A remarkable transformation took place with Praetus. It was the well-practiced image of the Roman bureaucrat who shifted to sudden activity. He turned around, went to the door, glanced at Godegisel, then left the room. It took less than five minutes, then a legionary took the guest along, led him up a flight of stairs. At the end of a long corridor, from which many doors went off, he was led into a large room dominated by a simple but gigantic desk. Racks on the walls were dotted with drawings and sketches, as well as the desk itself, which seemed to be buried under the weight of innumerable papers and scrolls. Godegisel knew the man behind this chaos, at least from his appearance: He had met him during the peace negotiations after the battle of Thessaloniki. It was Magister Dahms, the one who de facto ruled this settlement when Rheinberg wasn’t present. Godegisel knew that there was another high officer on board the iron ship, commanding the cruiser itself; but the organization of the new city lay on the shoulders of the man in front of him.
The time-wanderer didn’t show whether he recognized Godegisel, but the Goth had no doubt. Godegisel was assigned a stool beside a small table, then Dahms sat, wiped papers aside, and looked at the Goth.
“Praetus!” Dahms finally shouted.
The factotum stretched out its head.
“A meal and wine for my guest,” Dahms ordered.
“And for you, Master?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
Praetus’ head disappeared again.
Dahms looked at Godegisel. The Goth found the older man looking tired. Yet his gaze was attentive, even searching.
“I remember you, Godegisel,” Dahms finally said, after a servant had set a tray of bread, cheese, some fruit, and a cup of diluted wine before them.
“I know.”
“You killed Becker.”
“That’s true.”
Dahms nodded. “I’m listening. Speak.”
“I come from Britain.”
“Praetus told me this. Far from the settlements of your people, Godegisel.”
The young nobleman took a piece of fruit and held it undecided in his hands.
“I don’t know where …”
“At the beginning.”
Godegisel looked confused at Dahms.
“Start at the beginning. I feel like you have an exciting story for me. And eat. It doesn’t bother me.”
Godegisel nodded slowly.
And then he told his story, from the beginning. Master Dahms didn’t interrupt him even once.
20
Mehadeyis, Negusa Nagast of Aksum, King of Kings, was an old man and wouldn’t last much longer. Neumann estimated him at the end of his fifties, which in these times was indeed a most blessed age. The Emperor of Aksum had once been a very handsome and powerful man. Underneath his gown, uncovered arms protruded, and although they were now knotted and frail, they gave a hint of how muscular they had once been. For his old age, the Negusa Nagast sat remarkably straight. He rested on his throne and looked into the large auditorium. In front of him, a long table-top lay, without feet, directly on the floor. He resided at one of its brows. The plate offered enough space for about 40 guests sitting directly on the flat and carpet-covered ground. To the right and left of him were warriors. They weren’t purely ceremonial guards. They watched the incoming guests closely, especially when they approached the Negusa in a long line, to bow down before him and receive the greeting of their sovereign.
Mehadeyis would only be able to work relatively short periods of the day, and he didn’t seem to be particularly active or strong this evening. But Neumann didn’t miss the fact that the monarch looked at each of his guests. He spoke little and rarely moved, but knew exactly what was happening around him. Since the whole ceremony of salutation took a good half an hour, it was clear that the Emperor intended to get over it while exerting as little energy as possible.
He was wide awake, however, once Africanus stood before him to present the delegation. He listened patiently to the introductory words of the Roman officer, then opened his mouth to a reply. When he spoke, in a low but steady voice, there was silence in the room. Everyone wanted to know what the Emperor had to say to the somewhat strange visitor.
“I greet the time-wanderers,” the Emperor said.
Neumann bowed deeply. Apparently, the Negusa was well-informed.
“I’ve heard very strange stories about you,” Mehadeyis added. “Some say you are demons or worse, if that seems possible.”
Neumann dared to look up but said nothing. They had agreed that Africanus would speak for them.
“Strange they are, sir,” Africanus replied. He and the Emperor conversed with each other in Greek, which the old man mastered perfectly. “But I cannot confirm that they are demons. It is, however, difficult even for them to explain how they came to us at all.”
“I can imagine that,” the Negusa said with a gentle smile.
“I don’t think everyone in Rome knows even now. In regard to many questions, there is no agreement among the learned.”
Mehadeyis looked at Africanus with a slight expression of doubt. “You speak openly about the inner turmoil in Rome, dear guest.”
“You are well informed anyway, I suppose,” Africanus replied. “Why should I lie to you, then?”
“Indeed, we hear a lot.”
“Much of it won’t please you as much, as it doesn’t please me.”
“Quite possible. But this also depends on why the time-wanderers thought it necessary to make a long journey to Aksum. Now it suddenly concerns me a lot.” The old man’s gaze rested on Neumann and Köhler, who stood directly behind Africanus.
“We’re bringing gifts.”
“Of course you bring gifts,” the Emperor said with a deprecating movement of his hand. “Everyone is giving me presents. And everyone wants something for it. A princess here, a position for a righteous man, a posting for the son, the cousin, the brother. This auditorium is like a market square, Roman. And I’m not sure whether the favor that I am expected to do is worth the gifts I’m given. I’m usually pulled across the table in these matters, I believe.” The old Emperor grinned. For a second, he looked so young that the many years seemed to fall from him.
Africanus smiled back. “This will not be the case with us. The favor you can give us will benefit you as much as it will benefit us.”
“Ah, is that so? And who exactly is us?”
“The Aksumite Empire and the Roman Empire.”
“A noble answer worthy of a Roman officer. Allow me to suppose that for me as well as for you personally, some additional profit is probable.”
Africanus bowed his head. “Oh yes, noble Negusa. Additional rewards are most welcome.”
“Most? I am old. My greatest pleasure is to get up in the morning and not feel pain for a few minutes before the tortures of the day begin. The highlight is when I can piss without problems.”
“There’s something we have for you.”
“Bring it then.”
Of course, all this was discussed in front of the courtiers. Two officials had carefully observed how Köhler, with ceremonial seriousness, had prepared the coffee brought along in the kitchen of the palace. And then they had tasted. Their faces were absolutely immovable, so Köhler couldn’t even guess how the drink affected them. But they were still alive, which was the most important thing.
Africanus waved. Behrens had taken over the job of the waiter. He stepped forward with a tray, on which stood two steaming, earthen cups of coffee, one with milk and sugar, the other black.
The Aksumite emperor leaned a little forward and looked suspiciously at the drink. “I’m not sure if that’s too helpful. For a long time I have only be able to taste very spicy food, the rest …”
Neumann nodded. It was known to him that the feeling of taste diminished with age and tended to react only to extremes. He had added four spoonfuls of sugar.
“This variant is natural, without any additions,” the doctor said politely.
“The black one?”
“Yes. The other contains milk and is sweetened. Strongly sweetened.”
The Aksumite emperor smiled broadly, and exposed darkened teeth with large gaps. “I like sweets, wanderers!”
Without further hesitation, he took the cup with the milk coffee, gently blew on the steaming drink, and took a deep sip.
Everyone in the hall looked at him curiously.
He took another sip, then another. He rolled the coffee in his mouth, closing his eyes. After another ten seconds, he had emptied the cup.
He opened his eyes, set the container down, and looked at the second cup. He took it, drank again, and though he obviously didn’t quite enjoy it as much, the Negusa Nagast obviously had every intention of carefully investigating the whole matter.
Then, after he also dropped the second cup empty and Behrens, with a mischievous grin, bowed like a good servant, the Emperor took a deep breath and looked at Neumann. “I feel animated, wanderer.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. This is indeed the most important effect of this drink. Many don’t like the bitter taste of the pure form, but there is a remedy, as you’ve seen. Everyone appreciates its quality as a means to stay awake. Those who work a lot at night, such as your guards, will find the ordinary drink very helpful in preserving their own attention.”
The Emperor nodded. “I think I understand very well the value of the drink. Well, why is it a matter you have to bring to my attention? I should sleep less?”
Neumann cleared his throat. “In our time, however difficult this concept may be, this beverage is widely known as coffee. It is ultimately a bean-shaped plant growing on shrubs. It is planted in various parts of the world, including the country, which is called Ethiopia in our time and is currently known as Aksum.”
The Negusa’s eyes narrowed.
“Tell me,” he replied softly. “In your time, so far in the future – and yes, I can only try to understand this miracle –: How is my country?”
Neumann had only superficially dealt with the history of Ethiopia. He knew that the Aksumite empire was slowly collapsing from the 7th century onwards, and that it wasn’t until the twelfth century that the Empire of Ethiopia was reborn. Then followed a very changeful history, with civil wars as well as phases of great unity. He didn’t want to go into too much detail here.
“At the time when we were sent here, Emperor Melenik II ruled over the Empire.”
Mehadeyis tilted his head. “He is a direct descendant of mine?” Neumann hesitated for a moment, but saw no great purpose in lying.
“He’s assuming that officially, yes. The direct succession, however, goes back only to Menelik I, who will be the first Emperor of what will be named Ethiopia in about 600 years from now.”
The Negusa Nagast smiled. “It’s quite neat, this time-traveling.”
Neumann smiled as well. “There are only a few royal houses, noble Majesty, which can be traced back to such a long and illustrious line like the one in Ethiopia.” He didn’t mention that the Ethiopian emperors had been marionettes of strong and mutually warring noblemen for long periods of time.
“We must talk about it in peace,” the Emperor said, which Neumann had secretly feared. The historical documents that Rheinberg had presented in his private library had been very sparse on this subject. He knew very little and might not be able to answer the Emperor’s questions.
“Well, I’ve forced you to digress,” Mehadeyis said again. “We talked about this plant – coffee is it’s name?”
“In our time it is known that your Empire is probably the place of origin of this plant.”
“Aksum?”
“As a matter of fact. We assume that we’ll find the wild form of the plant in the Aksumitic highlands.”
The Emperor nodded. “And once we found them, what then?” Neumann’s Greek was not perfect, but he had been listening carefully. The Aksumite ruler had said “we.”
“It would be to our advantage, if Aksum could decide to plant the wild beans in plantations and export the harvest. We are hoping for a joint project, as our goal is to make this drink popular in Rome and thus to make money. While Aksum would receive a sum of that money for cultivating and harvesting, we would organize further processing in Rome.”
“Would you?” Mehadeyis’ expression suddenly had something lurking. “Now let’s assume, my Roman friends, that a bag of the coffee you have processed costs a golden denar. Only as a basis of calculation, just an assumption.”
Neumann suspected where the Emperor wanted to go. He smiled and nodded.
“And how much of this denar would arrive in Aksum once a Roman citizen bought this bag of beans on the market? Let me reckon. There would be transportation costs, which would surely come to book. And the cost of processing – which looks exactly like what?”
“Essentially it’s the roasting of the bean and the subsequent grinding.”
“Like flour?”
“Yes, quite comparable.”
“Good, so to roast and grind. The transportation. Then maybe costs involved in order to make the drink popular, yes? And I suppose the distribution in the Empire would be added. But then there would be the possible profit by selling the product to other countries. The Persians may also like the drink.”
The Persians will love coffee, the Doctor thought, but said nothing. He tilted his head.
“I understand where you’re aiming at, your Majesty.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Look, no matter what agreement we are going to make, no one can and will prevent Aksum from roasting and grinding the coffee itself. The procedure is not particularly mysterious, even if we wouldn’t explain it to you, there are enough intelligent people in your realm who might find out quite soon by eager trial and error. And there will be enough traders who would be willing to buy the roasted coffee directly from the source. Since the coffee comes from your realm – it grows and flourishes and is harvested here – Rome cannot claim any monopoly. We are at best able to be the first and to gain a significant position in the trade before the competition arises. It’s about an early start for a new business opportunity, if you want to see it like that. But it will never be a monopoly.”
Mehadeyis nodded, leaned back on his throne, and closed his eyes thoughtfully. “So what are we going to do now?” he asked into the silence.
“We ask for your permission to look for coffee. Or at least your assurance to look yourself for this plant and then consider the cultivation. Furthermore, a trade agreement between Aksum and Rome, with a purchasing guarantee. The price could be negotiated. We will, of course, start with small quantities. We also have to experiment with further processing. Our knowledge is only theoretical.”
Neumann stretched. He felt that he had been very tense, almost cramped all along. Diplomacy strained his muscles.
“But the basic prerequisite is to find the plant.”
Mehadeyis opened his eyes again. “I’ll think about it, time-wanderers. Perhaps we will come to an agreement.” Then he leaned forward and clapped his hands. “Let us dine!”
Neumann took a step back and pointed to the gifts that the staff had built up in a corner of the room. “Your Majesty, we …”
The Emperor pointed to a still young, vigorously built man. “My good Ouazebas, please take care of it.”
When that name fell, Neumann turned around involuntarily. The only information he had had was an incomplete and questionable list of the Aksumite rulers, from which he had ascertained that the tall and self-assured nobleman who had now stepped forward and stood before the ruler would indeed become the next emperor. The governor of Adulis, of course, was very certain of this succession, since he had made a valuable gift expressedly reserved for this man. It was therefore important to secure the benevolence of Ouazebas, especially if a long-term trade relationship was to be established.
Neumann gestured toward the man. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The heir apparent presented a wide smile. His tone, however, was som
ewhat sarcastic. “That pleases me. I’m sure Berhan of Adulis had only good things to say about me.”
The Doctor hesitated. Evidently, the relationship between Berhan and the future emperor was not quite as heartfelt as the Governor had wanted to make them believe. “In any case, nothing negative has come to our attention. All spoke of you with the highest praise.”
Ouazebas smiled wider. “This is also advisable, as everyone seems to expect that I will be Negusa Nagast.”
“What do you mean, my friend?” the Emperor interrupted. “I am old. I cannot drink nearly enough of this coffee to live a lot longer.”
Ouazebas bowed before the Negusa. “Lord, you are in good health and not so old yet. There is still a long and blessed rule before you.”
“Ah, that’s adorable,” Mehadeyis replied, laughing. “You have been chosen with wisdom.”
“I serve you.”
“And to my satisfaction. After the meal, the gifts. You know my taste. Take the rest. Put the goods into the magazine. Notwithstanding my suspicious nature, it is clear that the Emperor of Aksum has absolutely no objection to amass a certain wealth.”
“Your Majesty, I’ll get at it immediately.”
The Emperor nodded contentedly and clapped his hands. “Let’s do it! Enough of trade and politics! I am hungry, and you are all as well.”
Hectic activity broke out. All the guests sat at the table, on which gigantic, flat bowls were placed. Distributed on these plates and similar containers were all sorts of food, which was taken using soft bread and eaten. Servants hurried around. In honor of the guests, Roman wine was served, all of which consumed with obvious enjoyment. Conversation filled the hall, which soon included the Roman delegation. As the first round of the wide plates slowly emptied, there were already servants with more food ready.
Neumann sighed softly, which, as he had learned, was not considered as particularly rude. He knew why he had called the training session the night before.
The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising Page 13