Travis Starnes
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The Fires of Vulcan - Chapter 28
🕑 Added 2023-09-26 18:03:01 +0000 UTCDevnum
Lucilla arrived for a second time at the large open field outside of Devnum. Though the early fall morning air held a chill that warned of the upcoming winter, a large crowd had already gathered in anticipation of this day’s event, again they were held back by several squads of Praetorians. Hortensius and Sorantius were at the balloon in the center of the field, no doubt making last-minute preparations for their launch.
The first test had proven to be a disaster, with the balloon igniting shortly after lifting off the ground, sending burning fragments raining down as the craft plummeted to earth. Thankfully, no one had been injured, but it had been terrifying. Lucilla suspected that was why today’s crowd seemed even larger than before. Nothing brought spectators together more than the possibility of a spectacle, especially a disastrous one.
The Praetorians were already struggling to hold back the encroaching onlookers. The audience was excited and parted as she approached the circle, some reaching out to touch the hem of her stola as she made her way into the center of the test area. Modius and the rest of her guards were anxious since she’d been brutally attacked the previous year by a similar crowd that included insurrectionists, but she wasn’t going to let that keep her away from her people.
A cheer went up for her as she made her way across the open field to where the two inventors were working, both of them stopping to see what the commotion was about.
“Empress, wonderful timing! We are nearly ready for the launch. Please, come see the improvements for yourself!” Hortensius said eagerly, gesturing to the strange orb resting in a large wicker basket.
She moved next to the basket, peering inside.
“As you can see, we encased the firepot in the new material you described. It held up very well during our testing, getting hot, but not so hot as to set even a piece of paper put against it on fire. It’s excellent at dissipating the heat and should keep the basket from catching fire like the last time.”
“Well done. I’m excited to see it in action,” she said.
“Then please, stand back,” he said to her, before turning his attention back to the attendants surrounding the conveyance. “That should be good. Let’s get started.”
Lucilla backed up as the men lit the firepot and scrambled away. Like the first time, after a few minutes, the fabric began to swell ever so slowly and expand until it finally lifted off the ground, turning globe-like as it rose above the basket. Again, as it had done the first time, the basket lifted off the ground, the ropes pulling tight as it held several handspans off the ground.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, probably spectators who were here previously telling their fellows that this was when everything went wrong the last time. She waited almost breathlessly as it floated there, and nothing else happened.
“How will we know that it worked and there won’t be a fire this time?” she asked, her impatience finally getting the best of her.
“I think that was long enough,” Hortensius replied. “We’re well past the point where everything went wrong last time. I think we’re safe to assume it worked and move to the next stage of the test.”
“Next stage?” she asked as Hortensius began waving for men to grab the dangling ropes and pull the balloon closer to the ground.
As she watched, a man trotted over from where a group of assistants stood, and climbed into the basket.
“Yes, the next stage is to test it with a pilot aboard,” Hortensius explained. “Pridan has trained extensively for this flight, including learning Morse code and how to operate a telegraph.”
“Why would he need to be trained in Morse code to go up there?” Lucilla asked.
Waving her over, he picked up the thick rope that led from the frame holding the basket to a large winch on the ground and pulled the wound rope apart slightly to reveal a pair of rubber-covered wire inside. Sophus had tried to explain why they needed a pair of wires, but it quickly got past Lucilla’s understanding.
“So he can use this. There’s a portable telegraph machine, essentially just the transmitter, inside the basket with him. Using it, the pilot can send messages back to the ground, reporting on what he sees through his spyglass. To keep the weight down, and because room inside the basket is limited, we didn’t include a receiver, so he can’t receive messages, but he’s also been trained on the flag messaging system we used on the semaphore. Focusing his glasses down toward where the balloon is anchored, he’ll be able to read those messages if need be. There will also normally be a second person in the basket, so one can type out what they see while the other continues to observe from the air. He’ll also have flags up there with him, should the telegraph stop working. It will be slower, but we can still get messages that way.”
“Clever,” she said.
Although they had discussed having a way for the pilot to send messages, she hadn’t realized Hortensius had progressed this far with the idea or included the telegraph with the balloon itself. Especially not how he had the telegraph wire protected inside the rope attached to the rising balloon.
“All set,” Sorantius, who was over at the balloon checking the equipment, said.
“Excellent,” Hortensius said. “Please step away from the rope, Your Majesty.”
She stepped back as the men around the basket scattered. The men who’d been holding the ropes on the side of the basket released them, letting it spring up to just about head height. On Hortensius’s signal, the operators of the winch began cranking the machine, letting out more and more rope. With each handspan of rope released, the balloon climbed higher into the sky. Above the trees, then above the height of the palace and the Colosseum, and it continued to rise.
The crowd clapped and cheered, enthralled by the spectacle of a man reaching heights usually reserved for birds only. Lucilla shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she tracked the balloon’s progress, higher and higher, until the basket was nothing more than a tiny speck against the blue sky. The much larger balloon was still clearly visible, but it had gone so high as to seem noticeably smaller, much like seeing a ship far out to sea. She marveled at it. That a man was up there, flying.
Suddenly, the telegraph machine resting on a table nearby sprang to life. Lucilla turned her attention to it as clicks and taps sounded out a message. One of Hortensius’ assistants transcribed the incoming transmission, hurriedly writing down the translated letters on a sheet of paper.
Handing it to Hortensius, the inventor looked it over, smiling to himself before turning his attention to Lucilla.
“It’s a message from Pridan, Your Majesty. He says all is well. He is amazed by how far he can see.”
“Please ask him to describe it to us,” she said, wanting to both see what kind of detail the man could see using a spyglass that high in the sky, and wanting to confirm the ability to get messages from the ground to him.
“Send the request, please,” Hortensius said to one of his other assistants.
Two of the men went to a set of signal flags, one of them picking the flags up while the other looked up at the balloon through a spyglass. There was some back and forth between them until the second man began to wave the flags in the style she’d seen before on board Valdar’s ships. A minute passed, and then two, while nothing happened, before the telegraph receiver began to move again, hammering out a message. Lucilla turned her attention back to the assistant as he transcribed this new, lengthier message.
Again, Hortensius took the message, reading out loud this time, “Majesty, the view from up here is magnificent. I can see clear across Devnum. The water in the aqueduct, running from the reservoir, sparkles like jewels in the sun. The crowds at market around the Colosseum look like small insects from this height. I can see the gardens inside the palace, and the park between the buildings with its shade-providing trees. Beyond the city walls, orchards and farmland stretch as far as the eye can see. There is a ship leaving the harbor, looking much like a toy. What a privilege it is to be granted such a perspective!”
Lucilla smiled as she heard the pilot’s enthusiastic account, reminded again of the wonders this new invention could provide. Talking to Ky and Sophus, it was easy to accept these wonders as normal … commonplace. It took a moment like this to realize the amazement they could bring. She just wished she could join Pridan, sailing high above the city and countryside, seeing it all unfold below. Of course, neither Ky nor her guards would ever allow something like that to happen.
“You’ve truly outdone yourselves,” she said to Hortensius and Sorantius, both of whom grinned at the compliment, as they looked from her back up to their invention flying in the sky.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the manufacturer said.
Turning her attention to Hortensius, she said, “Make preparations to transport the balloon immediately. I’ve received word that Valdar has captured the port of Kalb in the mouth of the Middle Sea and is sailing ships up to support Ky’s attack on the Carthaginian’s main port in Gaul. I want the balloon, all of the telegraph receivers and transmitters we have ready, and as much of the insulated wire as possible shipped to him with the next supply ship.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. We’ll need to dismantle and pack the balloon for transport, but we’ll have it done by the end of the day,” he said. “I’ll also send the technicians with the most experience operating this and the telegraph. I know the Consul doesn’t need assistance from someone like me to work these, but I’m certain it will make his job easier.”
“Good. Very good. Then I believe we need to begin expediting the building of the telegraph system. Beyond the legions and a handful of other uses, I don’t believe we need to devote a lot of resources to creating a large number of balloons, although I’m certain there’s going to be some demand for them once word gets out. I’m all for everyone making money on something like this, that’ll be profitable, but let’s keep our eye on the prize, as it were. I have an engagement at the palace, so I’ll leave this to you to take care of.”
“I understand. I’ll take care of this at once,” he bowed, hurrying off, already shouting orders at his assistants.
Lucilla felt a little pity for the man up in the balloon as the winch began to turn, pulling him back to the ground. If she was up there, it was likely she’d never want to come back down. She allowed herself one final glance at the slowly descending balloon before turning back to her carriage, her face turning serious.
An hour later, and much less jubilant, Lucilla sat underneath an open tent in the palace’s side courtyard, hidden from public view. Her expression was stern as she steeled herself for what she must do next.
In the center of the courtyard sat the executioner’s block, its solid surface scarred from previous uses, stained with dark streaks by the blood of traitors. It was a ghoulish object. She’d once asked her father why they couldn’t just use a new block of wood each time, instead of hauling this horrendous thing out. He’d explained to her that executions weren’t for putting men to death. That could be done quietly, without all the spectacle around the event. No, they were for the people watching. A warning or a symbol, depending on who was watching, as to what happened when they crossed the Empire. It was why these types of executions were mostly relegated to treason and other very serious crimes, and not just for thieves and murderers, who were normally dealt with much less publicly.
Today’s execution had the same purpose, and hence needed the same props. The only difference with that today’s spectacle was meant for an audience of one. They’d chosen this courtyard because of its seclusion, a wall of Praetorians and palace guards keeping everyone else away and blocking the view of what was set to happen today.
As if brought on by Lucilla’s thoughts, there was a commotion at the courtyard entrance as Medb was led inside, flanked on either side by stone-faced guards. Her steps faltered briefly as she recognized the chopping block and the large man standing next to it, axe in hand. She handled the shock well, walking with forced dignity toward Lucilla’s small tent, never faltering. She didn’t try to run or cower. The only indication that she recognized what was about to happen was in her eyes. Lucilla watched the emotions play across them as Medb glanced between Lucilla and the executioner’s block. Surprise. Fear. Anger.
The guards halted Medb just inside the tent where Lucilla sat, releasing her arms, but not stepping back.
Lifting her chin defiantly, the queen said, “You’ll regret this. Killing me will not stop my people’s anger over what you’ve done.”
Lucilla regarded her coolly for a moment, before saying, “I think you overestimate ‘your’ people’s anger regarding your fate. Already, their quality of life has improved under the Empire. There have been no protests for your release. No cries for your return. But I think you are mistaken about what’s happening today. This isn’t for you.”
Lucilla had to suppress a grin of pleasure as Medb’s facade broke, relief and surprise washing across her face.
“What? Then who …”
Her question trailed off as Lucilla gestured to the Praetorians walking into the courtyard. Between them, they hauled a struggling man, his well-styled toga marking him as the Flamen Dialis, less regal than it had once been, stained and torn in many places, his feet leaving marks in the ground as they dragged him into view.
“Unhand me!” he screamed. “You will pay for this sacrilege!”
The Praetorians ignored his outbursts as they pulled him toward his final destination. The preacher’s thrashing grew more violent as he recognized the executioner’s block, his fate suddenly becoming very real. Then his gaze landed on Lucilla with Medb, flanked by the guards, standing next to her.
“Harlot!” he shrieked. “You are a plague upon Rome, a filthy corruption spreading like rot through the Empire! May Jupiter damn you to Tartarus for your sins!”
Lucilla didn’t say anything, simply gestured toward the executioner’s block. The preacher’s curses turned to wails as he was pushed to his knees, his head pressed down on the wood, where a rope was tightened around his neck, locking him in place, his eyes staring at the basket being placed in front of the block.
Lucilla turned her attention from the preacher back to Medb and said, “I know what you’ve been doing. Your treasonous conversations with Vesnius, fomenting unrest among my people. We know what you convinced Cormac to do, planting more seeds. We know about the dozen others you’ve been talking to. I know you’re doing this in some vain hope that you can turn the chaos created in my Empire into some ploy to get your throne back. I imagine you already know how unrealistic that is, but you’ve decided to go down this road anyway.”
Medb’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, maybe not realizing how much of her plan had been exposed until that moment, but otherwise remaining silent. Lucilla let the unease hang in the air between them, punctuated by the screams of Vesnius, holding Medb’s gaze steadily.
Finally, Lucilla said, “Cormac has begged me to spare your life. In spite of knowing you’ve been playing him for a fool, the boy seems to really love you. I have no idea if you return those feelings or if you see him as only a fool, a tool you can use to further your own power. Honestly, I don’t care. Cormac and his father are important members of our Empire, but they’re not the only reasons your head isn’t on that block today. You’re smart. A little too smart, maybe, but it’s something we need. If we can put your ambition to work for us, instead of against us, I think you could be a great asset to the Empire.”
A flicker of hope spread across Medb’s face. Hope, and maybe something else. Arrogance? Ambition?
“There. That’s what I’m talking about,” Lucilla said, calling out Medb’s unspoken thoughts. “That is why most of my advisors have argued against sparing your life. They believe that the Empire would be better served by displeasing your husband, and his family, than letting you live. They think you can’t stop yourself. I think you’re smart enough to realize how close you’ve come to losing your life. I’m willing to roll the dice and give you this one chance to prove you can be as smart as I hope you are. But I’m only going to do this on myterms. You get to choose. You can either fall in line and serve the Empire loyally, or your head will be the next one pressed against the headsman’s block.”
Medb glanced between Lucilla and the executioner’s block before looking at the ground, no longer meeting Lucilla’s eyes.
“You leave me little choice,” she said.
“No, I leave you with the same choice you’ve had all along,” Lucilla said. “You chose wrong the first time, and you were within a hair’s breadth of paying the price for it. I’m giving you a chance to make the choice again. Hopefully, you’ll choose better this time.”
Medb raised her eyes, looking unsure, a battle between rage and acceptance playing across her face, her usual composure shattered.
“I know what you really want,” Lucilla said as Medb fought herself. “You crave power. You want your throne back, your kingdom, your old glory.”
Medb’s eyes flashed, but she held her tongue.
“You have to accept that it won’t happen. You lost that option the moment you sided with the Carthaginians, who would have dismantled your kingdom and had you quietly disposed of once you no longer served their purposes. Even if my Empire falls, there is no way for you reclaim your throne. But that doesn’t mean you have to become a pauper. I’m willing to provide you some of the power you crave, within reason, if you’re willing to accept who you serve. The Britannian Empire will outlast both of us. You can either have your legacy be part of its foundation or one of the names crushed under our boot. The choice is yours.”
Medb stared at the blood-stained wood, the priest still struggling, his execution waiting for the Empress’s word, the headsman standing, axe in hand, next to the pathetic man kneeling at his feet.
“Fine,” she said, an angry resignation in her voice. “What will you have of me?”
“We’ll get to that in time. For now, be good to your husband, whose request to spare you is the main reason you’re alive. I would not have taken the time to reconsider my initial impulse to have you gone if it weren’t for him. Consider that before you take your anger out in that direction.”
“Fine,” Medb said again.
Lucilla didn’t know if her request would help Cormac’s fate with his wife or not, but she’d tried. She’d made it clear, talking to the boy, that he was playing a dangerous game with Medb, but he was smitten. Maybe he’d gain her respect and they’d actually grow to love each other, or maybe she’d kill him in his sleep. Either way, she’d done her best for them.
“Let’s be clear. If you step even a toe over the line again, there will be no second chance. You will suffer the same fate as the men you duped,” Lucilla said, gesturing toward the weeping Vesnius, pathetic and trembling as he knelt before the headsman’s block.
Medb’s lips tightened, but she gave a curt nod. Her usual superior aura had evaporated, replaced by a wariness that suggested, just maybe, that this time she’d got the message. To set the point more firmly, Lucilla gave a nod to the executioner. The man hefted his heavy axe, prompting Vesnius to thrash against the restraints, his wailing intensifying as the end neared.
The axe swung in a wide arc, ending in a sickening thud as it impacted against the chipped wood, followed by a softer one as the priest’s head rolled into the waiting basket, his body giving one final spasm. Lucilla’s stomach turned at the sight, but she didn’t look away. If she could order the man’s death, she would witness her order carried out.
“Don’t forget,” she said, not bothering to look at Medb as she stood and marched off the field, leaving the former queen in her wake.
