He pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on the obvious. It was early morning and quite damp and cool. Breath rose in light clouds from his horses’s nostrils, a vigorous Brown, who bore him willingly and seemed to be kind – maybe a little too good – natured for a cavalry horse, but Volkert didn’t complain. Better that than being thrown in the dirt by a wild stallion at every possible opportunity.
Not that this was very likely anymore, at least not as it had been a few months ago. Along with the improved carts, the infantrymen had also brought stirrups that could be attached to the saddles easily. They would allow the German soldiers, among other things, to fire their guns from horseback. One of the machine guns was mounted on an especially sturdy cart, pulled by two stallions who made an even more relaxed impression than Volkert’s animal – probably not least chosen because of that mindset, as they were potentially able to endure the rattle of machine gun.
The departure neared. There were still a few riders who had not found their units. The expedition’s leader was already visible at the end of the street, he still spoke with some notables of the city. There were priests present, blessing the mission – those of ancient Roman religions as well as the Christian Church. Volkert himself had been, the night before, invited by some comrades to a church service for Mithras, the god of war.
He had refused. No one had reacted angrily.
From the nearby town, a column of a different kind was moving toward the legionaries. Onlookers gathered at this almost springlike day. It was widely known that this departure was something special, not to be compared with the usual maneuvers. Although the order had been given to keep quiet about the purpose of the mission, there were plenty of men like Bertius who wanted to earn some fame from their knowledge about this expedition and boasted with their potential adventures in the city’s taverns. There were no Huns, neither far nor wide. The probability that the knowledge of this mission would spread from the city was low. And thus, it became a social event.
Walkers, people in carts, a few hawkers who wanted to quickly sell something – a lucky charm, perhaps, or an extra bag for the expected loot. A little money changed hands, but Volkert rejected the advances of the businesspeople. He had only little cash and held his meager salary together. He had to save with a possible future in mind, as one day, if fate should have it, he’d meet Julia again, and wouldn’t want to be completely destitute by then.
He tried to force the thought about his beloved away, but the notion was persistent. He almost thought even to hear her voice.
“Thomas, you go crazy,” he muttered to himself.
“Thomas!”
Yes, he went mad. He heard voices! That was Julia, far away, as if she would speak from the ether to him. Volkert placed his hand on his forehead, closed his eyes for a moment, used his willpower. This was a bad time to doubt his sanity! He didn’t need these kind of problems right now!
“Thomas! Thomas!”
Volkert opened his eyes.
No, he wasn’t crazy.
He turned his horse around, eyes wide, full of disbelief, a storm of emotions raged suddenly in his chest. Excitement, wild hope, strong, nearly uncontrollable desire, all of it together and much more.
But that couldn’t be!
Volkert looked around, but he could see no familiar face among all the folks. Did his senses play him a prank?
“Thomas! Here!”
There it was.
It was Julia!
It was her indeed!
Volkert slipped from his saddle, almost stumbled, ran toward the young woman, fell into her wide open arms, pressed her to him, sank completely in the embrace. He ignored the meaningful glances of the other legionaries, didn’t hear their lewd comments. His face hidden in the hair of his beloved, he breathed in her scent, couldn’t get enough of it, clung to her like a drowning man to the floating piece of wood.
“Julia! For God’s sake! How did you find me?”
Julia struggled for words. Then finally, after a deep sob, she was able to speak. “I had help! Oh Thomas! I’ve only been a few hours in the city and have only now heard of the departure of your expedition! I rushed here immediately! I suspected that they would also send you! Thomas! When will I see you again? When?”
All that desperate hope spoke in her words, the long period of separation. It bubbled out of her, the marriage with the unloved Martinus Caius, who was now sitting in a tavern pursuing his favorite activity. And then, she could, no didn’t want to keep to yourself, the joyful, painful the most important news: that she would have a child. Their child.
Thomas Volkert’s child.
It was almost too much for him.
For a few moments, they clung to each other, silently, because words couldn’t express what they felt. Then they parted. He looked into her face, resting his thoughts. There was no time.
“We’ll leave soon, Julia,” Volkert managed to say. “We’ll be away for long. You have to take care of our child yourself. Promise me that.”
“I promise it.”
“When I come back, I want to know a place where I can leave a message to you.”
Julia didn’t hesitate. “Here in Lauriacum is the house of one Lucius Verenicus Utellus. He is one of the city’s notables and has a slave, a writer named Remius. He is well-regarded and will surely remain in his office. The sister of Remius is my personal slave, and they regularly exchange letters. When you’re back, get in touch with this Remius, brother of Claudia, a slave in Ravenna. He’ll be able to send a message that I get to see, without …”
“Say it, it doesn’t bother me,” Volkert lied bravely.
“… my husband noticing,” she whispered. “Thomas, I couldn’t do anything.”
“I don’t blame you. It is a safe home. It helps to take care of our child. That’s all that matters now. When I come back, I’ll send a message. We will meet and devise a plan. Until then, have faith.”
Julia nodded, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes, but new moisture appeared immediately.
“I trust you. You just have to survive. Oh, Thomas, please, this is your promise – No Hun, no illness, no accident will take you from me.”
Volkert buried his face in her hair, stroked her back gently. “I swear it,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s my sacred oath. I’ll return, and you’ll hear from me.”
“Then I swear to wait and to take good care of our child,” she whispered back. Her voice was now a bit firmer. She pushed Volkert from her, took her scarf and put it around his neck. Then she smiled shyly. “It’s a bit silly,” she said, almost blushing, “but it’s all I can give you. Keep it well.”
Volkert touched the fabric, pressed it to his face, breathing in her familiar, sorely missed fragrance. Then he folded it carefully and put it in a bag on his belt.
“That’s not silly,” he said huskily. “It will be my consolation and remembrance of my oath. I praise you, Julia. With this gift, my nights will never be lonely and it will smother every despair that aims to take me.”
More tears welled in Julia’s eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, when suddenly the column’s buglers blew in their mouthpieces. The signal to move.
Just now.
Volkert felt the lingering despair growing and didn’t move from the spot, yet at the same time wanted to implore and insult fate and God and the universe. But the storm of emotions that threatened to tear him led to no miracles and no consolation. Julia saw how it tormented her beloved husband was, and she took a deep breath, stepped away from him completely, smiled, and wiped away the tears.
“Remember your promise, Thomas. I love you. Be well.”
“I love you. And be well yourself.”
“You will live and come back.”
“You will wait for me and bring our child into the world.”
Julia nodded. “Then we both kno
w what to do.”
Volkert smiled. He knew that twinkle in her eyes. When Julia, the daughter of Marcellus, had made her mind up, no one would dissuade her of it.
And for this trait he was, at that moment, very, very grateful.
He leaned forward, a last, soft kiss. He enjoyed the feeling of the velvety touch a last time, then turned without a word, mounted his horse, which had been waiting faithfully at his side, and rode back to the column.
When he finally looked around, Julia had disappeared into the crowd of onlookers. But he knew that she watched him, felt her eyes just as he felt the determination that lay behind those eyes.
Again the horn was blown.
Men reigned in the horses.
The column slowly made its way. People waved. Children pointed excited at the time-travelers’ wagons, the shiny shields, the horses, the standards.
Bertius joined his Decurion. All accusation was gone from his eyes.
“Your wife?”
Volkert hesitated, then he nodded. Yes. By all the gods of the Roman Empire, she was his wife.
“You’ll see her again. I have a definitely positive feeling. Never deceives me.”
Volkert looked at the sturdy legionary, was surprised at the warmth in his voice, the understanding, the confidence that he suddenly radiated. “Those are very kind words for someone who is responsible for ensuring that you have to participate in this expedition.”
Bertius nodded gravely. “If everyone is blameless, who is to forgive?”
Volkert said nothing. He turned his face to the front, took a deep breath.
It went east, into unknown territory and toward imminent danger.
Thomas Volkert wasn’t afraid.
At least he told himself that.
16
Josaphat pointed Marcellus’ attention toward that great building.
“Look here! Those we have quite a lot of in Alexandria!”
Marcellus looked at the church and nodded. He was really tired now. The idea to go on an expedition with the boy had been much more attractive an hour ago. But Josaphat, despite his ragged clothes and the fact that he wasn’t only working in port, but probably also slept there behind some crates, had provided him with someone who was particularly fascinated by religious buildings – temples, churches, obelisks, religious monuments for every deity –, and Josaphat knew them all.
Marcellus had expected something more exciting, maybe churches and temples he knew from Ravenna. No, the almost thirteen-year-old boy had occupied the seafarers with stories of the “really interesting” Alexandria – not the city of the priests and administrators, traders and shipowners, but the Alexandria of …
Well, one had to say it frankly – the naked women.
The more naked, the better.
For someone like Josaphat, who grew up in the streets of the metropolis, it seemed that this topic didn’t quite have quite the charm as Marcellus had hoped. Although he guided his newfound friend with gentle firmness and repeatedly to this aspect, especially when they had reached another monument, Josaphat was apparently not going to be convinced of deviating from the theme of his tour and visit different places. In addition, it was becoming dark, Marcellus was hungry and thirsty, and the long day had made him quite tired. He was on the verge informing his friend that he intended to return to the harbor when he suddenly stopped, quite thunderstruck.
For a brief moment he had thought to have seen someone in the crowd. A familiar face. A face that he hadn’t expected to see here. And that didn’t belong here.
He blinked, looked closer. Before a tavern, some men sat on rickety chairs, all busy with wine and an early dinner, some dressed in the robes of scribes and officials, others were clearly identified as workers who probably earned their livelihood in the harbor.
Nothing unusual, one might surmise.
Probably he had been wrong. The shadows lengthened. Moreover, it was not possible. An absurd idea outright. Marcellus passed his hand over his forehead. Yes, he was hungry, and banqueting men reminded him only too well of that fact. An illusion, caused by his strong appetite.
Again he wanted to talk to Josaphat, who studied the eating guests with a significantly hungrier expression than Marcellus, when the man he had seen stepped into view again. Almost against his will, Marcellus turned toward him, eyes widened. A young fellow came out of the tavern, looked around, as if expecting someone for dinner, twisted his face, clearly disappointed, and went back into the tap room.
No, there was no doubt! There was no deception, no imagination, and it had nothing to do with the shadows.
The young man was well known to Marcellus. His name was Markus Tennberg, had the German rank of an ensign and had disappeared together with von Klasewitz as one of the mutineers after the uprising against Captain Rheinberg failed. He was wanted in the Empire. Rheinberg personally had put a bounty of 500 denarii on von Klasewitz and Tennberg. He was very serious about these two, Marcellus knew.
Tennberg was more than just a deserter like Thomas Volkert. He was a traitor. Marcellus remembered the words his master, Chief Engineer Dahms, had found on the subject. When he spoke about Volkert, there was regret in his voice, but also sympathy and understanding. Clemency. Willingness to forgive. But once the subject of von Klasewitz and his accomplice came up, Dahms’s voice was cold. Although they had arrested and demoted the rest of the mutineers, confinement had been deferred as each man was needed on board. Still, Dahms treated those crew members with cool rejection and, where necessary, biting sharpness. Tennberg had disappeared, and the charge of sedition had followed him into exile, and therefore, he had earned nothing except Dahms’s deepest contempt.
Not least because this feeling had spread to a certain extent on his eager student Marcellus, the boy took a quick decision. “I’m hungry, Jos,” he said, slapping his new friend on the shoulder. “Let’s get inside!”
“I have no money,” Josaphat said, barely an inch shorter than Marcellus, but of recognizable stocky build, with coarse bones and strong, sinewy hands. Such a boy, Marcellus anticipated intuitively, was always hungry. And a lot.
He took a few coins from his pocket. The most revolutionary innovation in his life was that he enjoyed, as a crew member, a meager but regular salary. And because he had had little opportunity to spend his coppers in the past few months, a relatively decent amount had accumulated.
More than enough for two square meals in a not too shabby tavern.
Josaphat saw the coins with big eyes, now more than ever convinced of the value of their friendship, and raised no objection. Determined, the boys entered the tavern. Under the pretext that it was somewhat cold outside, Marcellus entered the taproom. It wasn’t very crowded, with several empty tables. Marcellus recognized Tennberg immediately, he sat in a corner, staring into his cup. Marcellus chose a table at the side and pulled Josaphat along.
A female slave appeared at their table, looking at them expectantly. Marcellus stared. The girl was much older than him, but for obvious reasons clad in a fairly close-fitting garment that gave credit to her bodily merits. That was exactly what Marcellus had wanted, and perhaps even a little too much of it. He grinned candidly while Josaphat didn’t seem to notice, instead frowning at the words on the whitewashed wall that offered something resembling a list of menus.
The young girl who had seen little pleasure in her lot seemed to be intimidated and fearful. When Marcellus looked at the welts on her upper arm, it became obvious that she had been beaten, and not infrequently.
No, he told himself, that wasn’t what he had wanted.
To his surprise, his friend could read, and when he had identified the food offered, he babbled his order. Mindful of the handful of coins owned by his friend, he confined himself to bread, cheese, a simple fish dish, and diluted wine. When he was finished with the order, the slave turned away and headed for the kitchen. Mar
cellus watched her, half-regretfully, half-pitying. There were some strange viewpoints from the future, especially about slavery, that slowly began to make sense the longer he thought about it. He had won a new perspective of life in many aspects during his the time on the Saarbrücken.
Marcellus sat so he could watch Tennberg from the side while he chatted quietly with Josaphat about trivial things. He tried to avoid the subject of the Saarbrücken and the time travelers as much as possible so Tennberg wouldn’t overhear something that could make him suspicious. His friend was already concentrated on other things because the scents from the kitchen seemed to keep him quite captivated. As the waitress came back only shortly afterwards and set earthenware on their table, Josaphat was totally absorbed by the display. While Marcellus counted some coins in the open hand of the slave, he had pulled a bowl toward himself, torn a piece of bread from the loaf, and grabbed the thick wooden spoon. With intense concentration, he ate through the smoked fish and the vegetables, his eyes fixed on all the food and thus completely unresponsive to any other input. Now and then he raised his eyes, nodded approvingly toward Marcellus, took a sip of diluted wine, and returned immediately to further diminish the steadily decreasing amount of food.
Someone was really hungry.
Marcellus was by no means without appetite but had to keep Tennberg in mind, who seemed to be far more interesting, and so he couldn’t keep up with half of Josaphat’s eating speed. When his friend was ready and tried not to throw too longing glances at Marcellus’ portion, he pushed the remainders toward him. Showing all signs of gratitude, Josaphat wrapped himself around the offer. Marcellus kept only his cup of wine in his hand.
Tennberg hadn’t done much more than play with his cup as well. He kept looking at the door. It was clear beyond doubt that he was waiting for someone.
The Emperor's Men 3: Passage Page 15
