Steam Legion (15 page)

She took a few deep breaths, trying not to shudder at the knowledge of the risks and responsibilities she had continued to assume since the night Alexandria burned. She was under no illusions what would happen to her if she made a fatal misstep. Nero was known for throwing men and women to the lions in the Coliseum for lesser crimes than robbing the Empire of such treasures, particularly since the Israelite revolts had begun.

She steeled herself, however, and walked across the campus to the workshop of the Library’s latest craftsman. She no longer had time to waffle in her response to him, and as Master Heron’s apprentice, she had responsibilities.

“Craftsman Sensus.” She spoke quietly, but forced her voice steady as she patted the side of the large doors to catch his attention.

The craftsman looked up and his face darkened almost instantly, but he didn’t say anything as she waited. Finally, after several long moments, he nodded once and then turned back to his work. Dyna stepped into the smithy, eying the bubbling bronze the man was working with, and remained silent while he poured the liquid metal into the mold.

When it was done, Sensus turned to look at her, drawing himself up to his full height so he towered over her much smaller frame.

“My Lady,” he rumbled, his voice dark but just barely respectful.

“Craftsman.” She gestured in return, taking a breath as she hesitated. “I wish to apologize for my earlier comments. Your work has been impeccable and your ideas effective.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but the man didn’t say anything. Whether this was out of shock or spite, Dyna didn’t know and didn’t have time to be concerned with. She had dismissed the man in her haste, and he was owed an apology as part of the respect he was due as a skilled craftsman, so she would offer him that much.

After a long moment, he finally seemed to shake off the surprise and nodded slowly. “Thank you, my Lady.”

She sighed, not wanting to do what came next but having little choice due to the time constraints facing her.

“Reports have come in,” she said. “More Zealot forces are besieging nearby townships, burning fields, and generally making truly great pains of themselves. We’ll need your new cannons as quickly as possible.”

“They will be ready,” Sensus confirmed, his posture more relaxed now that the conversation had returned to his own territory.

“Good, but that isn’t why I’m here,” she said, noting that he immediately tensed up again. “Can your apprentices continue your work here?”

Sensus frowned, considering the question, but finally acceded. “Yes, they know the design.”

“Leave them to work, then,” she said, gesturing behind her, “and walk with me. I have a project that I can no longer afford to spend time on but believe will be as valuable as the dragon’s breath cannons.”

He hesitated, not entirely trusting her apparent change of heart. She didn’t blame him, however, and waited patiently for the man to come to a decision and set down his hammer. He finally did and looked over to her as he grabbed a cloth and began to wipe his hands down.

“Lucian!” he bellowed, calling out a boy from the back of the shop.

“Yes, Master Sensus?” the young apprentice asked.

“Continue building the new cannon,” he ordered. “I will return.”

“Yes, Master.” The boy bowed his head.

Sensus nodded to Dyna. “Show me.”

She gestured toward her own shop, set near Master Heron’s, and began to walk. He fell into an easy pace a half step behind her, and they crossed the distance in silence. As Master Heron’s only remaining apprentice, one who had long since passed the requirements for her own Mastership had she been a man, Dyna was afforded one of the better workshops, at Heron’s own insistence. The space was roughly twice what they had just left, but for the moment, all that sat within was a single large cart.

“This is a cart,” Sensus said flatly, eying her suspiciously.

She just barely managed to restrain from making a sarcastically dry comment in response to that but decided that such responses would best be set aside until they knew one another better and at least tolerated each other. Instead, she just gestured with her hands as she spoke. “Indeed. It’s based on Master Heron’s steam motive device, not the aeliopile you understand, but the one he worked on after that.”

From his expression, she thought that he likely didn’t understand, in reality, but the man was clearly loathe to admit it to her, at least. Finally, the large man grunted and shook his head. “I am sorry, I know of the aeliopile, of course, but that is a toy, yes?”

“Yes,” Dyna admitted. “At least, in its current form. This, however, is anything but. Come, I will show you.”

She led him in and demonstrated the cart and its capabilities, much as Heron had shown her, and within moments had a convert. Sensus stared with wide eyes at the beastless chariot that had managed to inexorably force him aside with an almost immeasurable strength. He clutched at the hammer of Vulcan he wore as a pendant around his throat, lips twitching as he mumbled a prayer to the great smith God.

“My reaction was similar,” Dyna admitted from behind him.

“How did he harness such power?”

“Water and heat,” she answered. “The intellect of Master Heron is nearly unparalleled.”

“I believe it,” he said, nodding slowly. Finally, Sensus turned to look at her. “You want me to work on this?”

“I do. The mechanism functions, obviously,” she said, “but it is a prototype. I wish you to examine it, see what can be eliminated without impairing function, as you did for the cannons. I require that it be able to carry more weight, for armor and weapons.”

Sensus considered that as he slowly walked around the chariot. “I will do as you ask. It is an honor to work on a masterpiece such as this.”

“That was my opinion as well,” she told him, her voice tinged with regret. “I would that I had time to continue.”

He looked at her sharply. “You ride with the warriors?”

Dyna tipped her head, confirming the guess. “I am taking responsibility for their actions. I will be there to ensure that if I am to be censured by the Emperor that it be for something I actually condoned.”

He laughed, a guttural bark that seemed to shake the air. “It hardly matters. If the Emperor wants you punished, he will find a reason or simply declare his will to be the reason.”

Dyna didn’t comment.

It wasn’t that she disagreed with him, but she had not been brought up to criticize authority. Not in public or before commoners, at least. If a criticism had to be made, it was something to be done directly to the man’s face, if possible, or honestly with blade and bone if not.

“At any rate,” she said finally, “do what you can, note any changes to the design carefully, and report to Master Heron or whomever he designates. Accepted?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Accepted, with thanks.”

“I will leave you to it for now, though I may be in and out until we march,” she said. “My notes are on the desk in the corner. Make use of them if you can but please leave them intact.”

He turned to look at her, bowing his head. “Of course, my Lady. I will not fail.”

“Do not make promises until you know they will be kept,” she said with a light smile and a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the thought. Good day to you, Master Craftsman Sensus.”

“And you, Lady Dyna.”

She nodded, then left him happily poring over the chariot she had built based on Heron’s prototype. She hoped that he would be able to make something of the project, but she had seen enough of his skill to be certain that at least the job would not languish in Hades’s clutches in her absence.

Chapter 12

Tribunus Gordian wasn’t surprised when another runner was announced, just days after the last. With the events reported near Alexandria being as significant as they appeared, he expected to be practically pelted with messengers over the next few weeks while he organized his response and got a Cohort ready to be dispatched to reinforce the Garrison.

When the man said that he had come directly from Jerusalem, however, Gordian had straightened up and taken notice. Mere candlemarks were all that passed before the man was standing in front of him in his campaign tent, surrounded by nearly every officer in the Twenty-Second ready to interrogate him.

The first question, of course, was obvious.

“What were you doing in Jerusalem?”

The man, a Legionnaire by the name of Carran, looked around nervously. He had expected an intense reception, it was true, but this had already surpassed his expectations. He was Legion, however, so he swallowed hard and bellied up to the challenge.

“It was my Lady’s orders, Tribunis,” he said after taking a deep breath.

“Your lady?”

“Lady Dyna of Sparta.”

Gordian leaned back, glancing over at his adjutant. “Dyna again.”

“She has been busy, sir,” the older Centurion said.

“Indeed,” Gordian said softly before he leaned forward again. “What were her orders?”

“That we should harry the enemy from Alexandria to their home and not let them rest a minute if we could avoid it,” he answered. “And that one, at least, should survive to the steps of their temple…and, finally, that it would be best if that one should die on those steps once he had told of the fate of his comrades.”

The men seated around the tent blinked in shock, a couple even barked out in laughter.

“Dyna of Sparta indeed. This one is no Laconian whore,” a Centurion said with a laugh. “Those are the orders of a Spartan of old if ever I’ve heard them.”

“What would you know of the Spartans of old?” Gordian rolled his eyes. “Be silent a moment, Janusi. Tell me, Carran, did you complete your mission?”

Carran straightened, eyes and posture proud. “We did, Tribunis. The last survivor died in the arms of one of their holy men on the steps of the new temple, as ordered.”

“Excellent work,” Gordian allowed with some approval. He then leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Now, tell me of Jerusalem.”

Carran frowned, thinking for a moment. “They stand ready for siege, sir. We spotted signs that the rebels were mining the ground outside the city walls, and they have at least three times the normal guard force standing at the ready within the walls.”

“It as we feared then, Gordian,” Janusi said darkly. “We have given them too much time.”

“We have no choice. The lines of supply must be tended to and we cannot permit them any source of reinforcement,” Gordian said tiredly, having had this argument many times over.

“It will take even longer now. We will have to take time to build siege ladders and towers,” the annoyed Centurion grumbled. “This shitty rebellion could have been finished by now, but at this rate it will take years. That discounts the word that they have begun to enforce the fort at Maseda.”

“Maseda is not our concern,” Gordian cut his rant off. “That will be the responsibility of the Tenth Frentensis Legion.”

Janusi snorted. “Better those bulls than us, I’ll say that much, but better again if we had avoided it entirely.”

“With that, I doubt you’ll find a man in the Legion who’ll argue with you,” Gordian replied, “but those decisions are made over our heads.”

“Over our heads and behind our backs,” Janusi muttered, “right up some Senator’s arse, would be my bet.”

“Just keep your wagers to yourself when the Legatus is in camp for a visit,” Gordian growled, “or you’ll be paying an unwilling visit to the slave auctions, or the coliseum, like as not. Now be silent. I have more questions I want answers to.”

The older Centurion shut up as ordered, even paling a little. Gordian rolled his eyes but didn’t complain that the man had believed his threat. If the Legatus even noticed his existence, a beating was the worst he’d likely get for his words, but the Emperor’s more and greater public excesses were beginning to give the Empire itself a reputation.

At least this one isn’t as bad as Caligula,
Gordian sighed, trying not to let any traitorous thoughts impinge on his professionalism. He was well aware that many of the stories coming out of Rome were just that: stories. Anything the Emperor did was certain to be blown out of proportion, but he could read between the lines.

Between the Israelites in active rebellion, like the Zealots, and the splinter cult calling themselves Christians back in Rome, I expect that the Legions will be busy for some years to come. We won’t even have to travel far from home, so I suppose I can’t expect much better.

Unrest was a normal thing for the Empire. In fact, he was often struck with wonder at how little there was when he considered how far-flung their borders had become and how many peoples were now swearing loyalty to Rome. The current issues with the Israelites had been brewing a long time; many previous Emperors had seen the writing on the walls and worked to prevent it but had succeeded only in postponing the inevitable.

With their refusal to pay homage to the Cult of Rome, the fanatical splinter cults of Judea ensured that peace could not exist while both they and Rome stood. It was now Gordian’s task to ensure that when the roar of battle faded, the Zealots and their ilk no longer stood. If the choice was between their lives and the Empire, he pitied the poor bastards but would not stay his hand.

When Carran’s report on the preparations at Jerusalem was done, he dismissed the young Legionnaire, sending him off to get a meal and a bunk. Once he was gone, Gordian turned to look at his assembled Centurions with a serious expression on his face.

“You’ve heard the story,” he told his advisory council. “Tomorrow we march on the group we’ve been following. Let us not waste time with eliminating them. Once they have been dealt with, I will order the Legion south to Jerusalem.”

There was a hiss as the men heard that, recognizing what their Tribunus was saying.

“Tribunus, Gordian…” Janusi spoke up hesitantly. “The Legatus…”

“Legatus Lucious is away in Rome or one of the outlier townships,” Gordian said with a shake of his head. “I will send a runner to inform him of our destination, but the Tenth has been ordered into action, and they should be coming into this region by the time we deal with our current prey. I can justify taking the Twenty-Second south under those conditions.”