The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal
Page 4
Gratian threw Arbogast a confused look. “Has Rheinberg suggested that?”
“Not to me.”
Ambrosius looked from one to the other, sat back, his eyes fixed on an imaginary point in front of him. He noted that he almost made a fatal error.
“Well,” he said in a quiet voice. “Then nothing is lost. What I have just explained to you is what has been reported to me from Ravenna. You have not yet been privy to Rheinberg’s plans, probably in order not to scare you, only to gain your trust, and then when you no longer can do without him he will come up with these absurd proposals. I warn you, noble majesty – and you too, General! There is more perfidy and corruption in those foreign visitors as their outer appearance might imply! Be on your guard, and don’t become easily impressed by the sweet words of this stranger.”
“His deeds should impress me,” Gratian replied unmoved. Still, there was now some doubt in his eyes.
Ambrosius controlled himself to not too obviously show his triumph. He had arrived in time. Now could he still wield his own influence against the heretical nonsense of foreign demons. But he had to do proceed full of caution. The situation of the empire was desperately enough for Gratian to cling to any hope, and it seemed indeed to be the case that the strangers could mitigate the Gothic threat. “My Emperor – let the strangers fight against the Goths. They may succeed where Valens has failed. But then, my Lord, then you have to be vigilant.”
“I’m always vigilant,” muttered Gratian, and his expression didn’t indicate whether he considered this a virtue or a burden.
“Of course,” Ambrosius was quick to confirm. “But this is about more than just political power and the containment of a military threat. It is ultimately about the salvation of the whole Roman people! Here no risk can be too great to ensure that the during approaching end of days Rome is ready for the judgment of the Lord.”
Gratian nodded. “That is true, bishop, and I would be the last to contradict you there. I will consider your words. In any case, you will be pleased that I have the younger Theodosius appointed as general of the East. I have already sent for him.”
Ambrosius’ face brightened.
“Theodosius? A wise man, full of honor as well as of true faith. A Roman who will make the empire proud, especially after the highly unfortunate incident with his father. A very excellent choice, my Emperor!”
Gratian smiled quite pleased. “Thank you, Your Eminence. I’m glad that my decision has your blessing.”
“It surely has.”
Gratian looked around.
“We still have some military matters to discuss, my friend. You are certainly tired from the long trip and have need of rest. Let the conversation continue at another time.”
Ambrosius knew when he was accepted, and when his continued presence would be distracting. He rose and left the tent with a bow.
Arbogast stared after him. “A pious man,” he said.
Gratian looked at Richomer. Everyone in the tent knew that the officer was an Arian. But there was absolutely no emotional response, and it wasn’t apparent if the words of the bishop had hurt him or not.
“Pious, yes, but he confuses politics and religion to an extent which threatens to limit his judgment,” said Gratian now. “He sees danger where there is none, and the positive potential is beyond his grasp.”
“So you’ll not listen to him?”
Gratian looked at Arbogast with raised eyebrows. “Not at all. I will absolutely listen to him. He represents a great power in the empire, a power on which I am dependent. I believe in God and his Son, Jesus Christ. I believe that the Arians are in error and the Trinitarian belief represents the true doctrine. I also think that we have tolerated the old cults and other religions for too long, and have been too generous … In addition, I believe that the empire is in peril. I think that the idea of Constantine to make Christianity the unifying bond that holds everything together has ultimately failed. I believe that I need people like Symmachus and Richomer if I want to consolidate the empire. I believe that I am emperor of Rome and that brings certain obligations with it and I may not have the freedom to indulge my personal preference too much.” He measured the officers with a long glance. “I also believe that there are historical trends one can’t ignore. What Rheinberg told me about my fate – to be betrayed and killed by an usurper – I have often read in the history of my predecessors. I would like to avoid this fate. For that I must do certain things and will allow others, and not all of it will be approved by Ambrosius.” His eyes narrowed. “When one is confronted with a shameful death in the not too distant future it changes the perspective on one’s own life and one starts to set different priorities. And the first priority is a victory in the East.” Gratian turned to Arbogast. “You will leave in two days with a selected unit and Becker’s men. Allow him tactical and strategic command, but don’t take any personal risk. Report to me regularly. I’ll stay for a while in Sirmium, but then I’ll go to Ravenna, look at this marvelous ship. For some time now I have considered the idea of making this city my residence, perhaps this is a good opportunity.”
Arbogast stood and bowed. “It will happen as you command, Augustus!”
4
“Something’s not in order,” von Klasewitz murmured. Since the night Volkert had disappeared, the first officer had picked a bad mood. When he learned that the ensign didn’t go alone, but most probably disappeared with a certain senator’s daughter, his mood had deteriorated further. Neither Köhler nor Behrens could blame him; both regarded the love-drunk decision of the ensign to desert as dangerous, thoughtless and ultimately plain stupid, although Köhler was ready to give the impetuosity of youth some room, or, as he described it, the “effect of bodily juices.” Von Klasewitz boiled from within until today, when the Saarbrücken did finally arrive back to Ravenna under the command of Joergensen. The fact that their guards persistently refused to let them back on the ship, although this had been the agreement, was evaluated by the hostages rather different – Köhler and Behrens agreed that it was the consequence of some political change in Ravenna while von Klasewitz was the conviction that Rheinberg had made a stupid mistake and therefore the wind turned. Whatever might be the facts, something was definitely different.
But no one wanted to talk to them about it.
For von Klasewitz, this was particularly frustrating. Following the invitation of Petronius, he was introduced to a part of the higher society, which pleased him very well. The church services that he had visited had been both familiar as well as strange. But the nobleman was highly impressed in any case. What had fascinated most was this deep religious conviction in regard to the approaching judgment day, which seemed to be expected almost immediately, maybe even longed for with burning force. It was this fervor that he himself had missed often, and this feeling had touched a chord in him that he hadn’t known to exist before. This feeling evolved following discussions, especially with Petronius, but also other church leaders, representatives of urban curia, with senators of the Christian faction. There was the corruption that prevailed in the Roman Empire, described with great eloquence and very vividly, the sins that undermined the empire, the schisms and apostasies that ripped it apart. Von Klasewitz knew quite well that no judgment day was at hand, just as he knew quite well what was going to happen to West Rome in a few decades. And just as Rheinberg he saw the need to prevent this, only – and that it was more clear to him with every passing day – the steps he’d take would vary heavily from what the captain suggested. Neither false tolerance of aberrant opinions was the solution nor cooperation with lowly barbarians and wild tribes, but only the cleansing power of true faith and a strong guiding hand, a new patriotism implanted in the empire – if necessary even by force and against all possible resistance.
Petronius met him a lot, as others spoke to him. They welcomed him and opened his eyes more and more for the erroneous assumptions Rheinberg was obviously determined to follow. It was necessary to do something about
that, and probably with even greater determination and also at the risk of …
Yes, von Klasewitz was convinced of what he had learned and experienced, and so much that he didn’t exclude the possibility to remove Rheinberg from his post anymore. And now that the captain was in Sirmium, trying to gain the ear of the Emperor, and Becker, his faithful loyal assistant, had accompanied him there, the Saarbrücken was commanded by the colorless second officer and within reach in Ravenna. And right now whoever was in charge didn’t want to let him out; he and the other hostages had been more or less cut off from the outside world.
The restlessness that pervaded von Klasewitz and his urgent need to seize the moment, unconsciously influenced the other hostages. Had they known what kind of thoughts the first officer vented, the other two would certainly not have been of the opinion that the constant moving about of von Klasewitz in the sprawling villa rather had something amusing. No, that thought would’ve been to the very last.
“Something’s going on,” Behrens said. He waved to the soldiers under his command. They had no guns with them, but they were strong guys who had been selected by Becker not least because they had proved themselves in endless brawls. Köhler and he carried pistols with three magazines. It wasn’t much, but hopefully enough, if there should be trouble.
For the NCO s, trouble had been in the air since Volkert was gone.
Now it was clearly heard: chants, songs, the voice of a gathering crowd. All this took place across more than man-high walls, but the sounds were hard to misinterpret.
“A mob,” muttered Köhler and threw Behrens a meaningful look. Both groped on their uniform shirts, under which they had hidden their weapons. Von Klasewitz looked at them half disapprovingly, half fearfully, but said nothing.
Something rattled. Someone yelled, very close, very loud.
“We should …” But von Klasewitz didn’t get to express his plans as suddenly a door slammed open. Two legionaries of the city guard burst in, and both with their swords drawn.
“Quick,” said one breathing heavily. “We can’t stay long. The back door.”
“Who is causing the commotion?” the officer asked.
“Priests. Angry priests. Many of them, and common people. They want us to deliver you.”
Von Klasewitz was pale. “Deliver to whom?”
“To them. Quickly, the back door!”
No one asked any more questions because again there was a loud clatter and crash, screams of pain and then the sound of a struggle. The comrades of the legionaries seemed to try everything possible to stop the protesters storming inside, but it could only be a matter of a few minutes until they entered the villa.
The legionaries and the hostages rushed to the back of the villa, where two slaves were already waiting excitedly at a little door, probably a kind of delivery entrance. The men were served with clothes that would make them look unsuspicious. Also, the legionaries now hid their blades. A quick glance through the half-opened door, then the command to follow them.
The hostages were on the small alley. Everything seemed quiet.
“Follow us!”
They hurried along the narrow path to the next intersection. Von Klasewitz carefully looked to the right, saw the crowd of protesters as they poured into the villa. Screaming, chanting priests, incomprehensible at most, but also incited onlookers who seemed to take some pleasure from the spectacle. No one understood what this was about and how it started, and the Roman soldiers seemed to have no interest to answer their questions.
They moved away in the opposite direction. The noise of beaten and battered furniture doors quickly became quiet as a column legionaries marched to the house, all with a grim face, and it was probably better if they were not in the vicinity of what was happening now.
Then a call from a side street. “That’s them! The devils! The demons! They have escaped!”
Köhler began to suspect what kind of arguments had incited the priests. And he began to realize what was about to happen – because he was sure that their enemies would certainly not deal squeamishly with devils and demons.
“Faster! To the port!” Köhler shouted. He showed the way. The legionaries wanted to go somewhere else, but the NCO didn’t have time for diversions. The garrison of the harbor-troops was too far away and it was better to go the direct route to the Saarbrücken . There they could be sure that the mob couldn’t penetrate the iron walls easily.
“There! The demons! They want return to the ship of hell!”
The news seemed to spread in a flash. More and more city residents poured into the open, partly curious, partly willing to participate in the hunt. The priests, still preoccupied in setting the mansion on fire, were now pouring into the streets and rushed to follow the call. The column of legionaries was rinsed aside, the fanatical and incited men threw themselves against their weapons, as they sought an early end as a martyr. The soldiers had apparently been ordered to make only moderately use of the blades, more as threats and banging them on their shields.
That wasn’t enough. The thin chain of legionaries quickly broke, and scattered soldiers were lost in the mob.
“This way,” Köhler cried, the handle of the gun firmly clasped under the cowl. It was a 04 Parabellum pistol with a magazine for eight cartridges. Its effective range was only about 50 meters, but Köhler was good with the pistol and Behrens was selected because there was nothing in the German gun cabinet he couldn’t handle masterfully. The Army soldier had placed himself at the end of the group and tried to keep von Klasewitz in the middle.
“Leave it!” the officer shouted. “I can very well take care of myself!”
The soldiers looked pleadingly at Behrens, who just shrugged. The sergeant had never been of the opinion that one should prevent an officer’s suicide.
They ran on an open square, crowded with merchants, beggars and customers. Here the spreading unrest apparently hadn’t been noticed much. A few curious looks were all that the hooded refugees received. The Germans were slow and tried hiding in the crowd, but their temporary luck didn’t last long.
“There! Make way! Clear the way!”
The screams echoed across the square. People turned around, saw bareheaded priests in their robes run from the streets, wildly swinging wooden crosses in their fists. The crowd parted and it became clear who the men chased, and the passers-by tried as quickly as possible to create distance between themselves and the Germans.
“Run!” Köhler gasped. “This way!”
He ran down an alley, and at the end he did make out the glint of the sea. The others followed him blindly. As they stumbled down the steep path, the angry howling of their hunters in the back, they finally arrived at the port. Köhler wasn’t mistaken. There, at the old pier, was the Saarbrücken , carefully tied up and separated from the rest of the harbor by a guard of about thirty soldiers.
“We can make it!” Köhler panted, who, in contrast to Behrens and his men, had neglected his cardio training for several years. Von Klasewitz also was red in the face and gasping for air, and even if he had intended to contradict anything the NCO intended, he was hardly able to utter a word under his hard breath.
“Then forward!” the sergeant growled, and the men started a final sprint. The legionaries were aware of the uproar, and the guards on board the cruiser had become aware as well.
The legionaries were in formation, as the mass of priests soaked the port facility and rushed screaming to the Saarbrücken , that symbol of everything that had sparked their anger. The Germans threw away their disguise, and the port guards allowed them to stumble through their ranks. Then they climbed up the gangway, where Joergensen was waiting with a worried expression on his face.
“What the hell –” Joergensen began.
“I wouldn’t talk about hell at this time,” said the NCO , still breathing hard. “May I humbly suggest that the Saarbrücken detaches and drifts into the harbor? Our friends of the legion can’t ward them off for long.”
Joe
rgensen looked questioningly at von Klasewitz, who was leaning with bulging eyes and panting to a metal wall.
“Yes,” the first officer groaned, “throw the ropes.”
It wasn’t delayed. When the first wave of priest crashed into the shields of the legionaries, the sailors had already released the ropes. A good twenty men with long poles began to press the Saarbrücken away from the pier. Köhler saw Dahms rushing on deck, looking around wildly. He turned to von Klasewitz, “Should I order steam? The engine is cold!”
“Yes,” gasped the nobleman. “Steam. Cannot hurt.”
“It will take time.”
“Steam,” Klasewitz coughed with a definite undertone.
Dahms wasted no time with a repetition of the command and disappeared below deck. The combined efforts of the sailors were finally successful. The Saarbrücken moved very slowly away from the wharf, the gangway was withdrawn and the connections gone.
The first priests, uttering cries, broke through the ranks of the guards, literally overran the soldiers, and rushed to the drifting Saarbrücken . Two particularly zealous ones jumped on, soaring with swirling arms and legs through the air and slammed with such force against the railing that one could hear the cracking of the breaking bone. They were vigorously attacked by the sailors, and two of them fell screaming into the water.
“Get them out!” Klasewitz commanded.
Two sailors tore shoes from their feet and jumped; others grabbed two lifebuoys and threw them into the water. It took a few minutes, then the powerful men climbed back on board with the limp bodies of the wounded, where Neumann’s assistant was already waiting for them. Stripped of the robes, their broken ribs and limbs showed. One of the priests was unconscious, the other wailing cries of pain.
Their angry crowd of brothers didn’t try to do the same. The cruiser had separated a good three to four meters from the quay wall, and the dirty water between the stone and the railing seemed to be quite a deterrent for the furious zealots.
Unfortunately, they quickly decided to look for another way. Led by the more intelligent, they ran along the quay wall and stormed a number of fishing boats moored there. The owners of the vehicles didn’t defend themselves; some jumped sideways from the onrushing crowd to avoid being ripped apart by them.