Travis Starnes
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The Triumph of Venus - Chapter 32
🕑 Added 2024-04-03 13:52:01 +0000 UTCThe Red Sea
Valdar was pleased. It had been a long and difficult voyage, but they’d finally made it to what the Romans called Sinus Arabicus, although he’d heard others call it the Sea of Reeds.
As they’d entered into the southern part of the sea where the old Egyptian charts actually picked back up, at least enough for him to navigate, he’d pulled his fleet away from the coast of Africa, choosing to sail up the center of the sea itself. He couldn’t see the Arabian Desert to his east, but he knew it was out there. Close enough that it was unlikely a Carthaginian fleet could pass by unnoticed.
It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best plan he had without more thorough scouting. It also paid off.
An hour after they entered the waters of the Sinus Arabicus, his lookout called out sails on the horizon. They were still a distance out, but he could make out a grouping of sails to the north, closer in to the African coast.
That had to be who he was looking for, or at least a Carthaginian fleet. No Britannian ships had made it this far around, so any they did see either belonged to Carthage or one of their vassals.
It wasn’t until they started to close the distance that Valdar noticed something unusual about this fleet. Most of the ships were Carthaginian-designed galleys carrying the Britannian-style rigging that most of their ships used now. Four, however, were different. Their hulls were taller and more robust than his own Caravels, with high sides that set them well off the water. More bizarre was their sail plans. Unlike the familiar square sails of Britannian ships, these vessels bore a strange, ribbed design, with multiple sails arranged in a fan-like pattern.
Ornate carvings adorned their prows, and vibrant banners fluttered from their masts, bearing symbols and scripts that Valdar had never seen before. More alarming was the clear gun-ports along the vessels’ sides, much like those on Valdar’s own ships.
The enemy fleet had clearly spotted his ships and were already turning to close the distance.
“They have cannon, boys. Prepare for action,” Valdar called out.
This would be interesting. So far, they’d only really fought more traditional-style ships, which had given them every advantage. This was the first time his fleet, or really any Britannian fleet, would face off against ships that looked, at least, to be of a similar build. They knew it was coming, and the Consul had even instructed him a bit on the difference between combat with cannon-armed ships against galleys versus two ships equipped roughly the same.
At the time, Valdar had thought it a waste, seeing as how no one was able to build something like the caravels he’d been gifted with.
Now, he wished he’d spent more time listening to those eventualities.
Their ships might be different, but their tactics seemed very similar, with the Carthaginians arranging their galleys out front in a crescent shape, clearly intending to encircle his ships. Behind them, the four strange vessels hung back, following the enemy fleet but not directly part of its formation.
If they chose to sit out, Valdar was more than happy to oblige them and deal with their captains after the battle.
“Signal the fleet,” Valdar called out. “Form a line, caravels in the center, schooner at the rear. Galleys on the flanks.”
A minute later, signal flags began to flutter as the orders were passed from ship to ship. His ships tightened up, having practiced this formation many times and fought together through multiple engagements in the middle sea.
They were attempting the classic ram and board method. Good against other ships that fought more as platforms for spear-armed soldiers, but a poor choice against cannon-armed vessels.
“Turn to port and prepare broadside,” Valdar ordered.
His ships wheeled as one, turning to present their broadsides to the oncoming Carthaginian galleys. Valdar watched, patiently, standing steady on the foredeck, as the ships got into position. It was important for the men to see their leader unafraid and confident, and that is the air he projected.
The moment his ships finished their turn, the row of cannon across each one pointed at the enemy fleet, Valdar yelled, “Fire!”
The caravel’s cannons erupted, sending a hail of iron spinning toward the enemy ships. Rounds tore through the Carthaginians, sending oars and rails splintering in all directions. Men screamed as wooden missiles launched in all directions, rending flesh and bone.
Then the caravels sailing in his wake opened fire, their cannons finishing what the caravels had started. In moments, what had been eight galleys had become three, two of which were listing as their crews fought to maneuver them out of the way.
“Sir, those strange ships at the rear. They’re not moving,” his first mate said.
“I know. My only hope is they chose not to engage.”
Valdar could taste the irony, feeling doubt over an enemy ship and its unknown firepower, something many Carthaginians must have felt when coming against his caravels for the first time.
Sadly, his wish was not granted. As if on cue, the four ships began to advance, their sails billowing in the wind as they drew closer.
“Turn the fleet north and prepare for a broadside engagement.”
As they closed with the enemy ships, Valdar could see the simpler cannon he’d intercepted, that and sent him on this mission, rolling out of the gunports on the side of their ship.
“Brace yourselves, lads!” he shouted.
Enemy shot slammed into Valdar’s ships, the rounds crashing against the sturdy hulls. Some ricocheted off the reinforced planking, leaving deep gouges in their wake. Others found their mark, piercing through the wood and sending splinters flying across the decks.
Valdar felt the deck shuddering under his feet as rounds tore through the hull, before smashing out the other side. All around him, men screamed and died, in a level of horror he’d never been on the receiving end of before. And his ship did not get the worst of it.
The schooner, positioned at the rear of the formation, took the brunt of the punishing fire. Rounds tore through its lighter construction, leaving gaping wounds in the side of the ship, flinging men into the sea.
“Return fire!” he bellowed, pitching his voice up to cut through the chaos.
In spite of the horror around them, his gunners leapt into action, their well-drilled movements a testament to their training. They swabbed the bores, rammed home the powder and shot, and ran out their guns with practiced efficiency. A heartbeat later, the Britannian broadsides erupted, sending a hail of iron hurtling towards the enemy ships.
The Britannian rounds smashed into the strange vessels, splintering wood and sending debris flying as their lines passed. More Britannian guns roared, tearing hole and hole in the enemy ships. One well-placed round nearly cut the main mast of the lead enemy boat in two, sending it crashing over the side a moment later.
Despite the intense cannon fire, the Britannian ships held their formation, the caravels providing covering fire for each other as the lines passed. The danger wasn’t over. The three remaining Carthaginian galleys, seeing his ships injured, looked to be swinging around, trying to come in while his ships were occupied.
“Signal the galleys on the flanks!” Valdar shouted to his first mate. “Engage those Carthaginian ships. Don’t let them through the line!”
The Britannian galleys surged forward, putting themselves between his larger ships and the oncoming enemy galleys. With only one or two cannons apiece, they weren’t able to take down the enemy through weight of fire alone, the way his larger ships had. Their captains, clearly seeing the danger, put their own ships in harm’s way, smashing into the enemy galleys, their battle becoming a free-for-all as men began to swarm onto each other’s ships. Seeing their lead, more of his galleys piled on, until the enemy ships were completely surrounded, boarded from all directions.
He would suffer losses there, but it took those ships out of the fight. Two of the enemy’s larger ships were out of action. One listing hard to the side, already on its way to the bottom while another, the one with the smashed mast, veered out of line, traveling in an aimless line, a plume of dark black smoke billowing from one of the holes in its side.
His ships did no better, with the vessel behind his showing serious damage. Worse was his schooner, which was clearly in trouble, its movements sluggish and erratic, hampered by the damage it had sustained.
“Order her out of line,” Valdar said, pointing at the schooner. “And see if there are any galleys to come to her aid. The rest of the fleet will swing around for another pass.”
His ships swung around, preparing for another pass at the enemy vessels. The damaged schooner limped out of the line, listing heavily to one side as a pair of galleys moved to support her.
The remaining caravels, their decks slick with blood and debris, crossed the remaining two enemy ships. The enemy let loose a concentrated attack, piling all of their shot into the second of Valdar’s ships, the one that had already sustained heavy damage. Round after round slammed into her hull, leaving gaping holes that exposed her innards. Men screamed as they were cut down, their bodies torn asunder by the relentless barrage.
To its credit, the crew never wavered. Even as their companions died, they continued to load and fire, sending their own answer into the enemy. His ships were giving more than they got. Seeing the enemy cannon in action, it was clear that not only did their shot not penetrate as well, they also fired much slower.
For every two shots the enemy managed, his crews delivered three in return. The difference was telling. The enemy ships were taking a terrible pounding.
“Maintain the pressure!” Valdar bellowed. “Don’t let them breathe!”
It was hard, at times, to even see the enemy ships through the thick clouds of smoke being put out by the five vessels doing their level best to kill one another. The more his ships hammered the enemy, the slower their rate of fire got, showing the toll his barrage was having on them.
As the two lines cleared each other, Valdar saw the last two enemy ships founder, their hulls taking on water as they began to sink. A cheer went up from his crews, silenced by a massive explosion that ripped through the enemy ship that had drifted away earlier with smoke pouring out of it. The blast was tremendous, the shock wave hitting Valdar like a fist to the chest.
Two of his galleys, which had been closing on the drifting vessel, were caught in the blast. One had its mast sheared clean off, sending it crashing to the deck in a tangle of rigging and screaming men. The other was peppered with debris, its hull punctured in a dozen places.
The enemy fleet was gone, either captured or heading to the bottom of the sea, which was now littered with debris, the remnants of shattered ships and broken bodies. Even for the experienced Valdar, it was a shock. The first clash of cannon-armed ships against one another showed him a terrifying vision of what naval battles could someday be.
“Sir, the schooner is lost,” his first mate said. “She’s taking on too much water. We need to abandon her.”
It was clear to tell by looking at her that he was right. The ship had already started to roll, and would be on its side in another ten minutes.
“Transfer her crew to the other ships. We can’t afford to lose any more men. If there’s time, save what supplies we can.”
It was unlikely they’d be able to get cannon off, but perhaps they could save some of the valuable gunpowder, a resource he was already running short on. Thankfully, that was the worst of his losses. None of the galleys had been sunk, but five were in bad shape with varying degrees of hurt. His own ship and another of the caravels were hurt, but could be repaired underway. The third, the one that took the brunt of the enemy fire, was in bad shape.
“Order the Hrafn and the damaged galleys, along with two undamaged ones, to return to the port to the south for repairs as they can. Reorganize any of our losses among the surviving ships. I want to be ready to sail in two hours.”
“Sir, with this level of damage…” His first mate said, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken.
“I know, but we don’t know if this is all of them. I don’t want to just float here, inviting another attack. Better to be on the move.”
“Understood,” the mate said, saluting and heading to the signalman to begin sending the orders.
***
Alexandria, Egypt
Aelius couldn’t believe he was here. Even after centuries under Carthaginian rule, Alexandria was one of the most famous cities in the known world. He had grown up hearing tales of its wonders, the great lighthouse, its vast library that once held the entire world’s knowledge, its bustling market that held goods from faraway lands. He poured over tales of Alexander the Great and the Ptolemaic dynasty that followed him, at least until the Carthaginians conquered them and ended Egypt’s millennia of rule.
Aelius had dreamed of seeing this ancient wonder since he was a boy, but he’d never imagined he’d make it here. While the lighthouse still stood in the harbor, towering above the landscape, the rest of the city was something less than he’d imagined. Even at far cannon range, where he had his legion deploying in preparation for taking the city from its Carthaginian defenders, he could see that it had not been maintained in the fashion its legacy should have demanded, with infrastructure that was in a sad state of disrepair. Its aqueducts and walls were in poor shape, crumbling and cracked.
Even with the neglect, the city seemed almost a testament to the many empires that had fought over it, with an eclectic mix of Egyptian, Greek, and Carthaginian styles.
As Aelius sent forth a messenger under a flag of truce to give the Carthaginians a chance to surrender, as tradition demanded, the gates of the great city opened. Instead of a delegation of Carthaginians, however, a group of dignitaries emerged to meet them. It wasn’t uncommon for the Carthaginians to send out a sacrificial lamb instead of their own commanders, who would deny the offer of peaceful surrender. That is where things usually ended.
That the messenger was coming back to his line with the delegation in tow meant that the city had accepted his surrender. An unusual move for the Carthaginians.
Aelius waved his men to hold position and rode forward to meet the group, dismounting his horse as they arrived.
“Greetings, Roman,” their leader said, bowing his head slightly. “I am Tamasir, appointed mayor of Alexandria.”
“Greetings. I am Legate Numerius Caesetius Aelius of the Britannic Empire,” Aelius said, putting the emphasis on the name of the empire. “We offer terms of surrender to your Carthaginian masters. If they lay down their arms and surrender peacefully, your city will be peaceably occupied and no excess harm will come to its citizens. Should they refuse, we will have little choice but to take the city by force, in spite of the damage that will be caused. We urge your leader to take our offer seriously and make the best choice he can for the people of the city.”
“An unnecessary offer. The Carthaginians have already withdrawn from Alexandria, taking all of their force out of the city and traveling east. The great city of Alexandria is an open city and will not contest your control,” the mayor said, finishing the formal-sounding pronouncement, and then paused, looking at the men accompanying him to either side, almost nervously. “While I have no way to force any kind of concessions from you, I would ask, for my people’s sake, your understanding and compassion as you take control of our city. Most of the young men in our city, and even most of the older ones, were taken by the Carthaginians, to swell their ranks as they left. My people are mourning the loss of their sons, fathers, and husbands. They are angry and hurt, and I cannot guarantee what kind of reception you will encounter from them.”
“I understand, and your people’s pain and anger is not uncommon. We have encountered it everywhere we have liberated a city from Carthaginian rule. We are not here to occupy Alexandria or add to their suffering. Our mission is to prevent the Carthaginians from regrouping and using Egypt as a base to continue their war.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I know my people, and know how they might lash out. It is my hope that we avoid any incidents, if possible. Especially if they result in a backlash or reprisal to my city as a whole.”
“We will, of course, try and avoid any such incidents, and will be reasonable if they occur, although the safety of my men always comes first. I am curious, however, Egypt has always been famed for its resilience and stubborn refusal to bow to foreign rule. If your people are so ready to fight their oppression, have they not stood up to the Carthaginians before? Especially now that their rule is crumbling?”
Tamasir hesitated, glancing at his companions before responding cautiously. “There have been...pockets of resistance over the years. Egyptians who refused to accept Carthaginian dominion. But their fight has been a difficult one, with limited resources and manpower.”
“And most of those who might have joined them were just conscripted into the Carthaginian army,” another official added bitterly.
“Are there any still in your city, who want to fight for their freedom from Carthaginian rule? If there are, I imagine such people would make good intermediaries between ourselves and the rest of your populace, since we would share goals, but they are still of your city, and would be more ready to deal with your people’s reaction to a new occupation. If there are any left, I would very much like to meet them.”
“There might be some still in the city, although I myself do not know any. It would be... difficult to convince them to expose themselves. They have fought long and hard against Carthaginian rule. The idea of aligning with another foreign power...”
“I assure you, we have no intention of conquering Egypt,” Aelius said firmly. “We have not, in any region we have fought, set up permanent rule for ourselves. Which is why our forces here are small, and our main army marches west to Carthage, not east. We are here solely to deal with the Carthaginian threat. Nothing more.”
The men took a step back, bending their heads together, whispering frantically. Aelius waited. What he was asking, that they convince rebels inside the city to come forward and deal directly with a new invading force, was a hard sell. He honestly didn’t expect it to happen, but considered it worth a try before he moved forward with his directive, setting up defenses for the eventual Carthaginian counterattack.
“We can try to arrange a meeting with the resistance leaders, although it will take time, as none of us or anyone we know is in contact with them directly,” Tamasir said as the group broke apart and he stepped forward again. “However, even in that case, I cannot guarantee their cooperation.”
“I understand. Any effort you can make would be appreciated. In the meantime, what I can do is establish my base of operations outside the city, instead of occupying your city directly. That should help keep frictions between our people at a minimum.”
“That is amazingly reasonable of you,” the Egyptian said, relief clear on his face.
“We will need to make use of your docks, buy supplies, and my men will want to have some access to your city. I will ensure they only arrive in small groups, stick together, and come only for necessary supplies and provisions. I would ask your permission to purchase what we need from your merchants.”
“That can be arranged. We would welcome the business. As for your ships…”
“That I will, unfortunately, need more control over,” Aelius said, interrupting the man before he could lay out terms. “I will have to leave a detachment at the docks to ensure their security, but I assure you, they will find an unused space to operate out of and will not interfere with the city’s business.”
Tamasir looked much less pleased with this pronouncement and said, “Very well. As long as your men remain confined to the docks and do not cause any disturbances, we will do our best to help keep conflict under control.”
“You have my word,” Aelius promised. “My men are disciplined and will respect your city’s customs and laws.”
“Thank you. My people were very worried, seeing your army approach. It is… unexpected, to find you so accommodating. I will send word when I have news of the resistance leaders.”
“Excellent. I look forward to a productive partnership between our peoples, however temporary it may be.” Aelius extended his hand, which Tamasir grasped firmly.
As the Egyptian delegation took their leave, Aelius returned to his mount, signaling his commanders to join him.
“Marcellus, take the Twelfth Cohort and secure the docks. Talk to the leaders there and find some place that’s unoccupied, a warehouse or something. Pay for it if they need you to, I don’t want to start having to fight the people in the city when the Carthaginians show up. Make sure we have security provided for any of our ships that enter the city while we’re here.”
“Yes, sir,” Marcellus replied.
“Good. The rest of us will pull back about a half hour’s march. Once there, I want fortifications set up and the artillery mounted. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but I don’t trust that the Carthaginians have gone entirely. Dig trenches, erect palisades, and create clear lines of fire for our artillery. Ahenobarbus, take your cavalry and start conducting reconnaissance to the south and east. Get a sense of what the civilian population is doing, what obstacles the Carthaginians might have put in our way, and any idea of where they might have gone. If you see a contingent of the enemy, pull back. Do not engage. Once our fortifications are set up, I want to have the last of the telegraph line extended into them and establish communications back to the Consul. Okay, let’s get moving.”
As his tribunes moved to get their men back in line and headed in the direction of their temporary encampment, Aelius cast one glance back at the city. He’d come back and see it again, hopefully while he wasn’t having to worry about keeping an eye on thousands of soldiers at the same time.
