Thinking of the engineer belonged to the more pleasant subjects that roamed inside Rheinberg’s head. The burden of all those challenges was sometimes hard to bear for the young man, despite all the help he got. He was about to change history, and there were these moments when he was frightened by the scope of his plans and the boldness of his project. Rheinberg wasn’t a man who suffered permanently from self-doubt, but it was this feeling of being overburdened that sometimes made him hesitate.
Strange that he always had to think of Aurelia, the former slave girl, at such moments. Was he feeling lonely?
At the latest, every time he asked himself this question, he tried to think of something else. Rheinberg had never been raised to selflessness, but his father had imparted to him a sense of duty, and sometimes he felt beaten by it. He had self-discipline, perhaps sometimes more than was good for him. And he had duty, and so he managed to hold himself in an iron grip.
If only traveling wasn’t so exhausting and time consuming. And it was actually not that far from Ravenna to Trier.
A steam train, made of bronze … that was also on Dahms’ list.
Ah, even a hundred Dahms wouldn’t be enough, Rheinberg concluded. He needed at least a thousand.
Arriving in Trier, an unpleasant cold awaited him, which didn’t remind him of the supposedly dawning spring. The duties of a General consumed him at once. Development of new military doctrines, based on new weapons technology, was only a secondary aspect. Before the new weapons were available in sufficiently large numbers, it was of little use to deal with the preparation of handbooks. Instead, Rheinberg had to realize that in times which were relatively peaceful, the Roman army was ultimately a bureaucratic monster who threatened to drown its leader in a multitude of documents. Again, Rheinberg made parallels to the German Empire: Not only were monuments and statues greatly valued in both epochs, no, the love for extensive administration was evidently already rooted in antiquity as well. The Magister Militium had colleagues, who had noticed quickly that their superior wasn’t very happy with paperwork, and therefore only concerned him with the most important documents, but they were still more than enough to make Rheinberg quite moody.
On the third day after his return to the present capital, after a tiringly long meeting with a number of officials, who would gladly have convinced Rheinberg to meet more and longer, the General wandered without ceremony through the expansive palace of the Emperor, that was also the seat of his office.
He was looking for a document. It was about a garrison in the east, in the potential incursion area of the Huns, and he had to know something about an incident with a breakaway group of that people, which had been in this region for a while. In a report, he had found a cross-reference to another report, and to increase the confusion, it was obvious his secretary hadn’t been able find it right away. It had been a reference to the marauding Huns, which had appeared in some border regions where these warriors hadn’t been observed so far. It was late, the sun had already gone down, and Rheinberg, who had a backache from all the sitting, strolled toward the archives to use the services of the few attendants still working. On the way there, he had planned, he would stop by in the palace kitchen to take a little refreshment. In the meantime, he knew quite well which of the typical Roman dishes he liked and which he preferred to renounce.
When he entered the small dining room, in which food of the workers in this part of the palace was provided, very few guests were present. The palace was working around the clock since important decision-makers often met until late into the night, or even receptions and parties continued until the morning hours. Only the mass of bureaucrats and staff regularly went to bed, the higher ranks and their agents often worked longer.
After a short snack, Rheinberg entered the archive a few minutes later. He was almost alone in the room, and the few other guests were aware of him only from afar, with respect and distance. He couldn’t hope for an occasional chat.
Nobody “chatted” with the highest general – except maybe the Emperor.
The premises were not as large as one would have expected from a real Imperial Archive; in fact only current documents were kept here, and “current” was by no means unambiguously defined. Many older documents, so far as they were preserved, had been stored in Constantinople, or in Rome itself, but very many, if evidently no longer needed, were destroyed after some time. Parchment was often reused; for this purpose, the top layer was scraped off during processing. Still, a report from a garrison dated sometime the last year should be available, at least this was Rheinberg’s hope.
Rheinberg took a moment to find a clerk who listened to his request. It was an elderly man with a carefully groomed beard, digesting Rheinberg’s request with a head slightly turned sideways, before he frowned.
“I think it’s an interesting task for our new staff.”
Rheinberg looked critically at the old man. “I would be happy to gather the document tonight.”
The man flashed a smile. “Of course, of course. I will watch over it myself. Follow me.”
Rheinberg did as he was told. The shelves, which were often placed on top of each other, looked like square holes in the walls, into which rolled parchments could be arranged. They were often grouped together in regard to topics, marked with signposts cryptic for the German. The archive was packed densely and gloomy, only lit by occasional oil lamps, carefully placed in metal boxes or installed in niches in the walls to reduce the risk of fire.
The German wanted to remind the clerk in regard to the urgency of his order, when they approached a slender figure, who copied a document hunched over a desk.
“Aurelia,” the old man said. Rheinberg’s heart made a jump.
The young woman raised her head and looked directly into the eyes of the German.
There could be no doubt – it was his former slave!
Rheinberg sensed the way he turned red. Fortunately, this was not particularly noticeable in the generally bad lighting – at least that was his hope.
The old man looked attentively at the reaction of the two younger ones.
“I … it seems to me that …” he began.
“Yes, we know each other,” Aurelia said.
“Yes,” Rheinberg exclaimed more croakily.
The old man cleared his throat. “Well, the General here needs a document. We will look for it together. Try to remember my lessons from this morning. Then you should be able to show us the area where we will find it.”
Aurelia lowered her head. “Yes, Master.” Without taking a further look at Rheinberg, she turned and walked along the shelf wall. The two men hurried to follow her. When they reached her, Aurelia already held a bundled document, which she handed over to Rheinberg with the hint of a smile. Before this could take it, however, the hand of the scribe, who was about to examine whether the paper was in fact the one they were seeking, interrupted the gesture. For these few seconds, which he needed to unroll the parchment and to examine its content, the eyes of Aurelia and Rheinberg met.
The young man was hypnotized. He didn’t say a word. Then the scribe held out the document.
“It’s the correct one. Well done, Aurelia.”
“I … thank you,” Rheinberg said, who didn’t want to remove his gaze from the former slave. He scolded himself. She was free. Now he could … He cleared his throat. “Maybe – it’s late, and it …”
“Sure,” she replied.
He looked at her questioningly.
“You want to know whether I will accompany you to a late meal,” Aurelia said, smiling. The scribe looked at her, both in alarm and shock. Such disrespectful behavior in the presence of a high-ranking man was not only unusual for a young woman, it was also rude, even outrageous. It was clear that he didn’t know what to do first – to scold Aurelia or to apologize for her to Rheinberg. He didn’t have to choose either.
Rheinberg raised his hand and nodded toward the old man. “That will be all.”
The man understood,
muttered a farewell, and withdrew himself. Aurelia’s smile seemed to illuminate the gloom of the archive.
“Your document, master,” she pointed to the paper in Rheinberg’s hand.
He looked at it as if he was seeing it for the first time, then pushed it back into a shelf. “This can wait,” he said, still a little hoarse. Aurelia didn’t complain.
17
“Yes, I’ve heard of that.”
Neumann leaned forward. “Really?”
Their guide was an elderly man with a narrow, tanned face that had been exposed frequently and for prolonged periods to the weather. He had been a caravan leader for more than twenty years and had already directed commercial expeditions into the remotest corners of Aksum. When Neumann had heard this, his eagerness to get into conversation with the man had been spiked.
In fact, he had explained him about an Aksumite legend that didn’t exist yet. The legend of the origin of the coffee bean was told in such a way that a goat-shepherd who one day had noticed, in the Kaffa region, how his animals, after tasting a certain plant, had awakened and jumped up and down all night. This he told a monk who had followed the case and had confirmed both the existence of the plant and the invigorating effect of the coffee bean. And so coffee – the plant from the Kaffa region – was spread around the world.
As it was with legends, when exactly and who discovered the coffee plant and, above all, its stimulating effect, had been hidden in the darkness of history. Neumann knew, however, that the preparation of the bean by roasting had not started until the 15th century in the Arab world. Thus, the triumphal conquest of coffee had been initiated by the cultural history of another region.
This didn’t mean, however, that there were not those who had previously been confronted with the plant but without considering its effect.
And it seemed as if this old caravan leader was such a person. His name was Gebre, and he had patiently listened to the Greek of the physician, a language in which he himself was only somewhat conversant. But they had time to talk to each other in the tents or houses where they had been accommodated, and therefore time to find a common basis of communication. Finally, with patience, paper, pencil and his graphic talents, Neumann succeeded in describing exactly what he was looking for.
Gebre had studied the drawing intensively. Neumann had explained what color this plant had, dark green, with red fruits, and shrubby.
“I’ve never seen it myself,” the man said, holding the paper with a certain awe. It took him a moment, and then Neumann realized that the attention of the Aksumite was less on the drawing but of the paper itself. Parchment was probably known to him, albeit of low quality. But real paper, if only from a normal drawing block Neumann always took along, was, of course, unknown – not to talk of the pencil with which the doctor had drawn the sketch.
“But?” Neumann urged cautiously.
“But I’ve heard from other muleteers that they came across this plant in the highlands. Some have tried to chew them. It wasn’t very tasty.”
Neumann knew that was true.
“Others say they’ve tried to cook them in water. That wasn’t very tasty as well, but one could drink it in cold nights. Afterwards one would become more attentive to guard-duties.”
Neumann nodded. To make a simple mixture with hot water was certainly the most primitive form of processing, and the result would be less satisfactory. The next step was to roast and grind in order to achieve an experience of taste that came closest to modern enjoyment of the drink. But to do all this, it was necessary to grow and harvest sufficient amounts. The purpose of this expedition was not only to find the coffee plant but also to convince the Aksumite ruler that cultivation and sale of the coffee could prove to be highly beneficial to his empire.
In addition to the temptation of money, Neumann had prepared another argument, with which he tried to convince his distinguished interlocutor: In his luggage was the last pack of roasted coffee, which could have been found on board the Saarbrücken. The doctor had secured it in time and kept it safe, in spite of the covetous glances of others – and despite of his own withdrawal symptoms. Together with the coffee, he had also provided a small pack of sugar – although this could be replaced by another sweetener, and he expected to find milk in Aksum as well. And then he would invite the Emperor of the Aksumite Empire to a nice cup of coffee.
If that didn’t work, Neumann knew no better way.
And even if the ruler of this empire didn’t prove to be a friend of this drink, Neumann, Köhler and Behrens would at least once again enjoy a good cup of coffee after a long break.
And that was already worth something.
“That means the plant is well-known?” the Doctor said.
“No, Roman.” Gebre had never bothered to understand what Africanus differentiated from the other travelers and what these time-wanderers really were. For him, his proteges were all Romans. He knew Romans. He frequently led trade delegations to Aksum. They were there, as a rule, welcome guests. No need to know more.
Neumann had no intention of changing his somewhat one-sided view of things. Ultimately, the Germans were Romans, as Gratian had given them full civil rights.
“Some like me have heard of it or know the plant,” Gebre continued. “Just those who travel a lot. Nothing that is really exciting. Is this plant worth all this trouble?”
Neumann nodded. “As a matter of fact, it is. Whoever does this right can become very rich.”
Gebre might be old and a simple man, but the sparkle in his eyes made it clear that he knew quite well how to imagine “very rich.”
Neumann had never intended to make a secret of the potential benefit of coffee. The more they spread the word, the more likely there would be potential producers. And when the product hit the market, the market would be big enough for everyone. And the Germans would develop an excellent economic base – not to mention the good reputation that the drink would bring to them, in contrast to brandy.
Neumann concentrated again on Gebre, who still turned the paper in his hand with great fascination. He took an empty block from his backpack and put an unused pencil on it. He held it to Gebre with a smile. “Tell me, Gebre, these other caravan leaders we were talking about now, will we be able to meet some of them in Aksum?”
The journey to Aksum took no longer than a week. They rose at first sunlight and let the mules march constantly. Although sometimes stubborn, the mules were very persistent and received enough water and food during breaks, so they maintained a steady pace. The road to Aksum was quite well developed despite the differences in altitude, and the weather also played along; it was cool but remained dry and largely windless. When, at the end of the week, they saw the suburbs of the imperial capital spreading before them, Neumann realized that Aksum might not reach the size of Rome, but the imperial charm of the metropolis couldn’t be overlooked. It seemed remarkable that the city, in contrast to the great Roman settlements, had no city wall. Although the Aksumites waged wars, these took place usually far away from the capital, and Aksum itself had never been seriously threatened militarily. Neumann knew from the records that it would remain so for a while. And if the calculation turned out to be true that the export of coffee would also contribute to the prosperity of Aksum, it could even be that this empire would develop differently than in his own history. The breakdown, the long period of internal wars between different nobles, the resurrection in the Middle Ages until anewed disintegration – not everything might develop differently, but with a new economical basis perhaps one or the other event could be avoided. Perhaps it would make Aksum a powerful friend, who also needed Rome in the long-term to survive on its own. It was not good to have enemies everywhere.
For a moment Neumann remembered the position of the German Empire shortly before the departure of the Saarbrücken. He had never said it openly, but he had never been so convinced of assured victory as outcome of the “inevitable” war, unlike most other officers. Above all, and this may seem paradoxical, h
e had always had serious doubts about the massive expansion of the German Navy that the Kaiser had so favored. He was by no means certain whether the Navy would play the central role that Wilhelm II obviously attributed to it.
Well, the small cruiser Saarbrücken would certainly not make any contribution, as long as no second miracle happened.
Once arriving, the escorting letter from Adulis, as well as a corresponding letter from the Roman Emperor and the Egyptian governor, were legitimate enough to receive accommodation in the guest house of the imperial palace. Here, the load of the mules was stowed on a covered storage area. Gebre and his men said goodbye to the travelers without a major ceremony, while the caravan leader had promised Neumann to look out for those who had heard of the coffee plant. It was agreed that they should report directly to the guest house. Neumann wanted to make sure he got all the necessary information on time.
Although they were regarded as respected guests, and their importance was by no means slighted, the Aksumitic court had its own ceremonial arrangement, and the Negusa Nagast worked on a tight schedule. The governmental system of the Empire was based on the emperor, as well as on the regional chiefs, who often had a respectable degree of autonomy due to the geographical conditions. This didn’t change the fact that it was the Negusa Nagast who had the ultimate power of decision-making. Since the current Aksumite emperor was an old man who had already crossed the zenith of his abilities, it was no easier to get an appointment for an audience. In fact, it was heard that the old man usually didn’t have more than three or four hours a day in which he was seriously engaged in state affairs, and especially in the last few months the habit of sleeping had a great deal. Therefore, it took a few days to get an invitation to a formal dinner at the court. This was quite an honor, since this opportunity was normally reserved for the highest nobles and dignitaries. This would also lead to the possibility of getting rid of the presents.
The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising Page 10