Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) (4 page)

Sighing, the politician considered Raestes’ words.
Perhaps there is some advantage to having Minnicus out here.
The man had barely survived the last official inquiry demanded by the governor of Brittenburg after he had succeeded in botching the rescue operation for the city. It was only with great luck that the cohorts under Tribune Appius’ command had managed to kill the ringleader of the rebellion, the so-called Warrior Chieftess Amalia, in a spectacular battle on the western ramparts. It was also with great luck (thanks be to the gods!) that the massive explosion that ripped part of the wall away and flooded the city hadn’t flattened the tribune and remaining heir to the Empire.
We couldn’t afford to lose both of them now, could we?

The emperor had agreed with the governor, but the fact that Minnicus had not been “forcibly retired” spoke to the strength of his allies in the Senate. The fact that he was here now meant that someone in the Senate had a great deal of support.
Or simply has the right proof to blackmail the right people at the Central Principia in Rome. Someone with a lot of control pushed Minnicus to the top of the list.

Octavia rested her eyes for a moment, the lack of sleep beginning to catch up with her. She let her mind drift.

She was back among the smooth columns of the Senate house in Rome. The grand building had been expanded many times from its small beginnings. She walked beside the stooped form of Senator Tufero Ignatios from Athens. The old man had served his Empire and his province for over fifty years. Her sprightly step contrasted with his shuffling feet as they left the final meeting of the war committee. The senator had been an old friend of her father’s, and was something of a mentor to young Octavia.

Am I truly the right choice for this job?

“You know,” he was saying in that crinkly old voice that still commanded attention and respect, “maybe getting you out of here will be a good thing for you.”

Annoyed, Octavia looked at the elderly man with brows lifted high in concern. He waved the look away with his cane, the stick moving like some oddly straight extension of his limb.

“Don’t you give me that look, young Pelia.” Octavia remembered the warmth of her blush at those words, uttered by the man who treated her like his own granddaughter. “I know they’ve been giving you grief. You’re the first female senator in the Empire’s history that wasn’t merely a temporary figurehead. They hate you because you are demonstrating talent at politics. And you’re also young. And beautiful, if I do say so.”

Octavia’s cheeks burned, and she knew her pale northern complexion flamed with a blush. Ignatios smiled at her, the laugh lines and crow’s-feet on his face settling into patterns carved by many years of smiles and tears.

He paused at a hallway intersection and faced her. “They fear change. You are change, Minerva incarnate in front of them, and they refuse to accept it. They will fight, with words, maybe even weapons, should they truly perceive the danger they are in. And although you may not know it yet, the system they represent is in great danger.” His words came as barely more than a whisper now, but they were delivered with feeling.

“So going with the northern expedition will be good for me?” Octavia asked.

Nodding solemnly, Ignatios replied, “Absolutely. You’ve not only got the background with these people, you also are in desperate need of some ‘foreign field service.’ You’re great with the interior matters, but you’ve got to get some more external experiences under your belt. Being the war committee’s watchdog on this expedition will be excellent.” He gave her a wink. “Perhaps you’ll even be able to make a connection with Emperor Hadrian’s son. He’s a tribune in the XIII Germania. I’m still amazed good ol’ Hadrian didn’t give him a general’s position right off the bat. Or at least a legateship.”

Ignatios smiled at her blank look. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re on the war committee, for Juno’s sake, and you’ve got to learn these things. Book knowledge about the Nortlanders won’t help you understand our own army. A legateship is a hybrid position—half military and half civilian. Less risky than being a tribune, and more rapid advancement to boot. Guess His Highness didn’t want to let the boy have an easy time of things.” His voice was hoarse now, the dry, summery air lacking moisture.

Octavia understood.
Make the connection, build it, keep it strong. It could make a difference later
.
Of course, becoming friends with the heir to the throne does have its benefits, eventually
.

She gave a deep curtsey to the elder statesman. Smiling, he bade her rise and dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered to him. Her hazel eyes met his brown ones.

He looked surprised, his white eyebrows rising slightly. “It was the right thing to do.”

Senator Ignatios bade farewell and shuffled off toward his offices. A young servant, waiting a respectful distance away, moved to join him, offering his arm.
The man still refuses to get one of those motorized chairs. Claims it would ruin his cane skills.

She turned toward her own offices.

Not half a hallway later, Senator Amirus Cralus stopped her. He was one of the main opponents of Senator Ignatios and his policies on the war committee. He had also been the opposing candidate for expedition observer. He sneered at her as he stood in the hallway, like Goliath facing down David. “I hope your expedition goes smoothly,
Senatora
.” His voice was full of sarcasm. “Of course, you’re so very experienced in this field, so we expect full reports every day.”

Octavia thought of several very rude things to say, but kept her anger in check. Cralus was pressing her buttons.

The large man stood before her, his toga bulging in several places as it struggled to contain his rotund body. His deeply tanned skin and black, slicked-back hair revealed his eastern heritage. Cralus was a fabulously wealthy man whose family had immigrated to the Empire centuries ago from out east somewhere. Their fortunes made, they turned from building wealth to building power. Amirus was the latest in a series of Cralus senators, each one gaining new support and recruits in a bid for the Senate leadership.
Or, alternatively, the Laurel Crown
, Octavia thought bitterly.

“Before I let you go, one more question: How will you bring all your beauty products with you to Nortland? I hear they only let you take along one trunk.” His mocking voice turned thoughtful. “Maybe you are our real secret weapon. Those barbarians will think you’re one of their Valkyries come to life!”

Octavia’s hands clenched with the fury building inside her. “Well then, it’s a good thing I pack light,” she spat. “Of course, all the makeup in the world wouldn’t be able to fix your complexion, my
esteemed
comrade.” Head held high, she pushed past the obnoxious man and strode quickly toward the safety of her offices. Several servants and other senators in the hallway snickered at her comment, and at Cralus.

“You’ll regret that, Senatora,” Cralus called after her as she turned the corner. She had to force herself not to run. “Just you wait. You’ll regret having ever insulted me. You’ll regret it!”

Octavia opened her eyes. She was back in her office, thousands of miles away from Rome and many degrees colder. She’d replayed her last conversation with Ignatios and Cralus over and over again since leaving Rome, sensing something out of the ordinary, even for the high standards of Roman political maneuvering.

Could that be connected to this? Surely Ignatios would have blocked Minnicus’s appointment as expedition leader.
A thought struck her, and she pulled out a key and unlocked a desk drawer. Taking out a dull brown accordion folder, she cut the red tape wrapping it with her letter opener and fanned the folder open. From one of the file pockets she pulled out several sheets of paper.

The first listed the assets of the 123rd Expeditionary Force in Operation “Northern Gale.” She briefly perused it, noting with interest the similarity between the names of the commanding officers and some of her fellow senators.
And they say the selection is impartial,
she scoffed.
If we had succumbed to that type of political idiocy like in the days of the Republic, I doubt we’d still be around!

Her finger traced the four legions deployed on this expedition, stopping on the XIII Germania. It was the youngest and greenest of the legions present, while also being the strongest in manpower. Yet it had also seen action most recently, and had not had time to dull from garrison and border patrol duties.

Her finger tapped at the small addendum listing special abilities, talents, and tactical skills possessed by the different components. Octavia had heard about some of the fantastic new battlefield strategies that were being experimented with in the Thirteenth, but she knew little else. No officer from the unit had been available to brief the Senate, so she was mostly in the dark. Octavia hated being in the dark.
I’ll have to corner that young Tribune Appius and wring him until he spills all his secrets, perhaps over dinner and some wine?
she thought whimsically.
He was so handsome, and a gentleman too!

Motion in the outer office drew her eye. She hastily shoved the papers back into the file, pulled out a small roll of the red tape, and wrapped the file shut again, before tucking it back into her desk drawer and locking it tight.

A gentle tapping came at the door.

“Enter!”

Raestes entered the room. “When I got to the telegraph station, this message was waiting for you.” He handed over a tightly folded piece of paper. “I also sent off your telegram requesting further clarification on the appointment of Minnicus.” He gave a slight bow, and moved to withdraw.

Octavia had already opened the telegram, the seal making a satisfying
rip
as it fell apart under impatient fingers. “Sit, sit,” she murmured as her eyes darted over the short message.

Raestes shifted uncomfortably, following ages-old rigid protocol in the august presence of a Roman senator.

Octavia read the message twice, her heart dropping as she took in the words. Eyes misting with tears, she looked up at the messenger. “Senator Ignatios is dead. Two days ago. Senator Cralus was just appointed committee chairperson in a nearly unanimous vote.”
Those other senators are craven lizards without someone strong to lead them. Cralus? No wonder Minnicus got approved so rapidly
.
I bet they were tripping over each other to support his candidate.
It was all coming together now.

She studied Raestes. Could he be trusted? He had only been with her staff for about two months.
No, not yet
. Mustering herself, Octavia stood and turned. She would not allow her underling to see her cry. No one had seen her cry since her father had died. “You may leave.”

Raestes bowed again and left.

Adjusting her long tunic and senatorial sash, Octavia poured herself a glass of wine and sat again, her mind feverishly working at this new problem. Cralus was probably moving fast, by ignoring the long-held Senate proscription on appointing officers within the “mourning week” after a member’s death.
It makes sense he’d want to put his crony in charge of this expedition. But is it simply for the glory? Or is there something deeper?

Eyebrows furrowing, she tugged at a lock of her curly hair, fingers braiding and unbraiding as she thought. The strands twisted through her long fingers, delicate and narrow. It was a habit she’d had since she was a small child. The callousness of the situation appalled her.

And to think, I left Rome to get
away
from the politics!

Several days later, those problems had been subsumed beneath a series of other, more urgent issues. Like when she was going to be able to keep food down.

The salt spray from the
Mare Balticum
misted over the tubby transport vessel
Tiber
as the ship forged through moderate swells. With each dip and jolt, her stomach fought to empty itself for the umpteenth time.

Gritting her teeth, the senatora gingerly walked about her cabin, watching the wake behind the
Tiber
. She could see the sails and wakes of the multitude of ships in the expedition to each side, shadowed by the oblong bulbs of the air fleet above.

As a senatora, she had the privilege of retaining the captain’s personal cabin. Normally, she was fairly demure about the powers of her position, but in this case, she was glad her staff had insisted. She had just about settled down onto a fairly comfortable chair, hoping to stomach the first morsels of food for the day, when a knock came at the door. She quickly shoved a bit of bread into her mouth, only to discover it was slightly stale when she struggled to chew it quickly. The knock came again. Clearing her throat, she called, “Come in!”

A sailor entered and performed a sketchy bow. “The captain would like to see you as soon as you are available.” Half bowing again, he backed up, turned at the door, and left the cabin.

When she had agreed to take her official position, the one thing she hadn’t been expecting was how much bowing and scraping she would get from the common folk. Yet she knew that this deference had been drilled into the heads of the working class from the time they were born until they breathed their last breath.

Leaving those thoughts behind, she brushed the few crumbs off the heavy woolen jacket she wore over a thinner tunic and long trousers. The pants might be a bit risqué, but she couldn’t care less about the impression she made on the lackluster crew of the
Tiber.
Even the captain would probably fail to notice her bold choice. Besides, they were comfortable—and more suitable for the awkward climb through tight spaces and up narrow stairs to reach the upper deck.

A stiff breeze greeted her, driving cold sea spray that made her pull on her coat. She joined the captain on the stern quarterdeck. He doffed his cap, revealing a bald head that he bobbed at her in greeting.
It’s probably an honor for him to have me ride aboard his vessel, since all he usually transports is grain and other supplies,
she thought dismissively. “Captain Wendrix,” she said evenly.

Wendrix flashed a jack-o-lantern grin at her. Octavia recoiled internally at the missing teeth, but kept her face an emotionless mask.
Cool, calm, collected: the three Cs of being a senator, just as Ignatios taught me.

“I thought you might want to see this.” He pointed westward toward the smudge on the horizon. “That’s what the Nortlanders call Vulcan’s Island. It controls the center of the sea here, and pirates like to use it as a base from which to attack shipping.” His accent was cutting the a’s out of most of the words, forcing Octavia to focus hard to understand his explanation.