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by Dirk van den Boom

  “I …” stammered the young man, searching for the right words, more difficult because he had to track down the Latin vocabulary.

  “You are one of the strangers.”

  Volkert understood Latin better than he spoke it. And he spoke Greek better than Latin. So he tried it.

  “I’m Thomas Volkert, from the Saravica.”

  “Glad to meet you, Thomas,” Julia replied in Greek and smiling. Volkert was lost, yes, literally drowning in that smile. “A boring party,” she said and scratched her chin with a totally un-ladylike attitude. “I hate it when my father drags me to these things.”

  “Yes,” Volkert brought forth barely, trying not to look too stupid. He found the festivity rather interesting and instructive, but who was he to contradict a goddess?

  “Are you finished, Thomas of the Saravica?”

  “Finished?”

  Julia grinned and nudged him. Then she pointed to the toilet bowl, on which he sat. Volkert looked down at himself and everything he saw were his cheesy white, hairy legs under the shirred tunic. Why did he have to meet this woman in this deplorable state? And she actually expected him to just get up now? He probably wouldn’t be able to, because his butt was currently locked down in quite narrow opening due to an uncontrollable bodily reaction between his legs.

  Julia, daughter of Michellus, didn’t seem to share those concerns. She got up with ease, allowed Volkert – intentionally? unintentionally? – another look at her thighs, which not insignificantly increased his mobility problem, and dropped the tunic.

  “I know a nice place,” she said softly. Her voice was murmuring and virtually undiscernible in the surrounding noise. “I’ll wait for you outside the portico. There’s an ancient statue of Jupiter with a small fountain.”

  Volkert knew the place she mentioned and managed to offer an affirmative gesture. Julia gave him again that magical smile, turned and disappeared lightly into the hallway.

  It took ten minutes for Volkert to dare rise.

  He washed his hands thoroughly in order to regain control over his excitement and realized that a fine film of sweat stood on his forehead. For a moment, he wondered if he should inform Rheinberg of his date, but he suspected that he was busy with something more important.

  And somehow, in this moment there was nothing more important in Thomas Volkert’s mind than Julia, daughter of Michellus.

  He didn’t even think about the fact that this condition may have very little to do with any “mind” at all …

  19

  As a servant begged him into the study of Urianus, Rheinberg knew that he had to take the next step to increase his chances of being accepted in this time. He was already a little tired, but the stamina of the Roman upper class at such festivals seemed to be endless. Half-hearted, he regretted having to miss the current show presenting some dancers and jugglers, who accompanied by flute music had begun to entertain the guests. But now there were more important things to do.

  Though spacious, the office he entered was spartan. It was dominated by a giant marble table, which was crowded with parchments. No one even took one look at the documents, as an unwritten law was applied, a kind of code of honor.

  Near the table close to a fireplace, four chairs were set up. It was getting dark and a little bit chilly, and a slave had kindled a fire. On a side table were several carafes of wine and a tray of cups. A second table was cluttered with all sorts of sweets. Rheinberg saw mountains of candied fruits, for which Urianus apparently had a special passion, because they had been omnipresent on the buffet – and tasted, as he could confirm, quite excellent.

  Three men were waiting for him. One he knew: it was Navarch Renna, a cup in his hand, which he raised in greeting. To the second Rheinberg was briefly introduced – Symmachus, Roman senator, and a well-known figure in history. He was especially famous through the centuries because of his comprehensive collection of letters, above all the correspondence with which the pagan senator had tried to convince both Gratian as well as his successor Theodosius to show tolerance in relationship to the ancient cults. The biggest opponent of Symmachus had not been the emperor, but the bishop of Milan, Ambrosius, who had been canonized by the church afterwards. In this time, however, he was anything but a saint, but a shrewd church leader and fanatical catholic, for whom the unity of the Church and the dominance of what would later be the Papal hierarchy was more important than anything. St. Ambrosius would later be honored for something that was, in Rheinberg’s conviction, a number of deadly shocks that had weakened the already quite sick Western Roman Empire. As such, it was ironic that probably Symmachus would most likely be his ally in the endeavor to secure Western Rome and the empire as a workbench to maintain the Saarbrücken.

  A Christian civil war had to be avoided as well as the numerous tax privileges that Theodosius had given to the clergy. Rome needed the money. And Rome needed inner peace.

  Rheinberg had desperate plans for both issues, and there was no alternative for him. The alternative of the history he knew ended about 100 years from here in the complete collapse of Western Rome.

  The third man, prone to obesity and in expensive clothes, he didn’t know. He had been introduced to him, but the names and faces were too quickly rushed past him that he could remember all of them.

  “Rheinberg, good that you found some time,” Renna greeted him. “Symmachus here you’ve already welcomed. I’m not sure if you have been presented to senator Michellus.”

  “I remember,” Rheinberg lied and bowed slightly.

  “There’s a reason why I have consulted these two gentlemen,” Renna said now and meant for everyone to sit down. “Symmachus and Michellus both represent the same fraction in the Senate, but at the same time they also differ with respect to one important issue: Symmachus is a friend of traditional Roman religion, Michellus is Christian.”

  “Catholic,” added the man and smiled. “And all of this is a lousy political move of the estimated navarch. I’m shocked.”

  To give his horror emphasis, Michellus scooped a handful of candied fruit in his mouth and chewed it with a crashing sound.

  “Of course, the esteemed senator is correct,” said Renna. “This conversation has a political note, because the emergence of the Saravica under your command has a political dimension. We have won some respite by the fortunate incident with the pirates, but already now exorcists and fanatics gain ground all too quickly. In fact, you have proven your usefulness as well as your potential threat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But that leaves many questions unanswered,” Symmachus said. He touched neither wine nor sweets. “Where do you come from, and what miracle has brought you here?”

  Rheinberg nodded. It was clear that he had to tell the truth, if he wanted to achieve anything. “The first question I can answer easily, Senator. The second … the second is a mystery to me.”

  With a gesture, Symmachus told him to continue.

  Rheinberg was looking for words. “I come from the area you call Germania. The port of origin of my ship is where the Frisians are hailing from.”

  “Frisians have built this ship?” Michellus doubtfully said after chewing again.

  “No. The fact that the said land is the home of my ship is only half the truth. The other part of the truth is that I come from the year 1914, about 1500 years in the future.” His words were important now. Before anyone tried to interrupt him, he continued quickly. “I’m not a demon, not a devil worshiper, and I conjure no magic. The Saravica is technology, craftsmanship, built and developed by well-trained … guilds. But from the future. Just as Rome is superior to the barbarians, my country in my time is superior to Rome – maybe not in civilization and art, but certainly in the progress of science.”

  The senators looked at Rheinberg in silence. Michellus interrupted his chewing for a moment.

  “How did this happen?” Symmachus said finally.

  Rheinberg told him the whole story. He reported on the impending war betw
een his empire and other powers and of his mission to distant provinces – all concepts that the Romans could understand very well. He reported on the strange phenomena that they had met on the trip and about what had happened since then. He left nothing out.

  After he finished his description, again silence returned. Rheinberg throat was dry, he used the time to take a sip of watered wine.

  “If that’s true – and I cannot otherwise explain a ship like yours – then you know the future.” The simple observation of Michellus showed that behind his jovial and quite naïve demeanor he hid brains and had listened well.

  “Well … one might assume so,” replied Rheinberg. “The fact is that my past might already have been changed by my presence – it is your and now also my future. In my time, the appearance of my ship at Ravenna 1500 years ago isn’t known. However, I believe that I know a few things to come … and it could be beneficial.”

  “Does the empire still exist in your time?” Symmachus wanted to know.

  “No. The western Empire will dissolve in about 100 years and in the year 476 the last Emperor will be a man named Romulus Augustulus.”

  Shocked silence was the response.

  “You say … Rome will perish,” Renna said in a husky voice.

  “The East is more fortunate,” continued Rheinberg in a low voice. “The East of the Empire will even experience a revival, with successful military expansion and ascension to great power. It is later called the Byzantine Empire. The capital will be Constantinople, renamed Byzantium, and it will vanish with the conquest of the city in 1453.”

  “1453?”

  The tone of Michellus had contained something like relief.

  “Yes,” confirmed Rheinberg. He waited for the inevitable question.

  “Why had Western Rome to fall?” asked Renna.

  “There are many reasons. A key reason is what you are currently witnessing. The attack by the Goths in the East.”

  “The Goths destroy Western Rome? But Valens fights against them! He will be victorious for sure!” Michellus claimed.

  “The Goths are not the problem. It is the whole process …” Rheinberg searched for the right words. “We call it … the great migration, the Völkerwanderung. It is caused by a people who you already know as Huns. They push all the others in the East from their ancestral territories, and so a constant pressure on the Roman frontiers is building up. That would perhaps be endurable if the empire would still be strong and prosperous as under Traianus, but …” Rheinberg broke off when he saw the knowing smile on the features of Symmachus. “Anyway,” he took up the thread again, “this is Western Rome’s undoing. Valens is about to die. That is, he is already dead, and his army has been defeated at Adrianople.”

  Again, silence filled the room.

  “The Goths overran the East?” Renna said. “But I thought you had said …”

  “Theodosius the Great will prevent the worst.”

  Symmachus frowned. “Theodosius? The general’s son?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “The Emperor of the East?”

  “He’ll become emperor of the entire empire after Gratian’s untimely death.”

  Now the horror was almost tangible.

  “Gratian …” stuttered Renna, who was now clearly struggling for composure.

  “Gratian dies in a few years, after the appointment of Theodosius as emperor of the East, killed by traitors who intend to make one provincial general the new emperor.”

  “Ah,” Michellus sighed. “Will this curse never end? Gratian had just restored the tortured relationship between throne and the Senate and settled the strife his father had started – and now this.”

  Rheinberg didn’t comment. He sat back and let his words sink in. He would add nothing to his credibility by divulging more details at this time – especially not when he had the firm intention to prevent many of these developments.

  It was Renna, who broke the silence.

  “If all this is true and if the events have already been changed by your appearance, as you guessed – then does it mean that the downfall of the West is not inevitable, just as the death of Gratian isn’t?”

  “I assume so.”

  “We should approach the Emperor with your knowledge in order to encourage him to take certain actions that may change the course of history so that things would go in a … satisfactory direction.”

  “Sounds smart.”

  “That’s not so easy,” said Michellus, who had obviously calmed enough so that he was again able to honor the sweets with some of his attention. “If it is true that Valens is dead, then Gratian must now organize the war in the East.”

  “He can only do that by naming a new emperor in the East. He will feel overwhelmed to govern the whole empire,” Symmachus opined.

  “This is consistent with what I know,” confirmed Rheinberg. “But here’s the point: That must be prevented. I have come to the conclusion that Emperor Gratian must remain Emperor of the entire Empire, and much longer than a few months.”

  “Explain!” demanded Renna. “I know the young Theodosius. If he is at least a bit like his father, he is likely to be passable emperor.”

  Rheinberg collected his thoughts before he continued. He knew that he would have only one chance to find the allies he needed so badly.

  “Theodosius is in fact not without talent,” he finally admitted. “As far as I recall the history, he will be quite successful in rebuilding the armed forces of the East. He will make a treaty with the Goths and add them as foederatii to the Empire, which establishes a precedent – the Goths will be allowed to keep their own government and are no longer subjects but allies of Rome. This is bearable. Theodosius will also ultimately defeat the usurper who kills Gratian – of whom we’ll have to take care in any case! – and ultimately preserves the unity of the empire as a whole, being the last emperor of all of it.”

  “That sounds pretty good,” said Renna.

  “Theodosius is called ’the Great’ in our time. And that has nothing to do with his undoubtedly impressive diplomatic and military successes, but the fact that he is going to adopt extremely rigid religious laws that not only prohibit the pagan cults and expose their followers to persecution, but also put pressure on Christians deviating from the Catholic mainstream, especially on the Arians. He will extend the privileges of the Church, foremost the tax exemption and exemption of priests from all military or civilian duties. Theodosius will lay the foundation for an ongoing internal instability of the empire as well as the final financial collapse of the West. Sure, he will restore the unity of the Church, at least for a certain time.”

  Rheinberg had no intention to report the Romans about Martin Luther yet – or the fact that he himself was a Protestant and as such would certainly incur the wrath of any true Trinitarian of this time.

  “Theodosius is certainly no fool, although he has been known for his sudden outbursts of anger. But Gratian, at least this is what I know, was quite willing to exercise a greater tolerance toward other religions and factions within Christianity – at least currently. Bishop Ambrosius will soon take him completely under his wings. But even then, Gratian was always more cautious in church affairs than Theodosius. I don’t really care why, but is has always been quite obvious to me that Constantine’s idea to promote the introduction of Christianity as the state religion in order to foster unity has proven to be a fallacy. We cannot and we do not want to undo anything – but the costly and time-consuming persecution, disturbing the life of the people and working of the state, must end. There are bigger problems, and those can only be confronted by a united and focused Empire.”

  Rheinberg paused, his mouth dry again. The speech was longer than he had planned. Many ideas he had developed for the first time as he spoke. Everything seemed a bit half-baked and ill-conceived, but many of the considerations that he had made when he had been thinking about the fall of Rome already in school had come back to light.

  It didn’t seem to be
complete bullshit. That good Symmachus sympathized with Rheinberg’s words wasn’t surprising. The senator looked pleased.

  All eyes turned to the chewing Michellus. Rheinberg long suspected that his behavior was a mask to hide his thoughts and reflections. The senator could be a shrewd politician, if he wanted. And now he did.

  “Well,” the chubby Roman finally muttered as he had swallowed the last bite, “what you claim here isn’t totally absurd, Rheinberg. Not that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about such issues – certainly not as much as my friend Symmachus here, who surely considered all this also from a slightly different point of view. Still, your words sound convincing. But whatever we’re saying here, we have to win the Emperor’s ear first, and currently he has a problem.”

  “He has two problems, at least,” added Rheinberg. “Are you familiar with the name of Magnus Maximus?”

  “Sure,” said Renna, “the military prefect of Britain, an able general. Are you … he is the one who will grab the purple and fight against Gratian?”

  “Even worse, he will not only trigger a civil war that kills Gratian, he will not be outdone in religious fanaticism by the Emperor Theodosius until his defeat, if only to gain its recognition. No matter what they say about Theodosius, he has never recognized Maximus and always demonstrated a certain formal loyalty to the house of Valentinian, probably mainly because he had received his crown from the hands of Gratian and has cooperated well with him. It is Maximus who ultimately failed. But this was a civil war, which has weakened the empire more than the attack of the Goths, which has now led to the death of Valens.”

  “We still don’t know if you are correct,” Michellus said. Rheinberg bowed his head. There was nothing to add to that.

  “Anyway,” Renna now took up the thread. “Gratian will be only be convinced if Rheinberg achieves something like what he has done for us with his victory over Claderius. He will simply have to provide another proof of his usefulness.”

  “That is correct,” agreed the captain. He knew what was coming. Becker would be thrilled.