Chapter 23

Gaul, North of the Pyrenees

An argument was in full swing as Bomilcar ducked through the entrance to the command tent, which came to an abrupt halt just as the general made his sudden appearance. Aelius, Gordianus, and several of their tribunes were gathered around a rough map of the area and had clearly been in a heated discussion about what to do next. Now, all five men were staring at him, shocked.

It was a testament to how chaotic things must have been along this line that he and a full legion had managed to come in from the north and outpace any warning the legates might have had, telling them reinforcements had arrived.

“Gentlemen,” Bomilcar said in his deep baritone.

“General,” Aelius said. “Thank the gods you’re here. Please tell me the Consul sent you with reinforcements.”

“He did,” Bomilcar said, coming all the way inside the tent, making room for Auspex to enter. “We brought a legion with us, which should bring us up to more than ten thousand men. Not counting the thousands still stationed in the forts.”

“It does. With that, we should be able to finally stop retreating and hold the line against these bastards,” Gordianus said. “Before the port fell, Legate Velius ordered us to avoid contact and continue falling back until we received orders from the Consul. I was starting to worry those orders wouldn’t arrive before we got pushed back to the last fort in the line.”

“Tell me what’s been happening. We heard of the loss of Port Invictus, but haven’t received much information since then.”

“The situation has been dire,” Aelius said, looking much older than he really was. “Ever since we lost Port Invictus, it feels like we’ve just been running with our tails between our legs, trying to stay ahead of them. Even with the losses they sustained at the port, they still have massive numbers over us.

“Worse, we haven’t been able to use any of our fortifications. We’ve had to abandon fort after fort just to avoid being surrounded and wiped out. Seeing what they did to Port Invictus, we dare not let them surround us. We can’t escape by sea like we did there, and with their trenches and gunpowder, it would only be a matter of time before they’d destroy us. This is the fifth fort we’ve pulled back to since the escape from the port, and we’ll have to leave by daybreak if we want to avoid them. Recently they increased their pace considerably, giving us barely any time to rest the men.”

“Which is why we’re going to be changing tactics. We aren’t going to hold this line at all. In fact, we’re going to be pulling off the line entirely. We’ll leave only a single century at this fort and those remaining to the north, taking all of the gunpowder and cannons you’ve been moving from the previously lost forts with us. There, we will wait for the rest of your men to join us.”

“The rest of our men?” Aelius asked, confused. “This is all of the men we have available.”

“No, it’s not. You also have the men in the forts. You’re to send a message along the line ordering them to retain one century at their fort and send the rest to meet us, pulling the bulk of their gunpowder and cannons with them. The men left in the forts will continue doing as you’ve been doing, pulling back to avoid contact, all the way down the line of forts. That includes the century we’re leaving here. Their job is to keep the Carthaginians fixated on these forts by making it look as if we’re still all here and retreating. They’re to leave behind signs of a retreating larger force and pull large wagons weighted with rocks to simulate the evacuation of the guns. Hopefully, the Carthaginians take the bait and continue chasing them, for a little while longer, giving us time to consolidate.”

“What are we doing once we do?” Aelius asked.

“Once the forces from the forts arrive, we’re going to swing around and attack the Carthaginian forces left at Port Invictus,” he said, pointing at the fallen port on the map.

“Why?” Aelius asked, a little horrified. “Why bother retaking the destroyed port? Even if we do recapture it, it will take time to rebuild and even if we do, the Carthaginians can just destroy it again. They’ve shown us what they can do when we allow ourselves to be backed into a corner.”

“We aren’t going to hold the port,” Bomilcar clarified. “We’re removing any enemy forces behind us and making ourselves a threat to the Carthaginians from the west. Once we defeat the enemy at the port, we’ll push east again, hopefully forcing the Carthaginians to turn around and come for us.”

Moving his finger from the port up to Germania, Bomilcar added, “The Consul is bringing an army down from the north directly toward the Carthaginian port on the Middle Sea. Either the Carthaginians end up between us, or they retreat to the port and we and the Consul’s forces will converge, confining them in their port. If the fleet does its job, we’ll have them bottled up, where we can destroy them.”

“Either way, mobile or with the Carthaginians trapped, it deprives them of their new tactics and weapons,” Bomilcar concluded, looking at the men in the tent. “Does anyone have any other questions?”

Aelius didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t ask any more questions, nor did Gordianus or any of the other officers.

“Good, then let’s get moving. As you pointed out, we don’t have a lot of time until the Carthaginians close on this fort, and we need to be well out of the way before they get here. I want the new orders relayed to the remaining forts immediately with instructions for the bulk of their forces to withdraw and join us at the rendezvous point. Make sure the men remaining behind understand their orders. They must ensure the Carthaginians believe we are still retreating down the line of forts. I do not want the enemy to know we’ve retreated north until it’s too late.”

“We’ll take care of it, General,” Gordianus said, saluting.

“Good. They must understand that they need to keep moving, I don’t want any of the men we’re leaving behind to try and do anything foolish. No heroic last stands. The Consul will be here soon, and they’re to join his army until we can collect them.”

Gordianus nodded and left the tent, following the rest of the men. They were good leaders and had shown they were capable, carrying on after the death of their commander. Bomilcar had liked Velius, even though it took time for the legate to warm up to him. He and Aelius didn’t know each other well, but they didn’t have time to go through the same growing pains he and Velius had gone through.

Time was the one thing he didn’t have, not anymore. They’d have to operate as a team, without second-guessing, if they were going to get the Carthaginians to fall into the trap. And they had to do it now!

Outside Devnum

Cormac made his way through the Roman legion camp, the sounds of men training all around him. The clash of wooden training swords and the grunts of men learning to kill other men. Cormac ignored them, looking down the row of identical tents, searching for his friend Tullius.

At Medb’s urging, Cormac had been making friends with the new legionaries training just outside of town. It had taken some time. Most of the men he’d approached had been standoffish, but others had been receptive, and Tullius had been the most interested. He was also popular with the rest of the men. Cormac reasoned that if he could cultivate Tullius, he could use the soldier to reach out to his comrades.

It hadn’t been easy, though. Cormac hadn’t grown up needing to be subtle or circumspect. He wasn’t a spy or a diplomat. He was a warrior, born to a family of warriors. This was important, though. Medb had convinced him that change was needed. His father had tied their kingdom’s future to that of the Empire, and Lucilla and her foreign husband threatened that future.

Spotting Tullius concluding a sparring match, Cormac hailed him cheerfully. The soldier turned, surprise flashing across his sweat-slicked features before it shifted into an odd expression. He glanced around furtively before walking over to join Cormac.

“My Lord,” he said with a stiff bow. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

Cormac raised an eyebrow at the man’s demeanor, so unlike their past cordial encounters. Tullius’s eyes shifted continuously, and he stood with rigid formality.

“I thought we were friends,” Cormac chided lightly. “Why so formal?”

He gave the man what Cormac felt was a disarming smile, but Tullius remained withdrawn. Cormac frowned. Something was very wrong. Before he could inquire, Tullius stepped closer, dropping his voice.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but I ... I don’t want to have any more of our conversations.”

“What’s wrong, Tullius?” Cormac asked, his brow furrowing. “Has something happened?”

The soldier shifted his weight and glanced around again. “I shouldn’t be speaking to you.”

“Come now, Tullius. There’s no harm in two friends talking.”

Tullius hesitated, clearly conflicted, before saying at a near whisper, “Please, you must go. There are ... instructions to my cohort. We’ve been ordered to report on any soldiers who are seen conspiring with you.”

“What? Ordered by whom?”

“I don’t know. There have been Praetorians talking to all of the legionaries. Asking if we’ve spoken with you and about the nature of our conversations.”

That was a problem. Cormac hadn’t said anything against his father or the Empire, but if taken out of context, it could sound insurrectionary. Lucilla was a weak ruler and could take any questioning of her ability or fitness as treason. Aside from that, if Tullius wasn’t willing to talk to him anymore, it was going to completely derail his plans.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Cormac said. “Questioning the way the war is being fought isn’t treasonous. As a soldier, it’s what you should be doing. All you want is for the Empire to thrive, for us to win the war.”

“It goes beyond that, Prince, and you know it. We’ve ... I’ve said things I shouldn’t have. Worse, I think some of my friends have seen us talking. I’m certain they’ve reported it to the Praetorians, who’re going to be looking at me now.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You haven’t said anything treasonous or even concerning, but I understand this undue suspicion worries you. We can still be friends though, right? You and I?”

Tullius didn’t respond, just shuffling his feet, trying to avoid eye contact.

Cormac sighed. “Can you at least tell me why you’re supposed to report any interactions with me? I’m still a noble, and I think I deserve to know if I’m under suspicion.”

“I don’t know, My Lord. I only know we’ve been ordered to report any communications with you,” he said before raising his voice to a normal speaking volume. “I’m sorry, but my loyalty is to the Empire.”

With an abrupt nod, Tullius hurried away, leaving Cormac standing there stunned. Why were the Praetorians monitoring him so closely? That wasn’t just routine. If he was a soldier or a politician, sure, but he was the son of a king, heir to one-third of the Empire. They wouldn’t just start investigating him unless they thought there was something to find. Yes, he’d been asking questions, expressing doubt about Lucilla and her consort, but that wasn’t enough to have men spying on him. Asking questions of anyone who spoke to him.