Ambrosius nodded in satisfaction. “Well said, Rheinberg. I fight as bishop of Milan, an important representative of the Church, so to speak on two fronts – against heresy and against pagans. Preferably to eradicate both as far as this is possible. Here it is my belief that the state has to play a more important role than before. What is your opinion?”
Rheinberg felt the focus of attention resting on him. Theodosius looked at him searchingly, almost hostile. Ambrosius’ face still looked as unconcerned as if he had asked only out of polite interest. Gratian, still holding the cup in his hands, made a curious expression. Rheinberg felt that his palms began to get moist. He suppressed the reflex to wipe them. It would have been a clear reference to his emotional state for everyone.
“I understand your worry, Your Eminence,” he said cautiously. “Spiritual questions have moved people quite deeply, and they have an important influence on the life and mind of all the Roman citizens. Sure, the state must have an eye on what is going on in this area in order to avoid that any dispute will endanger the security of the Empire. In fact, I think it would be ideal if religion and state would be in a relationship that mutually strengthens and thus promotes the cohesiveness, helping to guarantee the stability of the realm.”
Ambrosius’ eyes narrowed for a tiny moment, as he didn’t know what exactly he could discern from the well-formulated answer. “I see that we understand each other,” he replied. “The fact that Christianity and Empire form a unit and thus reinforce each other is one of my highest beliefs, and I am very pleased to be in unison with like-minded people. So we can count on your support in this fight? That objective can indeed undoubtedly be achieved only if all disturbing elements that contradict this unity will be weakened or exterminated.”
Rheinberg bowed his head, pretending that he had to consider that. Now it was necessary to show his colors. Ambrosius, he couldn’t convince of anything, and Theodosius surely felt his own suspicion against him, if not outright hostility. The actual addressee of his reply therefore had to be someone else. Rheinberg looked at Ambrosius, took a deep breath and thought but only one thing: how he was able to convince young Gratian? He leaned back. “Your Eminence, you have to know that I come from the future.”
“So I was told.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“It would explain a lot, but there are other possibilities.”
“Like what?”
“The fact that Satan has sent you to steer orthodox Christians on the wrong track.”
“Devil’s messengers defeat pirates and assist the Emperor against barbarians?”
“Satan is a master of deception. Why not do good if it leads in the end to an even greater evil?”
“What mischief do you fear the most?”
“The corruption of my soul, a fatal outcome on the Day of Judgment – for myself, my Emperor and my people.”
Rheinberg nodded. “A great fear. Shall I tell you what I fear?”
“Gladly.”
“I’m afraid that the Empire will fall apart in a few decades. I’m afraid that a Goth will rule in Rome and that the line of Roman emperors comes to an end. I fear that chaos erupts in the West, and a long, dark time of war and uncertainty will arise. I fear that pagan and brutal warriors flock here from the Far East in large numbers and plunder the churches and slaughter the Christians, and I fear that the Empire can’t do enough to prevent this, and what it will accomplish won’t be more than to alleviate the danger for a short time. I’m afraid that usurpers alternate in rapid succession, that whole cities are wiped out because they are confessing to one or another Christian variation.”
“I see Romans against Romans in civil war, and I look at brave legionaries, bitterly needed to defend the borders, as they march against other legionaries who are supposed to be their comrades. I see Roman swords shedding Roman blood, for power, the true faith, the only correct point of view, while the barbarians are just waiting that Rome will exhaust itself on the field of battle, in order to pour in and sweep away the remains. I fear that the Empire will fall in pieces. I fear that lack of tolerance will destroy the unity of the Empire, pitch brothers against brothers, friends against friends, sometimes wives against their husbands, and parents against their children. I fear that this dispute will nourish discord and weaken the power of the Empire, until it is no longer able to fight internal enemies as well as external ones and grinds to a halt on many fronts. I fear that the Persians will take the provinces in the east, I see lost the conquests of Julius Caesar, and I see the grass growing on the Roman baths, the forums and public buildings, see the roads and aqueducts forfeited, the garrisons and forts, everything that has held together Roman civilization. I see the bishop of Milan dream of the unity of the Church and yet this apparent unity is built on the ruins of an Empire that is no longer able to protect this very church, because it was he who allowed it to turn into rubble. That I fear, most honorable Bishop of Milan.”
Rheinberg got up, raised his hand before Ambrosius could answer. “In my time, Ambrosius of Milan, you are regarded as the father of the Church, as one who has established a state church. The historians quickly forget that this state church continued to exist longer than the state to which it had belonged, and that development of history indeed saw the victory of the Trinitarians over the Arians, but that this victory was bought with the blood of Christians and made tolerance an insult. And so constantly new spin-offs and sects have been formed, which were subsequently suppressed with an iron hand until that day the Church deeply divided itself from its foundations and a continental civil war was unleashed that caused untold suffering.”
Ambrosius stared at Rheinberg, quite pale.
“I fear even more, Ambrosius. I’m afraid to be stranded with my men in this time, alien to us. I fear for all who are entrusted to my leadership. I fear that all we have brought will be washed away by the stream of time and all the knowledge we have will fall victim to ignorance. I fear that the Empire will refuse this unique opportunity to turn the page and to save itself and will shortly meet its demise, exactly how it is written in my history books. I see my ship in flames, or eaten away by rot, our powerful weapons useless, and our advice lost, and nothing I fear more than that I’m afraid, as the Romans will dance on our graves as priests accuse us to be demons, and I fear that the dark period of which I spoke will begin inevitably in the soonest. I have great fear, noble Ambrosius, that in the year 397, when you will die at Easter, a boy named Honorius, led by a Gothic army commander, will rule the Empire, and that ten years later, in 407, the Vandals, Suevi and Alans will cross the Rhine and on the 24th of August 410 conquer the Eternal City and devastate it.”
Deadly silence had fallen. Theodosius gazed at Rheinberg, although he hadn’t even hinted that the boy Honorius would be the son of the last Roman emperor ruling the whole realm and therefore be his.
Rheinberg took another deep breath. “In my time, it is known that a Roman governor named Magnus Maximus will hunt and kill the young Emperor here. I know that he will have be regarded as orthodox and will enjoy the approval of many Church Fathers, although Gratian will die, betrayed by his own generals and left alone by his own bodyguard, a miserable death he truly didn’t deserve. Christians kill Christians. Christian usurpers kill Christian emperors.”
He looked intently at Ambrosius. “Trinitarians kill Trinitarians, Bishop. What a shame and what a folly, what a stupidity and how shortsighted. These are my fears and anxieties, Bishop of Milan.” Rheinberg sat down hard. “And now call me an emissary of Satan!”
In the eyes of the German was a challenge, an almost furious charge, and for the first time something of an emotional reaction was visible in Ambrosius’ face. He glanced at Gratian, who looked troubled by the perspective of his own, violent death, although he already had some time to deal with this possibility. It was obvious that the haunting, evocative portrayal of their prospects by the German had moved him deeply. Its effect was also visible with Theodosius as he presse
d his lips together and finally was the first who found words for a response.
“I … I will be the last Roman Emperor ruling all of it?”
“You will be the last person to claim rightfully to be emperor of Rome in its totality, noble Theodosius. But your religious beliefs and your recognition of the moral power of Ambrosius will be fatal, as they will ultimately harm your rule.”
The bishop cleared his throat. “I have the best intentions,” he murmured.
“Good intentions don’t always have good deeds as a consequence,” replied Rheinberg. “And it benefits no one in the Empire to solve the dispute between Trinitarians and Arians with sword and fire. It doesn’t help to destroy the Victoria altar and to revoke the Edict of Constantine. It isn’t helpful to exempt the Church to an ever greater extent from all taxes and fees while the legions are shivering and suffering and have to march too poorly trained against superior enemies. There is no use to squeeze the people, and to take away all their freedom, and it doesn’t help the poor not only to take their last possessions but even to throw them in a religious war or to tell them that the faith of their forefathers is a mistaken belief and they should renounce it or die. It may serve your cause to enforce a dominant faith in the realm, Bishop of Milan, but it doesn’t serve the cause of the Empire. It will sow the seeds of doom.”
Rheinberg’s glance wandered about. He tried not to look too intently into the Emperor’s face, but even with his limited grasp of the human nature, everything told him that Gratian had been not only persuaded but convinced. Gratian was, not least because of his teacher Ausonius, a great friend of learning and especially the rhetoric art. Under his reign, representatives of these disciplines acquired numerous high positions at court or offices had been created specifically for them. Rheinberg had known that, had prepared himself well, worked for nights on a kind of speech, knowing that this kind of confrontation was imminent. He knew that Ambrosius was a child of his time, as well as the Emperor, but he knew also that Gratian was easily influenced and would have the fear of any mortal about his own existence and health.
Ambrosius pressed his lips together silently. He knew the Emperor and had read in his face like an open book. And he was no fool. He had lost this fight and that was also obvious in regard to Theodosius.
It was the Emperor who finally ended the silence. “Dearest friends, I think we’ve all heard a lot we need to think about. I’ll leave tomorrow morning with the army and make my way back to the West. Theodosius has to perform tasks in the east and my good friend Ambrosius has left his flock deserted for too long.”
Rheinberg was careful not to even to begin to mention the religious riots flaring up in Ravenna, of which he had been reported recently. Ambrosius didn’t have to be on site to make his influence visible.
“We will continue this conversation as soon as we see the developments of the coming months and the results of our efforts. Ultimately, the strangers will first need to prove that they are ready to shed their blood for Rome, and I will give them the opportunity to do so. For this, we have to await. Until then, the visitors are under my imperial protection, and their ship is inviolable. The crew members are to be treated as guests of honor, and we want to be open for what they teach us. Once we will know what will become of the Goths, there are more decisions to be made. Until then, my orders are clear.” Gratian threw Rheinberg a meaningful look.
Ambrosius stood in silence, his face pinched in defeat, no longer so controlled and expressionless as at the beginning of their encounter. Theodosius, however, seemed almost thoughtful, oddly touched, and Rheinberg had a sudden hope that the Spanish nobleman was not lost entirely for his cause. After all, this was Theodosius the Great … perhaps more greatness was in him than what has been attributed by Christian propaganda who wanted to thank him for his orthodoxy.
Rheinberg followed the men into the open. It was dark, and a fresh wind blew through the camp, where there was still a buzz of activity. Ambrosius and his companions lingered no longer but went away from the Emperor’s tent while Rheinberg remained and reviewed what had happened. He had come far. Hopefully, it was sufficient. The most important things were now taken out of his hand. Becker held the key in his.
Rheinberg decided to take advantage of the dissolution of the camp in order to obtain permission to return to the Saarbrücken . The reports of unrest had alarmed him. It was time to take command.
13
“Legio II Italica,” Volkert read from the piece of clay the centurion had pressed into his hand without a word. He went on, the queue behind him pushed forward, and soon he was lost in the pile of recruits concentrated around those comrades who were able to read like him. Potsherds were quickly presented by those who knew that he could read, and so the ensign was the one who had to disclose to the mostly desperate or unhappy-looking men wherever they were sent “in order to complete the training,” as it said. In fact, the staff shortage was so extreme that most of the recruits, once they had reached their units, had to do regular service immediately, and many of them would die before they had ever learned what would have been beneficial for their survival in the Legion.
“Legio II Adiutrix,” Volkert read from another shard. “Legio II Parthica … Legio II Traiana Fortis.” More and more hands, expectant, sometimes trembling, sometimes almost shy, stretched out to meet him, and Volkert read almost mechanically whatever was held before his eyes: “Legio III Augusta … Legio III Cyrenaica … Legio III Gallica …” Soon his mouth became dry, and after some time he found himself standing on the edge of the camp, in the midst of a group of legionaries also assigned to the Second Italic Legion. There also stood to Volkert’s great joy the Greek Simodes, the only one among his comrades whom he now regarded as a friend.
“So we are not going too far from here,” the Greek said. “No patrolling wild barbarian tribes, no garrison work, just some travelers and the need to look good when an official asks for a bodyguard in shimmering armor. This is good duty, there will always be plenty to eat, and the girls in the area have an eye for dashing young legionaries …”
Simodes paused involuntarily.
“I’m sorry, my friend. That was very thoughtless of me!”
“It’s alright,” Volkert said. “I don’t blame you. I’m also happy with our lot. The farther it would have sent away me from Italy, the lower my chance would have been to see Julia again.”
“We are also assigned to a truly illustrious unit, my friend. VII Pia VII Fidelis is the honorary name of the Legion!”
“Seven times faithful, seven times loyal,” Volkert translated in his thoughts. “Those have to be the tough guys indeed.”
Over time, he learned more about the legion that had been founded in 165 by Marcus Aurelius when the war against the Germans and the Parthians had been in full swing. Later, the unit had been stationed in the province of Noricum. Noricum. Somewhere, Volkert had heard the name before. When they gave him the name of the city in which the permanent camp of his unit was located, it didn’t mean anything to him: Lauriacum. Only when he was talking with some comrades who knew the area and finally, tired of all the questions, the officers brought out an old general map to answer the questions of the recruits, Volkert gathered he would be sent to Austria.
He smiled as he felt almost relieved. Noricum had precious little to do with Austria, of which he knew little; as far as he understood it, the name came from an ancient Celtic kingdom that had once been located there. But it was an interesting feeling that he had been put roughly on the way home, so erroneous and misguided that might be. As someone showed him Lauriacum on the large map, he could even assign its modern name to the city, because it also existed in his time – just that it was called Lorch, located close to the Enns, as many old Roman city foundations could be found near a navigable river.
It wasn’t a real border garrison; but not far from it. Simodes’ optimism could prove to be extremely premature.
As it turned out, the 5,000 recruits they had in their ca
mp were distributed to a total of nine legions, all in the west of the empire. No support of the troops in the East, no forced marches toward the Goths; Volkert was almost grateful for this development. This didn’t mean that he would actually have such a quiet duty, as his Greek friend assumed, but at least there was no immediate war on the horizon, although there would always be the occasional barbarian tribe who tried the border fortifications. The Second Italic Legion would be ready when the border garrisons couldn’t stop a barbarian attack.
“Most of the soldiers will be with Gratian now,” Volkert guessed. “The Emperor has taken almost all parts of the mobile army to the East in order to help Valens.”
“The rumor says Gratian is already on the way back and he’d leave Theodosius and the foreign wizards battling the Gothic invasion,” the always remarkably well informed Simodes added. “Once we arrive in Noricum, we won’t have to wait long for the main body of the army. Whether Gratian is then forced to call upon us again, only the gods know.”
Volkert pricked up his ears. Should the Western Roman emperor indeed be on his way back to Trier, then this also meant that Rheinberg had at least achieved a partial success. And it meant that Becker and his men were traveling somewhere in the east and their subsequent actions would ultimately decide on the fate of the Germans in this time.
His personal fate was not at all independent. If the Germans could be sure of the Emperor’s favor in the long run, he could reveal his identity and hope to be discharged from the Legion. On the other hand, both in the Navy of the German Empire as well as in the legions, desertion deserved the death penalty, and Volkert didn’t even want to dream of a future together with Julia. He felt torn between the possibilities and threats and once again decided to leave it all for the time being and allow the events to drive him until he had the chance to properly explore his options. With the desertion, to stay in a historical context, he had crossed the Rubicon, and he couldn’t expect more from Rheinberg than his ultimate interest to foster the crew’s discipline. When in doubt, it would be necessary for him to set an example.
The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal Page 10