Here, he was in agreement with Sedacius.
Otherwise, he quite distrusted the aspiring officer.
“We managed to blame the arson on Maximus,” the Spaniard said quietly. “If we had looted Potentia, we would have been the culprits. We have to incite emnity between Maximus and the people and constantly expand on that. We have to make sacrifices in this regard. The refugees will be spreading exactly the kind of message throughout Italy that we want to hear. That is the central point of our action.”
Sedacius didn’t reply. He often contradicted Theodosius, but he accepted it with equanimity to be put in his place. For some reason, this behavior only furthered the Emperor’s suspicions.
Theodosius let his gaze wander the horizon. The usefulness of the binoculars he had been convinced of immediately. And he quickly found what he had been looking for – on a hill, far away from their present location, appeared small black dots, apparently mounted soldiers. It had to be the scouts of the Maximus. It was highly unlikely that they would likewise discover the Spaniard’s small troop. They didn’t have binoculars.
“Let’s leave.” With that, Theodosius turned away. They walked down the hill, where a few more men were waiting with the horses.
Theodosius remembered another fire, one that had been far more painful, apparently turning the future of the Roman Empire into ashes. Shortly before the troops of the Maximus had reached Ravenna, just before the army of Theodosius, consisting of the remnants of the lost battle against the usurper and hastily recruited reinforcements, had gone south, the “German city,” the settlement established around the dock of the Saarbrücken, had also been set on fire. The cruiser, of which they hadn’t heard anything since then, had shortly before left to Constantinople together with two of the now completed steam sailors.
They had been allowed to last longer than expected, as early winter had slowed down the advance of Maximus a bit. Supplies had been collected, allies in Italy had been contacted, march routes planned and scheduled. When Maximus finally reached Ravenna with quite a delay at the end of winter, the retreat had already taken place. Ravenna had fallen without a fight, as well as Rome and many other northern Italian cities. But the south of the Italian boot was sometimes more, sometimes less under the control of the usurper, and especially less so once the troops of Theodosius approached. Now that the first signs of spring were visible, military activity would increase in intensity.
Knowing that the traitor von Klasewitz was at Maximus’ service, they had tried to knock out the self-proclaimed new Emperor of the tools he could use to easily build new weaponry. And so, before leaving Ravenna, the factory halls and classrooms had been set on fire. Theodosius had a number of German-trained foremen in his entourage, but the massive loss that the Empire had suffered as a result of this unfortunately necessary act was hard to describe. Once Maximus was defeated, everything would have to be rebuilt.
Or he did it himself. In fact, everyone assumed that von Klasewitz would try to do just that.
But this took time.
Theodosius swung on his horse. “As soon as we get to the legions, we need to decide about where we’re going,” he told the waiting men, all officers of his staff. “Maximus will not be stopped for long. We are a bad thorn in his flesh. On the other hand, we cannot continue to run around in Italy forever. There must be a way out for us.”
Sedacius leaned forward in the saddle. “I stick with my suggestion that we continue to make pinpricks against multiple targets at the same time, that the legions themselves are not engaged in a major battle. We have to force Maximus to split his troops, so we can attack the pieces one at a time. That’s how we can wear down his resistance.”
Theodosius nodded. The proposal had something to say for itself. Not everyone in his staff, however, found the Tribune’s idea worthwhile. The rebellion of Maximus had triggered in many of his men the reflex of immediate counterattack, born the idea of a second, great field battle. But although the Emperor had a small detachment of German infantrymen with him, it was clear that these could only provide limited assistance, not least because of the shortage of ammunition they were suffering from. The time hadn’t yet come for a final showdown with Maximus.
“We’re waiting for news from Constantinople. If Rheinberg succeeds in reorganizing the Eastern Army and leading it to the West, our chances are greater,” he said.
Sedacius did as usual: He didn’t argue, bowed his head, apparently accepting that the Emperor had to make the decision.
Theodosius looked ahead, at the dusty path, which they now slowly rode along. The discomfort that befell him in the presence of Sedacius took on physical proportions in such situations. He knew he had to take care of it. But everything in him was reluctant to have to deal with possible internal dissent in this situation.
Theodosius’ gaze fell on the Centurion Thomasius, a close confidant of the Tribune. He was in his vicinity all the time, but silent, and the Emperor didn’t know if that silence had anything to do with respect for his imperial person or simply with the character of the man. When he spoke, then only a few words and often softly. It seemed as if he didn’t want to be heard, nobody should notice him, and yet he aroused interest and curiosity. What had been heard about the young man was very promising, and Sedacius wasn’t known to surround himself with incompetent sycophants. He challenged the views of his officers, was ready to hear suggestions and change his own opinion. With that, he had, according to what was known, much resemblance with Maximus.
Maybe that was the reason for Theodosius’ distrust.
The Tribune was similar to the usurper in many ways, above all in some positive traits that his opponents wouldn’t deny. And it pointed to his own, often uncontrolled and harsh way, with which the effervescent Theodosius sometimes dealt with his subordinates. Although this was commonly accepted as a privilege of the Emperor – some might even expect it –, it didn’t help much to build loyalty.
And loyalty was a precious commodity in these times.
Theodosius continued to look at Thomasius. He raised his head, met the imperial gaze, lowered his eyes almost abruptly. The Centurion didn’t have anything on him to be critical of and offered no clue for someone to really form an opinion about him.
If anything, that was the most likely way to reinforce Theodosius’ discomfort.
3
“We’ve got two options,” Sedacius muttered, poking a branch in the campfire to rekindle the glow.
Levantus pushed a log into the flames and made sure that their only heat source didn’t fade. Volkert held out the palms to the fire. It was a cold night, and the ground became frozen – and that in the southern half of Italy. It would be a severe and relentless winter. Secundus, the fourth in the group, looked into the flames and held a cup of hot wine in his hands. Nobody said anything. They had chosen this watch fire a little away from the camp to speak undisturbed. Nevertheless, their voices were muffled, and they all looked around involuntarily. Caution was appropriate.
They talked about high treason.
Volkert felt uncomfortable. But he didn’t know what alternatives were left to him except to follow the orders.
Sedacius continued. “Winter will limit both the mobility of Maximus and us. Theodosius has developed a good plan to keep the usurper busy, and I support him. Once the action starts, and the men are on the road, we should have made a decision. Either we attack Theodosius immediately and pronounce a new Emperor, or we wait until Maximus is done. What is your opinion?”
Volkert knew that the Tribune was serious about this last question. Sedacius wanted advice. He had a habit of tossing ideas around. He respected the opinion of others. He was not half as bossy and ungracious as Theodosius when someone contradicted him.
Still, it took a while for someone in the group to speak.
“I’m in with the first option, sir,” old Levantus said, who was not promoted beyond his current rank because of his lack of dutiful service. Volkert, who has just been promoted, wou
ld never presume to claim the same authority as the veteran. Levantus refused promotions. He didn’t want to become a general, he always said. “If we manage to overthrow Theodosius with our allies and instantly install you, Sedacius, as Emperor, the change will go smoothly. Rheinberg will have to recognize us, because he has no other option if he wants to defeat Maximus. Besides, Theodosius, if having first gotten rid of Maximus, would be in a much stronger position than presently. Not only will it be harder to overthrow him, his fall will also cause much more resistance. If we act decisively now, we act at a time when he still lacks sympathizers, loyalty and his own power-base.”
With that, the old man had said everything. He wouldn’t make much effort to defend his position, as Volkert knew him well. Levantus believed that his word was either convincing or not and that in both cases it didn’t require any additional efforts on his part.
Secundus felt visibly uncomfortable as the eyes turned toward him. He, like his friend Volkert, had recently been promoted and had not yet properly set himself up as a member of the closer conspiratorial circle. In contrast to Volkert, however, he wasn’t as much troubled; the longtime gambler, who financed his risky investments with all sorts of little ripoffs, saw a possibility when it opened up to him and was always ready to take a risk for it. If the plan of Sedacius succeeded, Secundus would fall up the ladder, whether at court or in a province. This would give wonderful opportunities to make quick money and spend it even faster for many a great enjoyment, and this prospect alone made Secundus a loyal ally.
Volkert envied him for his simple world view. He sometimes wished to develop something similar.
“I’m for the second solution, sir,” Secundus finally said. “If we overthrow Theodosius now, Maximus will consider that a weakness of his adversaries, and he wouldn’t be wrong. It will bring great unrest to the legions and cause uncertainty, perhaps even desertion. We might then be unable to succeed in the central task that remains: to defeat Maximus. Of course, later on it will be much harder to overthrow Theodosius, but we would also have more time to find allies and prepare properly.”
“Or to be discovered and executed,” Volkert said involuntarily.
Sedacius looked at him. “Speak, Centurion. Do you follow the view of Levantus?”
Volkert made a negative gesture. “No.”
“So you speak, despite the risk, in favor of Secundus’ suggestion?”
“No.”
Sedacius smiled, as if he had expected something like that. “I hear.”
Volkert sighed deeply and poked for a moment in the bright and warming flickering fire. “We cannot overthrow Theodosius immediately, because Sedacius would be regarded as a wicked traitor. Theodosius is currently a personality that is seen with great hope, and he represents these hopes with a certain dignity. No matter how many supporters we have now, Sedacius would only have one thing on taking office: blood on his hands.”
Silence answered his words. Sedacius looked serious, thoughtful. Levantus had narrowed his eyes and nodded softly at Volkert’s last words.
“On the other hand, we cannot wait too long,” Volkert added. “If we beat Maximus, Theodosius may not be unassailable, but we will certainly provoke another civil war – and Rheinberg might come up with the idea of proclaiming his own emperor in the East.”
“Himself,” Secundus suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Volkert replied but didn’t elaborate on his expressed certainty. He was glad that no one asked him the reasons for his assessment, because he would have had great problems to explain them without revealing his true identity.
“If so – and I don’t doubt it –, what’s the right course of action?” Secundus asked.
“It’s about timing. The Eastern Army must be ready to march against Maximus, but he should be beaten yet. It has to be on the edge. Then Theodosius can be eliminated quickly. His followers will face an important choice: Either you start a civil war in another direction now and play into Maximus’ hands, or you will be with us and you will remain in office and with dignity. I would like to assume that a good portion of Theodosius’s loyalists will be prepared to seriously consider there options.”
Sedacius nodded thoughtfully. He looked at Levantus, who pushed his lips back and forth. “Young Thomasius is right,” the veteran said finally, and looked appreciatively at Volkert. “If we bide our time now and expand our own base of supporters with great caution, we increase our chances and minimize the risk. We just have to be careful that we don’t neglect to look out for the right moment to act.”
Sedacius smiled and patted Volkert on the shoulder. “I know why this man rides by my side.”
Volkert looked into the fire and said nothing. Pride and shame were in balance with him. Once more, he wished for the same pragmatic greed Secundus mastered so convincingly.
“What is your desire, Thomasius, once Sedacius is emperor and defeats Maximus?” Levantus asked.
“It may seem a long way to you, but things sometimes turn out to be faster than expected. You should think about it.”
Sedacius struck the same tune. “Levantus is right, young friend. If we have victory, many ways will be open for you. Promotion to Tribune? Would you like to be Dux or Comes? You might also do well outside the army, as a high administrative official! Or you stay at court and serve in a prominent position in my immediate circle. Member of the consistory? Praetorian Prefect?”
“Sir,” Levantus said. “I don’t want to be anything like that.”
“Me neither,” Volkert replied. “If possible, we should persuade Rheinberg to keep his post.”
“Smart man,” Sedacius praised. “Yes, we must bring the time-wanderers to our side, and to achieve this, Rheinberg will be the key. Too sad that circumstances forced us to abandon your mission to get in contact with them. We have to reconsider our approach. But, still, what is your desire?”
Volkert sighed. “The province sounds good, Tribune. But there is another thing that I will ask you when the time comes. It is of a private nature. You will have the power to solve this problem for me. I’ll bring it up when the time comes.”
Secundus smiled knowingly. He was the only one who knew exactly about Volkert’s private concerns with Julia. And he also guessed what his friend’s request would be: to divorce the marriage with Martinus Caius by imperial decree, thus opening Volkert’s opportunity to openly have a life together with the woman of his heart – and her child, born as it by now had to be.
Sedacius took Volkert’s shoulder. “Make your petition, Centurion, and I will grant it, that is my promise. And if it’s a quiet provincial position, that’s what you will receive as well.”
Volkert felt better now. He didn’t care what kind of office he eventually got. If Sedacius lived up to his promise to help him with his problem with Julia, it was incentive enough for him to join in his coup d’état.
By far enough.
4
Von Klasewitz remembered Ravenna well, he had left the city, albeit a bit hasty, but not so long ago. His return was that of a victorious man, but it lacked triumphant feelings. Once he had trudged through the charred remains of the “German village,” as far as to the long pier on which the Saarbrücken had once been moored, his joy was very limited.
Britain was far, very far. And Maximus, now Emperor, demanded more cannons. It was an understandable desire; the batteries of the German had caused considerable damage during the battle against Gratian’s troops. And von Klasewitz had to deliver cannons, because among other things, these depended on how far he could keep himself in the Emperor’s favor in order to await and seize his own chance.
His hope had been to be able to take over at least some of Dahms’ facilities to restart production. This hope had now been shattered. The traitor admitted that he had underestimated his former comrades. On the other hand, there had been other plans for the crew of the Saarbrücken, a poison attack had been prepared. Until that day, he had not been able to find out why this plan had failed. T
he fact was that the cruiser had left undisturbed, accompanied by now a total of three of the new steam ships. The last one had struck white clouds of steam into the sky the moment Maximus’ troops had already invaded Ravenna. The ship would by now have delivered the news of Ravenna’s fall safely to Constantinople.
Von Klasewitz allowed himself a smile. Not that Rheinberg could do much now. Maximus had once again proved to be a far-sighted strategist. If all went well, taking possession of the cruiser would only be delayed by a few weeks, at best months.
Von Klasewitz respected the work of his adversary Dahms. In particular, the development of steamers had been an excellent performance. Although the fires had destroyed much, the attackers had been able to lay their hands on some documentation, apparently from an earlier planning stage, so that they had been inadvertently overlooked in the campaign. For the traitor, this was an excellent foundation for his own work. Maximus had given him command of the smoking ruins and the job of doing what needed to be done. He himself was busy securing his position in the East – as far as one could speak of a security, because aside to a few very fast sycophants, no one had openly declared himself for Maximus yet. Especially to chase of the “counter-Emperor” Theodosius remained to be a challenge. And that turned out to be a deciding matter, especially in the burgeoning winter, which would be tough, hard and long. No good conditions.
Therefore, Maximus wanted more cannons.
And the traitor had a problem. He could, of course, disassemble the manufactory in Britain and then have it brought here. In fact, he had already issued appropriate orders. But just waiting here, until the weather allowed the transport ships to cross the channel, wouldn’t cause his Emperor much pleasure. And at least for the time being, anything that Maximus didn’t enjoy had to displease him, too, whether he wanted it to or not.
The Emperor Page 2
