Rheinberg was relieved in an absurd way and strove not to show that feeling. “When I reach your blessed age, I want to remember our conversation. But right now, I’m worried that I’m about to die of an unnatural death before I can.”
Modestus waved a dismissive hand. “Do not worry. Your head is safely on your shoulders. Maximus doesn’t want your death, at least not yet. And I didn’t familiarize you with the background to my decision only to deliver you to the executioner.”
Rheinberg nodded. He waited. Surely there was more, but it was obvious that the Prefect found it difficult to get to the heart of the matter, and therefore the very reason for his visit.
“I want to make you an offer. Showing you a way out, if you will.”
Rheinberg closed his eyes. He didn’t want Modestus to see his surge of hope. But after all the old man had told him, it was obvious: Modestus was in a terrible dilemma. On the one hand, he sympathized with Rheinberg’s cause and policy, on the other hand, he cared about the welfare of his family. And Maximus, with his reckless crackdown on an old servant of the Empire, might have made a far greater mistake than he could imagine.
“I can not just let you go, Rheinberg. That would endanger my family’s life. I don’t know officially where she is or where she is being kept. I have to act in a way so that Maximus gets the impression that I am complacent to his wishes.” Modestus shook his head. “But I’m an old man. Many abilities that I enjoyed in youth leave me. And the world is full of betrayals, on all sides. Can I still trust that all my men are loyal to me? Is it not so that you time-wanderers can make promises so enticing that even strong characters can soften?”
Rheinberg allowed himself a fine smile. Modestus really prepared the soil for his seed with care.
“It can happen that I report to Ravenna that Rheinberg was captured and that I ordered an attack on the Saravica. I have to do that because the commander of the city’s legionaries is a follower of Maximus. I think he was promised my position when the whole thing is over.” Modestus said this lightly, without any concern whatsoever. “But then sometimes things happen – like lately. The traitors among Renna’s friends were not careful enough. In fact, some of your men have escaped, I’ve heard, including Renna himself, but also many officers and crewmen of your ships. An unforgivable mistake, perhaps another betrayal, bribe, or mere carelessness. I cannot explain it.”
“Of course not,” Rheinberg said with a nod.
“Of course, I’ll order a search all over the city.”
“Naturally.”
“Unfortunately, the most zealous legionaries are busy attacking the Saravica in the harbor.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“I suspect that not too many will survive this endeavor.”
Rheinberg didn’t respond. Joergensen, if he wished to, could cause considerable damage with the ship’s guns, despite the fact that he had only an emergency crew on board. He could even burn the nearby Imperial Palace to rubble and ashes if he felt like it.
“Besides, I think Maximus underestimates the destructive potential of your ship,” Modestus added, as if reading Rheinberg’s mind.
Rheinberg nodded. “Where does all this lead us, Prefect?”
The old man stretched and looked pensively into the fireplace, which warmed the room.
“I think the Saravica is going to escape.”
“That is probably the case.”
“Your men will try to free you and your fellow captives.”
“That is possible.”
Rheinberg didn’t really know. There were orders to flee to Thessaloniki in such a case, but he also knew that Joergensen would make up his own mind.
“I might face the choice of allowing Constantinople to be destroyed by your iron catapults or to release you.”
Rheinberg only smiled. Joergensen might threaten it, but he would never follow up on such a threat. And Modestus had to know the previous approach of the time-wanderers well enough to come to the same conclusion.
Modestus leaned forward. “All this is of no concern while my family is in danger.”
Rheinberg winced imperceptibly. The hitherto ironic tone of the Prefect’s words had turned into cool precision. It shouldn’t be forgotten that he was dealing here with a Roman politician who, in principle, had no problem creating a bloodbath when the situation required it – as long as he could reasonably choose the blood to be from people he was more or less indifferent to.
“I know where my family is being held,” the Prefect said softly. “I have spies, trustworthy people who found out. I have no trusted soldiers to rescue them, especially not the right weapons to increase the likelihood that my relatives will survive the liberation attempt.”
Now Rheinberg saw clearer. He nodded slowly.
“Then this is our deal, Prefect,” he said. “I will organize the liberation of your family, and you will do everything in your power to release me and mine.”
Modestus smiled bleakly. “My power is limited. I have only a few soldiers here. I have to leave this part of the work to you as well. But I get information and play a double game as long as I can. Creating confusion and slowing down certain processes is sometimes a better tactic than having legions march.”
Rheinberg couldn’t contradict that. “I need my men.”
“How many?”
“Where is your family housed? How are they guarded?”
“On a farm just outside the city. About forty heavily armed legionaries, disguised as farm laborers, are always close by.”
Rheinberg thought for a moment. “I want twenty of my men from the Saravica, a local guide – this time, please, someone I can trust – and horses and carriage for the prisoners.”
Modestus nodded. “I’ll see to it that Renna finds out. In addition to the guide, five of my trusted spies will join you. I know where Renna is, he and the rest who escaped. Your officers will choose the right men to join, I think.”
“I have to signal my men that the proposal is serious.”
“Like your little legacy dropped during your escape? Very clever, if I may say so.”
Rheinberg didn’t move one facial muscle. “Something like that. I’ll write a letter. In German.”
“I’ll bring you parchment.”
“Then we have a deal?”
“I think so.”
“That pleases me.”
Modestus rose, more fleet-footed than expected. He knew there was a risk that his family would be injured or even killed in the action. He had negotiated a compromise for himself: to do everything to save his loved ones, and at the same time to follow his conscience in state affairs – and to wipe out the one who had first put him in this precarious position. A complicated dance, as Rheinberg found, worthy of an old political veteran of the Empire. He hoped he would never have to learn these dances but feared that his ignorance of the right steps had first brought him into this difficult situation.
“One more question,” he stopped Modestus. “What about my companion Aurelia?”
Modestus smiled. “She escaped. Cut the throat of two bastards. If you wish to marry her, I advise you to refuse her no wish. To anger her could have terrible consequences.”
The old man laughed, turned and left Rheinberg, who wasn’t quite sure whether he should be happy or afraid.
He decided provisionally for the first.
16
The noise reminded him of what it sounded like to step on old ship’s biscuit and crunch it.
Only louder.
Joergensen ducked involuntarily, as the splinters of the building, which had been smashed into pieces, rained down on the Saarbrücken, fortunately only very fragmented. The legionaries on the wharf screamed in horror, as they saw the warehouse collapse after only a shot from the cruiser’s cannon. That had been the warning, before the commander of the Saarbrücken, despite all doubts, was quite determined to order a massacre.
He didn’t spend much time on the lookout, running back over the deck, reach
ing the cannon on port, staring at the now three war galleys approaching the cruiser. They were about 200 yards away, and if he wanted to do something, it had to happen now. The explosion of the house didn’t seem to impress the marines there – or at least not the trierarchs, who continued to command the approach toward the cruiser.
A flag signal caught Joergensen’s attention. It came from the Valentinian. The steam sailer had like the Saarbrücken detached from the quay, drifted laterally into the harbor basin. The ship reported combat readiness.
The two other new hips had dropped the ropes but didn’t get off the quay so well. The first was about to be boarded by the opposing legionaries. Joergensen dreaded it, but he would give the order to sink his own ship, for it was not allowed to fall into the enemy’s hands.
The Horatius fired her arkebuse. The Valentinian followed immediately. The shot hit, splintering the rail of the foremost galley. There was shouting, but the galley kept steadily on its course toward the ships of the time-wanderers and their allies.
“They want it the hard way, Captain,” Gunner Feldmann said.
“That seems to be the case.”
A rumble went through the Saarbrücken’s steel body. The ship turned endlessly slowly under the helmsman’s safe hand into the harbor.
Joergensen leveled the cannon, aimed carefully. His target was the foremost galley, which had been hit once before. He counted slowly to three, then gave himself the order to fire.
The cannon fired with a loud crack. At the same moment, powdered wood clouded the field of vision as the galley, spiked directly and from close range, sprayed its innards and those of its crewmen into the docks. Cries sounded as the debris of the wooden ship sank down and disappeared into the depths with frightening speed. Only a few legionaries managed to cling desperately to the planks floating on the water. Those who were drowning clapped their hands in the water. Hardly any of these men could swim, and even those who could, were dragged down by the heavy breastplates.
“They’re turning!” Feldmann reported, watching the slaughter as if it he hadn’t been involved.
Joergensen looked up and indeed, the other two galleys had stopped their oars, drifting sideways, crew and officers were shocked by the spectacle that had just come their way.
Joergensen got up and waved to Feldmann. “Stay in readiness and reload!”
“Reload and ready, yes!” came the automatic response of the gunner, who was already pushing a new load from behind into the cannon.
The commander of the Saarbrücken turned away and hurried up to the bridge. Börnsen just nodded at him, didn’t report, maneuvering the cruiser with the utmost concentration. The distance to the quay wall was already several meters. But the legionaries there had fallen into formation, archers took their place, and at once a first shower of arrows pattered down on the ship. A cry of pain sounded as one of the cruiser’s men was hit and went down. At this distance, well-trained archers were as effective as those with rifles, and in that way, they had lost the Captain of the Saarbrücken a few months ago, on their first encounter with a Roman galley on the Mediterranean. Joergensen pressed his teeth on each other.
It was time to demonstrate the power of legitimate Rome once again.
He braced himself, nodded to Börnsen, who ignored the attacks and instead maneuvered the cruiser into the open. Joergensen left the bridge, ducking to the starboard gun, where Gunner Schmitt was already waiting for him.
“Ready to fire, Captain.”
Joergensen had expected nothing else. “Do you see the crane there? I don’t want to fire directly into the soldiers. The overturning crane and splinters will do enough damage, but maybe we can keep the losses low.”
“Yes, sir!” Schmitt moved the cannon a bit, concentrated for a moment, then he fired.
The crane exploded literally right in front of their eyes. Wood splinters rattled simultaneously with the arrows of the attackers on the Saarbrücken, as the mighty structure collapsed and buried legionaries under it. The cries were loud, but then there were even louder orders and Joergensen looked with great concern at the unfolding events. The soldiers of Constantinople were unerring. They now boarded numerous small rowboats, and more were summoned from other areas of the harbor. It was clear that the commander of the troops had no intention of giving up already. He either had to be very ambitious or under massive pressure. Joergensen decided. The bad part was that the rowing boats were all equipped with ladders. The Saarbrücken was to be crushed by the sheer mass of attackers, and in fact, to the point of consequence, with enough men this might actually succeed.
“Captain!”
Klose suddenly stood beside him. “Yes?”
“The galleys are attacking again. There are two more now. Valentinian and Horatius have opened the fire and keep them at a distance.”
In fact, the crack of the arquebuses was clearly audible. If one hit under the waterline, the bullet could seriously damage a galley at this distance.
“What about the Gratianus?”
“She’s been boarded. There’s a scuffle on the ship.”
Joergensen blinked. For a brief moment, he felt overwhelmed by the events. The attackers fought with a doggedness he hadn’t expected. He realized that he relied too much on the technical superiority of his ship. The Romans were no longer shocked or horrified by the power of the metal monster. They respected it, sure. But they also knew that the crew of the Saarbrücken was just as mortal as they were and therefore similarly fragile. Joergensen took a deep breath as he felt Klose’s challenging gaze on him.
“The men should fire on the rowboats and pick out the legionaries one at a time. I don’t want enough people for an enter-maneuver alive within reach. Schmitt …”
“Captain?”
“Fire at the rowboats as long as they come from the right angle. If it doesn’t work, take a rifle.”
“And the Gratianus?”
“As long as there’s fighting, we’ll leave her alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned away, reoriented the cannon.
Joergensen hastened back to the bridge. The Saarbrücken had turned on, but everything went infinitely slowly. And actually, the cruiser’s captain didn’t want to flee at all – because most of the crew had to be in serious danger in the city.
He had to demonstrate strength that intimidated Romans, and to a far greater extent than before, with more effect and much more brutal and clear-cut than he was basically prepared to do.
But how?
His eyes fell on the approaching rowboats.
He drew his pistol. There’d be no big effect. But he had to act now.
He stopped at the bridge, carefully aimed at one of the leading rowboats, and squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. He didn’t realize that the magazine was empty before he just heard a click as he pulled away. Bodies were thrown into the water or hung limply in the oars. The rowboat had slowed, almost drifting. A screeching officer threw the fallen, who could still hold on board, into the water and drove the legionaries to renewed zeal.
Madness, thought Joergensen. That’s amazing.
A rowboat exploded near the quay wall. Schmitt had fired. Splinters flew around, parts of the boat as well as his crew. A torn-off head flew in a high arc on the quay and burst like a ripe fruit on impact. Shouts of horror echoed over the harbor basin.
“Cannon fodder,” Joergensen whispered softly, resisting the impulse to give the order to stop the fire. He saw other boats breaking loose and approaching the Saarbrücken, with officers yelling at their men to work harder. The attackers still didn’t want to give up.
Joergensen walked in a trance to the other side of the bridge and saw the galleys approaching, three again, and arrived just in time to see Klose aligning the port gun and firing. He was not a trained gunner but had to learn the craft based on his experience. The shot was well aimed, as the bow part of a Roman ship broke up into wooden debris, the hull dropped immediately into the water and sunk, gurgling into the h
arbor basin. Klose didn’t waste time, he moved the cannon a little, fired again, a deafening crash. A second galley was hit amidships, literally torn apart, and one could barely observe as fast as the ship sank in the water. Again the crash of a fired shot, this time from starboard, from Schmitt. Another rowing boat had to be destroyed. Joergensen stayed where he was. It was bad enough to see the big galleys sinking, but the senseless slaughter on the little boats was so contradictory to everything he thought he knew about proper naval warfare that he wanted to spare himself that sight for as long as possible. The rattle of rifles and handguns sounded as the rowing boats neared, and died when a salvo had cut a boat crew down. Joergensen didn’t want to take a closer look on that either.
The last galley had enough, clear by how the trierarch gave the proreta hectic instructions. The galley slowed, then the rowing rhythm changed, and the big ship moved backwards. Someone wanted to get out of the Saarbrücken’s way as quickly as possible, and Joergensen hoped that Klose saw the same as he did. No further shot fell. The corporal knew that each of the mighty cartridges was irreplaceable, and therefore you had to sue the supplies well. There was no point firing on a fleeing enemy just to underline a message that had obviously already reached the enemy.
Joergensen reluctantly turned to the starboard side, heard the rattle of rifles, and saw the cannon of Schmitt aiming at another rowboat. Then he looked over at the Gratianus. The ship had somehow disengaged from the dock and drifted into the water. He watched as the Valentinian and the Horatius approached, coming alongside to take part in repelling the boarders. He noticed how a Roman officer waved to the men in the rowboats and shouted something, and then, while doing this, was hit by the bullet of a shooter from the Saarbrücken and suddenly dropped into the water.
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