The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal

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The Emperor's Men 2: Betrayal Page 24

by Boom, Dirk van den


  The management facilities adjacent to the church building were all newer, and the remoteness of the entire system contributed to the monastic impression. To this place, von Klasewitz and Tennberg escaped in a hectic night-and-dagger operation, on the run from prefect Renna’s soldiers who had closed the gates of Ravenna just behind them. Since then, they had persevered here, hidden by Ambrosius and under the direction of Petronius, as Renna had declared a bounty for the capture of the German refugees, and a hefty one.

  Their initial bitterness and despair following the failed mutiny had given way to cold fury. The longer they lived in the nameless church and the surrounding buildings, the greater the outrage. Petronius only spurred this, and he understood how to foster the anger especially in the former first officer. Soon he had convinced von Klasewitz that only betrayal could have been the cause for his failure, that his cause was still righteous, and that Rheinberg had to be stopped, no matter what Gratian and his courtiers deigned to decide. They were largely cut off from news, only sporadically a messenger appeared, and so it was all the more surprising that one day a large group of riders, wrapped in hoods, reached the remote location. Petronius hurried and alarmed the German refugees, because the unannounced visit was of high rank and the purpose of some importance.

  As he led von Klasewitz and Tennberg in the common room of the farm building, they were amazed at the illustrious group that had gathered in front of their eyes. There was the Bishop of Milan, St. Ambrosius – although not yet put in this exalted state – who had assumed the dignity to sit at the head of the large table. He was accompanied by other high ecclesiastical dignitaries, a blur of names von Klasewitz could hardly remember.

  Then there was a different person, a man of handsome physique, with the movements and the habitus of a military. Once von Klasewitz heard his name everything fell into place, and he understood immediately, even smiled, being pleased. They welcomed Magnus Maximus, the Roman military governor of Britain. He knew the man from Rheinberg’s historical descriptions. He was the usurper, who in his own time line dared to revolt against Gratian, and his generals would bring the young Emperor, betrayed by his own troops, death. Maximus would for some years rule a large part of Western Rome – almost everything except Italy – and distinguish himself by exceptional piety and zealous orthodoxy, not least in order to gain the pleasure of the Eastern Roman Emperor Theodosius. Theodosius, however, would never recognize the usurper and finally bring him down to assume his role as the last Roman Emperor in history ruling the complete realm all by himself.

  In another time.

  That was a clear indication for von Klasewitz. The mere fact that the governor met with him here, instead of preparing his rebellion in Britain or Gaul, spoke volumes. The historical events were finally completely changed, the dice newly fallen. With every step they now moved away from the story that they knew. And von Klasewitz knew exactly what was expected of him before even a word had been spoken. Help and advice to the insurgent troops, fueled by the passion of true orthodoxy, to be directed against Gratian and his new allies, to be sent into the field and to help them to overcome the superior technology of the time travelers, or, even better, create new ideas and weapons to use.

  The road ahead was clearly drawn, as von Klasewitz suddenly realized with a strange calm. The failed mutiny had just been the beginning of something much bigger. Now he could no longer pick and choose who was friend or foe. And the chance offered him here to wipe out the disgrace of failure and return in triumph on the Saarbrücken …

  The first officer didn’t notice anymore, as he entangled himself in a web of thoughts and feelings, how he removed himself more and more from reality. He saw himself, again as captain of the Saarbrücken , with Rheinberg, nailed to a cross as an inferior criminal. The sudden, savage sense of satisfaction that flowed through him in this imagination washed away any remaining doubt.

  “Let us sit down,” Ambrosius suggested once the round of introductions as well as an introductory prayer had been completed. Expectantly von Klasewitz took place.

  “I think that after the general introduction there is no doubt about the purpose of our meeting today,” the bishop immediately began with the basics. “Frightening things have happened in the last few weeks and months, and people have made a lot of mistakes. Including me, if I may say so.”

  A murmur arose.

  The bishop raised a hand. “Yes, including me. I have condemned the foreigners who so unexpectedly arrived on our shores immediately and without consideration. As I had to learn now, that was too hasty a decision. Here among us today is the living proof that the time travelers are not all demons or followers of Satan. Yes, I will admit that even those who follow the teachings of that man Rheinberg may be wrong or simply do not know better and can perhaps be lead to the right path. Unfortunately, an attempt to accomplish this has recently failed.”

  Ambrosius looked mildly at Petronius, then at von Klasewitz. Should his remark have been meant as a rebuke to their defeat, then he at least it didn’t show. The former first officer was very grateful.

  “Temporary setbacks should not stop us,” the bishop continued. “We know that we are on the right track. The fact that a young and hopeful Gratian can be influenced by both the events as well as the suggestions of strangers is deplorable, but I’m much more concerned than angry. Still, it saddens me, however, that this development and the intransigence of the Emperor now drive me to take steps I myself would never have thought possible. I hope that I’m not going astray, and pray for greater insight and understanding.”

  The humble habit of the bishop concealed the fact inadequately that he clearly formulated the introduction to a veritable call to rebellion. Von Klasewitz enjoyed the situation. The ritual, formulaic procedure corresponded to the essence of his personality, it meant that he felt at home with these people. That he himself was now one of a group of conspirators who ultimately planned nothing less than the overthrow of the rightful Emperor – and why else should the governor of Britain make the long journey – was then beside the point. Von Klasewitz felt like being part of history, and this flattered his ego to an almost indescribable extent. He had, in many respects, sold his soul and the fact that the buyer was someone who was revered in his time as a saint made it much easier.

  “The Emperor is mistaken if he thinks he has to approach not only the heretics in Christendom but also the numerous pagan cults with leniency and exaggerated tolerance. The Emperor is wrong if he thinks that the tax reductions and exemptions for church property and church people are too large and the empire would improve its revenue situation. And he is mistaken if he thinks that a neglect of orthodoxy means that the empire can face the coming dangers – which I don’t want to negate! – in a better way. He puts the salvation of all his subjects at risk, and only to obtain questionable and in any case very short-term benefits. The role of the former companions of our friend von Klasewitz here is just as infamous as important, and to end the influence of these men is one of the points with which we must begin.”

  Ambrosius turned directly to von Klasewitz who stood up immediately and met the eyes of the bishop.

  “We especially need the help of our friends from the future who have demonstrated their righteousness for all of us, because we should not suffer the fate of the Goths at Thessaloniki.”

  The events in the eastern part of the empire had made the rounds quickly in the last few weeks. Even von Klasewitz had gained some knowledge in the relative seclusion of his exile. Rheinberg had won. What losses he had sustained wasn’t known. But the victory over the Goths had met the nobleman with greater bitterness than it should have. Defeating the barbarians ultimately would have been his destiny if the mutiny would’ve been successful. However, he probably wouldn’t have departed toward the Greek city and would therefore not have been able to turn the tide, he had to admit. Ultimately, it was his envy of Rheinberg’s anticipatory behavior that probably hurt him the most.

  Von Klasewitz bowed
his head in approval, intensifying the recognizable benevolence in Ambrosius’ face.

  “Come, faithful brethren, let us consider what we can do and when we want to do it,” Ambrosius said. “Noble Maximus, you have been invited not least because you have obviously prepared plans of your own. Your ambition is now in great danger, and at any moment Gratian might announce your dismissal. So our time is running out.”

  The governor of Britain rose, and an aide rolled out maps in front of them on the table. All eyes turned to the future usurper. Implicitly he was the one in the eyes of the conspirators who would take Gratian’s position. Up until the young emperor came around with the appointment of Theodosius, he would remain be the only emperor. The price they had to win had become so much bigger, bigger even than what Maximus had originally had set himself as a goal.

  Von Klasewitz didn’t care much about the details of the plans which they were about to discuss.

  All was well, as long as he would play a glorious role in them.

  38

  “More couldn’t be expected.”

  Fritigern’s face spoke volumes, spoke of his feelings, especially his disappointment and humiliation, that he had to suffer. No, the delegation led by General Arbogast hadn’t treated him in any way derogatory. He hadn’t been tied up or put under a yoke and thus relegated to slavery, as the victorious Romans could have done with him and the completely demoralized Goths. He was still a free man. He didn’t have to listen to triumphant eulogies, there were no insults, no offensive language. They had even spoken to him quite honorably, gave him a slave as a servant, and he hadn’t been lacking anything. Even his Goths, and with them the Huns and Alans, were treated unexpectedly well – only those who still had resisted, and despite all clear instructions by Fritigern and Alaric, had been attacked. But those who peacefully surrendered and laid down their weapons got to eat out of the Romans’ meager supplies. Women and children, the whole entourage, were building a camp under the supervision of the legionaries and remained otherwise completely undisturbed. Here and there, there had been attacks by too high-spirited legionaries, but these had quickly been sanctioned by their leaders with obviously very clear instructions on the matter.

  No, on the contrary, in comparison to the time when the Goths were first invited by the Romans to settle, the treatment now was generally decent, almost friendly. That hadn’t made Fritigern’s negotiating position easier, but on the other hand it had supported his efforts to make the numerous sub-leaders agree to the peace agreement they had finally signed.

  This, of course, didn’t change the fact that today, weeks after the formal contract had been concluded, the issue was discussed again and again. Especially those of Fritigern’s closest confidants, who had sworn allegiance to the former judge and had to deal with the fact that Fritigern now was no more than an ordinary nobleman and no longer the glorious leader of all the Goths, had their problems. Alaric had become very ill and had died two days after the end of the negotiations. In the end, the old man had proved to be remarkably cooperative.

  And yet: There had been allegations from many sides. Had the victory of Adrianople actually been so pointless? The great triumph, no more than just an illusion? Many Gothic leaders who had had substantial contribution to the victory over Valens had been less than satisfied. But they were leaders without an army, for the fact that after the carnage at Thessaloniki, after the use of those magical, so destructive, invisible weapons, many warriors had lost any desire for another showdown. Ultimately, they had received what they had come for: land for settlement, status as Roman citizens, a right to limited self-government under Roman civil officials, and relief from any tax for two years in order to put all efforts in the construction of new villages and farms.

  These funds were certainly limited, since much of the plunder which they had accumulated since Adrianople had been returned. But even here, the Romans showed an amazing gentleness, yes, great understanding on their part – seeds, agricultural tools, cattle and other livestock had been granted to them as property in order to invigorate the production of food as soon as possible. Of the countless horses, which they had possessed, more than half had been handed over to the Romans, and those they were allowed to keep were primarily used as draft animals. Only a limited group of nobles was allowed to keep horses to ride on or even maintain a small force of fighters under arms as a personal guard in their service, a tiny fraction compared to the powerful army over which they had once commanded.

  The Goths had accepted the terms of their surrender relatively quickly. This coincided with the reasons for which they had come here in the first place. They had found a new home and were willing to come to terms with their fate. It could have been worse. Slavery would have been another option.

  The Alans and the Huns had been less enthusiastic. The Alans had ultimately agreed to act as auxiliary troops in the service of the Roman army, a tradition that existed for some time anyway. Emperor Gratian preferably surrounded himself with a troop of Alan cavalrymen, quite to the dismay of conservative military circles.

  The Huns had been ultimately uncontrollable. Some had followed the example of the Alans and accepted recruitment. None of them had been willing to trade the horse to plow and ox. Already in the course of the negotiations, they had stolen some and once the guard of the legions was finally lifted completely, most of them disappeared. Few in number and without their weapons, which had been collected after the defeat, they had rapidly made their way back northeast to those areas outside the borders of the empire from where they had come. For the Goths and the Romans, they were out of sight and out of mind. Only those strange time travelers of whose existence Godegisel had reported were concerned and continued to be full of suspicion, and they had warned against a return of the Huns – not this small group, but a very great and mighty host under the leadership of a man who was not even born yet.

  A too distant, too abstract idea.

  “What of Godegisel?” was a question often asked. Godegisel, who struck down one of the leaders of the time travelers, who had ignited the fire in the gatehouse with his men. Godegisel, who had warned them all with such haunting words in regard to the secret weapons of the strangers and triggered so much contempt and disbelief – and scorn, which then turned into silence, unwilling admiration and appreciation. Even the biggest critics had understood that the young nobleman had ultimately prevented the Goths to completely lose face before Thessaloniki. Godegisel had been present when the negotiations with the Romans came to a close, and he had, like all Gothic fighters, been granted amnesty and freedom. Oddly enough, the time travelers had protested only weakly. Fritigern still tried to understand how these people were thinking.

  Afterwards, he had sent Godegisel away. A final act of pride, he said to himself, and only very few confidants had been informed. It was an important mission, albeit one whose consequences were ultimately not foreseeable. Some of the crazies who Godegisel had led to Thessaloniki had survived. The young nobleman had asked to be allowed to retain the very strange group of companions as personal retinue, and Fritigern had granted him this. For their trip, they got a wagon and draft horses and some gold. Then Fritigern had sent them on their way. He didn’t expect to see the young man ever again, on the other hand one never knew what strange coincidences destiny continued to prepare. Who would have thought that foreign invaders from the east would expel the Goths from their ancestral land? Who would have thought that the Romans who took them in their country would then betray their guests ignominiously? Who would have thought that the three nations would defeat a large Roman army at Adrianople? And who would have thought that they would receive their defeat at the hands of travelers through time, that their weapons would strike down hundreds, even thousands, of them without lifting a sword? Even more improbabilities could be considered, and he considered them well. So much had happened in such a short time, and it was unlikely that anyone would believe any of these tales in the future. He couldn’t blame them.

&n
bsp; Fritigern, former judge of the Goths, sat calmly on the porch of the small, rural property, which had been given to him by the Romans. Members of his family had begun to inspect the fields and to repair the buildings. The former owner had fallen by the hands of the Goths, and no one had survived who could claim inheritance. This was Fritigern’s spoils of war, as he liked to call it, and it was small compared to what had been within reach.

  No reason to mourn. Fritigern, the Goth, was now a Roman. Soon the officials of the empire would appear and search among his men for possible recruits for the legion. Soon would be those who had destroyed 40,000 Roman soldiers wear Roman armor themselves and follow the Roman field signs. How ironic, but well considered, not the first time it had ended like this.

  And wasn’t it ultimately what they had hoped for?

  The judge thought so.

  39

  The weather was wet, cloudy, and rainy, but the days got longer, and hope awoke with the spring. Godegisel slipped back and forth on his horse. Fine rivulets crawled into his neck and further down, and he suppressed a curse. The path through which he led the horses and the wagon was mushy, and the animals were slow. His companions stared as morosely into the weather as he, tired of the day-long ride and last but not least of the uncertainty of that what was waiting for them.

  The monotony allowed the young nobleman to look back as he thought about what happened, and he lacked satisfaction in regard to the events of the past. The secret weapons of the time traveler had spoken, and louder than he had expected in his wildest dreams. The small triumph of having killed one of their leaders hadn’t lasted for long. It had come as he had feared, and only the relative mildness and the amazing tolerance of the Romans had prevented the worst.

 

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