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.”