Travis Starnes
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The Plains of Pluto - Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-02-08 16:00:15 +0000 UTCPort Caolros
Admiral Valdar wished he could have stayed on his ship. At least his quarters there, cramped as they were, had a comfortable chair for him to sit on. The temporary commander’s office, which he had taken over, was a nearly temporary shelter until the buildings of the port itself were in place.
Which wouldn’t happen until the four forts on the peninsula were finished.
Priorities being what they were, they could not waste resources on simple pleasures when there were so many critical things to do that even the building he was in was slipshod. He understood that, but there were times, like today, when he was forced to go over pages of reports from supply ships, scout ships, construction teams, and an endless list of others, where he almost wanted to order a retreat to his cabin.
Or at least order his chair unbolted and brought to him.
Still, it would not do to have his men thinking the admiral had gone soft. So he had to forbear and deal with the poorly assembled wood masquerading as a seat.
Valdar scribbled another quick note to address the supply chain issues with the quartermaster. The recent storms had taken their toll, delaying shipments and hampering construction, and the engineers were using that as the reason things were falling behind.
Well, that might not be fair. He knew the men were working hard, and while some things they could get from inland, most of the produced metal parts had to come aboard ship. And it was his job to light a fire under the posteriors of those captains not keeping to their schedule.
Not that it was all bad news. At least their scout ships had reported no sign of Eastern vessels in the vicinity.
As Valdar set down his pen and was about to stretch and prepare himself for the next batch, the door to his office burst open without warning, slamming hard against its backstop and almost hitting Doctor Phelan in the face as he rushed in. The man looked to be in a state, his face ashen and his normally impeccable appearance disheveled.
“By the gods, man,” Valdar said in surprise, rising to his feet.
Doctor Phelan, seeming to realize how sudden his appearance was and the breach of protocol, bowed slightly and said, “My deepest apologies for the intrusion, Admiral. I wouldn’t have barged in like this if the situation wasn’t a matter of utmost urgency.”
“What situation?”
“Sir, we have a rapidly spreading illness among the men stationed here. It started with just a few cases, nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, which is why it has surprised us like it has. We thought it was just exhaustion from the construction work, maybe a touch of fever. But this morning three men who seemed to be on the mend suddenly took a turn for the worse. They ... they didn’t make it, sir.”
“From what appeared to be a simple fever?”
“They didn’t die of the fever alone. The consul’s lessons have taught us that fevers are just a symptom of the body fighting off an infection of some kind, although it can be fatal if it gets high enough. It’s why we weren’t alarmed. It’s how quickly the fevers went from minor to life threatening that is concerning. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, Admiral. High fevers that spike without warning, severe muscle aches that leave the men writhing in agony, and a type of respiratory distress that, as if they’re drowning on dry land.”
“How many are affected now?”
“That’s the truly terrifying part, sir. It’s spreading like wildfire. One of the things I need to request is the need to convert one of the newly constructed barracks into a makeshift infirmary. Even that I fear will not be enough. The illness seems highly contagious, but we can’t figure out how it’s transmitting so quickly. Men who’ve had no direct contact with the sick are falling ill.”
As if on cue, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open again, and two burly construction supervisors stumbled in, supporting a third man between them. The sick worker’s face was flushed with fever, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Doctor!” one of the supervisors called out, panic evident in his voice. “Segestes just collapsed on the job site. He was fine an hour ago!”
Phelan rushed to examine the stricken man, putting his hand to the man’s neck, feeling his forehead, and lifting his eyelids to look into the man’s drooping and unresponsive eyes.
“It’s the same symptoms. Take him to the infirmary immediately,” the doctor confirmed, before turning back to Valdar as the men left. “Admiral, I fear we’re on the brink of a full-blown epidemic. Our current facilities simply cannot handle this volume of sick. If we don’t act quickly...”
“Have you seen anything like this before, Doctor? Anything similar?”
Phelan shook his head. “Nothing quite like this. The fever pattern is reminiscent of some ailments in Egypt and Nubia I’ve read about, but the speed of onset and the respiratory symptoms, it’s baffling.”
“Should we begin quarantining them?”
“We are in the process of doing that, but I fear it will be woefully inadequate. We’ve isolated the sick as best we can, but with new cases popping up seemingly at random across the camp, it’s like trying to plug a sieve with our fingers.”
“What do you need from me, doctor? I have to rely on your judgment on this.”
“We need more supplies, for one. We are quickly running out of what we have. Especially the distilled alcohol Factorium, along with some of the more traditional herbal remedies, such as willow bark and the rest that we’ve been using to reduce fever and pain. One of Chief Ekoko’s men mentioned several plants they had that have worked well for combating a similar disease they have seen. I wanted to try some of that as well.”
“Make me a list,” Valdar ordered. “Everything you need, the remedies from Port Vikhavn, other medicines, bandages, extra cots, whatever it takes. And be liberal with your estimates. I want us prepared for the worst.”
Phelan took a pen and piece of paper off the desk and hurriedly scribbled down his requirements as Valdar moved to stick his head out of the door.
“You,” he barked, seeing an aide walking nearby. “Fetch me Captain Einar of the Aquila and then get all of the engineers you can find and the Praetorian commander. Be quick about it!”
By the time the doctor finished writing, the grizzled captain had arrived sweating, having clearly run all the way from his ship.
“Captain,” Valdar said without preamble, or apology for the urgency of the summons, handing the doctor’s list to him. “I need you to make an emergency run to Port Vikhavn. We have a medical crisis on our hands. These are the supplies we need. Impress upon the port commander the gravity of our situation. If they give you any trouble, you have my authority to requisition whatever is necessary.”
“This is... a substantial request, Admiral.”
“I’m aware,” Valdar said, offering no explanation.
“Understood, sir. We’ll set sail within the hour.”
As the captain turned to leave, Valdar called after him, “And Einar? Make it clear to your crew, no shore leave, no unnecessary contact in Vikhavn. Let none of your men disembark unless absolutely critical. Whatever is happening here, we don’t know how it spreads or how contagious it is.”
The expression on Einar’s face had more concern than he had seen on the man in the midst of battle. Valdar didn’t blame him. Cannonballs they could understand but this, this was something much more frightening.
To his credit, however, the captain simply snapped a salute and hurried out without another word.
A few minutes later, most of the engineers and the newly assigned port commander were ushered into the quickly crowding office.
“I apologize for the hastiness of the summons, but the good doctor has just informed me that we are facing a new crisis. I’m sure you’ve noticed an upswing in the number of men being put on sick call over the last few days. It appears an unknown illness is spreading rapidly through our ranks, and the doctor believes that it is on the verge of sweeping through everyone stationed here, which is why, effective immediately, I’m placing Port Caolros and all ships under quarantine.”
The proclamation sent shock through the assembled men. While Valdar was sure they had noted more of their men sick than normal, people in their position tended to be hyper-focused on the task they had at hand, missing obvious details outside their purview.
Valdar certainly had missed it himself.
“To what extent are we shutting down the port?” the praetorian commander asked.
It was the right question and showed he’d been through some of the newer trainings Faenius had been putting his men under, as the Consul put more focus on the control of disease in their cities and legion camps.
“Full isolation,” Valdar said. “No one disembarks at this port. Messenger ships are not to make landfall at unaffected ports. Any contact, if it happens, must be hands off and at signaling distance. I need you to enforce this strictly, Lucius. Lives depend on it.”
The commander nodded grimly. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll see to it personally.”
“How will this quarantine impact our ongoing construction?” Valdar asked the lead engineer.
“It’ll slow us down considerably, sir. We rely on regular supply shipments and rotating work crews.”
“Is there any way we can still get close to the schedule? I’m aware this makes it difficult, but it is imperative this port is functional before midsummer, and letting the outbreak run rampant will slow us down even more.”
“We could potentially reorganize our work schedules, focus on projects that require fewer men in close proximity, and save the rest for when the outbreak is hopefully over. If this does not go on into the summer, then we should still make your deadline.”
Valdar nodded. “Good. Very good. Work out the details and bring me a revised plan by tomorrow morning.”
“I believe I will be dispatching one of the caravels to the hospital in Devnum,” Valdar then said to the doctor. “I need you to write up as detailed a report as possible on what we’re dealing with here. Aside from it being information they can use in their studies, I believe we will need as many eyes looking at our situation as possible.”
“A wise move, I’ll start immediately. I think I must stress again my concern about the spread of this disease until we can determine its cause.”
“I understood, Doctor, and we are taking this very seriously, with as many precautions as possible, but the work on the port must also go on. There is a balance we must reach between protecting our people from this disease and protecting them from the Eastern warships that are sure to arrive eventually. After you finish your report, I need you to work with these gentlemen to establish isolation areas for new cases.”
“We’ll start planning out options for him,” the engineer said.
“Good. We’ll maintain essential work, but safety is our priority. I want daily reports on new cases, progression patterns, and the effectiveness of our containment measures. Get to it, gentlemen. Time and tide wait for no man.”
***
Devnum
Lucilla stood at the entrance of the grand banquet hall, her posture impeccable, smiling at each guest who entered. The soft strains of Roman music gave a calm welcoming background to the whole affair. The group performing softly in the corner were one of many artisans she helped sponsor and maintain throughout the city, as part of her civic responsibility as Empress.
She had not held many of these events during the early days of the empire, but in the interwar years, she had found them useful tools in her diplomacy with their new allies. Although she’d been somewhat distracted through the winter and into the spring, it was time to start using it again.
Some of her advisors suggested it was a waste and would be seen as tone deaf by the populace, what with everyone in the empire sacrificing as the war dragged on. She understood that, but she also knew she needed to try everything she could to get the Scandi and Egyptians to come fully into the fold.
Especially the Egyptians. They had a sizable population and a wealth that could change the nature of things in Greece, where the situation was growing increasingly fraught.
Which was why she stood by the entrance to the hall now, greeting each of the delegations and why she had mentally rehearsed the nuances of each culture’s customs.
Instances like these were all about impression rather than substance.
The first to arrive were the representatives from the Mpongo tribe, the allies made by Valdar near Port Vikhavn. At first, she hadn’t paid much attention to them, except in the admirals’ dispatches, but the tribe was clearly wanting to step onto a larger stage. Aside from sending two envoys to the city to deal directly with the empire, they were sending more and more men to help man the ports Valdar was building, saving the Empire the expense of diverting much manpower to providing security and manpower in support of Valdar’s plan.
With that level of help, she’d had little choice but to invite them, bringing them onto a larger stage for the first time.
Lucilla inclined her head respectfully, her hands outstretched in welcome. “Eyenga, Lombe, I am glad you were able to come. I hope your first week in our city has been pleasant?”
Lombe, the spokesman for the pair, was resplendent in traditional garb adorned that had clearly been altered and influenced by Britannian fashion, although more everyday clothing worn by sailors and soldiers rather than the upper crust of Britannian society. She was sure that would change quickly. The envoys seemed almost uncanny in their ability to adapt to new cultures and take advantage of them.
She wished she was as good as they were at that. The pair even spoke Latin better than many of their Gaulic or Germanic allies, although with an unusual accent that she had not heard before meeting them. Lombe gripped Lucilla’s hands warmly while his partner Eyenga stood slightly behind him, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Empress, your city is quite the marvel. We have barely begun to explore it, and already my eyes cannot eat anymore. Although I have heard tell of this manufacturing city of yours, Factorium. I am quite eager to see that.”
Lucilla guided them into the hall. “Then I will have to make time to show you there myself. It is... an experience.”
After a little more cordial chit-chat, the Mpongo envoys moved into the banquet hall, clearly enjoying themselves as more diplomats entered. She had invited all of their allies from the Western alliance, in addition to Scandi and Egyptians. She hoped it would give an excuse for their allied diplomats to help her in persuading those two polities to join the alliance. Since her own efforts so far had not gone well.
The Egyptian envoys, Arsinoe and Diodorus, were of course the last to arrive. A petty diplomatic ploy, but one that fit them well. Lucilla contained her feelings about the pair, managing to keep her diplomatic smile in place in spite of the underlying tension she could feel from them.
Once everyone had arrived, Lucilla made her way to the head of the main table. As she took her seat, servants began to bring out the first course, a series of small dishes representing the cuisines of each represented culture. She had worked with her cooks to ensure everything was just right.
She noted with satisfaction the looks of pleasant surprise, especially at the large game bird that had come with their Mpongo friends, who had been kind enough to instruct her cooks on how to prepare it.
As the meal progressed, Lucilla rose periodically to circulate among the guests. With allies, she discussed how things were going at home, how the conscriptions were going with their people, and the state of the war. While some would consider that poor topics of conversation, she found settings like this helped to loosen men’s tongues and get them to talk where they might otherwise be more reserved.
Of course, that was not true in all circumstances.
“Arsinoe, Diodorus,” she said as she approached the Egyptians. “I hope you’re finding the evening enjoyable.”
“It is very pleasant,” Arsinoe said, in much the same way someone would describe meeting an onerous relative.
“Have you given any more thought to our last conversation?”
“We have conveyed our position, Empress Lucilla. Egypt’s interests are our primary concern.”
Lucilla was about to respond when she noticed a commotion near the entrance. A man in Egyptian dress she recognized as one of the envoys’ aides had rushed in and was making his way directly to the pair. Reaching them, he bent low, whispering urgently into Arsinoe’s ear.
The change in Arsinoe’s demeanor was immediate and striking. A look of genuine concern replaced her previous mask of indifference and annoyance. Diodorus leaned in, listening intently and gaining the same expression.
Lucilla watched, her diplomatic smile never wavering. She knew better than to try and eavesdrop on their conversation. Their relationship was already tense, no need to add a violation of privacy on top of it. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what could have caused such a reaction?
Before she could formulate a tactful inquiry or get a clue as to what was happening, the envoys stood abruptly.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Arsinoe said, not waiting for a response as they quickly left the banquet, the aide following in their wake.
The sudden departure of the Egyptians did not go unnoticed, sending ripples of confusion through the banquet hall. The music faltered, then stopped entirely as guests turned to one another, murmuring.
“What’s happening?” a Gallic diplomat asked, rising from his seat to peer towards the entrance.
Lucilla maintained her composure, though internally she was as perplexed as her guests. She watched as several delegates stood, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the retreating Egyptians.
Before Lucilla could respond, however, the Scandi too rose and started toward the exit.
“My friends,” she said, intercepting them. “Why leave so soon?”
“There are some things we need to attend to,” one of the men said, looking back to where the Egyptians had gone.
“Is there something I can help with?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “If you’ll excuse us.”
If the Egyptians’ sudden departure had caused consternation, the Scandi following after caused mild panic.
Or at least worry.
The room erupted into a flurry of activity. Delegates began calling for their own aides, dispatching them with hurried whispers, no doubt to gather information or send word to their respective governments that things were not as close to finalizing as their Britannian allies had let on.
She needed to regain control of the situation.
“My esteemed guests, may I have your attention, please?”
The chatter subsided as she raised her voice to speak over the crowd. All eyes turned to her.
“I understand that the sudden departure of our Egyptian and Scandi colleagues has caused some concern. While the situation is unusual, I assure you that there is no cause for alarm. As you all know, diplomacy is a complex dance. Neither of our departed friends are part of our alliance, yet. While I know we all hope to add them among our number, and I believe it is still very possible, their departure does not change the fundamental nature of our relationships or our shared goals.”
She paused, letting that sink in, making eye contact with several of the assembled representatives.
“Building strong alliances takes time. It requires patience, understanding, and a willingness to navigate unexpected developments. What we’ve witnessed tonight is simply part of that process. Also, I, for one, hate to let something like this ruin an otherwise pleasant evening. So I propose a toast. To you, my friends and allies. To unity and perseverance. To the strength of our alliance and the promise of a brighter future for all our nations.”
The delegates raised their glasses, seeming to have calmed down some, to varying degrees. As they drank, Lucilla could see the tension in the room beginning to dissipate.
Before she could say anything else, one of her aides approached, a folded paper in hand.
“Empress,” he said quietly, “an urgent telegraph for you.”
Lucilla nodded, maintaining her smile for the benefit of the watching delegates.
“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” she said to the room at large. “Please, continue enjoying your meal. I shall return shortly.”
She stepped away from the table, turning slightly to obscure the telegram from view as she unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the message quickly.
As she read, Lucilla felt a chill run down her spine. Medb’s breakdown of the situation in Carthage, the Egyptian part in it, and the former queen’s suspicions about what that meant were very concerning. Worse, she agreed with Medb’s conclusion. It not only explained what was happening in Carthage, but the timing of this revelation and the Egyptians’ abrupt departure from the banquet could not be coincidental.
She would have to check if any Egyptians in Kalb had sent a message along the telegraph system, allowing them to beat Medb’s message by a matter of minutes, but the end result was the same.
Lucilla folded the telegram, tucking it away. She took a deep breath, composing herself before turning back to face her guests.
“My friends,” she announced, keeping her tone calm and light. “I apologize, but I must take my leave to attend to an urgent matter. Please, stay and enjoy your meals. I assure you, I will speak with each of you individually in the coming days to address any questions or concerns you may have.”
She gestured to the musicians, who had been waiting silently since the commotion began. The music could barely be heard over the cacophony of noise from her guests, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. With a subtle nod, she summoned a messenger to her side.
“Gather my inner circle,” she instructed in a low voice. “Do it quickly.”
Comments
Zac Jel
Great chapter
