“We can make it before nightfall,” said Africanus, who rode at the head of the column next to Rheinberg. “Our arrival has been announced and won’t come as a surprise.”
“Will we meet the Emperor in the evening?”
“No. The Emperor isn’t in the city. He has already crossed the Danube and established a field camp. We will stay in the garrison and approach the camp tomorrow morning. They are expecting us.”
“What reactions has this caused?”
“Well, at least we are allowed to present ourselves. Gratian and his war cabinet still debate whom to entrust with the fight against the Goths.”
“They will choose Theodosius,” Rheinberg reiterated his prediction.
“That’s not a bad choice,” Africanus pointed out. “He is an experienced military leader and … well, there is such a thing as poetic justice, by the way, if we recall how they treated his father.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Aurelian,” Rheinberg said soothingly. “What happened to his father was certainly wrong, and yes, Theodosius isn’t an idiot.”
The elder Theodosius, father of the candidate under discussion, had been a highly successful and loyal general under Valentinian, Gratian’s father. Immediately after the death of his master he had been dismissed from his battle against a rebellious prefect in Africa, charged on flimsy pretexts and executed. Power plays at court and settling old scores – the real reason was not important. His son recognized the signs of the times and retired to his country estate in Spain to pursue a silent and private life.
“He’s a reasonably able diplomat,” Rheinberg continued, “and he showed the right judgment on important problems during his reign. He resolved the problem with the Goths as well as was possible. I’m not saying that his choice is totally wrong. Gratian has taken a decision, and his choice could have been for a worse candidate.”
“But?”
“But he’s too easily influenced by the whispers of Ambrosius, and this will result in rigid, oppressive religious policies and thus weaken the inner strength of the empire. He paid dearly for the unity of the Church, for which he has been given the title ‘the Great’ later – especially by trinitarian historians. And he has pursued at least one completely unnecessary civil war. It certainly could have been worse – but also much better.”
“Gratian listens to Ambrosius as well.”
Rheinberg nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, and we will have to do something about that. In a few years he will remove the Victoria altar from the Senate and denounce Galerius’ Edict of toleration. He will give great privileges to the churches which will exacerbate the financial crisis of the empire. Theodosius will continue this policy. Ultimately the issue is about the money that is available to the state.”
“You are against the unity of the Church?” Africanus wanted to know.
“Not at all. I’m absolutely of Constantine’s opinion that the Empire needs a unifying bond. He has seen great potential in the church, but he also has miscalculated and had afterwards even intervened often in the disputes of a disunited Church now freed from all constraints. This has cost him a lot of time and effort. But it’s not the Church that can act as the unifying bond Constantine envisioned – it is far from that. And violence cannot force it. This works only if the State who tries to enforce it is strong and can focus on these matters, without any external threat. That’s really not the case currently. No, the church can try to achieve unity as it wants, but not by decree.”
“And what can unify the empire against foreign enemies alternatively?”
Rheinberg pointed to the city faintly visible in the evening haze before him. “That’s it, my friend. The idea of the empire. The power of civilization as a counterpoint to barbarism. A civilization that connects all and everyone, whether Trinitarians, Arians or followers of other religions. An idea that leads all kinds of Christians to the battlefield along with followers of Mithras or Jupiter, united to defend the Empire and the idea behind its creation.”
Rheinberg turned to Africanus, who listened thoughtfully.
“You are the best example for my argument, my friend.”
“Me?”
“Yes. In my time, our Empire has conquered and enslaved your people. In my time, your people have no chance to obtain citizenship, even if many serve in our army. Your dark skin is seen by many as evidence of inferiority. And I see you here as a trierarch, an Imperial officer with full civil rights, riding next to me to see your emperor. Explain that to a chief of the Hottentots.”
“The what?”
Rheinberg waved. “Never mind. What I’m saying is this: the fact that everyone strives to live in security and prosperity, has a lot to do with the idea of Empire, and this, properly applied, should be the unifying bond that holds everything together. Religion should not be as important as the common welfare. This should also be understood by a well-educated and intelligent man like Gratian.”
Africanus smiled. “I remember something my grandfather once told me. His father had been a simple peasant, and joining the fleet had been his greatest dream. He was the second son of his father, and would not inherit the land where he was born. So he moved to Alexandria and went to the recruiters. They wouldn’t take him because he was limping. He finally settled down in town and worked in the harbor, but this desire to be something more than a farmer without rights he has transferred to his son, my grandfather. And that one was accepted by the recruiters. He began as a simple sailor, rowed for ten years, and at the end of his 25-year period of service, he retired proudly as proreta.”
Rheinberg was by now familiar enough with the Roman naval ranks to know that this is was an important position on a war galley, and it was only acquired through formal qualification and exemplary service.
“He retired and settled near Ravenna. He had already started a family, and enjoyed the Roman citizenship because of his service. He then married a girl from Gallia, my grandmother. And the moment he joined the fleet, he looked for a Roman name, and discarded his old one.”
Rheinberg looked at Africanus. “What was his name before he joined the fleet?”
“He was Benipe, son of Nakhti. His name means ‘iron,’ and there could be no name more appropriate, because he has made it through his determination.”
Rheinberg smiled. “Let me guess – he rocked you on his knees as a little boy and he hasn’t called you Aurelianus, right?”
For a moment it seemed as if Africanus was embarrassed. The memory of his grandfather, whom he had apparently adored, touched a sentimental chord in him.
“Well,” he replied, clearing his throat. “He called me Wakhashem.”
“And that means?”
Africanus’ embarrassment was now obvious. “Little fool.”
Rheinberg laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Then let us see that we can reach Sirmium today, little fool.”
Africanus grimaced.
“Jan, you’ve never had a sword between the ribs, right?”
“By God, no!”
The trierarch smiled wryly. “Then you better think about how to address me …”
31
“I’m pleased that we have the opportunity to speak privately.”
Von Klasewitz smiled at the priest and looked around. After the service the hostages had been allowed to attend, the envoy of the bishop had come up to him with an invitation to a little conversation. The service itself had been similar in many ways to those which von Klasewitz knew in his time. There had been a reading and a sermon, but no prayer of intercession. Although there had been a few songs, they had nothing to do with the church music he remembered, and the songs weren’t sung by everyone. The service lasted almost two hours and had been quite tiring. Nevertheless, the nobleman has had the feeling to have been very close to the roots of what he experienced as modern Catholicism in his time. Petronius, who had accompanied the group to church, was never tired of warning the hostages not to attend a mass of the Arians. Although the worship was almost ident
ical, he explained sourly, the basic beliefs on which it was based were consistently of a heretical nature.
“Let’s sit down!”
The small chapel in which they had retreated was deserted. The thick walls and the massive wooden door Petronius had closed firmly behind him guaranteed that their conversation would remain undisturbed. Klasewitz was curious what the episcopal envoy had to discuss with him.
Petronius opened the conversation. “The service seems to have impressed you.”
“It reminded me in many respects to those in my time,” admitted von Klasewitz. “These are actually the roots of the church that I know well.”
“More than a thousand years in the future, if I have understood correctly? I’m reassured to hear that. It shows that our struggle for the true faith and the eternal church will not be in vain, and everything that applies today is of truly epochal character.”
Von Klasewitz couldn’t disagree.
“But this is also a good start with respect to what I wanted to share with you.”
“It’s surely about our ship and our intentions,” surmised von Klasewitz.
Petronius shook his head. “Yes and no, yes and no. First of all, I care for you.”
“For me?”
“Sure. I have the impression that this very strange journey through time your men and yourself have experienced is difficult to understand and accept. And I’m not just talking about us Romans. I refer to your men – and leaders, officers like you.”
“It’s confusing and perhaps sometimes even frightening,” the first officer replied.
“Isn’t it? The more it should be our job as your host to give comfort and encouragement. No matter how much time may separate us, we have something that connects us – you only just mentioned it yourself. It is faith. The true faith. The legitimate faith. The only faith.”
“That is true,” von Klasewitz said. “There is something familiar in this strange environment. I felt reminded of it several times today. That’s quite reassuring for me.”
“And for me,” replied Petronius with a pleased smile. “For me, it shows in fact that you are not at all wild demons, but Christians, though …”
“Though?” von Klasewitz repeated.
“… though not all of you seem to be of equal commitment and purity of beliefs, if I may say so.”
“I can hardly disagree. I assure you though that this is not true for all, so yes, it applies only to a minority of our people.”
Petronius nodded eagerly. “I would like to believe you. But I have the impression that this minority is very influential on board your ship. And prominently represented in the person of your trierarch, who probably already sees himself as a future emperor.”
“I don’t always agree with him, that’s for sure,” admitted von Klasewitz. “He makes his own decisions and follows my advice less than I would want him to.”
Petronius made a sad face. “This is regrettable, but already I begin to imagine how much wisdom escapes him thereby. And is the true leader not characterized by his request for the opinions of his charges and carefully weighing all options?”
Von Klasewitz snorted. “Rheinberg thinks he knows better and is inaccessible to any argument,” he blurted. He felt understood by the priest and didn’t want to cloud his true opinion behind polite words. The friendly face of Petronius and his pleasant way of listening to von Klasewitz made him relax. There was no one stopping the nobleman, and he gave his frustration free rein, speaking with loud words, gesticulating. Example after example of his humiliations by the hands of Rheinberg he described, ranging from ridicule to incomprehension.
“And all for you, a man of nobility,” was one of the typical objections of the priest, with whom he sprinkled salt into the wounds. Von Klasewitz’s outrage was understood, yes, the priest participated in the German’s rightful anger, and it was as if Petronius really felt the pain caused by the lack of respect the first officer suffered. For the nobleman this was a liberating moment, as he could speak unimpeded about his feelings. He didn’t notice the passage of time, so much had his rage captured him and so willingly and patiently Petronius listened to his words, even as he began to repeat himself increasingly toward the end.
It was getting dark. As Petronius lead him back to the house, accompanied by some torchbearers, von Klasewitz felt exhausted. Finally, the priest began to speak, slowly and calmly, then faster and more intensely. He had taken up much of what the nobleman had said, but put it in a different light. Von Klasewitz’s head quite buzzed. The feeling of being understood, however, remained strong in him. The priest had begun to give a new perspective to his life. The fact that he couldn’t return to his time moved into the background. New challenges and recognition and social advancement, all this seemed to be not such a bad idea. Petronius had presented him a bouquet of flowers from which he could choose the most beautiful ones, and some were more sweet-scented than others. Some had thorns, but wasn’t he a soldier and of nobility, man enough to take risks and survive adversity?
When they reached the villa, Klasewitz took Petronius’ forearm.
“We need to continue this conversation! Tomorrow,” he said urgently. The priest nodded, made no effort to free himself from the grip.
“We will speak, my friend,” he said, and it sounded like a lot more than just a promise. Von Klasewitz had a headache. He needed to think. He had to weigh the options.
He had to decide.
32
It was already dark and Thomas Volkert had remembered much too late that Julia’s message didn’t contain an important information: namely, where they should meet. Still, he felt a strange confidence in the abilities of the exceptional senator’s daughter and was sitting on the hour alone in his room, ready for … for whatever.
He was quite happy to have had a reason to excuse himself. The men hadn’t talked a lot after the departure of Petronius, but on the next day the visit had been an important talking point. Von Klasewitz gave the other soldiers only a very brief version of this first discussion, he seemed to take the view that not everyone was supposed to be bothered with details. To say this in the face of such an old, experienced NCO like Köhler, who enjoyed the confidence of the captain, bordered on an insult. But Köhler knew von Klasewitz and how to take it. Volkert had led him and Behrens aside and gave them an extended version, spiced with appropriate commentary. Behrens who had barely managed elementary school and regarded himself heartily unaffected by education, had just shrugged his shoulders and made it clear that Volkert should tell him in time when and whom to shoot, and that he would rather take commands from Volkert than from “this silly twerp” von Klasewitz. Köhler, who had traveled around a lot and got educated by life, regarded the matter clearly as not to be taken lightly. His bad opinion about the first officer had been reinforced, if this had ever been possible.
The day had been otherwise boring, especially since the men were under house arrest. They lacked nothing other than distraction. The subservient slaves followed every command without hesitation – especially von Klasewitz seemed increasingly to be fond of the idea of slavery, which was not surprising, as he treated his subordinates mostly the same way. But that was already all they could do. In conversations, the servants did not engage, and although they feigned lack of understanding, Volkert suspected that they had been instructed in this regard.
The Romans were not fools, even if the ensign had the impression that von Klasewitz still regarded them as somewhat primitive. Von Klasewitz could not keep technology and common intelligence apart. A people who had managed to build a gigantic empire over a period of hundreds of years one should not underestimate.
He had eaten an early dinner – slowly, he’d almost gotten used to garum – and then excused himself, pretending he wasn’t feeling well. Since both von Klasewitz as well as at least one of the corporals behaved still basically hostile toward the Roman cuisine, the excuse was acknowledged with understanding nods.
And here he sat. He held J
ulia’s note like a jewel in his hands. The mixture of excitement and fear, and … longing that filled him made him nervous. Whatever the senator’s daughter had done with him, it worked like a charm, who had taken possession of him entirely. There was no doubt that he was terribly in love and this feeling clouded his senses.
The enjoyment he found in it was greater than any fear or the voice of reason.
The door opened, and Volkert winced. A slave came in; he looked around, then waved. He was followed by a hooded figure, covered with a wide cloak. A slender hand appeared under the cloak, some coins changed possession, and the slave disappeared with an expressionless face.
Volkert didn’t have to wait until the cover was removed. He knew so well that it could only be Julia. He got up, ran to her, and she hugged him back with equal fervor and power. Their lips met in a long, intense kiss that seemed to last forever. As they parted, panting and smiling at each other, Volkert recognized the traces of tears in her red-rimmed eyes. He pushed her to half arm’s length, looked into her face more closely and now saw signs of exhaustion.
“Julia,” he mumbled awkwardly. “What happened?”
As if the question would have brought a dam to collapse, tears flew from the young woman’s eyes, but she fought them bravely. She pressed her lips together and wiped her hand across her cheeks, leaving a wet trail. Then she sighed loudly and took several deep breaths.
“Let us sit down,” she whispered finally to Volkert and he led her to the sofa, which dominated a large part of the room. Julia came plainly to the point. “My mother has made wild threats,” she said with a bitter undertone. “She explained that the parents alone would decide which men I will meet from now, and that she is tired of my behavior. Father would support her viewpoint in everything. I opposed her however, and there have been … unpleasant scenes.”
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