The Peace of the Alps was not a peace at all; it was a starting pistol. For Lucilla, the treaty was not a compromise, but a license. The ink on the accord was barely dry before she began to cash the check her brother's fear and her new general's cunning had written. She immediately, and very publicly, called in the most critical debt: the promise of Alex's innovators.
A delegation of men, blinking in the bright, thin mountain air, arrived in the Norican capital of Virunum. They were the brightest stars of Vulcania's firmament, the master engineers, architects, and artisans who had been the engine of Alex's technological revolution. They were led by a man named Vitruvius Pollio, a brilliant, fussy, and deeply apolitical master engineer who saw the world not in terms of power, but in terms of elegant design and structural integrity. They had been sent on the Emperor's orders to "assist" the Northern Command, but they were also under a second, secret set of orders from Maximus, instructing them to defer to his judgment on all matters of "military safety and procedural oversight." They were Alex's gift to Lucilla, and also his leash.
Maximus, traveling from Raetia, met them in Virunum. He had expected Lucilla to immediately demand they begin construction on a new forge, a direct replica of Vulcania, to begin churning out the repeating crossbows and improved steel for her legions. He was prepared to use his authority to delay, to cite a lack of proper coal seams, to insist on years of surveys and safety reviews. He was prepared for a direct, confrontational battle of wills over military production.
Lucilla, however, was far smarter than that. She did not want to be a mere copy of her brother. She wanted to be his superior.
She established a "Northern Institute of Innovation" in a series of requisitioned state buildings in the heart of Virunum. She did not summon the newly arrived Vitruvius and his men to a stark military briefing. She invited them to a lavish banquet in her palace. She treated them not as servants, but as honored guests, as the great minds who would build the future. She poured them the finest wine, flattered their accomplishments, and spoke to them not of war, but of legacy.
"Master Vitruvius," she said, her voice a warm, captivating melody as she sat beside the engineer at the head of the great table. "My brother has built an impressive city at Vulcania. A testament to Roman industry. But it is a city with a single, brutal purpose: war. Its heart is a forge, and its soul is the scream of metal being quenched."
She leaned closer, her eyes shining with a grand, inspiring vision. "Here in the North, we have the opportunity to build something greater. A center for a new, more enlightened civilization. I do not just want better forges, though we shall have them. I want better aqueducts to bring clean water to my people. I want heated baths to ward off the winter chill, a luxury not even Rome enjoys so far from the heart of the Empire. I want more efficient systems of crop irrigation to ensure my people never go hungry again. I want you to be the architect not just of a military machine, but of a new golden age. I want you to build not just a forge, but a future. A legacy that will make your name echo through the ages, long after the memory of my brother's wars has faded."
It was a masterclass in seduction. She was not threatening Vitruvius or commanding him. She was appealing to the one thing that truly drove him: his ego, his artist's pride, his desire to create something magnificent and lasting. She was offering him an unlimited budget, an army of laborers, and a canvas far grander than the grimy, war-focused valley of Vulcania.
Maximus watched from further down the table, a cold knot of apprehension in his stomach. He saw what she was doing. She was winning the loyalty of Alex's best men not with coin, but with a dream. And the dream she was selling was dangerously appealing. He also saw the cunning of her strategy. She was focusing on dual-use technologies. A better aqueduct brought water to the people, yes, but it could also power a hundred new water wheels for her forges. Better roads and bridges improved trade, but they also allowed her legions to move faster. She was building her war machine under the unimpeachable guise of civil engineering, a series of projects that Maximus could not plausibly object to on the grounds of "military safety." How could he argue that a new aqueduct was an unacceptable risk?
His own secret orders to delay and obstruct were being rendered impotent by her sheer political brilliance. He was in an arms race, and his opponent was proving to be a far more subtle and clever strategist than he had anticipated.
He was forced to play a more difficult, dangerous game. He could not stop her projects, so he had to control their pace. As the new Military Governor, he used his authority with surgical precision. He would constantly requisition Vitruvius's most skilled stonemasons and engineers for "urgent defensive projects" on the Raetian frontier.
"Master Vitruvius," he would say, his face a mask of grave concern, "your plans for the new aqueduct are magnificent. But my scouts report increased horde activity near the western passes. I must have your best men to reinforce the bridges on the Via Claudia Augusta. The safety of the province must come first."
He played the part of the cautious, slightly paranoid military man to perfection, bleeding her projects of their best talent, slowing them down, all while appearing to be the most diligent and responsible of governors.
He sent a secret dispatch back to Alex, his words a grim warning. "She is not just building forges; she is building a rival civilization. She is winning the loyalty of your best men with promises of glory and legacy, not just coin. The technological gap we thought we had is closing faster than we predicted. We are in an arms race, and she is a far cleverer opponent than we ever anticipated. My ability to delay her is limited. We need a new strategy."
Lucilla, of course, was aware of Maximus's subtle sabotage. She saw his constant requisitions for what they were: a clumsy but effective attempt to slow her down. She knew he was still her brother's man, at least in spirit. But she was a patient player. She would let him have his small victories, his defensive projects. Because his very success gave her the pretext for her next, decisive move.
The spymaster Piso requested an audience with Maximus in his headquarters in Raetia. He arrived with his usual quiet, unsettling demeanor.
"The Proconsul is most pleased with your defensive work, Governor," Piso began, his thin lips curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Your diligence in fortifying the province is commendable. She feels the borders have never been more secure."
He paused, letting the false praise settle. "However, she worries. She worries that your focus on military matters is causing you to neglect your new paternal duties. Your adopted son, her own beloved child, is being raised in a rough military camp, far from the centers of culture and learning."
Maximus felt a familiar cold dread.
"Therefore," Piso continued, delivering the killing blow, "the Proconsul has decreed that the boy's living situation is no longer suitable. For his own good, for the sake of his education, he and his… tutors… will be relocated immediately to the new Institute in Virunum. There, he can receive a more… scholarly… education, surrounded by the greatest minds of the North, under her own direct, maternal supervision."
The trap had sprung. Lucilla had outmaneuvered him completely. She had used his own successful sabotage, his constant harping on the "dangers" of the frontier, as the perfect, unarguable pretext to reclaim her son. She was taking back her most valuable hostage, moving him from the periphery of her domain, where Maximus had some small influence, to the very center of her web of power. His greatest piece of leverage was being removed from the board, and he was utterly powerless to stop it.
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