Chapter 6

Londinium

“I don’t care what the governor has ordered. Can you do it?”

“I don’t know,” the ship’s captain said, looking around nervously. “We normally just make cargo runs to ports in Hibernia controlled by our people. If we were only going there, I’d say yes. Aside from the occasional collection of messages for the governor there to forward on to the emperor and his magistrates, he hasn’t paid much attention to our trips since the first voyage. This is our first trip back to the capital, however. I can’t imagine he’d accept handing me messages to deliver. He’ll probably have his own man aboard, and I doubt I could keep you hidden from him on such a long voyage.”

“I’ll worry about him once we’re underway. I just need you to get me on your boat that morning, before he brings you the message to send. I know him and his lackeys. They’ll keep someone at the docks after you’re handed the message until you’re out of sight. I need to be in the hold and hiding before then.”

“This isn’t enough money!” the ship’s captain said, weighing the bag of gold coins in his hand. “If they find out, they’ll tie me to the bottom of my boat before having someone else sail her out. I’m not going to risk my life for this.”

“The governor is done. Even if the emperor gets a relief force here before the city falls, what do you think’s going to happen to the man who lost Britannia? He had the largest army this island has ever seen, and the second largest, I might add, and lost both to a force a tenth their size. I, on the other hand, am still an asset to the emperor, especially now that they’ve lost the island. So who should you be more afraid of, a governor who’s already dead, or me?”

“I...” The man said, nervously, unsure of what to say next.

In a way, Caesius didn’t blame him. While everything he said was true, for the moment at least, the governor still had more than enough loyal guards to do exactly what the captain was afraid of.

“You’re loyalty to the emperor, by keeping me alive to assist in the reconquest of this island, will be rewarded. I will see that you get additional payments when we arrive. I take care of the men loyal to me.”

With one last look past Caesius towards the handful of guards left to watch over the docks, the captain nodded his agreement.

“Good. The governor plans to send the message once the last ship that was sent to Hibernia returns, which should be in a week. I will be here on that evening to come aboard. Be ready.”

The man nodded again before scuttling away like the rat he was. Caesius hated having to rely on someone so clearly deficient in both brain and spine, but this was the last real chance to get off the island before the city fell. He knew that, even if he survived the assault, he wouldn’t survive captivity by his former subjects. Not after betraying them to the Carthaginians.

Emain Macha

Llassar wiped the drips of water off his face for the thousandth time, staring at the outline of the stone blocks above him, barely visible in the flickering torch light. His people had never built anything larger than a communal hut for gatherings and rituals, and even those were wood and thatch. He’d have liked to think that, had his people taken enough prisoners to need something like these dungeons, they would have built them better.

He’d have preferred being tied to a stake in the middle of the village or given a warrior’s death in personal combat over this leaking, rat-infested cell. It wasn’t so much the rate, or even the steady drip of water from what seemed like every inch of ceiling, that bothered him. It was more the quiet than the dark. It gave little for him to do but sit and stare, trying to make out details of his cell when the torch in the passageway flickered just right, giving at least some visibility of the walls around him.

Of course, if they’d just killed him, he would have failed at his mission. He’d been prepared for that. In spite of what he’d said to Lucilla, he’d been less than confident that the people here would be willing to deal with him. He had made friends, of a sort, when he was here before, but he’d still been a prisoner. There was enough of a history of raiding between their two peoples that an almost cultural hatred existed between them, not dissimilar to the cultural hatred that existed between his people and the Romans. Llassar had hoped that, just like with his people and the Romans, desperation would allow them to get over that hatred and come together for survival.

It had worked, to a point. He wasn’t dead yet, which was why he wasn’t surprised when a guard appeared at the door to the cell.

“Get up,” he said, hand on his sword hilt.

In spite of the guard’s rough shove as Llassar left the cell, the Caledonian was certain they weren’t taking him to execute him. If they had wanted to do that, they would have done it earlier, and they probably would have sent more than a single guard. He was proven right when he was led into the palace, instead of into a courtyard or some other place suitable for a public execution.

Conchobar was on his throne again, looking sour. Llassar remembered the look from his previous stay. Conchobar may have been more thoughtful and clever than his playmate Fergus, but the two shared a stubborn streak that would have put anyone in his homeland to shame. The only reason the king would have pulled Llassar out of the dungeons for another audience was because he’d been forced to reconsider Llassar’s offer. Knowing Conchobar, or at least knowing the young man he’d been years before, Llassar knew the only thing that would get him to reverse course was desperation.

Of course, that desperation had limits. Men like Conchobar had been known to let their kingdoms burn to save their wounded pride. He knew his people, or rather his new people, since thinking of the combined Caledonian and Roman people in the Britannic Empire still felt foreign, needed the Ulaid. He’d been sent to secure an alliance with them, which also meant not pushing them into destroying themselves before they could be of use.

“My king,” Llassar said, taking a more formal tone than he normally did. “I am happy you’ve allowed me a second chance to explain my people’s message to you. You know I am a warrior and unskilled in the language of diplomacy, and I think I might have given the wrong impression during my first audience.”

“You say you don’t speak the language of diplomacy, but you sound as if you share its forked tongue.”

“Then I’ll speak plainly. Your armies are outmatched. I know you had parity with the other kingdoms, or at least you did when I was here last. I remember the old king complaining of the uneasy truce with the Laigin, the Connacht, and the Erainn. We only recently heard of the Carthaginians landing on your southern shores, so I don’t know how that has shifted the balance of power here, but I’m certain it has. I saw the destruction of Ulaid villages on my way here, before your men found me. In the days of the truce with the other kingdoms, that would have never been allowed to happen. I know you’re not one to shirk your responsibility as king, which means it was allowed to happen because of an inability to stop it, instead of unwillingness. You’re losing, Conchobar. Without help, the Carthaginians and their puppets will wash over you like the tide.”

Conchobar didn’t respond immediately. He stared down at Llassar, silently fuming, his jaw grinding as he fought with himself in his head.

One side or the other must have won the internal struggle, because after several tense and silent minutes, the king looked to the guards and ministers around him and said, “Leave us.”

The speed at which the men fled the chamber, leaving only Conchobar and Llassar spoke to the king’s power and authority. He’d seen similar responses to Talogren and witnessed weaker leaders before his chieftain’s rise to power whose advisors always hedged and wheedled when given an order, instead of obeying outright as these men had done.

“You were always too blunt for your own good,” Conchobar said.

“I only did what you asked.”

“So you did. You’re right, though I hate to admit it. We’re losing. The Carthaginians invaded in the south, taking Ivernis early on. The Erainn tried to fight them, but the foreigners were clever. They sent emissaries to all of the other kingdoms. The ones that came to us, I had executed right away, as did Labraid Loingsech. Unfortunately, Medb was willing to hear them out. Using her armies and the Carthaginian army in Ivernis, the Connacht defeated the Erainn. Crushed them, would be more accurate. Fergus had just been exiled and I was too busy solidifying my position to do anything about it, which left the Laigin on their own. With her new allies, Medb made quick work of subduing both kingdoms. She probably plans on betraying her benefactors at some point, once she’s consolidated the entire island under her rule, but for now she’s still their puppet.”

“Your armies have not fared well?”

“No. You always said our metal was weak and brittle. I hated that, you know.”

“I do know,” Llassar said, thinking of their arguments as younger men.

Conchobar’s pride had always extended to his people and he always took offense at the idea that anything his people did might be inferior.

“Medb isn’t just using Carthaginian armies. She’s armed her men with their weapons and armor as well. Half of our swords shatter or bend when brought against Carthaginian steel. When you showed up on my doorstep, we had just sent the largest army we’ve ever fielded against them. I just received word that our forces were completely routed. We don’t have the men to stop them.”

“We do.”

“I don’t want to become some kind of proxy for your war with them. I’m not going to be a Roman puppet any more than I’d be a Carthaginian one.”

“I don’t answer to the Romans. I am still a Caledonian and I still fight for my people. The new Empire we formed with the Romans, it’s one of equals. We still maintain the laws in our lands and have an equal say in what happens to the Empire as a whole. While I was given instructions to offer you to become a part of that Empire, that isn’t required for our assistance. Our only goal is to make ourselves safe from the Carthaginians and their plans to rule the entire world. That means pushing them off of our islands and out of our region entirely. For that to happen, we need help. Specifically, we need manpower. The only thing we ask in return for our help is that you pledge your people to helping us defeat the Carthaginians. After that, we are open to any form of treaty or alliance that both our people agree on, be it just for trading, or a military alliance, or you becoming an equal member of our Empire, with full autonomy to rule your lands as you see fit. Right now, we simply want to survive and defeat the Carthaginians.”

Conchobar thought for a long moment, his hand resting under his nose, over his mouth, his brow furrowed.

“Tell me more about what kind of help your people can provide,” the king said finally.

Outside Londinium

It had taken two days to work out the details with Ramirus’s contact, and another day to work out how to get men on the ship without other ships finding out. Scouts had finally found a small inlet not far from the mouth of the river that the fishing boat could use to load men without one of the other ships seeing.

It had been a minor concern, since there were only a handful that braved the run out of Londinium each day, avoiding Roman archers and the one trebuchet still trying its best to hit the moving ships. Ky didn’t want a chance witness bringing back news of the plan to the governor, both for the safety of the men already smuggled into the city and for the success of the plan itself, which was their best chance to breach the city without incurring large-scale casualties.

Ky had Ramirus get detailed descriptions of the warehouses to be used and had spent the better part of a day observing them using the drone. As best he could tell, they were being left completely alone. Ramirus had also been right when he’d said that there wasn’t much foot traffic around any of the businesses near the docks. From what Ky could see, there were hardly any people in the streets at all that weren’t actively engaged in some specific activity. Ramirus had heard that the citizens were being conscripted into a militia and were being forced to man the wall, which Ky imagined made those who hadn’t been conscripted yet eager to keep from drawing attention to themselves.

The only problem with their plan, at the moment, was that Londinium and the Empire soldiers surrounding it were a good ride from the coast where the fishing boat would pick up the men. Although both his lictore and the legates had been less than thrilled with the idea, Ky had wanted to ride along this first time to see the handoff. As soon as he had, he saw a flaw in the plan. The Carthaginians might not notice squads of men leaving the line and heading east once or twice, but every night for a month and a half, someone would notice. Even if they sent them roundabout in other directions, someone might get curious. It was also a long ride for the men.

They’d agreed to find a spot to set up a small camp for the men selected to sneak into the city and a small security detachment, not far from where they’d be meeting the ship each day. There were other praetorian camps up and down the coast for the guards patrolling and watching for Carthaginian ships, so if it was maintained by the praetorians, anyone getting curious would at least find a reason for them to be there.

It was a day’s ride back, which meant Ramirus had already returned to the lines outside the city, both to check on messages from his contacts and to work with the legates to get the men selected to sneak into the city ready to travel to their new camp.