The Emperor's Men 7: Rising Sun

by Dirk van den Boom

  He turned around, destroying the brief illusion. Three frigates, all Dahms-class frigates, were an uplifting sight. They were three-masters, their slender hull no longer reminiscent of the lumbering first- and second-generation steamers. They could maneuver in any weather, both under steam and under sail. Each of the three frigates was about eighty feet long, each carrying twenty-two cannons in its iron-studded wooden hull. They were warships, but with fewer soldiers for this expedition, in order to carry scholars and, unfortunately, politicians – diplomats, as the Emperor called them, especially the young Senator Adrianus – who wanted to make a name for himself and at least had the courage to participate in such an expedition.

  Probably to build reputation at the expense of the commander, Langenhagen thought again and again. So far, however, the senator had behaved perfectly impeccably, one had to grant him that. Hopefully it would stay that way.

  The sight of the three ships under his command filled the officer with pride. The Gratianus was the flagship of the expedition, with a pedigree back to the very first steamboats built more than 70 years ago. The two other frigates were called Rheinberg and Saravica, also both names which had a deep historical significance in the Roman fleet. The actual ship of the name Saravica had been in a large dry dock near Ravenna for years, carefully preserved as far as possible, since it had been finally cleared out of the water ten years ago and turned into a museum. The Academy had previously been assigned all the important machinery and tools to guarantee the officer training, whose product Langenhagen also was.

  A fourth ship was now also visible, slightly larger and slightly more bulbous than the three frigates and barely armed. The transport ship was called Ravenna and would carry with it many important supplies that were urgently needed for the success of the mission.

  Langenhagen marched slowly toward his flagship. The closer he got to the hustle and bustle, the more his presence was noticed, he had to reciprocate greetings and generally make an attentive and interested impression. No one here needed to be overseen by him – the officers of the three ships had the process under control –, and he didn’t want to give the impression that he thought it necessary. So he didn’t look so closely, perhaps seemed a little lost in thought, and reached the Gratianus without really having absorbed the events around him in detail. At the railing the ship’s second officer stood, Helmut Köhler, the youngest son of the famous crewman of the time travelers, who had brought the curse of brandy and, at least to a great extent, the blessing of coffee to the Empire. Meanwhile almost a folk figure, even years after his death, growing up in the shadow of his father had not been easy for the younger Köhler. Nevertheless, he had completed his career without special protection or promotion and had been selected for this expedition simply because Langenhagen considered him a good man.

  Köhler wanted to open his mouth to report, but the Navarch – this rank had been given to him only a few days ago to underline the importance of this expedition – raised a hand and shook his head. He climbed up the gangway and looked around. Everything looked perfect, as one would expect, and the smell of fresh color rose into his nose. The Gratianus was not a year old and had already proven itself in many a storm. It was a good ship. The whole class it belonged to was the backbone of the ever-expanding fleet. Three months ago, the other two expeditions had been sent to reconcile the maps they had brought from the future with the facts – and only the senior officers of the fleet knew that another aim of these expeditions was to find out if there were any other time-wanderers besides the British merchants who had fallen into the hands of the Huns and the men of the Saravica.

  Especially ones that might pose a threat.

  An expedition was on its way around the African continent. Since the great canal in Egypt had been rebuilt and renewed, it was a trip that was in itself unnecessary if one wanted to go further east, but it was necessary to keep an eye on developments in Africa. The last third expedition had used the channel and were on their way to India and China.

  But he, Langenhagen, would lead the way across the Atlantic toward America, and that was a special task for the Roman in many respects. Everyone knew that Africa and India existed. There were even sporadic trade contacts with China. These lands were far away but understandable, they were among the geographic certainties that the Romans had known before the time-travelers had presented their detailed maps.

  But America. The existence of America, that you had to simply believe the time-travelers. That wasn’t too difficult for most people. The time travelers didn’t invent with these things. But it was quite another issue to venture into a region whose existence you knew only from this one source than to travel where you were reasonably sure to find something.

  Langenhagen strove for this security. But the excitement about the new, the unexpected, and the very faintest doubt as to whether one might not … find nothing (or something entirely unexpected) never completely receded.

  He went to the quarterdeck, directly to the roofed position where the helmsman stood, sheltered by a wide and thick panel made in the great new glass factory near Rome, made of this precious material once only available to the wealthy but now mass-produced. The room was empty, the big wheel was lashed tight, and Langenhagen leaned over the small card table in the corner, behind which, in a compartment, rolled up, were the carefully copied American maps of the time-wanderers, which he had to correct and falsify. In the future, the coastlines were often different as they had already been able to determine in their comparisons on the Mediterranean. After all, the nature of the maps and the cartographic teaching behind them had led to the updates and re-surveys being made to a very high standard. On each of the three ships resided a trained cartographer, and the only task of these men was to check the maps and create new ones. During the long trip, they also served as assistant cooks, a popular task, as it allowed continuous access to the pantry. Every man on board, except the simple sailors and the soldiers, performed at least two functions. It was a well-trained crew he commanded there.

  About 350 men would participate in this expedition. Each of the frigates was crewed with 80 sailors, who were also responsible for the operation of the cannons, whose deployment Langenhagen didn’t desire. Fifty men were responsible for the transport ship. In addition, there were sixty marines – they called themselves the “naval legions” – equipped with modern muskets, evenly distributed among the ships. The latest generation of products from the Ravenna gunsmiths had a lot in common with the old assault rifles that had once been brought by the time-travelers. They were no longer loaded from the front like those weapons still used against the Huns, and the powder propellant was carefully packaged in thin paper, better protected against moisture and loss. The muskets could be quickly loaded from behind, into the unfolded tubes, and with their drawn barrels they had a high accuracy of up to 200 meters. That they still carried enough swords and bows – enough to arm the crew – was self-evident. Langenhagen thought of the pistol he kept in his cabin. It was one of seven that still worked, one of the few weapons from the time of Jan Rheinberg that still did its job and for which he possessed three full magazines. The Emperor himself had given him this weapon when he was appointed expedition commander, as well as the navarchs of the other two missions. Langenhagen had received it with great awe and after thorough training had fired three test shots.

  He wasn’t sure if he was prepared to really view and use this relic, which was still far ahead of the Empire’s technology, as a killing tool or as a venerable museum piece to be kept alone. He also hoped he would never have to make that decision, for although an officer of the Roman fleet, the Navarch was a peaceful man deep in his heart and had no ambition to soak his journey with the blood of others. He wanted to draw maps, possibly make contact with those who lived in America – he had some diplomatic authority himself –, and then only make sure that there was no potential threat beyond the ocean.

  The small group of eight scientists that
the expedition also carried with them was keen to study plants and animals – primarily plants, especially plants that were reported by the time-travelers as medicinal plants, as well as those that promised a potential gain, not least one that bore the name of tobacco and was asked to look for with a special interest. Among the scientists were four women, a fact Langenhagen regarded with some concern. But they were proven experts in their field, and the Navarch trusted in the discipline of his men.

  If the conditions permit, they would venture a longer expeditions inland, and for this purpose, the small fleet aboard the Ravenna brought with them a dozen powerful and robust draft horses, whose generous stables had been carefully constructed to give comfort to the stoic animals and to ensure stress-free travels. Three carts with single axles, disassembled into separate parts, were also intended for travel over land.

  Langenhagen felt well-prepared. The Empire had spared no expense and effort to equip them for this journey. If he had expressed a wish, it had been fulfilled immediately. The ships were perfectly capable to master high seas and not dependent on the wind, the crew handpicked and motivated. Everyone expected a decent bonus on return, and family members were paid the crewman’s pay directly. Those who distinguished themselves here could hope for honors and promotions – and to enjoy attentive listeners and numerous invitations in taverns for the rest of their lives.

  Everything was good.

  And Langenhagen became more and more nervous every day.

  Maybe everything was just too good.

  “Navarch!”

  The officer looked up.

  “We have visitors, Navarch.”

  Langenhagen frowned angrily. He was fed up with the endless rows of dignitaries, who probably expected an adventurous reputation by being seen here, although they would return to their mansions afterwards, leaving the real adventure to those who were paid for it. He marched to the railing, determined to tell the truth to every person, especially the unheralded one, that they were unwanted. But then he paused when he realized who it was.

  There were two visitors. A woman of about 70 years of age, who still resembled the beauty of her youth and who wasn’t wearing ornate robes but very practical work clothes, well-known for her appearance throughout the fleet. Her name was Helga Aureliana, she was the daughter of the time-traveling captain Rheinberg and his wife, and unlike what was otherwise expected of Roman ladies, she had devoted herself completely to science, had studied at the Academy of Master Dahms, and now belonged to the best shipwrights of the Empire. She was the model to which the four younger ladies who belonged to the expedition also emulated. The designs of the frigate, which would give Langenhagen and his crews’ protection and endurance, went back to her, and although there were still mostly male Romans who considered her profession as unseemly for a woman of Roman nobility, she enjoyed widespread respect. At least from those who had been able to convince themselves that the ships she designed withstand severe storms.

  She propped up an old man, who, with very shaky steps, walked down the pier and headed for the flagship. Langenhagen knew him as well. He was over 90 years old, and although he walked upright, he was no longer too steady on his feet. He gripped the handle of a cane with his right hand, his left arm was crossed with the woman’s, and so they walked slowly toward Langenhagen. This man too was of general fame in navy circles. He was known to the legionnaires as Magister Sattmann, their teacher at the Academy, not just as a shooting instructor but also as one of the constructors of the modern muskets they would carry with them. Sattmann had actually been retired for many years but was still actively involved in everything that had something to do with his old job. It was no wonder that he showed up here with Helga Aureliana. The few surviving time-wanderers – a small handful of very old men – and their descendants formed a conspiratorial community, connected on many levels with state and business, and sometimes openly, sometimes subtly, exerting influence on the fate of Rome. It helped the Emperor to be part of this group, and at the same time it was his biggest problem. All those Romans who were further away from the prerogatives of power than they thought they should be weren’t expected to be too enthusiastic about this close-knit society. Whatever the outsiders had done to good for the Empire, there was no end to courtly intrigues. The great administrative reform of 402, which, among other things, granted the Senate genuine rights to enact laws and granted every Roman landowner the right to vote was still controversial. After all, as a consequence not only old noble families sat in the Senate but also a group of rather pragmatic and well-known upstarts, who knew whom they had to thank for their social advancement. Fortunately, Arianus, their senatorial companion, also belonged to this category.

  “I’ll help you on board, Magister,” Langenhagen called, but the old man waved his hand.

  “No need, my friend.” Sattmann’s voice was still strong and resonant, just as the Navarch had remembered from his training. “I just want to wish you a good trip.”

  The officer hurried down the gangway and greeted first the woman, then the man with a firm Roman handshake and a kiss.

  “I’m hardly happy about visits, but here’s an exception,” he said with a wistful smile. Helga Aureliana smiled as well and nodded.

  “You are now a politician, dear Marcus Vicinius,” she said in a confidential tone. They had often met, especially at the preliminary discussions about the equipment of the three expeditions. “You must not pretend that you’re just a simple officer who has a difficult task to master.”

  “I know. And if I encounter something like a state with a government in America, I’m a diplomat as well. But I’m eager to depart. These endless ceremonies and ‘informative visits’ with all their pomposities are annoying.”

  “It’ll be over soon,” Sattmann muttered, his eyes scanning the frigate’s lines. His expression showed that he liked what he saw.

  “If I were younger, Navarch, I would accompany you,” he added. “I’ve learned to appreciate the sea. I envy you for your task. It may be full of risks, but it is also full of promises, and you are already a historical figure.”

  Langenhagen raised his hands. “That was never my goal.”

  “You have no say in these things. You are part of history, whether you want it or not. Believe in an old time-wanderer. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “The ships are ready,” the woman changed the subject. “Can I help somewhere?”

  “No,” Langenhagen replied honestly, knowing he couldn’t insult this woman with the truth. “We are indeed ready. A few supplies are still being loaded. We will receive additional coal. The steam engines are in excellent condition. We even have a refrigerator on board. These ships are the most modern of the fleet. We’ve done everything possible.”

  Helga pointed to the long, thin wire stretched on a flexible, thin wooden pole at the frigate’s stern. “The shortwave transmitter. You have the latest model?”

  “All ships were equipped with it only two weeks ago. We tested everything. The system works perfectly. We hope to stay in touch as long as possible. We also have a complete replacement unit and a portable unit that runs on batteries. Morse signals should be unquestionably received.”

  “Excellent. What was agreed in regard to reports?”

  “I am currently assuming a daily short status report as well as a longer weekly message. If there’s anything else to say, fleet command will surely let me know.”

  “I’ll squat on the other end of the line every week,” Helga Aureliana promised. “Like the Magister here, I very much wish I could go too.”

  “If you had requested it, no one would have been able to deny the wish.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “That’s true. But other commitments are more urgent. The draft for the new class of ships is on the agenda. We want to put the first real ironclad on keel already this year. It’s supposed to be available in 450 for the big celebration, which means we have about two
more years to build it. I would really love to see the ship in my lifetime.”

  She grinned like a girl. “And besides, I’m really too old for such a long journey, Langenhagen. You just want to flatter me. But I don’t fall for that.”

  Sattmann laughed and chuckled, shaking his head. “Navarch, I’ll be dead when you return.” Langenhagen returned the old man’s gaze and felt a sudden sadness rising at these words. Hardly any time-wanderers were still alive. The youngest of them was in his late 70s, a former oil monkey, no more than a boy when he was taken his voyage. It was quite possible that none of them would be alive when he returned home. The duration of the expedition was officially set to only a maximum of 18 months, but one never knew what was about to happen.

  “I want to hurry my mission,” he said in a slightly husky voice. “I promised to bring tobacco.”

  Sattmann made a defensive gesture. “I was never a big smoker. It was good that I got rid of the stuff. I probably wouldn’t feel well. I’ve become so old by renouncing the vice, I suppose.”

  He nodded, more to himself and then stretched. “Helga, my dear, I’m tired. We only stop the Navarch from important tasks.”