Victor nodded. “I can understand that, and I’m very excited about these ideas.”
“But there are some other problems that cannot be solved with a new craft alone. Economic problems, religious disputes, public budgets, the corruption in the administration. These are issues where we may be able to give some advice, but there will still be plenty of opportunities to make mistakes. Ultimately, it will depend on whether those in the charge of the Empire will succeed in gaining the right insights and to act appropriately or not.”
Victor pressed his lips, exchanged a look with Arbogast, who had had this discussion with Becker several times during their journey here. “I suppose your leader speaks about these things in court.”
“I suppose he did that, I’m not sure if he is still with Gratian. Incidentally, this is one of the problems we have to solve: communication.”
The military chief inclined his head in agreement. “This is a point at which I would like to agree with you unconditionally. Let us discuss the details of the plan to be implemented against the Goths further once you have an overview of the defenses of the city. I suspect this will be quite important for your planning.”
“So it is. Thank you.”
“And you, Arbogast, convene a meeting of your officers with mine. I want to know exactly how this fight had been conducted a few days ago, in all the details. I have a feeling that I still cannot fathom correctly the power of these miraculous weapons.”
“It shall be done, Victor. How is your injury? The aliens have a medicus with them, who has interesting abilities and medicines. He has done wonders with my own injuries.”
Victor waved. “I’m all right. No miracle was needed to recover.”
When the three men left the room, Becker had the feeling that Flavius Victor was no threat or danger for the time being. But he would have to convince the old general and couldn’t rest forever on the praise that Arbogast had proffered.
As to the coming battle, he looked forward to it with terror.
25
“Go to the Legion! Visits to foreign countries! Meet exotic peoples,” Simodes groaned.
“And break their skulls!” Volkert added. Both men were at the end of their strength, lay on their simple beds and looked at the starry sky. The weather had become quite chilly and the campfire gave little heat. Every now and then, when one of the soldiers threw on a piece of wood, and the flames regained some strength, something like a short heat wave rushed over them, fast replaced by the cold of the early winter.
“Cursed be Theodosius, new hero of our great Emperor Gratian,” Simodes muttered bitterly and looked suspiciously at the bone in his right hand, on which yesterday enough meat for an evening meal had hung. Today he could not do much more than nibble the rest and suck the marrow.
Volkert didn’t contradict his comrade. On their way to Noricum the message came: All recruits had to go to an assembly place, where the new commander of the East had to put their skills to the test. The Sarmatians, a wild mountain people, threatened the borders of the empire, and the garrisons had asked for help. And now everyone marched to Illyricum, where Theodosius was waiting with troops Gratian had left him. Ready to take advantage of the crushing defeat of Valens, the Sarmatians threatened Pannonia, the direct gateway to both the West and the East of the Empire. It would be Theodosius’ first test, and as Volkert knew from his history, he would be victorious. After that, Gratian would appoint him Augustus, if Becker wasn’t able to forestall this by a convincing action in the East – and if Rheinberg hadn’t convinced the young emperor to keep control of the whole empire in his hands.
All this had nothing to do with him. His time on the Saarbrücken , his love for Julia … everything appeared to him in a strange cloud and far away. Almost surprised, he observed himself how he began to put up better and better with his situation. He laughed at the jokes of Simodes, swore like the other legionaries, identified officers with whom one could get along and those who were bad grinders. He came along better and better with his equipment and began more and more to understand the sword and the spear. His sandals and boots fit him, the helmet no longer ached, and he knew how he had to pack the bundle in order to wear it with reasonable comfort on his back. He felt like he enjoyed the small, good things more and more, and the bad things annoyed him less and less. He behaved in such a way that he came through well, and he took care of his surroundings in a way that no one had a reason to actively dislike him. His Latin was better, although consistently vulgar, and the same was true of his Greek, which was supplemented by Simodes through numerous descriptions and vocabulary that Volkert wouldn’t have found in any textbook.
Volkert had been initially frightened by this development, but this feeling staled. In the end, he realized how fatalism had overcome him, and he was drifting into acceptance, which was particularly easy in the Legion as in every army: For whoever didn’t have to think, it was enough to obey blindly, to submit to the routine, and to simply do only what was expected of one. Volkert remembered a different motivation when he had volunteered to an officer’s career, a desire to lead men and to accept responsibility. Here, lying in the mud of northern Italy, with a bad-tempered Simodes at his side, this increasingly seemed like a very distant ideal. Maybe it was a necessary and wholesome repression of feelings that helped him to endure his new life better; maybe it was only the deep fatigue engulfing body and spirit that had led to it. Maybe he would think and feel differently if he had only slept in a real bed and ate decently, a prospect that in the near future would hardly be achievable.
“Sarmatians,” Simodes whispered in the night sky. “What are those guys?”
“People with sharp blades that they sink joyfully in Roman legionaries,” said Volkert.
“And you think we will be victorious?”
Volkert had allowed himself to deliver a very confident prediction of the course of the war based on his historical foreknowledge. “Oh yes, Rome will be victorious. But whether we ourselves shall be victorious, I don’t know. I don’t believe that the attackers will be deflected by good words; in fact, there will be fights, and blood will flow. And while I’m very sure that Theodosius will lead the Roman Empire to victory, there also will be almost certainly dead Roman legionaries on the way.”
In moments like this the ensign understood what a difference it made to read historical treatises in books and to philosophize about those generals and the advantages of strategy here and there, or, instead, to witness these campaigns themselves. Because then one was quickly confronted with the realization that glorious victories were always fought on the backs of dead soldiers who were also part of the winning side. This contrast forced Volkert to think and when the eyes of his audience shone while he talked of the approaching victory, he wasn’t capable of showing the same confidence like them. Instead, he saw himself and Simodes lying in their own blood on the battlefield, while behind them the surviving legionaries cheered the glorious Theodosius.
That was an image he could not scare away from his thoughts even with the greatest effort. Simodes seemed to detect his friend’s inner conflict, because he had repeatedly assured him that he’d take “good care of him” during the battle. This sign of sincere friendship touched Volkert and he had thanked the Greek, but the affection of the man hadn’t been of great comfort. The fears he carried developed into a jumble of negative feelings, such as wandering a maze from which one couldn’t escape anymore.
When Volkert finally stretched himself and felt the cold sneak out of the hard ground into his bones, he knew he would have a short night with little sleep, followed by a long day with many forced marches.
This prospect left him cold as well. The murmur of the comrades was like a lullaby, and then Thomas Volkert slept.
26
“I cannot allow him to serve. But I have to.”
This was the third time that Rheinberg had said this sentence. Dahms, Neumann and Joergensen exchanged silent glances. The news of the mutiny, their victims, and the
bloody crackdown had left visible traces in the young commander’s demeanor. He upheld a disciplined attitude, as was expected of him, but above all, the doctor realized how much was working inside Rheinberg.
“They have to be executed, the whole pack,” Dahms insisted. He spoke the words in complete calmness, without ever raising his voice, but his anger and disgust made this controlled reaction particularly haunting. “A court martial, right here, right now, and then legal execution. I want a proper proceeding, without any doubt. But the verdict is clear according to Roman as well as German law. We are here in full compliance and shouldn’t shy from it.”
Rheinberg looked at Dahms and just as he had repeated one sentence several times, he also reiterated shaking his head.
“Mr. Chief Engineer, I can understand your anger very well. And we had other circumstances, I would have no hesitation to exactly go the way you have just mapped out. But that doesn’t work here and now. The promise wasn’t only tactically, it was meant to be. It has to be real, and we have to be true to our word.”
“Why?” No reproach in Dahms’ voice, not even genuine curiosity, only self-control. Rheinberg sighed.
“Because we are here alone, Dahms. Because there is only a finite number of us, us travelers in time. Because we carry unique knowledge within us, each one of us. Because we cannot afford to waste this knowledge by shooting it. Because we are so few and yet all that is left to us from home. This cannot be dismissed, Dahms. When I execute all the men, then their skills are missing one day. In regard to the machines, in our conversations over a beer, in our memories, and … just everything. They will be missed, Dahms, very bitterly indeed.”
The haunting words of Rheinberg seemed to have their effect on the engineer. He pressed his lips together, seemed almost reluctantly want to understand what he was told, gained a certain amount of insight but could not seal the deal.
“We cannot do that,” Rheinberg affirmed. “But we cannot pretend as if nothing happened either. It’s fucking crap that von Klasewitz and Tennberg are gone. On them, Dahms, I would’ve made an example. Von Klasewitz would have jumped over the blade, and Tennberg I would have demoted to a sailor. But … but so …”
“I understand well that we cannot just shoot the mutineers,” Neumann said. “The Romans have also put to death only a few legionaries, who had been in the employ of Petronius. The imprisoned monks are punished, but out of consideration for the nation’s soul, Renna has dispensed executions. It is not as if he wants to react particularly bloodthirsty, and therefore maybe we shouldn’t either.”
Rheinberg looked gratefully at Neumann. “Then we do it like this: All men are demoted to sailors and are placed on probation for an extended period of time. Whoever behaves decently and does his duty, may be promoted again or is allowed to resign from duty after three years. Whoever gives even the slightest cause for censure, has forfeited his life. I’m going to the officers and non-commissioned officers to instruct them to keep the guys under permanent scrutiny.”
“That’ll work,” Joergensen mused. “The men will be grateful to get a second chance and take good care of their conduct. They know that their life is hanging by a thread. I am committed to make it so. I’ll commit myself to the task of monitoring the delinquents particularly diligent.”
“Then I charge you to assess the probation,” Rheinberg prodded immediately. “I put it in your hands. Have I already told you that you are the new first officer?”
Joergensen grinned like a little boy.
“And I promote you to Lieutenant Commander. We’ll make a fine ceremony of it. As a lieutenant, I really cannot give you that much responsibility.”
Joergensen grin grew wider.
Rheinberg gaze wandered back to Dahms.
“Are you coming along with this? Some of the mutineers are in your engine room.”
“If you command …”
“No,” Rheinberg interrupted him immediately. “I ask you: Do you come along? With your heart? Will you give my decision a chance, Dahms? This is important, we need to jointly represent our decisions before the crew. We have to be convincing.”
He looked Dahms straight in the eye. The man avoided his glance for a second, but it wasn’t a test of strength, but rather a search for mutual understanding. Finally, the engineer nodded. Briskly, but without further hesitation.
Rheinberg felt relief. He could not afford any new disturbance in his command.
“Then let’s talk about other issues that are pending as well. Yes, you’ve heard the news I brought from Sirmium. We cannot accomplish much here, and I have decided to leave Ravenna and to make sail toward Thessaloniki so that we can stay closer to Becker. I’m now very confident that we are no longer perceived as an immediate threat. Renna is familiar to us; we’ll take Africanus along as a liaison officer. Furthermore, we will take another ten Roman sailors who are to serve on the Saarbrücken – and therefore, new training needs are ahead of us.”
“When they are young, that is no problem,” Dahms said. “Once they overcome their fears, they will be ready to digest knowledge. Make sure that they are young guys with some experience on sea, then we’ll get along well enough. We need to begin anyway, since we have to compensate for losses already.”
“So it is. Gratian has invested a certain confidence in us, and we don’t want to squander that trust. It now depends a lot on whether we get the Gothic problem under control. I have exhausted my share of diplomacy and golden speeches until further notice. Now it’s Becker’s turn, and we’ll see where we can still help him, even if the Saarbrücken is only used as a floating hospital. Speaking of which … we definitely need more medical staff.” Rheinberg cast a meaningful glance at Neumann.
“I know, and I have already an idea. Ultimately, we’ll have to transfer a lot of knowledge if we want to bring some of our Roman friends in. I’ve been out on a long conversation with Renna, and he hasn’t only agreed to send me some of the local doctors for training – preferably those that are still willing to actually learn something – but he found my idea of a medical academy quite interesting.”
“An academy? Do you want to become a professor?” Joergensen asked with a smile.
“Each of us will become a teacher,” Rheinberg said. “And the idea regarding an academy is excellent – and not only for the medical field.”
“But this requires some quiet time for preparation,” Neumann remarked. “We need to establish some form of a teaching curriculum, and some relief from normal duty for the most knowledgeable among us. It doesn’t look feasible currently.”
“Not yet, true. I also fear that we will have to improvise. For me, however, it is of central importance that we begin preparations as early as possible so that we don’t lose too much time once the opportunity arises. We have to start somehow.”
“Then I have a free hand to take appropriate action?” Neumann wanted to make sure.
“You have, and much more: Don’t just think of your area of expertise, but also about other knowledge that we have on board. It’s clear for us in theory, but we need a summary of all areas of expertise in our crew, something which goes beyond formal certificates. Each station chief should write up an assessment of his crew members, their skills, any knowledge they have acquired over time, even beyond the diplomas or letters. I also want to know whom can be reasonably expected to do a good job in teaching someone. We have to gain a comprehensive overview. Neumann, I give you the ultimate responsibility for this activity. Report as soon as you have assembled the information.”
The doctor took the order without visible reaction. Rheinberg knew this task was in very good hands.
“I’ve spoken with Renna on some other issues, especially in terms of our collaboration with local craftsmen,” the captain continued, “and we have a long-term approach toward a major project. A dry dock.”
Dahms woke up again. “This is really needed, Captain. The Mediterranean is poison for our Saarbrücken . We eventually need to paint the hull new,
clean everything and tackle the rust … The rust worries me. We always need a dry dock. We need workers and indeed many – to paint and to pump out the water the good old way, with buckets.”
“But you know who we talk about when we ask the Romans for a workforce …” Neumann said vaguely.
“Yes, we are talking about slaves,” Rheinberg said. “Of this I’m quite aware. I’m not exactly thrilled about it. But we can influence things only gradually. To ask the Roman Emperor to abolish slavery is totally absurd at this point. But if we should actually succeed in introducing certain production methods and techniques in Rome, things will be done without slaves sooner or later anyway. We can make a first step by making sure that the slaves who work for us are all decently cared for and not subjected to unnecessarily harsh treatment. But we need many hands. No doubt about it.”
“We could, of course, and for the time being, do without a dry dock and when an overhaul is necessary move to the Jade Bay in the North and let the Saarbrücken fall dry at low tide,” Joergensen said.
“Oh yes,” Rheinberg said. “There’s only one small problem: At this time the Jade Bay doesn’t exist.”
“Oh,” the newly crowned first officer said.
“There was always a strong tidal change at the height of Le Havre,” Dahms said thoughtfully. “It should be the same nowadays.”
“We can keep the strategy as a fallback safely in mind. But I would prefer for the cruiser to establish a solid base around which we build a ring of workshops, in which we inject our technology, manufacture spare parts, simple tools, and process raw material. A kind of small-scale industry, but focused on keeping the cruiser alive as long as possible,” said Rheinberg.
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