The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal

by Boom, Dirk van den

  The vision seemed to endear Dahms especially, because his eyes lit up.

  “We will make final decisions later, but you, Mr. Engineer, are our man for this project. Let’s look at what the Romans can accomplish, what they can learn, and where we may reach our limits. Keep this in mind: To save the Roman Empire and to renew it, we need some technical breakthroughs quite soon. I would like you to start thinking about how we can produce steam engines for deep sea-going ships with local resources, probably made of bronze. Consider powder production, think about cannons and muskets, ideally something more advanced than those of the old mercenary-armies. There are a lot of challenges. We have to restore the absolute supremacy of Rome over the Mediterranean to foreclose the attack of the Vandals in North Africa. And we must be active in the East.”

  “In the East?”

  “We need to catch the Huns before they even come into the vicinity of Rome. I mean the main body of the Hunnic expansion. So far, we’ve seen only the advance party. It will take a few years until Attila appears. I would prefer that he doesn’t appear at all and that we solve the problem beyond the Roman frontiers.”

  “You think far ahead,” Joergensen muttered.

  “Maybe,” Rheinberg replied. “But if we do it right, Rome will still be safe even once we don’t exist anymore. And I have the feeling that we will establish families here, or am I completely wrong?”

  He expected and received no rebuttal. Nobody mentioned Volkert. As Rheinberg had learned of his desertion, he had been beside himself for a moment. It didn’t occur to him that “starting a family” had been apparently what the ensign had in mind.

  “Then that would be clear. Tomorrow I’d like the ship to be ready to set sail. Renna has promised selected Roman sailors for tomorrow as well. We shouldn’t waste any time.”

  27

  Godegisel looked at Agiwulf. He wished he could say the man would meet his gaze, but it was difficult to be sure. Agiwulf, an otherwise slender, almost thin warrior whose tailor-made skins were extremely rough even for a Goth and hung loosely around his bones, possessed a martial face. One eye was completely lacking, and Agiwulf considered it not necessary to cover the deep, scarred cave. The other eye was shaking and looked permanently in different directions, even if the man’s face was turned to the nobleman. Agiwulf was considered completely nuts, at least since he had gotten a good smash on the head in a fight against the advancing Huns several times. He often spoke incoherently, drooling while eating and drinking like a pig, and ran around at night, instead of sleeping, “guarding” the Gothic camp and his people against the “dark spirits” haunting him since. The only reason he had not been released from his suffering was probably the fact that he was absolutely fearless in battle, always rode in the front line, knew exactly where and how he had to carry his sword, and was able to understand and execute commands. Since no one had to feed him, and he was able to defecate without assistance, everyone had come to terms with his condition.

  Godegisel looked from Agiwulf to the other men. Some looked as deranged as the one-eyed, others held up better, but what all had in common was that they were considered nuts among the Goths. They were outcasts, all with no family or relatives, or their existence denied by them. No one had a wife or children, at least none that anyone knew. The mighty Bilimer, who seemed to consist only of giant rolls of fat and who wheezed with every movement, had probably never had a woman in his life. He was considered retarded, hardly more than a child, but he possessed an almost overwhelming physical power, and he lacked any understanding of risk or his own vulnerability. Ervig had lost his family during the trek to Rome and was almost broken with grief about it. The muscular warrior wore a simple tunic despite the cold, led an ascetic life, ate only the bare minimum, and didn’t talk to anyone. In battle, he was ice cold precision. It was as if seeking death and to take as many as possible with him he thought were responsible for the end of his family. And there was Rechiar, the rider, who seemed to be grown together with his horse, even more than the most fanatical Hun. He lived on his horse, ate and slept there, and there he would beget children, if a woman should ever have come to accept the overgrown, humped shape of his body. He spoke with the horses, more than other horsemen, as if they had a higher intelligence and insight than human beings. Rechiar was educated, could read and write, and when he read from the scripture to his animal, he often found other listeners to his recitation, completely ignored by him. There were people in the camp who considered him a saint, but most considered the twisted, ugly shape as crazy, and that almost automatically qualified him for Godegisel’s troop. Rechiar’s belief that his life was inviolable so long as he stayed on horseback made him sufficiently fearless and therefore the ideal candidate for this mission.

  “You follow my orders. You keep your eyes open. You fight when I say and ran when I say. We need to learn more, and we must not be distracted. Is that clear?”

  There were different reactions. Those whose minds were still the clearest and who did not hesitate to utter something once they wanted to, hummed affirmatively. Some others nodded and grinned. Agiwulf drooled. Bilimer bit into an apple. Godegisel deemed that being his consent.

  He didn’t have much choice.

  He moved his horse toward himself, ready to climb it. Each of his men was mounted, but they would not move forward too quickly. Bilimer had an animal that was able to carry him, but it was a bulky, cumbersome horse that resembled its owner in amazing ways. It could move the fat man around, but speed was limited. Godegisel had to accept that; he was indeed in a hurry but was also under pressure to be successful. Would he return without important information, he was better to stay away from the Gothic camp. Care was more important to him than hurry and Bilimer was not only fearless and strong, he also had excellent eyes. Godegisel didn’t want to do without him.

  They took their time before they had made their way. They turned their horses toward Thessaloniki, because everyone assumed that the strange powerful reinforcement would go there as it was the rallying point of the rest of the army. To obtain information about the demons was thus most likely to occur in the provincial capital. On the occasion, Godegisel and his men also would form the vanguard of the Gothic main army, which with much slower speed was also to be moved to the city because Fritigern still had the intention to offer battle there. Godegisel didn’t expect that the Roman city was impregnable. But the noblemen of the different peoples and tribes grumbled, and the judge was forced to act.

  The trip to reach the city would take days for Godegisel’s small group. Nevertheless, it was quite possible that they met scouts or patrols of the Romans on the way. They had therefore begun to camouflage the horses, created Roman bridles, made themselves out like rundown merchants. The fact that they had horses made them rich men, but Godegisel wanted to give the impression that this was only the reflection of former prosperity, that they were victims of this war and the Gothic looting. Godegisel himself and Rechiar spoke reasonably good Greek and thought themselves capable of impersonating traders. The nobleman hoped any real test of their cover story would be unnecessary. He would prefer, if possible, to come close to the vicinity of the city without notice.

  What to do then would depend on the situation. Godegisel had indeed bothered to think about that multiple times, but concocted no plan. Breaking into the city would probably be the most promising approach, and there were still refugees rushing from anywhere behind the city walls, so it might even succeed to mingle with them once the situation was favorable. Otherwise, he had no choice but to lay in wait and hope that the demons appeared and gave their skills away in public, so that the Gothic scouts would be able to report about it.

  Godegisel established himself to expect a tedious and potentially very frustrating mission.

  28

  Becker was expecting a long and frustrating discussion, but he was pleasantly surprised. As Flavius Victor summoned him, in the General’s study he also found Arbogast and some other officers of the Roman
army present. He himself was accompanied by von Geeren, although his deputy was still sweating every night on Latin and Greek lessons. At the request of the Romans, Becker had grazed the city for reasonably talented teachers and presented an illustrious group of about 20 men who apparently earned their money with school hours. One Becker had reserved for the officers and the rest released to the troops, which led to almost sheer terror for some school dropouts. When they reassembled to learn languages, those who had prematurely left school first learned the most crude curses to express their feelings properly. But Becker had been merciless. Should they work together with the Romans in future battles effectively, a minimum level of understanding was necessary, and no one knew in what kind of situation some of his soldiers would find themselves. Two hours of language lessons per day he actually regarded as too little, but there was no room for more now.

  In recent days, the captain had come to know the fortifications of Thessaloniki quite well, and the Romans had hidden nothing from him. The almost square city, originally built mostly in semi-circular terraces on a slope and then enclosed by a sturdy wall system, was dominated by a magnificent acropolis, in which the headquarters of the armed forces laid in a fortress. Nine gates led outside the city, and the fortifications had been partially built in the Macedonian period but were extensively renovated in recent years. In the middle of the bulwarks was the artificial harbor established by Constantine the Great, with its shipyards and a squadron of the Navy. Then there was one second port outside the fortifications as well as a deep bay where ships could also anchor. Thessaloniki’s fame was closely related to its success as a commercial hub.

  Once the Romans realized that he wasn’t interested in escape routes and catacombs but only in positions from which machine guns and assault rifles would have an optimal range to keep the battlefield under control, the Roman leaders had been even more relaxed. Becker also marched back and forth outside the city walls, climbed endless stairs, walked through narrow corridors and threw countless views from balustrades and towers. Von Geeren as well as some of the sergeants had helped him, and in the evening they had compared their findings and assessments carefully, looked at plans provided by the Romans followed by their own drawings and calculations made. Ultimately, an increasingly clear picture had emerged, and they had come to the agreement that the plain to the west of the city would be the ideal battlefield for their plans. Finally, they approached Victor with their findings and had begun to develop a plan – the approach of the Goths to enter at the plain had to be seemingly free and easy. The remains of the Roman field army had to present themselves to assault, and the enemy would run directly into a fiery cauldron. They had only one chance for the execution of this trap and that essentially for two reasons: The Goths wouldn’t be fooled for a second time, and the German would, after this battle, simply lack the ammunition for a repetition. The main weakness of the Germans made itself painfully noticeable in Becker’s calculations: All their sophisticated weapons and corresponding tactics availed to nothing if they had no more cartridges left. And to fight with fixed bayonets and sabers drawn certainly held a romantic notion for some, but every shrewd swordsman of this time would without any doubt make short work of the Germans.

  He had already discussed with von Geeren the need for all men to undergo an intensive training with the Roman sword and make this the future standard. Even their own officer’s sabers were only a poor substitute. Depending on how long they had to wait for the Goths coming, they could start with such a training program soon. Becker had smiled at the thought of how gruff Roman instructors would give the strangers a decent weapons drill. But the idea was good – it would help to alleviate both arrogance as well as superstitious fears.

  But that needed further consideration. Flavius Victor would announce his final decision on the plan drawn up by Becker soon. Becker hoped fervently that the General wasn’t one of those officers who compulsively “improved” good plans with their own proposals just to prove that they really earned their higher rank. This had already turned many good concepts into disasters, and they couldn’t risk that this time.

  “Becker, come in!” Victor greeted him in a remarkably good mood. Due to the many meetings lately, some of the formality had faded. Victor had at least recognized that Becker wasn’t a demon, but a soldier – a quite strange soldier of quite strange appearance, but these were quite strange times anyway …

  “You are ready, sir?”

  “Yes, we have come to a decision. Here, we should sit down.”

  Becker reined his curiosity and took place as prompted. He tried to read in Arbogast’s face, but the demeanor of the old general gave no hint away.

  “I will make this brief. We have decided, after careful consideration, to approve of your plans.”

  Becker controlled a relieved sigh that wanted to slip away. He allowed himself a pleased smile.

  “I admit,” Victor continued, “that our decision has to do with the fact that the Goths now evidently seem to plan an assault on this city and have increased their marching speed. Our scouts believe that they will be here in a week. They obviously seek a battle before winter comes, and inventories of Thessaloniki would also help them to survive the cold season very well.”

  Becker nodded. No real news, but that the Goths now apparently acted decisively had apparently been important for Victor’s decision.

  “I will coordinate the whole operation, but I expect that you and Arbogast will do the actual work. If you require my authority, then you can make use of it, but I think my utter inexperience is likely to be more of a hindrance to proper execution.”

  Victor’s reputation increased in Becker’s eyes by a few percentage points, and as did his relief. He exchanged a quick glance with Arbogast, who nodded measuredly.

  Flavius Victor’s statement was of course an understatement. He had listened not only to the exact descriptions of the first battle against the Goths, Becker’s men also had given him a demonstration of what one could achieve with a rifle, a machine gun and a hand grenade. The old military chief had been visibly impressed and had no doubt sufficient imagination to realize what these weapons could do with a massed bulk of Goths and had done so already.

  “When shall we start the preparations?” Becker asked.

  “Immediately. We begin immediately,” was the expected answer. “If everything is supposed to work, we must train rigorously, especially the …”

  “Melting away,” Becker helped with a half smile.

  “Melting away in front of the Gothic attack in order for your people not to shoot our men.”

  “Then let’s not waste time. May I make a suggestion?”

  “Please do!”

  “We have to assume that the fleeing Goths have reported our first battle. It also could be assumed that we will soon have to do with an increased number of Gothic scouts. It would be very nice if Fritigern would be informed about as little as possible in regard to the nature of our maneuvers. I want to prevent that they add one to one and then our plan suddenly evaporates.”

  “So we strengthen our own patrols and secure possible observation points,” concluded Victor. “A good suggestion. I will immediately give the appropriate instructions.” He rose somewhat slowly and nodded. “Call on me anytime you have something else in your mind. I’ve just laid the fate of this city into your hands, Becker.”

  The captain bowed. In reality – and he was painfully aware of it – the fate of the Roman Empire laid in his hands.

  When he left the room and von Geeren spoke to him because of his scowl, Becker only grumbled, “Remind me to kick Rheinberg’s ass at the next opportunity.”

  Von Geeren didn’t muster more than a helpless “Yes, sir!” as a reply.

  How fortunate that this answer was always right.

  29

  The attack came shortly before dawn. How it could have happened that this group of barbarians had succeeded in infiltrating the Roman heartland so far was incomprehensible to everyone,
but not many thoughts were lost on the problem. For days they had marched toward the collection point, but they were still a good distance away from the frontier garrisons. The Sarmatians – or to what tribe the attackers actually belonged – probably infiltrated in small groups across the border and had, perhaps with the help of a knowledgeable local ally, reassembled somewhere previously agreed.

  And then they had got in the way a column of Roman recruits. Not even 400 legionaries, not even a cohort led by two centurions, both veterans, sure, but …

  At least the guards had been attentive. Their shouts tore Volkert and his comrades from the too-short sleep and the roaring NCO s got them on their feet. They knew immediately that this wasn’t a frivolous exercise, because in the eyes of the officers the fear of having to fight with a bunch of untrained recruits against a resolute Barbarian battle group was clearly visible.

  “Formation! Formation!” Lucius Latinus shouted. “Faster, you fools, or do you want to be slaughtered!”

  Hectic activity ensued. Volkert grabbed the sword, spear and shield, and then came the din of battle to their ears and the recruits had to recognize that Latinus had sent the veterans of the cohort, so far used to guard the unreliable draftees, forward in order to buy time – time that was necessary to bring the startled recruits in formation and to give them a slight chance of survival.

  Latinus, Volkert recognized, now drunk with adrenaline, was in fact much more than just an annoying training officer. And he was extremely grateful for that.

  Moments later, Volkert stood side by side with Simodes in a hastily compiled phalanx. He found himself right in the second row, and the stench of fearful perspiration came from the ranks of men shivering in the morning cold, the smell almost deafening all other senses.