This would be a long evening.
21
“We are ready!”
Klasewitz looked with great satisfaction at the series of cannons, which had been arranged on massive, wooden racks in the spacious workshop. It was the pride of the artillery officer who spoke through him, less pride for the tireless effort of the numerous tradesmen who had worked under him and had suffered much.
Magnus Maximus looked at the twelve guns, which were in exact alignment, the pipes shining, and presented by their five-man crew. The men were exhausted. For days they had practiced with the unusual weapon, and the German had been an unrelenting drudger. Maximus, however, had deflected every complaint, for although he had no idea about the workings of this miraculous technology, he recognized an expert when he saw one. What kind of errors the renegade wanderer might have had, he surely was proficient in his area of expertise. And he was ready to share this knowledge.
Each of the gunnery-crews, which consisted either of loaders or shooters, was supported by a whole squad: those who were responsible for the transportation of the pieces, then two projected observers per cannon, who were to provide information for the targeting, and a group of legionaries who were supposed to take over the protection of the otherwise helpless artillery crew.
Maximus looked around. For the short time of the presentation, the work had been temporarily suspended. As soon as the Comes had taken the cannons in, and thus officially announced the inauguration of the first Roman artillery company, the production of more guns would begin immediately. The time to begin the insurrection against Emperor Gratian was drawing closer and closer, and it was his declared goal to have at least two additional companies at his disposal.
“What are the prospects?” Maximus asked quietly as the men walked slowly along the row of the pieces, as if they were examining them. “Can we do it?”
Klasewitz knew immediately what he meant. After all, this question had been asked to him before during every visit.
“Since we’ve got a certain routine and confidence in the production process, the speed of our work has increased significantly. It was the prototypes that gave us headaches for some time. Now we know how to proceed, and only minor problems remaining.”
“It would be nice if there were none at all.”
“Have all the other arrangements advanced sufficiently?”
Maximus hesitated briefly. However, the question of the German was quite justified. A lot depended on the guns, but not everything.
“Our allies in Gaul say they are ready to strike. My own legions are also well prepared. The most difficult thing now is to coordinate three events in time.”
“The murder of Gratian and the beginning of our attack and …?”
Maximus smiled. “Not quite. We will give the signal for the murder of Gratian with the beginning of our attack. But it is also clear that the death of the Emperor alone will not suffice. Rheinberg isn’t a fool, despite all of his mistakes, and he has also gathered capable officers around him. Even Gratian’s death wouldn’t prevent him from organizing an effective defense.”
Maximus stopped and looked at the nobleman.
“In our case, the hydra has two heads, which must both be cut off.”
Klasewitz nodded. “I would have liked to do it myself, but Rheinberg’s death is certainly inevitable.”
“Both of them have to be dead, and at the same time our attack has to begin,” Maximus resumed the conversation as well as their inspection. “I hope the confusion will be strong enough to give us victory. Ambrosius has promised to place the Church on our side, as far as his influence is concerned. A few public protests should be enough to show the other Generals that it is better to make me emperor rather than allowing a civil war against the expressed volition of the people.”
“I hope this plan will work.”
Maximus made a dismissive gesture. “No plan is perfect. We will be careful and make decisions once they are necessary.”
The Comes ran his hand over one of the pipes. They had arrived at the last cannon.
“These guns will help us advance to Treveri. We have heard that parts of the time-wanderer legionaries are in in the east, in search of the Hunnish host. A good opportunity to attack now. But the greatest challenge will be Ravenna. And the iron ship.”
Maximus looked penetratingly at von Klasewitz.
“Even if we put these guns in position, the iron ship will destroy us.”
The mutineer nodded. In a direct confrontation with the Saarbrücken, they wouldn’t have any chance. Even a nightly attack, as he had planned one with his mutiny, couldn’t be implemented at the moment. It was well known that the cruiser was well guarded. And the crew was loyal, as the nobleman knew from bitter experience. Not to talk of the new “Roman recruits,” who were now serving on the ship as well.
“We have to choose another way,” von Klasewitz said.
“What do you suggest?”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve come up with an idea.”
Maximus motioned to the waiting soldier to signal that the presentation had ended, and made an emphatically pleased face. Only a few moments later, hectic activity commenced in the hall. The production of more cannons was in full swing.
The Comes pulled von Klasewitz aside. “Speak!” Maximus ordered tightly.
“We will only be able to control the Saravica if we can weaken those who defend the ship so that they won’t be able to perform their duties. If no one is able to use a cannon, it’s not a threat anymore. Besides, I don’t want to damage the cruiser at all, it could be quite useful for us.”
Maximus nodded. “So?”
“We must poison the crew.”
The Comes looked on, thoughtfully. But he didn’t dismiss the idea right away. Then he mustered the traitor with an encouraging smile.
“Our agents report that the Saravica crew is fed in two ways,” von Klasewitz said. “Those who fulfill duties on land have a canteen where they are provided for, organized by the cruiser’s cook. There is also food prepared in that canteen for those who work on the ship itself. The kitchen of the ship has been largely mothballed to save fuel. Therefore, if we succeed to smuggle a proper poison into the crew’s food, we should be able to affect within one day everyone on duty. The only risk are those who either have no current duty that day or carry out tasks far away from the cruiser. But that should be a very small number.”
“It has to be a good poison,” Maximus murmured. He seemed quite impressed with the idea. “It must be relatively fast, but not effective directly, so that people are not immediately warned.”
“That’s the hurdle to take. And it would be good if people didn’t die in the end. If we want to use the Saravica, we will need the bulk of the crew, otherwise the ship will not be operational.”
“You have many wishes at once, time-wanderer.”
“Our victory is one thing, Comes, the other is to maintain the power to rule and to expand. Notwithstanding our joint rejection of the current Magister Militium, Rheinberg is correct in one aspect: The Huns represent a real danger, as does the entire big migration caused by their appearance. The Empire will need to use every means to avert this threat.”
Maximus grimaced. “One task after another. First I become emperor, then we take care of all those barbarians. Keep it up, Klasewitz. I’m going to inquire about the poison. The Picts and Scythians are good in poison. I’ll tap some sources on the other side of the wall.”
The German made a bow as the Comes turned and marched away. Von Klasewitz tried to keep his facial expressions as neutral as possible. Maximus wanted to be emperor, that was correct.
A very thin smile appeared around the mutineer’s mouth. He wasn’t the only one.
22
When Volkert awoke, he felt hot.
In front of his eyes, only shadows were visible, and it was obviously dark. When he breathed in, he felt a stinging and burning pain in his chest, which involuntarily lead to painful
cough. The pain became more and more intense, and he immediately lost consciousness.
When he woke up the second time, he recognized the contours of a person beside him. He remembered the pain and tried to breathe very shallow. It was tolerable. Then he felt a wet, cool cloth on his forehead. He relaxed involuntarily. The image in front of his eyes became clearer.
“Quiet, my friend,” a voice muttered. “Do not get excited. You’ve survived the worst.”
Volkert recognized the man. It was the medic of the German unit. He didn’t make an overly anxious impression.
“How … what …?”
The paramedic looked at Volkert comically, then leaned forward and took the wet cloth from his forehead to wring it, moisten it, and to put it back.
“A Hun got you in the chest,” he said. “You were carried from the battlefield, unconscious. We took care of you in the field-hospital. You have lost a lot of blood, but the internal bleeding was limited. You were unconscious for a long time, and you had fever, but refused to die. The good news is that I suspect you have no infection and that everything will be okay. The bad news is that you will never have the same power in your lungs like you had before. You will have to live with it.”
“Ah, shit.”
The paramedic looked at Volkert again quite strangely, then nodded.
“It will still be painful for a long time. I have hardly any drugs I could give you. Some morphine is still available. But there are other legionaries with more painful injuries, too, and I want to …”
“No problem,” Volkert groaned. It was very difficult for him to speak, and it hurt. But he had seen himself with what kind of injuries legionaries were carried off the field, still alive. If the medic was able to save some of these human lives, then surely under great pain. Volkert longed for relief. Morphine seemed to him like a promise, and he almost wanted to take his rejection back, but before he could open his mouth, he was again completely exhausted and fell into a deep slumber.
When he awoke for the third time, everything was still there: the pain, the burning, the difficult breathing – but the rest of his body felt quite good. His gaze, too, was clearer and no longer so vague. He noticed that he was lying in a building, a wooden hut, and not alone. Beside him, he realized, Bertius rested with his arm-stump. The otherwise well-nourished and healthy man had a pale face and lied motionless with his eyes closed. Volkert couldn’t see whether he was asleep. But he breathed deeply and regularly, and there was no sweat on his forehead, indicating that he wasn’t suffering from any fever. To Volkert, it seemed as if Bertius would survive.
He knew why the man was down. He remembered it very well.
He had been mutilated because Volkert had made sure that he took part in this expedition.
And he had been mutilated because he had saved the life of his Decurion.
Involuntarily, Volkert felt the need to get up, but urged himself not to. The fact that he had survived this injury was a miracle. But he knew that he owed Bertius something and that the man had done more than he had expected from him. The gratitude he felt mixed with shame. He would have to do something about that, sooner or later.
Someone stepped beside his deck. It was Secundus, his comrade, who had fought with him when the almost deadly blow had come.
“Well, Thomasius, how are you?”
“Everything sucks.”
“That sounds good. You have been lying around for long enough.”
“How long?”
“Did no one tell you? You were in delirium for seven days. We hardly got any water into you. Then the fever subsided. You’ve slept for almost another twelve hours, and now I have the order to give you water, and, if possible, a decent broth.”
Volkert suddenly realized that he felt a burning thirst. Secundus handed him a cup and supported his head with his hand. Volkert drank deliberately slow and felt almost immediately quite animated.
“What’s the situation?” he croaked.
“Oh, a lot has happened. The Huns were, of course, beaten. You saved the son of the King, which led to some interesting developments.”
“What?”
“On the one hand, Sedacius seems to have gained an external ally for his political ambitions.”
Volkert closed his eyes.
“Then there is the fact that the Tribune has promoted you to centurion.”
Volkert looked at Secundus again. “You, as well, it seems, my friend.”
The man looked at the insignia on his breastplate. “Oh, I haven’t even noticed yet! Damn it! How could this happen?”
Volkert shook his head gently.
“Sedacius is still waiting for a few days as the captured Huns are being interrogated. They will not survive as long as you. Then we leave and go home. Our Tribune has great plans, and that includes you, my friend. As soon as you’re up and kicking, he’ll talk to you.”
Volkert was not sure whether this was a good prospect or not. In the next few minutes, Secundus was busy pouring a hot broth into his friend. Although this process was associated with pain and some clumsiness, Volkert felt very comfortable after the procedure, the first time since he had awakened. The pleasant warmth of the soup spread in his body, and the part of his pain that he only now identified as being hungry disappeared. “So we’ll be back soon? Did the questioning of the Huns give us anything?”
“These are hard boys, I can tell you,” Secundus murmured. He looked down for a moment.
Volkert suspected that he had been involved in the torture and was remembering. Torture was an absolutely legitimate and normal method of obtaining information in the Roman Empire. It was used against Roman citizens as well as against external enemies. Rheinberg had begun to ask the moral question. While assisting in the abolition of slavery, and making progress quickly, the discussion about the abolition of torture had mainly caused consternation, even within the Church. Volkert was grateful not to have been entrusted with these interrogations, although he had bought this “liberation” from duties with a life-threatening injury.
“In any case, we have a clue as to where the Hunnish main force is. It is still a good distance away, but not as far as we would have guessed from the historical data of the time-wanderers. We still have a grace period, but it seems to be shorter than expected.”
“Yes, but the idea is not to let it come to this attack on our borders in the first place,” Volkert replied. “The defense at that time was only possible because of a combination of very happy circumstances, if I gathered it correctly. And the main part of the military burden hadn’t even been borne by Rome, so much the Empire had already been diminished.”
“So I’ve heard. In any case, we will continue to work the prisoners for a while, and there will be little left of them. As slaves, they will be no good, and many have not been caught anyway. They fought like the devil.”
Volkert nodded. He felt that he was slowly getting tired again, and Secundus must have noticed this too, for he put a hand on the German’s shoulder and smiled at him.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, then you should be a bit more approachable. Sedacius will be glad to be able to talk to you, maybe he will be faster than me. Oh, you didn’t have the information about your promotion from me. He wants to tell you. The King might also come along. A little ceremony at the hospital bed.”
“Tell everyone that I am dying.”
Secundus grinned, shook his head, and left the room. When he had disappeared, the paramedic came back, gave Volkert a long look before he began to care for the other wounded in the hut.
Volkert closed his eyes and tried to relax again. Damn it!
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
What a great, indescribable fool he had been!
Now the memory crawled up inside him, and he knew what he had to fear more than anything else, more than any infection.
Mentally delusional caused by pain and disorientated by feverish delirium, he had made the mistake twice, as he remembered now. Twice he had sai
d something to the paramedic.
Volkert now felt cold sweat on his forehead.
Twice in German.
23
“How very, very cute!”
That Lucia, the strict wife of the respected Roman senator Michellus, was capable of such an utterance at all, left Julia with no small surprise. When her mother clapped her fleshy hands against each other and took a step toward the crib to circle around it, she found it very hard not to shake her head. The delightful singing, Lucia elicited for the crib where the little one was supposed to sleep, consisted not only of words, but a mixture of delighted cooing and the expression of deep, even triumphant, satisfaction. The belly of her daughter, bulging, the nicely done crib, everything was confirmation that she had been able to carry out her will, and that her frustrated and frustrating daughter was finally, at last, where she belonged.
For a tiny moment, Julia allowed herself the most unfavorable imagination of how her mother would react when one day she found out whose child this actually was – or when she learned that Julia had succeeded and purged her unloved husband to live her life with the man she had chosen.
Julia forced a smile. That event hadn’t yet come. For the time being, it wasn’t advisable to destroy Lucia’s benevolence.
“It’s sooo cute,” her mother assured her with a loving voice that Julia had never noticed before. “Adorable! Simply adorable!” She looked at her pregnant daughter. “Did Martinus Caius build it?”
Julia wanted to give a harsh and contemptuous reply, but then she remembered her intention, and she forced herself to produce a polite paraphrase of reality.
“He’s very busy, mother. Since we’ve married, he has become very interested in his father’s business. He is well aware that he now has to look after a family. But he gave the carpenter exact instructions.”
Lucia made another of those cooing sounds, her broad face radiated pure happiness. She began to circle the crib again.
The sudden interest of Caius in the business of his father was, as Julia knew, only temporary, until the great load of newly arrived Greek wines had been dispatched to the cities of Gaul, and he had personally convinced himself of the high quality of the goods. Furthermore, the carpenter had received his instructions from Caius, but they had only consisted of the sentence “Do as my wife says!” Julia had a beautiful crib made for her child. She had the desire to spend the money of her husband as well and comprehensively as the situation allowed. She guessed that her future life with Thomas Volkert would be marked by deprivation. Until then, she wanted to take all the luxury offered to her, enjoying it as long at it might last.
The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising Page 14