Chapter 17

Devnum

Faenius walked purposefully into the temple, past the marble columns, intricate mosaics, and frescoes depicting religious tales, flanked by a squad of his best Praetorians, including the recently promoted centurion, Claudius, whom Faenius had been watching closely, as the man had promise.

The thunder of their synchronized footsteps echoed off the high ceiling as the guards fanned out, establishing control of the vestibule. Two temple guards moved to block their path, leveling spears with shaking hands.

Fixing them with an icy stare, Faenius said, “Stand down. We are here on orders from the Empress herself.”

The guards exchanged nervous glances, then reluctantly lowered their weapons and stepped aside. Satisfied, Faenius motioned for his men to continue into the temple’s inner sanctum.

At the far end of the hall, beside an enormous statue of Jupiter, Vesnius knelt in prayer. Hearing the Praetorians’ approach, the High Priest rose and turned. His eyes widened in shock at the armed men.

“You dare desecrate the sacred temple,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Explain this intrusion at once.”

“Lucius Vesnius Sacerdos,” Faenius said, stepping forward, his face hard. “You are under arrest for treason and conspiracy against the Empire.”

“How dare you. I am the Flamen Dialis! High Priest of Jupiter Optimus! I demand to know the meaning of this!”

“You’ve used your position to spread sedition and treason against the Empire.”

“Lies, all of it. You have no proof,” Vesnius scoffed, pointing a long, bony finger at Faenius. “You defile this sacred place with your false accusations.”

Faenius stepped closer until they were face to face, eyes boring into the priest, “We are here in the name of the Empress. If you resist, we will drag you out in chains.”

Faenius nodded sharply, gesturing for two guards to take hold of Vesnius. They grabbed the priest, gripping his arms tightly when the old man tried to yank his arms free. He dug in his heels, but his sandals only slid uselessly along the smooth marble floor of the temple’s inner sanctum.

“Unhand me, you filth!” Vesnius spat as he was hauled through the temple’s towering entrance and out into the bright sunlight.

The commotion had not gone unnoticed. A crowd was already gathering, commoners and merchants mingling with robed priests and stunned members of the Senatorial class who stared and murmured amongst themselves.

Faenius emerged behind Vesnius, surveyed the scene, and gestured curtly for his men to proceed. The guards holding Vesnius adjusted their grip and marched onward, dragging the struggling priest down the temple’s steps to the street level.

Vesnius craned his neck looking around wildly and yelled, “Is this how the Empress’s justice is dispensed? To protect foreigners and barbarians, they haul your priests away in chains?”

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, undercurrents of anger and confusion rippled through the gathering throng. The priest had led the people of Devnum for decades and had always been a trusted servant of the gods. The people were deeply troubled to see him arrested.

Sensing the crowd’s budding resentment, Faenius turned, raising a hand for attention, “This man stands accused of treason by decree of the Empress herself. Return to your homes and businesses.”

His tone brooked no argument. Behind him, the Praetorian guards formed a tight cordon, shields at the ready.

Vesnius noted Faenius’ caution with a spark of satisfaction, struggling against his captors’ grips.

“So this is how Rome’s protectors address her free citizens? With arrogance and unjust acts?”

The edges of the crowd pressed in, their angry murmurs growing louder by the second. The Praetorians scanned the mass of people, noting the tell-tale signs of a gathering storm. Fists clenching, shoulders squaring, faces hardening.

Faenius quickened his pace, as the situation began to spiral out of control. The sooner they were free of this mob, the better. But the crowd was already spreading to block the intersections ahead. They’d reached critical mass.

A piece of rotten fruit sailed past Faenius’ head, splattering against the wall of a nearby insula making a wet smack. More debris pelted in from all sides - clay pots, stones, sticks - peppering the cohort of Praetorians. Faenius pivoted, looking over the throng. Faces blurred together in a mass of anger and suspicion. He couldn’t pinpoint the sources of the projectiles.

“Free Vesnius!” an unseen voice yelled out.

Others echoed the demand and it slowly became a chant, serving to build the people’s anger more.

Faenius spotted a red-faced man hefting another stone, arm cocked to throw.

“Disperse at once!” Faenius bellowed, pointing at the man, halting him mid-motion. “Return to your homes before this escalates further!”

His warning went unheeded. More debris sailed toward them. One man surged forward, practically spitting with rage, only to be shoved back by a Praetorian’s shield. Cries of indignation erupted from the crowd. They were growing bolder, inching steadily closer, testing the squad’s defenses.

Faenius steadied himself. He had hoped to avoid this, but the situation had escalated quickly. It was clear they wouldn’t be able to withdraw without using force. The Praetorians were outnumbered.

“Form a cordon!” Faenius bellowed.

Immediately, the soldiers tightened their spacing, linking shields to create an impenetrable barrier, lifting the truncheons they carried in addition to swords, bracing for impact.

“Advance!”

At Faenius’s command, they began pushing as one down the street. Truncheons swung ruthlessly, driving back those who resisted. Shouts of pain competed with cries of fury as the Praetorians bulled their way forward. Step by step, they gained ground.

The mob attacked the cordon with renewed zeal, raining down blows and clawing at shields. A hurled stone glanced off a soldier’s shoulder armor. He whirled, spotting a wild-eyed youth clutching another rock. Their eyes locked for a split second before the Praetorian’s truncheon crunched sickeningly across his jaw. The young man collapsed in a heap.

The crowd was a churning avalanche of bodies, threatening to overwhelm them through sheer numbers. The Praetorians heaved back against the human tide, Roman discipline overcoming the mob’s chaotic fury.

The Praetorians continued their relentless push forward as the mob clawed and shoved against them. Faenius spotted gaps beginning to form along the edges of the formation as his men were gradually being separated. He barked an order, and the soldiers pivoted, presenting a new face to push the crowd back and close the gaps. Despite their discipline, the sheer press of bodies made it nearly impossible to maintain cohesion.

It was clear they would not make it to the prison with their prisoner intact if this continued much longer. He had to act decisively before things escalated into wholesale chaos.

“Claudius!” Faenius shouted over the din, the centurion turned his head briefly to show he was listening. “Take three men, get Vesnius out of here. We will cover your withdrawal.”

Claudius nodded and began barking orders of his own. He and two other guards grabbed Vesnius and pulled him from the mob’s grasp. Faenius could see the stark fear on the priest’s face as he was dragged away into a side street. Now they just had to buy enough time for Claudius to get clear.

Faenius used the opportunity to issue new orders, “Form paired columns, we’re going to sweep this rabble aside and clear the streets.”

The Praetorians reconfigured into two columns bristling with shields and truncheons. On Faenius’ command, they lurched into motion, bulling their way through the densely packed mob like a plow tearing through soil.

People cried out in pain and fright as they were battered and thrown aside. The Praetorians were careful to avoid killing blows, focusing on swift, debilitating strikes to clear their path. With the priest and his cries gone, resistance quickly crumbled before the inexorable advance of the paired columns.

Within minutes, the last of the stragglers had been driven into side streets or fled entirely. An eerie quiet fell over the agora. Faenius kept them moving at a quickstep, wanting to put distance between them and the mob, should it regroup.

As soon as he reached the palace, he went toward the dungeon where the priest would be held. Claudius would have been able to move fast, but it was possible that parts of the crowd paralleled him, catching up with him short of the protective ring around the palace.

Thankfully, he spotted Claudius emerging from the dungeon just as he arrived, the centurion hurrying over as soon as he saw his commander.

“The prisoner is secure, sir,” Claudius said, saluting.

“Well done, Claudius. Have the men with injuries see the medicos and take an hour’s rest. I need to report this mess to the Empress. She’ll want to question Vesnius herself about these treasonous allegations.”

“Yes, sir,” Claudius replied crisply, before marching off.

Faenius watched him leave, thinking forward to his meeting with the Empress. He’d arrested the priest, but not as quietly as she had ordered. There was going to be blowback from this action, to be sure.

Daramouda

While he waited for the rest of his officers to finish filing into the command tent, Tabnit read over the scrolls containing the lists of supplies and logistics for the coming campaign, handed to him by one of his aides. Not for the first time, he wished he had some of the flat sheets the Romans invented that they called paper. He’d gotten his hands on a few sheets taken after one of their few victories, and it hadn’t taken long to realize how much easier it was to work with than the rolled scrolls that his people used.

“The final shipments have arrived,” Tabnit announced when the last of his officers had finally taken his place for the command council. “We now have enough to fill out Atar’s section, which means we’re ready to start our end of the campaign.”

Murmurs rippled through the tent as the officers exchanged approving glances. After months of waiting, everyone was eager to get started. Small harassing attacks had not given many chances for glory, which is what all of his subordinates would need if they were to get commands of their own.

“I know some of you have also heard we’ve received the shipment of weapons from the Far East the emperor promised us. While that is true, unfortunately, the weapons will all remain with the main body under my command, as we have a limited amount, and we won’t use them until we begin our attack on the Romans in earnest. I want them to be a surprise. That’s why none of your people have been allowed to see the shipment. I do not want word of what this weapon is leaking out. This means that I expect all of you to hold your curiosity. Do not go looking to find out what it is, and do not attempt to see it for yourselves. I give you this warning once, and I expect you and your subordinates to heed it. At my request, the emperor has sent some of the Acolytes of Hexitas, who have been instructed to kill anyone not authorized if they attempt to view the shipment. There will be no warnings or second chances. Is that clear?”

A murmur passed along the group. Of all the tools the emperor had to control his subjects, the Acolytes of Hexitas were by far the most feared. Clad in all black except for the skull masks covering their faces, the Acolytes were fanatical, welcoming death if it came in the service of their god. They saw every death they caused as an offering and were brutal in their devotion.

Tabnit did not enjoy having them around, but he knew he’d only get one real shot to make this new weapon work for him, and he had to make it count. If he could push the Romans off the continent, he could turn the tide of the war and cement his place in the annals of the empire.

“In addition to the new weapons, the emissaries from the Far East have brought us something else. Engineers who will teach our men a way to attack their forts without having our men torn apart by their thunder weapons. I do not want to delay starting our march for training, so each group will select men for a detail that will train every evening when the army stops for the night. During our attack, they will direct our men to build the fortifications that will allow us to get within striking distance of their walls. I expect every one of your men to train hard, to be ready for our attack.”

Pausing to make sure the men understood him, he continued, “We will be marching quickly. I received word two days ago that our northern army has maneuvered the Romans into terrain that negates their thunder weapons and they have most likely already begun their attack.”

Murmurs rippled through the tent as the men reacted to this news.

“We greatly outnumber their forces there, and without their thunder weapons, we will be able to finally crush their forces in the North. I want to push their southern army back into the sea before word of the loss can reach their islands. We will be marching at dawn, and I want your men ready to march. I will accept no excuses.”

“Apologies, General, but what of their string of interconnected forts built along the north side of the mountains?” Nabalsa, one of the section commanders, asked. “Our raiding parties have had limited success against them. They’ve cleared a large amount of land around them, giving their weapons room to decimate our warriors. When we attempted to put them under siege, we were attacked by the forces from the other forts, pinning us between them. With these new techniques, we should be able to get close enough to capture the forts, as long as we keep sufficient forces to counter their reinforcements. Even with all of that, I don’t think we can destroy all of the forts in the timeline you’ve allotted.”