Passage

by Dirk van den Boom

  Köhler nodded. “We must liberate Marcellus and learn more about this apparent conspiracy. Rheinberg has to be informed as soon as possible. How can we send a message?”

  Africanus made a comprehensive gesture. “It’s winter. The sailing ships are almost completely immovable. The Valentinian is the fastest method. Let us assemble a squad and immediately leave to the warehouse. If we find something, we send the Valentinian to sea, full steam ahead and on to Ravenna. Sepidus can take over. From there, he sends a messenger. Treveri can be informed within two weeks about everything we learn here, perhaps even earlier. Faster won’t be possible.”

  “Then it shall be so!” Köhler said and looked at Neumann, who nodded silently. Africanus jumped to his feet, now, as it was decided, full of energy.

  It took less than ten minutes for them to assemble their strike force. Of course, Behrens was among, and stoker Forstmann volunteered as well. There were also six legionnaires at the ready, Roman marines, armed with sword and spear. The Germans carried handguns, but had added the battle armor of a Roman soldier, complete with a helmet and chest protector. They had to assume that Tennberg wielded a weapon. Köhler remembered vaguely to have even seen the ensign in that fateful night of the mutiny with a gun, but his memory might be deceptive. A lack of ammunition could be assumed, but one single bullet was already sufficient to kill a man. Köhler decided once he saw such a weapon, he would shoot first and ask later. The Roman sailors were quite aware of this danger, but there had been no hesitation once the Trierarch had assembled them for the task.

  Then, under the cover of night, they left, wrapped in dark coats. Josaphat accompanied them. He was supposed to stay behind, as soon as they would reach the warehouse, and not to interfere, and the boy had sworn sacred oaths to that effect. Köhler didn’t know if he could trust the boy, but now they had no time to lose. Youngsters like Josaphat existed in all periods of human history, and Köhler knew that they were always equipped with a very strong survival instinct.

  It wasn’t far to their destination, but twice they were stopped by a night patrol of the harbor guard. Since Africanus could identify himself fully, no fuss was made about it. It took some time before the said warehouse was in view, the entrance illuminated by large oil lamps. Crouched behind wooden crates, Köhler observed dimly three men loitering near the entrance. Apparently a vigil, though a significantly lax one.

  “Are they probably the only ones?” Behrens whispered and squinted.

  “If I would be in Tennberg’s place, I’d have posted additional men on the roof, and one each, protected by darkness, on every side of the building,” Köhler said. “A prearranged warning and I would be informed of any approach.”

  “But Tennberg is an ensign who has never learned the fight properly at land, apart from his basic training,” Behrens pointed out. “And you, my friend, are only so smart because I have had a good influence on you. One day you might even become a real soldier.”

  Köhler grinned. “Thank you for the compliment. You are right, Tennberg isn’t so smart. But who is with him? We don’t want to assume that there is no experienced fighter with foresight and experience among the Romans.”

  “We shouldn’t indeed,” Africanus intervened. “I’ll send two men all the way around the building. Over there, one can climb the water tower. The night is overcast. He will, if careful, go undetected. We should soon have better information.”

  Köhler found no fault in the proposition.

  Soon the legionaries had received their orders and disappeared into the darkness. Köhler and the others remained in their coverage, scrupulously careful not to make any noise. However, the three guards discernible in the light dispensed by the lamps continued to make a not overly attentive impression. One periodically put a small amphora to his mouth, and there was no reason to suppose that the liquid inside was water. Every now and then, one of the men stood to stretch his legs, but they never ventured far into the darkness. A change of the guard didn’t take place either.

  Finally, the scouts, one after the other, returned and began whispering their reports. Africanus summarized the results …

  “Idiots!”

  Behrens grinned, his teeth were visible dimly in the darkness.

  “So nothing?”

  “Nothing and nobody. Those three bums.”

  “One of which has already enjoyed plenty of wine,” Köhler added satisfied. “We’ll just have to poke him, and he’ll fall over.”

  “I want to dispatch of those without any noise. I’d like to enter the building with the element of surprise. What about doors?” Behrens intervened.

  “In addition to the main entrance, there are two side doors. But both are locked properly. Our friends here are careless and frivolous but not completely stupid.”

  “Can we break the locks?”

  Africanus pursed his lips. “There are massive wooden doors. Many thieves in this city are on night raid. The large warehouses are solidly built and sealed with thick bolts and iron locks. The biggest enemy here is fire, but it takes too long and is hardly controllable. And we’d make quite a noise. The fire station would be alarmed immediately. The men are very attentive.”

  “We’ll focus on the front door. Can we overpower those three without them sounding the alarm?”

  “Knives!” Africanus said immediately, making the characteristic gesture from left to right across his throat.

  “They will notice us. Two are obviously not drunk,” Behrens pointed out.

  “Then our two archers,” Africanus said. Two of his men he had chosen precisely because of this talent. They kept themselves ready in the background.

  “Two arrows is, at best, two dead,” Behrens criticized again.

  “We only attack the two sober ones. We wait until the drinker has downed his amphora. When his comrades fall, he will respond late or, with luck, wouldn’t even understand what is going on. Then we’ll have sufficient time to sink a few arrows in him.” Africanus grinned. “The location is convenient. All three are in the light. My men can aim at rest and the targets are in an ideal range. I expect smooth execution.”

  “This out of the mouth of an officer, and I get the shivers every single time,” Behrens mumbled barely audible.

  Köhler could understand him well, but it was the best plan in regard to the current circumstances. He nodded toward Africanus.

  The two archers were in position at once. They were ordered to take their time. This was convenient because the drunk one took another long swig from his amphora, held it almost vertically over his mouth. Then a loud belch reverberated all over the place and he dropped the empty vessel. As if this was the command, the archers released their two arrows.

  One hit in the chest. The man wasn’t even able to raise his arms to embrace the arrow in an instinctive reaction. He fell silently to the floor.

  The other also hit its target – but only in the shoulder. The guard had turned at the last moment to the side. It came as it had to: He let out a long drawn-out, high cry of pain. Then the two archers had been ready for a second try: Another arrow felled the injured and finally the drunk, who apparently hadn’t understood what had happened, and who died quickly.

  Now they had to hurry.

  They jumped to their feet as one man. No instructions were necessary, everything important had been discussed. Africanus was the first at the door, checked it. It was unlocked.

  He didn’t hesitate, pushed open the door, entered. Köhler followed him close behind, pulled his gun, then Forstmann, Behrens, all with weapons at the ready. It was dark in the warehouse, but one could discern that light flickered in the middle of the large room. Large crates and bound bales disguised the direct view.

  In both directions.

  “What’s going on, Titus?” a voice bellowed.

  Africanus took a deep breath.

  “I fell over a stupid box
!” he yelled back.

  “Idiot!” Laughter rang.

  The men nodded to themselves, and pressed ahead, exploiting the cover heartily. Then Köhler caught a first glance. In an open area, three men stand with oil lamps. Some figures, wrapped in coats, were firmly asleep.

  Marcellus, tied to a chair. He bled from the nose, the face was swollen. He was breathing, as one could see, but he wasn’t conscious.

  Hot, overwhelming anger welled up in Köhler. He felt how his hands began to tremble, felt the temptation to kill here and now all these men with carefully aimed shots. Then Behrens put his hand on his forearm.

  “Quiet,” his lips formed silently. He pointed to one of the figures. The sleeper had turned his face toward them.

  Köhler gestured to Africanus. Those awake had been spotted right away. Now they were able to identify one of the sleepers. The Trierarch passed it on to his men.

  Under one of the lamps, two more men sat. They had apparently played with dice, had stopped for a moment. Apparently they didn’t know whether to be vigilant and have a look or not.

  Africanus took the decision for them.

  He jumped into the light.

  His men followed him.

  The dice players whirled around, their faces masks of horror. As the sword of Trierarch drove into the first’s chest, a fountain of blood gushed, and the man collapsed with a gurgle. Behrens shot, one time. The bullet hit the second man clean in the heart, not to be missed from this distance. Without ever knowing what had killed him, he went to the ground like a felled tree.

  The sleepers awakened, churning themselves out of their coats, only to face unsheathed blades. No one was brave enough to venture resistance.

  Ensign Tennberg didn’t as well.

  He came out of his sleep with swollen eyes. Köhler himself tore him into the vertical position, Forstmann wrested the pistol and the knife he carried from him. Recognition flickered in Tennberg’s eyes, then hatred and blind rage.

  Köhler lifted a stick, which had been lying beside Tennberg. Blood was visible on him, still fresh. The traitor himself had taken his turn to beat Marcellus, a shackled, helpless boy.

  Again, black, wild rage boiled up in Köhler. This time no one stopped him. He took the stick and swung, let it crash with force into Tennberg’s ribs. A cracking sound, a cry of pain. Köhler took measure for a second time, now his swing met a thigh. Tennberg screamed again, fell to the ground, doubled over. Anger and hatred, yes, but now fear. It was this fear that smothered Köhler’s fury. Behrens, who had already raised his hands to intervene, dropped them and said nothing.

  There was nothing to say.

  Neumann had, however, taken care of the boy, untied him, began to examine him. While the legionaries bound the prisoners and lined them up, Tennberg among them, collected all the weapons and freed them of all cash, Köhler and Behrens leaned next to the doctor caring for the boy.

  “Well, Doctor?”

  Neumann couldn’t be disturbed. With expert hands, he felt the body of the unconscious, measured the heart rate and breathing. As Marcellus groaned and opened his eyes, he leaned on him and gave him water from a canteen that was accepted greedily. The boy recognized the familiar faces around him and smiled. Then his face clouded. “I wasn’t strong,” he said softly. “I told them everything. They … hit me. In the face.”

  “Easy, my son,” Neumann murmured, as he rummaged in his medical bag. “It’s not important. We have it all under control.”

  Marcellus looked around with difficulty, his smile returned. When he saw Tennberg, squatting with his head down, his limbs tied closely, he spat.

  His saliva was bloody.

  “Doctor!” Köhler urged.

  Neumann dribbled some medical alcohol on a piece of white linen cloth and began to clean the boy’s external wounds, so that he repeatedly wailed in pain. “Left arm broken,” he said then. “And a couple of ribs.”

  In fact, Marcellus hung his left arm motionless.

  “We should carry him and back on the Valentinian where I can provide him with supporting bandages around the thorax after re-examining everything properly,” Neumann said. “Do you have some of your mixture, Behrens?”

  The sergeant knew immediately what he meant. He conjured a flask, unscrewed the little lid and poured liquid into it. Neumann took it and put it to Marcellus’ mouth.

  “Normally, I’m not in favor of this,” he said, “but one sip will help you.”

  Marcellus swallowed, blushed, coughed, gasped and wiped tears from the corner of his eye.

  “Good. Köhler, take him.”

  It wasn’t necessary to tell him twice. Since ribs were broken, he grappled Marcellus laterally under his shoulders and knees and lifted him. The boy moaned softly, but was comfortable in the powerful arms of the petty officer.

  Neumann saw Marcellus’ smile. “That’s well. You are brave. Trierarch Rheinberg might even give you a medal.”

  Marcellus shook his head. “I have disappointed Magister Dahms. He told me, ‘No adventures!’ And now this.”

  “If Dahms gets angry, he’ll hear from me,” Köhler said thickly. “You’ve discovered Tennberg for us. That can’t be measured in gold. Outstanding it was.”

  Marcellus nodded bravely, then looked questioningly at Köhler. “I really can’t go to Aksum? I have proven myself!”

  Köhler grinned. The young man was quick. “You have a more important mission. Tennberg, the other prisoners and the news attached to them, must reach Treveri as soon as possible. The Valentinian departs early in the morning, full steam ahead.”

  Forstmann couldn’t control himself and snorted.

  “You’ll come along. Rheinberg will have questions. And you have to be healthy for that. I’ll bring a present from Aksum. Do you have a special wish?”

  Marcellus smiled. Fatigue, the pain and the spirits took their toll. His eyes veiled. But he opened his mouth and yet replied rather than falling asleep:

  “Tortoise shell. A knife with a handle made of tortoise shell.”

  Köhler threw Neumann a look. “What kind of ideas did you put in this boy’s head?”

  The doctor smiled unabashedly. “You asked, that was the answer. He could have also asked for a pretty slave.”

  Köhler grunted.

  With his sleeping burden in his arms, he made his way to the ship.

  20

  “It’s time.”

  Godegisel’s voice was difficult to hear, as he whispered to the resting Valens. A solitary sebum candle lit the face of the former Emperor only weakly. They didn’t want to alert the guards at an early stage.

  It was shortly after midnight, and outside, a dense fog covered the landscape. This had advantages and disadvantages, and Godegisel thought about both when he helped the older man and assisted him to prepare for their escape.

  The mist would greatly limit the visibility for the guards. Godegisel dared to find the way to the street even without good visibility; he had been walking around to familiarize himself during the last few days. Marvelous stones, especially crooked trees, had impressed him. In some places, he had marked his way with white limestone markings. The road, they would certainly find.

  But the fog would also carry far too much noise. A whisper appeared like a roar. A crunch like an avalanche. Out here, far from the big settlements, there were no other nocturnal noises that would cover theirs. The occasional owl, the wandering fox – but that was it. The guards were talking silently and stood steady at their positions. It wasn’t for nothing that they had chosen this time for their enterprise: the time at night, in which every man would struggle most with fatigue.

  Godegisel looked at his boots, tightly wrapped with strips of fabric, to conceal the sound of his steps. Valens was already working on his own. All the metal that they wore was padded. This also applied to his sword, which no on
e had taken from him. Nothing could rattle. They had only one chance, both men were aware of this. Even the coins in the bags had been mixed with cloth strips, so that they would not give a sound even during fast movements. They had, at least they hoped, thought of everything.

  Godegisel didn’t push Valens. They had to be thorough. When the former Emperor had finished, he rose and let himself be checked by the Goth. Then he repaid the favor for the young man and his clothes and equipment. Once both were satisfied that everything seemed to be well secured, they nodded. From now on, no word, only hand signals. Both men threw bags across their backs, looked out of the windows into the nightly darkness. There was a glimmer of light, where the guards stood. Apparently, no one counted on an attack by any opponent – normally the oil lamps would give away the sentries’ position. But the soldiers were more interested in having it cozy. They certainly didn’t expect those who had to be “guarded” to make a run, and it was precisely this fact that was the fugitive’s greatest asset in this game.

  They didn’t use the front door. The property in which they were lodged had several exits. A door led into a stable, which was now empty, and the stable again lay on the edge of the forest near the road, which would lead them directly to the coast. They took this path.

  As they entered the barn, and the cool, nightly air flushed into their lungs, they paused and listened. Somewhere, someone coughed – it wasn’t possible to discern through the fog whether near or far. But no light could be seen from the semi-open stable door, and no movement could be heard. About two yards from the door, on the brick of the court, the white lump of lime lay, which Godegisel had thrown there yesterday, seemingly careless: the beginning of their escape route. Everything behind it blended into an impenetrable soup of darkness and fog.

  Godegisel looked at Valens, who nodded. They pushed through the half-open door, without having to move it a single millimeter, and crept over the stones. The padded feet made absolutely no sound. Still, the Goth’s breath rang in his ears, and he wished he could hold it for at least ten minutes.