“What would you suggest?” the landowner asked.
The man was angry and looking for some way to vent against what he felt were injustices committed against them. Decius had to be careful. While there was no way someone like Ramirus would find his way of speaking ‘appeasement to the government,’ the landowner and some of the men like him had become too extreme. Anything short of civil war sounded to them like giving in to the Emperor.
“We need to be smart about how we hurt them. Taking to the streets and dying would accomplish nothing. They would sell your home to some northern barbarian and your family would end up working the fields you once owned. I’m willing to give my life, but only if it hurts them enough to make that sacrifice worth it. Caesius is out there, trying to rally support for us. Yes, what you heard is true, he was forced to flee the island when the last safe refuge for him disappeared, but he won’t stay gone. He will come back to take his rightful place as soon as he’s able to. What we can do is help him make that day come sooner. It may look like they are winning, but that’s an illusion. The Emperor’s legions are still badly outnumbered. We’ve all seen the new factories going up across the city and I’m sure by now some of you will have heard about the devastating fire at that new one outside of town. We all know the Emperor’s new ‘Consul’ is the man actually behind these, and clearly, his daughter is in charge of them while her demon lover is out of the city. What we can do is make sure these weapons never make it to the legions, leaving them vulnerable when the Carthaginians return to free us.”
“How do we do that?” he asked, this time sounding interested, instead of sarcastic.
“We kill her.”
“My son-in-law is working in one of the factories. Hortensius was in, at least for a little bit, every single day, before he got injured, making sure everything was running right and that the foremen knew what they needed to do. Lucilla is making the rounds, but not nearly as often as Hortensius did, and from what I hear, she’s mostly just asking questions. If the factories can keep running without him, how is killing her going to stop them.”
“Because there isn’t someone like her to take her place the way she took Hortensius’s. Yes, she isn’t around as much, but from what I hear, production is already falling behind, so clearly, his absence is having an effect. If she’s gone, they’ll have to find someone else to take over, and it’s doubtful that person will have either Hortensius’s drive, or her connection to the ‘Consul,’ who’s the person really behind all this anyway. Better yet, it might force him to come back to Devnum, giving us a chance to get to him.”
“That’s interesting,” the man said.
“How would we get to her?” another man asked. “She’s protected by guards at all times.”
“She’s been meeting with these immigrants from Germania regularly, and indications are she’ll be meeting with them again. Immigrants she has spoken to are moved to other locations and replaced by others who are strangers to her and permitted to get close to her. She’s also touring some of their camps, which allows people to get even closer to her. There’s an opportunity there.”
From there, the men started running with the idea, allowing him to take a step back. They were brave; he had to give them that. Most of the men were willing to give their lives if it meant hurting the people they hated, but they hadn’t thought about what would happen after that. Ramirus would tear their lives apart, finding anyone they associated with that might harbor similar feelings.
Regardless of how successful these men were, this entire group would be in cells shortly after their attempt. Killing the Emperor’s daughter was worth their lives, saddened by it as he would be. It also meant he would have to leave very soon and lay low again, at least for a while.
