The Emperor's Men: Emperor

by Dirk van den Boom

  He laughed because it had proved to be increasingly unsustainable that the two highest offices of the state were occupied by time-wanderers. Rheinberg had to leave in order to create a decent balance. This balance was all the more important as the conflict between the Empire and the Trinitarians was not over. Ambrosius had been put on the defensive with an official investigation into his role in the assassination attempt on Maximus and was currently subdued in his influence. But that wouldn’t last forever. The fact that Volkert had confirmed the Edict of Tolerance as one of his first official acts, which had only recently been suspended by Maximus, had certainly also burdened the atmosphere. After all, at least the Bishop of Rome was pragmatic enough not to oppose the new Emperor openly. This gave Volkert a respite in which he could work on all the endless list of other pressing issues he had to deal with.

  “Renna has agreed, of course,” Rheinberg muttered, looking into his goblet. He wanted to drink some more wine, but he knew that Aurelia didn’t appreciate being drunk when he got home. This had little to do with the general irritability of a pregnant woman, but more with certain principles according to which his wife sought to educate him. Since the rebukes were repeatedly relaxed by loving devotion and wise support, Rheinberg had submitted to this regime with a certain serenity. Here he was, in a sense, in the same shoes as the young Emperor, whose now quite official wife also did everything to exert a formative influence on her husband – and who obviously didn’t want to accept the title of “Empress” purely as a title of honor.

  “Renna will be a good Magister Militium,” Volkert said. “He has the experience, and he is loyal. He is respected in fleet and army alike. I’m confident that we will do good with him.”

  “There are other challenges,” Rheinberg added, and an ironic smile began to play around his lips. “What happened to Julia’s ex-husband? What was his name?”

  “Martinus Caius. When he heard that I became Emperor and Julia was to be my wife, he was hiding in the deepest hole he could find.” The amused tone of the statement barely concealed Volkert’s true feelings. The anger behind it was serious. It was Caius, after all, who almost had killed his daughter. But with Volkert in office, a different kind of response to such problems had emerged. He was no one who wanted to be characterized by blind vindictiveness.

  “I punished him hard,” Volkert explained.

  “How?”

  “He has been appointed administrative official, in a deserted Asian patch. It’s not only far away from all possible amusements, he also has to work hard. I gave him a very dutiful and pedantic supervisor. Caius now either turns a faithful and diligent servant of the Empire, or he soon will commit suicide. But I figured some honest and disciplined work would be the biggest punishment that man can suffer. Even his family thought that my decision was quite wise and didn’t protest.”

  Rheinberg smiled and bowed his head to pay respect to the Emperor for his wisdom.

  Volkert waved his hand, scratching on the sauce patch, which was only rubbed deeper into the fabric by his efforts. He sighed and gave up. Then, musing, he looked into the fire, cleared his throat, and said, “Captain, there’s a story I want to tell you.”

  Rheinberg raised his eyebrows. The undertone of the young man’s voice had turned exceptionally serious. All the lightness was gone. “If it has anything to do with your life after your desertion, forget it,” Rheinberg said. “It was my fault, and I can only ask for forgiveness.”

  “No, that’s not it. Something happened during my passage from Italy to Africa, before the battle against Maximus.”

  Rheinberg frowned. “This action with the pirates? I already heard the story.”

  “That too is not the point. It’s about what I encountered after our victory …”

  Volkert closed his mouth when someone knocked and then entered the room. Rheinberg looked up. It was Bertius, the Emperor’s servant, a former legionary who had once saved Volkert’s life, and now, when he was not serving his master with more or less diligence, enjoyed a good life at court. In any case, his belly had noticeably increased in recent months, and Rheinberg didn’t have the impression that this process would soon come to an end.

  “My Lord!” Bertius exclaimed, indicating a bow. “Sir, a messenger with a letter from the eastern border. He probably arrived here some time ago but wasn’t admitted for a long time. He insisted now and, well, you have ordered that no one who has a legitimate cause be rejected. The letter bears an official seal of the border troops. It was sent about four months ago …”

  “Will you just let him in, Bertius?” Volkert interrupted, decorating his words with a slightly angry glance. “You can finish for today. We don’t need anything anymore.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Bertius replied eagerly and, perhaps, too hastily for hiding his relief. “I’ll let the man in.”

  It was not long before the messenger arrived, a simple legionary, a man of stately stature, clutching the scroll with the letter like a weapon. He bowed deeply in front of the high gentlemen, nearly dropped to his knees, and was only made to stand up when both men specifically requested him to do so.

  “What’s your name?” Volkert asked.

  “Quintus Virilius, sir,” the man said, quite awed.

  “Why have you been sent?”

  “I was given this letter. There’s another one from my commander, explaining everything.”

  “You received a letter? From whom?”

  Virilius shrugged. “I don’t know from whom. I was on the border guard when that Hun appeared, handed over the letter, addressed to …” He glanced at them both as if he realized only now who he was talking to. “… to the time-wanderers and to Magister Militium Rheinberg.”

  Rheinberg opened the parchment, leafed through a letter from a border officer, whose content he briefly digested. The second roll, which had been inside the parchment, consisted of animal skin.

  Volkert leaned over. “Virilius, when you were given that message, was there no conversation?”

  “Nothing, sir. I immediately took it to my superior, sir. I felt it could be important.”

  Volkert nodded. He smiled weakly. The good Virilius had made a long journey to see that his light was not put under the bushel.

  “You did it right, my friend,” Rheinberg said. “You’ll return to your post and receive a letter from me for your commander, in which I will commend you. You should also receive plenty of travel money. The way is long.”

  Virilius smiled gratefully. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “You can go now.”

  The legionary bowed again before leaving the room.

  Volkert looked at the animal hide, recognized the language and the writing. “This fits in well with the story I wanted to tell you, Captain.”

  Rheinberg raised a hand and read aloud:

  “Dear sir. I hope this message will find you in good health and in full command of your destiny. I, unfortunately, cannot say so, and although I will try to postpone the inevitable, I propose that you remain alert and attentive to matters beyond your eastern borders …”

  They read the text together. It wasn’t long. It warned Rheinberg about the Huns. It informed him of the sender’s efforts to postpone an attack on the Roman Empire. The author also made it clear that the Huns suspected that Rome was so rich in spoils because he and his men couldn’t avoid pointing that fact out in order to prove their usefulness.

  The letter was signed: “Jonathan G. Hailey, First Mate, HMS King Henry, Royal Navy.”

  They looked at the fine, neat handwriting, thinking about the concise words that had been laid down without self-pity and with no prospect of help or rescue. There had been no request for support. Neither had they learned why a British sailor had landed with the Huns.

  “The same thing must have happened to them as we did,” Volkert came to the inevitable conclusion. “I met one of their men. He must have escaped the Huns.”

  Now, finally, he could tell the story of the rowing slave he ha
d discovered shortly before his death in the belly of a pirate ship – someone who addressed him in English, only to die completely exhausted shortly thereafter.

  Rheinberg listened to the details of this experience in silence. He raised the animal skin, scanned the words again and sighed.

  “What are the consequences, Emperor?”

  Volkert frowned. “For one thing, the Huns imprisoned British sailors – even though one seems to have gained their confidence enough so that he has been able to send this message –, and, secondly, that the reason for their early appearance is the presence of the same British. Third, this man, Hailey, seems to have so much influence that he can delay the big rush of the Huns, at least he believes that. Our victory over one of their larger divisions might have helped him to prevail.”

  “How long will that last? We can hardly rely on that.”

  “That’s true.”

  “There is something else to consider.”

  Volkert looked at Rheinberg attentively.

  “If a British ship – from whatever time – suffered the same fate as the Saarbrücken and the crew could get into the hands of this enemy …”

  “Which obviously didn’t have as significant consequences as our appearance here,” Volkert added.

  The Captain nodded.

  “The Huns in the East were in any case completely surprised by our weapons,” Volkert concluded, recalling his fact-finding mission, which had degenerated into a battle. “Either the British come from a time when firearms were not that widespread, or they successfully hid them from the Huns.”

  “We will not find out until we meet one of them,” Rheinberg said. “But the point I wanted to make is this: If this happened to us and an unknown British ship …”

  “Who else? And where?” Volkert completed the sentence.

  Nobody knew the answer. For the Huns, a primitive people in their view, the potential transfer of knowledge and technology wouldn’t fall on very fertile ground. The chance was great that no damage was done.

  “I’m just imagining China,” Rheinberg muttered. “I don’t know much about the history of Far Asia, but what I know is that there are developed empires with tight governmental organization. When the right constellation arises and a smart Chinese leader realizes the potential of time travelers, as Gratian and Theodosius have done, we aren’t the only ones who are changing the course of history.”

  “Provided that all that has happened to us happened to others at a similar time.”

  “The British are apparently still alive, at least for now. So they landed here around the same time. A little earlier perhaps, as they are already familiar with the Huns and one could end up as a slave to pirates. One year earlier? Maybe two?”

  Volkert frowned.

  “There can be only one reaction to this problem for us.”

  Rheinberg looked expectantly at the young Emperor.

  “We have to explore the world,” Volkert continued. “We have to send expeditions across the seas. We know our neighbors and know that either nobody has arrived there or the arrivals have gained no influence. But that doesn’t have to apply to the rest of the world. Your example worries me, Captain.”

  Rheinberg nodded, sighed softly and got up. He stretched his body.

  “Another pressing issue, Your Majesty.”

  “This job is no fun.”

  Rheinberg grinned. “I see that as an order to build an exploration fleet.”

  “And me?” Volkert asked bleakly. “I have to sit here and …”

  “Find the means,” Rheinberg said sunnily and waved to the Emperor. “Have fun. Anyway, I’ll be leaving for today.”

  Volkert looked after Rheinberg as he walked out, and decided that it was high time to finally go to bed.

  His life would prove exhausting enough, he was sure of that.

  * * *

  Clodius looked up as the big cart, accompanied by three riders, came to a stop in front of his modest dwelling. He felt a bit unsure about the unannounced visit, but as it should be he got up from his bench, stretched out his old limbs, reached for the stick, and walked slowly towards the newcomers. There were four men, if you counted the coachman, and one of them was very well-dressed, indicating that he was in the service of an important man. The other three were plain servants, but by no means run-down.

  Clodius looked questioningly at the leader of the group, then bowed his head slowly – he couldn’t do much more without much effort.

  “Greetings, gentlemen. If you are looking for the right way, I will gladly give you information!”

  “No, old man. Are you Clodius and this is your house?”

  “That’s me. You are looking for me?”

  Before Clodius could become worried, a friendly smile crossed the man’s face. He half turned and said to his companions, “We are where we are supposed to be. You can unload!”

  Clodius watched in confusion as the other three men immediately went to work and took the cover from the cart, which had been stretched over several boxes. A big cage was also visible.

  “My name is Alewar, servant to Knight and Senator Godegisel.”

  Clodius needed a moment to process the words. He had hoped to hear something from his former protégé once again, but hearing the name in connection with the words Knight and Senator came a bit unexpected. “Godegisel … so he’s fine?” he asked helplessly.

  “He has a villa not too far from here, in the settlement of the Goths. His wife and himself invite you to visit him anytime.”

  “Villa?”

  “The noble Godegisel is a man of rank and dignity, and a representative of his people to the Emperor and Senate.”

  Clodius scratched his head. This information was a bit difficult to reconcile with the Godegisel he had nurtured so that he could survive his ailment. Many others from the area had not had this luck. The last half year had been pretty tough. Clodius had been spared the disease, as he had expected. But the times weren’t easy. Many fields were not tended. The trade had come to a standstill. Clodius got along just fine, but yes, it wasn’t easy. “Then … I’ll follow this kind invitation one day …”

  “My master sends you presents as well, Clodius!” Alewar interrupted him, pointing to the boxes and cage that had been unloaded. He wandered over with the old man and opened the containers. In the cage, Clodius saw a somewhat tired-looking cock and three well-fed hens, which immediately led to a knowing smile. In the boxes were all sorts of utensils, household goods, but also food, cereals, flour, spices, some fresh fruit and vegetables. Clodius’s eyes widened as he saw his menu suddenly and radically expand in quality and quantity. Then there were matching clothes, for winter and summer, and new footwear. Alewar presented him with a particularly skillfully carved walking stick. The grip felt smooth in Clodius’s hand, as if it never had another owner.

  Clodius was overwhelmed. He lacked the words. Before he could say his thanks, Alewar brought out a smaller box he had not opened yet.

  “This gift is presented to you with special regards by my Lord,” Alewar said solemnly, and made a ceremony to open the box and reveal its contents.

  Clodius looked in, holding the air for a moment, then, shakily, he stretched out his hands and stroked the treasures offered to him. It was, as he could easily ascertain, a collection of scrolls on fine parchment, and copies of the Scriptures, some of which he already called his own, but in poorer quality. His greatest treasure, now as complete as it could be – Clodius had to get an overview – and copied by master craftsmen and, as he was now allowed to determine after rolling up, also decorated with wonderful drawings and ornaments. A treasure, a true, an immeasurably valuable, a comprehensive, an overwhelming treasure.

  The old man became very dizzy. A little awkwardly, he wiped moisture from the corner of his eye.

  “My lord gives you this too, noble Clodius,” Alewar said, handing the old man something. A bag of clicking coin, heavy and well-filled. “In addition, I should like to tell you the following:
If you feel one day no longer able to live alone in your house, you will be granted shelter and care in my lord’s mansion until the last of your days. Until then, I – or one of my comrades – will travel to you twice a year, at the beginning of spring and at the beginning of autumn, to deliver you an alimentation sent by my lord and to inquire about your well-being.” He paused for a moment, adding in an almost apologetic tone, “If that’s alright with you.”

  Clodius cleared his throat. For a moment he searched for words, feeling overwhelmed in his old days. “I’m fine with it,” he replied, his voice cracking and then he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “But did I earn all this?”

  “My lord is of this opinion.” For Alewar, that was enough to know because he didn’t say more and looked quite friendly.

  Clodius cleared his throat. “I would like to visit him. I would also like to meet his wife.”

  That was not said out of courtesy. He really meant it that way. And the servant of Godegisel seemed to interpret his words exactly the same way as he nodded. “Should you express this wish, my master gave me the order to drive you with the cart and take you along. One of my men stays in your house, stashes all presents, and guards your belongings until your return.”

  Clodius ran a hand over his hair. For a moment, he recoiled from his own zeal. “I have to pack something, it will …”

  “We have time. Do not hurry. My men are helping you. Give us only instructions, and we will faithfully carry them out.”

  Clodius saw only friendly readiness in the eyes of his visitors and relaxed. He spread his arms.