Chapter 106: Rebellion

The aristocratic villa in Massilia, seized by Isolda to house her espionage network, possessed the finest Greek marble and the most defensible geography in the port...

The dining room was operating as the diplomatic headquarters of the Mediterranean underworld.

Sitting at the head of a cedar table was Decius Varro, commander of the Tarraconian Brotherhood.

Flanking him was his lieutenant, an Iberian miner named Carausius.

Varro was in a foul mood.

He was holding court with the three most notorious smuggler barons operating on the Gallic coast.

Normally, these men would never be allowed to dictate terms to a rebel commander who had paralyzed two Roman legions.

But the war in Hispania had entered a stalemate.

Varro had the Syndicate’s explosive clay, but he was cut off from the sea, meaning he was starving for grain and medical supplies. He needed the smugglers to run the Roman naval blockades and deliver the supplies to the coves of the Cantabrian coast.

"You are asking me to sail straight into the teeth of the remaining loyalist galleys, Varro," sneered Titus, a smuggler baron who wore too much imported gold jewelry. "The Senate is offering a bounty of ten thousand denarii for any ship caught running supplies to your Iberian rats. The risk is astronomical. We demand a 50% share of the Cantabrian silver mines you capture."

"Fifty percent?" Carausius slammed his fist onto the cedar table. "You parasitic leech! We are bleeding out in the snow while you sail around the Mediterranean. We offered you a 30% stake in the iron yields, and that is highway robbery!"

"Hold your tongue, miner," snapped a second smuggler, a one-eyed Greek captain named Cleon. "You need our galleys to survive the winter. Without us, your rebellion starves. If you don’t agree to the fifty percent, we take our hulls and go back to running Alexandrian wine. We don’t care if the Romans crucify every last one of you."

Varro dragged a hand across his face.

Lucius had provided the explosives and the weapons on credit, but he refused to commit the Syndicate’s ironclads to transport Varro’s food.

The Forge Master insisted the Iberian rebellion had to secure its own logistics, forcing Varro to negotiate with these criminals.

The three smuggler barons had brought armed mercenary bodyguards with them, matching Varro’s own guards man-for-man in the courtyard outside.

The smugglers knew they held the logistical throat of the Brotherhood, and they were squeezing.

"We are not giving you fifty percent of the silver," Varro stated. "The Syndicate holds the debt for our munitions. If we sign over half the mines to you, the Forge Master will annex the territory when the war is over. I will not trade a Roman master for a Gallic one, and I will not trade it for a glorified pirate."

Titus offered a smile, leaning back in his padded chair and adjusting a gold chain. "Then I suggest your men learn to digest pinecones, Commander. Because no ship in my fleet is breaking that blockade for anything less."

Before Varro could draw the dagger at his belt, the doors of the *triclinium* were thrown open.

"Commander Varro!" shouted a mud-splattered Iberian scout, ignoring the smuggler barons.

Titus and Cleon dropped their hands to the hilts of their concealed blades, staring at the intruder.

Varro stood up, his hand gripping his dagger.

The scout was one of the men he had left to monitor the northern passes near the Pyrenees.

It was barely twilight; a scout returning this quickly meant the board had shifted.

"Report," Varro commanded. "Did the loyalist legions break out of the mountain passes?"

"No, Commander," the scout panted. "The Romans are still pinned in the snow. It is a different force. They are marching through the eastern valleys, moving toward the coastal ports."

The smuggler barons exchanged paranoid glances.

"Who?" Titus demanded. "Is it the Syndicate’s infantry? Did the Forge Master finally send the *Custodes* south?"

"They are not flying the silver anvil," the scout replied, shaking his head. "And they are not flying the Roman eagle. They are flying the crimson and gold banners of the Aquitanian warlords. It’s an army of mercenaries. And they are slaughtering the border garrisons with their weapons."

Varro froze.

The Aquitanian warlords were an independent faction of Gallic tribal leaders who had rejected both the Roman Senate and the Syndicate’s industrialization.

They had spent the last two years hiding in the western forests, hoarding whatever iron they could steal.

But for them to launch an assault against the fortified coastal ports at this moment was a tactical anomaly that made no sense.

"How are they armed?" Carausius asked. "You said they have weapons."

"They are carrying repeating arbalests," the scout confirmed, wiping mud from his face. "And they are using the explosive chemical clay to blow the gates off the watchtowers."

"..."

The Aquitanian warlords did not possess the foundries required to manufacture repeating arbalests, nor did they have the chemical laboratories to synthesize Kallias’s explosive clay.

There was only one man in the world capable of supplying those weapons...

Lucius had armed them.

Lucius wasn’t just letting the Roman legions march into the plains of Arausio.

He was destabilizing the southern region, pitting the warlords against the coastal ports to create chaos and test the loyalties of everyone involved.

Titus, sensing the shift in power, stood up, offering a smile to Varro.

"Commander," Titus said quickly. "If the Aquitanians are marching on this city with explosive artillery, we must secure the harbor. If you and your men help my mercenaries defend the docks, we will waive the fifty percent demand. We will run your grain to Cantabria for the original thirty percent."

Cleon nodded, drawing his blade. "We have two hundred men in the courtyard. Your Brotherhood has another two hundred. If we combine forces, we can hold the main gates against a tribal assault."

Varro looked at the smuggler barons. A bitter smile touched his lips.

"You want me to bleed my men to protect your gold, Titus?" Varro asked.

"I am offering you an alliance!" Titus argued. "If the warlords take the harbor, they will burn my ships, and your rebellion starves anyway!"

Varro turned to his lieutenant. "Carausius. Order our men to stand down."

Carausius blinked, confused. "Commander? If they breach the walls, they will slaughter everyone in this villa."

"They are not here to slaughter us," Varro explained. "Do you truly believe the Forge Master armed a tribal army just to let them burn his most valuable southern port to the ground?"

Varro turned and began walking out of the dining room.

Varro sighed, ignoring the shouts of the smuggler barons. "Lucius is using them to clear the board of parasites. Enjoy the siege."

As Varro marched into the courtyard to secure his own men, the first explosive quarrel shattered the archway of the main gate...