The Emperor's Men_2_Betrayal

by Dirk van den Boom

  Rheinberg started the engine. The rattling and shaking of the heavy diesel shook the car and Rheinberg noticed that the fingers of the Emperor involuntarily clutched in the barren upholstery of his seat. He decided to drive very, very slowly.

  “Where to, dear General?”

  Arbogast looked pale through the windshield and it took him a while to finally show Rheinberg the way.

  Rheinberg released the handbrake. The truck rolled on softly. In a careful curve, the captain moved the vehicle slowly around until it bumped over the uneven, just mashed “main street” of the camp. From the corner of his eye, Rheinberg saw that they were followed by a troop of cavalry. On this terrain, he would never be able to escape them, and Rheinberg didn’t even think of trying.

  The truck rumbled through the main gate where the guards didn’t know whether to stare at their emperor in the cab or bow down in a hurry. Under the direction of short instructions by Arbogast, they reached a field in front of the camp where the car came to a halt.

  Rheinberg turned off the engine and looked invitingly at Gratian.

  “Well, Your Majesty?”

  The Emperor looked a bit pale around the nose, but otherwise he was in good spirits. The speed could not have impressed him, as each horse could compete. The fact, however, that the car had been into in motion without a draft animal …

  “And you are sure that it wasn’t magic?” Arbogast asked.

  “Magic that is so loud and stinks?” replied Rheinberg. “Come, I will show you something!”

  The men climbed out and Rheinberg opened the hood. Gratian and Arbogast and stared blankly into it.

  “This is a machine that we call a car-engine. It drives the wheels of the car by burning alcohol.”

  “Burn alcohol?”

  “At least something like that,” Rheinberg admitted. “No magic anyway. Invented by people, built by people, and it needs human hands to repair it and keep it working.”

  Gratian touched a hot cylinder gently with his fingertips. “Can we build it? I mean, let’s assume I present you the best craftsmen of my empire, and give you all the materials that you desire – could those people build it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Gratian asked.

  “We lack the tools to build the right tools that are necessary to develop the engine. But we can build a similar, simpler machine that also can drive a car or a boat. We call this a steam engine.”

  “In it also burns alcohol?”

  “Wood. Or coal. It works with steam.”

  “Steam?”

  Rheinberg nodded.

  “And my people could build one?”

  “From bronze, yes. We could instruct them. Afterwards, they’d no longer need our help, and can do it alone. Your galleys would not depend on weather anymore and would dominate the seas with a higher speed. No pirate and no enemy would dare challenge you.”

  “The Mediterranean is ours, and who wants the rest?” snorted Arbogast, still full of doubts.

  “Once the Vandals conquer North Africa and thereby the granary of the empire, you will judge differently.”

  The general and Gratian looked at each other. “When shall these things happen?” asked the Emperor.

  “It starts in fifty years and ends not even ten years later.”

  Again, the two men exchanged glances. They knew the catastrophic economic consequences of such a blow.

  Arbogast cleared his throat. “Your demonstration, Rheinberg.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The legionaries of the encampment had now joined the onlookers. Men had built targets of high variety, lots of old wood, straw dolls, exercise machines, boxes and all kinds of other garbage, sometimes low, sometimes piled high, and all on a straight line of maybe 200 meters in length. Becker had left his men in the camp, suspiciously observed by Roman guardsmen, and brought only nine of his soldiers: three per machine gun. They took position next to each other, each about ten feet apart, and put their mighty guns on three legs.

  Becker joined Rheinberg. “Over there are also some trees, in a good range.”

  “We deforest this place” whispered Rheinberg. “Today, we don’t skimp on ammo. We only have this one chance. It must be very, very impressive work.”

  “Impressive, yes,” Becker said with a grin. He rejoined his men who had completed their preparations. Rheinberg pondered for a moment to explain the Emperor what to expect in detail, but then decided against it.

  “Your Majesty, you now see the capabilities of the most powerful guns that we carry with us. They will destroy, in a very short time, all the targets your men have generously built. In addition, we should consider that little group of trees over there.”

  “Consider?” echoed Arbogast.

  “It is pretty loud,” Rheinberg continued his explanation. “Do not frighten. We begin when you give the command, Emperor!”

  Gratian nodded measuredly. Rheinberg could hardly blame him.

  “Then begin!”

  Rheinberg gave Becker a sign. The captain barked a command.

  The guns fired.

  The MG 08 with its more than 70 cm-long barrel was a formidable weapon. It had a caliber of 8 mm and was fed with a cartridge belt, which could be easily replaced. A belt grabbed 250 cartridges that could fire the gun with a cadence of 500 or 600 rounds per minute. With an effective range of fire of nearly two and a half kilometers against ground targets, the reference to the near end of the group of trees had been anything but showing off. It was a heavy weapon that required a mount to set it up and straighten. Ideal to sprinkle a whole battlefield from a secure, elevated position.

  Rheinberg had exactly that in mind when it was time to confront the Goths.

  The guns’ sudden, unmediated chatter echoed across the plain, and Gratian flinched visibly. Almost simultaneously, the target dissolved into shredded wood, and chips and bigger wood parts flew through the air, as the three MG s methodically swung from left to right. It took less than thirty seconds, and nothing remained of the man-sized targets except rubble and scraps. For a small moment, calm descended over the field, then the shooters had new targets, and again the staccato of bursts shook joints and marrow. The distant tree group consisted of six low-grown cedars. An invisible fist shot through branches and trunks, and as the three machine guns merged their fire on the trees, the dry plants shattered under the whirlwind of destruction.

  Then the guns were silent.

  Everyone stared in silence at the stumps and debris. For a moment, some wood particles flew around lazy in the summer air, and at last the view was free to the countryside beyond.

  Rheinberg let the image impress for a moment, then waved Becker. “Who of your men can disassemble the machine gun fastest?”

  “Corporal Lehmann is the man you are asking for.”

  “Then may I ask.”

  Becker turned and yelled.

  “Your Majesty, if you order for a table, I show you that even in this case no magic is involved.”

  Gratian and Arbogast looked pale and shaken. Malobaudes shook his head incessantly. Finally, the Emperor nodded.

  Zealous servants brought a sturdy wooden table from the camp, made their way through the staring Legionaries under which an incredulous, gripped murmur had spread.

  Lehmann arrived and started with his gun, heaved it on the table at the behest of Becker. They waited a short time to give the heated weapon the opportunity to cool slightly. With flying fingers the soldier began to disassemble the mechanism. After three minutes, the machine gun was broken down into its essential components, and the Emperor and his two generals bent over it.

  “You see, noble gentlemen, that this is a mechanical construction,” said Rheinberg. “It is surely superior to weapons your craftsmen can produce, yet ultimately it is only a logical development out of weapons which are not unknown to you.”

  Gratian ran his fingers over the now cooled metal parts and nodded. “It is true,” he muttered. “This is not magic, but
superior craftsmanship.”

  He looked up. “Arbogast, predict for me what we can do with these weapons on a battlefield chosen by us? What’s in it for 20,000 Goths if we have three good positions from which the field can be controlled? We would commence a bloodbath, without having to bring one of our men in danger!”

  The officer might be an ungracious and suspicious man, but this demonstration hadn’t missed its effect on him. “Yes, my Emperor. We would have to use our legions only as decoys to bring the enemy to the right position.”

  “For the remaining troops of the East, this should be enough,” Rheinberg said. Gratian and Arbogast crossed their looks in silent agreement. The Emperor straightened up and observed the shredded targets. “Trierarch Rheinberg, I’d prefer you to become a friend of the Roman Empire and not our enemy.”

  “My preference as well.”

  “Then we should go back to my tent and discuss the details.”

  Gratian turned away, headed toward the camp, deliberately bypassing the truck. His guards hastened to bring him a horse. Becker, Rheinberg, Arbogast and Malobaudes looked after him.

  “Very well,” growled the German general. “But I’ll keep an eye on you, I promise.”

  “I look forward to your counsel,” Rheinberg said with a smile.

  The man snorted and stomped back to his master.

  “Forgive my comrade,” said Malobaudes and stroked his stomach with satisfaction. “He’ll not cause any problem. The only real goal he has is to serve his Emperor.”

  Rheinberg nodded thoughtfully. When he persuaded the grumpy old man he would also convince the Emperor, of that he was now certain.

  2

  The mulio – the mule guide – hadn’t asked many questions. Trade in the Roman Empire was sparse enough because of falling production, and those who had surpluses hoarded them. More and more producers were focused on their own needs and only sold the required weapons for the army to the state and food for the maintenance of urban centers that otherwise would cause great unrest, especially in Rome itself. And so was the overland trade, once one of the lifelines of the Empire, oppressed by the levy of government regulation, the harassment of the ever-expanding bureaucracy, and the lack of products. The carts were only half-filled. When the young woman had put two gold pieces in his hand, which had apparently not been stretched by lower metals, he had willingly offered a place in the cart. Her companion, a young man who clearly felt uncomfortable in his new and rather fresh patched tunic, silently stood by. Both young people each carried a large bundle, and they were dressed for a long trip but looked a little too neat for frequent travelers. The fingernails of the young woman had been carefully manicured, as it was noticed by the mulio immediately, and although her companion didn’t look as if physical work was completely alien to him, he didn’t seem to be a day laborer or craftsman.

  But two gold coins were two gold coins, and as long as the travelers behaved quietly and made no trouble, he wouldn’t bother.

  The column of four donkey carts started one early morning from Ravenna. The roads were good, but the donkeys slow, and the traffic impressive. Northern Italy was still one of the economic and political centers of the empire, and this was reflected in the density of the population and the extensive transportation systems between the many urban settlements in this region.

  Around noon, when the sun was high in the sky, the foothills of Ravenna had just disappeared from their sight. Their first stop took place in Milan, another important city. From there, they would make it to the east, moving along the shoreline, make station in Sirmium and ultimately end in Constantinople. The foreman had dismissed as scaremongering rumors that the Goths would dominate the flat land of the east. If this was indeed his earnest opinion or just an attempt to convince himself that nothing was wrong, neither Julia nor Volkert could surmise. Volkert knew what was happening in the east of the empire, but he was sure that the situation would have calmed down as soon as the slow carts had traveled the long and arduous way up to Sirmium.

  The ride was slow and monotonous. The driver of the cart, on which Julia and Volkert had found space, was a taciturn old man who sat with bent back behind the donkeys and – except for an occasional smacking – made no sound. Sometimes he dismounted and walked beside the animals, patted their heads and clucked. The donkeys seemed to accept this as confirmation of their good services; at least they made no apparent trouble. Volkert had the impression to see a good team.

  So he and Julia had only to sit back on the cart and talk. Julia had made it her task to supplement Volkert’s rather crumbly knowledge of Latin and Greek, and she went to work with a certain zeal. As practice material, they had nothing else than just their lives, and they asked each other questions and described what they had experienced in their respective eras. Julia didn’t like much of what Volkert reported, and with a large frown took note that the position of women in society many hundreds of years in the future hadn’t really improved. She showed little interest in his portrayals of technical achievements but was much more in the medical advances and, interestingly, in political structures. As Volkert tried to explain the function of the Reichstag , she had few problems understanding this – the Roman Republic was still quite strongly anchored in the historical consciousness of the Romans, and her father was a senator. The descriptions of the political situation, the emergence of social democracy and its rejection of the monarchy, found some sympathy with her, because ultimately there was a historical counterpart in the struggle between plebeians and aristocrats in her own history, although certainly in a different guise. It seemed to disappoint her that not much had changed. Apparently she had nurtured the hope that the people of the future were more advanced on many more issues than in her time, but the descriptions of the international tensions and wars apparently reminded her very much of the history of the empire and their own present.

  After they had talked all morning about these things, they discussed other issues. Volkert understood how the privileges of a senator’s daughter had at the same time cramped Julia’s life. A golden cage despite two loving parents. For Julia, this trip was more than just an act of defiance to the rejection of her lover by her parents, it was a very essential liberation. Basically, she said bitterly on one occasion, she should have been born a man, because the life of a woman in Rome was restricted beyond measure. Both talked at length about their families, and Volkert remembering that he would probably never see his parents and siblings again made him sad and silent for several minutes. It spoke for Julia that she recognized it immediately, and instead to press the issue, she just took him in her arms, while he considered wistful memories.

  When evening came, they reached one of the many hostels on the side of the street. It was a sprawling, low-rise building with stables, consisted of a large common room and an adjoining building with accommodation in different price classes – dormitories with simple straw bags as couches for the less well-off, single rooms with proper furniture for the more affluent traveler. Volkert and Julia would be theoretically able to afford a slightly better accommodation with the gold carried by the senator’s daughter but had decided not to attract attention. So they pushed together two straw mattresses and after a rather frugal supper lied down exhausted on their uncomfortable sleeping place. The hall was filled to only one-third, and the travelers were spaced as far as they could. The nightly snoring, sneezing and coughing wasn’t new to Volkert, as the sleeping halls of his navy-training had a similar noise-level, so he quickly fell into a deep sleep. Julia, however, quite accustomed to a little more privacy and a more luxurious night’s sleep, wavered between disgust, fear and nervousness back and forth. Finally, she wrapped her arms around Volkert’s body and pressed against him. Covered with their roughly woven blankets, one could hardly make out the contours of her body in the dark. Playfully Julia let her hand slide down Volkert’s chest, slipped over his abdomen in direction of …

  Julia giggled.

  “Mentula tua iubet, amatur!”
1 she whispered in Volkert’s ear. He opened his eyes, and although he hadn’t quite understood what Julia had said, the massaging movements of her delicate fingers circling around the top of his penis needed no further explanation. He suppressed a groan, as he wanted to avoid unnecessary attention to their actions, but it was hard, and the harder it became, the more intense Julia’s massage.

  Her lips pressed on his, demanding, dominant. He himself started to squeeze the young woman who plied him incessantly below. A sigh from her lips reached his ear, then a whisper, “Immanis mentula it!”

  Whatever that might mean – Volkert wasn’t able to focus on vocabulary – it definitely had to do with his hard penis, which pressed almost painfully against his now much too tight pants. His own hands explored Julia’s body, held the firm breasts of the young woman who let out a strangled moan and replied his caresses fiercely.

  Then, with slow movements, Julia pushed her body over his. With a hand clamped firmly around his shaft, she fumbled it out of his pants, and then she squeezed his cock tight against her pussy. The rough hair scratching at the tip of his penis, and then she enveloped him with warm, wet tightness.

  “Lente impelle,” Julia whispered hoarsely. This Volkert understood. Push slowly! He didn’t ask twice, forgot his surroundings. He didn’t care who heard or saw what happened, as he was overcome with unprecedented passion, the delicious combination of desire and love he had never encountered in his life before. He felt his penis pushing deeply forward into Julia’s body and started gently with circling movements, demanding her hip to respond until all self-control became an illusion. With a weakly suppressed, hot gasp, he poured into the young woman, felt her hands clawing at his neck and Thomas was, for this happy moment, not of this world.

  Slowly his vision cleared, and despite the darkness, he saw dimly the smiling, sweat-drenched face of Julia. He knew he would have to endure longer in the future, but he saw no blame in the eyes of his lover, but only a deep, contented expression of shared happiness.