The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising

by Dirk van den Boom

  “This thing with Latius …” the NCO mused.

  “… I don’t like the smell of it.”

  “There is more not to like.”

  “No, no, you get me wrong. I think we should have been more concerned about the matter. Neumann, while you have been considering great policy issues, Behrens and I have moved through the streets in the evening. Many people in Adulis can talk Greek because it is a trading hub. In the taverns, we asked quite innocently for Latius. He was, after all, an important businessman and only in second as a diplomat.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “Nothing definite, so we didn’t bother anyone. Latius was probably considered to be a trustworthy business partner. But there was one thing that made us listen up: Someone told us that the business interests of the Roman were not always consistent with those of the officials here.”

  “Any details?”

  Köhler raised his shoulders. “Unfortunately, no. But who are the officials in Adulis? This is especially the Governor! If he is the one with whom Latius has crossed the line, I can only take the story of his regret and serious concern for finding the murderer half as seriously.”

  Neumann nodded thoughtfully. “If there’s something in it, we should consider it.” He sighed. “Of course we don’t need to do anything about it now – but we should check back on our return to Adulis. Perhaps with support of the court …”

  “I’m saying it because I’ve heard that Latius had good contacts at court, and spent several weeks in the palace every summer. We may be confronted with the murder story again. In fact, we may be the ones who bring this news to the Emperor.”

  Neumann could only respect Köhler’s practical intelligence. He put a hand on the shoulder of the bullish man and sank back into the sight of the clear starry sky.

  There were many issues to think about.

  14

  “There are a good five thousand men. More than five thousand actually.”

  “This is probably only a modest unit for the Huns.”

  Volkert lay on the heights of a hill and stared down into the plain. It was cool but dry, and the weather was clear. One could see far. The camp of the Huns, from this distance, looked like a single creature, a distant clutter, in which subtleties couldn’t be precisely determined. Beside Volkert, Secundus lay on his stomach. The Decurion had excellent eyes. He had made the estimate.

  The German looked left and right. Hidden in bushes and behind trees, more men crouched. There were not only Roman soldiers, but three of the German infantrymen had joined the scouting command. And, as he could see, they had, of course, oversized binoculars, with which they could make out the details of the Hunnish camp. As soon as they had withdrawn, one would certainly learn more from the observations of the army soldiers than even the sharp-eyed Secundus could contribute.

  Volkert wanted a pair of binoculars now. Optical machinery, he knew, was on the long list of Engineer Dahms – a list that they probably wouldn’t work off for years. It was by no means impossible to have the craftmanship and the tools required to grind optical glasses, and to produce at least crude lenses, preferably to be used in telescopes, as they were quite common in the seventeenth century. But as urgent as such an instrument was for military purposes, it was not very high on the list of priorities, and as long as the time-wanderers had a number of these wonderful instruments at hand, there was no immediate need.

  Still, Volkert would’ve liked to have one now.

  He regarded the billowing mass of warriors standing between their horses and tents as a threat, which was all the more dangerous because of the fact that this feeling of threat was apparent even despite the vast distance between them.

  “We’re retreating,” Secundus hissed, and they slid backwards on their bellies down the hillside, rising when they were no longer in line of sight, then ran to the horses. The scouting troop consisted of thirty men. Volkert still made sure to stay apart from the Germans. On the other hand, they would most probably not recognize him anymore – in Roman uniform, with a beard and weathered, and certainly not being expected. They climbed on their animals and disappeared toward the common camp of the Roman and their allies. The ride lasted about an hour, then they were called by the advance guards. Only a few minutes later, they joined Luvico and Sedacius, who were already expecting their report impatiently. Fortunately, the Centurion took over the talking, so that Volkert could keep himself in the background. Tightly hung in a frame was a large parchment, sketched on it a very rough map, which a soldier now began to supplement, according to the reports received. Through that they got a pretty accurate picture about the strength of the opponent. Volkert’s estimation was correct, they had to deal with a good five and a half thousand warriors.

  Finally, the Tribune nodded and looked at the son of the King. Volkert had only met him rarely but had gained a positive impression from discussions. The man looked at them pensively, and once he spoke he used frugal gestures.

  “We’ll start, as soon as possible.” Sedacius stepped beside the map. “The Huns seem to be preparing for something. It may also be that they rest, for we have heard that they have burned two villages not far from here. The time-wanderers have discovered a delimited area in the enemy camp where slaves are held, mainly women and children. This is a good opportunity to catch the entire enemy force in one place.”

  He pointed to the nearby hillside on which Volkert had hid a few hours ago. “From here, the Germans have a good field of fire for their miracle-weapons. We need to coordinate our attack so that we can drive the Huns straight into the Iron Fire.”

  Volkert nodded. If a mass of cavalry men rode into the concerted fire of the machine guns, both the bloodletting and the psychological effect would be considerable. Thus, the Goths had been broken before Thessaloniki, but with the difference that most of the work at that time had been done by the guns of the Saarbrücken.

  But these were fewer opponents. And they were certainly not prepared for the kind of surprise they would encounter soon.

  “We’re going to attack from here,” Sedacius explained. “The enemy will meet us, as the Huns normally do. In this way, they have to cross the plain in this direction …” He pointed to an angle with his finger, obliquely in direction of the group of hills. “With this, the riders enter directly into the target range of the time-wanderers. Once they have done their part, we will do the rest the good traditional way.”

  Sedacius looked around. No one had to offer a comment, so the Tribune continued in explaining his plans.

  “We are inferior in numbers, and we cannot overcome the cavalry of the Huns directly, as the reports of past battles indicate. I’m not a cruel person and appreciate a good horse like any of us – but we have to shoot the animals so that the Huns can’t use their tactics with the archers like normally. The central advantage of our opponent is the combination of speed with the use of a perfectly controlled remote weapon, the arc fired from the animal’s back. If we diminish a vital component of this equation, the Hunnish warrior is still a determined fighter, but far more likely to be hurt and overpowered than before.” Sedacius turned to the present representative of the German troops, who had listened to him in silence. This was mainly due to the fact that he was surely still struggling with the understanding of Latin. Volkert resisted the urge to translate into German to make sure it had been understood. Sedacius had spoken slowly and tried to demonstrate his plan on the map.

  The infantryman nodded, and hopefully not only out of embarrassment.

  “Good,” the Tribune concluded. “Once the guns have done their part, we are attacking in two closed formations. We have no time to combine our troops to a well-functioning army, therefore our allies and the Romans will operate according to a common plan but separately. The legionaries will leave their horses behind and march into the weakened Huns in a closed formation. In close combat without horses, the enemies are vulnerable and can be beaten. The time-wanderers give us fire protection until shortly befo
re the battle commences. Our allies remain on horseback and attack from here …” Sedacius showed something on the map. “They are pushing the Huns to the positions of the German weapons, so that they can choose their targets with care. I expect that the enemy will break at some time. It’s the task of the cavalry to drive a wedge between the Huns and their camp. We don’t want them to return to their loot. It’s our aim to liberate the slaves, as far as our allies are concerned, and to capture as many of the others alive. All loot shall also be given to our friends, with the exception of coins; they are for us.”

  Sedacius nodded to Luvico. The tribesmen, if Volkert correctly remembered what he saw of the camp, would return home richly laden. The fact that the Tribune thought only of coins, which were much easier to transport, was cleverly considered.

  “One last point,” Sedacius concluded. “I’d like to have one or two of the Hunnish leaders alive. We are here to collect information, and we need appropriate sources. Anyone who brings me a high-ranking enemy who can still talk and who is feeble enough to fear torture will receive a bonus of ten denarii. Spread this to all men. Ten and liberation from all duties for the rest of this expedition, if he is a simple legionary. Everyone should know.”

  The assembled men nodded. A small fortune and laziness upon return, that was a tempting offer. The men would eagerly look for enemies who seemed to give orders.

  “The plan is now roughly explained. Now we’ll take care of the details …”

  Volkert suppressed a groan.

  He moved on his stool and tried to concentrate further, although he felt a strong tiredness.

  The Tribune, without any sign of exhaustion, began to give each of those present exact commands.

  This session would take a very long time.

  15

  The truth wasn’t that Godegisel didn’t want to look back.

  In fact, everything in the young Goth was longing to look back. He knew Pina was standing in the doorstep of her hut, and he also knew she wasn’t crying. Someone who had grown up like this daughter of a poor man had by no means forgotten how to weep but kept it for the really important tragedies of life, and her standards were very high in that matter. If a man left for whom one had high hopes, whether justified or not, and who had sworn love to her the night before, only to announce at the same time to leave the next day …

  No, that was no reason to cry.

  It might contribute to her embittered view of her own life; it added a further nuance to the hopelessness, which she had felt after the death of her father, but tears for this man, Godegisel, a Goth, she wouldn’t shed.

  For Godegisel, this was just as well.

  He wasn’t sure if he would had gone so far as to leave Pina if tears had flowed. The warrior had been the lover of many women in his life, and at the time when his position as a nobleman had still had any value, he had been a promising candidate for marriage. But this young woman here wasn’t a foolish thing falling for a handsome fighter. She was also not a marriageable property, moved from one family to another for the purpose of forging political relations. She hadn’t been trained in singing or beautiful embroidery to please a husband of status. Pina was a working girl, her hands already scarred by the countless burns that she had endured, and her eyes weary of sleepless nights of her vigil. Her beauty, in spite of her youth, seemed to fade away already, eaten by the deprived life she had lived, a flower that faded quickly, and now that she was alone again, one that would whither even faster. Sure, she would try to keep herself above water, but she couldn’t inherit her father’s property. Her greatest protection was the seclusion of her life, the fact that for years she had done all her errands and sales for her father, and no one would miss him for some time.

  Godegisel could have offered her to go with him. He had been close to say the words a few times.

  They could have sold a lot of the belongings and the last charge of charcoal, which would have made a nice travel allowance.

  But he hadn’t said it. And Pina hadn’t asked.

  Godegisel knew why he hadn’t extended an offer like that. It had been because of fear, especially that Pina, the hopeful, the exhausted, would have been drawn, through him, into a political vortex that would have meant her death, or at least the complete disappointment of all her desires and dreams. Yes, he left her behind, but not because he didn’t want her to be with him, but because he was not sure whether he wouldn’t lead her to oblivion.

  He could have stayed easily.

  He hadn’t agreed. Pina had offered it to him several times.

  It wasn’t even that he didn’t want to take over the family business. The young man made himself familiar with many a craft and had learned a lot on his long journey, escaping from the Huns. But there was that face which made him smile in his dreams, that of Valens, the emperor of Eastern Rome, and then the body of a fat, bloated, old legionary who, without hesitation, gave his life to the old emperor, knowing that this sacrifice wouldn’t change anything. And then with certainty that Valens’ death should not remain without any meaning, God had not led him to this place so that he could now stay hidden and avoid the coming storm. Godegisel played a part, he felt that strongly, though he didn’t know exactly which one.

  Once he had played his role, he thought, he’d come back to Pina. Perhaps fulfill her dreams.

  He didn’t promise anything. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. Pina wasn’t a woman who trusted the promises of a worn out Goth. She thought practically. She didn’t cry.

  He was crying.

  Also a reason why he didn’t want to turn around.

  And so he marched a good hour through the tramps of the forest, until he came to a road that went south. He wore dry clothes that had once belonged to Pina’s father. Firm boots, a little too big, also from the possessions of the deceased, a bag filled with few supplies. He hadn’t wanted to take it, though he could have taken anything without her giving a fight.

  But he really intended to return.

  Even if the woman had perhaps already banished him from her thoughts at this moment.

  He didn’t want to forget her, he owed her so much. He felt bad.

  The tiring and monotonous march along the road didn’t improve his mood. Godegisel had already experienced a lot for his age. He had killed many people and was not proud of every fight. He remembered a Roman centurion of the bodyguard of Valens, whom he had struck down without hesitation, almost an eternity ago. He still saw his surprised face, the suddenly destroyed hope. It had been the same face as made by Belucius, also fallen for his emperor. Godegisel had obviously changed a lot in between meeting those two, who were similar to each other. The death of the centurion now appeared to him in another light. He felt something like a bad conscience. He didn’t care much for that feeling.

  But that was nothing against what he felt when Pina crept into his thoughts again.

  He would’ve almost turned around. Almost, almost, almost.

  But relentlessly, his steps led him southward, on a mission which he couldn’t explain to the woman, who now dominated his thoughts.

  The young Goth wasn’t a happy man, just a very determined one.

  He heard behind him the sound of a cart. He paused, looked around, saw a rickety vehicle with an equally shaky-looking donkey in front of it, and a bewildered figure on the driver’s seat. As ungainly as possible, he raised his arms, signaling a request.

  The cart stopped. The collapsed figure looked at him from the depths of a hooded hat, said nothing, pointed to the empty place beside him. Godegisel smiled, nodded, swung himself up and crouched as well as his host.

  He was as silent as he was helpful. For Godegisel that was just right.

  16

  The trip to Trier had been long and troublesome. During the entire journey Rheinberg had had a lot, perhaps too much time to think about everything. Because of a new outbreak of cold weather, the journey on horseback had been uncomfortable. The climate didn’t behave as the German knew it from the M
editerranean. It was cooler and drier. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that the harvest yields fell and that they were heavily dependent on deliveries from northern Africa. Rheinberg didn’t know what was wrong with the weather, but it didn’t seem completely out of the question that the unusual cold and dry climate had a connection with the decline of Rome at this time. With all its power, the Roman Empire was ultimately merely an agricultural state, and its ability to support itself depended heavily on the farmer’s performance. And so two developments coincided and mutually strengthened each other: The end of expansion and the few campaigns outside the borders slowly cut off the influx of slaves, so that the labor force diminished and the dry weather’s negative consequences on the harvest, could only be compensated for by an expansion of the cultivation areas, which wasn’t possible due to lack of population.

  Rheinberg tried to increase production by means of the gradual abolition of slavery, but this could ultimately only be accomplished by a land reform. For this, many of the big landowners were not yet ready, even those who were otherwise regarded as supporters of Gratian. Rheinberg couldn’t afford to push this unnecessarily without considering the risks. Instead, he saw an opportunity in the mechanization of agriculture. Steam power offered good possibilities, especially for comprehensive irrigation systems, as well as for the effective use of hydropower. Dahms worked day and night, opening up new areas of knowledge, which he hadn’t yet dealt with as a naval engineer. He was surrounded by an ever-growing number of clever Romans, many from Alexandria, the scientific center of the Empire. His ideas were contagious to gifted contemporaries, and he did everything to spread innovation. Dahms skillfully worked with potential, as Rheinberg found out. Where he discovered potential in his group of disciples, he encouraged it. Anyone who made suggestions for improvements, which the engineer failed to see himself due to his lack of knowledge about the already existing technologies, was highly appreciated. Collaboration in working groups was something that was new to many Romans, even those with previous education. Rheinberg merely hoped that the engineer would not be bogged down in too many projects – or that his own stamina would find its limits sooner than later. During his visit to the “German village,” he had also been able to see that the dry dock for the Saarbrücken had been completed. Putting the cruiser on keel and scratching it was one of the plans that was on Dahm’s fully overloaded desk. Rheinberg wished to have ten men of the engineer’s ability. Oh, twenty. Hundred. Archimedes had once said that if he were given a fixed point for his lever, he could lift the world. Dahms was such a lever, and here, at this point, was the point at which he came into action, although he would probably describe himself differently.