The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising

by Dirk van den Boom

  “What about Theodosius?” Volkert exclaimed. All eyes were directed at him. This was unpleasant.

  But the Tribune nodded approvingly. “That is the second problem. Theodosius is in Ravenna. He knows that in that other time he became an emperor of the whole realm. He has joined Gratian, but that doesn’t mean he won’t seize an opportunity that is offered to him. The problem is that many know how the other Theodosius regulated the church question. There is a strong faction in the Senate who won’t accept him as emperor. And he has no wide support in the army.”

  “Who will get the support of the time-wanderers? You?” Volkert asked.

  Again, the Tribune nodded approvingly. “The third problem. I haven’t been able to get in contact with someone at a higher place. The comrades who have escorted us to the east are loyal to Gratian. I’m not involved in the defense of the city itself, which is organized by the prefect Renna. But I need this access, urgently. That is why I’m here.”

  He now fixed his gaze on Volkert, in whom a dark, unpleasant premonition arose.

  “Centurion Thomasius, you have had a good understanding with our German comrades, and you are a very reliable and eloquent man. I need someone who can be persuasive and who is wise, not a barbarian in conversation, who can only swing the sword. In you I see the diplomat as well as the soldier. I need someone who might get in touch the time-wanderers, very carefully and discreetly. That man is you!”

  Volkert knew he was turning pale. Probably his comrades thought that this was too much of an honor for him, or that he had been formally overwhelmed by this proof of trust. In any case, the grin of Secundus and Levantus couldn’t be interpreted otherwise. But they didn’t know what was going on. How could he convince Sedacius to change this order without refusing it?

  A glance into the face of the Tribune showed him that this was certainly impossible.

  How could he carry out his task without being exposed? Volkert sighed deeply. Sedacius patted him cheerfully on his shoulder, then he continued his exposition, the content of which the young German only perceived as a mist of thoughts.

  In his head, thoughts whirled around. He faced a situation for which there was no solution. A great misfortune dawned over him.

  And then, almost as an afterthought, almost embarrassingly late, he suddenly realized that Julia lived in Ravenna.

  Thomas Volkert recognized that his life threatened to become very complicated.

  35

  There was excitement in the city. It was not openly visible but felt subliminally by everyone. Godegisel knew this atmosphere. When he had concealed himself in the Greek metropolis shortly before the attack of his people on Thessaloniki, he had noticed a similar mood. At that time, it had been stronger, almost tangible. At that time, tens of thousands of Goths had stood directly in front of the city. Now, the threat to Ravenna was more distant, somewhat diffuse, and the hopes of all who wished Gratian good luck rested on the outcome of the battle that was currently being prepared in the far north.

  Renna, who, as a military prefect, ensured that the northern Italian city became the center of a second defensive line if Gratian was to fail, tried his best to spread confidence and composure. The fact that he had only a few soldiers at his disposal, and that the contingents that came from other parts of the Empire were often very small, and that of many of those he didn’t know if they would arrive in time – all this couldn’t be concealed.

  And so the feeling of disaster was in the air. This was true not only for Ravenna itself, but also for the settlement of the time-wanderers. The increased safety precautions introduced by Magister Dahms were visible everywhere. Soldiers patrolled in the streets, and visitors were checked with meticulousness. From the chimneys of the iron ship, steam was constantly visible, as the machines were held in readiness. Two days ago, priests had gathered to a silent demonstration to show that they were happy about the prospect that the time-wanderers would get into trouble with their witchcraft. Rumors made the round that Ravenna would be spared from all calamity if only the time-wanderers were to be delivered to justice. All this posed, until now, no danger as long as the prospect was that Gratian would prevail in the battle against Maximus. If the outcome of the battle was negative, however, the agitators would certainly ensure that this kind of rumors became most handy plans of action, especially if the usurper’s troops were to approach Ravenna.

  Something Godegisel expected silently. He was the one who knew Maximilian best among the people he met, and he knew that an important aim of the war was to get to the resources, but also to the knowledge of the time-wanderers.

  What role a young Goth played in all this, he didn’t know exactly. Until then, he was a kind of informal adviser, but he didn’t fulfill a real function. He had the feeling that Dahms wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, and he should probably ask him to return to his homeland, the parts of the East now populated by the Goths.

  Godegisel didn’t ask.

  He knew that things were happening here that would determine the future of the Empire. How could he, who had accompanied the Roman Emperor Valens on his escape, now simply retreat and look unimpeded from afar how things developed? He had to be here, in the immediate vicinity, as much as he was allowed to. And since no one sent him away, he simply remained.

  That morning he repaid a debt.

  Actually, it wouldn’t have been necessary, but it was possible that the young nobleman, who had left the homeland escaping from the Huns, wasn’t the same person who was now walking along the dusty road to make up for a loss which probably no one would perceive as such. Godegisel, officially alimented by the financial resources of the time-wanderers, wore a simple but new garment, had been allowed to enjoy new sandals and wore a long knife at his waist. There were some coins in his pouch. He was allowed to rest in the canteen of the time-wanderers and slept in one of the community accommodations for factory workers – sharing a room with a foreman who usually had a night shift and therefore slept during the day.

  In his arm, Godegisel carried a bundle with his former work clothes, carefully cleaned and folded. When he entered the workshop, which he had once visited a few weeks ago, he felt a certain relief. It was not difficult for him to find the man, who had placed him here after his arrival, had paid him a small sum, and had handed him suitable clothes. The Goth had then run away with all this and had presented himself to Dahms without ever fulfilling the employment contract for which he had been paid in advance.

  The elderly man, whose muscular figure crouched behind a wide table, looked up as Godegisel entered a room that apparently was at the same time a place of administration and lodging for the foremen. The giant couldn’t remember his name, but probably remembered the face. His eyes narrowed and he stood up. He didn’t act aggressively, but also not pleased and opened his mouth.

  Godegisel was faster. He put the clean bundle on the table so the foreman could see it well. Then, in a meaningful gesture, he fetched his pouch and counted the sum which he had received as advance and added something to it.

  Then he made a bow.

  “I apologize. I deceived you. I was a stranger in the city and had to talk with the time-wanderers. In my condition, after a long journey and little food or care, I would never have been allowed in their presence. I needed your advance and your help to get access and to deliver an important message. Then many things happened and I had completely forgotten that I still have a debt to settle. I should have come here much earlier.”

  He pointed to the table. “The clothes are impeccable, I’ve only worn them for a few days. They are clean. I am paying back the whole of the advance, with a small surcharge for the annoyance I have caused you. Once again, it wasn’t any evil intention that drove me to this deception, but a necessity. This explains my actions, but I don’t apologize.”

  The older man looked at the bundle and collected the coins. Then he focused his gaze on the Goth, who was now waiting, not submissive, but also not too rash.

  “I did
n’t expect that,” the answer came slowly. “You were not the only one to take the money and not to work. But you are the first to bring it back and explain why. I have not suffered much damage. Not even now. I accept your apology. I suppose you’re no longer interested in work?”

  Godegisel nodded. “I’ll be in the service of the time-wanderers until further notice.”

  The foreman made a sweeping gesture. “We all are. Without the strange Germans, there would be no workshops, no manufacturers, no work. We are all connected to them and their mercy with our lives.”

  “Is that something bad?”

  The old man grinned. “A good question. There are some priests who find this very questionable. I see that my people do a lot of work here, and that there are almost every day new procedures and techniques that I have to address with diligent consideration so that I can produce more effectively. I don’t complain. In fact, it is usually those who mourn the old ways and the old times who whine the loudest. But I am convinced that one must not live in the past. Now is now.”

  “Not everyone thinks so.”

  “But many in this city. Most even. When the insurgents come, we will take weapons in our hands and defend the time-wanderers if this is demanded of us.”

  Godegisel concealed his surprise. He hadn’t expected the deep loyalty that came from the man’s words. And he felt the sudden urge to contradict him, even at the risk of losing the newly acquired sympathy of his counterpart.

  “The time-wanderers certainly have their merits, but they have brought unrest to the Empire,” he said almost against his will. “The revolt of Maximus wouldn’t have started if the visitors hadn’t begun to influence Roman politics.”

  The old man grinned. “Rome doesn’t work, my friend. There always would have been a reason to put an usurper on the throne. What I’ve heard of the past of the time-wanderers just confirms this. The question is not whether we can prevent insurrection and turmoil, but rather what will emerge from it: a new, more stable order in which men like me can live their day-to-day life without being constantly under arbitrariness and violence – or further chaos, decay and uncertainty?”

  “Safety is a great asset, but it is overrated.”

  “You’re a Goth, aren’t you? You should know how to appreciate safety.”

  “It is an illusion when measured objectively. Ultimately, you have to feel safe before you can get safety. If one is continually anxious, the Emperor can still reign for so long and still make wise decisions, but one will never find the peace one desires.”

  The foreman looked at Godegisel suspiciously. “A philosopher, yes?”

  The Goth shrugged. “I’ve experienced a lot. One becomes thoughtful.”

  “You are looking for a place to plant roots.”

  “Everything I have found in this respect has either been burnt or pulled out of the ground. And some was my own fault. Even the time-wanderers won’t be able to provide safety for me if I seek it in the wrong place.”

  The foreman made a helpless gesture. “I can only do what I can do. When the enemy comes, I defend what I think is best for me. What will you do in the service of the time-wanderers? Will you run away or stay and fight?”

  “I don’t run away from it, but I will not stand in the way of a storm for which I am too weak. And I believe this also applies to the strange Germans themselves. I think they have a very strong survival instinct. They will flee when it is necessary in order to have the chance to return.”

  The foreman looked thoughtful. “It can be. And it isn’t foolish.”

  Godegisel nodded. “Here are your things. I thank you for your understanding and wish you all the best, no matter how hard the storm will blow.”

  So he turned away and left.

  Outside, on the busy street, he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He didn’t know what had happened to him, something had caused him have such a discussion with a stranger. It was probably a need for him to be clear about his own position. Now he felt better, knowing that his fate was linked to that of the time-wanderers. Whatever future lay before him, it seemed clear that God had assigned him a role which he might not yet fully understand, but whose task had not yet been fulfilled.

  That there was a woman in Gaul, who probably wasn’t thinking of him anymore, was all that remained to pity.

  36

  “Now?”

  This simple question comprised everything. Rheinberg didn’t press on von Geeren, who stood motionless beside him. It was early morning, the sun was just rising, delicately cool for a summer day. The dew lay on the grass, and one felt a great peace – if one were not, like Hauptmann von Geeren, engaged in observing the battle-formation of a hostile army through binoculars.

  Maximus had acted decisively: He didn’t waste time with talking. No ambassadors appeared with threats or suggestions, no evading, no delays. When it was clear that the imperial army had approached sufficiently close, the men of the usurper had likewise broken camp on this early morning and offered Gratian battle. It was obvious that Maximus wanted a decision. Rheinberg was right, just as he was at the same time feeling uncanny. This protracted procedure was evidence of self-esteem, although Maximus, with von Klasewitz at his side, had someone who could well explain what the German infantry would be able to do on the battlefield.

  It was confidence or conscious ignorance. Or a bluff.

  The situation made it clear to Rheinberg that he was not born to be a field commander. Yes, even as captain of a ship, he deemed it necessary to play back and forth conjectures and certainties about the enemy’s intentions, calculated and analyzed, in order to either take risks or avoid them, often on the basis of insufficient information. But it was quite a different matter to command a ship than a vast army. And at sea there was wind, waves, maybe fog, but that was it. Here he was presented with a battlefield, which was relatively flat, on which there were farms, small groups of trees, one or the other hill, ditches, streams, higher and lower grass, bushes – it was …

  … it was simply making him a bit dizzy.

  Rheinberg was still able to learn a lot from Arbogast and Malobaudes. The two Generals had quickly begun to do what Rheinberg was unable to do: They read the grounds, they were thinking about the most effective battle formation, trying to get a picture of the strengths and weaknesses of the various units. Rheinberg was a silent listener. Even Gratian had more to contribute to this discussion than he himself. Since his appointment as Magister Militium, the young German officer hadn’t felt so helpless.

  There were some things about which he and von Geeren were the experts. And that was exactly what they dealt with at this moment.

  The infantry officer lowered the glasses. “As we have guessed, Jan. Bronze cannons.”

  Rheinberg nodded. In such a short time, von Klasewitz could only go the simplest way of cannon production – especially on the basis of a weaker industrial base. Iron was less suitable than bronze, if it wasn’t transformed into steel, since the latter material was more elastic and didn’t crack so quickly. For this, the bronze gun was inferior in range and penetration power.

  “How many?”

  “Lots. I haven’t seen all of them, I believe, but there are more than a dozen. More than 20, perhaps.”

  “Our friend was busy.”

  “He understands his craft, that we have to acknowledge.”

  “Drawn barrel?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Limited range and accuracy then.”

  “They’re big calibers, and when they shoot, accuracy isn’t the problem. Then they just have to keep up the fire into our general direction.”

  Rheinberg nodded. It was the same principle as the MGs they had on their side. There was no shortage of targets, and if one didn’t kill one then surely the other. “How are the cannons protected?”

  “Apparently, there is a larger squad of legionaries who are acting as guards,” von Geeren explained.

  “Can we kill the gunners from afar?”


  “Yes, but they built entrenchments, and, as expected, erected heavy iron plates beside the guns. Von Klasewitz, of course. It is not that we can simply mow them down. They are prepared for that eventuality.”

  Rheinberg nodded. It wouldn’t be good too focus on the cannons too much, as at the same time he needed firepower to fight Maximus’ main host of soldiers.

  “There’s something else,” von Geeren said. He handed Rheinberg the binoculars. “Look at the legionaries at the front on the right flank, seen from us. They are closest to us. Look at the belts and what they hold in their hands.”

  Rheinberg lifted the glass to his eye and looked through it. He had quickly found the soldiers and focused the optics. Then he was stiff for a moment, as if stirred by a very bad surprise. A few moments later he dropped the instrument. He was pale. “Hand grenades,” he murmured.

  “In fact.” Von Geeren took the binoculars from him and stowed it in the reinforced leather sheath hanging around his neck. “Klasewitz really is hardworking. A very simple construction. Half of it may not be exploding.”

  “One half is enough for me,” Rheinberg replied silently. He fixed his eyes on the positions of the infantry. They were also protected against attacks from the background by additional troops. They would be able to focus entirely on one target.

  “I must talk to Arbogast and the Emperor,” the captain finally said. “You have everything under control here.”

  “I’m just waiting for the signal.”

  Rheinberg nodded. He swung himself on his horse. His own bodyguard was already waiting for him, and accompanied him back behind the front of Gratian’s army, where the Emperor resided with his staff. When he joined them, his face was already showing that he did bring any good news. He tried to explain to the Roman officers the mode of operation of a hand grenade. Since they understood many of the basic principles of modern weapons, it was not long before the faces of Gratian, Arbogast and Malobaudes darkened with worries. Most unfortunately, Dahms’ efforts in constructing a similar weapon had not resulted in a comparable mass-production.