The Master of Time: Roads to Moscow: Book Three

by David Wingrove

  I do not know why Kolya could possibly be here, for unlike Reichenau, he seems indifferent to history, focused as he is on his own personal timeline. But this is where Katerina told me to be.

  We scout around, noting all manner of anomalies with the history that we’re familiar with. The Roman forces, for a start, are far larger than they were, with whole phalanxes of auxiliaries that weren’t there originally. Some, I note, are Cossacks, ‘survivors’ of the burning of Baturin, I would guess. And that, more than anything, convinces me that this isn’t Kolya’s work at all. This has Reichenau’s thumbprint all over it. And then, as if to confirm that, we spot the unmistakable figure of the man himself, there in Publius Quinctilius Varus’ tent.

  Svetov wants to go in at once and take Reichenau out, only I stop him. Finding Katerina and my girls is my number one priority, killing Reichenau a distant second. Besides, Reichenau isn’t going anywhere without a power source for his focus.

  Leaving Svetov to keep an eye on Reichenau, Ernst and I begin a search of the encampment, jumping in and out of time to keep from being seen.

  I am beginning to despair of ever finding anything, when Urte joins me to tell me that they have located Katerina. Urte takes my hand and jumps, to where she is, there among the slaves in the Romans’ baggage train.

  Seeing me there, my darling’s face crumbles and she begins to sob. As I take her in my arms I close my eyes, for this moment is too wonderful to be real. To find her finally, even in this fashion, unwashed and chained to a wagon, twelve centuries before her time, is a kind of ecstasy. Yet it also breaks my heart. What suffering she must have undergone. What torment.

  And yet she’s here, unharmed – or so it seems.

  ‘Otto …’

  I hold her to me fiercely, kissing her brow. ‘I’m here, my love.’

  Only the news she gives me breaks my heart again, for they have been taken from her. Our girls. Taken by Reichenau and secreted away, somewhere in time.

  I stand back, letting Urte cut the chains from her, then hold her again while she sobs, letting her grieve. But what I feel now is a cold anger. That and a need to kill the bastard.

  ‘And Kolya?’ I ask quietly.

  Katerina looks at me, meeting my eyes, her own eyes red, her face blotched, her hair like a rat’s nest. But still beautiful. Still my darling girl.

  ‘Reichenau stole us from him. He—’

  Only she cannot say any more. It is just too painful. I squeeze her gently, kissing her cheek, aware more moment by moment of the smell of her. It must be weeks since she last washed and the humiliation of that is clearly getting to her.

  I call Urte to me. ‘Heat up some water. Or steal some, if not. She can’t …’

  But Urte’s hand on my arm stops me. ‘We’ll see to her, Otto. Make sure she’s fine.’

  I smile my gratitude, then turn back to Katerina.

  ‘We’ll find them,’ I say. ‘I promise you we will.’

  But there’s a more pressing matter. We can’t let the Romans take her back again, so I organise for a team of agents to come and guard where we are, dressed in the cloaks of the praetorian guard. They are there in an instant, forming an armed circle about us fifty metres across.

  Urte brings water and scented soap and shampoo for Katerina’s hair, and while she washes away the grime, I gently ask her what transpired, knowing how much it hurts her to repeat this tale.

  ‘Where he took us I can’t say. A wilderness, it seemed. There we were guarded by what he called “his brothers”. I don’t know how long we stayed there. Weeks. At first we were treated all right. Only then he began to take them from me. Natalya first, then Irina and Anna. Losing Martha was the worst, for I was not given the chance to say goodbye. I woke one morning to find her gone, leaving only baby Zarah.’

  She takes a long, shivering breath, then starts again, a faint tremor to her voice.

  ‘They let me keep Zarah … for a while, I think as a way of making me behave. But when Kolya started moving me through time, Zarah was taken from me – she was quite literally torn from me. I fought to keep her. But it was no good. He’s much too strong … emotionally.’

  I go to speak, but she gently puts a finger to my lips.

  ‘And that was it. The last I saw of them. Maybe … a year, eighteen months ago? Since then …’

  Only she doesn’t say what. Saying as much as she has has drained her emotionally. She turns to me, then pulls the smock up over her head.

  ‘Wash me, Otto. Make me clean again.’

  401

  Back in Moscow Central, I sit at her bedside as she sleeps, my hand in hers, listening to the soft sound of her breathing, watching those lovely breasts of hers rise and fall beneath the cloth, drinking in the sight of her.

  Now that she’s been returned to me, I feel even more acutely just how much I’m missing them. My kinder, my darling daughters. If I had known what had happened to them …

  If I had known – if I had seen it with these eyes – I would have moved heaven and earth, and all alternative earths, to get them back. Or tried. Only it’s not that simple. Hecht would not have allowed it for a start.

  Does Kolya still have them? Or are they dead?

  Maybe. Only I’m not to think of it.

  Back in the Teutoberg Forest, Ernst is trying to find out where Reichenau has gone, and what he’s doing right now. Still meddling, no doubt, but even he must know he can’t go on like this. No, thinking about it I realise that he needs to make some bold move if he’s to survive. To grab what isn’t his and change the game. To give him back the edge he had.

  For a trapped man is a dangerous man. And Reichenau, without his platform, is trapped.

  Urte joins me, taking a seat across from me. She’s quiet for a while, then—

  ‘I didn’t understand at first …’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not until I saw you with her. She … means the world to you, doesn’t she?’

  ‘It didn’t make sense. Not until I met her. It was Us and Them. Rassenkampf. Aryan versus Slav. And then, suddenly, it was just Us. Me and … well, and her.’ I’m quiet for a second or two, staring down at her, then meet Urte’s eyes again. ‘Hecht didn’t understand, but you did. The women. Without you …’

  ‘We had no choice,’ she says, speaking over me. ‘We … talked about it. Out of Hecht’s hearing, naturally. Zarah and the rest of us. For you to lose her … we couldn’t let that happen. You forced our hand, Otto. It was betray Hecht or let what you had die. And we couldn’t let that happen. Only then … well, you lost her. And there was nothing we could do. Kolya … he’s not on any of our charts. He exists, yes, but isolated from it all. Or so it seems. Even when he went to see Schikaneder … well, it just didn’t register. He knows how, you see. We talked about that too. What, in all likelihood, it meant.’

  ‘And?’

  Urte shrugs. ‘And we’re still guessing. All we know is that he has his own power source. The rest of it … well, it’s like he’s some kind of magician. His ability to predict our moves. That simply isn’t normal. I mean … he shouldn’t be able.’

  ‘No.’

  And yet he does.

  We sit there in silence for a time, lost in our thoughts. And then Katerina wakes.

  ‘Better?’ I ask, squeezing her hand.

  She squeezes back, and smiles. The prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Urte’s here.’

  She half turns, then nods. ‘Otto, I …’

  I see the inner struggle in her face. Her emotions are stretched taut and thin, like wires about to snap. To have got me back but still to have them missing …

  ‘We’re going after him,’ I say.

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Reichenau. And when I have him I’m going to squeeze it out of him.’

  ‘About Kolya?’

  ‘Yes. He has to know something.’

  Only she doesn’t seem to believe that. She squeezes my hand again. ‘You should be careful, Otto. You kno
w what he’s capable of.’

  I do. But I don’t wish to dwell on that right now. The best strategy right now is to take one step at a time. Reichenau first. Just in case he knows where my darlings are being kept.

  ‘Otto?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘With me?’ Only I can’t tease her. Not so soon after I’ve got her back. And so I hand her the copper ash-leaf pendant that Hecht left for me. The same that I had made for her on our long journey upriver. Half a lifetime ago, it seems.

  ‘Come,’ I say. ‘Let’s get some clothes on you, then we’ll join Ernst. He’s been keeping an eye on Reichenau while you slept.’

  ‘You know where he is, then?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Then bring me some clothes. It’s time we gave that bastard a taste of his own medicine.’

  402

  My darling girl is a great deal harder than she was when last I saw her. There is an edge to her now that wasn’t there. That same hardness only mothers know, especially those who have been deprived of their children.

  Not that she wasn’t always a fighter. But now, as I say, there’s an edge. Place Kolya before her now and she wouldn’t hesitate to slit his throat for what he’s done. After torturing him first, of course. For to find them is the only thing that matters. Which is why she goes back. To get strong again. And to be trained up. That done, she joins me again and, taking the big laser gun Urte offers her, climbs up onto the platform.

  ‘Ready?’ she asks, looking back at us, like some warrior queen.

  ‘Ready,’ I answer her, jumping up onto the platform beside her, then turning to give Urte a hand up.

  And we jump, back to the Teutoburg Forest, where Ernst and Svetov are waiting, both of them carrying big laser rifles – the kind that can pick off a target at fifty yards. The same make as the one Katerina carries.

  ‘Any sign?’ I ask, looking about me, aware that where we are is deep inside the Roman camp, our presence hidden by a clump of pines.

  ‘He’s in there, somewhere,’ Ernst says, gesturing towards the camp.

  ‘So why are we all the way over here?’

  ‘Because this is where he came. An hour or so back. We followed him … and then suddenly he wasn’t there, like he’d jumped. We looked around, but nothing. And then, suddenly, he was back. Like he’d stepped out of thin air.’

  ‘But I thought …’

  I pause. Maybe we’ve misread the situation. Maybe he has got access to a platform. One of Kolya’s even.

  Only I don’t get a chance to rehearse any arguments, for right then trumpets begin to sound all around the Roman camp as preparations begin for the great battle that will decide the Germans’ fate.

  ‘Can we get closer?’ I ask, and Ernst organises us into a huddle … and then jumps.

  We emerge in a clearing not two hundred yards from Varus’ tent.

  ‘There,’ Svetov says, handing me his field glasses. ‘There’s the big-headed bastard.’

  And so it is. Along with Publius Quinctilius Varus and a dozen or so Roman commanders. Only we’re far too vulnerable where we are. Oh, we could jump up close and kill him, only how would that help us find where our children are? No. We must take him cleanly. Pluck his pendant from him and get him somewhere safe. Somewhere his agents couldn’t get him back from. Somewhere bleak and dark that stinks of hopelessness.

  Which is all he deserves.

  ‘What now?’ Ernst asks.

  ‘Follow him,’ I say. ‘Stick as close as you can without being seen.’

  The trumpets sound again. There’s the sound of horses neighing nervously, of swords being drawn from sheaths, to be stropped one last time. Yes, and of great phalanxes drawing up. Thousands of men who are fated by history to die. The battle will commence two hours from now, in the pouring rain, the terrain having forced the Romans to stretch their forces across almost ten miles. It will be then, when they’re at their most vulnerable, that the Germans will attack them, several miles from here and, if history rings true, will slaughter them to the last man.

  Only I don’t think that that’s what Reichenau has in his doubled mind this time around. He means the Romans to win.

  And what if they do?

  Then there’ll be no German nation, nor, it seems from Svetov’s comments, no Russian nation either, for according to our projections, the Romans will go on to conquer not only the whole of northern Europe but the Ukraine as well. Germany and Rus will never exist. Which is why, I guess, the Russians have never attempted to meddle with this portion of time.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, realising that something must be done to prevent that, ‘Ernst, stay where you are. The rest of you follow me.’

  And so we jump out of there. Only not to anywhere in the forest. No. I take my team back to Moscow Central, where, recruiting Zarah and young Saratov, I have all of us dressed up in the costumes of the time, only with brilliant golden capes, trimmed with emeralds. Then, getting the heaviest modern armaments we can find, we all jump back, only this time into the middle of Arminius’ camp.

  Our appearance out of the air causes great consternation and fear. Even so, the brave Arminius steps out from the press of savage warriors by his tent, sword in hand, to confront us.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demands, and I answer him.

  ‘We are the gods of the forest!’ And to make my point I fire off my weapon, making a great pine tree leap into the air in flames. ‘We have come to fight alongside you,’ I say, meeting Arminius’ eyes.

  Arminius stares at me in wonder for a moment, then bows low, grinning broadly. His warriors, surrounding him, do the same.

  ‘Then you are most welcome!’

  403

  This tale begins long before today, and I know some of it.

  As a youth, Armin – Hermann, to us, son of Segimer, chief of the Cherusci – was taken captive by the Romans and brought up in Rome as a hostage, along with his brother Flavus. Given the very best military education, Arminius rose to the status of Equestrian, a petty noble and servant of the empire. It was in this role, serving beneath Publius Quinctilius Varus, a minor member of the royal family, that the twenty-five-year-old took his revenge on his father’s enemies.

  Two years before this day, the Balkan territories had risen against the empire. Thirteen legions – a full half of the empire’s military strength – were sent in to put the rebellion down. Which they did, only Rome, for the first time in many years, was vulnerable, and when news came of rebellion among the German tribes, Varus was given the job of putting that rebellion down. However, owing to the troubles in the Balkans, he was given only three legions to accomplish this.

  Unknown to Varus, rumours of a German rebellion were false; were, in fact, the product of Arminius’ fertile imagination. There was indeed unrest among the German tribes, but no actual rebellion. This, it appears, was Arminius’ scheme. As trusted advisor to Varus he would lead the Roman army into unfamiliar territory and, deep in the Teutoburg Forest, fall on it and destroy it. It was a scheme he had worked on for years, secretly making peace between the German tribes, unifying them, and now – today – it would come to pass.

  And his opponent, Publius Quinctilius Varus? Varus was a cruel, unforgiving man, a hated man, known principally for his use of crucifixion to punish his enemies. But he was also a vain man who, in this instance, took the wrong advice.

  And so twenty thousand men – the pride of Rome – were marching into a trap, unaware of what they were about to face.

  Or so it was, until two days ago.

  I jumped back. Located where Reichenau made his entrance on this scene, and then watched. Saw how Varus greeted the abomination. How they roughed the doppelgehirn up, and just how close Reichenau came to being nailed up on a cross. Yes, and then saw how Varus’ disgust changed to sudden astonishment as Reichenau’s ‘legions’ – Cossacks and Russians, Turks and Vikings, and many others from the rag-bag of time – appeared among the trees surrounding
the great man’s camp. A force equal to Varus’ own, there to aid him against the rebellious German tribes.

  Which was when he learned of his trusted advisor’s plan to lead them all to the slaughter. Learned and, sending in scouts to verify the facts, confirmed Arminius’ treachery.

  As for Arminius, he fled, before Varus could lay hands on him, knowing that he faced not twenty but forty thousand, all surprise lost.

  And so it hangs. Ahead lies Kalkriese Hill, the historical site of the battle, here in Osnabruck county in what will one day be Lower Saxony. Here to witness … what? Another great Roman victory? Or can the Germans, having lost the element of surprise, having lost numerical superiority, still carry the day?

  We are there to help them. Only will six of us – even with our high-tech weaponry – be enough?

  I’m guessing that we shall. But we’re in totally uncharted territory here. What if Reichenau’s forces are enough to swing the balance? What then? Should we jump back again – and again and once more again – to change things in our favour? Or is that part of Reichenau’s scheme – to draw more and yet more of us into this one desperate fight and, by that means, cripple us?

  The truth is, this once I do not know.

  I jump back. Ernst, Urte, Katerina, Zarah and Svetov are waiting for me.

  ‘Well?’ Ernst asks. ‘Is it enough?’

  The rain has begun to fall. The same rain that did such damage to the Romans when they first fought this battle.

  ‘I think so,’ I say. Only I’m not one hundred per cent sure. Should I get reinforcements? Should I throw a force of our agents in on the Germans’ side, just to be sure? Or is that what Reichenau is counting on? For surely he must know we are here. Surely – having planned this much – he looked and saw us here.

  Only again I don’t know.

  And – the thought strikes me suddenly – what if this isn’t Reichenau’s scheme after all? What if another’s hand lies behind all this?