Chapter 12

As the sun came up, she was back in the city, still smudged from the ash that had fallen on her for hours. It had been a close thing, but Hortensius’s precautions had worked and none of the other buildings had gone up in the resulting fires. Hortensius was another matter. He’d been unconscious with blood coming from his ears and nose when Cynwrig and Modius dragged him clear of the structure, his clothing scorched black from how close he’d been to the heat of the explosion. He had just been lucky enough to be thrown clear by the blast of hot air, which Sophus had called a blast wave and over-pressurization, words she didn’t recognize, rather than be engulfed by it.

She stayed at the site, directing the firefighting efforts, for several hours after the manufacturer had been put in a cart and taken to the physicians. Losing the factory was going to set them back, but they hadn’t lost any of the finished gunpowder that had already been moved out, so it wasn’t a complete disaster. After they had discussed taking precautions to limit the danger of the gunpowder accidentally igniting, Hortensius had a series of buildings built, or purchased, outside of the city for holding the gunpowder. The buildings next to the factory were just for holding the gunpowder until it could be moved to the more spread-out buildings, usually holding only a day or two worth of production, so even losing the closer buildings only cost them a day or two of production.

Of course, they didn’t know what caused the explosion, but the fire in the warehouse that held the arcuballista made this occurrence suspicious. The senators had been worried that the influx of refugees could be a way for the Carthaginians or people who still supported the failed insurrection to get agents inside the Empire’s critical works, where they could have the opportunity to damage them. Most of the people working in the gunpowder factories didn’t really understand what it was for, but they knew it was destined for the military and the level of effort the Empire was putting into it. She ordered the praetorians to double the guards on the warehouses around town, just in case.

Regardless of the cause, the loss of the factory and the raw materials that had been gathered there was going to be a problem, especially the nitrate, which they were already having trouble collecting. The biggest loss of the night, however, was Hortensius, whose death would set the Empire back in every area of its technological expansion. There were other inventors and manufacturers in the city, but none that matched Hortensius in his ability to quickly grasp and work out how to turn Ky’s instructions into reality. His loss would be devastating.

That was why, despite being awake for almost twenty-four hours and exhausted after the excitement of the evening, she made her way to the valetudinaria, a series of buildings near the center of town for treating the most injured soldiers from their battles with the Carthaginians. Although Hortensius wasn’t a veteran, he was critical to the war effort and the valetudinaria had the best collection of medics and healers in the city.

While she agreed with bringing him here, she’d had Sophus in her ear long enough that her faith in current medical treatment was shaken. In her visits to wounded soldiers, it had pointed out places, several times, where the healers were doing things that would ultimately make the soldiers’ wounds worse. Between herself and Ky, they’d been working on correcting a lot of these issues, although not without pushback from the physicians, who were still incredibly slow to adopt any of the suggested changes.

In spite of their resistance, they had been making progress and death from diseases that set in after the healers’ treatments had lessened. While the progress had been amazing, Ky was still not happy with how long it was taking and the lack of success in the apothecaries in developing treatments. That again showed how critical Hortensius had been to the Empire. There was no person like him in other industries like farming, shipbuilding, or alchemy. Before Ky’s arrival, developing something like gunpowder would have gone to the alchemist instead of a factory owner, but Ky had decided that it was critical enough they needed someone like Hortensius leading its development, and since Hortensius was, so far at least, one of a kind in the Empire, it had gone to him, even though the combining of elements in precise measurements to create a new mixture was somewhat out of his element.

Ky had said several times that, eventually, the apothecaries would come up with medicines that could cure many of the diseases men were still dying from after receiving injuries on the battlefield, but for now, they were limited to what he called ‘more general cures.’ This had mostly been a strong push for cleanliness when dealing with wounds. Things like boiling bandages and instruments before reusing them, scrubbing the hands vigorously with a lye-based soap that burned the skin and then not touching anything else before touching the wound, and regularly cleaning wound sites.

To his credit, in the places where this was being practiced, which included the valetudinaria, since he could get the military to force the medics to follow his policies, the instance of infections after setting bones or removing debris was significantly lessened. The medics at the valetudinaria, at least, were starting to learn from experience and stopped fighting so hard against Ky’s decrees.

Lucilla made sure to visit the tents and buildings of the valetudinaria every few days, when she was in Devnum, to try and cheer up the soldiers, and every time the smell of the place hit her like a slap in the face. A mixture of rotting flesh and harsh lye from the soap made her eyes burn a bit as she pushed through the tent. As the daughter of the Emperor, she had made trips to see injured soldiers even before Ky’s arrival, and she had to admit the smell was at least better now, although the air hadn’t burned as much before the introduction of the new soap Ky had instructed the apothecary to make. Then, the smell had been almost entirely that of puss and decaying flesh, so at least the acrid smell of the soap covered some of that up.

With one of the physicians in tow, she moved through the tent greeting several recovering soldiers, who she had met on her last several visits, before arriving at the back of the tent where they had put Hortensius. He looked bad. Bruises had already started to appear across his face and neck, and probably elsewhere covered by his tunic and a blanket.

“How is he?” she asked the physician.

“Alive. His breathing is bad. As he sleeps it comes as a rasping sound. I have seen this before when a man has been kicked by a horse or when items have fallen on a man’s chest. Sometimes they recover, but often they begin coughing and suffocate.”

“Is there any treatment for this?”

“No.”

She had addressed the doctor, but she was actually asking Sophus, since she knew her own people couldn’t do much for a person whose chest had caved in. She had seen a man kicked in the chest by a horse, the force strong enough to cause him to die right there, gasping for air. His chest had been almost concave, bending inward, like the bones had been warped and bent in. She couldn’t see any evidence of that here, so she hoped there wasn’t anything actually pushing his chest in, keeping him from breathing.

“There are treatments, but none that are possible at this time that wouldn’t increase the risk to the patient. From an acoustical analysis, I believe the blast at the factory was not large enough to cause air embolization or pneumothorax, as most of the blast was directed upwards thanks to the series of concrete barriers built around the building to cause just such an effect. Being outside the building allowed him to be spared the brunt of the over-pressurization. The body can heal most of the damage, but the lungs need to maintain oxygen to give the body time for that to happen. Without imaging devices, it’s impossible to tell what level of damage he has received, but the physician is correct, in that his breathing is labored and suggestive of internal damage. Theoretically, it is possible to build a device that could introduce low levels of oxygen into his respiratory system, simulating proper pressurization and allowing him time to recover. The device would have to be manually operated, which will be difficult and time-consuming, but it should allow his system time to heal itself. For the burns, they should continue to apply clean bandages wetted with a highly diluted vinegar solution.”

She listened to Sophus describe the device that needed to be built and realized the irony that Hortensius was better qualified than anyone to build the device that would be needed to save him. She kept a neutral expression on her face, staring at her friend, as she tried to work out exactly how to draw what Sophus was describing.

Finally, she straightened up and said, “For now, continue doing what you’re doing. Make sure any bandages used to soak in the vinegar solution are first boiled and allowed to dry clear away from any other items before they are applied. For his breathing, I will have a device I want you to build and will instruct you in the proper use of it. It will require someone to operate it constantly for all hours of the day and night, but I will find men to operate it under your guidance and pay for them myself.”

“What does this device do?”

“It very slowly pushes air into his chest, keeping it inflated and working while his body heals itself. It might not work, but it will increase his chance of survival.”

The physician looked skeptical, as they often did when being told of a new life-saving method that went counter to their training. Ky, at least, they could accept. He’d been sent down by the gods, after all. She, however, was ‘just a woman.’

“I will be leaving one of my guards here. You will build this device exactly to my specifications, and you will keep it operating at all times until I give you permission to stop, or he regains consciousness. Is this clear?”

She didn’t raise her voice or yell, but she’d learned to speak with a command voice from her father, and only used it when she needed to be taken seriously. She used it now, and saw the man take a step back in spite of himself.

“Cynwrig. Stay here and make sure they do as I instructed.”

The look her guard gave her made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about being left behind, but he only said, “Sure.”

Unlike the Romans, who treated her with formality, Cynwrig never said ‘my lady’ or added honorifics when speaking to her. He often incurred Modius’s ire when he addressed her by name or ‘little bird,’ the Caledonian nickname she picked up, but she didn’t mind. She liked the way that he, and the other Caledonians, treated her with more informal respect that was often more genuine than the performative respect used by many Romans.