And then this command by Fritigern, one last gesture of resistance, a final seed of defiance. A great irony laid in Godegisel’s mission, and he tried to enjoy it in his thoughts again and again and to understand what divine counsel might be behind all this. Surely something was hidden behind all of it, a plan or an intention, but to recognize it exceeded the understanding of the weary traveler. The long journey on winding, little-used paths, full of loneliness, had made him very thoughtful, almost converted him into a philosopher. He felt like a token, which was pushed by larger powers back and forth. Sometimes he had the illusion to make decisions on his own, but then he looked at himself and his deeds from a higher perspective and felt a sudden understanding for the Greek philosophers, the Stoics, of which he had heard. But there was this desire to be able to do something and to have a role to play, to have influence. It was this sudden flash of endeavor that drove him forward, and that made him accept the order of the judge, which had been presented more like a request and less a command.
And although this request was complete madness and the consequences unforeseeable.
Godegisel was on his way to deliver a gift. Fritigern had this trip well prepared, sent messengers, asked sympathizers, but the communication was so difficult that no one could know whether their journey was announced and welcome. A risk, and the nobleman was not one to shy away from it, but it was hiding in the dark, didn’t consist of sword and spear, of the random ways of a guard or the flash of the moon behind the clouds at the wrong time.
Sometimes the young Goth wished the judge would’ve chosen someone else. Someone with the wisdom of age and greater understanding. What did Fritigern see in him? Idle questions he couldn’t answer by himself, and their former leader would probably never tell him. He had been selected, and the deep respect that Godegisel still felt for the judge had almost forced him to obey the petition which wasn’t an order.
Godegisel let his horse slowly fall back until he was at eye level with the cart. The wagon was closed, and on the box sat a hunched figure, holding the reins. Inside, not to be seen through the weatherproof cover, sat, gently tied up but well gagged, Emperor Valens, the precious prisoner. As Fritigern had noticed that Valens was no longer of value to him, because the Romans had already offered him a gracious peace, he had sent the prisoner to the west. Godegisel’s job was to transport Valens surreptitiously and hand him over to people in Gaul who belonged to a group that apparently stood in opposition to the new pan-Roman ruler Gratian.
Godegisel had been thrust directly into the snake pit of Roman rivalries. As the young noblemen also was now formally a Roman, it seemed to be fitting.
What the conspirators wanted to achieve with Valens, Godegisel could only imagine. He would find out soon enough. And perhaps he would also understand which role he was supposed to play.
Whether he himself could make a decision or whether divine intervention pushed him forward on a path laid down and the course of which was unknown to him, Godegisel could only guess.
The young man felt that he was actually not so interested in the answer at all.
The rain became heavier, Godegisel pulled the cloak tighter around and rode back to the top of his column.
No, really, he didn’t want to know.
40
“Funny.”
“What is funny?”
“How you have changed.”
Chief Physician Neumann looked at Rheinberg. Since the death of Becker and the long and quite moving funeral ceremony in a small church near Thessaloniki, the young captain had become calmer and more introverted. Neumann wondered if Rheinberg tormented himself in self-reproach, but if that was so, the captain didn’t show any obvious signs. The good thing was that the young man wasn’t alone. Many men aboard this ship – and now more and more of their Roman hosts – had become friends. Becker’s death had torn a deep and painful gap, but each of them knew that he wasn’t the first and wouldn’t have been the last. That didn’t make things necessarily easier, but it helped to put clarity in their situation.
“We all have been changed by the events,” Neumann said, looking down at the construction site. Around 2,000 workers, most of them slaves, lifted earth from what in the not too distant future should become a dry dock. It was these slaves who had just led to a longer conversation between Rheinberg and a delegation from the crew. Although the Roman citizenship had been conferred to the time travelers by Gratian and consequently they all now were called Romans, no one felt right at home yet. If one followed the argument of Köhler, the reason was the terrible beer and the lack of coffee. Neumann knew that there had to be a few more issues moving their minds.
“That was something special right now,” the captain said. “Three crew members have asked me if I would allow that thousands of slaves are working for us. I know those three, all convinced socialists. Do you know how I would have responded months ago, before our time travel, to such notions?”
“Less understanding, I suppose.”
“You know the story of my sister and the trouble I had because of her husband?”
“Yes.”
“And what have I done now?” Rheinberg made a wide gesture. “I promised them not to forget the issue of slavery. I promised them to give the men the best treatment here. I promised them to ransom whom we can really use for our industrial production and as far as our gold is sufficient. I’ve even commissioned them to assess the well-being of the slaves, to submit proposals, and to report grievances. I can understand them and their concerns and actually want them to be satisfied and understand that I truly don’t want to be a slave owner, and the sight gives me no joy. What have I become now, my friend?”
Neumann smiled. “You’ve become someone who cares, who wants to hold the crew together, and who has visions he’d like to realize.”
“These are big words,” muttered Rheinberg. “Far too many of them.”
“Oh, Jan, you’ve never been someone who has been hiding behind big words, then wait and let others do the work. And you’ve always been someone who was willing to learn. You’re not the same person who took off in Wilhelmshaven, and I foresee that there will be so many other changes in the course of the coming years.”
“Did you join the prophets?”
“You don’t have to be a prophet to predict this. And I don’t really tell you anything you don’t already know, do I?”
Rheinberg said nothing. The crowd before him worked doggedly on the big construction project. The gates made of huge logs were built in a large joinery that belonged to the pre-industrial complex Rheinberg and his men had begun to build adjacent to the dock. They called it “their base,” and the production plant that grew with each passing week and attracted adventurous young Romans willing to learn like light drew moths needed a real name. Once the pit was deep and wide enough, it would be filled with water, and the Saarbrücken would be maneuvered inside and the gates closed. Then the bilge pumps of the ship as well as hundreds of slaves armed with buckets would start to siphon off the water and let the cruiser gently run aground. Dahms already worked on a much more effective pumping system that was still operated by muscle power but would be faster and needed only a few dozen instead of hundreds of slaves. Another project on a very long ever growing list.
Rheinberg looked toward Ravenna. The new base was built near the town. Soon it would become a city by itself. The first of the Romans drawn here had already begun to construct houses, provisionally yet, but Rheinberg could well foresee how fast this would change. Renna had jurisdiction – and thus also the “city planning” – given into the hands of the Germans, with imperial blessing. The attractiveness of the new technological center of the Roman Empire was bolstered by the fact that Romans working here enjoyed two years exemption from taxes and duties, including total exemption from service in the legions.
“Captain?”
Unnoticed Dahms had approached them. Rheinberg turned and nodded. “Is it ready?”
“There is time now.”
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Rheinberg beat Neumann on the shoulder. “Will you come with me? Have you visited our new workshops yet?”
“No, I’m happy to join. I have thrown myself on building our small academy. You will not believe what kind of quack doctors are practicing around here. I have to start all over again in many areas – and on the other hand I am amazed of the knowledge that is already available. Yesterday I met a doctor who performs very excellent eye operations with primitive means! Eye surgery!” Neumann shook his head. “Sometimes I’m learning as much as I teach.”
“It’s not just you,” Dahms added smiling. “If the gentlemen would like to follow me, please?”
The way they had to cover was short. Dahms had ensured that the complex which he had begun to build wasn’t too far away from the newly built docking site for the Saarbrücken . As a slightly foul smell pierced their noses they reached the first section of the building.
“If I’m not mistaken, we have started tanning,” he said. Dahms nodded and pointed to the entrance to tannery. “Want to inspect there?”
“No thanks,” murmured Neumann. “What is our product range?”
“On the one hand we started with clothing, especially boots and shoes. Since we could easily teach the local shoemakers, we got that addressed quite fast. We have now a group of twelve well-qualified masters, and although they don’t work very fast, we have some products already in stock. We also produce leather for seals. Next over we have built a manufacturing plant in which we experiment with plant juices and resins. That might help us, but until now no convincing results.”
“That’s been better than nothing,” replied Rheinberg and looked very happy. “What’s that over there? We wanted –”
“The coking plant, yes. Next week it’ll to go into operation. But then really only for emergencies. We produce charcoal; our goal is two tons per day. It’s obvious that we need most of it for the machine shop.”
As they talked, the men paced further along. It took a few minutes until they passed the not yet functioning cokery and entered an elongated wooden hall with a stone foundation. Dahms shook Fulvius’ hand as he came to meet the visitors hastily and with obvious pride.
Rheinberg had not been here since the ground-breaking ceremony that started construction. He had been much too busy with the political realities of the empire. Since his appointment as Magister Militium, he had realized that he had to be more politician than military. But the hard work had helped him to endure the funerals he had to witness. The tragic and totally unnecessary death of Becker was the biggest burden he carried since Thessaloniki. The funeral under German Christian rite had been simple, but had a large amount of attendants. The inhabitants of the city had donated a tomb for the dead captain, with a large marble tablet on which his life and especially his services had been appreciated. An artist had been commissioned to build a statue, modeled after photos that had been found in Becker’s belongings. The statue had become a masterpiece and looked very lifelike. The city had made it a point to care for the tomb and accepted the order Theodosius himself had given after his arrival. This included the tomb of Flavius Victor. The old general succumbed to his re-inflicted wounds shortly after Becker’s death. His end was the most striking example of the fact of how fundamentally the emergence of Saarbrücken had changed history. Many lives had been saved by the premature termination of the Gothic War and Rheinberg regretted not a moment to have intervened. But people like Flavius Victor had died before their time, so amazing that might sound. Whether this also applied to Becker, Rheinberg couldn’t tell. Maybe the captain would’ve been killed in the African colonies in a war that was now removed from the Rheinberg both temporally as well as emotionally.
Dahms tore the contemplating man from his thoughts. “Our steam engine factory … We are still at the beginning, but we are confident to complete the first prototype of a simple steam engine made of bronze in the next two months. The first Roman steam warship could be in service in half a year.”
Rheinberg nodded. The noise in the hall was deafening. In the back bronze was cast and in the front the finer, more mechanical work was done. Molds were ready and Roman smiths and craftsmen listened to the mostly bellowed instructions from Dahms’ men. With a steam fleet of simple design, Rome would take back the already fundamentally threatened supremacy in the Mediterranean, quickly move troops along the entire coast – Dahms’ blueprints included a troop transport – and could thus respond more quickly to threats.
“All this is only progressing slowly, as we still have to fight very fundamental problems,” Dahms said as he led the men. He pointed to a low, long building close to the factory. “Since we have become a part of the scientific academy, our friend Neumann has begun to build here.”
The doctor nodded gravely. “I want to be addresses only as spectabilis !”
“What is taught in that building?” Rheinberg wanted to know. “Medicine? Technology?”
Dahms snorted. “It would be so nice if.”
“Now what?”
“Reading and writing.” Neumann answered. “Even the most gifted artisans who come to us usually cannot read and write. And mathematics … they do a lot of estimates and less calculation. If we actually want to create something like an industrial base here, the central problem is illiteracy. However, we have to start somewhere. And before anyone gets in our academy, he has to take a six-month course in literacy. That’s not sufficient, and we will continue steadily, but we can’t wait forever with the other topics. Look, Jan!”
Neumann pointed to a group of children walking the road under the leadership of a teenager. They waved cheerfully to the Germans and then turned off to one side, obviously heading toward the makeshift living quarters that had been mashed together with the workshops from nothing.
“We have introduced compulsory education for the families of all our employees in factories and workshops. At least six years. And the best will take a preparatory course of our academy. We need to think long-term – because we time travelers won’t live forever.”
Rheinberg put a hand on Neumann’s shoulder. “That’s what I hadn’t thought of. I’m very glad that I have transferred this task to someone like you. What about our young friend Marcellus?”
At the mention of the name, a big smile slipped on Dahms’ face. “As I discussed with his father, I took him under my wing. He can read and write, and that’s a real advantage. Now he is learning German, which we’ll use as a language of science. He starts with a basic course in mechanics. I’ll make him an engineer, the first modern engineer of the Roman Empire.”
Rheinberg grinned. “Looks as if you have taken up a real project.”
“Dahms is doing right,” Neumann said. “We need role models for new recruits. People who’ve done it. Thus, it becomes attractive to work for us.”
“It already is,” Rheinberg said. “We’ve started to send applicants away!”
“We are currently sought after, because we pay in good coin,” Dahms said. “But we have to be a magnet for people who want to learn and achieve more than they thought possible. This is by example, and that can’t be replaced with all the gold in the world.”
Rheinberg nodded. “I see you have it all pretty well under control. I suspect our tour is not yet quite finished?”
“No, I have another project I’m working on,” Dahms announced and led the men eventually to a small building in which everything still looked quite unfinished and currently no one seemed to work.
“We have planned a number of other workshops, forges, glass factories and such, partly already under construction,” the engineer explained. “But this is something special. You can’t see much, and I admit it isn’t very high on my priority list, but ultimately I think it is something with which we can score with the Romans. This is, one might say, my department for especially high-class technologies. I have here two projects planned. First, I want to build a functioning arc lamp.”
“Arc lamps?” Neumann asked to be sure.
>
“To be exact, carbon arc lamps,” Dahms added. “They could allow us to do various things, such as night shifts in the large factory buildings. But if I imagine that we could also illuminate the Roman Forum at night, then that might make us friends with the urban elite.”
“Arc lamps consume electricity,” Neumann recalled.
“We build steam engines. One use is likely to establish a power plant. A simple steam power plant should not be that difficult to build as soon as our Roman allies have learned the basics. Copper lines we can produce, and then there only remains the question of the insulation. Of course, the utility will be only used relatively limited, but I think that lighting at night just for the big cities will be very attractive.”
Rheinberg scratched his head. Dahms tossed technical visions around in a manner that impressed him greatly. What the engineer was initiating here was no less than an industrial revolution – and in record time.
“What’s the second project?” Neumann wanted to know.
“A dry ice machine.”
“What?” the other two men asked in unison.
“I’ve read a lot about the cooling process, according to Carl von Linde, especially his articles on improved refrigeration. Many breweries in our time have used this method. By making ice, we can make the benefits of our technology especially clear. I mean, the Romans already enjoy quite complex air conditioning systems in their villas, which are operated by cool water. It can be damn hot in the summer, and in our effort to provide improved medical care, cold temperatures also plays a big role.”
“That’s true,” Neumann murmured.
“We can pour chilled wine or even make ice cream in midsummer – we need to offer something that makes us popular among the general population, not only for the high and mighty. If we want to survive here, we need acceptance at all levels.”
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