‘I don’t trust any of them further than I could kick them up a chimney.’
‘No, my love. Nor do I.’
‘And yet you gave your agreement.’
Jala smiled. ‘You were left with no real choice, my love. You have committed only the northern troops, which was sensible. They are veterans – hard men. And if you worry about their commanders, then set a watchdog to keep an eye on them.’
Quintillian chuckled and reached out, kissing Jala’s hand. ‘You Pelasians are always so naturally adroit at matters of political subtlety. You are, of course, absolutely right. And while I cannot spare the man I trust most, I dare say he can recommend a watchdog for me. Do you know where Titus is?’
Jala’s smile widened. ‘His friends are visiting. I suspect you will find him somewhere bawdy and with free-flowing drink.’
* * *
Half an hour later, with the three generals and the four lords entertained by various senators and courtiers, Quintillian grasped the excuse of escorting his heavily pregnant wife back to their chambers and left the busy audience hall. Within the hour, he had followed directions retrieved from various officers in the palace and located Titus in the off-duty soldiers’ cellar bar beneath the great bell tower which still bore the scars of the Khan’s invasion.
Titus was not alone, seated at a bare wooden table with three men in tribune’s uniforms, each of them laughing and supping from rough, pottery cups as they took their turns with three dice.
The emperor narrowed his eyes as he took in the three men. Generals were either politicians with a commission and no military skills or career commanders with no social skills. And captains, at the other end of the military scale, were skilled officers and almost uniformly accomplished in lower command. Tribunes and prefects occupied that strange middle ground, commanding sub-units of the general’s legion, often assigned by the senate. They could be almost any type of person.
These three had the look, though, of proper soldiers, which explained why Titus was with them.
‘Castle,’ snorted a tribune with a boyish grin. ‘Beat that, Bellacon, you drunken bum.’
‘Even with one eye closed I can spot a cheat a mile off, Cantex, you sheep’s anus. At least you’re not using your special dice,’ replied the one called Bellacon, his piercing eyes twinkling.
‘Gentlemen,’ laughed the third officer in cultured, southern tones, ‘I think we can all agree that you’re both bums and anuses, but I for one would like to drag this conversation out of the gutter.’
‘Quite,’ laughed Titus. ‘Now roll the damn dice, Convocus, before I grow more grey hair. I’ve got money to lose. Mostly yours, mind.’
The tribune Bellacon, a man with neatly cut, naturally curly hair and a scar crossing his forehead above one eye, suddenly spotted the figure in the doorway and shot to his feet, the table rocking, drinks tipping over sideways and the dice rattling off across the floor.
‘Sit down, you arse!’ snapped Convocus, with the greying gold hair and smooth tones.
‘Ahem,’ coughed Bellacon, gesturing towards the door with his eyes. The other two tribunes shot up, though Titus remained seated. He had his back to the emperor, but Quintillian knew he was smiling nonetheless.
‘It is simply not done for an emperor to go sneaking around on his own without fanfare, guards and courtiers, Majesty,’ Titus said wearily. ‘It puts the shits up the rest of us.’
‘This is my palace, and not even a public area of it, Titus. There’s just me, servants and guards. Sit down, men.’ The emperor gestured to the barman, an off-duty soldier earning a little extra cash, who was standing so rigidly at attention he looked as though he might snap. ‘Get these men replacement drinks, will you.’
‘Anything for you, Majesty?’ Titus asked quietly.
‘No, thank you. I need a quick word, Titus. Outside, if you don’t mind.’
The commander rose wearily, with a few creaks and clicks, and strolled across the room, out through the doorway with his emperor.
At the table, the three tribunes exchanged interested looks. The emperor was noted for his propensity to stroll around without fanfare. He had spent much of his life as the empire’s chief marshal before succeeding his brother to the throne, and it seemed that old habits die hard. He was clearly as much at home in a soldier’s bar as in the court. Possibly more so.
‘Pick the dice up, Bellacon.’
‘You can’t play without Titus here. He’s got most of our money. I want to win it back.’
‘The way you’re playing, Convocus, you’ll be lucky to own a tunic by the end of this.’
The three men relaxed and watched the off-duty soldier mop and dry the table, replacing the fallen wine cups with new, freshly-filled ones. One bonus of coming back to the capital was the good wine. For the past year, Bellacon and Convocus had been attached to newly-raised cavalry forces along the horse clan border in the east, a new initiative designed to be ever-ready to counter mounted raiders. Cantex had been in the south, attached to the Pelasian court as the head of the imperial ambassador’s guard.
But now all three were back in the capital, together for the first time in a year as they waited for a new assignment from the magister militum, taking advantage of the chance to catch up with Titus and to sample good, high quality wine.
They were not alone for long before Titus returned, a thoughtful look on his face.
‘What do you three know about the new northern territories?’
The tribunes exchanged glances and shrugs.
‘I was up there for a year half a decade ago,’ Cantex said. ‘When the coastal lands were first assimilated. Setting up the military there with my prefect.’
‘I commanded a cavalry force that cleared the northeast mountains of bandits,’ Convocus added.
‘I hear it’s cold,’ Bellacon sighed.
‘And what do you know of Alba?’
‘Island across the narrow sea,’ Convocus muttered, tapping his chin. ‘Steadfastly resisted inclusion in the empire for centuries. They say it’s a magic place, full of monsters and painted barbarians, swamps and mountains and forests. Some say the fog never lifts.’
‘Fables,’ Titus said with a smile. ‘In essence it’s not much different to the mainland territories in the north. Well, it seems the time has come for another attempt to plant the imperial flag in Alban turf. In the spring, as soon as the weather clears, a fleet will cross to Alba carrying three legions.’
‘Three? What are they conquering, a village?’
‘It is the only force the emperor is willing to commit in current circumstances, but Alban pirates are wreaking havoc on our coast, and he cannot ignore the pleas of our new lords in the north, so something must be done. The emperor is relying on the local knowledge and the hunger of the three generals he’s sending, since all were involved in the last Alban campaign and have a reputation to rebuild. I expect you can see where I’m going with this.’
‘I don’t need to probe a sheep’s innards to divine my future,’ muttered Convocus.
‘Quite. The emperor… no, I was going to say “doesn’t trust”, but that’s not quite right. Let’s say he has little faith in the three generals’ abilities to achieve their goal without at least losing his three legions in the process. I have been asked to assign someone I trust to the generals’ staff to monitor things, to provide a sensible voice in strategic meetings and, let’s say, try and keep things… on track.’
Titus smiled. ‘I’m going to go one better than that. There are three generals and I happen to have three tribunes I trust awaiting assignment. General Quietus will be leading his Hawk Legion out from Vengen, General Crito his Raven Legion from Adrennas and General Volentius his Vulture Legion from Calvion. The forces will meet at the fort in the Saravis Fork on the first day of the campaigning season and move through the new provinces to the coast. By the time they arrive a detachment from the western fleet will be there awaiting them.’
He reached his arms out and slap
ped two of the tribunes on the back, fixing the third with his odd smile.
‘I’ll have the magister militum write up the orders for your new assignment as the generals’ adjutants. Remember that these are old, longstanding officers, set in their ways, and might not take to having new second-in-commands foisted on them, so be circumspect and polite. But,’ he added, his face becoming serious, ‘don’t let them do anything stupid.’
Part One
Vulture Legion
I watched the silver caps of the waves glitter and vanish, glitter and vanish, glitter and vanish in the spring sunshine, my cold, salt-stained fingers gripping the timber rail of the ship as though with sheer will I could urge the vessel on. For I could see it now. Just a smudge on the horizon, but I knew it for what it was. My home. The isle of Alba, as the empire called it. We have never named it ourselves. We’d never needed to. We were just tribes on an island. Until I had been torn from my people, the Silvanes, and taken in bonds to the empire’s heart I had never known that places needed a name. But now I knew the isle as Alba, and I knew that change was coming to my home alongside the serried ranks of imperial steel. For I had seen the future in the flames of my brazier and in the fall of bones. I knew what fate held for my island and its peoples, and I knew that the world was opening up. I was coming home and with me came the future.
Chapter 1
Lucius Bellacon stood at the prow of the Zephyr, watching the distant shores ahead with a distinct sense of trepidation. Off to his left, some seventy paces away, the Swift cut through the waters carrying general Volentius and his staff, with the exception of his new adjutant. The general was clearly suspicious of the tribune who had been assigned directly to him by imperial command and who therefore outranked everyone but the general himself. So suspicious, in fact, that Bellacon had been assigned to a different ship.
The tribune had glanced across at the Swift every now and then and been somewhat disconcerted that every time he looked, the witch woman of the general’s was looking directly back at him. For a while on the crossing he’d even made a game of it to keep himself occupied, snapping his head round sharply to catch her out, but every time she’d been looking at him. He’d once or twice asked a junior officer to check on her, and he’d dutifully explained that she was leaning on the rail and looking off ahead. Then, as soon as Bellacon turned, she was looking at him again.
Fortunately, his attention had been frequently locked on other things. While his friends had both served in the northern provinces in some capacity or other, this was the first time Bellacon had strayed north of the Nymphaean Sea. Consequently, almost everything he saw was new and of interest.
The architecture was different here, more leaning towards mud-daub wall and thatch than timber and tile. Sculptures he’d seen were more angular and striking, less realistic. The people wore thicker woollen clothes and boots with bindings up to the knee. Axes were more prevalent, swords less so. Hair colours tended towards a yellow or ginger shade, with beards in evidence, skin usually pale and often with rosy tints. Those with the swarthy skin of southern or eastern lands were few and far between.
And that was just the northern reaches of imperial territory. What they would find on the island of monsters and ghosts and women like the general’s seer, he could hardly imagine. Certainly their destination weighed heavily upon the legions. He had heard some truly fabulous tales over the past few days in port as the men drank to fortify their courage against the unknown.
The army had massed at a place called Gesicon on the coast, though this seemed to be an imperial appellation recently applied, since the locals appeared to call the place something that sounded like ‘sampo’ when speaking to one another. Though three legions, along with their auxiliary support, artillery, cavalry and supplies, formed a sizeable force – Bellacon estimated perhaps thirty-five thousand men in all – he had to remind himself that it was still pitiful compared with the force that had last crossed this sea on the same mission.
There had been dangerous moments in Gesicon, when the alcohol level of the waiting men rose to meet the heightened fears of magic and monsters awaiting them across the water. Here and there fights broke out, and as the days wore on during the muster, the discontent grew. Bellacon had seen such moods among the legions before, and knew what it portended.
Mutiny was extremely rare within the empire, due to a combination of strong discipline and harsh punishments, but it was far from unknown. The army had been heading for such unrest, and the generals had been of little help in quashing it.
Crito scoffed at the superstitions, for his mother had come from this isle, Quietus believed that no monster could stand against imperial steel, and Volentius? Well, he was too deep in his wine sack to care much. But all three had been to the island before and stated categorically that no such monsters existed.
Even with their testimony and the impassioned speeches of the three tribunes, even with the assurances of priests and the positive readings of the augurs, it was only by the grace of the gods that they managed to get the army on the ships and sailing, without a full insurrection.
Bellacon had lost track of Convocus and Cantex when they boarded, the three legions being kept fairly separate. It had seemed, from his limited exposure to them, that the three generals held no great love or respect for one another. Still, the army would muster when they landed and he would undoubtedly see his fellow officers then.
But the main reason his attention had been distracted out here at sea was not the trouble between the commanders or the peculiarities of the northern territories. It was the other users of the sea lanes. The crossing was only twenty leagues, though the ships were by nature slow, being cumbersome troop transports and keeping as steady as possible for the sake of the many animals and siege weapons they carried. And yet rarely had a hundred heartbeats passed before one of the fleet’s ships would call out a ship warning.
Each time, they had spotted the pirates easily enough. They were native warships on a small scale, forty-seat longships bristling with oars and with shields fitted along each sheer strake. Each had a plain grey sail, bearing no identifying mark that could be used to condemn its owner. And each had proved to be, in speed and manoeuvrability, easily the match of a Pelasian daram.
Every time one had been spotted, the imperial escort vessels had raced off to try and apprehend or sink the pirates, and each time they had been easily outrun. Not one vessel had come close enough to fall prey to the imperial ships’ artillery. Clearly, their captains were astute commanders and excellent sailors, or they knew the imperial fleet’s capabilities well, which seemed unlikely.
Still, whatever Bellacon could make of the fractious command and the spurious reasoning for this entire campaign, the sheer regularity with which they were spotting these sleek and dangerous pirates did highlight the truth about the coastal raids. Clearly the northern lords had been right, and something really had needed to be done.
Whether this was it, was another matter.
Once more the lookout shouted, though with a good deal less interest this time than that first occasion over an hour ago. The tribune squinted into the bright morning and spotted the pirate vessel only because he knew it was there. It was end on, which meant it was either racing straight for them or directly away. Given their relative speeds, the latter seemed far-fetched. But to be racing at them also seemed odd. It was certainly not the tactic he’d seen so far, which was to stay well out of the way.
He frowned, discounting with some difficulty one or two of the more fantastic tales he’d heard among the sailors about ghost ships from the misty island. What good could the pirate hope to gain from sailing directly at an imperial fleet? The escort vessels would…
He realised with a sinking feeling that the nearest escort ships were out at the flanks of the fleet, chasing other pirates. Surely not? The natives couldn’t be that clever and that prepared, could they?
But there was no other conclusion to draw. Pirates had drawn away the escort
while another single ship had come straight at them from the north, head on so that it could get close before being noticed. What for? None of the ships so far had had rams, and they couldn’t risk getting close enough for arrows without taking the same back from the imperial ships. So they must have some long distance method of causing damage.
He frowned, wishing Convocus was here with his sharp intellect. Now that the enemy ship was closer, he could see that it was actually at a slight angle to him. That meant it was directed at the ship to his left. The general’s ship, and that was too much of a coincidence to actually be one. But how could the pirates know a commander’s ship from any other? The answer was obvious, of course. The general’s ship was flying all the banners of command, as a flagship. It was a natural target.
Biting his lip, he turned and waved to the pilot at his steering oars, back across the yards and yards of deck. ‘Bear left. Port, is it? Take us to port.’
The helmsman shouted something he didn’t catch, but he could guess what it was from the tone.
‘Just do it.’
As the ship suddenly slewed left, Bellacon turned to scan the deck.
‘You… Captain.’
The indicated officer staggered across on the now-leaning deck.
‘What artillery do you have on board?’
‘A few portable bolt throwers and a collapsed onager, sir.’
‘Get the bolt throwers up to the bow, now. Load them quickly, and as soon as the artillerists think we’re in range, fire them at the enemy ship.’
The captain looked as though he was about to argue, but Bellacon ignored him and ran back to the rail, waving at the flagship. The officers there were watching Bellacon’s vessel, slewing towards them, in alarm, and he waved frantically, trying not to wonder why the witch woman looked so calm and at ease while she peered at him.
Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5) Page 3
