Laurel Emperor (Book 5 of the Steam Empire Chronicles)

By Daniel Ottalini

Civil war rages across the fractured Roman Empire in the 1850s. Rightful heir to the throne Constantine Tiberius Appius has successfully repelled the Mongolian invasions, but at a cost. The usurper Sabinus, Constantine's uncle, rules in Rome, and his forces press through the shattered loyalist defenses, stripped to support Constantine's campaign in the east. Loyalist and rebel forces converge in Thrace, and as casualties mount, new weapons of war are unleashed upon friend and foe alike. Constantine and his closest allies, the men of the XIII Germania, find themselves once again thrust into the spotlight. As the loyalists march towards the inevitable final battle, they face the true question of war - how much are they willing to sacrifice for victory? The fate of the Empire rests with a handful of common legionnaires, led by the last true scion of a dynasty stretching over a thousand years, in the final novel of the Steam Empire Chronicles - Laurel Emperor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Ottalini
• Release date: Sep 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463600504

Daniel Ottalini

Daniel Ottalini is a teacher, writer, and amateur historian. His interests include reading everything from nonfiction to sci-fi and amazing others with his knowledge of random facts. When not working, he is most likely writing some more or catching much needed rest. He lives in Maryland.

Book preview

Prologue: Marciena

Loyalist Lines, Noricum, Along the Via Alpi

New Year’s Day, 1855

The stench of war made Marciena’s nose twitch. The earthy smell of freshly churned soil and snow mixed with the stink of fear and sweat, creating an almighty stench that overwhelmed her senses. Holding a hand above her eyes, she looked southward into the maw of the beast.

The Via Alpi formed a narrow line coming straight at her. To the right and left rose forest-covered mountains, blanketed in snow. The sun was sinking in the western sky, shining into her eyes. Behind her, the homes of Rosso, the closest village, seemed to huddle together. It was but the nearest village along the long, sloping valley that eventually reached Virinum. So much for a New Year’s Day feast, she thought glumly.

Not that there would be any feast this day, for the Appian Loyalists of Noricum marched to war. Governor Armenius Theophilus had chosen this spot to make his stand, declaring his open allegiance to Constantine Tiberius Appius, rightful heir to the Empire. His assembled forces stood on the hillside, facing the approaching enemy.

Marciena, once more in her page disguise, stood next to Gravus Quintus. The veteran speculatores examined the legions moving against them. The spy had been training Marciena since taking over chaperone duties from the equally busy Senatora Octavia Pelia. She was now focused on leading a resistance movement somewhere to the southeast. I hope she’s safe, Marciena thought, glumly reminded that she wasn’t there to watch over the crippled politician. The beast coming to get her.

Quintus tapped her on the shoulder to draw her attention. He gestured to the approaching army. Look now, ’Ciena: II Italia, I Italia, XXI Hispania, IV Sicilia. They outnumber us two to one in manpower, at least four to one in training and equipment. He offered her the binoculars and guided her hands. You see, to our left, the I Italia — see their standards? They’ll strike us from their right, our left. We’ve only got volunteers on that flank. He guided her hands and steadied them as she looked southwest. Sabinus has two of his most veteran legions there. That’s the XXI Hispania, his old legion, and the IV Silicia behind them, still coming up the road. They’ll cross this bridge to face the Noricum Civic Legion. Even with their governor leading them, I doubt they’ll last long. His voice was sad, as though he already saw the defeat looming in their future.

Finally, look here, to the west. Marciena turned her binoculars farther to her right. There, you see the II Italia? That’s Sabinus’s killer strike. They’ll cross the creek and push through our other recruits to try to pin us against the bridge.

Marciena lowered the binoculars and handed them back to the speculatores. If we’re going to lose, why are we fighting?

Gravus looked down at her. Because we have to. This is the last rise in the valley, giving us a good defensive position. The valley is narrower here, so we don’t have to defend as wide a front. Hopefully we can make them pay for every inch of ground, especially if we can catch them in the open.

They must know we’re here, Marciena said. They’ve formed lines and everything.

They know we’re here, but not exactly where — at least, not yet. If we didn’t fight them here, then Sabinus’s forces would sweep over the Alps, and probably take Noricum and Naristia in a few weeks. This way, we make them pay for it.

Marciena frowned. But everyone will die.

No, not everyone, although we will take casualties, I’m certain. Marciena, what you need to realize is that, in this war, there are things worth dying for. Your brother knew that when he signed up for the legions. Rome has always been stronger when we are united. These men know that as well; they volunteered for this. He patted her shoulder. Here, we can bleed them, perhaps slow them down a bit more while Theophilus’s men prepare more ambushes.

As though his name had conjured him, Governor Theophilus approached, breathing harder at this higher altitude. I think we’re as prepared as we can be, Speculatores Quintus, he said.

He was the perfect model of a soldier, Marciena thought, garbed in his legion’s colors and a wrist-length tunic of mail. His horse was equally armored, turning both into what Quintus had deemed a poor man’s cataphract. Whatever that is.

I agree, Governor. You have the plan all set?

Yes, and all unit commanders are aware of it. We’ll have to hold off Sabinus for as long as possible, but still leave ourselves enough time to retreat. I trust you’ll take command if for some reason I cannot give the order?

Quintus gave a short bow. If needed, I would be honored to do so, Your Lordship. He straightened. I do hope that’s not necessary, however.

The governor’s face was blank now, as though he were purposefully pushing the thought of his death from his mind. He pulled three thick envelopes from a saddlebag and held them out to the speculatores. After a moment, he spoke. Then you wouldn’t mind keeping hold of these letters to my wife and sons?

Quintus took them, his expression somber and understanding. Not at all, Governor. He tucked them under his arm.

The governor turned to look back at his lines of green – and black-garbed legionnaires formed up across the Via Alpi. May the gods grant us victory.

Absolutely, sir.

And if not victory, then let us make theirs bloody and difficult. He rode back toward his men.

Quintus handed Marciena the letters. I’m giving you this responsibility now. You’re more likely to escape, especially since you’re still a child. If I tell you to run, you run. Am I clear? Marciena nodded. Get back to Virinum, tell them what happened, and have all our people who are still there get out. I’ve sent most of them away, but there’s a chance that there are still a few remaining.

The notes from cornicerns echoed up the valley. Here they come, Quintus said, mounting his horse. I’ll be here with the artillery, but I’ll need to ride around. You stay here. Am I clear?

Marciena nodded again, pushing her hair back. Nothing can be scarier than getting kidnapped by Nortlanders, she reminded herself. Although this is close. She tucked the three envelopes carefully into the inner pocket of her jacket; tricky to do with her thick gloves, but still doable. Her breath steamed in the winter air. Around her, the handful of heavy ballistae and repeaters were loaded. The lines of azure and steel legionnaires in the distance moved slowly toward them.

Ballista! Prepare to fire! the centurion in charge of their artillery shouted. The wooden and steel machines were aimed upward.

Marciena walked back toward her own horse, tethered behind a pile of empty crates now doubling as a small redoubt. She watched with interest.

Fire! He jerked his arm downward. Canisters of gunpowder and Greek fire flew toward the enemy forces. For a long moment the canisters floated in the air, before splashing into the enemy, tossing men into the air like rag dolls. The fire and smoke stood in stark contrast to the snow and ice they marched over. Tiny cries of surprise and anger echoed up the valley.

Maybe we have a chance at winning this battle, Marciena thought as the artillery seemed to decimate the attacking legions. Maybe they’ll go away. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t going to happen. The enemy lines advanced up the slope, occasionally hidden by a copse of snow-covered pine trees. They grew more ragged as they advanced, with every explosion in their ranks tossing men to the ground, but more often than not the blocks of infantry reformed and continued forward.

The cold winter breeze stole the air from her lungs as she watched the opening clash of battle lines. The nearby artillery was firing constantly now, and the men on the downward slopes had begun to fire their repeaters as well. The bolts flew over the heads of their companions forming a shieldwall on the eastern side of the creek. At least they’ll pay for this, Marciena thought as she watched the white snow turn to a muddled mix of pink and brown behind the advance. Her hands tightened into fists as she watched the battle. For a few moments, the repeaters held back the enemy tide, piling up the dead with gruesome efficiency. Then, with a rattling cry, the rebels reformed and advanced.

Sabinus’s legions had finally closed the gap between them and the loyalists. They charged, pila flying through the air in both directions as the lines met with a sharp, resounding clash. Marciena looked away, unable to watch the bloodshed now that it had moved closer to her. As she turned, the movements of fighting to the south caught her attention.

Just as Gravus had predicted, their left flank was being hammered by the veteran legionaries of the I Italia. The motley collection of volunteers was already giving ground, and Marciena predicted that the flank would not last another half hour. Horns blew as the reserve cavalry on that flank charged in, desperate to hold back the overwhelming assault. They disappeared behind the trees as the sound of fighting increased.

All around her, the battle din grew, and Marciena began to feel very small. Only now, with the actual battle happening, did she truly feel afraid. A tear slipped from between her eyelashes to leave a cold trail down her windburned cheek. She missed her brother, and wanted nothing more than to see him, for him to tell her it would be all right, and for his friends to come and crush the horrible people trying to kill her and her friends. Sinking down to the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut, placing her hands over her fur-covered ears to try to block out the noise.

Marciena was still squatting that way when Gravus found her again. Her eyes snapped open to look at her guardian. His helmet was damaged and blood oozed from an injury under his eye. He leapt off his horse with surprising vigor, running over to check on her.

Marciena! What are you still doing here? I sent a messenger ten minutes ago. You have to leave, now! The right flank is collapsing and the left is already in rout, he shouted, his voice tinged with alarm.

Marciena turned to look. Sure enough, she could see waves of volunteers from the left flank running up the hill toward her. A rearguard of braver souls and the remnants of the cavalry were trying to hold back the enemy, but the few pockets of defenders were swamped before her eyes.

Gravus lifted her bodily onto her horse. What about the governor? she asked. Their green-cloaked men were holding the river, but a sizable dent had appeared in their lines, centered around a burning war machine, and the rebels were fighting east over the frozen creek. The thin green line was breaking in several places as she watched.

Governor Theophilus is dead, killed in the second charge. They brought up a mechaniphant from somewhere. Sabinus’s men broke the shieldwall and he led the charge to restore it. He shook his head wistfully. He never had a chance against a mechaniphant; What was he thinking? He looked at her. None of that matters now, Marciena.

She shivered, knowing what was to come. What can I do? she said plaintively.

Ride for Virinum. Tell them what happened, and tell them to broadcast it to anyone who will listen. Then find Captain Kartinis. His airship should be there. Stay with him until I, the senatora, or your brother comes. You still have that hand-repeater your brother gave you?

She nodded.

Good; you may need to use it. He handed her a round of bolts and a sheaf of letters. Whatever you do, do not let these fall into the hands of the enemy. These, and the governor’s letters, are your key back to your brother and Emperor Constantine. He squeezed her arm and turned the prancing horse about. Around him, the loyalist army dissolved, men fleeing in panic. Go! he said, smacking the horse with his scabbard.

Marciena clung to the horse for dear life, riding along the Via Alpi as it climbed along the last hillside. Her last sight of the venerable spymaster was his back as he turned to rally the beleaguered defenders.

Rally to me, Romans, rally to me! For the true emperor!

Marciena tucked her body low against the horse and fled.

Chapter 1: Octavia

Thessalonica, Macedonia, Loyalist Stronghold

January, 1855

The church bells were finally silent. Thank the gods. Senatora Octavia Pelia had never been one to put up with errant, unending, noise. At least the horns from the temples were nicer, s he thought as she looked out over the parapet from one of the west-facing towers. Then again, I would never have imagined I’d be leading the fight against one of the biggest threats to the Empire in our time, she mused as she took in the scene.

The expansive city wall was quiet now, with only a handful of guards still on duty. Around her stood her closest supporters and de facto bodyguards. The winter night had arrived early, helped by a persistent layer of clouds. To the west, a slight glow reflected off their gray bottoms, presumably from the massive camp of General Minnicus’s encroaching army. Perhaps imagined, perhaps not, that glow was a burden on her thoughts.

General Regillus says they’re less than three days away. His men are holding the gaps along the ridgeline, there. Thomas Aquiline, his dark eyes shining in the torchlight, pointed somewhere in the direction of the mountains.

He had changed since his brother died, iron becoming steel, sharp and unyielding on himself and his subordinates. I suppose anyone would be, Octavia thought as she focused on the issue at hand. We grieve whenever possible, but work before grief, lest it consume us. And our preparations?

Coming along. I expect everything should be ready after tonight. If Regillus can give us the better part of tomorrow before withdrawing…

You’re asking a lot of the general and his men.

Thomas bowed. "It was your plan, Senatora." he said, steadfastly not looking at the young woman just two years his senior seated in the wheelchair next to him.

Ah, but Thomas, you’re the mastermind behind it, as ever. That managed to pull a chuckle out of the normally reserved aide. Still, it is good to know we are prepared. The city is empty?

Everyone but the guards and the volunteers. We tried to weed out as many of the grown men and young boys as possible, leaving only widowers and grandfathers, but I’m certain some others slipped through the cracks. Thessalonica is a large city.

Octavia sat in silence for a while. The night air was crisp, a light wind blowing off the Mare Aegean to her back. The hillsides and plains surrounding the city were dark and cold, with only a scant handful of twinkling lights to show occupation, matched only by the handful of stars bravely shimmering through the overcast. Reminds me of my childhood. You could ride for miles and miles and not see a single light in the winter. But there were trees — more trees than you could count in a thousand years. I wonder if I’ll ever see the northlands again. She allowed the thought to pass from her mind as she examined the darkness before her.

Soon the enemy would fill those dark plains. Octavia could see the events of the next few days. Regillus would be forced to withdraw his troops as Minnicus’s forces overwhelmed the scattered legions trying to hold several gaps through the mountains. As they withdrew to the north, Minnicus and his men would charge directly for Thessalonica, aiming to sever Grecia from the rest of loyalist controlled Thrace and Anatolia.

Once through, they will ignore Regillus and the army to come here. And what will be here to stop him? Barely three cohorts of legionaries and perhaps seven cohorts of volunteers, she scoffed. Not much of an army to hold the most important rail junction south of Byzantium.

"But it will work, domina," Raestes said. The young researcher had only recently rejoined her, along with Thomas, after fleeing the increasingly precarious situation in Illyria. The back of the resistance had been broken, and the hard core of the organizers had fled southward, including two of her aides. It was good to see them, good to have familiar faces around her, especially since the death of…

No.

Octavia forcibly pushed that thought from her mind. There was not time to grieve over friends lost and gone. Now was the time to focus on the present and win this war.

It will work, Raestes. You’re the one who discovered it in that book from the far east…Imperial Chinese, if I’m correct?

He nodded, shivering in the cold air. Torchlight flickered against his face.

I’d like to read it at some point. Perhaps when we aren’t at war?

The two men nodded politely.

Octavia placed gloved hands on her wheels and turned to face them. It’s getting cold and I believe we’ll need our sleep. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.

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Next morning’s frozen dawn did little to warm the hearts of the defenders. Octavia pulled her thick wool tunic tighter as she prepared for breakfast. Whatever the weather, she knew that there would be news from the defenses, and she was eager to hear it.

Several exhausted-looking messengers from General Regillus were indeed awaiting her as she rolled into the governor’s banquet hall. The man himself had evacuated only two days prior, and only at the direct insistence of the senatora and Regillus himself, who reminded the man that last stands were no fun for the defenders.

Thomas was already up, food piled high on a plate as he read the dispatches. In the daylight he looked little better from the night before, the deep circles under his eyes heightened by an extremely pale complexion. His face was sallow and seemingly shrunken. Not for the first time, Octavia opened her mouth to voice her concerns, but she was interrupted.

You’ll want to read this one at once, he said, pushing it across the table to her. A servant brought her a heaping plate of eggs, sausage, and some small winter apples, his wizened face pinched as he shuffled forward. Behind him, a percolator hummed, several brass pressure gauges bulging as another servant released a cloud of steam with a towel-covered hand. The smell of coffee filled the room. Ancient servants are all that remain to serve us, Olivia observed; oh, what a cost this war has claimed.

Why, good morning Senatora! Did you sleep well, Senatora? Are you hungry for breakfast, Senatora? Octavia said, shooting a scornful glance at Thomas. She accepted a fine porcelain cup of coffee with a nod of thanks, appreciatively inhaling the fumes.

Good morning, Senatora Pelia. You’ll want to read this report at once. Thomas hardly looked up from the dispatches as he spoke, his voice a monotone.

Octavia took a bite of still steaming eggs, opening her mouth to let them cool as the hot food hit her taste buds like the nectar of the gods. I guess supper was far too long ago. Swallowing carefully, she grinned as her hungry stomach quieted with the first taste of food.

She speared the report with her now-clean fork and dragged it across the table to her. Noting Regillus’s style — plain, simple, and probably pessimistic — she read:

Early attacks compromised westernmost positions. Can no longer guarantee two full days. Beginning retreat by ten. Please advise. — R

Sighing, she put down her second forkful of eggs, calling for pen and paper.

What time is it?

Nine, Thomas answered, glancing at his watch.

I assume the telegraph system is down?

The line to General Regillus has been cut, domina, one of the messengers said. A young one, but then again, weren’t they all? He looked more like a scholam dressed for a part in the theater than a real soldier. I’m not sure about the wireless. His speech and bearing were that of a noble, with perfect enunciation and a haughty look barely dimmed by the exhaustion evident in his posture.

It’s not a worry; you still have a job. She quickly jotted down: Hold as long as possible before withdrawing. Safety of army a priority. We will move up the timetable. Suitably vague for a message to the last operating loyalist general in Macedonia. He knows what to do, he’s just giving me time to change my mind.

But her mind had been made up for days. This was the only way.

"Take the message back to the general, decanus," she said as she folded the scrap of parchment and held it out to him.

The messenger slapped his fist to his breastplate and bowed before accepting the message and placing it carefully in his carrying case. His escort followed him out the door and down into the plaza. A low rumble filtered into the room through the large windows as the engines of their ostrichines caught and were throttled into full power. Her eyes turned that way. Such ungainly creations, she thought. But they are faster than horses.

For the next few minutes, Octavia was able to focus on her breakfast like a normal person, eating her fill of food and savoring the hard-to-scrounge coffee.

Raestes chose that moment to enter, draping his cloak over his arm as he entered the dining room. Lookouts report more smoke on the horizon, domina.

Thank you, Raestes. She motioned to Thomas, who handed over a bundle of other dispatches and newspapers. The telegraph to Byzantium and Athenae was still open, and the southern cities had been warned about the impending invasion. She scanned the broadsheets and newspapers, the most recent a week old from southern Italia. From the looks of things, you wouldn’t even know there was a war on. Which tells me much about how Sabinus is keeping things under wraps, if he has even the smaller cities’ newspapers under control. Or at least scared enough of him to report only sunshine and happiness.

An airship patrol reported the main enemy naval fleet had slipped their shadow a few nights past. Naval command was in a tizzy, warning every loyalist harbor about the marauding fleet. They’d learned that lesson at Narona, paying for it in men and machines, not to mention the loss of a critical port.

She contemplated this for a moment. Perhaps it was time to change some of her plans. But first, more coffee and some last minute messages.

An hour later Octavia was outside, back in her recently repaired coach. After the war I’m getting rid of this thing and buying an entirely new one. This one has too many memories, she decided as she settled in. Mila, her longtime friend and companion, looked at her, a tight-lipped smile on her face. Her escort assembled behind, a dozen men and women riding the best horses available, and armed to the teeth. Thomas had seen to that, but was absent from the party. As expected.

The eastern gate, Senatora? her driver asked from behind her.

Of course.

He guided the carriage quickly through the empty streets. Thessalonica was creepily silent, the shops and apartments boarded up. The clatter of the wheels along the flagstones echoed through the empty market stalls. The city elders had claimed it couldn’t be done, but through sheer force of will, she had done it. She had ordered Thessalonica evacuated. The entirety of its populace had been moved to Byzantium. It had taken most of the locomotives and rolling stock available in Macedonia and Grecia, plus whatever older models they could coax back into life, but in less than a month, the city had been emptied.

Now the hard part would begin.

The carriage rolled by the ancient Arch of Galerius, the stone façade still impressive even after fourteen hundred years. Will it still be around in a day? she wondered. The curved bay side arched away to her right.

Suddenly a horse’s shoulder blocked her view as a horseback messenger knocked politely at the window. Domino Aquiline reports everything is ready. The guards have pulled back to the eastern gatehouse as well. She nodded. The southern lookout reports sails on the horizon. Not ours.

Interesting, she said coolly, her mind whirring with possibilities.

It was only as she arrived at the eastern gate that she made up her mind. A small party of engineers and their assistants waited for her. She spoke to their leader. Engineer Monventus, just the man I wanted to see.

Senatora Pelia, as always, it is a pleasure to see you. What else can I do for you?

Octavia smiled grimly from the window of the carriage. She leaned forward, putting her weight on her arms. Any chance you could rig some of your explosives to take out the harbor as well?

Domina, that was the one part of the city you didn’t want damaged, as you said that would be the hardest to replace and you wanted the city to be rebuilt quickly after the war… The older man frowned, trying to figure out her plan.

We’re about to have some unexpected visitors from the south. If my prediction is true, then someone is trying to steal a march on General Minnicus. That someone is using the bulk of the naval fleet that spoiled our recapture of Narona. Which means that General Zermanos has brought most of his fleet around Grecia and into the Aegean. With our own fleet in drydock in Byzantium, this could be the opportunity we need to even the score. So tell me, Crius: can you move around some of the explosives?

He licked his lips, looking at his watch. How long do I have?

A handful of hours at the most.

I’ll need every man here.

Octavia’s wolf-like grin triggered grins among her followers. Better get started.

Monventus turned, shouting orders. Soon the gatehouse resembled an upset ant nest, with scurrying soldiers and civilians heading back toward the docks.

Octavia turned, waving her hand out the window. One of her aides rode up. Find Thomas and tell him that he’ll need to wait a while. He might as well join us before setting off the bonfire. The man turned his horse and spurred it into a gallop.

Anything you need, domina? Milena asked, looking up from the embroidery she always seemed to have secreted on her person.

Do you have a full dozen legions hidden away somewhere, Milena? Octavia said. Her friend chuckled, still bent over her needlework. I suppose it is too much to ask.

Less than two hours later, as the first enemy ships were just entering the harbor, the last of her volunteers returned to the gatehouse, heads drooping in exhaustion. Octavia opened the door to her carriage and thanked each of them for his service to their nation and their emperor.

That’s all of them, domina, Monventus said, walking up to her. He looked as though he had crawled along the harbor floo — is clothing damp and covered in sludge, his hands streaked with soot and grime. He reeked of sulfur and sewage. We’re ready when you are.

Octavia nodded her thanks.

Thomas. Her aide rode up to her, sliding his spyglass back into his saddlebag. Would you like to do the honors?

I thought you’d never ask. He touched heels to his horse and rode away.

Octavia said to her driver as she closed the carriage door, Time to leave.

Of course, Senatora.

We don’t want to be here when the Greek fire goes off.

Chapter 2: Constantine

Tarsus, Cilicia, Governor’s Palace

January, 1855

Constantine Tiberius Appius decided that sometimes it was really good to be the heir to the throne. Especially when he was able to decide on dinner.

Of course, Sire; the braised beef it is. Constantine nodded as his head chef, poached from the disgraced Antiochian governor’s staff, bowed and retreated from the throne. It wasn’t much, but it afforded him a view of the entirety of the reception hall. Tarsus was no major metropolis, but still a significant city in its own right, so its governors had spared no cost in decorating their modest reception hall in marble and precious stones. For now it mainly served as his headquarters for the war against the Mongols.

For how much longer? he wondered,