The Emperor's Men 4: Uprising

by Dirk van den Boom

  “So we’re tied up here and have to make the best out of the situation,” Richomer summarized. “We should evacuate as many civilians as possible from the city, to the south. If we can only win with the support of the firepower of the Saarbrücken, the city will inevitably be damaged.”

  “Many citizens don’t want to leave,” Renna interjected. “An evacuation order will add to the general displeasure.”

  “We’re going to force it through,” Richomer said, clenching his fists. “We want to save the lives of these people!”

  “They’ll say the best way to do that is to avoid battle,” Renna said gloomily. “To surrender to Maximus would finally solve all problems.”

  Dahms looked strangely at Renna for a moment. He was silent, however, as the future emperor again took the floor.

  “That is absurd,” Theodosius said. “This would jeopardize what we have achieved so far. Maximus is not incapable, but he is a fanatic. With him as emperor …”

  It was quite astonishing to hear these words from the mouth of Theodosius, especially remembering the fact that in Dahms’s past he had been given the nickname “the Great” for his efforts to establish the trinitarian state church. He didn’t differ essentially from the ambitions of the usurping Comes. However, this was no longer the same Theodosius.

  “I don’t suggest we capitulate,” Renna murmured. “But we should take Dahms’s words seriously. Rheinberg will not order to attack the city with the cannons. In fact, I rather believe that we will enter the Saarbrücken together with Theodosius, Rheinberg and send the senators gathered here to Constantinople. We stay here and try to keep Italy. We continue to the South, playing games with Maximus. Then he cannot afford to concentrate all his attention to the East, and we gain time to establish a new army over there and then take the enemy from two sides. The additional strategic advantage is that we are able to dominate the Mediterranean with the Saarbrücken and the steam boats. We can communicate quickly, regardless of weather, and move troops, even if not too many.”

  Richomer looked approvingly at Renna. “That’s an excellent suggestion. We are not looking for the ultimate and final battle here! We dance with Maximus! He is to follow us throughout Italy, always beautifully in a wide circle. And he will wait until you, Theodosius, together with Rheinberg, prepare the East for the counterattack.”

  The men looked at each other. Sudden confidence, indeed enthusiasm, was visible in their faces. Then they bent over the map.

  When Rheinberg arrived, a complete plan would be ready for execution.

  45

  Ambrosius passed through the entrance hall. Two legionaries stood in the alcove, looking at the Bishop without suspicion. He who had been admitted to the palace many times, somehow belonged here by now. The clergyman was not alone in the hall. In the middle of the sunny courtyard two more men stood, evidently engrossed in conversation. The Bishop went up to them. When they recognized his presence, polite greetings were exchanged. Maximus Magnus knew just as well as General Andragathius that much of their current success was due to the fact that the Bishop was openly supporting their cause.

  A little respect couldn’t hurt. In the new Rome, under an Emperor Maximus, Ambrosius would be the most important representative of the Church. The Bishop himself exercised a humble, modest attitude. He hid his triumphant feelings of victory and his satisfaction about Gratian’s demise quite well. He was surprised that he felt only the slightest regret about the death of the young emperor.

  “Augustus,” Ambrosius greeted Maximus, whereupon the latter raised his hands.

  “Not yet, Bishop, not yet. We arrived in Treveri this morning, and will be heading to Ravenna by tomorrow. I intend to have the proclamation done this evening, if you like to attend.”

  “I do. I will be there and bless you.”

  “That would be good.”

  Ambrosius’s public support was important in order to confer legitimacy to the appointment of Maximus as emperor – just as important as the two dozen senators who had been present in Treveri to give the Comes some political blessing. It was indisputable that his troops had already provided him with the purple the day before. But Maximus placed great emphasis on appropriate protocol and the widest possible support. He wanted a strong mandate in the coming confrontation, and that there was still a lot of work to do, everyone was aware of, even after the victory in Belgica.

  “So you march at once to Ravenna?” Ambrosius asked.

  “That’s the way it is planned. I’ll let the troops relax for one night; we have many hasty marches behind us. The sooner we are in Italy, the faster we can prevent a serious military opposition forming there. Our spies report that Richomer and Renna, together with Theodosius, have been preparing their defense for some time. I don’t want to underestimate these men. It’s not over yet.”

  “What about Malobaudes?”

  Maximus hesitated for a moment. “He has done his duty.”

  “And?”

  “I cannot use him as a general right now,” the Comes said with a glance at Andragathius, who merely nodded mutely. “Malobaudes is a traitor. He is, of course, on the right side, and has given us good advice – but many of the defectors will not be very pleased, despite the fact that they have abandoned Gratian. I can only give him a more responsible position after memory has faded over time.”

  “But these men are all traitors,” the Bishop said.

  “Yes, but most of them came to us only after Gratian’s death. In their own eyes, they never betrayed him. This is somewhat different in the case of Malobaudes. I have discussed it with him, and he sees the matter like me.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He’s not a fool. He remained in Belgica with some border troops to secure the rear flanks and to show that the normal imperial administration is completely unencumbered in its work. I want to return to normality as soon as possible. We work with very volatile political capital. We need the support of the population. And we need all the righteous rebels desire peace after all has been done. And I will make sure that it will happen that way.”

  Ambrosius nodded. “A good decision. Tell me if the Church can help. I want to use all my influence to stabilize the situation in your sense.”

  Maximus bowed. “I will accept any support.”

  “The question remains how do we continue with the time-wanderer von Klasewitz,” Andragathius muttered. “I must admit, despite his unpleasant way of dealing with his men, he has proved himself in battle. His cannons have made an important contribution to our victory. And he is brave as a person, no doubt about that.”

  “That’s right,” Maximus asserted. “I intend to strengthen the usage of this new type of weapon. The man should have his own, large artillery unit as soon as we manage the situation in Ravenna. We need to keep an eye on him, but I think he needs us more than we do need him. He strives for revenge and for confirmation, and according to the development of things, we can help him with both.”

  Maximus looked at Ambrosius. “What does the Church think?”

  “I am not the Church,” the Bishop replied. “But good that you ask. I’m less concerned with one single time-wanderer – we have him quite well under control, and he is not half as smart as he thinks. I will also look after him, work on his loyalty. He is a man who is strong in his faith and weak in his personality. I will know to use this in our favor. Leave it to me.”

  “Not quite,” Andragathius grumbled. “He’s got an official guard assigned by me. Let him know that we have him under observation.”

  “So be it,” Maximus decided. He looked at Ambrosius.

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “The Church, Augustus. Think of the Bishop of Rome, the Pope. We must strengthen its authority, now and officially. I am striving for no further office, but the Church needs a strong representative, a leader, someone who has the first and the last word in secular and spiritual matters. Meet with him in Rome as soon as you can, Augustus. It is important. Very important.” Ma
ximus looked at Ambrosius, nodded slowly. The Bishop was sometimes hard to understand. Was he actually not striving for personal influence, was it sufficient for him to establish and strengthen an official state church? Or was he simply someone who preferred to exercise power from of the background so that he seemed less vulnerable?

  “I will take your advice, Bishop,” Maximus said. He had to go to Rome anyway, a symbolic deed that had been waiting for him. It would be appropriate to lend legitimacy to his claim.

  For a moment, the men were silent, each occupied with his own thoughts.

  “So there’s only one thing left for today,” the Bishop finally said, staring at the ground before his feet.

  “What would it be?”

  “May I, Augustus?”

  Maximus opened his arms in an admissive gesture. Ambrosius turned away and walked through the hall. In front of the door stood one of his priests with a heavy bundle in his hand, and the Bishop took it without words. The man dragged it back into the hall to the place where the two were waiting for him. With astonishment, Maximus and Andragathius observed as a heavy hammer emerged from the sack, a powerful tool which the Bishop could only move with great effort. The guards looked at each other briefly. The hammer didn’t appear to be a threat to their masters.

  “Would you please take a step to this side?” Ambrosius asked. Maximus and Andragathius did him the favor. The Bishop stared again, recalled his last visit to the place when the craftsmen had been working on the mosaic, his last attempt to dissuade Gratian from the error of his ways. The image on the ground, which not only showed the Emperor but also the carefully represented body of the iron ship, the origin of all blasphemy and witchcraft.

  At that time the Bishop had decided something.

  He was glad that he was now ready to put this resolution into action.

  He lifted the hammer with considerable effort, and then, with a liberating outcry, let it crash onto the mosaic. Stone chips flew through the area. Maximus and his general flinched involuntarily. Ambrosius didn’t let go. Again and again, he tore the heavy tool up, and again and again, it hit the carefully embedded stones. With each stroke, the mosaic pieces were splintered, the foundation more broken, the dried mortar dissolving between the colorful pieces.

  It didn’t take ten minutes, then the contour of the Saarbrücken was erased.

  “Damnatio memoriae!” Ambrosius gasped, breathing heavily, dropped the hammer carelessly, bowed to Maximus, and left.

  46

  On this evening in the late summer of 379, two emperors were crowned in the Roman Empire. It was not the first time that emperors and counter-emperors had existed, and many observers of the events didn’t even expect that this would be the last time in Rome’s history. Both festivities had remarkable parallels – an illustrious crowd of guests, high-ranking personalities, roughly equally distributed. The festivities were both relatively modest, unpretentious, almost bureaucratic, with strong military presence and little involvement of the normal population. Both ceremonies were carried out under noticeable time pressure, with military preparations and work taking place in parallel. There would be no proper festive mood, there were few smiling faces, hardly cheerfulness, but some satisfaction, at least in Treveri. In Ravenna there were glances full of fear, mistrust and doubt, though such feelings were well-hidden behind masks of polite attention and ostentatious observance.

  However, an important difference was discernible: While the ceremony in Treveri was predominantly testified by ecclesiastical dignitaries of trinitarianism, representatives of the Arians as well as the traditional Roman religions, like priests of the Mithras cult, which was important for the armed forces, were only present in Ravenna. The fact that the Trinitarians had sent only a subordinate priest, not even the elderly Liberius, Bishop of Ravenna, made a point in regard to the division which added to the separation of the Empire after Maximus’s attack. Theodosius, who had given a brief speech after the purple had been presented to him, didn’t address this. He saw no point in stirring up religious feelings.

  Both the newly appointed emperors acted wearied that evening, living through the ceremony with a certain determination, but without the spark of enthusiasm that could have carried the audience with them. Both emperors chatted with high-ranking guests, accepted congratulations, listened to requests and suggestions, observed how men and women positioned themselves at the newly established courts, how small power struggles and intrigues had already begun on this first evening of their newly won rule. But both of them looked distant and were seen as their gaze turned thoughtfully, staring almost as if they were looking into the future. Both knew the seriousness of the situation, and none of them was willing to question the legitimacy of their own actions. Both men thought of tomorrow. Maximus Magnus, who would start his march toward Ravenna to bring the matter to an end. Theodosius, who, after the arrival of Rheinberg, would take his army and flee before the expected advance of Maximus, with one or two days’ advance, near enough to irritate the usurper, far enough away to avoid an immediate battle. Avoidance and temptation. A strange dance would begin, a dance that would comprise thousands of legionaries and hundreds of miles. Theodosius himself, it was decided now, would take command of the troops. Rheinberg was to move with the Saarbrücken to Constantinople and organize the troops of the East. The declared goal was to attack Maximus subsequently from two sides.

  In both cities, the ceremony ended relatively early. In this case, the festivities were not extended until the early morning hours of the next day. Both rulers had instructed their people to commence important work the next morning right away, and to retire early. It was surprisingly silent in the palaces. Although in itself a good event, the mood, if not depressed, was very serious. Celebrations, something in which both emperors agreed, would be possible at a later time.

  Once only one of them remained.

  On the next day, both emperors sent embassies to every corner of the Empire, demanding more or less unmistakably the loyalty of their subjects. How, above all, the countless bureaucrats and provincials would react to these letters was of great importance to them both.

  And then both of them were left with not much more than prayers for their success.

  47

  Actually, he should have retired two years ago, Domitius Modestus thought and looked into the mirror. He saw an old man whose office rested on his shoulders like a heavy burden. As a Praetorian Prefect in Constantinople, he had been something like the Prime Minister of Valens, the second most powerful man in the East. With the takeover of the entire government by Gratian, his influence had risen even more, since the Emperor had mostly stayed in the West. Modestus had a only sympathy for the new, tolerant policy of the new Emperor; he was, indeed, one of the officials of Rome, who had subscribed to the Arian faith. Under Julian, whom they called the Apostate, he had been an ardent advocate of the ancient Roman religions. It was only later that he had been converted to Christianity when he realized that the influence of the old religions was dwindling and that the East seemed to be largely in the hands of the Arians.

  It had been both politically as well as spiritually opportune.

  In addition to his political instincts, his clever handling of finances always had made him indispensable. As chairman of the consistory, he had ensured that Valens’s increasing irrationality had not been too damaging to the state’s finances. This was also the reason why the financial situation here was currently better than in the West: despite the formal reunification of the Empire under Gratian, relatively separate coffers were continued, even though Gratian’s reforms had been faithfully executed in regard to taxation also in the East. This had rather strengthened the financial situation of Constantinople.

  Much had happened recently. The death of the Valens, the subsequent rule over the entire Empire by Gratian, the emergence of the time-wanderers – Modestus had noted all this with great serenity. He had done his work, and it had been to manage, reform and rebuild Eastern Rome. A work he ha
d done quietly, efficiently, and above all unspectacularly. And he had stayed in office because young Gratian had assumed that an old man like Modestus wouldn’t have any greater ambitions. Rightly so, as the Prefect found.

  And so he had some regret about Gratian’s death. The successful revolt of Maximus, whose fanatical inclination to the trinitarian confession was widely known, filled him with sorrow. Nor was the appointment of Theodosius as successor to Gratian something which caused great enthusiasm in him.

  Yet he had shown the Spaniard his loyalty. He had last heard that the iron cruiser of the time-wanderers, the Saarbrücken, was about to leave and travel to Constantinople, with high-ranking officers on board who wanted to organize the planned counterattack on the usurper. As soon as he had received the news through the coastal messenger system, Modestus had made all necessary arrangements. He would do what was his duty. He wouldn’t be responsible for any delay.

  But now he was supposed to be.

  The old Prefect sat in his office, and after he had sent out all his staff he crouched directly at the window, and let the warming sun fall on the parchment, which he held in his already somewhat trembling hands. What was more important now?

  The words of Maximus were clear and unambiguous. Submit yourself to my will, Modestus, he had written in a very direct manner. Act according to my wishes. Modestus would normally have burned this request immediately in the fireplace, being only a little bit annoyed at the foolish presumption of an usurper.

  But there were other things happening.

  A week ago, his wife Anastasia and his youngest daughter had disappeared without a trace. Their two litters, supported by loyal and well-trained slaves, guarded by a half-dozen legionaries, had never reached the festivity to which they had departed. Modestus had at once initiated a great search, but in spite of all thoroughness there was no trace of the disappeared. Before his mind’s eye, the puffy bodies of the women were already floating somewhere in the brackish harbor water, plundered by merciless street robbers.