The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal

by Boom, Dirk van den

  Dahms’ men started to round up all the prisoners to the rear deck. Langenhagen gave him a descriptive glance, for he evidently shared some foreboding with the engineer. When they had counted the survivors and the priests were put in a separate group, it became clear – both von Klasewitz and Tennberg were missing. No bodies were found, and they hadn’t hidden under the cowls.

  In the confusion of the fight, they had seen the tide of events and in all likelihood jumped into the water. Both were known as good swimmers, so that they had used the same path Salius’ men had used to enter the cruiser for their escape.

  Although Renna immediately ordered a wide search in the city, facilitated by the dawn of the morning, everyone knew that this would be in vain. When it became clear that Petronius as well as some other high-ranking dignitaries had left Ravenna, the search was called off. With the contacts the informant of the bishop most likely had, they were certainly good enough to protect the refugees from the authorities’ persecution.

  The ringleaders had escaped. The disappointment over this discovery was more than outweighed by the relief that this episode was over. The fight had demanded sacrifice – of the mutineers only few were untouched, the rest dead or seriously injured. Rheinberg would have to sit trials when he came back, and some stations on board were now seriously understaffed.

  On the other hand, as Dahms found, once he looked at Marcellus, who after all the excitement had been finally overwhelmed by weariness and had fallen asleep in the arms of a burly legionary, there were now quite good reasons to increase the crew with Roman recruits. That would have been necessary sooner or later anyway.

  The reason for “sooner” was a disaster, but the consequence opened the way into the future. Again, Rheinberg would be asked to make decisions fairly quick.

  Finally, the worst effects of the nocturnal struggle were eliminated. Even the pungent smell of blood was driven away by a sea breeze. The usual stench of fish and manure, which characterized Ravenna, ultimately retained the upper hand.

  When Dahms bid farewell to Centurion Salius, he only nodded solemnly.

  “I hope that my services won’t be in demand again for some time,” the man said. “My prefect wants my report and suggestions soon, so it’s better to leave now. You have tend to his injury, I’ve heard?”

  “It’s not too serious,” Dahms reassured him. “He was bleeding heavily, but will soon be fit again, at least as fast as yourself.”

  Salius cast a contemptuous look on his bandage. “It’s nothing. But your weapons are terrible. I don’t want to be a Goth.”

  “Your work has shown that there are things that are not outweighed by superior weapons.”

  Salius allowed himself a smile. “We have paid a high price for this knowledge. As I said – may all the gods we believe in make sure that I’ll never have to deal in battle with the likes of you.”

  The centurion sounded sincere and serious.

  When he turned and Dahms gazing after him as he walked down the gangway, the engineer couldn’t blame the legionary for this attitude.

  He turned around, went to the Roman with the sleeping boy in his arms and threw Marcellus a proud look.

  “Once he’ll be a great legionary!” the strong man boasted proudly.

  Dahms nodded. “That may well be.”

  He waved Köhler, who carefully picked up the boy and carried him to his hammock.

  “In fact, I intend to make him an engineer,” Dahms said thoughtfully. “Maybe a very brave engineer.”

  The legionary looked a bit perplexed at him. No idea what that meant. Then he frowned. He’d better continue to look after the boy.

  One could never tell.

  21

  Fritigern looked at the man. He was an embodiment of misery: sweaty, stinking of urine, the hair completely wild, trembling hands. His glance was unsteady, his body shook at irregular intervals, he talked choppy with a lot of fear in his voice. This was not a Hun warrior, who rode mercilessly on his horse against every conceivable enemy, this was a human wreck, a shadow of his former self. The Gothic judge had never before seen a Hun who had so much lost his composure because of any defeat, any desperate situation, any threat. The reports that he got from the survivors of Fastida’s group were often confused, contradicted themselves, and were full of religious allusions. There was talk of invisible demons, the wrath of God whose sword had been driven through their ranks. The Hun, a Christian for that matter, spoke of demons or spirits, who tore the horses’ skulls and severed them from the shoulders without a sword or an arrow. All six returnees – one had been completely dumbfounded on the way back and had killed himself – had in common that they were the only survivors and that their unit had fallen victim to a terrible, overwhelming opponent. These weren’t excuses made by cowards who wanted to explain a lost battle away by describing an overpowering enemy to hide their own failures. Whatever they had experienced, it had confused their senses, triggered deep fear, and transformed them into weeping wrecks.

  Fritigern had to take this seriously.

  He relieved the babbling Hun. This was the last of the survivors to whom he had spoken. Since the first conversation, he had learned nothing new. Only one thing was certain – whoever accompanied a single Roman cohort on its way to Thessaloniki constituted a new and important force, influencing his strategic considerations and urging the need for additional information.

  He sighed. Strategic considerations. As if those have had developed into anything. So far, they had not even been able to agree on what exactly they should do with the totally deranged Eastern Roman emperor, who had at least been nursed back to physical health, and was able to take food in a reasonably well-mannered way and to fuck Gothic women. But whether Valens was actually still an important trump, Fritigern had more and more doubts.

  The inability of the allied nations to attack the well-fortified and richly supplied Eastern Roman towns and garrisons, their lack of knowledge of siege engines and their totally inadequate discipline, chaotic hierarchy and large autonomy of a myriad of sub-leaders – all this was not a good basis for a great strategy. Everything Fritigern had ever managed was to keep the great military body in motion to plunder on the way as effectively as possible and to hope that this approach would quickly entice the Romans to concessions and to accept new negotiations.

  What was the result? Flavius Victor gathered the rest of the Eastern Roman army in Thessaloniki, and from the West his emperor Gratian sent a bunch of demons who with sorcery transformed good warriors into howling women.

  Fritigern had the feeling that the threads of events unfolding slipped away from him.

  “So? What do we do?”

  The judge had not even noticed that Godegisel had entered the tent. The young nobleman had listened to the reports and seemed to be impressed by what he heard as he looked a little pale around the nose.

  “Sit down,” Fritigern asked him and served himself plenty of wine. Godegisel did the same. “We need to know more. Choose ten reliable men. Those who are afraid of nothing and no one, who would storm laughing to hell. We need to know more.”

  Godegisel said nothing, drank his wine. “Do you know what scares me the most at this moment?” he finally asked softly.

  “Speak!”

  “Would you have given me this order a few days ago, two of the men with whom you have just spoken would have been among those ten, and I would have sworn that they’d met every danger with ice-cold blood.”

  Fritigern remained silent, then nodded, put down his own cup.

  “Then look for the crazies, choose from the madmen. Those who have peculiar tendencies and strange behavior. Take ten of those everyone otherwise avoids, in whose presence everyone sneers or raises children to close their eyes at. Ten in whose heads the long trek and the many battles have infused trouble. Maybe they will be the best for this task.”

  Godegisel looked at Fritigern searchingly, but the idea seemed to catch him. “But I myself am not one who belongs to the cr
azies,” he pointed out. “You don’t seem to worry about me becoming crazy.”

  “You’ve heard the stories. Arm yourself. But I need someone with intelligence and excellent powers of observation, Godegisel. Do not disappoint me.”

  The young man obviously didn’t know if he should be pleased with this praise or appalled by its consequences. In any case, he made the decision not to question his leader.

  “Ten lunatics, Judge.”

  “Ten, who can tell me what I need to know.”

  Godegisel rose.

  “I will obey the order. But afterwards you should come to a decision, Judge. I’m tired of wandering, and I’m not the only one. Choose a battle or choose submission. But choose.”

  Fritigern didn’t react. He felt the sudden chill in Godegisel’s words and guessed how it was bubbling in the big camp. The doubters became more. The fame of Adrianople faded. Fritigern had to act, better still: to win, if he wanted to remain leader of the Goths.

  If even one of his most loyal lieutenants began to warn him, then it was indeed high time to do something.

  22

  If Julia had learned one thing in her life, then that one could accomplish anything with money. The corruption was widespread in the empire and already for a long time no cause for special concerns: It was a great exception to meet an honest bureaucrat. If one carried a bag of good solidi – not stretched with copper – his concern was taken seriously, found a sympathetic ear and execution was then just a question of the amount to be paid. Julia was not without means because Michellus was one of those progressive fathers who conceded to his daughters a certain amount of control over her own funds. While Julia’s sister Drusilla invested her appanage in beautiful clothes, jewelry and all sorts of oils and ointments, and despite the fact that Julia was also not averse to the current fashions, she had due to her permanent disputes always been careful to maintain a “war chest.” A part of this sum she had taken when she had run away with Volkert, but it was still more than enough left: a small, real chest full of beautiful golden solidi, some still marked during the reign of Valentinian I, when the empire still had an emperor who knew what to do.

  That’s what her mother always said.

  Julia didn’t care, but Gratian’s father’s minted face was especially helpful in that case to buy favor and services.

  When she realized that her mother either didn’t intend to keep her word to look for Volkert, or that her influence was not even half as big as she had always claimed, the decision had matured in her to become active herself. She felt more comfortable to take action anyway, instead of waiting for the favors of others. The wait was over, and that alone lifted her spirits considerably.

  She decided to seek her luck firstly with an old friend of her father. Senator Lucius Tullius Severus was not only a time-honored and highly respected member of the Senate, he also had a military career behind him, a full 25 years, rising through the ranks to highest offices. Michellus sometimes jokingly called him “our Diocletian,” as the career of Severus reminded many to the rise of the great reformist ruler, who had worked his way up from legionary to emperor.

  Severus was old as the hills, close to 80, a rare feat in these times. But he had a quick mind and above all contacts in the military, as many young recruits, who had started under him, were now in influential positions. In addition, the old lecher had a weakness for young girls, although a platonic one, without much chance to indulge in them due to his frail condition. Julia intended to exploit this shamelessly.

  The dress that she wore under the wide cloak should make a significant contribution. It emphasized a tightly-woven chest area, stylistically modeled like a breastplate of the legion, slit in the middle so that Severus would get a deep insight into promises that he in his age only knew to enjoy in theory. A broad belt clasped her hips, then the fabric fell in soft curves and would reveal slim legs in a most pleasing way with each movement she made. Julia knew exactly which movement would cause the desired effect. When she tried on the dress and had made sure of the correct impression, she sent a slave ahead to announce her arrival. She knew that Severus was in town, and she also knew that he usually received no visitors at this time.

  Julia, he would welcome; she was sure that he’d make an exception to the rule for her.

  Shortly thereafter, she was on her way. She traveled befitting to her status – litter and bodyguard, led by a strong domestic slave, who saw to it that the carriers had free rein. It was almost noon, and the streets of Ravenna were crowded with pedestrians and the occasional rider.

  A remarkable number of legionaries were visible in the city, as since the port incidents security had been strengthened. No one really felt safe, though, as the soldiers themselves stopped people, seemingly to check them, but in fact expecting a few sesterces as bribe. Should one refuse to pay, he was entitled to a very lengthy and very thorough inspection process, in which there was certainly a suspicious circumstance to be found that drove the price one had to pay for an end of the procedure upwards. It was good to look either very poor or ragged – then one was obviously totally innocuous and didn’t enjoy any attention – or, as Julia, to sit in a litter. There were limits not even exceeded by legionaries as they could get in serious trouble otherwise.

  Julia remained completely undisturbed. The only thing that was intrusive was the inimitable aroma of manure and waste. The beggars who dared to approach the litter were cleared by Julia’s slaves. It spoke for the senator’s daughter that this clearance didn’t consist of a few well-placed blows but of a handful of coins thrown in the right direction.

  When they reached the house of Severus, it became clear that they were already expected. The gates opened and the litter could pass unhindered. When the wings closed behind her and Julia got out of the vehicle, it was as if she had arrived in another world. With the beautiful garden of autumn flowers, the clean-cut hedges, and the murmuring fountain, an atmosphere of peace and serenity filled the property of Severus.

  The old man waited for them, supported by a slave, who was barely younger than the senator himself. Severus’ wife had died three years ago; that it had contributed significantly to the rejuvenation and revitalization of the man was generally considered a fact. His sons and daughters, about whose total number different estimates were traded, lived far away from home, being married or involved in their careers. No wonder that the old senator saw the visit of the enchanting daughter of Michellus to be a highly welcome change.

  Very welcome in fact, if one was able to interpret the glances once Julia opened her cape and pretended as if she felt a little too warm. The haste with which he asked her inside, where the underfloor heating of the noble estate probably would support her desire to get rid of all the annoying garment, also spoke of this. Julia’s performance was convincing.

  “What can I do for the lovely daughter of my good friend Michellus?” Severus finally said, after he had convinced himself long enough of Julia’s obvious advantages.

  “It is a military matter, dear father.”

  Severus’ eyes flashed. A young woman in a costume that looked like an idealized armor-plate asked him about military affairs. His groans sounded as if he would secretly wish to be at least 30 years younger. Or 20.

  By Jupiter, ten years would already help.

  “Speak, dear Julia.”

  The senator’s daughter had decided to be open. Her relationship with Volkert had already become the talk of the town, at least in the wider circle of her family. Severus had certainly heard of it, and he probably developed a general understanding of the situation not the least because of his own turbulent past in this regard. So Julia told him everything he should know and ultimately came to the core of her concerns.

  “You still have many contacts in high circles. First, I want to find out where Thomas has been posted to, and then it would be good if we could free him from service.”

  Severus was suddenly serious. “That’s not quite that simple, my dove.”


  “I have money! A large bag full of –”

  The old man raised his hand. “It is less about money although coins can never hurt. The point is that if I understand correctly, your lover is incognito. No one knows where he comes from and under which name he has been included in the pay list. Had he given his real identity, he would have already been delivered to the strange visitors. This makes any search very, very difficult. A description alone does not help us. I only know when he was recruited, a date he will ultimately share with many others, as the recruits are all drawn together for training. In addition, he is probably no longer in training camp because the staffing needs are considerable. He will already be on the way to his legion. And that can be anywhere in the West, depending on the development of the military situation in the East.”

  Julia felt her hope sinking. Her determination turned into despair, and she fought against the emerging tears. “There must be something I can do,” she said with a choked voice.

  “Well, well, my dove,” Severus said somewhat helpless. “Don’t give up! I promise you that I’ll do what I can. I’ll use my contacts and try to pick up the trail. An advice I can give you already now: If he was recruited in this area, his first residence has most probably been the camp of my old companion tribune Ercatus. It isn’t far from here.”

  “I have heard of the camp. I was even there, after they had caught Thomas. But no one allowed me inside.”

  Severus waved. Out of the gloom came a slave, bowed his head before and got a whisper in his ear by the Senator. Moments later, he brought papyrus and something to write. Severus scribbled a long sentence, pulled out his signet ring and some wax. Then he pressed his seal on the note and rolled the papyrus.

  “Here, little dove, that will grant you admission. But I don’t think your parents will allow you –”

  “That’s my concern,” Julia interrupted and accepted the document.

  Severus was wise enough not to pursue the subject any further.