by Paul Howard
“Quite possible,” the Greek exclaimed, “The fuse should be simple to make. The tricky part is the launcher.”
“The key to this weapon,” the Greek continued, “Is to create a chamber at the end of an enclosed tube with powder inside of it. The projectile will be seated against the powder with packing to create an enclosure. Once the powder is ignited it will cause an explosion, which forces the projectile out of the open muzzle at a very high rate of speed. That is one of the new aspects of this idea: the firing chamber.”
“If it works, we can sink them before they can even get close enough to use ballisters or try to board us.” said the Chinese.
“The other part,” the Greek continued, “Is the explosive shell. It will need to be sturdy enough to withstand the first ignition without going off. A composite of iron and ceramic will work for this purpose. Once the shell hits the target, a plunger fuse will ignite the charge inside of it.”
“How do we know that will work?” I asked.
“It will work!” the Greek said. He produced a small cylinder of iron and struck it hard upon the table top. It emitted a shower of sparks. “I have been making these for years,” he said, “We will need at least a dozen men for the job. Maybe more. There are several men who have experience with ceramics among us. We will need them, too. We also will need materials from the ship’s stores. There is a gorge on the other side of the northern hill; we can use that for our works.”
“What kind of works?” I asked.
“In addition to the ceramics,” he replied, “We will need to build a forge and some ovens.”
I looked at the drawing in front of me, realizing that they were both perfectly serious. It sounded like it could work, if it was possible at all. If their idea failed, we would not be any worse off. If it worked, it might prove a miracle.
“How accurate would this weapon be?” I asked.
“We are not sure about the range,” 93 replied, “That will depend on the precision of the launcher and shell design. But I think we can get it good enough to be effective.”
“All right,” I finally said, “You have my permission to take what you need.”
They both stood with smiles on their faces. They reminded me of two boys who had been told they could go out and play.
“We shall start at once.” The Greek declared. With that, they left the cabin.
As soon as they were gone, I could not help but feeling like I had just had another dream. Could such a weapon really work? It sounded incredible. Maybe these men were clever enough to pull it off. Only time would tell.
By the following dawn, they were already at their task. I was awakened by the Nubian, who was quite irritated to find these two men going through the ships’ stores and making his life chaotic. It did not please him to learn that I had given them permission to do so without telling him about it in advance. I was obliged to apologize for my oversight. By the time I had taken my breakfast, they had already commandeered the men they wanted and led them into the gorge on the other side of the hill.
From this point on, their work was quite secret. Nothing was ever heard from them except for an occasional courier, who would come for food and other supplies as they needed them. To tell the truth, I was intrigued by their activities. So were the other men, who could not help but notice the strange wisps of smoke and smells that would come from their direction on the wind. Soon the work force in the gorge had tripled in size. I felt it was wise to leave them alone as they seemed to work better that way and we were pressed for time to do other chores.
On the third day of their efforts, tremendous sounds began to come from the gorge. It is hard to describe them. They were not like thunder but were just as loud. They came as abrupt pops or bangs. After each one of them, we could see smoke rising over the hill. It was quite unnerving and was beginning to frighten the other men, who had never heard anything like them. I fully expected to see a courier come yelling for help but none ever did. It seemed hard to imagine that nobody was hurt or killed by these explosions.
Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. The Briton and I decided it was time to find out what they were doing over there.
We moved carefully over the hill as we were unsure that another such explosion could be imminent. When we reached the top and looked down into the gorge we were greeted by a surprising sight. The gorge was filled with covered works and structures. Two large furnaces were producing a steady stream of smoke, and there were potter’s wheels turning strangely shaped barrels.
As we approached the floor of the gorge we were met by the Greek. His clothes were covered with clay dust and stains. His hands were black.
“I wondered how long it would be before you came,” he said. “It is going pretty well.”
The Briton asked, “What are those sounds we have been hearing?”
“Tests,” replied the Greek, “We have been testing the charges and the ballistics.” He stopped at a rack which contained a number of finished tubes. Next to it a potter was carefully turning out another. The Greek watched him for a moment.
“Exact tolerances on the muzzle,” the Potter said, “Just as you ordered. Within a one hundred twenty-fifth of an inch.” The Greek studied it closely.
“Good.” he said, and led us to another table where men were polishing the insides of the barrels with a paste. He looked at one who blew off the excess dust and stopped him. “Use the brush,” he told him, “The moisture in your breath could contaminate the surface.” The worker nodded and picked up the brush.
“Your timing is perfect,” he said to us, “We are just about to conduct another test.”
The Briton nearly jumped at this suggestion. “You mean…” he exclaimed, “another explosion?”
The Greek smiled, “No,” he answered, “Something you will find far more interesting.” He led us to an open area, where 93 was attaching some copper wires to a circular harness of the same metal. A Persian, Number 12 Secundus, was assisting him.
“This is what we are going to test,” said the Greek, “I told you about my experiment with inverse thermal waves. This is going to be used for a variation on that…if it works!”
“We are ready!” the Chinese said. The Greek led us to a wooden barrier, where another ceramic jar was resting. There were two copper wires leading from it to a block, which had more wires attached. These were the ones that the Chinese was placing on the harness. There was a fork-shaped device between them. The Greek placed his hand on the wooden bar protruding from this fork and turned to the Persian. The Persian produced a conch and put it to his lips.
When he blew into it, the sound of the horn filled the gorge and all work stopped. The two inventors held their breath and the Chinese nodded. The Greek quickly lowered the fork and the wire erupted into bright sparks. The entire harness ignited so furiously that it leaped into the air from its holder. A foul and acrid green smoke billowed from the jar and the air had a smell like a thunder storm.
The spectacle did not look like that much to me, but the effect on the two inventors was of overwhelming enthusiasm. The Greek turned to the Persian and placed his hand upon his shoulder.
“Your idea is brilliant, my friend,” he exclaimed, “We must examine the dispersion pattern closely.”
“I will bring it to your tent as soon as it is cooled.” the Persian replied. The Greek thanked him and gestured for us to follow him.
He led us across the compound to his tent. Raising the flap, he invited us inside. The interior walls were covered with technical drawings which I could not make anything of. The Briton was even more puzzled than I. The Greek gestured for us to sit down.
“I am sorry I cannot offer wine…”
I told him it did not matter and inquired about what we had just seen. “The apparatus I built before,” he explained, “Took several years to make. The explosion that got me condemned was an accident, but it was caused by a reaction produced by a compound of acids, ammonium and metal alloys producing super heat.”
“You have some more of this material?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” he answered, “I am attempting to create a similar reaction with the black powder. It will not have the same intensity as the chemical alloys but I can reproduce the heat wave with my new ammonium compounds. The problem is getting the charge in the core and the chambers to ignite simultaneously. My fuses are no good for this purpose.
“Then Number 12 showed me a device from his country; the lightning box. It is used by nobles to relax their feet. They run two wires from the jar to a pan of salt water, and it produces a slight tingling effect.”
“Then,” the Briton asked, “How did you get the sparks and lightning?”
“By using a much stronger charge in the jar and creating a circuit.” the Greek answered. We looked at him numbly; we had no idea what he was talking about.
“It is the same force as lightning and static electricity,” he explained, “It has two poles of equal force that oppose each other: a plus and a minus. When the two poles are forced together, they react violently and destroy the circuit. But when the negative is attached to ground, a controlled flow of energy is created. We have succeeded in creating a controlled circuit in that harness. It is very encouraging!”
“I still do not understand,” I said, “It is enough that you do! Are you planning to build this apparatus?”
The Greek smiled, “I already am!” I frowned at this. We were not here for an academic exercise.
“We authorized you to build a weapon.” I chided. His boyish face grew very serious.
“I know that,” he replied, “The apparatus is the most powerful weapon possible. It produces a circle of complete incineration!” He paused briefly and looked at his chambered diagram. “If I had even heavier substances,” he whispered, “The reaction from this design could be hotter than the sun itself. But there is no way to prove such substances are even possible! I hope they are not.”
“Are you going to test that here?” asked 127.
“We do not dare!” the Greek answered gravely.
“Why not?” I asked him.
“Because,” he sternly replied, “There is no point in blowing up half of this island!”
The Greek then led us on a further tour of the operation. One point of interest was a long tent in which a dozen men were making what looked like tiny boats. There were two different types. Before the Greek could tell me what they were I picked one of them up. There was a slight metal protrusion on the side and I touched it. A strange, flat blade at the rear began to spin and the Greek quickly took it from my hands.
“Careful,” he said nervously, switching off the blade. “You just armed it!”
“Armed?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
“I mean this little boat could blow you apart before you knew what hit you,” he answered, “I suggest you keep your hands to yourselves until you are back over the hill. It is safer that way.”
“What is that little boat?” I asked. He scratched his chin for a moment before he answered.
“Well,” he replied, “I suppose you would have to call it a kind of surface torpedo.”
“That little toy?” gasped the Briton. The Greek frowned.
“It is no toy!” he snapped.
“What caused the little blade to turn like that? I asked.
“The same force that caused the harness to spark in our test,” he said, “electricity!”
He explained what this was as he led us up the hill and we finally took our leave of him. I did not understand a word of it. As the Briton and I returned to our side of the hill we were even more confused than we had been before! Neither of us said much, but I noticed a spark in the Briton’s eyes that grew stronger as we went.
Another thought had occurred to me: as I moved through the complex and all of its works, I began to realize that we were looking at something that had never existed since the time of the ancient pyramids. When I considered how such a thing could be happening I realized that the architect responsible for these miracles was none other than Nero himself.
In the wake of the Great Fire Nero set out to deflect suspicion from himself by rounding up free thinkers, inventors, foreigners, local leaders and yes, the poor Christians.
But, unlike the Christians, he condemned these clever men to the Septimus galleys. A huge mistake because, as fate would have it, he had also condemned the greatest genius of our age to a situation where he could have unfettered access to men and equipment that he might never have been able to assemble back in Rome. What could this Greek have done with the full weight of the Empire behind him? It staggers the imagination.
“Perhaps you should pinch me,” the Briton said, “I must be dreaming!”
It was as if some wheel was turning in his mind. Digesting the information and seeing new possibilities within it. He did not voice his thoughts to me that evening, but the following day was another matter.
It happened in the morning as several dozen men were trying their hands at the British bows and arrows. They had set up a target near the prow of the ship and were shooting at it from a distance on the main deck. Some of them had a little experience as archers, but most were not skilled. Half of them could not even pull the stout bows at all. Most of them missed the target entirely. Soon the exercise took on the character of a humorous sport, with the men daring each other to try to hit it.
One of the men, another Greek, drew the bow and shot his arrow. He succeeded in hitting the target halfway out to its edge. This drew sarcastic applause and laughter from the others.
Just then, a hard and visceral ‘zing’ tore through the air above their heads. The surprised group turned just in time to watch as the arrow buried itself deep into the bulls-eye of the target. They looked in amazement to see who had shot it.
A single figure stood, holding his bow, just behind the helm. It was 127, our Head of Security, who had shot it. He moved forward and looked over the men with a fierce expression in his eyes.
“If you lads are through playing,” he began, “I am looking for three dozen good men to train as archers!” He held the bow aloft as he moved among them with an expression challenging each man as he looked into his eyes.
“Men to be trained,” he said, “How to use one of these. A British longbow, the finest long-range defensive weapon in the world! I am from Londunium in Britannia. All the best bows are British. The finest archers in the world are British! A few dozen British-trained archers have been known to hold off entire legions so effectively that the only hope of getting around them was flanking actions.
“A skilled archer can pierce armor, shatter bones and kill the enemy before they can even get close enough to see his face! With an army of such archers no one would be able to board this ship that we did not wish to. The Emperor has kindly provided us with bows of the finest British Ewe and goose quill arrows to shoot from them. And I am prepared to train anyone who has the guts to learn how to fight like a man! You do look like brave lads! What say you? Have I got any takers?”
A cheer arose from the assembly as the men hastened to volunteer. I watched this scene with considerable satisfaction. The Briton wanted a fight and nobody could deny him. The army of Antonia was getting stronger every day. Since my speech nobody had talked about the gold. Although we had posted guards over it nobody had asked to see it or tried to take any of it.
On the beach my first officer proved himself a master of both men and war. He tirelessly drilled the men in the sword and the lance. His patience and insight was magnificent. What had been a rag-tag group of former slaves was beginning to take on the aura of disciplined fanatics. Moving as one toward a common purpose. With each new exercise and drill he reminded his charges that they were not fighting each other, but fighting Rome itself.
Rome. That monster that chained them and beat them.
Rome. The hateful Empire of Nero.
He told them, each time they struck a dummy, that it was an attack at the very heart of Rome. By
the end of the second week he instilled a new camaraderie among them. Singing songs as they marched and drilled. As if each one of them would burst his heart for the other. Building their self-esteem, along with a fanatical obedience to me. He built me up to a god among them.
For me it was no burden to express my esteem for their efforts. For I was truly beginning to love these men. Now, more than ever, I had to be sparing with them. Relegating as much responsibility to others as I could. But I was not idle. There was much for me to do. The refit of the ship. The continuing study of charts and possible battle scenarios and, most of all, making sure that the officers and the men had all that they needed.
The calls for supplies from the ‘Stinker’ in the gorge continued to grow. Strange smells and many-colored smokes now arose from there, along with the less frequent noises of carnage. One of my biggest problems in this area turned out to be with Sarah in the kitchens, which the ‘Stinker’, as it had come to be known, kept raiding for copper and other preparations.
“I do not know how you expect us to cook this way,” she would shout, “If this keeps up, you will end up eating everything raw!” In spite of her complaints, the food continued to be more than satisfactory to all of us. If morale was rising, then surely our female compliment deserved much of the credit. In addition to their services in the kitchen, Sarah proved to be invaluable as a healer. She could mend anything from a burn to a broken bone.
Calpurnia contributed her share as well. In addition to her help with the meals her skills as a singer, which were quite considerable, were an uplifting cure for us all. During our rests and meal periods she would accompany herself on the lyre, which she played beautifully. On a personal note, her presence was like a tonic for me.
She was both kind and gentle to everyone. The men would take their troubles to her and she would listen patiently, giving comfort and advice. If the men were beginning to love her like a sister, she was becoming something else for me. We would spend quiet moments talking as we would take long walks along the shore. She seemed to know about anything I had on my mind.
