Chapter 8

Devnum Lucilla felt a pounding in the back of her skull. For days, she’d been trying to figure out any way to get additional troops for Ky’s legions as he’d approached Italy. He’d already begun the attack two legions down, and he was going to be dispatching another when they reached northern Italy.

Three legions was a very small number as they headed toward the heartland of Carthage. But try as she might, there was just nowhere she could dislodge more men. As it was, Faenius had already complained about the numbers that had been levied from the praetorians, and every manufacturer critical to the production of war material was understaffed. It was also the beginning of planting season, which needed a fair number of hands. There just weren’t enough people in the entire Empire.

She’d sent emissaries to their Germanic allies, but they were already working with Ky and Ursinus, so it wasn’t clear how much they could spare.

All of which put her in a bad mood as a fist raped on her office door. Part of her hoped it was Hortensius sending a messenger to tell her he had something new to show her. At least that would get her out of the palace.

“Yes,” she said.

It wasn’t Hortensius. The door opened and Medb walked into her office, back straight and head up like she was still queen, as always. Lucilla schooled her face. The woman was many things, one of which, unfortunately, was incredibly intelligent.

“What can I do for you?” she asked calmly.

“I need something to do,” Medb declared, walking up to Lucilla’s desk and sitting on one of the stools opposite her without being bidden to. “The sheer boredom of being on the council is slowly draining the life out of me. With Cormac in Hispania and me here, away from the life I’ve known, I’m bored senseless.”

Lucilla studied Medb for a long moment before responding. “The council position is something I’ve granted you to allow you to demonstrate that you can be trusted with responsibility and are willing to contribute meaningfully. If you find it so disagreeable, I can certainly relieve you of that duty.”

She folded her hands on the desk. “But I’m not sure there is much else we could provide you to do at present. You must understand the precariousness of your situation.”

“You claim to want me to integrate into the Empire and contribute value, rather than oppose you,” Medb said angrily. “But now, when I ask for more, you tell me this is all there is. Act as if I’m the one overstepping my bounds. I thought this was what you wanted, my taking a more active role in my new home.”

“It is, but on our conditions. You have yet to show me you can be trusted to take on more substantial roles. I know the council isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but it is the one position where you can do the least damage and was designed as a first step toward being given more, if you did the work and showed we could turn our backs on you without you putting a knife in them. Do I need to remind you it wasn’t that long ago you and I had difficulties because you couldn’t stop challenging my decisions?”

“We did, but have I given you any problems since then? And do you blame me for pushing back? I was given an ultimatum, cooperate or lose my head, and I was told that if I cooperate, I would have a chance at station and real privileges again. I’ve cooperated, and yet, nothing.”

“Not causing problems is not the same as cooperating, and I think we both know that. This isn’t about working down a list, confirming things you’ve been forced to agree to before you buy a horse or a wagon. This is the fate of my people, and I’m not willing to turn that over to you until you show that you can be trusted with watching over the people who offer their allegiance to the Empire.”

“I know all about watching over a people. I was a queen in my own right.”

“And then you handed your country over to Carthage and were their de facto commander in Ériu. As a selling point for doing the best by the people who you govern, that isn’t one I’d want to flaunt.”

“Do you think I had a choice? Conchobar can feel all high and mighty, as far away from the Carthaginians as he could get. I didn’t have that luxury. If you’d waited six more months, he would have bowed to them just as I did, to save his people. It’s easy to say resist until you have nothing left. Look at the other kingdoms around mine who did resist. Their cities are still smoldering, their people either dead or scattered. I kept my people safe,” Medb said, her voice rising to the point that Modius, who’d been lurking in the rear of the room since she entered, took a step toward her.

Lucilla waved him back, but didn’t answer right away. While it was true the former queen was ambitious and power-hungry, she wasn’t wrong about why she’d joined the Carthaginians. If there had been any hope of actually negotiating a settlement short of complete annihilation, her father might have worked out a similar deal. It was hard to judge her for that decision.

But, none of that meant she could trust the woman either.

“You’re right,” Lucilla said finally. “All of the points you’ve made are valid, and I understand why you did what you did. I’m also right, in that there’s no way I can trust you based on your recent actions here. However, I did promise you a real chance to prove yourself, and the council clearly isn’t that. Maybe running the palace household would be a better place to start.”

“Managing servants and ordering meals?” Medb asked. “It is insulting that I’m to be some glorified maid?”

“Not at all,” Lucilla countered. “It’s a position of prestige and responsibility that a lot of people want. You’d oversee all palace affairs - staff, provisions, maintenance. It’s no small task.”

“A task fit for a steward, not a queen,” Medb scoffed.

“You keep forgetting you are no longer a queen, and statements like that are why I keep coming back to the thought that you’d only be happy with my position.”

Medb sat back, crossing her arms. Lucilla fought back a smile. She’d finally found an argument Medb couldn’t counter with a snappy retort.

“I’m not saying this is what you’ll do forever. This is a test. But prove yourself in this role, and more opportunities may arise.”

Medb glared, resentment simmering in her eyes. Still, Lucilla sensed she was considering it.

“Running the palace isn’t meant as an insult,” Lucilla continued. “Deciding who gets audiences, deciding who supplies goods, working with the praetorians, overseeing staff - this is real power and responsibility. It’s more than you’ve been entrusted with up until now.”

Lucilla waited, the silence stretching out between them. She could see the wheels turning behind Medb’s eyes, probably working out the ways to take the most advantage of the situation. There were places for that in the position, mostly graft, but Lucilla doubted Medb would set her sights as low as simple theft.

“Very well, I accept your offer,” Medb said finally.

Lucilla nodded, keeping her face impassive. “Good. I believe this arrangement will benefit us both.”

She rose, signaling the end of the meeting. Medb stood as well, adjusting the folds of her gown.

“However, let me make something clear,” Lucilla added, her voice taking on a steely edge. “With increased access comes increased scrutiny. Until you have conclusively proven yourself trustworthy, I will continue to have you watched at all times. The privileges I grant can be revoked if you overstep your bounds.”

Medb’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

The two women regarded each other for a long moment. Lucilla was under no illusions that Medb had suddenly become her loyal subject. But this new role would keep the ambitious former queen busy and provide a channel for her talents that was not overtly threatening. It would also allow Lucilla’s agents to monitor her more closely.

“Very well then. Talk to the steward tomorrow morning and he will begin your transition,” Lucilla instructed. “I’ll make sure they’re ready for you, although I have no doubt you’ll figure everything out in short order.”

Medb inclined her head once more, then turned and swept from the room in a swirl of skirts. After she had gone, Lucilla dropped back into her seat. Whether this gambit succeeded or failed, only time would tell. But for now, it offered a break from Medb’s constant maneuvering.

Gades, Southern Hispania The village was filled with raucous cheering as Cormac went sailing through the air, landing hard in the dirt before rolling back to his feet, his stance wide and arms in front of him. A circle of men, some bare-chested competitors and others elders who watched but did not participate, surrounded Cormac and his competitor.

Cormac was grinning from ear to ear, a stark contrast to Llassar, who stood behind him with his arms crossed, the expression on his face clear to everyone that he thought this entire endeavor a bad idea. Cormac didn’t care. He knew how to get to the men in the new delegation. Unlike the Turdetani, the representatives from some of the other major tribes were warriors and had an ethos that Cormac understood.

They weren’t the type of men to stay inside all day, arguing and reasoning. They craved the same thing Cormac did, deep down: excitement, adventure. Which is how he settled on this little contest. After his initial introductions, the men who had been sent to see what these new Britannians were doing had seemed totally bored, except during the demonstration of the muskets, which they’d already come to an agreement to sell to the Turdetani. Which is what had given Cormac his idea.

If they didn’t want to sit in a room to discuss treaties and terms of selling these weapons, they could choose a new venue. Strangely enough, in this match, he’d ended up against the bearded Turdetani, who he’d mistaken for a leader on that first attempt at diplomacy that he’d failed so badly.

Although it was still early spring, and not terribly hot, Cormac wiped away dirt and sweat from his brow as he circled his opponent. The bearded Turdetani was spry and skilled, but Cormac could tell his endurance was fading. As the older man lunged forward, throwing a series of quick jabs, Cormac deftly slipped each blow before countering with a swift knee to the ribs. The Turdetani buckled over with a grunt.

“Had enough?” Cormac asked with a cocky grin.

The man might not have understood Cormac’s words, but he understood the expression. Instead of responding, the man spat dust and charged forward again. But he’d had enough. One more throw and the man signaled defeat. Cormac didn’t gloat over him or preen, even though, in his heart, that was what he wanted to do. The man had been full of bluster when he first came into the circle to face Cormac, sure his larger size and experience on the battlefield would give him the day.

If they’d had weapons, he might have been right. After all, Cormac hadn’t fought for years pressed into Carthaginian service like these men had. They didn’t have weapons, though, and in this type of contest, Cormac had years of experience, as it had been his favorite hobby in Emain Macha. Llassar had been insistent, however, that he was to accept every loss gracefully and every win with humility. He’d been against this entire idea, but he said if Cormac was going to insist on it, he needed to remember this was still diplomacy.

So no, Cormac didn’t strut. Instead, he reached out, extending a hand to the fallen warrior, helping him off the ground and clasping arms with him as the onlookers cheered and laughed.

Cormac waved the next two men in and made his way to a container of water, which he took and gulped down greedily.

“Not bad for a young whelp,” a deep voice rumbled behind him.

Cormac turned as the legionnaire next to him translated the words, smiling as he recognized one of the Callaeci chieftains. Beler, he thought his name was.

“I may still be wet behind the ears, but I can handle myself,” he replied.

This was a test, and he had known it was coming. In the weeks since his original failure, he’d finally started listening to Llassar and the lessons he’d worked so hard to impart. Of how things might go as the other tribes began to arrive, how they might try to gain the upper hand.