The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal

by Boom, Dirk van den

  Something was brewing.

  “You don’t seem to worry,” Volkert said carefully.

  “No, no, I don’t care. I give nothing to those rumors. Oh yes, I believe in magic and witches, but I do not fear them, and wars have historically been decided by the sword not by magic. They’re all hysterical. But yes, if anything of this is for real, let’s hope the strange magicians are diligent and secure the borders, so that we have a quiet time, don’t you think?”

  “Yes … yes, sure,” Volkert said thoughtfully in response.

  “Help me with that trunk!” Simodes said.

  Volkert didn’t really hear him, though.

  10

  Claudia Lucia Michellus was an impressive woman whether being angry or joyful. When she lifted her mighty bosom and stretched her wide upper arms in wagging movements to convince friend and foe of her superiority, everyone remained silent, waiting for either a curse or a blessing from the lips of the senator’s wife. “The Senator” she was called behind closed doors and not unjustly; who exactly was in charge of her husband’s policy – she or him? – no one could say with absolute certainty. Her penetrating gaze and piercing voice were among the greatest means of Lucia’s power, and her massive shape, surrounded like with a tarpaulin by a wide-cut tunic, commanded awe and respect. As a young wife, Lucia had been an enchanting beauty, and sons of wealthy and respected personalities had applied for her favor in large numbers. Once her father had married her to the young Michellus, who had just become censor, everyone thought of the rising youngsters being a brilliant match. Michellus also had been likewise convinced, at least at the beginning. He had, however, developed one or two doubts over the course of time, especially the more his wife had replaced her charm with body mass and a certain desire for power. The fact that he had taken the opportunity to travel to Sirmium so willingly came surely not by accident.

  But now, in the private chambers of the dominatrix, there was no trace of rigidness and rigor visible. It was the soft, caring and understanding Lucia who held her sobbing daughter, returning home, lovingly in her arms.

  “Julia, I beg you. Calm down!”

  Her thick hand patted her daughter’s head which she held pressed to her chest. It was surprising enough that Julia did appear back at home. But it was obvious that she had been faced with a problem she couldn’t solve on her own – a problem that was so important to her that she had even decided to humiliate herself before her parents. There was nothing that made Julia more angry, and her mother knew the sacrifice of her daughter.

  It was ultimately a quite satisfactory situation.

  “But mother,” the young woman replied now, raised her head and tried to wipe away the tears. “You should have seen it. There was no way to escape.”

  “Yes, the empire has to do so many things which might find our displeasure,” Lucia agreed. “I can well imagine how you must have felt, my poor little dove.”

  “I know the camp to which they have brought him. We must act now!”

  Lucia looked distressed. “But what am I to do? Your father is with the Emperor, and I myself am just a simple, weak woman.”

  “Mother, you’re anything but that, and your influence with father’s friends is considerable. Send a messenger to the other senators in the city. Meet the military prefect! He holds his protective hand over the strangers! He will have great interest to free one of them!”

  Lucia made a thoughtful face and absently played with a strand of hair. Julia had given her tearful descriptions of their fate, accompanied by hugs and kisses, and put her hair in disorder along the way.

  “Well, I could write one or two letters, of course. Should I go to Ravenna, it could even be that Renna will actually listen to me, yes, there is a chance. Or I write him a letter, too.”

  “Yes! Mother!” Julia clutched Lucia’s arm with both hands, a pleading look in her eyes.

  The “Senator” wondered about her daughter quite much. She actually seemed to be aflame with serious love, which was ultimately a rather unbecoming behavior for their stand. Never before has Julia shown such behavior and Lucia had to admit that this kind of passion was rather confusing for her.

  “You have to write the letter at once!” Julia insisted. “I want to write for you; you dictate the words to me! If you send the messenger today …”

  “Gently, gently,” her mother said softly. “You don’t even know if this man is still where you left him. Who knows whether our intervention will even come on time?”

  “They will have documentation! Even when he was transferred, they will know where! We must not miss this opportunity.”

  Lucia looked at her doubtfully. “Should I really demand so many favors to save this man? Julia, he is of highly dubious origin and certainly not of nobility. I really think that he is a poor choice for you. You are called to higher fame! Please consider! It will cause you no joy! What kind a life can he offer you? He has nothing, he is nothing, he will remain to be nothing. In your shoes, I’d try to forget him quickly. And think of the infamia !”

  Lucia winced. She knew that look, this suddenly petrified expression on her daughter’s face. When Julia stared like this, then the gates were closed, and the roads to reason were barricaded. Now any discussion, even entreaties and threats, made no sense. She knew that look well enough, and she knew her limits. Before her daughter would completely quit the conversation, she had to come around, and as quickly as possible.

  “Forgive me, Julia. I know that you’re serious about this man. I was wrong.”

  Julia’s face turned a bit softer again.

  Her mother sighed. That had been a close one.

  “You must do everything in your power! It’s really an important matter for me, mother! I would kill myself if I had to learn that he got impaled by some barbarian, dying in a foreign country. That would be unbearable. Do you hear, Mother? Unbearable!”

  “All right, all’s good,” Lucia replied soothingly. “I understand you, and you really care for that man. If he is the man for whom you regard him, he will be determined to prove himself. Nothing will happen to him.”

  Julia sat up.

  “No, nothing will happen to him,” she confirmed vigorously. With defiant movements she removed the last remnants of moisture from her eye. With one hand she ran over her slightly disheveled hair. “He’ll be fine, because you’re going to do something about it, Mother.”

  Lucia knew this determination well enough. She had heard it often. Usually, this kind of approach led to hours of clashes, which ended in mutually enhanced screaming fits. Julia had usually more success with her father, who just reflexively recoiled as such from the authority of his daughter as of his wife. Lucia was not as soft and that was counterproductive.

  Normally.

  She reached out and stroked the right cheek of her daughter. Her fleshy face radiated love, understanding and confidence. Her smile could melt the hardest heart. It had its effect on Julia.

  “I promise you, my daughter, I will do everything to help you. I’ll write the letters – to the colleagues of your father, to the Prefect, to anyone who might know something. Leave that to your mother with all confidence. I already know what to do.”

  Julia’s radiant smile let the grief of the last minutes disappear. She hugged her mother and hugged her again.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “I knew that you would help me!”

  Happy and smiling she ran out as if relieved from all burden.

  Lucia looked after her and nodded knowingly.

  She wouldn’t do anything of the sort.

  Absolutely nothing.

  11

  The journey south on the Via Egnatia was relatively painless. On horseback, they made good progress every day, with the carts and on foot of course not quite so quickly. On a good day and with only short breaks they had always moved for at least twelve hours. The moaning and whining of the infantrymen who were now suddenly made to ride horses faded away with tim
e. None of the men would be a particularly talented horseman in the foreseeable future – but that wasn’t necessary anyway. For the kind of battle, Becker had in mind he didn’t need mounted machine gunners.

  At the height of Masio Scampa, they had reached the Eastern Roman counterpart of the Via Appia. It would now lead them through Edessa to their destination, Thessaloniki, where Flavius Victor was waiting with the remains of the eastern army. The Goths had also moved away from the northeastern Adrianople and reportedly marched toward Thessaloniki as well. Communication improved. Becker himself had been able to send messengers, they would take the sea route over Dyrrachium to Brindisi or sail the Italian east coast northwards to take their message directly to Ravenna. If the Saarbrücken could sail to Thessaloniki immediately, they would meet her there upon their arrival. This arduous overland route could have been avoided if information from Flavius would have been forthcoming quicker but until now only sparse messages trickled in from the general and therefore they couldn’t wait for developments to unfold, they had to move. Becker also had informed Rheinberg about his advance by messengers and hoped that the captain had succeeded with his negotiations in Sirmium far enough so that he himself could also join the Saarbrücken or Becker’s troops. The captain had a somewhat uneasy feeling about the fact that Rheinberg was more or less left alone at the court of the Emperor. He knew enough about Roman history to understand that sometimes unforeseen things could happen – and after they had happened, unexpectedly deceased persons were carried away.

  He hoped that Rheinberg knew what he was doing.

  “We will reach Thessaloniki in a few days,” Arbogast interrupted his thoughts.

  “Before the Goths?”

  The General laughed. “Of course. The Goths drag women and children with them, the aged and the sick. They are a people on the road. This doesn’t mean that their warriors would not run ahead of them, but they can never be so far away that they couldn’t quickly return for their protection. This limits their mobility significantly. We are not even 600 men, and we have a clear goal we want to achieve. No, don’t worry, Legate Becker. We will arrive ahead of them in Thessaloniki, and we will be expected.”

  Becker nodded. “They won’t attack the city directly anyway.”

  “Certainly not. Fritigern knows that he cannot achieve anything against the fortifications. It is a provincial capital and well protected as such. He will seek battle outside.”

  “And we will offer that to him,” Becker completed the thought. “It’s good that the messengers are faster now on the Via Egnatia and we can prepare a lot more before we arrive. Victor could send some additional details, to be honest.”

  “Victor will be more convinced once he sees us.”

  Becker gave him a questioning look. “You are superior to him, Arbogast, aren’t you?”

  “Formally yes, but de facto Victor is the highest surviving officer of the East and my equal. In addition, Theodosius is on the way and will arrive in Sirmium soon, to be appointed by Gratian. Then he is the highest dignitary in the East.”

  “Before Theodosius makes his first decisions, we have already solved the problem.” Becker tried to sound confident, but he was not sure whether he was able to communicate this feeling well with his limited language skills. He got better with each passing day, not least because the officers accompanying the unit gave him, one after the other, evening classes in Latin as well as Greek. The fact that he was forced to constantly speak in foreign tongues made him plunge into the languages like a man dying of thirst throws himself into water. The infantrymen tried honestly as well, albeit with different degrees of success. A number of simpler men would never get more than a gibberish out, but if that was enough to order cervisia in a tavern, to negotiate the price with a whore, and to understand if a Roman drinking buddy wanted to pay a round, then this would be quite sufficient for them.

  Unfortunately, the demands on Becker were a bit higher. The fact that he had to learn Latin while Africanus didn’t express the slightest interest in German had obviously little to do with arrogance but simply with the basic understanding that the language of civilization was Latin – and with some reservation also Greek, which still enjoyed great popularity. If Becker remembered correctly, the only local who had ever shown serious interest in the German language had been the fisherman’s son Marcellus, who was now on duty on the Saarbrücken as a ship’s boy.

  Some anticipated that the German language wouldn’t last long here. It would in all likelihood die, along with the crew of Saarbrücken , and then made new again in the future. Becker looked at this fact with sober reflection. He knew that people like von Klasewitz, once they realized these consequences, would probably have a very different view.

  Becker pushed those thoughts aside. The cultural consequences of their unexpected emergence in the past were to be contemplated later, once he found the necessary leisure.

  Whenever that would be. Probably not in Thessaloniki.

  “Stop.”

  Becker heard the command. He had made it a habit not to ride at the front of the column. He straightened up in the saddle – a rather difficult task without stirrups – and saw a mounted scout, one of those Arbogast had sent, come to a halt before them. He reined in his horse whose flanks were trembling with the effort.

  “Ave, General,” the soldier saluted submissively. “Titus Daecius, my Lord.”

  “Speak, Titus,” Arbogast told him bluntly.

  “General, a village seventeen miles north-east of us is looted by a troop of Goths. There are about 900 riders, plus a retinue of ten or fifteen cars to plunder supplies for the main group of barbarians.”

  “Goths?”

  “At least no Huns. Whether Alans are among them, I couldn’t see. My comrade Lucius is still close to them and keeps in touch, while I quickly rode back to make a report.”

  “Have you been discovered?”

  Something like hurt professional pride appeared on the brutish man’s face. “No, sir. We kept our distance and have been well-hidden from them. But the Goths have also sent scouts.”

  “Thank you. Fetch a fresh horse and go back to your comrade. He should then return and update your report.”

  “General!” Titus moved away from the officers.

  “They shouldn’t stop us, and they shouldn’t report us,” Becker pointed out forcefully in a low voice. “The car will immediately grab their attention. We can’t use any rumors now.”

  “The farmers in the neighborhood have announced our coming for a long time, Becker,” Arbogast snorted. “Don’t lie to yourself.”

  “Nevertheless. We are a seemingly easy prey for an ambitious Gothic leader who wants to cool his temper.”

  “Are you afraid?” Something was lurking suddenly in the eye of the General.

  Becker was unimpressed. “I’m afraid that the news of our arrival and our superior weapons will reach Fritigern’s ear too early and he might adjust his plans.”

  Arbogast seemed to accept the explanation. “Then we have to prevent him from knowing. What we can hardly prevent is that the Goths are aware of us and may possibly attack. We aren’t many enough to act as a deterrent for a larger squad – especially after the way the Roman cavalry was slaughtered at Adrianople.”

  “Can we avoid them? Maybe to the south?”

  “We won’t get far. There is the coast. And I don’t want to bet on whether the scouts of the Goths have not already discovered us.”

  “So attack is the best defense,” Becker concluded.

  Arbogast nodded grimly. “That also means that we have to completely destroy the Goths. Nobody is allowed to survive.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Becker muttered and looked around. He narrowed his eyes and pointed to the north. “I see a hill. We can pretend that we want to make camp over there. We sit down well on display. If that doesn’t attract the Goths, we have already lost.”

  “The leader of the group has looted a village and collected his treasures. If he also can
add glory to the booty, he won’t let the opportunity slip,” the officer growled with a pensive undertone. “The hill is good, but is it good enough for your magic weapons?”

  “A clear range – but we must do something about the very cautious frontrunners who might flee at the first sign of anything which is amiss and then possibly warn the others.”

  “How many might that be? A hundred? Two hundred? I will separate two groups of my men and let them look for escaping warriors. If someone moves out of the range of fire of your weapons, we will chase him. There is no guarantee that they won’t escape, but –”

  “There are never any guarantees,” Becker completed. “That’s how we do it.”

  There was no further discussion. The unit changed its direction, and the soldiers made an impressive display in making all unnecessary noises throughout. Commands were shouted like the troop consisted of deaf old men, swords clanged, and the truck was squawking his horn persistently. The choice of the hill proved to be excellent as a dry but well-trodden path, apparently the connection between distant homesteads and the main road led in the right direction and could also be reasonably well managed by the vehicle. Becker threw furtive glances around the area, as if he could make up the Gothic scouts whose attention they sought to consciously attract.

  Naturally, they were not to be seen. However, when their own scouts returned and reported that the Goths had become aware of them and apparently developed interest in an attack, this was confirmation enough for the officers.

  “It’s not just Goths, there’s also a division of Huns with them,” Arbogast told the infantry captain.

  Becker nodded sorrowfully. Among all horse people, the Huns were the ones who inspired the greatest fear and would rightfully demand the greatest respect. Not only that, they were responsible for the Völkerwanderung and would produce with their King Attila a historical figure, a man whose reputation would develop into almost mystical proportions. In a few hundred years, the relatives of the Huns, the Mongols, would get ready to build an empire under their powerful leader Genghis Khan that would have no equal. In comparison, Attila wasn’t much more than a harbinger of a more devastating fate. Becker had to remind himself that Attila, if he recalled his history lessons well, would be born in about 20 years. Maybe it would belong to his duties, should Rheinberg succeed with his reform plans, to make sure that the “Scourge of God” would never become a problem. No battle of the Catalaunian fields, no glorious Flavius Aetius and no sack of Rome by the Huns. It was possible that all this could be prevented. Becker didn’t want to think too much about it, though. He wouldn’t bring up the topic with Rheinberg soon enough.