Chapter 3

Carthage

Tabnit marched through the massive bronze doors leading into the emperor’s throne room, his polished armor and red cloak swishing around his ankles with each step. His upright walk didn’t give any indication of the bone-deep exhaustion he was feeling. He had been in Cairo five days ago, putting down another pointless revolt by the Israelites, when he received the summons to be at the capital within five days. It had taken almost eighteen hours a day in the saddle, changing horses numerous times, to meet that deadline, but everyone who served the emperor long enough knew the penalty for disobeying even impossible orders.

If he had forgotten that, the string of flayed corpses on the walls were an apt reminder. Although unrecognizable, he knew one was his former commander, sent to lead troops in Hispania preparing to re-invade the British Isles and deal with the Roman upstarts. Although Tabnit had been elevated to his own command and dispatched to Egypt before that failure, he couldn’t help but be concerned that his association with his former commander was enough to seal his own fate. Of course, running in fear would probably result in the same outcome, except his family would be there with him. Better to stand before the emperor and hope he was feeling reasonable today.

The throne room itself was impressive, especially compared with the courtyard beyond, with its permanent dark stain left from the scores of men who met their end there at the emperor’s command. The long room was flanked by a series of massive, imported marble columns, disappearing into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. At the end of the long hall, lit by braziers of scented oil, loomed the emperor’s throne upon a towering dais.

Tabnit approached the base of the dais, falling to one knee as etiquette demanded, his eyes downcast. He had only been in the emperor’s presence once before, but minions waited outside the outer doors telling anyone who entered the protocols and warning of the consequences if they forget them.

Time stretched for what seemed like forever as the emperor remained silent, letting the tension build. Tabnit could feel his gaze like a physical weight, assessing him. That, in itself, was actually a good sign. The general had heard about some of the audiences that had ended with the person in his position hanging on the wall, and the tales all involved nearly-instant yelling and abominations, not silence. Tabnit hoped that, if the emperor was trying to make him uneasy, he was doing it for some reason other than terrorizing him before his death.

After the long, pregnant pause, the emperor finally spoke, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “I understand you have fought in Hispania and Germania.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, looking up but remaining kneeling. “My previous command was in Hispania last year, and I spent most of my early days in the armies pacifying the northern Germanics.”

Another long pause. “I see. And you have been in Egypt since then?”

“Yes, Great One.”

“What do you know of what has been happening in the west with the Romans and Britannians?”

It was Tabnit’s turn to pause. How he answered that question was tricky. If he made it sound like the empire was doing poorly, he could be declared disloyal or of defeatist thinking, either of which could end this audience abruptly ... and fatally.

“I know some commanders in those areas have not been performing their duties adequately, allowing the Romans to gain control of that small island.”

The emperor leaned forward, his eyes full of fire, and said, “It is worse than that, General. The Romans have developed new weapons that produce great clouds of smoke, thunder, and fire. Weapons that can tear through armor and flesh as if they were nothing. It is like nothing we’ve ever seen.”

As always, Tabnit’s first thoughts were how such a weapon would be used tactically. The advantage to the Romans was obvious, as something like that could negate his own people’s numerical superiority and send the less well-trained conscripts, that made up the bulk of every Carthaginian army, into flight.

“How long have these weapons been employed, Your Majesty?”

The emperor waved a hand dismissively. “The specifics do not matter. What matters is that they were employed against both our fleets, trying to reclaim the British Isles, and our armies, sent to stop the invasion of Hispania, destroying both utterly. I will not tolerate such losses again, General.”

Tabnit inclined his head, still unsure of where he fit in this conversation, and said, “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

The emperor settled back into his throne, steepling his fingers, and commanded, “I have been gathering a new army, one that will dwarf the force sent against the British Isles. You will lead this army into Hispania and crush the Romans beneath your heel, destroying their new weapons and all traces of resistance. You will take whatever losses are required to accomplish this, General Tabnit. The only outcome I will accept is total victory.”

Tabnit kept his features neutral through sheer force of will alone. The emperor described a situation where other armies, who also outnumbered the Romans, were completely destroyed, and now he was being ordered to run into the jaws of the same beast and hope to win just because he had more meat to feed it.

Tabnit bowed his head, choosing his words carefully, “Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness, but how am I to succeed where others have failed against such a formidable foe?”

The emperor’s eyes flashed with anger, his fat hands gripping the arms of his throne. “You defy my orders, General Tabnit?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Tabnit said hastily. “I merely wish to understand how I might gain victory where none who have come before me have prevailed. The Romans’ new weapons provide them a nearly insurmountable advantage.”

The emperor studied him for a long moment, then settled back into his throne, his unnerving gaze never wavering from Tabnit’s.

“You are right to recognize the threat these weapons pose,” he growled. “Fortunately, we have acquired new weapons of our own from lands to the east, weapons that will counter those of the Romans. They have not yet arrived in full, but once they do, you will have the means to overcome the Roman dogs.”

Tabnit couldn’t help but wonder what those weapons could be. If they were something as powerful as what had been described, why hadn’t they gotten their hands on them before? It wasn’t like the emperor was holding back or wanted to keep casualties of their enemies low in the past. Still, he’d survived asking one question. He doubted he’d survive a second.

Instead, he said, “I am grateful to hear that, Your Majesty. With such weapons in hand, victory will be within our grasp.”

Even the pause had been too much, it seemed.

Used to immediate obedience, the emperor jabbed a finger at him and said, “See that it is, General Tabnit. I did not elevate you to this position to hear defeatist talk and doubting questions.”

Tabnit bowed lower, genuflecting, and said, “My apologies, Your Majesty. I weep at the faith you have placed in me. I will not fail you.”

“See that you don’t, General. If you fail, if you allow those Roman dogs to defeat you as they have others, the price will not be yours alone to pay. Your family will accompany you into the afterlife to witness your failure for eternity. You dying on the field of battle won’t save them from my wrath.”

Tabnit had faced death in battle countless times. He’d had Germanic axes fall a breath’s span from his face and arrows impact close enough to cut his ear. None of those experiences sent a shiver of fear down his spine like hearing this threat from the emperor. His death, he could handle. The death of his wife and two sons, however, he could not. And yet, this had always been the threat hanging over everyone who lived in the emperor’s shadow. Success was always rewarded with a harder task and failure with brutal punishments. It was their reality. So far, Tabnit had not only survived that reality but thrived in it. He would just have to continue to do so, for his family’s sake.

The emperor finally looked away from him, since the audience started entering the throne room, waving a dismissive, meaty hand, saying, “Enough. You march in one month’s time. Go now and prepare.”

Tabnit finally stood, bowing as he backed away.

“By your will, Your Majesty.”

When he reached the appropriate distance, Tabnit turned, already thinking about the task ahead. He was nearly at the ornate doors when the emperor’s voice reached him with one last warning.

“Do not forget what hangs in the balance, General.”

Devnum

Medb, once Queen of Connacht and now Princess, through marriage, of the Ulaid, sat at the plain wooden table in their quarters, staring out of the window at the orange sky as the sun dipped below the horizon, the dying light reflecting through her curly red hair.

Quarters. She should think of it as it really was. A prison. Nicer than any dungeon, true, but a far step down from the luxury she once lived in.

Here she sat, day after day, waiting for the fool child Cormac to return from whatever lesson he had that day, learning to be a king. That wasn’t fair, really. Cormac wasn’t a bad man. She’d been saddled with, and sometimes even saddled herself with, many suitors over the years. It was the curse of being a woman in power. Men always felt she needed a man to guide her and saw her ability to bear children as her primary function in life.

Of the men she’d taken on as consorts over the years, Cormac was probably the best option so far. Of course, this time she was his consort and he was in line for power instead of her, but it had kept her neck off the executioner’s block and had given her time to figure out how to reclaim what was rightfully hers. She was surprised when she thought of her new husband warmly. He might be naive, but he wasn’t a fool like Fergus, and he wasn’t a coward like her first husband. He listened to her intently, never belittling her opinion because she was a woman, and he was eager to learn ... in all arenas.