Chapter 1

Port Amicitiae, Africa

The port commander sat hunched over his desk, poring over the day’s shipping manifests and schedules. The scratching of his pen, one of the Consul’s many inventions and much superior to the writing sticks they had previously used, had become almost hypnotic over the hours. When they’d sent him down to command one of the farthest outposts of the Empire, Arn had imagined it would be the peak of his career since joining the Britannian legions and becoming a citizen. He had pictured dealing with strange and interesting people and the chances for glory that would come his way.

Yes, there had been strange and interesting people, and it had sometimes been a chore to ensure that they paid the tariffs and that the conflicts with the locals didn’t get too out of hand. Mostly though, there had been paperwork. So much paperwork.

He’d just finished the latest stack and was contemplating a stroll out to the docks, just to clear his head, when there was a series of aggressive knocks on his door.

He hadn’t even bid the person enter before the door thrust was open and a flush-faced legionnaire, his breath coming in short gasps, rushed in and said, “Tribune! Strange ships have been sighted on the horizon!”

It wasn’t clear what this man was so excited about. They got ships in, while not all the time this far out on the edge of the known world, on the far southern coast of Africa, regularly. They were, in fact, expecting a supply fleet anytime now and had word that ships out of the Sea of Reeds should be stopping here on their way around the cape.

“What do you mean, strange? We were expecting the...”

“No, sir. Not one of our ships. They’re huge, larger even than a caravel, with strange sails. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

Grabbing a spyglass from his desk, he went to the window and looked out. The ships were still a bit far away, but he could see them closing. It wasn’t a few ships either. There were maybe fifteen that he could see, but bunched as they were, it was hard to tell if there were more behind those.

The newest spyglasses were good, better even than those used during the war with Carthage that ended five years ago, but the ships were still a little hard to make out. They may be large. Actually, they were very large by his estimation, which had become a lot more expert since becoming the commander of a major port. The ocean, however, had a way of making everything appear smaller.

He squinted, staring at the ships as they grew larger and larger in his eyepiece. There was something familiar about them. Something stirred in the back of his brain. And then it hit him.

He’d seen reports about ships with some of the same features, including a reminder earlier this year about their design, along with the instruction that ships with those odd, folded sails that seemed to go the wrong direction should be considered hostile.

Ships with similar sails, although described with many differences, had fought against Admiral Valdar in the famous Battle of the Sea of Reeds, which helped close out the war.

“Sound the alarm. I want every available man armed and ready to defend the port. Dispatch message boats for Port Vikhavn telling them what we’ve seen and request the message be relayed to Britannia. Man the fort cannons. Now.”

The legionnaire didn’t even bother to salute. He just turned and dashed out of the office.

Arn was about to call out for another messenger to order the only warship in port at the moment, the schooner BNS Lugh, put to see but he saw its Ulaid captain had already begun to push away from the dock. Good. At least some of the men had their wits about them.

Grabbing his gladius, that had been leaning against the wall, and thankful they no longer had to don armor for battle, Arn ran after his legionnaire, toward the small fort on the far left of the port.

He’d only made it halfway to the fort when alarm bells began to sound, the urgent clanging sending people and merchants running for cover. At least, some of them.

There hadn’t been an attack since the war, when the port had been just a few damaged ships cannibalized for parts, but Arn and his predecessors had been warned this day might come, and the bell had never been rung more than three times in a row. Insistent ringing was saved for true emergencies. For war.

The newest arrivals to the port and some of the locals from out in the grasslands to the west, who come to trade cattle for wares, stood around looking confused, but they’d figure it out once the cannon started firing.

“Man the battlements,” he commanded as he arrived at the fort. “Roll out the cannon.”

“Already done,” the centurion on watch at the fort said. “Additional powder is being brought up from the stores now.”

“Good man. Order all civilian ships to flee. Tell them not to wait for any crew not aboard or any merchandise. If they don’t get out now, they won’t be leaving.”

The order gave away any pretense that the port would survive this. Not that any seasoned officer would believe otherwise. He just hoped the Lugh, which had already made its way out of the port and was picking up speed as it headed toward the enemy fleet, would buy them enough time to get people out. It was a suicide mission and anyone on board had to know that. But, they were buying time for the civilian ships to flee.

Besides, what else could they do?

He saw the Lugh cut north, bringing its broadside to bear smartly, and the flashes of fire before the booming sound of the cannon made its way to them. The battle had begun. The first salvo had been deadly accurate, and the lead ship coming toward them began to drift south, as the top half of its main mast was severed and sent over the side.

The enemy wasn’t sitting still and was turning its broadside in turn, but much slower. It was clear whoever had designed these massive ships had done so without a care for handling. The smaller Lugh was already turning around to sail back toward the port, probably in order to swing south and try to get out of the line of their broadside.

Breccan, its captain, almost succeeded, managing to make a small circle and begin traveling south as he brought his other broadside to bear. But only almost.

The enemy fleet, which was indeed more than fifteen ships, Arn could now see, had turned as well, and salvo after massive salvo thundered from the front six ships.

The poor little schooner never stood a chance. Their aim also didn’t seem quite as good as the Lugh’s, but it didn’t need to be with the weight of fire as dozens of cannonballs smashed into the smaller ship. Its speed dropped dangerously as hole after hole appeared in the sails. The mast didn’t go, but enough spars had been sheared off to cause half the sails to droop and sag, no longer able to catch significant wind.

Breccan managed another salvo of his own, shot low into a single ship, with most of his shells landing. They must have hulled it low because it started to drift lower and lower as its front dipped and the belly filled with water.

And then a second salvo sounded from the enemy. Arn could see whole sections of the Lugh disappear as it began to roll over. Men were jumping into the water, some looking like they intended to swim back to the port.

Not that it would do them any good. With that many ships, Arn was under no illusion that his port would survive much longer than the schooner did.

Devnum, Britannia

Ky hunched over his desk, studying a map of the rail lines in eastern Germania. Hortensius’s work, or at least the surveyors he’d sent out on this mission the previous summer, had made excellent progress and Ky could see very few changes that needed to be made. They’d already made great progress connecting most of Europe, especially the more heavily occupied western half, but the east still only had two lines going past what had once been, or would be, it was still hard to determine how to phrase that, the borders of Germany.

Those areas had been fairly depopulated during the war as Carthage stripped men from every meter of their former empire for conscripts, but they were repopulating as more and more people arrived from further east. So far, the arrivals had just been looking for a new land to settle, and there was plenty of land available, so there hadn’t been any problems. If that was going to continue, they needed to integrate the newcomers into what Ky had started to think of as The Western Alliance, which was essentially all of the regions that had allied with Britannia during the war and had consolidated into regional powers since.

They were also still deep in negotiations with the Greeks, who were not willing to see the benefits of modernization, or at least the benefits of doing it under Britannia’s direction. Ky was confident Lucilla would untangle that knot eventually and wanted to have the support infrastructure in place when she did.

“Up early and back at it, I see,” Lucilla said from behind him, drawing his attention from the map.