Rheinberg felt his face pale.
“My lord, are you all right?”
So much for Aurelia’s attention. It was perfect.
“No, I’m not too well,” Rheinberg replied spontaneously.
Even Felix looked quite concerned at his master. “Shall I send for a medicus?”
“No.”
“You need something else?” Felix said.
“Yes.”
“What can I bring you?”
“Nothing that could help me. Felix, thank you. Retire for now, your day’s work is done.”
The factotum exchanged a brief, helpless look with Aurelia, then the old man bowed and withdrew.
“Can I do something for you, sir?” asked the woman.
“Yes. Tell me something.”
“What’s your question?”
“Who am I?”
Aurelia hesitated imperceptibly.
“Jan Rheinberg, Magister Militium of the Roman Empire, the second highest dignitary of the Empire, a powerful man.”
“Wherein lies my power?”
“Your office. It stems from your history. From the means available to you as time traveler.”
Rheinberg nodded, half to himself, half to confirm what the woman had just said. “But that’s just my title and what I can do. Who am I?”
Aurelia faltered. “Philosophers have different answers to this question. There is none that truly explains everything or claims validity for everyone equally. I cannot answer it.”
“But I can.”
Rheinberg saw Aurelia straight in the eyes. They were dark, almost black, like a deep lake in which one could immerse himself. For a moment he said nothing, but then he changed his mind, forced out the words as if he had to struggle with them before they left his mouth.
“I’m a selfish fool, Aurelia.”
The slave was neither confused nor scandalized. She looked at him calmly. That made Rheinberg almost anxious. Secretly, he had expected that she’d deny it or would protest. But nothing of the sort. And she did absolutely nothing to force him to finally say what was needed to bring this issue to an end. He took a deep breath, then felt overcome with great perplexity.
“I should have you set you free the moment Renna gave you to me as a gift,” Rheinberg finally explained quietly. “I didn’t do it. It was a weakness on my part, which is ultimately inexcusable. I wouldn’t therefore apologize, because what I have done – or rather, where I failed , is nothing that can be redeemed.”
Aurelia frowned. “I am a slave, my lord,” she said. “I have always been. I have always been treated well. No master took me by force. I received a good education. I live in comfort, even luxury. I have tasks that correspond with my skills, and you, sir, are a gentle and friendly master. What exactly should you apologize for?”
Rheinberg shook his head. Oh, what a golden bridge! He could easily set foot on it, and it would take some time, maybe halfway, to notice how deeply he would already be absorbed in sweet morass. A dangerous illusion, which he all too easily would be able to indulge in.
But he had made his mind up.“It’s not the nature of man to belong to someone.”
“What is the nature of man?”
“To make decisions for him or herself independently. As the possession of another, this may be just an illusion, limited by the arbitrariness of the master in regard to this property.”
“Do you make your own decisions for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“The Emperor doesn’t give any commands? Or then, before your trip through time, your emperor in the distant future?”
It was remarkable how elegant Aurelia could summarize in one sentence the dialectic of time travel.
“Yes, I follow rightful orders.”
“And the men of your crew? Are they not absolutely subject to your orders and disobedience will be severely punished immediately?”
“This is …”
“Contrary to every aspect of human nature you claim to be true.”
Rheinberg pressed his lips on each other. Again he shook his head.
“No, because there is an important difference.”
“Which one?”
“I have the choice. I can leave the Emperor’s service any time, take my leave, put some gold to the side and buy a farm somewhere or start a business as a small coastal sailor, a new life. I wouldn’t have had to enter into the service of my Emperor in my past, I wasn’t forced. I did it on my free will.”
“You didn’t do it to please your father? Were you not obey him in everything?”
This woman, Rheinberg realized, listened too well and had a good memory. He had in the course of weeks told his staff bits and pieces of his life, and apparently she hadn’t forgotten a word.
How unpleasant.
“I wanted to be a dutiful son,” Rheinberg admitted. “But it could have been otherwise. My sister Helga opposed the wishes of my parents and married a shipyard worker whose political views my father didn’t like – to say the least.”
Memories of Helga and her husband Karl met him for a moment. He missed his sister. There were even moments when he missed Karl, because he reminded him of his home. The less pleasant aspects were: What had become of the war – or would become? Rheinberg realized that he obviously had far greater problems with the dialectic of different perspectives on time than Aurelia.
“No, you won’t confuse me,” he continued before Aurelia wanted to raise another objection. “I always operated under constraints, but I always had the choice to withdraw from them. A slave only has the chance to run away, with the possible consequence of death, or death itself.”
“One can always run away inside.”
Rheinberg looked at her blankly.
“No master can control my thoughts. I can have complete freedom in my mind.”
Rheinberg raised his hands. “That’s sophistry,” he said firmly. “An illusion as an excuse. Human freedom expresses itself in its relation to the real world, not within the realm of imagination. Freedom means that we use what the world offers us to create something that serves us – in any way whatsoever. And this attitude thus is the root of fundamental rights such as the right to property.”
“I’m the property.”
“But I hurt your right by owning you. You have no property. How can I have a right while withholding the same from you? That would be unethical.”
Aurelia looked at Rheinberg for a moment and sighed. “What kind of consequence does my master draw from all of this?”
“Your master has to do what he should’ve done right away.”
“He offends me?”
“What?” Rheinberg was lost for words, which, he had to admit, happened too often in Aurelia’s presence. He took a deep breath. “Repudiation?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you desire freedom?”
“I see no difference between freedom and slavery. I’m fine.”
“But just because you previously had luck with your masters.”
Aurelia nodded.
“What would have happened if you hadn’t come into my possession through Renna after being sold from your former owner? Suppose a greedy old man had purchased you, am ungracious, selfish master. What if he had begun to beat you for any nullity and whenever he lusted after you …” Rheinberg stumbled on this, he wasn’t accustomed to discuss issues like that openly with a woman.
“Actually, why did you never ask me to join you in your bed?” Aurelia asked. “Am I ugly?”
“What? No!”
“Or do you prefer the company of men?”
Rheinberg felt his face redden. “No!” he replied emphatically. “I’m absolutely, I mean, there is no way … you’re very …” His stumbli
ng lasted forever. Rheinberg decided not to be driven into a corner anymore. He took up the real issue again. “If your new master would have been, in every respect, a repulsive, cruel man, then wouldn’t you recognize the difference between freedom and slavery?”
“Certainly.”
“So …”
“But this is not the case.”
Rheinberg tried not to touch his forehead in despair. This discussion turned out to be far more difficult than he had imagined. He had the sudden desire for a sip of wine, and as if Aurelia read his mind, it was poured at once.
“But it could be yet. Fate sometimes takes very unexpected turns, I’m a witness to that,” Rheinberg insisted.
“Your attitude of life directly influences mine,” observed Aurelia. “Your attitude reflects especially a lack of trust in God. If the Lord hadn’t had no big plans for you, you wouldn’t be here.”
“This hubris has already become the undoing of many a man.”
“Distrust and fear of their own fate, too.”
“We go around in circles.”
Aurelia smiled. “I’d like to dance with you, my master!”
Rheinberg rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that. And no, I’m not a particularly gifted dancer.”
“The quality of a dance depends solely on the joy of those involved in it.”
“Can we please go back to the real issue?”
“We never left the topic. It’s about me. It’s about you.” She paused. “It’s about us.”
Rheinberg reached almost automatically to the wine goblet and drank in quick, greedy gulps. For a moment, he wanted to be back in the snake pit of the imperial court, in the company of the most annoying and unnerving courtiers. He had indeed imagined this to be much easier.
Or maybe he just had the wrong attitude.
“Aurelia, it boils down to a principle. The principle is: A person may not possess the other. Anyone who chooses freely and without pressure to serve someone or something – a person, a government, whomever – I will continue to call free.”
“In the Empire, these differences are rather blurred,” she said. “The son of the oh-so-free soldiers was forced also to become one. Was he free or slave?”
“Slave,” Rheinberg replied immediately. “That’s why it is one of the major reforms that are currently supported by the Emperor either to completely abolish this duty or to soften it at least. Surely you have noticed these efforts.”
“No. I just wanted to understand what you’re talking about.”
Rheinberg decided not to drink any more wine.
“You are my possession. There are some laws that also protect the slave, but ultimately I can do with you what I believe is right.”
Aurelia gave him a charming smile. “That reminds me of the earlier question, why do you …”
“And so I have decided,” Rheinberg cut her off just in time. “You might call it an insult or a violation, and I will not reproach you for that opinion. Your life has been determined by the knowledge of being owned by someone else. I ask you now to make yourself familiar with the idea that you don’t belong to anyone but yourself. And I will give you the legal underpinning of this idea, as tomorrow I’ll go to the magistrate and prepare your papers.”
Aurelia closed her mouth again.
“Think about it. You’re welcome. I should have done this much earlier.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Rheinberg had hoped to avoid this issue. Since it was convenient that at that moment she wasn’t free, but still in his possession, he had every right to refuse her an answer. He rose. “I’m tired. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the magistrate. You’ll receive a release bonus, a generous sum, and if it’s your wish, I will offer you employment, tailor-made to your abilities. Think about it in peace. I’m not going to throw you out, even if you refrain from working here. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll retire now.”
Aurelia nodded, her fine face very thoughtful.
Rheinberg went.
He scrutinized his emotional reaction. Did he feel better now? Relieved? Ashamed? Wistful?
There was no clear conclusion.
He would probably drink a cup of wine to gain clarity.
Or two.
19
“This brat can’t be left alone!”
Köhler uttered a curse and nudged Neumann, who was snoring in the bunk above him. They had retired late, as the search for the young Marcellus proved to be useless in the dark and had therefore decided to await the daylight of the next morning. Köhler had gone to bed angry and frustrated, and in this mood he awoke once the rough hands of the ship’s guard tore him from his too-brief sleep.
“What is this bullshit?”
The Roman soldier let go of Köhler. Two hairy legs swung in front his eyes down from the bunk bed. Suppressed murmurs from above showed that the physician was evenly angry about the disturbance, but presented his anger with more chosen words.
“The Trierarch asked me to wake you,” the soldier said apologetically. “There is a boy, a street boy standing on the pier, and he definitely wants to come on board. We wanted to get rid of him, but he insists. Africanus said, maybe he knows something about Marcellus, and he has been brought into his cabin. I should wake you.”
Each one’s anger was gone immediately. Köhler donned a shirt and stuffed it into his pants, as Neumann slid to the ground and nodded. The bosun hurried behind the soldiers to the quarterdeck of the Valentinian where the designers of the ship had inserted the cabin of the captain.
As they entered the room, they found Africanus, similarly tired, but with an attentive gleam in his eyes. A boy stood before him, in about Marcellus’ age, one of the many homeless children living on the harbor, staying alive with odd jobs or pickpocketing. When Köhler entered, the boy fell to his knees. Köhler reached for him with one of his powerful hands and pulled him back on its feet.
“There is no kneeling her,” he grumbled.
“His name is Josaphat. He wanted to talk to you, only you!” Africanus told him smiling.
“Me?” Köhler squinted. The boy was obviously at the end of his tether. Köhler drew him to a chair and sat him on it. “You know me?”
“No, yes, no – Marcellus told me about you, sir.”
“Marcellus. You met him?”
“We were together. I showed him the city.”
Köhler stifled a curse. Boys. He would’ve been even angrier if not for his recollection that he himself had done much worse at this age. “Where is Marcellus?”
And then it gushed out of the boy. Their meal in the tavern and the strange behavior of his new friend. Then, as they were in the alley, already on their way home, the incident. Josaphat had a remarkable memory for names and faces, which was probably a matter of survival in his situation. When he was finished with his description, Köhler knew more than he liked to.
“Tennberg!” Neumann, who had only witnessed the last half of Josaphat’s descriptions after fetching his bag with medical supplies, uttered the name like a curse.
“What is the traitor doing here?” Africanus asked.
“He’s certainly not here on his own account,” Köhler mused. “He’s alive; that is an important information. It means, von Klasewitz will probably be even more active. And the fact that he is in Alexandria leads me to two conclusions – either he is hiding here with his master, or he’s here to cause mischief.”
“If the description of the boy holds,” Neumann said, “then Tennberg has men and money. This is certainly no coincidence. Something is definitely going on. They know about our trip to Aksum. And they seem to intend sabotage.”
“We must not only liberate Marcellus but also take Tennberg,” Africanus murmured and looking pensively out the aft windows. “We need to know if and what exactly they have planned. It can hardly be that von Klasew
itz wants to prevent the import of coffee to Rome.”
“Whom can we rely upon in this city?” Köhler asked. “The local authorities?”
“Yes, perhaps. The question is whether we have so much time.”
Africanus looked at Josaphat. “Boy, where could they have brought Marcellus?”
“I know it exactly.”
All eyes turned to him.
“I ran away from them, but once they lost me, I followed their trail. Nobody knows the harbor like I do. They disappeared in a warehouse belonging Emilius Clarus Vengetius.”
Köhler knocked Josaphat on his shoulder. “Clever fellow! Well done!”
The boy swallowed. “Lord, Marcellus is a friend. I might be regarded as the city’s vermin, but I take that seriously. I had to find out, otherwise you wouldn’t have believed me. I’m honest.”
Köhler measured him with a long look, then nodded. “Yes, I think so, too. We’re talking about your future once this is over.”
If Josaphat became curious by this allusion, he didn’t show it. Köhler turned to Africanus.
“Vengetius is someone well-known?”
“One of the richest men in this city, an influential person with contacts throughout the Empire. He was considered a staunch partisan of Gratian’s father and has become very rich under him. Since Valentinian’s death he has remained politically covered, but at sea, everybody knows him. Every fourth corn ship carries his banner, and he employs many former navy soldiers. A man of considerable status.”
“And he grants Tennberg and his henchmen shelter?” The distrust in Neumann’s voice was palpable.
“If he knows about what is happening in his warehouse – yes! And it fits. We all know that Rheinberg’s and Gratian’s plans for the Empire are under scrutiny by many powerful men.” Africanus sighed and sat down, could hardly suppress a yawn. “It’s logical to find von Klasewitz colluding with Gratian’s opponents.”
“This is a very dangerous development,” Köhler murmured. “Von Klasewitz was an officer, but a no-good, disgusting human being. But he was the gunnery officer aboard the Saarbrücken and not without reason. He is well acquainted with cannons, damn good even. No one from his former crew would dispute this; they are very happy that he is gone.”
The Emperor's Men 3: Passage Page 18