Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) (3 page)

Finally, Alexandros asked, “So, how are things, Constantine?”

Constantine shrugged, then described to Alexandros the aftermath of the Brittenburg Incident—his month-long recovery in a sick ward, the desperate search for survivors after the explosion that had torn open the sea wall and flooded half the city, the eventual realization that the rebellion and assassination of the
Primus Caesar
, the heir to the throne, in Rome, were connected. And the growing anger that had begun to seep into his men. Constantine had never really felt close to any particular person before, never been willing to share his secrets.
When you grow up in a family like mine, secrets keep you alive longer than the truth will.
But he trusted Alexandros with those secrets. Alexandros was a sympathetic ear. He didn’t interrupt and didn’t look away as Constantine told the tale of the last few months.

“. . . and after we got our marching orders, we took the train here. I know we’re headed north. Hades, the entire city, half the countryside, and most likely every possible spy here in the entire province of Cimbria knows we’re heading north. No way to disguise it. Only thing of consequence is when.” Alexandros was nodding.

A waiter refilled their glasses with wine and water, and informed them that their food would be arriving soon. “What did you order for me? I was trying to become invisible,” Constantine quipped, nervous fingers straightening his silverware.

Alexandros gave a low laugh and replied, his strong baritone quiet in the low hum of the dining room, “There’re still a few eyes on you, but most people seem put off by your decision not to join the political table.” He nodded toward the men relaxing on the chaises. One of them gave a slight wave as he saw Constantine looking in his direction. Others gave him decidedly cool glances.

“That’s the governor and a few of his Senate cronies. After those air battles above Brittenburg, we got tasked to retrofit up here at Northern Airbase Hadrian. One of those senators owns the company that got tasked with the retrofit, as though our own engineers and mechanics weren’t good enough!” Alexandros grumbled. “Thing is, they did such shoddy work on so many things that my guys ended up going back through and doing the whole thing over again from top to bottom. It threw that denarii-pincher into a tizzy when I tossed his so-called mechanics off the ship with a few of our large ballistae pointing at them. They didn’t seem eager to come back on. When he came down to demand I let his workers back aboard, I said I would only if he agreed to ride on the ship after they were done.”

Constantine smiled. “I’m sure he didn’t want to risk it.”

“Exactly,” Alexandros said. “By the way, have you met our new political overseer? All the way from Rome—Senatora Octavia Pelia!”

“I have met her, actually; she seems fairly competent to me. She gave a speech last month on the Brittenburg Incident.”

“Why Tribune, I didn’t know you had been keeping tabs on her.”

Constantine felt his cheeks heat. “Who says I’ve been keeping tabs on her?” At Alexandros’ level look he added, “Fine, maybe I just like knowing who the politicians around me are.”

“Especially the good-looking ones.” Alexandros joked. “Am I the only one who sees this?”

“Evidently, Your Air-captainness.”

Chuckling, Alexandros held up his hand. “Before we continue, here’s the feast!” He sat back and they watched the arrival at their table of a steaming hot turkey, surrounded by all the trimmings and glistening with drippings. Two waiters placed it slowly on the table while another stood by sharpening a large carving knife.

Eyes wide, Constantine scooted back from the bird. “I sincerely hope you didn’t order anything else, Rufius! They’ll have to roll us out of here as it is!

About an hour later, tribune and captain lounged back in their dining chairs; the remnants of the meal strewn on the plates and platters before them. Constantine pulled out a small coin purse and deposited a few large golden denarii on the table. “That ought to be sufficient, don’t you think?” he asked. Alexandros examined the coinage and nodded.

They both stood, adjusting the straps of their belts. “You sure you don’t want them to put it in a box for you so you can eat it later?” the older man asked, alluding to the perpetual hunger of young men.

Grinning, Constantine shook his head. “I don’t want to be eating turkey for a month!”

They moved to the door to leave, only to encounter a party headed in the opposite direction. The two groups neatly intersected and, engulfed by the large and loud entourage, Constantine found himself face to face with his superior officer, General Kruscus Minnicus. The tribune raised a hand in salute, holding it while the general returned a half salute.

“Tribune Appius! I’m so very glad to see you here. It’s great to know we’ll have the ‘Victors of Brittenburg’ along for our trip to the far north,” the general said slyly.

Constantine was confused. As far as he knew, Admiral Tritonus was in charge of the expedition.

Minnicus smiled as if perceiving the junior officer’s thoughts. “The admiral is still in charge of the expedition, but Roma HQ wanted someone more . . . experienced with ground combat leading the way into the interior.”

Constantine could only nod dumbly, his brain working overtime to figure out what strings the general could have pulled to get this assignment. Minnicus’ bland smile began to edge downward as he waited for Constantine to respond.

Seeing his friend falter, Alexandros stepped in. “Please excuse us, General; we just had a large meal and are still feeling the effects. We’re actually on a very tight schedule, so we must be off.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Minnicus bade them farewell as he walked over to a long table overcrowded with his lackeys. As he sat, Constantine noticed him conspiratorially talking into the ear of one of his comrades at the table, the only one still wearing his hat and cloak.

As Alexandros pulled him free of the situation, Constantine’s mind continued to race.
What is he up to?
he wondered as he slowly extracted the check tag from his pocket.

Alexandros snatched it from his fingers and retrieved his cloak from the wardroom for him, tossing a small copper coin to the servant in return. He pushed the cloak into the tribune’s arms. “I hope you aren’t planning on asking me to buckle it up for you. I finished my parental duties long ago!” Alexandros told him.

Finally snapping out of his reverie, Constantine unfurled his cloak around his shoulders and prepared to exit the warmth of the building. Alexandros paused, throwing up a hand. “Hold up; I think I forgot something up in the admiralty office. I won’t be but a minute.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Constantine to wait in the lobby.

Constantine sat down on a bench, staring absently at the veins of black and dark blue on the marble floor, tracing the shapes with his mind.

“Did you know that they carted this marble all the way from the Aegean?” a voice asked at his shoulder.

Constantine jumped, startled by the soft, yet firm timbre of the man’s voice. He turned his head to see a man sitting next to him, clad in the nondescript beige tunic and red belt that rendered him indistinguishable from the innumerable functionaries that populated the administration center.

“The government taxed the locals to pay for it, regardless of whether they wanted it or not. It depressed the economy for about thirty years,” the man rumbled on, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of the younger tribune. “That money could have been spent back in Rome, could have been put to good use. By my calculations, the amount spent on marble here could have fed the populace of Rome for a year. Not well, mind you, but amply, for an entire year. And instead we get . . . this grandiose building in one of our northernmost provincial capitals that’s never had an emperor visit.” The man’s voice never changed tone, only the slight inflection at the end decrying the point he was making.

Constantine spoke. “It reminds the locals that they are part of something bigger, something that keeps them safe and protected from our enemies.”

The man turned and offered his hand. “Quintus Gravus,” he stated simply, shaking Constantine’s hand. “You make a valid point, but I still don’t think making a political statement is the same as feeding a metropolis for a year. Especially when all you do is walk on it.”

Constantine thought for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he replied. “But what’s done is done. I don’t think tearing up the floors now would be the best idea. ‘The government over the people for the good of the people.’” In reciting the old Imperial adage, Constantine earned a critical look from Gravus.

“I figured you’d say that. I’m actually here with an offer for you.” Constantine’s eyebrows rose. “I’m attached to General Minnicus’ staff as the civilian liaison, and he’d like to offer you a position on his general staff as tactical officer. You’d receive a pay bump commiserate to your new position, and also have access to a staff of your own choosing.”

Constantine thought about this for a moment.
It’s a good deal, and I would advance several rungs up the seniority ladder.
Still, he was surprised by the offer. He’d never really been inclined to leave his cohort.
We haven’t even been in a major conflict yet. Why does the general want me? Is it to keep an eye on me, or is he trying to take advantage of my Imperial connections?

Gravus waited patiently, apparently studying the opposite wall with great interest. He sighed and gave his head a little shake. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered, “If I were you, I don’t think I’d take it. Kruscus treats his staff like horse dung and the turnover rate is horrendous. He’s been through three tactical officers in the last eight months alone. One poor Iberian lasted only two weeks!” He was now eyeing Constantine.

Constantine voiced the question that had been going around in his head. “What is the general up to? Why does he want me? I’ve got no tactical experience except for that operation in Brittenburg—and that ended with three-quarters of my command dead, injured, or missing. I’m not exactly general’s staff material.”

“Now that is an excellent question, Tribune. If I was a general who had been shown up by a promising younger officer with both family and power connections, and who now happens to be the sole heir to the entire Empire, I think I’d want to keep an eye on this young man and try to mold him as I saw fit.”

Constantine couldn’t keep the alarm from his face. Gravus had only confirmed his fears. “I don’t want to be an imperial feather in that man’s hat. Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Gravus replied. “I’m simply voicing some ideas. I’ll inform the general that you’ve respectfully declined his offer. Peace be with you in the name of the Emperor.” The civilian stood, showing himself to be much taller than Constantine had suspected, overreaching the tribune by at least half a foot. Gravus gave a little bow, and left, passing Alexandros in the hallway.

The captain now carried a folder full of papers, and was carefully wrapping them with wax paper to ensure their survival in the damp and rainy outdoors. “Who was that?” he asked. “And what did he want?”

“He’s attached to the general’s staff and offered me a job.”

“A job? Why?” Alexandros’ brows drew down in confusion.

“I still don’t know.”

“By the way, Constantine, I was wondering if you could help me out on that tiny argument I had with the senator . . .”

Alexandros continued to chatter on, while Constantine mused.
Minnicus, what are you up to?

They exited the building, and Constantine literally bumped into a cloaked figure striding hurriedly up the steps. “Excuse me!” Constantine blurted.

The stranger pulled down the hood to reveal her face. “Ah, Senatora Pelia!” Captain Alexandros cried, greeting the rain-soaked politician warmly. “We were just saying how excited we are to have you on this adventure of ours.”

“Although I do thank you for the kind gesture, Captain, I sincerely doubt any soldier has ever welcomed the presence of a politician in
any
military venture,” she replied coolly. “But fear not, I shall try to stay out of your way as much as possible.”

“I look forward to your presence,” Constantine blurted, then felt his cheeks heat.
Now why did I have to go and say such a thing?
“Er, I mean, you being around. It is good. Yes, very good for us.”
Gah!
Constantine wanted to cry out in annoyance.

Alexandros came to the rescue. “Senatora, please accept our utmost apologies for keeping you out here in the rain. Please, get inside before you catch a cold. We shall, of course, be seeing you soon, I hope?”

“Thank you for your concern, Captain. I believe we’ll be seeing each other more than we’ve ever wanted to in the next few months,” she quipped, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Tribune Appius, good day to you also.”

“Good day, Octavia—I mean Senatora,” Constantine stuttered.

As they walked away, Alexandros smacked him on his head. “Are you an absolute dummy? What was that back there? Have they taught you nothing about courting in Rome? Gah! ‘Good day’—back in my day . . .”

Alexandros continued to rant about Constantine’s poor courting technique, but all Constantine could think about was the smile on Octavia’s face as she walked away.

Chapter 3

Octavia

S
enatora Octavia Pelia was furious.

“How the blazes did that—that—that
creature
become leader of this expedition?”

Her staff quailed before her as she bombarded them with her voice. Octavia knew that the small group was not responsible for this disaster, but it felt good to blow off steam at her underlings. Under her wrath, the office that she had commandeered prior to the departure of the expedition seemed tiny, even though it stretched over an entire floor of the forum.

“Senatora! Domina!” cried one of her staff members, young Raestes. “Perhaps there is some way to wrangle some political advantage from this?”

Octavia paused as her brain shifted gear from anger mode to political mode.
We’ve got to control our temper; you aren’t normally a hot head!
she chastised herself.
Although it can be entertaining
.

Seeing her anger momentarily halted, her staff chose that moment to bolt.

“Raestes, please remain.” She held up a hand, her calm voice at odds with the anger of moments before. “I want you to send a message back to Senator Ignatios back in Rome, asking him to clarify the decision to place our
esteemed
General Minnicus in command. And use my government code to ensure it has the highest priority on the wires.” Uncapping a fountain pen, she hastily scrawled a message on a scrap of paper and handed it to the young orderly. Holding the missive like a potentially volatile explosive, the man raced out.