The Emperor's Men: Emperor

by Dirk van den Boom

  The friend smiled in flattery and bowed his head.

  “I serve the church.”

  The bishop of Milan nodded affirmatively. “Indeed, Petronius. You do just that.”

  13

  “This is where the battle is supposed to take place. It’s the perfect location.”

  Gaudentius made a sweeping gesture. From the city walls of Mactaris, one could see far. The surrounding landscape with its green hills looked peaceful and fertile. Rheinberg shaded his eyes. It was warm but not uncomfortably hot; the sky was almost cloudless. Mactaris lay far in the interior of Africa Byzacena, about a hundred Roman miles from Hadrumentum, nearly 150 kilometers. The way from the port city there was relatively easy to cover, although no road led directly to Mactaris. They had ridden over Sufetula and from there north to this location, but the detour was not significant because of the good condition of the roads. In Sufetula, they had rested briefly to look at the bow of the tetrarch, a building that glorified the rule of Diocletian and his co-rulers. They had also been invited to the Three Temples, although these were barely used, as the Christian Church had taken over spiritual supremacy here as well. Instead of building a common temple to the central deities of the traditional Roman pantheon as usual, Jupiter, Juno and Minerva each had their own building in Sufetula. Rheinberg once again regretted not having time for proper sightseeing, which was by far more interesting than planning a battle.

  Mactaris was an ancient city, already built as an outpost of the Numidians against Carthage and then settled by Roman colonists. Here Rheinberg had been convinced after their arrival to a visit the inevitable bathhouse. He had been glad to shake off the dust of the journey. Afterwards, Gaudentius had led him and Langenhagen to climb the city walls, since one could well recognize from here the place of battle suggested to him.

  The location had been well selected. The hills provided ideal hiding places for the infantrymen, and there were points from which one could have an excellent view of the battlefield. Of course, this advantage also applied to Maximus, but Rheinberg would be there first and able to choose his position very carefully. He could see nothing wrong with the suggestion of Gaudentius, but in the end he wasn’t the expert. For this reason, the newly-minted General Richomer accompanied the small expedition.

  “Of course, a battlefield within the reach of the Saarbrücken’s guns would be a lot more suitable,” Rheinberg said, looking at Langenhagen, who had accompanied him to the interior on this journey, because he had wanted to see “something else.”

  “Since von Klasewitz, a former artillery officer, knows the capabilities of our guns better than anybody else, he would never accept such a battle,” the officer said with a regretful undertone. “The Romans alone, maybe. But with the traitor and his knowledge at their disposal – never. We have to offer them a battlefield out of the reach of our cannons, even if we prefer otherwise.”

  Rheinberg nodded and looked inquiringly at Richomer, who had been silent so far. “What does the General want to add?”

  “I’d like to have a closer look at the area.”

  “We can ride there anytime,” Gaudentius suggested. “It’s just an idea, I myself follow the suggestions of my officers. I’m always ready to be persuaded of the benefits of a better place. Only we should know the selected area soon. The African troops gather at Hippo Regius. I want to set them up and unite them with your legions, so that we can unite the command structure as well as quickly as possible. A few joint maneuvers shouldn’t hurt either.”

  “Absolutely correct,” Rheinberg confirmed.

  “I see that need as well,” Richomer said. “The location isn’t bad. Over there, on the hill, we can position the signals and horns, from there we have a nice overview. The valley is gentle and does not form a cauldron, there is room for maneuver, yet at the same time it is well visible. The traitor will appreciate it likewise.”

  Rheinberg smiled sourly. “Where will he put his cannons?”

  Langenhagen looked around. Before Richomer could say anything, he pointed to a ridge of hills. “If we choose this side of the battlefield, he’ll probably position himself over there. Anyway, that’s what I would do.”

  “Never count on the predictability of the enemy,” Richomer advised. “There’s a good chance he’ll disappoint you.”

  “We will not commit that mistake,” Gaudentius said. “But if our plan succeeds, it’s not just about predictability, it’s about factual preparation. Once I have credited Maximus with changing to his side during the battle, he will accept that I need your trust in return. So if I get Maximus to accept a prepared battlefield, he’ll be sure that his opponent will trust me and the planned betrayal will work. He will be very surprised if, at the agreed time, the African troops by no means change sides but faithfully continue to serve Theodosius. But then it will be too late for him.”

  Rheinberg nodded. He couldn’t deny this logic. And since Richomer apparently also agreed with the conditions of the battlefield, there was no reason to delay the decision any further. Not only the African legions had to be relocated here, also the units of Theodosius had to leave soon from Hadrumentum to be able to prepare properly.

  “You’re in contact with Maximus?” Richomer asked the Prefect.

  “He accepted my messages, and we’ll meet in southern Italy. Everything else will be discussed there. I’ll leave as soon as I am back at the coast. When I return, the battle will not be long in coming.”

  Gaudentius looked seriously at Rheinberg. “All is coming to an end, Magister. Soon we will know who rules Rome.”

  “I can’t wait,” the German muttered. “I’m tired of this war. There are so many things to do, which are much more important. I want to build, not to destroy and kill.”

  “I feel Maximus would say something similar if asked,” Richomer said. “With the small problem that he desperately wants to ensure that Catholic Orthodoxy becomes a state church and infidels either abjure or die.”

  “Yes, a marginalia,” Rheinberg said with bitter irony. “Oh, that stupidity.”

  “This verdict is useless,” Gaudentius said. “When it comes to God, God should decide. This is the battlefield where the Lord will announce His judgment, written with the blood of the vanquished. What should we be worried about? Everything will happen, as the Lord has predestined. We are nothing more than his tools.”

  Rheinberg decided to forego a religious-philosophical discussion of this topic. He still vividly remembered his futile attempt to come to a common denominator with Ambrosius. If it was true that this decision would be made on the battlefield alone, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it anyway.

  It comforted him little to know that even without the arrival of the Saarbrücken in this time, this civil war would’ve commenced. And it was sobering to see that his intervention had only accelerated the outbreak of the conflict. Maybe Gaudentius was right in his own way. The fateful power behind history seemed to have an interest in starting certain developments, no matter what plans Jan Rheinberg had. God laughs at plans, he thought grimly. What a pity that I find it so hard to laugh at God’s plans.

  Nevertheless, he would continue to prepare events and ensure that projects were put into action. Maybe he would fail. But what kind of life would it be to remain in complete passivity and just let everything happen? Rheinberg was certain that as a human being he was only capable of a meaningful existence if he intervened creatively in the course of the world. This didn’t always lead to the desired result. But not to try, that would be, in his eyes, nothing but complete self-abandonment. Such a life, he was sure, could only be called completely meaningless.

  He felt that he unconsciously clenched his fists and forced himself to open them again.

  “Good,” he said then. “Richomer, we ride through the area and make sure this is the place. Langenhagen here is free for the rest of the day. He should look around the city and forget the Saarbrücken for a moment. He deserves it.”

  “Actually, it’s th
e good Joergensen who really deserves it,” the officer said, grinning. “But he isn’t here.”

  “So don’t complain,” Rheinberg said in German.

  “Never, sir. I’m off!”

  With that, Langenhagen turned on his heel and disappeared. Rheinberg sighed.

  He was back on horseback now, inspecting hills and groves to prepare everything for thousands of men to die here soon.

  It was not an enjoyable view.

  14

  In Hadrumentum, there was everything. Goods were traded that found their way from Africa to the port city, one of the important trading places for further transport to the rest of the Empire. And here those goods from the Empire arrived that were not made in Africa, or whose nimbus as import goods from distant lands was important enough for the upper classes to spend a lot of money on them. Julia and Claudia strolled over the bustling market square, which extended across the whole forum. Here was nothing foreshadowing the approaching war or fear of the plague from the East, here was trade and haggle, and everyone was looking for opportunities. The poor who offered their services along the road were as much a part of it as wealthy Romans – civil servants mostly, or merchants, their wives and slaves, many on foot, some on litters, and all with loose purses. Julia was certainly one of the wealthy, had suffered no lack since their return to her father, not least because the family of Michellus had always had commercial interests in Africa and possessed assets. Her father had been happy to welcome her and his granddaughter, and the absence of Lucia, the dreaded wife and mother, helped Julia to wrap her father around her little finger in a tried and tested way. However, she had written a long letter to Lucia describing the circumstances of her separation from Martinus Caius. No matter how traditional and narrow-minded her mother might think and act, this violent approach, even the threat to her granddaughter’s life, would never be tolerated by Lucia. Civil war or not, Julia was pretty sure that her mother was already thinking about which means would be appropriate to humiliate Martinus Caius in a permanently satisfying way.

  Julia was fine.

  Her daughter she had tied her around the chest. The little girl watched the market with sleepy serenity, having only recently been breastfed. She had already made some travels and seen much of the world in her early years, so Hadrumentum’s market seemed to be of little interest. She yawned and gave a satisfied chuckle before her eyes closed completely. Julia gently stroked her head.

  At a stand, guarded by two beefy slaves with powerful clubs in their hands, goblets of glass and special works of art, all sinfully expensive, were sold. They stood on velvet towels that had been spread on the table. There was a heavy, soft carpet in front of the sales table, should a customer be careless and drop one of the precious pieces. Julia’s glance went expertedly through the goods. She had no home or house, no place that was her’s to stay. This restlessness of her life forbade her to think of such an expensive outfit, but that didn’t stop her from pausing for a moment, imagining herself having dinner with her husband and invited friends in her house, looking at the wine in those glittering glass caskets.

  Maybe one day.

  Claudia had only a passing eye for the goblets. Her lodging, provided by the city authorities, was not far from the Forum, and if she wanted, she could go shopping every day. Her trip today had therefore less to do with the joy of shopping – although this joy was consistent and permanent, especially a welcome distraction from the thought of the approaching, final confrontation – but more with Claudia’s appointment.

  The freed woman stopped at a stall selling candied fruit. Since her arrival in North Africa, Claudia had discovered her enthusiasm for these delicacies, which were heavy and sweet enough without adding sugar. In the candied form, the sweetness exploded in waves, so to speak, and Claudia valued these explosions with fervor. Besides, she said, she must put on a few pounds in the right places. Although Julia doubted whether the strategy chosen by her friend was the right one, she knew that the goal was by no means just an end in itself. For the eyes of Claudia had rested for some days with pleasure on the figure of a young centurion, who for a while had organized the watch-duty for the civilians brought along, and had often, by chance and only in fulfillment of his duties, appeared in their quarters, being polite to Julia, but almost charming to Claudia – at least with the degree of charm to which a raw soldier was capable. It was probably just what made him attractive to Claudia. Anyway, he had told her that he wanted to organize supplies for the legions with his superiors on the market today, as the troops had built a camp near the city and would soon, the rumor said, set out to prepare for the battle against Maximus, either here in Africa or back in Italy.

  Claudia was not the youngest anymore. The fact that she hadn’t been forcibly impregnated in her time as a slave was primarily related to the custom that slaves were generally not subjected to such practices in the house of Michellus. There were issues in which the senator and his wife showed rare concord. To use young slaves as producers of more slaves was something they both didn’t approve of. On the other hand, if nature took its course, they had nothing to object. But sometimes that also meant that nothing of that kind had happened.

  It was by no means that Claudia wasn’t attractive to the male eye. And she hadn’t taken any chastity vows either. Still, she had been very choosy in her partners, especially as her goal had always been to bewitch a free man who would then be willing to marry and free her from the status of a slave.

  One she never had found.

  But she was no slave anymore. A free woman, however limited that freedom might be in the society of the Empire, where everything depended on the man and only a few women – those with charisma, power or who were simply very attractive – reached the highest positions. Claudia’s ambition didn’t reach that far. Her goals were more modest, and she seemed within reach of an important milestone on her way to the life she dreamed of.

  Therefore, now that Claudia was free, her interest in men had increased abruptly. Instead of giving birth to slaves as a slave, there was now a good chance that her offspring would be born in freedom – and in honor, which presupposed a marriage. One was as important as the other. Both meant a lot for a former slave. And if it was possible to bet on the right man – and a successful centurion was not a bad match, especially if he looked reasonably good and didn’t behave like a Martinus Caius –, then everything was perfect.

  Claudia was clever. The experiences of her mistress with her husband had made her very attentive and critical. She paid attention to the important things and informed herself. Her chosen one was obviously not a blank slate, but neither a womanizer nor anyone inclined to unnecessary brutality aside from the battlefield. Claudia had therefore decided to put her bets on him, hoping that he would survive the war.

  Julia sighed softly. She had this hope in common with her friend. The difference was that she didn’t know where Volkert was and how he was doing. Claudia had something ahead of her, but she didn’t react with envy. She had learned that in these times one must be grateful for every moment of happiness, as it had the habit of passing away very quickly.

  She looked at her daughter, who pushed her lips back and forth in her sleep, as if she were thinking about something important.

  Grateful for every moment.

  “He’s over there!” Claudia said vaguely. The sticky sweets in her mouth didn’t contribute to a clear pronunciation. She noticed this herself and chewed bravely to keep her mouth free for the upcoming conversation. She quickly stowed away the small sack of remaining candies she had just picked up in the bag she carried with her.

  “He’s not alone,” Julia observed. “That must be his superior.”

  “A chaperone,” Claudia chuckled. “Sweet!”

  Julia showed mild interest as the two men, who were still far from her, strolling slowly in their direction. The Centurion pointed to a large stall with bags of corn while his companion made a note on a long list.

  “Come on, we’ll go to
meet them!” Claudia said excitedly, pulling at Julia’s robe. She allowed herself to be pulled along, but she renounced unreasonable speed. One should not make it too easy for men. Show interest too clearly, one was considered easy prey. It was always necessary to hang the fruits a bit higher.

  Claudia adjusted her dress, which, as Julia noted critically, seemed to be a little too close up. It seemed as if Claudia wanted to present at least some of the fruits appropriately. Without doubt, this display would attract the Centurion’s attention, Julia was sure of that.

  Then they were approached.

  “Secundus!” Claudia shouted. The Centurion looked up, then looked where he was supposed to, and his friendly smile became even friendlier.

  The other man raised his head, also shortly fascinated by Claudia’s breasts, and then …

  Then there was this moment.

  There were sometimes moments you wanted swim in.

  Seemingly, it lasted forever, dragged on by sheer focus. It truly was the culmination of long-cherished desires and came so suddenly that it could only be described as sacred.

  Julia and Volkert looked at each other. None uttered a word.

  He looks old, Julia noted with concern. There were wrinkles that she hadn’t noticed before. The skin was tanned by the weather. The expression in his eyes was … so tired.

  And then the tiredness disappeared and gave way to fear.

  It could have worked out this way – they would have bowed down, preserved formal distance, supported the facade for mutual protection, perhaps, or even because they didn’t know how to deal with this moment.

  But then her daughter opened her eyes, turned her head, saw her father for the first time in her life.

  Tears came to his eyes.

  Secundus and Claudia stared at each other, stunned, as Volkert spread his arms, pulling daughter and mother close to him, infinitely gentle. They watched the Tribune stare down at the small face with stunned fascination, which in turn looked rather puzzled, as if the little one didn’t know if this mighty, bearded shadow represented something good or disturbing.