The Emperor's Men: Emperor

by Dirk van den Boom

  This time, according to von Klasewitz, the man was indeed passionate about it. He came to his point now. The German smiled and nodded in agreement. Petronius should talk. This promised to be very interesting.

  “You’ve come a long way, dear friend,” the priest said.

  “Not least with the help of the Church.”

  “It’s good that you remember that.”

  “You yourself do not tire to emphasize this fact.”

  Petronius narrowed his eyes slightly but then nodded. “There is a reason, Magister. We have big plans for you.”

  “We?”

  “The Bishop and myself. The community of true believers and patriots.”

  Von Klasewitz looked at his empty goblet and decided against another drink. He was pretty sure it would be better to refrain from alcohol until this conversation ended.

  “Big, Petronius?” he said slowly. “I’m supreme commander of the legions. The Empire doesn’t offer much more power to a mortal. Any further reward is otherworldly, and here you may be able to make promises, but it will ultimately remain in the hands of the Lord.”

  “That reward is more than certain to you,” Petronius hastened to say. “You should not worry about that.”

  “Very kind,” von Klasewitz muttered. “What are we talking about then?”

  “The purple, what else?”

  The German showed surprisingly great self-restraint. The emotion he felt was a mixture of joy, surprise and disbelief. It couldn’t be that the plans of others were so wonderfully aligned to his own! One almost wanted to speak of divine providence! Von Klasewitz sighed softly. That’s how you felt when you were a Chosen One.

  Damn, he could get used to that!

  He looked at Petronius and formulated his words with great care. “Maximus is a respectable man full of godliness. He will certainly look for a suitable successor when things have developed as desired. I’m not sure his choice will affect me.”

  Petronius waved his hand. “Maybe his election is not the key here.”

  “So what?”

  “Your choice, Magister. How will you decide?”

  That was indeed the central question, and the answer would determine whether the priest’s implicit offer was serious or a trap to test his loyalty. The sudden distrust that von Klasewitz now felt was in sharp contrast to the brief euphoria he had just enjoyed.

  But he hadn’t come this far without taking risks.

  “If the church sees me as a worthy tool to achieve its highest goals, I will never refuse to heed the call,” he replied, and was very pleased with himself. He had put the problem back in Petronius’s lap.

  The priest smiled again, this time deep and showing a tiny trace of relief. He seemed to be hoping for that answer, actually counted on it.

  “It’s good. We understand each other. The time will come when the call will be made to all men who are strong in faith and in the Church.”

  “That’s where I belong to,” the German insisted.

  “I agree with that. For some, following the call will mean little effort and hardly a personal risk. Others, however, will have to come forward to write history.”

  The traitor understood very well what that meant. He tried not to look too triumphant. Etiquette demanded humility, that was part of the game.

  Petronius nodded toward von Klasewitz. “And now, dear friend, I’d like to have another cup of your excellent wine.”

  17

  Rheinberg had to get used to many things throughout his life. The exhausting and sometimes degrading training in the Navy. The cramped living conditions on a ship. The constant conceit of his noble comrades, the implications of the life his sister chose. A childhood that had suffered greatly under rigidity and discipline, the inability to fulfill his true dream of life. In any case, Rheinberg had become tougher, at least insofar as he was now in a position to meet challenges without being overwhelmed by them. There were always situations that he encountered with perplexity, sometimes with desperation, but never for long. Rheinberg, as he saw himself, was someone who in the end always landed on his feet.

  On the basis of this philosophy, he also calmly accepted that Aurelia, the lady of his heart, vomited with devotion every morning, and then had an angry thunderstorm inflicted on her husband, who was ultimately responsible for all this.

  Aurelia’s accusing eloquence targeted at him was mostly about the fact that he was putting the good of the Empire above her private happiness. She didn’t mention the fact that his cautious stalling tactics regarding his own offspring had been thwarted by producing facts by herself – a task in which Aurelia had been at least as passionately involved as himself, of course including a good deal of calculation.

  Forgotten was also the small but very beautiful ceremony with which Rheinberg and Aurelia had officially joined into the marriage a few days ago, with the Emperor as witness, the presence of numerous other notables, with a long-lasting and chosen meal followed by many congratulations and gifts. Rheinberg remembered that moment when Aurelia leaned over the container next to her bedstead to empty the contents of her stomach with loud moans interrupted by still louder curses. He remembered her cheeks, flushed with excitement and pride, and the pleased, honored gleam of her eyes as Theodosius presented her with a wonderful tiara, studded with jewels, carefully chiseled by an artisan hand, a jewel in whose presence other women showed all recognizable signs of burning envy – a reaction that, as Rheinberg found, only furthered Aurelia’s enjoyment.

  Well, all of this, lively as it was that morning in front of Jan Rheinberg’s mental eye, seemed to have been forgotten, at least by his wife, and he couldn’t even blame her. Of course, there were also experienced midwives here in Africa, who described the circumstances of a pregnancy to Aurelia in not a few details, but these descriptions didn’t really help. Of course, Aurelia was quite of the opinion that her husband had to stay by her side at this time, where other women in this state subtly retreated into their own rooms – especially when the said husband was involved in planning a decisive battle for the continuity of the Empire and the rule of his Emperor, the same who had presented her with this beautiful jewelry …

  No, Aurelia didn’t tend to be too subtle.

  Rheinberg watched her take a clean cloth and wipe her mouth before sitting up in bed, groaning and looking at him. The pungent odor of the vomit spread – as every morning – in the warm air of the dawning sun day and spoiled, as every morning, Rheinberg’s appetite for breakfast. That was quite befitting, because Aurelia couldn’t eat anything anyway after such an attack and considered every attempt by her husband to take in food with about the same joy as Rheinberg watched Aurelia giving it back to the Gods.

  After all, he was sure, as he smiled affably at his wife and patted her hand, there was something like divine justice. He was ready to endure this, not least because of his affection for the stinking suffragette beside him, but nevertheless, he allowed himself the hope that this stage of child production would soon be over. After all, he had asserted himself that Aurelia would not accompany him to the battlefield. Instead, she remained in Hadrumentum, living in the captain’s cabin of the Saarbrücken, undoubtedly the safest place in the entire Empire.

  Today he would leave for Mactaris again, and this time he would stay there. Many of the troops had already been transferred. In Hadrumentum, there was nothing left for him to do.

  “Honey, how are you?” Rheinberg asked the most superfluous question in the world. The look in response only confirmed the quality of his inquiry, and he decided, perhaps for the better, to say nothing more.

  An hour later, they sat on a balcony of their residence at a richly covered breakfast table. There was the usual food – baked bread with cheese, honey and eggs, milk as a drink. Rheinberg had developed a special passion for moretum, a herbal curd, with which he covered the flatbread generously, then stuffed the resulting composition half-curled into his mouth. Wheat bread was also abundant, but Rheinberg preferred the bakery pro
ducts made from spelt, since together with the curd the bread produced a very pleasant flavor. Aurelia, too, seemed by now to be anxious to resupply, and with the slaves clearing the bowl of vomit and the air on the balcony fresh in the morning, her husband’s appetite returned.

  The breakfast was conducted in complete silence. Both knew that the goodbyes were coming, and also knew that there was a good chance that they would never meet again.

  Rheinberg sighed and put the half-eaten bread patties aside. He looked at his wife until she noticed his glance. She also stopped and looked her husband in the eye. There was no snippy remark on her lips. She knew Rheinberg well enough to know that he had a serious topic on his mind.

  “Jan?”

  “Aurelia, I made arrangements,” he said. He didn’t want to sound too depressing, so full of ominous forebodings, but it surely came out like that. Aurelia didn’t seem to be alarmed, but the worry in her expression was unmistakable.

  “Which kind of?”

  “If the luck of war turns against me and I should either be captured or killed, you need not worry.”

  That sounded a bit awkward, as Rheinberg considered.

  Aurelia frowned at him. That any imprisonment would lead to his death only with some delay was a safe assumption. He had become a symbolic figure, an incarnation of those aspects of the time-wanderers that Maximus was opposed to. And von Klasewitz would also have great pleasure in a proper execution. Rheinberg wasn’t sure if he would muster the courage to throw himself into a sword. He probably lacked that discipline. Someone would have to help.

  The gloomy thoughts were undoubtedly visible on his face.

  “What arrangements?” she asked softly.

  “The Saarbrücken will run immediately, should they receive information about our defeat. The cruiser will try to find a safe haven in the East. Modestus will help you to disappear, maybe somewhere in Greece. There is money available, even loyal servants. You mustn’t reveal yourself, but you will not lack anything.”

  Aurelia looked a little surprised, as if she had not expected her husband to plan so far ahead and calculate with this kind of eventuality. She was silent for a few minutes, swallowing several times – more often than the food in her mouth made necessary –, and finally said, “Just come back alive. If we have to hide together, I’m fine.”

  Rheinberg nodded. “I want to do my best. I’m not anxious to find an early end.”

  “I’d like you to wake up at night and clean our child when it’s full of shit. It would be annoying to have to take care of it alone.”

  “Aren’t there nannies?” Rheinberg asked, quite aware that this argument, even in the event that he would return safe, wouldn’t count.

  Aurelia shook her head indulgently.

  “No, beloved man. I think parents should take care of these things. And not just the mother. Once you have won, maybe there is more time for such unimportant matters … however annoying they may be for you.”

  Rheinberg grinned. “I think if that’s the prize for my victory, I’ll gladly pay it.”

  “Let’s wait and see.”

  They finished the breakfast. Rheinberg rose when Richomer entered her quarters.

  “Magister, we have to leave.”

  “One more moment, General.”

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  Aurelia looked after the man, then she could no longer suppress a sigh. She let herself be engulfed by Rheinberg’s arms, hugged him for a moment with almost desperate effort, and then released him abruptly. “Go. Victory. Stay in one piece. Come back.”

  With that she turned around, paid no further attention to him, and disappeared in the adjacent bathroom. Rheinberg looked at her for a moment and wanted to say something else, but it seemed his wife had decided that it was enough for him to simply carry out her instructions.

  He thought about it for a moment, then took his helmet and cloak.

  Those orders didn’t sound so bad.

  That’s the way he would do it.

  18

  The plan was simple.

  When Salius and his men – both official and unofficial – entered the big steamship to embark for Africa, he looked around contentedly. At the edge of his vision, he had seen a clumsy woman help the last of the food on board. Salius controlled himself. A smile would have betrayed him, as currently the mood was generally rather depressed. To be forced to live cramped for days on the narrow ship was not something the legionaries greatly appreciated. The weather conditions might also hurt many a soldier who had never gone to sea before. Although they were happy to be transported on one of the three giants of the Mediterranean – the shipwrights of the time-wanderers had a far better reputation than the latter –, that only made the prospect marginally better.

  Salius didn’t blame the men. But if all went well, their suffering would become even more unbearable than they had imagined, and an absolutely weakened and incapacitated force would arrive in Africa. Since these were the elite troops of the Maximus – his bodyguard, the artillery crews, and their security forces –, this would be a heavy blow to the usurper, which would not be easy to deal with. Once they arrived in Africa, Salius would see how he could send a message to Theodosius informing them of this not inconsiderable tactical advantage. Then all that remained was to kill von Klasewitz, to finally sow confusion and fear into the ranks of the enemy. In fact, Salius found that the crossing itself might have been an opportunity to do so, especially since he and Screpius had landed on the same ship as the new Magister Militium.

  Salius stood by the rail and pretended to be critical of the soldiers’ embarkation. In fact, his gaze sought the figure of Flavia, who now stood with many other servants on the shore with nothing to do but attend the departure. Apart from a number of sailors who were not in the direct service of the military, no civilians would be taken along, and no one cared. Salius saw Flavia looking at the railing herself with a searching look, then she recognized him, and she waved furtively. Salius ignored it. But it was clear that Flavia had brought the poisoned food aboard.

  Not everything had been poisoned. About three quarters of the supplies on the three large steamers had been provided with the special additions provided by Flavia, and Salius knew the markings in order to locate them very well. He wouldn’t suffer from severe nausea, vomiting diarrhea, and persistent weakness, like some others who were just lucky. Many would initially think of the symptoms as effects of seasickness, but very soon, the realization that it was something far worse would prevail. The few legionaries who were unaffected would be just enough to supply their comrades and keep the ships on course.

  Salius braced himself. Gold had changed hands, a promise of amnesty, a prospect of further missions to be conducted in those spheres that, even with forbearance, could only be described as “gray.” Flavia had proved to be very willing, especially as the alternative would have been to be extradited to the authorities by Screpius. Which he would’ve never done, because it would endanger his own camouflage – which again was not what they’d told Flavia. Ultimately, they were dependent on each other. And Flavia had done a great job.

  Salius, too, if everything worked out.

  He had originally intended to put everything in the balance, as he and Screpius, as well as two other of his “unofficial” men, had all been stationed on the ship, where the Magister Militium would also make the journey. It had been his plan to make an attack on the man in order to bring unrest to the troops and cut off an important head. But Flavia’s emergence had opened other possibilities for them, and only once was the effect of this attack was to be fully realized was he prepared to think of any further steps.

  The first coup was a sure thing, and with some luck von Klasewitz would also consume the poisoned food and endure a thoroughly horrible trip. Maybe he puked himself to death. That would be a very elegant solution to their problem.

  The three big transport ships set off. There were already about twenty other galleys and sailors waiting for them at the
anchorage off Ravenna, at least as long as the weather was helpful. Should there be headwinds or rough seas, the three big vehicles would quickly leave the escorts behind.

  The steam engines were an attraction. As a pastime, the Trierarch let spectators into the engine room, only five at a time, and for no longer than ten minutes. This offer was very interesting. Salius also pretended to be inspired by the bronze monster in the heart of the ship. He had to stay in the role. No one could even guess that he had once rescued the iron cruiser from mutineers lead by von Klasewitz, fighting aboard the Saarbrücken. He knew the strange ship almost as well as the Roman crew members who had subsequently been hired to fill vacancies.

  The weather was fine, a peaceful, sunny day, with a light breeze. The mood on board was good, better than expected. The outbreak of the plague in Ravenna had been a major deterrent, and Salius had to admit that he also had to deal with some worry. It was one thing to fight an opponent with a weapon in the hand. Although this opponent might be feared and of great skill, there was a chance, always at least a small chance, to win. It was much larger than fighting an unseen enemy one could only surrender to without the ability to really measure his powers. Salius didn’t mind putting himself into the hands of God – he would in the end anyway –, but this helplessness over a serious, deadly illness also took its toll on his self-confidence. All the soldiers had been thoroughly searched, all had to shave their hair so as not to provide nesting grounds for fleas; any kind of animal, especially dogs, had been banished from the jetty, the already stringent hygiene measures were once again tightened. Patrols had intensively hunted for rats. The crew of the coastal sailor who had brought the infected man to Ravenna was immediately arrested and isolated. Salius didn’t know what had become of them. If there were infections there too, the authorities would keep them secret in order to avoid a mass panic. The mood was irritable enough.