The Wings of Mercury
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 11
Carthage
Medb slipped through the narrow alleyways of Carthage, her cloak pulled tight against the cool spring air. The streets were quiet, partially because of the early hour and partially because of the continued pervasive unease that had settled over the city, everyone feeling how close it was to boiling over. She approached a small, abandoned house, its once-white walls now stained and crumbling, the door hanging slightly ajar, broken by sword and club.
She was aware that being alone in this area of town, as a woman, was dangerous. She had battled with Cormac for an hour after she told him what she was planning to do, that her informant had left a mark indicating he needed a meet and that she had responded for it to be tonight. Claudius had been even worse, demanding to be allowed to come with her.
She had to put her foot down. They couldn’t both be meeting up with Geral every time. They needed to be able to switch off, to keep people from noticing who he was meeting with, or seeing a pattern of the two of them leaving together traveling to this area of town and paying more attention to their movements as a result.
She paused at the door, listening for any sign of life within. Silence greeted her. She pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. The house was small; a single room with a hearth at one end and a dark stain in the center of the room, suggesting that whoever had lived here had met an unfortunate fate.
She didn’t question the places Claudius picked for meeting spots, trusting his judgment, but she did wonder sometimes. She stepped outside again and pulled a small piece of chalk from her pocket and drew a symbol on the wall next to the door before moving back inside. Then she waited. Patience was a key to her work. Sometimes doing nothing was better than doing something for the sake of doing it.
She didn’t stir out of her meditative waiting when she heard a rustling outside the door. Her hand dropped to her knife, only to relax as Geral emerged through the doorway.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I had to wait until the meeting broke up and until I was sure I wasn’t being followed.”
“It’s fine. What was this meeting about?”
“It was a gathering of low-level operatives, like myself, along with our group leader, to hand out new instructions. They do it somewhat regularly.”
“And? What were these instructions?”
“Mostly to continue the small disruptions and demonstrations against the Britannian occupiers.”
“So, nothing about their bigger plans? Their endgame?”
“If there is an endgame, they’re not sharing it with us. It’s all vague talk about ‘restoring Carthage’s greatness’ and ‘dislodging the Britannians.’ Nothing concrete. That and they’re pushing us to recruit more people, especially youths. They’ve talked to us about targeting the poorer quarters, looking for those with little to lose and plenty of anger to spare.”
“We knew this was happening, though. This seems like things are remaining the same and you’ve gained no new information, so why the request for a meeting? You understand each time we meet, it puts you in danger and opens a chance for this to all fall apart?”
“No, there is something new to report. You asked that I keep an eye out for any outside agitators behind the movement, or at least involved with it. And I think there are.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“No. They’ve never admitted it to us, but they can’t keep people from gossiping, and there is a lot of talk of benefactors supporting us, a powerful group willing to come in and help us when the time is right.”
“If they’re not telling you about what’s happening outside your group, how would they know?”
“The gossip is pervasive, and our leaders have told us it isn’t true and that to talk about such things is tantamount to hurting the cause. For a rumor that only energizes the true believers, who think we need outside help and have been asking when someone would come to our aid, it doesn’t make sense for them to so aggressively deny it. Unless it’s true, and whoever this benefactor is doesn’t want us to know about their involvement.”
“Maybe,” Medb said, although she wasn’t sure she agreed with his reasoning. “Do you think it’s the Easterners? The people who helped Carthage during the war?” Medb asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“But you just said they’re not telling you anything.”
“I know, but part of the talk is coming from a few of our people who were lent to one of the groups on the other side of town for some kind of big operation, the one I messaged Claudius about. They said the leader of that group was much more talkative, mentioning that there were friends visiting, and that they had been observing some of the meetings of the various cells, including ours. They must have blended in well, since I don’t remember anyone standing out. New people, sure, that happens all the time, but no one notable. From the stories I heard near the end of the war about the Easterners, people who saw them delivering weapons, we would notice them. They stood out.”
The big operation Geral had mentioned was an attempt to break into one of the praetorian armories and steal rifles and ammunition. They’d bribed one of the tax collectors, who’d used his position to demand a key to the armory, which he had planned to give to the insurgents. Eoghan had denounced the man at once, but it was another sign of the deep corruption that ran throughout the governor’s administration. The praetorians and even bureaucrats assigned from home were well vetted and watched for this kind of thing, but the system he put in place, independent of the checks, was clearly rotten to its core.
“Yes, that is how I understand it to be. If there is someone else in play, other than the Easterners, I need to know about it.”
“That won’t be easy to confirm. Other than the one leader who seems to be more willing to talk, they’re all very tight-lipped.”
“I know. See if you can get moved to his group, or try to move up the ranks. Push for a leadership position. Get yourself in a position where you’ll be allowed to know more.”
“I’ll try. But it won’t be easy. They’re careful.”
“Just do what you can. Finding this out could be crucial.”
She knew pushing him to expose himself more, bring notice to himself from whoever was behind this manufactured uprising, would put him in more danger, but that’s what assets like him were there for. He said the danger was worth it to keep the Carthaginians from returning.
Now, it was time for him to prove he meant it.
Devnum
Lucilla made her way down the main street that led from the palace through to the Colosseum. As with every time she set foot outside the palace, a small procession followed behind her. Guards, courtiers, aides were added to by throngs of citizens curious about what was happening and joining in until they filled the street and stretched out far behind her.
While she knew her people appreciated, and even loved, spectacles, she also knew impromptu parades such as those created in her wake disrupted the city that she needed running as smoothly as possible to continue transitioning the Empire back onto a war footing.
Today’s parade led her to what had once been a traditional hospital but had been slowly converted into something that would have felt more in place in Factorium.
She had, under Ky’s urging, replaced every physician and natural philosopher supported by the Empire with men less stuck in their ways and more willing to learn the new techniques Ky had to teach them. The men who’d served as his father’s chief physician and advisors on all matters medical had shown an inability, or at least an unwillingness to adapt to Ky’s methods and directions.
She understood it, in a way. She’d always paid strict devotion to the gods and understood their teachings to be paramount, and Ky’s explanations for what caused sickness and diseases went in the face of everything the priests had ever told them. It had been a struggle for her, if she was being honest. She’d fought it in the beginning, stuck in her belief in Ky’s supernatural existence, but he, and mostly Sophus, had finally convinced her that it wasn’t that at all.
She wasn’t sure she grasped the idea of him coming from the future where this magic was an everyday occurrence, but he’d never given her a reason to doubt him. And it meant that, no matter what tradition and the physicians said, the old way of treating the sick and injured had to change.
And he’d been proven right. People survived illness at a rate nearly unheard of before, and children were living to become young adults more than twice as often as they once had. Ky was still appalled by the rates of death during pregnancy and from illness, but from what Lucilla saw, what he’d managed was nothing short of a miracle.
And part of that miracle was what brought her here today. Four years ago, she’d finally had enough of her father’s physicians stalling and procrastinating in adopting Ky’s new techniques and removed them all from their positions, and found new people with some background in more traditional methods but who were willing to learn the new ways.
Surprisingly, there had been few Romans who’d fit that description. She’d never thought of her people as particularly hardheaded, especially not with how much they’d taken to Ky’s other innovations, or how advanced they’d been before Ky. Well, advanced for the pre-Ky world, anyway.
Thankfully, her people weren’t just Romans anymore, and there were plenty of Ulaid and Caledonians who’d been more adaptable. Which included the Caledonian who’d adapted the fastest, and who, two years ago, she’d named as the Imperial Physician and put in charge of training new physicians and setting imperial standards. She’d also placed him in charge of the legion’s medicos, but that was more to set standards for legion physicians and appoint deputies that would travel with the legions themselves.
He was waiting in front of the Imperial Medical Center when Lucilla arrived, along with what looked like most of the building’s staff. The man was almost as busy as Hortensius with how busy he kept himself, so Lucilla had sent a warning that she would be visiting to make sure he was available to talk to her, since she had limited time in the day and too much to deal with herself.
It was always a surprise to see the man in person. Had she not known he was Caledonian, Lucilla might not have guessed it. Most of the Caledonians she’d known were large men with thick mats of hair. Hywel was almost frail-looking, his arms thin and his back slightly hunched, which explained why he also walked so slowly.
There was nothing, however, slow about his mind.
“Empress, it’s good to see you again,” he said, bowing. “Your message did not say to what I owed the pleasure of your visit.”
“The Consul has sent instructions for you. Now that we’ve met the enemy, it is clear we will be facing a new type of war which will create new types of wounded, and we need to be ready to adapt to that.”
“Certainly, certainly. Please, follow me inside.”
Lucilla waved to her protective detail to wait outside along with most of the courtiers, taking only her private guards inside, walking past rows of beds, which were only about a third full at the moment. That was to be expected. This was not the only, or even the largest, of the hospitals in the city, and it only took the worst cases, and was otherwise used for teaching and medical study.
She passed through into a series of smaller rooms and hallways, eventually ending at a nearly pristine office, full of papers, but all organized neatly, everything in its place.
Lucilla settled into the chair across from Hywel’s desk, waving her hand at Gaius, who pulled a stack of papers out of his bag and set them on the physician’s desk.
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