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End notes
Dirk van den Boom
Betrayal
Copyright © 2017 by Atlantis Verlag Guido Latz,
Bergstraße 34, 52222 Stolberg (Germany)
Cover © Timo Kümmel
Editor: Rob Bignell
eBook Production: André Piotrowski
ISBN 978-3-86402-485-6
www.atlantis-verlag.de
1
Once they entered the large encampment that housed the Western Army, Rheinberg got a first impression of the size and power of the Roman Empire. Gratian was able to lead 25,000 legionaries into battle, strengthened by auxiliary troops and a small entourage. Here in the camp, which the Emperor had set up nearly two weeks ago, something resembling a small town has developed inside the picket fences that the soldiers had rammed into the ground as a demarcation. The trek of the German infantry, guided by the roaring truck, was witnessed with silence by the masses of the Roman soldiers. The approximately 160 infantrymen looked like a very small, very lost column that marched through the wide path toward the giant tent of the Emperor, at any time in danger of being crushed by the overwhelming number of surrounding Roman soldiers.
Rheinberg almost developed claustrophobic anxiety at the thought. He pushed the emotion aside with care, focused on riding next to Aurelius Africanus and the two tribunes, progressing somewhat gracefully on top of his horse. From the corner of his eye, he scrutinized the glances of Roman soldiers. He hoped he didn’t look too bad.
When they had reached the tent of the Emperor in about two hundred yards, the column stopped. From here on, only Africanus and Rheinberg were allowed to proceed. They dismounted from their horses, which were led away by members of the imperial bodyguard. After they had walked to the large linen canopy, four guardsmen who stood in front eyed them suspiciously from under their gleaming helmets. Finally, a curtain was thrown to the side, and an old, bearded man in full armor stepped out. Africanus and Rheinberg stopped before him.
“I’m Arbogast, General of the Emperor,” the muscular man with a weathered face said. “My Lord ordered me to lead you. You are Trierarch Africanus?”
The officer confirmed this and presented the letter Renna had given him. Arbogast accepted it but stuck the paper carelessly into his belt. Then he fixed his gaze on Rheinberg. “And you are the leader of the strangers, of whom we have heard many fantastic tales?”
Rheinberg tried to smile, but the old warhorse didn’t seem to notice. “I hope they have been nice tales, and nothing too negative.”
“People talk a lot,” replied Arbogast. “I hear you’re German.”
Rheinberg hesitated. Arbogast’s name suggested that it was one of the numerous German officers in the Roman army. A predecessor of the legendary Stilicho, who would be a great man and a great failure in the not too distant future. Or maybe not anymore.
“I do come from the area, but –”
Arbogast uttered a sentence in a hard, completely incomprehensible-sounding language. Rheinberg was sure that it was one of the numerous German dialects. The Germans were still centuries away from any resemblance of unity.
“I don’t understand you, General.”
“You are not a German,” said Arbogast.
“I’ll explain it to the Emperor,” Rheinberg dodged.
This seemed to satisfy the general, for he turned abruptly. “So follow me.”
The interior of the tent was more like a hall. Thick carpets were laid out on the floor and dampened the steps. Close to the tent walls were guards who watched the visitors with attentive eyes. Furniture was distributed seemingly at random, and a rear part of the large room was separated by curtains, most likely this was the private area of the Emperor. Clamped up between two support posts of the imperial tent was a large, colorful and very artistic map of the Roman Empire. Before it, a mighty marble table stood that was completely overloaded with documents, maps, and other material. Next to the table, two men waited. One of them Rheinberg recognized immediately: He was young, barely more than 20 years old, and he wore a richly embroidered toga under a purple cloak. It could only be Gratian, the Emperor of Western Rome. The look from the eyes of the young Emperor seemed awake and curious and Rheinberg regarded that as a good omen. The other man was much older, safely around his 50ies and just like Arbogast wearing full armor. He had to be a military in high position.
From the corner of his eye, Rheinberg saw Africanus settle on his knees. He immediately followed his example. No sooner had their knee touches the ground than he heard the soft voice of the Emperor.
“Arise. Later we have time for formalities. Arbogast, these are our guests?”
“It seems, my Emperor.”
“Then offer them seats.”
Servants appeared from the background and pushed chairs to the front. Out of nowhere, wine carafes and bowls with simple food appeared on the small table placed next to them. Arbogast, who appeared not to be too enthusiastic about the extent of hospitality, grunted and made a welcoming gesture, once Rheinberg and Africanus had risen.
“You have already met my faithful General Arbogast.” The Emperor presented him again. “This is Malobaudes, King of the Franks and another highly respected counselor in military as well as civil matters.”
Rheinberg gestured to the older man with a slight bow, which he silently took note of. The captain felt insecure. He had once attended an audience with Emperor Wilhelm II , along with 28 other young naval officers. It had been a very brief encounter, but the courtly ceremony had been reduced to the bare essentials for the Emperor’s favorite soldiers. Wilhelm had appeared in a navy uniform and tried to treat its guests more like comrades and less like subjects. If Rheinberg remembered correctly, it all went like a bad operetta, although the spectacle surely had impressed at least some of his fellow officers. But there was a difference between Wilhelm and Gratian: While one dreamed of the war and the military, with its ceremonies, its pomp and splendor worshiped, the other, since his youth, had led an endless war for the safety of his realm, lived more in field camps than in imperial residences, and was under the constant expectation of his people to oppose any threat. As much as the imperial West and the Eastern Empire were dominated in time of peace by courtly ceremonies of almost oriental proportions, so every Roman emperor also had to be a pragmatist and learn to do without these things if it was necessary. Marcus Aurelius, the famous philosopher-emperor, had spent the last years of his reign only on military campaigns, and this had no doubt contributed to his stoic beliefs. So young as Gratian might be, he had been influenced by life as a commander for a long time.
Africanus took it then to introduce himself as well as Rheinberg. They had both agreed that at the beginning the trierarch would be the one that would describe the past history of the arrival of the Saarbrücken , since the Emperor more easily would believe one of his soldi
ers. Africanus held his description short, closely following the facts and refraining from unnecessary embellishments. He also gave no judgment on the character traits of the new arrivals in order not to be suspected of wanting to influence the Emperor and his assessment unduly.
Gratian’s face was expressionless, as he listened to the lecture. He was a picture of concentrated attention, and it was not discernible if he judged the accounts of the trierarch as credible. Arbogast’s features, however, darkened with each progressing minute. The veteran seemed to hold little regard for this story, though Rheinberg could not see why – maybe he considered Africanus or himself as not trustworthy, the first probably seen as unduly influenced. Rheinberg had to always keep in mind that magic and sorcery in this era was regarded as something absolutely real, and a corresponding charge was done very quickly and would lead to a trial and a mostly deadly judgment.
When Africanus finished, there was no immediate reaction of the Emperor. Arbogast snorted but didn’t express his opinion before Gratian spoke.
The Emperor turned his attention to Rheinberg. “It seems like you can perform miracles.”
“No miracles, Your Majesty. I have some technical means that are unknown to you. But I’m human, mortal, and would be struck down by your generals here, if we should take up the sword against each other.”
Arbogast’s expression led to the conclusion that the general didn’t consider this possibility as something bad.
“If I have understood Africanus correctly, you claim to have traveled through time.”
“Yes, Emperor. But not on purpose. We don’t have this power.”
“So others have taken care of this?”
“Others or one other. We do not know.”
“With what intention?”
“We do not know.”
“And what are your plans now?”
Rheinberg took a deep breath. “My Emperor, we are castaways, if you will. We are looking for a home.”
“My empire?”
“That would be convenient.”
“What can you offer us?”
“Our technical achievements and knowledge.”
“What do you ask for?”
“Security.”
Gratian frowned. “Security? Who could be more secure than you with your mighty ship?”
“This will last only for a short time. Like any machine, ours will only work if properly maintained. For this, we need a base, raw materials, workers. Our security would melt away fast without all this.”
“So why don’t I allow you to melt away and collect what’s left afterwards?”
Rheinberg nodded. “You can. Probably we would try to escape and ask someone else to support us. Your ships cannot stop us. The Persians may possibly have more interest.”
Gratian’s eyes narrowed, and Arbogast seemed to be alarmed by these words. “You threaten us?” the Emperor said.
“I want to survive. I would very much prefer to do it in your empire. I can help you to save it.”
“Save it?”
“There’s a lot we can do. An important historical development has begun, only to be presaged by the Goths. The empire is facing an abyss, especially the West, and you yourself will face death in a short time.”
Gratian exchanged a look with Arbogast. “You can see into the future, can you?”
“I know the past, because I come from the future.”
“And you want to share your knowledge with us?”
“In exchange for security.”
Gratian sat back and looked pensive at the tent roof. Arbogast could no longer restrain himself now. “We need a proof of your good will,” he growled.
“We have brought down the pirates,” said Rheinberg.
The General made a derogatory gesture. “You attacked a couple of sailing ships and captured a criminal. Fine. I mean a real challenge.”
“What are you thinking?”
“You say that the Goths were just the beginning?”
“They are harbingers.”
“Harbingers of what?”
“Numerous other peoples who will flock to the borders of the empire and ultimately crush the West in less than a hundred years,” said Rheinberg.
“And you know what we can do about it?” Arbogast said.
“I have some ideas.”
“Show us what you can do now. You know how it looks in the East?”
“Valens fell, the Goths plunder everywhere, and two-thirds of the eastern army is dead.”
Arbogast hesitated. “Two-thirds.”
“About 22,000 deaths,” affirmed Rheinberg. “Only one supreme commander has survived.”
“Which one?”
“Flavius Victor.”
“Sebastianus is dead?” Gratian seemed to be hooked.
Rheinberg nodded. He had reread everything just before he had come here. Each of his “predictions” had to be right.
“Good. Then show your superiority and the power of your knowledge and fight against the Goths!” Arbogast demanded.
“I will.”
Stunned silence followed Rheinberg’s outspoken and quick response.
“With your … how many men?”
“One hundred and sixty.”
“But the Goths are –”
“Maybe 20,000 or 30,000. Who knows.”
“This is absurd. You’re a phony.”
“Come with me.”
Arbogast opened his mouth and closed it again immediately. When he saw an amused smile on Gratian’s lips, he was at once more embarrassed than angry.
“Yes, Arbogast. Accompany him. Take a unit of legionaries, but also horses and carts with you and then it goes to the East. I wish you to travel over land; I don’t want to provoke any great stir through the miracle ship. In addition, the strangers should get used to our soldiers and vice versa. Unite with Flavius Victor, and maybe you can discern if something is to be achieved against the Goths.”
“You make me the general of the East?”
“No, this will be Theodosius. I decided it yesterday. The son of the old general, a Roman of high blood. I have already sent a messenger to Spain. He will meet me here as fast as he can.”
Gratian’s attention was back on Rheinberg. He agreed with the commands of the Emperor. To travel over the land, as an extended trust-building measure, was not a stupid idea in order to fight mistrust and fear. It took time, but they were not really in a hurry. Theodosius had spent years fighting the Goths, and it would surely not take that much now.
“Theodosius is in your past?” Gratian asked.
“He became emperor of the East.”
Gratian didn’t seem surprised. “A good emperor?”
“Could have been worse,” Rheinberg said cautiously. “But there were also better ones.”
The Emperor waited for an explanation, but Rheinberg decided to stick to it for now.
“But a good commander,” asked Gratian.
“A thoroughly capable leader,” Rheinberg admitted. “But he didn’t manage to defeat the Goths.”
“What is the result? The East lost?”
“No. He will offer the Goths the status of Foederatii and allows their king to rule. They will not be subjects of the empire but may settle within its borders, and they will not accept orders by the Roman administration, only being required to accept counsel.”
Gratian didn’t seem very happy about this answer. “That seems risky,” he muttered.
“Very risky,” Rheinberg agreed. “And it constituted a precedent. It leads indirectly to the dissolution of the empire, especially in the West, because your followers will take the same, simple and convenient solution in other cases.”
Arbogast looked thoughtful. Malobaudes, who had not said a word, nodded. As Frankish king, he could very well appreciate what kind of reasoning led to the solution Rheinberg mentioned. Gratian also seemed to recognize the importance of such a development almost intuitively.
“You’ll have to tell me more about thi
s, Rheinberg,” Gratian finally said.
“I’m at your disposal. But maybe you and the revered Arbogast are interested in a demonstration of what we want to impress the Goths with?”
Arbogast’s eyes glittered. “A demonstration? Indeed.”
“A good idea,” said Gratian. “What do you need?”
“Targets. And an open field.”
“Malobaudes …”
“I will provide everything,” the general replied immediately.
“Then may I invite you all to attend a small display of our prowess!” Rheinberg said with satisfaction.
The men rose.
On the way out, Rheinberg told Malobaudes what Becker had described in their joint preparation. The general seemed a little confused at first but promised to get to it at once. As they all stood in the sun in the late morning and only the Frank hurried to give his staff orders, Rheinberg waved Becker. After a sign by Gratian, he was admitted to the small group.
“That’s Legate Becker, commander of my small cohort.”
Becker bowed deeply.
“He’ll demonstrate the power of his weapons. The Emperor has consented to the presentation. It is all prepared.”
Becker smiled and asked to be allowed to withdraw, which was granted. No sooner had he reached his men than he shouted commands, and the infantrymen jumped up to unload three machine guns from the truck. Gratian and Arbogast looked at the vehicle with undisguised interest.
“I invite you and your guardsmen to come along to the site of the demonstration in our car,” Rheinberg offered spontaneously. “Your guardsmen can accompany us so they can punish me if anything happens. Take it as another presentation of our technical achievements.”
Arbogast tried to dissuade his Emperor of a quick decision, but Gratian had already given his consent with barely concealed enthusiasm. The general had no choice but to shout to a centurion, who immediately came trotting up with two dozen guardsmen.
“Here we go!” Rheinberg helped both Gratian and Arbogast into the cab, before he took his seat behind the wheel. Then he heard the guards entering the emptied truck bed behind him, while one German helped them to put the narrow benches down and secure them. They were surely squinting suspiciously at the now orphaned MG on the roof above their emperor.
The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal Page 1