The officer who had been accompanying them cleared his throat. Then he spoke loud and clear.
“Lord, the legions are presenting the new Emperor of Rome, Thomasius, whom we all call the Tribune.”
Rheinberg stared at Thomas Volkert, who returned his gaze a little tiredly.
That was …
“But no …” Neumann whispered, aghast. “But that is …”
“Yes, dammit,” Köhler said, very softly but not quiet enough for Volkert not to hear it. A thin smile crossed the face of the former ensign and deserter. There was no anger in it, no arrogance, not even triumph or pride. Just tiredness and … calmness.
Then he leaned forward a bit and said softly in German, “Captain, we mustn’t worry about my unreasonable love interest anymore.”
Rheinberg grinned involuntarily and shook his head.
“No, Volkert, you have improved yourself.” He paused. “Or do I have to address you differently now?”
Volkert made a defensive gesture. “Most of them were quite surprised when I told them I was a former deserter of the time-wanderers. But then there was no going back anymore – not for them, and unfortunately not for me either.”
He sighed. He looked over the assembled crowd. Rheinberg followed his gaze and felt the expectation that lay upon him like a veil. There was still something to do, one last, symbolic act that would give all this legitimacy and completion.
“I didn’t care for this, Captain. I didn’t really want it.”
Rheinberg nodded and looked into the tired face of Volkert. He believed him every word.
“I know that feeling too well,” he said.
Closure and legitimacy. Rheinberg was ready for it.
He waved to his comrades and everyone did the same, knew what was expected of them.
He took a step forward and dropped to his knees.
It was time to swear allegiance to the new Emperor.
Epilogue
Godegisel stood in the familiar clearing, saw the great mills that glowed softly, and looked at the two men crouching beside the big heaps, each with a stick in one hand, a mug in the other, from which they now and then took a sip. He didn’t know if he was ignored or if the two charcoal workers hadn’t actually noticed him, but that didn’t really matter anyway. He looked at Alewar and Fridunanth, who had accompanied him on the trip to Gaul. Not even three months had passed since his appointment as a Roman knight, closely followed by his appointment as Senator for the Goths. He had moved into a house in Ravenna – again and still the capital of the united Empire – and another one assigned to him hastily in the eastern settlement area of his people. His personal retinue was small and made up of reliable men who had served his family during the great exodus. After all the experiences that Godegisel had to go through, he was reluctant to travel alone.
He stepped into the open, leading the horse by the reins.
One of the workers looked up, looked surprised, noticed the good clothes, the three horses, the swords and bows, the beautiful bridle. Something went click! in his mind, and he nudged his colleague, took off his cap, got up, and bowed.
“Lord, I greet you!” he said in a submissive voice. Godegisel just nodded.
He wasn’t here to scare people.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bother you for long, my friend. I’m looking for someone.”
The relief was immediately visible on the faces of the two men. The speaker shrugged.
“There is no one here, my Lord, far and wide. I can show you the way to the next village if you wish.”
“Thanks, I’m coming from there. I’m looking for a young woman whose father was formerly in possession of this place. Her name is Pina.”
The two men exchanged a look that Godegisel didn’t know how to interpret.
“My Lord, the government has taken the mills away from Pina, since women are not allowed to do this kind of work.”
The young Goth nodded. “These laws are being changed.”
The two men looked uncertain. “We’ve heard of that, sir. Will they take everything back from us?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Relief was visible, but Godegisel grew a little impatient.
“What happened to Pina?”
“She went to the village. She works in one of the taverns, I heard. She did … she didn’t receive a lot of money for this place.”
Now the insecurity of the men turned into a hint of fear.
“My Lord, we only operate the mills. An official snubbed her and made sure the purchase price was very low. We can’t help it,” the spokesman hurried to say, clenching his hands slightly around his cup. The stick had been dropped, wisely.
Godegisel took a deep breath. “I don’t blame anyone.”
They all knew that working in a tavern was limited only in the best case to serving the guests with food and drink. It was rather expected that the bartenders – regardless of whether they were still “girls” or not – were also busy as prostitutes.
“In the tavern, then?”
“I don’t know in which, but I heard it.”
“I thank you.”
Godegisel gave the man two small coins, which he immediately made disappear, and turned away. Minutes later, they were back on the horses and followed the forest path that led to the military road. Godegisel didn’t feel well. Of course, he should have foreseen what had happened. Had he stayed, Pina might have been spared that humiliation.
He could only hope that it was not as bad as he feared and that he could make it up. He didn’t expect Pina to greet him with open arms, but perhaps she would accept his offer – a small house, an income, not an obligation. Godegisel didn’t want to owe anything to anyone, and just as he had returned his wages and clothes to the foreman in Ravenna, he was driven by the desire to pay his debts to Pina as well.
There was something else that drove him, but he hid this deep in himself. It was a hope that could hardly be nurtured after all this time, after his reckless disappearance. But he was a human, and humans hoped.
In the first of the two taverns, they had no luck, at least they didn’t find Pina there. They were referred by the host to another establishment, and with a knowing grin that Godegisel didn’t like.
When he entered the second tavern, it was already early evening. The taproom, which contained a good dozen tables, was neatly staffed. Cervisia and wine and small cups of the brandy of the time-wanderers was served. A sign over a back door indicated that there was a small bathhouse attached. Everything smelt of brothel, and that was by no means unusual. It was usually not possible to clearly distinguish one from the other.
The clientele consisted of ordinary people from the area, many agricultural workers, a few passing wagoners, ordinary civil servants. Godegisel suspected that slaves were also served here. The Emperor had announced that slavery would be abolished at the beginning of next year. This hadn’t led to much disturbance here in the area, there were few large latifundiae and the region was sparsely populated. Each freedman should be assigned land, either here or in other regions of the Empire. There was a lot of available land, especially since the plague had raged in the East. The Emperor wanted as many fields as possible to be worked on, and he had realized that free peasants had a much greater interest in these efforts than unfree farm laborers, who usually didn’t partake much in their earnings. Godegisel wholeheartedly supported this policy of Thomasius.
The looks he got were curious but not hostile. The young Goth stood out of the crowd here, better dressed, though he was by no means intrusive in his higher social position. That he and his companion Alewar were entitled to carry weapons, was striking enough. The other man of his entourage had stayed outside with the horses.
The landlord personally didn’t hesitate to rush to the two new guests.
“What can I bring for the gentlemen? There’s another nice place over there!”
“Are you the owner of this tavern?” Godegisel asked unfriendly.
Th
e slightly fat man looked at him from under bushy eyebrows.
“Yes, sir, my name is Iavus. I’m at your service. A relaxing bath maybe?”
The wink was unmistakable. Godegisel forced a smile. “Later, maybe, good Iavus. I’m looking for a Pina who works for you here.”
The host’s expression got something lurking – and a trace of fear was also noticeable. “Pina? Are you not satisfied with her services?”
“I would like to speak to her.”
“She’s cleaning the kitchen.”
“I am going to see her.”
“Oh … no … I … I call her.”
“We’ll sit down there.”
Godegisel pointed to the table in a niche that still had two seats and where only a bearded journeyman was sitting in front of an empty cup, into which he stared, lost in thought – or drunk. He looked up as the Goths approached.
Godegisel put a coin on the table. “Drink on me, friend, but do it elsewhere.”
The bearded man didn’t ask twice, let the coin disappear and cleared the table.
Then, out of nowhere, Pina stood in front of Godegisel, who had barely sat down.
He got up immediately.
At first, it seemed as if she didn’t recognize him again. He had gained a good deal of weight, but the scars were of course recognizable forever. He had changed, there was no doubt about that.
But not enough to raise doubts. When recognition flashed in the eyes of the woman, Godegisel ventured a smile.
“I’m back,” he said.
“I see.”
“You didn’t expect it.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.”
They were silent for a moment.
Godegisel turned his head and nodded into the taproom.
“Now you work here.”
“They took everything from me. I’m just a woman.”
“I was there.”
She said nothing for a moment, her expression a bit painful.
“You’re on your way somewhere?” she asked.
“No, I’m here for you.”
The slight hint of a smile hushed over Pina’s slightly haggard face, as if she had heard something she liked but didn’t quite believe.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Much, but above all, pay a debt.”
She frowned. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I see that quite differently.”
She looked a little confused now, found no reply, so Godegisel continued.
“You don’t like working here,” he said. She nodded.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked. She nodded again.
“I’ll buy you a house wherever you want to live,” he said.
She stared at him, eyes wide, seriously disbelieving, seriously hoping but fortunately not unwilling, offended, or disapproving, as he had feared.
“Are you … going to live in this house, too?” She asked.
Godegisel swallowed the lump in his throat, which had suddenly formed.
“I … really would like to do that,” he said. He reached for her right hand, letting it slide into his hands, almost by itself.
Alewar grinned, got up and waved to the landlord. Iavus came running up to see the strange scene, a man of nobility and wealth, and a seedy coaler’s daughter, and opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, he found three solidi in his hand, handed over by Alewar, who also led his index finger to his mouth.
Iavus wasn’t stupid. He understood. He would have to find a replacement for Pina. Of course, the bitch would plunder the rich jerk and then run away, but that was his problem.
He saw the three leave the tavern and shrugged.
* * *
Neumann sat behind the newly-carpeted desk and repeatedly asked himself why the incapable cabinetmakers were always the ones who were assigned to him. Sighing, he leaned to one side and pushed the piece of wood back under the too short table leg, since he had once again removed it by a careless movement. Naval engineer Dahms watched the process with quiet amusement, then he looked devoutly at the cup in front of him. It not only steamed auspiciously out of the container, it also smelled like it had expected.
Coffee.
Not that he had made a significant contribution to that. Köhler and Behrens had dealt with the problem of coffee roasting, as soon as they all safely arrived in Ravenna, and their partially rebuilt settlement had taken possession again. The enthusiasm of their approach dealing with wild coffee beans was comparable to the energy with which they had established their first still. Dahms had wanted to give them a few tips, but after a short time he had to realize that he had more than enough of his own work on the table, and that he shouldn’t annoy the two innovators longer than necessary. And it was amazing that a short time after their first experiments this cup stood in front of him. The coffee was very, very bitter. He had sweetened it with honey, which produced a very unique aftertaste that he usually favored with tea. But sugar was very rare and expensive, and the only alternative was defrutum, a cooked grape commonly used as a sweetener, but which made nasty clots in coffee and diminished the enjoyment of drinking. So honey.
Neumann had reappeared and looked at Dahms’ cup. His eyes were a little envious. Dahms caught his eye and grinned.
“Have you had your ration today?”
Neumann grunted something. Their very limited stock of experimental coffee was already as good as used up. It would take quite some time until Aksum would deliver more. Furthermore, they had used many beans as seeds, so the yield would be greater in the future. A volunteer detachment from the Saarbrücken had taken over the sponsorship of their small plantation, had protected the plants by high hedges and walls, and visited the field regularly to cut back the shoots and loosen up the soil. The men showed a remarkable dedication and discipline in this work, so that Neumann felt the need to look after it only once a month. The dry spell was soon over anyway. From Aksum, they heard that the local cultivation had already begun, on state plantations, with really large fields and many workers. But even there, the first significant harvest was not expected before next year, and until the first major delivery arrived in Rome … After all, the great coffee roasting company of Ravenna would be ready. Köhler and Behrens had planned and built oversized, so they had been accused of hubris in their planning. Neumann found that the two men had planned wisely.
“The quackery production is running again, I’ve heard,” Dahms said, making a spectacle of taking a sip of coffee, smiling pleasantly, rolling his eyeballs delightfully. Neumann looked at the demonstration with a sour expression before answering.
“If you’re implying that I resumed the first courses at our Medical-Pharmaceutical School, that is true. I have set the curriculum for two years. Then we should have proper local doctors as graduates who deserve that name. The bigger problem is the medicines. I have to reinvent the whole chemistry here. Sometimes I don’t know where my head is.”
Dahms dismissed his friend’s complaint with a wave of his hand.
“I try the same – in mathematics, mechanics, geometry and related fields. Do you hear me whining?”
“You have coffee too.”
“The last.”
“Then you’ll cry soon too.”
Dahms frowned and then nodded slowly. “You might be right.”
He emptied the cup and set it down on the tray, which a servile spirit would soon clear. He went to the window and looked out. The lights of the Saarbrücken were easily recognizable. The cruiser was moored at its old place, and Dahms knew it would be there for long. The coal stocks were running out. The machines showed signs of failure. He would still be able to keep the cruiser functioning, but soon …
He felt Neumann step beside him and nod in the direction of the Saarbrücken’s on-board lights.
“How much longer?” he asked.
“I’ll give her a year, after that she won’t go anywhere anymore,” Dahms replied. “If we take great care of her, then may
be two. But what is a weapon worth that your enemies know to be motionless in the harbor and nowhere to be seen? Our new Emperor already spoke of a round trip in the coming year, up to Britain. And he isn’t wrong. We have to show ourselves. He has to show himself. For that the old lady is very well suited. But I’m not worried.”
He turned away and looked at Neumann.
“If we shut down the Saarbrücken for good, I’ll make an academy out of the ship, with a lot of illustrative material. Until then, our fleet building program will have come a long way. We will have many steamers, and they will all carry cannons. The oceans are ours until the technology gets around and the others catch up. But for the coming years, maybe even decades, our lead won’t diminish much. We have to use this time properly. Maybe fate has even given us the ideal Emperor for that. The young Volkert is sensible and has experienced a lot for his age. He listens to people who give him advice and is moderate. He’s not a friend of senseless wars, and he thinks a lot about the important reforms that are coming up. We just have to keep him alive, protect him and help him. Then the future doesn’t look so bad.”
Neumann nodded. “I can only agree with you. But sometimes I’m very afraid of the pile of work that lies ahead. I don’t know if we can ever handle this.”
“But we don’t have to, old friend,” Dahms replied softly, looking back at the lights of the cruiser. “None of us expects that. We do what we can to initiate things and confront as many people as possible with new knowledge and thinking. The rest – that’ll go by itself. Not always as we want it. But I don’t expect that either. After all, I’m not an emperor.”
Neumann grinned. “Neither am I … And I’m damned happy about that.”
Dahms didn’t contradict him.
* * *
“I don’t like the pomp surrounding the title.”
“Belongs to the job.”
Volkert looked down at himself, raised a hand, scratched at a sauce patch on the noble tunic. It was late evening. In the study a pleasant log fire flickered. Although both men were tired, they didn’t think about sleeping. A long day full of meetings had ended, and Rheinberg had finally declared his resignation as Magister Militium. Volkert had accepted this decision with a laughing and a crying eye – crying because he felt he was losing a trusted guide and supporter, which of course wasn’t true. Rheinberg took over the civil and military administration of the “German village,” would take the newly founded university under his wing, and, together with Neumann, Dahms and others, help organize the transfer of scientific knowledge from the future into the new present. He certainly had his hands full.
The Emperor's Men: Emperor Page 23