The Emperor's Men_2_Betrayal

by Dirk van den Boom

  Everything was written down quickly, and soon a messenger rode from the camp at night toward Thessaloniki. He would still take a few days until he’d reach the city, and then they possibly had to act quickly. Of course, there was another reason why Becker urged haste: He wanted to unite his men as soon as possible with the Saarbrücken . Despite the good cooperation with the Romans, he felt a little lost and helpless in the middle of the Roman East, and the metal walls of the cruiser had given him a greater sense of security than he wanted to admit. The cruiser was home, and before their position in the empire did not really strengthen and their legal status was clear it would remain so.

  As Becker went to sleep and dozed off after a few minutes, the likeness of his fiancé crept in his consciousness. He had banished her face in recent weeks, aware of the memory, and in self-protection, because there were so many other issues to consider. Even now her image flickered for only a short time before his inner eye. The awareness of being removed from her by many hundreds of years, an unbridgeable time, weighed heavily on him. Feeling helpless was not his nature. To accept the inevitable had always been one of his strengths. Yet he had imagined for a moment what it would have been like if he had not made this very strange journey through time. He probably would be somewhere in Africa after the outbreak of the war, probably struck down in time by British colonial troops or incensed natives. And even if they would have returned to Germany, he would have quickly found himself again in another battle. Unlike Rheinberg, who had eagerly awaited the approaching war to be formally declared and was firmly convinced of the victory of the German Empire on all fronts, Becker had not shared both his passion and conviction.

  No, he probably wouldn’t be able to return to his fiancée. For a moment he thought about it, considered if that was a comforting thought or not, and was asleep.

  6

  The shackles for the recruits were only removed within the encampment. The partly younger, partly older men already looked around, some scared, some apathetic. They were marched through the night until they finally arrived in this camp. It seemed to be only a temporary reception center for mustering and assessment. After that, a good-humored guard had told them during the march, they would be spread over legions that had urgent staffing needs, where they would also receive training for their role as warriors of Rome. Due to the growing shortage of personnel, the training had been shortened and often enough it happened that troops of unprepared legionaries had to go to an unexpected fight – which in turn automatically and very quickly led to sudden staff shortages again. A well-trained, well-equipped and well-run legionary was still superior to any known attacker. However, this combination became increasingly less common, and Volkert noted with bitterness that the for this time supposedly alien concept of “cannon fodder” could in fact be applied to the recruits gathered here.

  With red-rimmed eyes and covered in dust, the brave fighters stood in the central square in the middle of the camp, observed by a number of attentive legionaries. In some cases Volkert could read hints of compassion in their faces, and it was likely that one or the other of them had been pressed into service, too. The bulk of the staff replenishment was provided by the soldiers’ families, for the son of a legionary was legally obliged also to become a soldier, regardless of inclination and talent. The job of a soldier was not entirely unattractive, because in some respects the wordy recruiter had certainly spoken the truth. Whoever proved himself and survived could, in fact, leave the armed forces with a higher social status than he had at the time at which he had entered into it. Veterans still enjoyed privileges. Nevertheless, the enthusiasm to join the armed forces apparently had subsided with time.

  A gray-bearded centurion stood in front of the hopeless bunch. He chewed on something and ran his hand over his unshaven chin. Then he spat on the floor and cleared his throat. “Greetings, legionairies.”

  Silence answered him, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

  “My name is Lucius Latinus. Welcome to the legion. You are now warriors of the Emperor, and I am your god. This honor will earn you a decent signing bonus, which might hopefully soften your disappointment about the somewhat unconventional way of recruiting.”

  The centurion explained the procedure once more, leaving no doubt that he wasn’t too interested in the whole thing on a personal level. Volkert felt his attention wander, and very quickly the face of Julia appeared before his mind’s eye. The painful longing for the young woman mingled with despair about his current situation, and for a moment it seemed to him as if his heart would burst. A deep despondency fell upon him, and he quarreled with fate. With all his power he desired a miracle that would free him from this predicament. But not for a moment he thought that all this was the fault of Julia’s daring plan. The senator’s daughter wasn’t responsible for the difficult situation of the empire and the blatant injustices that came with it. Volkert knew that Captain Rheinberg was convinced that it had been, among others, these injustices that had ultimately contributed to the demise of the empire. He wanted to use his influence to rectify some of these basic grievances. But for Volkert this would come too late in any case. The young man already envisioned himself lying in his blood on some foreign battlefield, forgotten by the world, and only mourned by a girl he’d never see again.

  Volkert lowered his head so no one saw the tears in his eye. Overwhelmed by self-pity, he saw no chance to change anything in his fate.

  “You there!”

  Volkert hastily wiped the moisture from his eyes.

  The centurion suddenly stood in front of him. “How old are you, boy?”

  The man smelled as if he had not bathed for days. Volkert was trying to gather air through the mouth and not to show his disgust.

  “I’m 22, Centurion.”

  “What is your profession?”

  Volkert thought quickly. Which part of his knowledge could he use to pretend having a profession recognizable in this age and time? He remembered only his long sailing trip on the North Sea which he had made with his father, during which his love of the sea has been awakened.

  “I’m a fisherman.”

  “You’re wrong. You are a Legionary.”

  Volkert pressed his lips on each other, but there was no reproach visible in the face of the fierce centurion.

  “Understand that rather quickly, my boy,” the man continued with surprisingly soft voice. “It makes things easier. For everyone of you, there is a place in the legion, believe me. If you’re lucky, you’ll be placed in one of the garrisons and sit on your butt for years, watching the farmers plowing their fields and help their daughters to discover their interest for men in uniform.”

  The man’s almost conciliatory tone surprised Volkert somewhat. He took courage and answered. “I have a bride.”

  The centurion nodded sympathetically. “There are writers and against a few small coins messengers who are ready to deliver letters. If your bride is ready to follow you, then she can join the train to the camp.”

  “She certainly followed me,” Volkert said, feeling exactly the security he expressed. Julia would have put the wheels in motion to find out where they had taken him, there was no doubt.

  “Then wait until your transfer is clear and give her your recruitment bonus so she can join you. Once the training is over, you possibly will be given clearance to leave the camp quite soon. You are not allowed to marry yet, but everything else your centurion will not be interested in, if you give him no reason to complain in important matters. If your bride is faithful to you, there is a way. And the empire will give you the opportunity to earn even more if a battle has been won. You two could have it worse.” The centurion put an arm on Volkert’s shoulder. “Believe me, I am also sorry how we have to make howling youths into legionaries. I would also prefer it if the recruits would come voluntarily into service, because of fame or at least only because they hope to get rich through all kind of looting. I didn’t make the time we live in, though. Pull yourself together.”

/>   Abruptly, the man turned, and Volkert felt that bitter stench of that man didn’t matter anymore.

  Volkert lowered his head again. He no longer felt quite so miserable as a few minutes ago. At this place and at this time – and by this man – he probably enjoyed at least a brief moment of understanding and compassion. It proved to him that there could still be soldiers who, in a time of permanent war and great cruelties, had retained some humanity and had not completely degenerated into animals. It didn’t make his situation any better, but it gave him some hope, and the honest words of the centurion had at least shown him that perhaps all was not yet lost.

  Volkert stretched, as the column of the recruits was called to come to the medicus to be examined. He was healthy, muscular, well-trained. He would be taken, there was no doubt about that.

  Volkert’s gaze wandered to the edge of the camp, where he could make out the rows of tents. The certainty that Julia was out there somewhere helped him through these difficult moments as much as the compassionate words of the old veteran. There was hope. And if he only nourished it, a way to muddle through would be found.

  “Forward!” the centurion commanded.

  And forward he went.

  7

  “Gentlemen, some serious mistakes have been made, and we have to correct them as quickly as possible.”

  Joergensen, Langenhagen and Dahms exchanged meaningful glances, as von Klasewitz positioned himself at the head end of the table and began his lecture. It had taken longer than expected until the officers had gathered here. This had been because von Klasewitz had received unexpected visits twice after the cruiser had been moored back. First Navarch Renna had appeared. He had apologized with many words about the “incompetence” of his numerically much inferior port guards, at least that was what the others had picked up from the subdued conversation. A quite important decision was leaked – namely, that Renna had been appointed military prefect and been granted the military command of northern Italy. Everyone knew that this promotion had something to do with the Saarbrücken . Renna himself seemed to regard this sudden honor with mixed feelings, but of course he was not in a position to question the decisions of the Emperor even remotely.

  The conversation had ultimately been relatively short, because the three officers knew very well that Renna had slowly begun to share Rheinberg’s doubts about von Klasewitz’s skills.

  A short time later, Petronius had appeared.

  Köhler had reported to the other officers about the very strange conversation they had with the envoy of Bishop Liberius, so that they were briefed fully. The meeting with Petronius, who had established a relationship with von Klasewitz which was obviously based on mutual understanding, lasted nearly three hours. It was followed by a triumphant announcement by von Klasewitz that there would be no further attacks from the clergy – interestingly, a guaranty that Renna had obviously not wanted to make, perhaps because he doubted his ability to deliver.

  “We are lucky to have both the opportunity and the insight necessary to rectify said wrongs, and I’m sure that you are as happy about it as I.”

  If von Klasewitz had expected to evoke visible agreement with these words, his expectation wasn’t readily met. Only Ensign Tennberg, after Volkert’s desertion the only remaining cadet aboard the Saarbrücken , seemed to find extremely important to keep an open mind in regard to von Klasewitz’s slightly nebulous hints.

  “Captain Rheinberg has already clarified his strategy to us, and in many areas, I, of course, agree with him,” von Klasewitz said. “Nevertheless, the captain is not immune to misperceptions and the events of today have very clearly shown where those can lead and have led to.” Von Klasewitz glanced around, looking for approval, but met again only patience and serenity. Given the fact that he had not said anything of substance, this wasn’t surprising, but it seemed to rankle him, because his face turned somewhat acidic as he continued. “Gentlemen, a fundamental principle the captain has postulated for us in our approach to the Roman Empire has been complete neutrality when confronted with religious differences. Actually, Rheinberg wants to apply this principle to a higher political level as well; at least that’s how I understood his hints before his departure to Sirmium.”

  Von Klasewitz cleared his throat.

  “Anyway, in this historical phase we encounter, I consider it dangerous to pursue such a policy,” he continued. “In the German Empire, a well-established political system, characterized by a high degree of patriotism and love for the fatherland and imbued with loyalty to the excellent personality of our Emperor, one might be inclined to allow some tolerance in these matters. And indeed, it would have been a step backwards to antagonize Catholics and Protestants, who are also found in peaceful harmony with each other on this ship. Even in regard to Jews, one may accept a degree of tolerance.”

  Von Klasewitz’s expression showed quite clearly what he really thought of this kind of tolerance. Dahms threw another look at Joergensen, and he obviously didn’t fancy the undertone. His fiancée, separated from him through the ages, was of Jewish heritage, and that was certainly one of the reasons why the required dispensation for marriage had not been issued until shortly before the trip of the Saarbrücken . Still, no one interrupted the first officer, who had continued unabashed, though Joergensen still looked like he wanted to throttle the nobleman immediately.

  “But here we are in another era! Here the Church is not so stable and resting in itself, as in our time! Heresies and apostasies are ubiquitous, and the struggle to adhere to the true doctrine everywhere has not ended! The state couldn’t be neutral in this – and rightly so. The coming emperor that our dear captain seeks to prevent is called by Christian historiography ‘the Great’ gentlemen! He has driven the heresy of Arianism and the paganism of ancient cults with fire and sword from the Roman Empire, preserving the unity of the Church, and thus laid the foundation for our venerable Western tradition! And all this is under the guidance of one who is now venerated by Catholics as a saint and father of the church, Ambrosius of Milan! Who are we – who is Captain Rheinberg? – that we want to counter this inevitable historical development, this necessary catharsis, this pressing, cleansing flood of events? And what is the consequence if we even try? We noticed it today. Priests have tried to use force against us, and they have the orthodox population of Ravenna on their side! Dumb luck saved us from the worst! Next time, I fear that we will not get away unharmed! And this reveals the sensitivity of this major error in Rheinberg’s assessment of the situation!”

  Even his critics would concede that von Klasewitz could be quite convincing once he gathered some rhetorical momentum. The flushed cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes showed that he was in awe of his own words.

  “And so, gentlemen,” he continued, “our path is clearly marked. In this historical conflict, we must not go against but with the flow and the flow goes clearly in one direction: to the Trinitarian doctrine against heresies such as Arianism and of course also against all other pagan cults which may once have been relevant in the past, but now belong to the junkyard of history.”

  The first officer paused and looked around. On the faces before him was a remarkable range of emotions. Some men seemed to have become thoughtful by his eloquence, some had taken the argument at least momentarily, others seemed to remain indifferent. Joergensen, Langenhagen and Dahms were largely appalled, and their eyes spoke volumes. From their perspective, von Klasewitz wanted to play with the fire, he wanted to promote a conflict that could not only lead to civil war but also to the profound weakening of the Roman Empire, as Rheinberg had warned strongly against.

  “What exactly do you propose?”, asked Dahms.

  “Thanks for a good question,” replied von Klasewitz. “In fact, I already have a plan. First, we must make it clear to the local clergy that there is no doubt where exactly our loyalties lie, and that is true regardless of what the new military prefect says about it. We need to demonstrate our devotion, prove that we are not only all true
Christians but that we also know what the Trinity really means and how it is to be evaluated. I thought of a blessing ceremony with the Archbishop of Ravenna, attended by all the officers, and a renewal of baptism for all on board.”

  “More than half of men are Protestants,” Langenhagen reminded him.

  Von Klasewitz looked irritated at the man. “These are minor details that we really don’t need to rub the nose of the local Christians with.”

  At least at this point his critics could only agree with him. It would replace one conflict only by another if one would talk too easily about Luther’s theses and the subsequent schism. Nevertheless, von Klasewitz, apparently a renewed Catholic, whose seemingly deep faith had formerly been quite unknown to anyone present, was clearly not ready to take any existing religious feelings of the crew into serious consideration.

  Von Klasewitz apparently expected more questions and comments.

  Joergensen was finally the one who spoke. “Your reasoning has certainly some appeal,” he said, trying to restrain himself. “But such a fundamental decision is something we have to discuss with the Captain. We cannot do anything of importance without his consent, especially not such an important change of strategy.”

  “Captain Rheinberg isn’t here,” von Klasewitz stated. “The attack by the angry mob today should have impressed on you that time is running out.”

  “Didn’t Petronius promise to keep the people under control?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will do his utmost,” the first officer replied evasively. “But how great is his influence? I cannot tell. Do you?”

  “No,” admitted the second officer. “But when I think about Petronius and thus the Archbishop’s moderating effect on the fanatical elements, and when I see likewise that Renna has authorized us an additional department of harbor guards, I see really good conditions created to wait for the return of the Captain. We should expedite the matter, surely. We should immediately send him a message.”