Secundus and Claudia exchanged a look. Secundus knew nothing; Claudia was informed. It was dawning on her now. Then she too started crying.
Centurion Secundus was helpless for the first time in his life. His superior howled. The woman with the child howled. His girlfriend – he had justified hopes! – howled. Then the baby started it too.
He stood there for a moment, perplexed, confused and felt the other visitors to the market watching the strange spectacle with a mixture of emotion and incomprehension.
He cleared his throat, glimpsed toward the small tavern he had actually chosen for a cozy meeting with Claudia, with its winding taproom, where one could sit well unobserved. The landlord was waiting for him, keeping a particularly nice spot free.
It would be tight sitting, more than expected.
Secundus thought practically. He pushed the weeping band ahead of him, and everyone allowed him to.
Good to have a cool-headed centurion around, Secundus thought amused, and was pleased to see Claudia cling to him and offering everything she had to show.
A centurion took care of things.
And he did.
15
Ravenna was a hectic city. Soldiers were everywhere, and there was a lot of tension tangible in the metropolis. Despite this situation, the coastal sailor from the east was able to proceed without problems. The legionaries who entered the ship were mostly looking for people who had symptoms of the plague. No one was found on this ship, although Godegisel was subjected to a particularly intensive assessment. His scars, however, were easily recognizable as such – far too obvious, as the young man still found – and finally left undisturbed.
The crossing had been quiet and uneventful. Godegisel had to work hard, was one of the first to get up in the morning and was one of the last to find rest He had been in the small kitchen all day, preparing food for the crew, as well as serving the passengers who had paid for it. The coastal sailor was a larger ship with a crew of twelve men and again so many passengers. Even those who initially preferred to eat their supplies had, over time, joined the queue of those who wanted to enjoy Godegisel’s preparations. They were simple meals, but Clodius had taught the Goth a few things about seasoning and the right balance of ingredients that now proved extremely helpful.
Godegisel was very busy, and that was a good thing. It scared away the troubling thoughts, focused his mind. He lay down to rest after sunset, when the sailor had anchored somewhere close to the coast, and he fell asleep immediately, so very tired. The work and the fresh air also strengthened his body. The weakness was gone, he felt invigorated and as strong as before.
When they reached Ravenna, the Captain offered him another wage for the rest of the summer and a subsequent employment in his brother’s tavern, where he also worked during the winter months. Godegisel thankfully declined the friendly offer, cashed his narrow pay and left the ship with the best wishes of a well-fed crew.
Strange how things sometimes evolved, the Goth thought. He had lived his life as a nobleman, as a warrior, then had become an assassin, a bodyguard, a charcoal worker, an ambassador, a carter and a cook. It seemed that fate wasn’t yet ready to decide in which direction his life had to develop. And with every step Godegisel understood that, in spite of all the dangers and setbacks, a great variety of possibilities opened up to him, and that there were many ways that promised happiness and contentment. In almost everything he had done, there was joy and satisfaction, even in his failed mission as a diplomat by his own people. Understanding did not help him make a conscious decision about his future path, but it filled him with great curiosity as to what further opportunities he would have. He was aware that he would eventually get tired, and the need to find peace sometimes felt overpowering. Restlessness was not something he had been born with; it was the product of his previous destiny, to which he had often reluctantly surrendered.
As he entered the grounds of Ravenna and his eyes wandered along the moored ships, at once looking for another passage, this time toward Africa, he sensed that he was free.
Here and now, he thought, he was free to decide where to go. He could accept another job offer. He was able to travel to Gaul and convince a certain woman that he wasn’t a liar. He was able to return to the Goths and begin a life of honor. He was able to travel to Africa and join Rheinberg and the Emperor again.
He closed his eyes.
Freedom was good. But sometimes it was a burden, too. Making decisions was so much easier when God pushed you one way. But here, in the port of Ravenna, Godegisel was abandoned by the feeling of predestination, and for the first time he really felt what it was like to be free.
He opened his eyes.
Of course that wasn’t true. He had imposed rules on himself, a morality, an obligation, several even. He wouldn’t be himself anymore if he wiped them off like a dirty tunic. Godegisel took a deep breath.
Therefore …
He found lodging in a tavern frequented by sailors looking for a new assignment. The price was acceptable, and Godegisel had little personal belongings, apart from his clothes and a modest supply of cash, so he didn’t mind sharing the dorm with three other men. When he entered the room and the innkeeper showed him his bed, a bad stench of alcohol came to meet him. Two of the other residents were snoring in their beds and had obviously spent the last night turning the remains of their cash into liquid. The innkeeper looked relaxed, not only because everyone paid for the accommodation in advance, but also because the said fluid surely came from his amphorae.
Even otherwise, the innkeeper was a helpful man. When Godegisel asked him about the possibilities to travel to Africa, he shook his head sadly. “Most ships are at sea, young man. The grain sails from Africa are on the way, but only a few come here. However, there is a way to make the passage, if that’s not too much for you. Maximus builds his fleet, also here in Ravenna, and they are looking for seamen to help to carry the legions to Africa. You can sign up for the armed forces or hire as a civilian; they are currently taking everyone. I can tell you where to report. But hurry up. The rumors say the departure is imminent. The time-wanderer is gone with his magic ships, now they wait only for the rest of the fleet to be available. Maximus confiscates every suitable vessel. One more reason why you currently can’t get a civilian salary. The war fleet is your only chance when you’re in a hurry.”
Godegisel thanked for the information and marched this same evening to the specified address. The recruiters were still operating, evidently in the urge to hold out as long as possible, to catch every willing one that could be put into service. Godegisel had heard that the ban on forced recruitment, which had still been issued under Gratian, was maintained by Maximus. It was interesting that apparently not everything was seemed to be evil what Rheinberg had introduced, even in the eyes of those who had made it their mission to destroy him.
The Goth didn’t feel well at the thought of hiring into the fleet that was sailing against those whose supporter he was. It was unlikely that anyone would spot him – the scars and his still emaciated form camouflaged him far better than any disguise could do –, but the feeling was strange. He would have to settle quickly after their arrival in Africa and to seek contact with Rheinberg’s troops. Maybe he even learned something worth reporting, then the trip was not such a disturbing move and could bring benefits.
Godegisel frowned. The thought had something. Cook last, before that producing charcoal – and now a spy?
He was obviously on it again. Godegisel was pretty sure the Lord was having a good time with this young man. He hoped that at some point it would all make sense to him.
It didn’t take half an hour until he had the job. The next morning, he had to report to the port, where he was expected to work on a requisitioned transport galley, as oarsman and cook primarily, but to be ready to work as a loader and for any other activity for which the foreman would see him fit. The reward was scanty – there was food, lodging and a ridiculously small sum –, but with that he bou
ght his passage. The contract was for the crossing and a subsequent return to relocate troops to Italy, but given the meager wages, Godegisel had absolutely no guilty conscience about abandoning the task after the first half of the contract.
Well, since he had made the contract with the enemy, that wasn’t a moral issue anyway. He would like to work again if it came to bringing back the victorious legionaries of Theodosius. Godegisel, however, secretly hoped that it would no longer be necessary for him to row.
A small reward, he found, he had already earned.
Godegisel went back to the tavern, ate a simple but affordable dinner, declined the offer of beer or even time-wanderer-brandy thankfully – to the apparent displeasure of the tavern’s master, who probably, with his mixed calculation, didn’t make the expected profit out of Godegisel – and went to bed early.
The conversations he listened to in the tavern while eating were a reflection of a rather depressed mood. Obviously, not everyone was happy that the time-wanderers had left Ravenna. Many missed the new economic opportunities offered by the city’s strange visitors. Those who considered the future had some hopes for the reforms that Gratian would begin and which Maximus would only partially pursue. The civil war also met with fear and displeasure. The times were hard enough. The crops have been bad for years. The supply situation, especially for the major cities, was tense. And now the divided Empire had to feed two armies, which in the course of their battles brought trade and agriculture to a standstill. Everyone wanted an end to the war. The problem was that many hoped for peace at any price. If Maximus won, there would be a kind of peace too.
Godegisel had a slightly more differentiated view. But he was careful not to get involved in one of the conversations. He finished his meal and retired early.
At night, he was awakened only briefly by his roommates, with whom the landlord apparently had more luck.
After his meager breakfast the next morning, Godegisel left the tavern early. As he walked along the harbor, he saw a great coastal sailor, not unlike the ship on which he himself had traveled, entering the basin. It had to either have anchored nearby during the night, or the captain had actually used the starry night to orient themselves along the coastal beacons to Ravenna. Usually, captains preferred to interrupt the journey at night, but some daredevils – and those who knew waters and shores from years of experience – continued their trip even in the dark. The authorities knew this, they didn’t like it, not least because a ship that maneuvered during the night was able to transport smuggled goods without any problem. Fees and taxes were high, especially in times of war, and for many too high.
The ship reached the quay. Dockers, not used to the early bustle, began to line up on the wharf with grumpy faces, ready to unload the newcomer.
Then shouting, a different kind of hustle and bustle.
“Leave me alone! Let me go!”
The loud shouting of a man from the deck of the ship. Everyone was curiously focused on the spectacle. In the corner of his eyes, Godegisel noticed two harbor guards approaching, swords on their belts. He decided to take a few steps back. It smelled like trouble, and he couldn’t use any now.
“I have … keep away! Asshole!”
A man wriggled himself out of the grip of two sailors, knocking one of the henchmen against his chest, then leaped over the railing to the nearby shore, a mighty jump. The dockers backed away and made rude remarks.
The man looked around hurriedly.
The two harbor guards were approaching.
“Take him!” the Captain roared from the railing of his ship. “Don’t let him escape!”
The two harbor guards attacked with courage. There was a fight. The man resisted doggedly. A worker, a mountain of a man, now approached to put an end to the matter. He grabbed the furious one by the collar, but the clothes didn’t do what was expected of them. There was an ugly scratching, then the tunic was only in shreds in his fists.
Suddenly, it was very quiet.
The fight was as soon over as it had begun.
Godegisel leaned forward, feeling sudden sweat on his forehead.
The man, now shirtless, stood trembling, trying to cover the evidence with his hands.
“It’s just a mistake,” he sobbed. “It’s just a mistake!” He looked around him imploringly. “I’m fine!”
Then silence.
Godegisel saw the workers and soldiers gain distance, forming a circle around the miserable bundle of a human. He heard shouts and orders and remarks full of fear.
There was no doubt.
The plague had arrived in Italy.
16
Von Klasewitz poured another cup of wine. This wasn’t the thin piss drunk by the ordinary citizen, the legionary, and all the others who were no longer disturbed by the acetic taste. This was an excellent drop delivered from Greece, a treat that lived up to the highest standards. Von Klasewitz had never been a true wine connoisseur, but since he had arrived in this time, he had taken a liking to this drink. And since he was Magister Militium, he made sure that only the best wines found their way into his throat. He was not always able to gauge whether the promised quality was really that outstanding; he simply had never developed the palate for it. So he relied on the one criterion that remained at the end for any ignoramus – the price. The wine couldn’t be expensive enough. Based on the reaction of his guests, which he sometimes invited to his assigned villa, this strategy was consistently successful.
Petronius, the priest, was by no means averse to this form of pleasure. He ate in moderation, as von Klasewitz had already discovered, although the meals the new Magister served met the highest standards. Whatever they needed, the German went by the motto that everything good also had to be expensive. But drinking was the passion of Petronius, and here it was specifically wine. In contrast to the German, who occasionally tasted strong liquor, now that it was widely available, the priest continued to favor the Roman’s traditional favorite drink. Even today, on this warm summer evening, he softly clicked his tongue as he put down the goblet and closed his eyes dreamily.
“Really a wonderful treat, Magister. You maintain a good cellar.”
“No effort is too great for my honorable guests,” von Klasewitz lied convincingly and raised the little decanter that stood between them on the side table. They lay at table alone, even the ever-present servants had been sent away at the request of Petronius. Von Klasewitz was curious. By then he had guessed that this wasn’t a courtesy visit. Wine might enhance Petronius’ joy in his task, but it wasn’t the reason for his presence.
“Another cup?”
“I can hardly refuse,” Petronius replied, watching with satisfaction, as the red liquid filled his goblet with a gentle gurgling sound.
“How is the venerable Ambrosius? I’ve heard that he’s back in Milan,” von Klasewitz continued the conversation.
Petronius sighed. “He’s here and there, always on the move, entrusted with the highest tasks. A restless man, workaholic, I mean. He sleeps little, doesn’t eat well, works late into the night.”
“These are hard times that demand the utmost from every Roman.”
“That’s just too true. We all need to reach our limits to serve the Empire and secure its future.” Petronius raised the goblet. “All the more precious are those few minutes of retreat and relaxation. A rare refreshment and one from which Ambrosius refrains too often.”
“If all this is over, there should be opportunity to rest.”
“Yes? Are you sure?” Petronius pursed his lips before continuing. “Securing the Empire is a big task, which certainly involves more than just getting Theodosius out of the way.”
“Many challenges are imminent,” von Klasewitz replied vaguely.
“Not everyone will see it that way,” Petronius said now, straightening himself up slightly. “The Church is still worried about the future. There are many problems. Not only must the Empire be strong, but above all strong in its union with the true faith.”
> Von Klasewitz nodded thoughtfully. It was the same story that Petronius and the Bishop kept popping up with, and as far as he could follow that line of argument, he didn’t mind Ambrosius’ plans to eradicate Arians and make Catholic Orthodoxy a state church. But the constant repetition of the issue became annoying. Maximus was a convinced Trinitarian and allowed the orthodoxy free reign in their ever stronger pursuit of heresy. What did Petronius want more?
“The Magister Militium is a key player in this struggle,” Petronius went on. “Your word has weight. Your power is considerable. ”
“I serve the Emperor with all faith and conscientiousness,” von Klasewitz intoned, which he had so often repeated that he had to pull himself together each time so that it didn’t sound stale and empty. That was probably because it was with him as with any person with ambition: Once you have reached a position, the satisfaction was short-lived. Soon one glances at the next step on the ladder. And if there was no higher position – in this case it was Emperor in the end –, then all that remained was to seek greater fame, greater fortune, each time a little more, more satisfying, even more liberating but then again only to represent a position from which one strove for even more.
Von Klasewitz was quite aware of this fact. He had become accustomed to the position of the Magister Militium. And he was aware that he was still only a servant. An exalted servant, sure, but no more than that.
To admit this was nothing that pleased him.
“Of course, of course,” the priest hurried to reply, and it didn’t sound more convincing. “Nevertheless, we want to be prepared for the emergency. The Empire needs continuity at its peak, stability, but also willpower, a clear political direction both internally and externally. Assertiveness, a clear line based on the unbreakable and sacred alliance between state and church. That’s how we’re going to fulfill God’s will, I’m sure of that.”
The Emperor's Men: Emperor Page 8