The Emperor's Men: Emperor

by Dirk van den Boom

  “You don’t remember me, Flavia. But you are well.known to me. I once had the pleasure of arresting you. You relieved the honorable Marcus Tullius Praetonius of a large bag of glittering denarii. Ah, I remember – were not you also employed as a kitchen helper in his urban mansion?”

  Flavia’s eyes narrowed. “I do not remember.”

  That sounded sincere, really honest. Salius was very impressed.

  Screpius chuckled. “Of course not. That would’ve been too much to ask.”

  Salius looked around. Nobody paid attention to their conversation. He smiled at Flavia, not warm, but with the cold calculation of a predator. “Sit down, Flavia. I want to talk to you.”

  Interest and expectation sparkled in her eyes, as she followed his request. She folded her hands on the table and looked at Salius calmly. If she was afraid of imminent arrest, she didn’t show it.

  Salius developed enthusiasm for this woman.

  He liked to work with professionals. That made everything much easier.

  9

  “I don’t think you can travel.”

  “And I think you just miss not being able to mother me anymore.”

  Godegisel took Clodius in his arms and hugged the old man for a moment.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I won’t forget you, and I mean that. As soon as this war comes to an end and I know what has become of me, you will enjoy my gratitude.”

  Clodius shook his head, smiling. “You keep saying that, my boy. But it’s still not necessary. See that you go your way. Hurry to the west and escape the plague as best you can.”

  Godegisel nodded. He wore scuffed but clean clothes from Clodius’s supply. The old man had given the Goth goodbye gifts that shamed him. A new pair of laced sandals purchased on the market, a great foundation for the long hike that was about to dawn. A travel bag that Godegisel could throw over his shoulder, filled with other clothes, bread and cheese and a small amphora with diluted wine. And finally, a wallet with some smaller coins, a very modest sum, but enough to keep Godegisel alive for a few days.

  Godegisel’s goal was to reach Dyrrhachium and from there find a sea passage to southern Italy to join Theodosius. From what Clodius had told him, access to Constantinople was heavily regulated, and the plague was also spreading in that direction. It was a kind of race he might not win. Once he had found Theodosius’ army in southern Italy, the Emperor might find a suitable use for him. Rheinberg was probably there by now, so he could tell the German about the failure of his mission.

  For a few moments, the Goth had considered returning to the settlement of his people, but he immediately rejected that idea. There was no future for him with them. And even in the event that he could still persuade them to intervene, the plague had quite destroyed all these considerations.

  Godegisel had failed, both due to his fellow Goths and to the external circumstances. He accepted that. It wasn’t possible to do more than to try something else at this time. By now, he was able to assess his position well enough that he knew he wouldn’t be the cause of much adversity. He hoped for a position from which he could keep watching things and play a role without being too much in the foreground.

  It was nothing to worry about.

  “We’ll meet again, Clodius,” he said again, and the old man just nodded. They both didn’t know what the future would bring. And after all what Godegisel had told his savior, the old man surely realized that humans like the Goth had a completely unpredictable life path. It may be that this path led him back to his hut. But it could just as well happen that they saw each other for the last time despite all their good intentions.

  It would happen as it should, Clodius had said many times.

  At some point, both men had enough of saying goodbye and Godegisel started walking. He had meant his promise quite seriously, although he didn’t even know if he would achieve his goal unscathed. But he felt filled with great optimism. He had survived one of the worst scourges of humanity, something not many people could claim. He felt a little weak at times and was still a bit emaciated despite the good care of Clodius, but he was tired of waiting. There were so many things happening, and Godegisel no longer wanted to watch, but most of all, not be considered a coward who had waited until the storm subsided.

  His good spirits rose, as he met a small caravan bringing goods to Dyrrhachium. With a coin he bought a place on the large barrels, which were transported by a cart pulled by two powerful oxen. Godegisel stretched out his legs, squinting in the sun, and relaxing under the gentle movement of the cart, which carried him toward his destination without any further effort needed by himself. They would be underway for another two weeks, as the coachman had told him, but it was two weeks Godegisel didn’t have to march.

  The carters were friendly men. They shared their supplies with their guest when it was time for supper. The Goth ate modestly, didn’t want to appear excessive, and compensated his benefactors with exciting stories of his flight from the Huns, which eventually led him to Rome with his people. The carters themselves came from all parts of the Empire and traveled everywhere, and they found the history of the Great Migration exciting and asked many questions. When they all went to sleep on the first night, they were all aware that they had received adequate compensation for every effort made, whether in the form of porridge and bread or in the form of enjoyable and interesting entertainment.

  The journey passed without incident. Godegisel knew about oxen and wagons, for he had witnessed the long trek of his people fleeing from the Huns. He helped where he could, earned food, and, when it rained, a corner in one of the tents spanned over the goods. He didn’t annoy anyone and wasn’t a nuisance. When, after a good two weeks, they saw the walls of Dyrrhachium and Godegisel left, the master of the caravan shoved the coin back into his hand, which he had previously demanded as a transport fee.

  “You’ll need it, my friend. The city is expensive.”

  The Goth thanked him, a little touched, but glad that he had come this far without any great expenses.

  The following day, he arrived in the big harbor town. He knew that his money wouldn’t be enough for a crossing, so he looked a job. To his displeasure, he found that the travel opportunities to that part of Italy, which seemed to be in the hands of Theodosius, were rather limited. The directly accessible cities were controlled by Maximus. He had confined any trade to the territories under control, so direct passage to southern Italy was not possible, at least not at present. Rumors persisted that Theodosius had fled to Africa, and there were only ships allowed whose passengers had been thoroughly interviewed by the city guards before departure. Godegisel didn’t have an increased interest in such attention at this time, although he didn’t expect to be regarded as particularly famous or even notorious.

  In addition, the city authorities passed strict quarantine regulations to prevent the spread of the plague. Godegisel had been investigated before entering the city. The healed plague scars had prolonged this investigation, but at the same time aroused admiration and respect. He had finally been allowed to pass through the gates.

  Even those who left the port by sea were thoroughly scrutinized. The plague was everyone’s enemy, whether loyal to Theodosius or Maximus, and no matter how much the parties wished to fight, no one dared risk spreading the terrible scourge on purpose or even by negligence. If it would spread unhindered throughout the Empire, the victor of the civil war might not have much left to rule over, and the barbarians were already waiting in the East to exploit this weakness with great joy.

  Nobody was that stupid. Godegisel accepted the delays and thoroughness of the multiple controls. He didn’t wish anyone to go through what he had endured and survived only because of the intense care of an old man and a robust constitution. Nobody should suffer that way. Nobody should die like that.

  He didn’t spend too much time waiting, which was very helpful given his financial limitations. When faced with the prospect of spending the night outdoors, he wit
nessed a conversation between two sailors who put him on the right track. A coastal sailor would leave for Italy with the destination Ravenna and the captain was still looking for some extra hands.

  Godegisel was modest in regard to the pay, and he was allowed aboard.

  He had mixed feelings about returning to this city. But at least it was going in the right direction, and the controls were not half as stringent as when traveling to Africa. Godegisel didn’t want to be discovered. He was well-known to Maximus, to many of his henchmen as well. He was sure that the escape of Valens still bothered the Emperor until today. It would indeed be a great pleasure for everyone to capture those responsible. At that moment, Godegisel was extremely grateful for the scars of the plague. They didn’t disfigure him very much – he hoped it anyway, and still nurtured that little doubt of how young women, especially a certain one, would react to his altered appearance –, but they changed him. His narrowed, almost thin stature helped to make him recognizable only for someone who knew him very well.

  Would Pina recognize him?

  No, Godegisel thought to himself as he entered the ship with his bundle and volunteered for duty as cook for crew and passengers, armed with the recipes of Clodius.

  At first, it was not about whether Pina would recognize him.

  The question was more if she wanted to recognize him at all.

  10

  “There’s no doubt about it,” Gaudentius uttered, looking seriously at Rheinberg.

  “Well, we suppose so, anyway,” the German said, looking thoughtfully at the map of North Africa they had spread on the table in front of them. “If the spies are right, it’s no surprise. It just requires sufficient preparation.”

  “So the decision will be made in Africa,” von Geeren mumbled. “Maximus is pursuing a daring game. We should just sail out with the Saarbrücken and sink the ships with the troops he sends us on. That would be the end of his attempted attack.”

  Theodosius looked at the Captain in astonishment, then shook his head. “That would be mass murder.”

  Von Geeren calmly returned the Emperor’s gaze. “It would protect the lives of your men and end the war.”

  “Thousands of legionaries would drown miserably, and at the behest of the Emperor claiming to be their master,” Richomer defended Theodosius’ horror. “How shall the Emperor ever gain legitimacy for his rule, if he secures his victory by such means? It’s a horrible idea.”

  “They’d have no chance,” Rheinberg replied softly. “We’d approach the transport ships at maximum range, just blow them away, and they’d sink quickly and take all the men to their deaths. They wouldn’t even know what hit them, if we fire from far enough away.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t accept such a slaughter on my watch.”

  The Captain didn’t know for a moment how to react. Rheinberg was certainly different from him in regard to decisions like this. Von Geeren thought of the immediate military advantage. Rheinberg didn’t disregard this argument, but it became clear that he also considered other things that went further into the future and had a different, perhaps greater, significance than a simple victory.

  Von Geeren sighed. “Once Maximus lands his troops, there will be a great land battle, during which many men will die.”

  “In a proper battle. Everyone will have a chance to sell their lives as dear as possible,” Richomer insisted. “They are Romans, not animals. They have the right to use their weapons in their defense.”

  “There will be cannons. Guns. The weapon …”

  “On both sides. Everyone knows it. I’m not saying that everyone will survive. But they get a fighting chance. You may surrender. You may escape. You may fight. But once we send them crammed together in the body of a transport ship to the bottom of the Mediterranean, they have no choice. We just can’t do that.”

  Rheinberg continued, “It’s also about what this means for our reputation as time-wanderers, Captain. If we do this, any conflict thereafter will be more terrible. How can we reach out to achieve reconciliation if we’ve just massacred our opponents?”

  “This is not uncommon among the Romans,” von Geeren said. “They always waged their wars with the utmost brutality.”

  “And they sowed wind that became too many storms,” Rheinberg answered. “By force, you can not reach a lasting political solution. If you are lucky, you can create a basis for resolving the conflict differently. But in the end, it only provokes another chain of violence.” Rheinberg’s voice became insistent. “The real enemies are outside the Empire. There are the real challenges. We can not mercilessly slaughter our own people and then expect their friends, relatives and companions to fight with us against those who really threaten the borders. That’s just absurd!”

  Theodosius stepped forward and laid a hand on the Captain’s shoulder. “Another Theodosius, maybe in your past, might have acted differently. This other Theodosius has caused thousands of defiant citizens to be rounded up and massacred, and only because he was an irascible man. He then regretted it bitterly. I don’t want to be this man. If the arrival of the time-wanderers gave me the chance to become a better emperor, then I should take advantage of this opportunity. I’m not a berserker and no barbarian. I don’t want to be, but especially not against Romans who think they fight for a just cause. That’s not only not possible, Captain von Geeren. It simply doesn’t work that way.”

  The infantryman nodded hesitantly. “You are the Emperor. If it is your order …”

  “It is. May Maximus land his troops. We should find out where he wants to do that. Then we offer him the decisive battle he seeks. The African troops at our side, we will throw everything in the balance. We have a material superiority against which even the cannons of your traitor can’t do much. It’s going to be bloody and it’s not going to be easy, but we have every chance of winning this contest.” He looked at von Geeren. “In a decent way.”

  The Captain nodded again, gesturing that the discussion came to an end. Rheinberg understood the reasons for the man’s proposal. It would’ve been a quick and effective solution, a clear demonstration of the power of the time-wanderers. And it would have further strengthened all the prejudices against them, provoked indignation and fear, promoted their image as savage, brutal slaughterers, as dishonorable barbarians. Their victory would’ve been stale. Their life in the Roman Empire would’ve become one of constant caution, mistrust, rejection. Rheinberg didn’t want to do that to anyone. They needed to be accepted here, both by the winners and by the losers alike.

  The fast, clear solution was not always the best and certainly not in this case. Theodosius had recognized this in his own way, and his respect for the Emperor grew. This was indeed a different man from the one he had read about. Theodosius the Great, it seemed to Rheinberg, was on the way to earn his surname with justice and dignity.

  “So let’s allow the men of Maximus to reach the coast. We have to assume that they know exactly where we are. Are they going to land close by or further away?”

  “We have to make it easy for them!” Richomer explained. He stepped next to Gaudentius. “It’ll be better if we do this – you get in touch with Maximus and tell him you want to change sides. You are communicating a favorable landing place for him, which we choose – and we keep the troops on standby. To reduce his mistrust, you will receive and take care of the landed soldiers yourself. It’s not about surprising them, it’s about determining the time of landing and then the exact location of the battle. ”

  Gaudentius looked at Richomer with an almost startled bewilderment. Rheinberg had the impression that the Prefect had not considered this kind of betrayal by itself.

  “I … I’m supposed to pretend I’m a traitor to Theodosius?” Gaudentius said with an incredulous tone.

  “That’s the way it would work. You should succeed, because this idea is not completely outlandish. Demand something – a higher post, a payment, or just a favor that the Emperor has to grant you in the future. Maximus will tr
ust you.”

  Gaudentius nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to be pleased with the thought. “It could work out. A daring game. I can’t be near Maximus at the wrong time, especially when he realizes that the African troops are marching alongside Theodosius, and not with his side as promised.”

  “There are always risks. But once the battle begins, you can rightly say that you must command your troops in order to change sides at the right time. With this excuse, you’ll be out of his reach and under our protection. Nobody requires you to lead the assault on Maximus himself. Everyone is doing his part. It doesn’t have to be yours.”

  Theodosius clapped his hands and nodded pleased toward Richomer. “An excellent thought – if our friend Gaudentius takes on the burden of this special task. It’s not without risks, you said that yourself. But it could bring us victory, much easier than expected.”

  The Prefect seemed to consider the proposal for a few more minutes, asked a few questions, but Richomer seemed to have planned well in advance. In the end, they came to the understanding that they would do as discussed. They even had a suitable battlefield with good positions for the remaining riflemen from von Geeren’s infantry company. When Gaudentius said goodbye, they were all confident. The Prefect promised to reach out to Italy and see if he could get in touch with Maximus quickly.

  After the Prefect had gone, von Geeren looked compellingly at Richomer. “Sinking Maximus’ troops out to sea would be dishonorable. To defeat the army by betrayal and vice, wouldn’t?”