Tabor grinned. “Brilliant. That’s exactly what I need. I’ll put the word out tonight to the legionary soldiers to gather wood and ropes for your engineering corps. If I have to tear down homes to get the wood, I will.”
Tabor called for a scribe, who took hurried notes. Ceti listed the supplies and he told the messenger to wake Godwin, his second, and dig up the books that had plans for the two ancient catapults.
Then he and Tabor went back to the plans of the city, trying to discover weak spots and how to best locate the cannons for the most effect. After a time, Tabor straightened.
“That’s enough to get us started, engineer. It’s nearly midnight. Lack of sleep this early in a crisis will only use up too much energy too fast. You’re dismissed. Your materials will be ready and waiting in the morning. In the meantime, get some rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tomorrow. He’d planned to fly tomorrow. Instead, he would be building weapons.
Tabor clapped him on the back. “And maybe when this is all over, you can get back to your aquila.”
If any of them were still alive when this is over.
Tabor assigned a legionary soldier to escort Ceti to a quiet but comfortable room at the back of the villa. Escort, hah. The man was guarding him. Tabor must still be worried about his prized engineer running back to his workshop to test the flying machine.
Ceti stretched out on the long bed, his mind running full speed. Sleep was the last thing he wanted. Too many ideas whirled in his mind. The antique siege machines were a good idea but they were only a stop-gap measure. They wouldn’t win the battle. Tabor was right. They needed a miracle. Too bad the Christian god seemed little interested in war.
It was vastly annoying that Ceti couldn’t figure out exactly how to use the aquila in battle. He didn’t have the materials right now for more than one. And he couldn’t load it with cannonballs. That would throw off the weight.
But, oh, he still wanted to sneak out of the villa first thing in the morning and confirm that his aquila worked while he had the chance, especially while the wind was favorable.
Ceti walked to the window and stared out at the stars. Destiny was written in them, so many said. If he’d believed in gods, maybe he would believe in that. But to him, they only looked like pretty lights in the sky.
“Do you still wish to fly?”
Ceti turned to face the speaker and smiled. Dinah.
“Yes, of course I do.”
Dinah. His oldest friend and his staunchest supporter though he knew that even she had her doubts about whether the aquila would work. And though she was legally Tabor’s adopted daughter, Dinah recognized no authority but her own. She listened to her husband, Gerhard, and her people, the Vikings, but she took orders from no one.
That she slipped into the room quietly did not surprise him. That she was here at all, did. She visited Manhatos only rarely.
“How is it you are here?” Ceti asked.
“Tabor sent word about the Roman fleet,” she said. “I arrived a short time ago with Gerhard and a few others to help.”
She watched him, likely sizing up his mood. Dinah didn’t speak without thinking. He watched her in return, trying to see her with fresh eyes.
Outwardly, she’d changed little from the woman who’d helped win the battle for Seneca fifteen years ago. Still lithe, still dangerous, and she could still discern more about people from a glance than most could tell from a month of spending time with them.
Her long hair was tied at the nape of her neck, and she’d worn leggings and a tunic of soft deerskin. Her tunic was painted with a blue dragon, wings spread, fierce and unconquerable. Her adopted sister Sif’s work, he thought. Nothing Roman about any of it. That no doubt suited Dinah.
He didn’t believe in gods but if he could have worshipped Dinah, he would have. She would be appalled if she knew that. Ceti certainly didn’t want her husband, the fierce Viking warrior, to know that either.
But Ceti knew why few women tempted him. Few could measure up to Dinah.
“Tell me, Ceti, why do you want to fly so badly? Why do you risk death for this?” she asked.
When had he first thought of flying? It had been a decade and a half ago, after winning the battle for Seneca. The idea of the aquila had formed in his head when drawing plans to re-build the town. He’d desperately wanted an eagle’s eye view of the land. It would have made things so much easier. One thing had led to another and here he was.
Or maybe his reasons were far simpler.
“Because I can,” he said. “Because I can imagine it and make it real.”
She snorted. “Oh, that is always a good reason.” She shook her head. “You’re so practical in all things save this.”
“I am practical even in this. I’ve done everything logical to make certain I can fly.”
“The very idea is impractical.” She walked to stand near the window with him. “Your aquila looks less than sturdy. It worries me.”
“That is what everyone keeps saying. ‘It’s folly.’ ‘It’s not sturdy.’ ‘It’s far too dangerous.’ And that man was ‘not meant to fly.’”
“The last is a silly reason,” she said.
His mood lightened. “I know.”
“You are betting your life on it working,” she said, “and maybe the existence of Manhatos, if Tabor is right about imminent attack. He needs you.”
“There are other engineers.” Ceti shook his head. “You bet your life on a slim chance to save Seneca all those years ago. Maybe what I want to do will save Manhatos.”
“That was act or die, Ceti,” she said. “Even then, death seemed the far more likely outcome. And I didn’t have a choice. You do.”
“Then I would choose to try this, if I could. I want to fly. I know the timing is bad.” He took another deep breath. “But I could die in this upcoming attack. I have to know if the aquila works before that. I have to know. It’s all I have.”
Dinah set her hand on his forearm and squeezed. He flushed. “It’s not all you have, Ceti. I thought you knew that.”
He smiled. “You’ll miss me.”
She nodded but her answering smile was crooked and sad.
“It took me a long time to acquire friends, Ceti. And you’re more than that, you’re family. I’d not like to lose any more people that I care about. It hurts too much.”
He felt his face flush, glad she couldn’t see it in the darkened room. She’d never stated her feelings for him out loud before.
“So I ask again—why?”
He swallowed hard. “Because I believe I’m right. Because I feel a driving need to do this. Because I think there’s some way it can be useful against the fleet. I just need one small test flight. I won’t take long. You can call it hubris, call me god-touched, I don’t care. Most people never thought I’d get this far. I can do this.”
She sighed. “How many people do you need to launch it?”
“Only one but it’s not likely I’ll find help now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I suspect that might not be a problem any longer.”
He grinned, leaned down, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She made a noise that could have been surprise or shock. Amusement, if he was lucky.
“Dinah, you know Tabor will hold you responsible. He’ll be furious.”
“It will not be the first time.” She shrugged. “I’ll be at your workshop to launch this folly tomorrow. And I’ll spend the night praying I’m not making the wrong choice.”
He let out a long, deep breath.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve learned from experience to not stand in the way of someone so driven,” she said. “When should I be there?”
“Air currents start growing strong at mid-morning, with the tide.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Dinah?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you helping me? You don’t fully believe in this.”
“You gave the righ
t answers.” She grinned. “You said I took the risk to save Seneca. Hah. I took the risk because I had to try something. I didn’t expect the plan that Licinius and Tabor developed to work. But I trusted them, so I agreed to try. I expected to die, Ceti.”
“I don’t expect to die.”
“That puts you several steps ahead of me. So if you believe in this, that is enough,” she said. “And at a certain point, we all must fly, must we not? It is either that, or a living death.”
****
Tabor appeared during breakfast at the villa. He ordered Ceti to get what he needed from his workshop and come down to the Legion headquarters near the harbor on the East River as soon as possible. That was to be his home until the crisis was over.
Ceti nodded assent, hoping he looked grave enough, although inside he was dancing. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the weight of years and years of planning. He almost started whistling during the walk through the town but decided that did not seem right for an engineer solemnly preparing for an attack.
He wondered where Dinah was but decided not to worry. If she said she would be there, she would.
Unless things had changed during the night. Maybe there had been more news about the fleet, maybe something had changed her mind.
He no longer felt like whistling.
He climbed the long, steep stairs to his workshop at the top of the highest hill in Manhatos. He was surprised that Tabor had made the climb yesterday instead of simply sending a soldier up for him. He guessed Tabor had been angry and upset at the news of the imminent invasion and wanted to work off the energy.
Ceti let out a sigh of relief as he opened the circular workshop. All was well. Everything had been as he left it.
His work boots made little sound on the sawdust as he walked from the outer office and crossed into the large circular alcove. He stopped under the door frame, determined to double-check every last line of the aquila.
He went to the far walls, released the hooks, and slid the entire section of wooden planking to the side, exposing the aquila to the morning light.
His greatest piece of engineering.
The beauty of his design was in the V-shaped wings of the aquila, set at just the right angle. He’d painted an eagle on the wing for good luck.
He ran his hand along the sailcloth stitched together with expensive silk, one fabric for strength and the other to catch the wind. He’d tried and tested many wing designs: short, long, with tail and without tail. This was the best, an elongated V-shaped wing over a wood frame.
The concept was the same as an eagle’s wing, with the bamboo replacing bones and the cloth replacing the feathers. It would work the same, at least for gliding. Someday, he would figure out how to make the wings move. But this was enough for now.
The scale model—half the size of this one—had flown long and high. It had even landed safely, though a wingtip had broken off. If he were piloting it, the landing would have been perfect. He grinned. Piloting. That sounded good. He wondered if sailors would like his stealing of the term.
He had to admit that likely he was missing something because adding a person to the aquila was an unknown factor. He had accounted for the weight and drag. He hadn’t accounted for what would happen when he leaned one way or another during the flight or if he moved his legs.
He wouldn’t fall. That he knew. He would hang from a harness attached to a square frame built below the middle of the wing. The long pole which bisected the point of the V had a metal ring. He’d attach a rope to the ring and then hook the rope to his specially designed belt.
If all worked, the aquila would hit the air currents after launching and he would be able to stretch out horizontally below the wing rather than simply hanging onto the frame by his hands for dear life.
If all worked.
He grinned.
“How will you get it on the catapult?” Dinah asked.
He swore as he turned. “Dinah. It would be nice if you didn’t keep sneaking up on me.”
She grinned. “Old habits die hard. You didn’t answer the question.”
“The aquila is light. I can carry it easily.” He walked to it, slipped under the middle of the wing, and gripped the frame designed to hold him and help him steer. He stood, slowly, raising the aquila with him. Perhaps it was a little heavier than he’d told Dinah. But he didn’t have far to go.
He stopped into the morning light with the aquila on his back. “See that groove in the center of the catapult? Help me lower the center pole of the frame on it.”
She did, with little fuss. He’d spent months with a block of wood and a supply of sand, working on the groove until it fit his center pole exactly. Finally, he’d added a coat of beeswax to reduce friction. Oddly, the beeswax had been the most expensive part of the construction. He’d had to have it imported.
Launching should be easy. Pulling back the ropes on the catapult supplied tension, that, when released, would fling the aquila into the sky. He’d added a handle with a trigger at the back of the catapult. Even a child could press that trigger and launch it. Dinah would have no problem.
Satisfied the aquila was properly settled on the catapult, Ceti ran into the workshop to get his belt and rope. He pulled the oversize belt tight around his lower chest and clipped the rope to the back of it.
Dinah helped him hook the other end of the rope to the aquila.
She shook her head. “I am going to regret this.”
“Well, if you do, I won’t be alive to feel guilty about it.” He grinned.
She swatted his shoulder. “What next?”
“The catapult is already set up. All you need to do is pull the trigger when I say ‘go.’”
“And how will you land?”
“I should land in the clearing in the central part of the island, if my calculations are correct about the wind currents and drag,” he said.
“Gaius told me last night you could end up in the river.”
He nodded. “Also possible but unlikely.”
“Well, Gaius is out there now, in a boat, if needed.”
“You think of everything,” he said.
“If I did, I wouldn’t be doing this crazy thing,” Dinah said. “If you survive this, you had better think of something to tell Tabor.”
Ceti closed his eyes, thought of Licinius, and sent up a prayer that his late mentor was watching from somewhere.
He relaxed his knees and wrapped his hands tight around the frame.
“Go.”
Chapter Three
“This is very ill news, Sky.”
The tribal leaders gathered around the central fire in the village of Shorakapkok nodded assent to their shaman’s statement.
The village was perched just below the cliffs on the north of Mannahatta and was far more vulnerable to Roman attack than Sky’s own home. She’d known the Shorakapkok leaders would take the news badly, but they were more frightened than she expected.
“However, this could help us. The Romans might destroy each other,” the shaman, Deep Water, continued. “Then we would be safer than before.”
Now the shaman sounded like Lake Wolf. “There is no guarantee that their war will be short,” Sky said. “It could well spill over to us. With Shorakapkok so close, you would be first to bear the brunt of this.”
That caused a murmur among the others. Sky let them talk. Her words had started them thinking instead of merely reacting. Good.
While waiting for the right moment to speak again, Sky glanced up at the brilliant blue sky of the morning. She’d expected this meeting would be held inside, but Deep Water had insisted on the grass in the village center. They were somewhat enclosed, with the longhouses on the left and the green cliffs to the right. Still, the open air gave less room for tempers to build, which Sky supposed was the shaman’s goal.
“I don’t know what to think as yet. You and your tribal leaders have had two days to consider this, Sky of the Wolf Clan,” Deep Water said. “What do yo
u advise us to do?”
Sky took a deep breath. It felt odd to finally be the one people looked to for leadership. So often people looked past her and focused on her mother instead. When given this task, Sky thought that her mother had acted partially out of anger and spite at being opposed. Now Sky suspected that her mother had known exactly what she was doing.
“You honor me, Deep Water, Shaman of the Turtle Clan, by asking for my people’s advice.” Formality likely wasn’t necessary but watching her mother had taught Sky that listeners paid more attention when it was used. “Inaction might work in the beginning, but none of us can remain inactive forever. Even if one side wins quickly, we will still have to deal with the victors. The Romans have already sent one fleet across the ocean. Presumably, they can send more. And more after that.” Sky spoke slowly, as her mother often did, to make her points absolutely clear. “We need a solution that will last generations.”
Sky thought of Quiet Dog’s younger brother, who had vanished while fishing in the Mahicanituck River. The warrior’s bitterness at his brother’s loss was part of what had kept Sky from making a commitment to him.
But Quiet Dog was right to worry for the future.
Deep Water nodded, her pretty face twisted into a frown. “Yes. Things cannot continue as they are. It is intolerable. One day, all is peaceful. The next, the Romans intrude on our fishing or hunting or trample our crops. It’s never enough injury, of course, to risk war. But we are being worn down piece by little piece.”
It sounded as if Deep Water had pondered the problem for a long time. “Have you tried negotiating with them?” Sky said. Perhaps the shaman was more receptive to that idea than Lake Wolf.
“No,” Deep Water said. “To do that, we have to trust they will keep their word. So far, I see no reason for that trust. They seem to view us like ants to flick away.”
“Exactly. Romans are not interested in negotiation,” Nighthawk said. Her father’s voice was hard and flat today, so unlike the practiced storyteller he usually was. “Look what happened to the Mahicans in Seneca. They were destroyed.”
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