The Emperor's Men 3: Passage

by Dirk van den Boom

  The smile of the baron widened.

  “Good progress?” Maximus’s question interrupted his thoughts.

  He composed himself quickly. Now that he knew where his fate should lead him to, any kindness, yes subservience wasn’t incompatible with his zeal, but only necessary means to an end. Servility, tended by determination. “Progress, yes, but we are still behind schedule,” he said. Some time ago the former officer had learned that it made little sense to lie to Maximus. The general was a man who had many confidants, people who were devoted to him unconditionally. He was always well informed about everything. Probably the reports sent to him by von Klasewitz now and then were largely superfluous. Maximus knew about all the details of their work.

  “The cannon I saw looked quite good,” the Comes remarked. He had the scene on the factory floor undoubtedly regarded through the windows of the study, which allowed a generous view of the events in the hall.

  “It was a step in the right direction but unfortunately still unusable. A fine crack. The first firing would have burst it and probably injured, if not killed, the operating crew. But we are getting closer.”

  “The guns are an important part of our plan,” Maximus reminded him.

  “I know that.”

  “I’m counting on your success.”

  “You may depend on me.”

  Maximus’ expression didn’t indicate whether he gave faith to this assurance or not. “We need twenty pieces, at least,” he insisted.

  Von Klasewitz didn’t flinch. Not too long ago, other quantities had been discussed. Maximus seemed not to particularly care about yesterday’s talk.

  “Twenty then, with the necessary ammunition,” said von Klasewitz, trying to act as confidently as possible. In fact, the tactics of the insurgents depended decidedly on having not only numerical superiority in battle, but also to be able to use the power of artillery as effectively as possible.

  “Thirty would be better,” continued Maximus.

  “Thirty are possible, but not likely,” was the nobleman’s reply. It didn’t help to give to someone like the Comes promises he subsequently was unable to fulfill. The man seemed satisfied. He probably didn’t expect any different answer.

  “What about the other weapons? What was the name – arquebuses? Hand grenades?”

  Klasewitz nodded. “Yes. Simple guns that can be used by strong men. I still hope to be able to equip a centuria with these weapons, despite my misgivings. The progress here is encouraging. The production is simpler, because the load is not as strong. In addition, your efforts have meant that we now have a sufficient amount of gunpowder. Hand grenades are simple. We have designed a workable variant. We are able to produce several hundred, as long as we have enough gunpowder available.”

  “That’s good news. It is a dangerous undertaking. Before long, these things can no longer be kept secret. Something will eventually seep through. Rome already looks suspiciously in my direction. I know that there are men at the court who are out to kill me, because they have learned about your history – my future. They don’t know that I took you in but are pretty convinced that what I have accomplished in your time might repeat itself. Certainly, some errors I won’t repeat. I have already directed things in ways that are different from what has happened in your version of the story.”

  “You spoke of a second plan,” von Klasewitz remarked with curiosity.

  “I have spoken of a complement to our military approach,” the Comes corrected. It seemed to amuse him to discuss these matters. “We cannot build solely on our military successes; we must strike elsewhere as well.”

  “You don’t want to tell me,” von Klasewitz said and couldn’t completely hide his disappointment. At the same time, this fact sparked anger in him. He didn’t seem to belong to the inner circle of the conspiracy. That would change. Everything would change. Now he saw a clearly delineated path. Maximus liked to keep him at bay, but it was obvious that fate had some surprises in store.

  Maximus patted von Klasewitz’s shoulder with false camaraderie. “It’s better if you don’t know everything. Some things flourish more in secret. And in this matter, absolute secrecy is of great importance.”

  Freiherr von Klasewitz knew exactly how the Comes had meant that. Oh yeah, once a traitor, always a traitor, those were the unspoken words behind this joviality. He couldn’t be trusted. Grim determination filled the German. Yes, he would prove to the Comes that he was certainly correct in his assessment. The purple would, if at all, only rest for a short time on his shoulders.

  Von Klasewitz smiled and lowered his head submissively.

  Now wasn’t his time.

  Maximus glanced at the drawings on the worktable.

  “Explain to me again the principle of those guns the Saarbrücken has,” he demanded. “I need to know what to expect in the worst case.”

  Klasewitz suppressed a sigh.

  Now wasn’t his time.

  But soon. Soon enough.

  11

  It was a pleasure to see the suffering face of her husband. It was her revenge for the fact that he hadn’t been drunk enough on their wedding night and she had to help out. A bitter and yet so sweet revenge. As the cart rumbled through a pothole and was shaken back and forth, Julia remained on her soft cushions well protected and comfortable. She had no eyes for the beautiful scenery, she stared solely on the slumped figure of Martinus Caius, who was sitting a few meters in front of her, the reins in his hand.

  Julia had insisted.

  The road was long, full of dangers.

  And Martinus, son of a trader, was a man of experience, grew up on the streets and roads of the Empire. He had absorbed, with the milk of his mother’s breasts, the sweat of the horses, the creaking of the axles, the curses of the muleteers. A man of the streets, a sage of the way, a hero of transportation. Julia had called him all this, with shiny eyes and adoring posturing, obviously to be seen by his father and mother, and unexpected, indeed incredulous pride had appeared on the face of the older Caius. So it was only logical, yes manly, that Martinus, the faithful husband of his lovely wife, while traveling toward their anticipated honeymoon, to take the reins into his own hands. For this, he had to sit on the hard wagon seat, and of course he wasn’t allowed any wine – or worse, the new Germanic spirits. His eagle eye was on the way, his searching gaze looking for potential hazards, and all this for the protection and convenience of his, oh what a blessing, pregnant wife.

  Julia reached into a bowl of fruit and shoved some grapes in her mouth. Somewhere in the Empire, any fruit always flourished, and the advantage of a marriage with the son of a rich man was that his father could easily procure all these delicacies. A slave who traveled in their cart gave Julia a cup of diluted wine. Outside, it was cool and getting colder the farther they advanced northwards. But Julia’s cart, surrounded by a thick tarpaulin and padded with carpets, was relatively well-tempered.

  Poor Martinus Caius, heroically suppressing his curses and his desire to warm up with a good drink, pulled his coat tighter around himself. Julia let fall the tarp so she could no longer scrutinize the sufferings of her husband, before it became too cold for her.

  All of this would have been half as difficult for the younger Caius, if his father hadn’t insisted that the other two carts, full of provisions, clothing and other essentials, should be headed by a highly experienced and familiar foreman from his staff. He would report any dereliction of duty by his son immediately to his boss, and Martinus Caius, quite pleased with the sudden, positive attention in the eyes of his father, would return to appear to be the old weakling.

  No, Julia had half-approvingly, half-incredulously accepted that somewhere in her unloved husband some pride was left. Pride perhaps of his unborn son – of course, Julia “felt” it would be a boy – whose creation he found difficult to recall in all details. His wife had told him about his manhood in
so many words, but he himself barely remembered that he probably undressed and had demanded the same of his wife, and afterwards …

  Julia remembered better. German spirits had their advantages. The drunken but horny Caius had needed no further exhortation than to drink a large glass of it. He was gasping asleep after a miserably failed attempt to entice the small Martinus to perform his duties, still lying in her arms.

  That went very well, Julia had to admit. And since then, her husband had not approached her. Once, one morning, he had tried, but Julia had expressedly vomited before his eyes. With dedication.

  Since then, he left her alone.

  Julia took a critical look at the wine. That was no need to simulate the vomiting; it came from the heart. Her pregnancy was now noticeable.

  The car rumbled again. It was a long journey but quite comfortable. Martinus’ father had mustered his best cart, and eight armed men as escort, four of them of strong build and carrying powerful clubs so that nobody would approach them. During the nights, they would be safe. Not in hostels, as did ordinary travelers, but always with family friends, in an appropriate environment, in safety and with luxury. Julia knew that news preceded her journey to dissuade the friendly hosts with explicit references to not grant the younger Caius free access to the cellars of the house, as he was taken with his new serious, manly, and, yes, truly Roman obligations. Wife and son, certainly an heir, had to be safe in his hands, and the newly awakened sense of responsibility was cherished by his new wife, at least in public.

  Martinus Caius had since the beginning of their journey a bad mood and almost, but only almost, Julia felt a little bit sorry for him.

  She consoled herself with the thought that once she had disappeared from direct access of their in-laws, she had turned out to be a bad bitch, and Martinus Caius finally had an excuse to indulge his favorite vices, and his portrayal of the suffering dupe might even solicit sympathy from his family.

  Apart from the shaking of the carriage and her delight in the suffering of Martinus, there was nothing to bother about. Her journey was relatively easy because they had to simply follow the military road. From Ravenna they went directly to Aquilea, and from there along the Via Julia Augusta to the north toward the provincial center Virunum, the capital of Noricum Mediterraneum. From there, the road led to Noreia and up to Lauriacum, the city in which Thomas Volkert’s legion had been stationed.

  If her information proved to be accurate.

  If he was still in Noricum.

  Julia didn’t want to think about it. At worst, she would spend simply a boring spring in a completely uninteresting garrison town, far away from the comforts even of the provincial Virunum. She would eventually return to Ravenna and bring a child into the world that would carry the surname Caius, at least until she could find out where Thomas was staying.

  Or until he found her.

  One or the other would happen, she was quite sure of it.

  The car rocked again violently. A suppressed curse from her husband caused Julia to smile.

  “The journey pleases you, mistress,” the slave tried in conversation. Julia wanted to reply angrily, but then she remembered what Thomas Volkert had said about slavery, as they had discussed the subject briefly. In his house, so he had said with a certainty that was new to her, there would be no slaves, only free servants, properly paid and well-treated. And if there would be no money for staff, well, even better – then he would serve Julia and respond to her every whim.

  He had been so sweet. Of course, Julia didn’t believe the latter for a second. Of course, they would lead a simpler life, but she had taken precautions. A casket with jewelry and a belt with golden coins sewn in, a bag of silver and copper coins, most of it easy to carry on the body. Enough to buy a small piece of land, perhaps a few animals, and certainly a few slaves.

  No, she corrected herself. No slaves. And it was only befitting to accept the explicit wishes of her true husband. Slaves were human. And they were to be freed. Julia was a Christian and had understood this notion thoroughly, at least theoretically.

  So she took a breath and smiled at the slave.

  “Your name is Claudia, isn’t it?” she said warmly.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “You’re born into slavery?”

  The young woman lowered her head. “Yes, mistress.”

  “Were you previously well treated by your master?”

  “I’m happy, my lady.”

  The answer came a little hesitant, sounded more polite than honest. What should Claudia possibly reveal of their previous work? She had been one of the servants of Martinus Caius’ mother. No prominent position, but the work of a personal slave, directly under her command. It was told that all the male members of the family tended to temper. It was also said that the elder Caius, fatigued by his unsightly woman, jumped on every woman that couldn’t escape in time.

  Slaves usually had no chance to escape anywhere.

  Julia decided to change the direction of the conversation. Claudia was now apparently intended as their personal slave, and she made a mental note not to make the live of that young woman unnecessarily difficult.

  Once they arrived in Noricum, she would make off with Thomas Volkert, and Claudia was probably exposed to the whims of her “husband.” On the other hand, she wouldn’t have to worry about a lot from him. Julia had ensured that in one of the two cars a barrel of the new German brandy was carried. Once they had arrived in Lauriacum, she would hand it over her husband as a kind gift from a caring wife.

  And disappear.

  Martinus Caius would get drunk deep into unconsciousness, for which no special incentive was needed. And as soon as he would learn of her escape, he would simply continue.

  Julia didn’t care. She was done with Martinus once she left.

  Apparently encouraged by Julia’s willingness to converse, Claudia turned back to her.

  “I know that it is insubordinate to ask you to do something for me, mistress, especially as I serve you only since recently …”

  Julia smiled encouragingly. “Speak.”

  “As soon as we are in Lauriacum, mistress, and the accommodation and everything is properly prepared, may I then, for a half or full day, have the freedom to visit my brother?”

  “Your brother lives in Lauriacum?”

  “He is a slave in a wealthy patrician’s house,” Claudia said now very eagerly. “He was sold four years ago to that place, because he can write well and read, and works as a clerk. Sometimes he sends me a letter, but I cannot read or write, and must always find someone who reads it to me and can rarely respond. Writers are expensive, and so far I have received very little money.”

  If there was a beautiful case for Thomas’ insistence on properly paid staff, then probably this was.

  “I wish to see him again. We are very close,” Claudia added, half-shy, half-hopeful. “Just recently, he sent me a letter.”

  Julia nodded. “Of course, this will be possible,” she said generously, and rejoiced when Claudia replied with a grateful smile. “And some money you shall also have, now that you are in my service. Every person, whether slave or free, should have a few coins in his pocket.”

  The joyful expression of the slave was even more intense. She tilted her head, probably to hide a tear in the corner of his eye.

  “Say, what does your brother write about the conditions in Lauriacum? He will have already told you the usual gossip and the most important news from the area?”

  Claudia nodded eagerly. “He writes a lot and likes it, the good Remius. Apparently legions have moved to the city from across the country. The taverns are full of soldiers from all corners of the Empire.”

  Julia frowned. An uneasy feeling crept over her. “Did he write about the reason? A new campaign against the Germans? The Sarmatians have become rebellious, yes?”

  Claudia s
hrugged. “He knows nothing in detail. It is said that an important military expedition to the East is going to happen. And that it’s ultimately only a relatively small force, all on horseback, and that some time travelers would accompany them. That’s all. We’ll soon learn more once we’ll arrive, milady!”

  Julia nodded absently. A sudden chill went through her and she pulled the cloak around her shoulders tightly. A nasty idea crept up, an idea which had no rational basis, but easily entered her thoughts and didn’t let go.

  “When … when is this expedition to commence?” she finally managed the next question.

  “I don’t know, milady. But normally as soon as the weather is good enough, and progress of preparations is fast. On the other hand, if all are riders … they could be on their way already. The letter is now more than two months old,Milady.”

  If Claudia was surprised at the sudden interest of her mistress in Roman troop movements, she didn’t show it. She was just glad that there was hope of being able to meet her brother – and to be allowed to keep a few coins in her hand. Therefore, she was more than willing to answer any strange question.

  Julia said nothing more, staring at the plane of the carriage, her thoughts in sudden turmoil. Of course, it could mean nothing, she reassured herself. Thomas Volkert was freshly squeezed into the service. He mastered the horse, yes, that he had once told her, but also that didn’t mean anything yet. They took men, apparently of special qualifications, from all over the Empire, and Lauriacum was only the collection point. Thomas would probably just look interestingly at the bustle, not be part of the action.