The former Emperor agreed. Godegisel yawned. Hearing the good news, the tension had fallen from him. He felt leaden fatigue in his limbs. The breakfast also helped make him feel lazy. He grunted, got up, and spread his blanket in a corner of the living room. The two other men wished him a pleasant rest, but then they continued their conversation softly.
“What will happen to you when all this is over?” he heard Valens ask the old legionary.
“What will become of me, sir? I’m an old man, and although grateful to have done you a last service, I know that I’m not more than a wreck. Don’t take it as an accusation, sir, but when you banished me, my life ended in many ways. I still exist, but I’m no longer alive.”
Valens nodded thoughtfully. “If you rule and have power, but at the same time lose your right mind and neglect human reason, these things happen.”
“You sound like you’ve been cleansed of many misperceptions. Has a priest opened your eyes?” Belucius didn’t sound sarcastic, but honestly interested in the question.
“A priest? No. It all came by itself. A grace of life, if you will. I’m glad life led me back to you. I owe you a lot, Belucius, and I can never get rid of my feeling of guilt. Ultimately …” Valens hesitated as though he didn’t know whether he was really going to say what was on his mind. “… it’s like this, my old friend: You have decided to be thrown from your path by my wrong decision. I was unjust to you. But after that, when you left, there was only one person who mistreated you. And that was you yourself.”
Belucius said nothing and stared into the fire. Godegisel, however, was again astonished about the new Valens. And he was glad that he had been able to witness this transformation. She showed him that no one was ever lost. As soon as one saw the past as what it was – simply past –, one had the chance to change oneself and his life. So what did that mean to a young Gothic nobleman?
He would think about it in due course.
But now he was too tired.
Godegisel wanted to listen to some more, but as soon as he had settled down comfortably, his eyes closed.
24
Despite all the fearful events of the past, their journey continued smoothly. The meeting with Rome’s governor in the Egyptian province had taken place early in the morning; afterwards came the farewell dinner for the expedition. The meeting had been very fruitful, with great enthusiasm for the idea of building ships like the Valentinian in Alexandria. Köhler and Africanus had officially given the Prefect the detailed plans for the steam engine, as well as the construction of ships like the Valentinian, with the request to copy and pass them on to the scholars in the Museion, as well as to every shipowner and shipbuilder who wanted them. The interest was lively, as they had already noticed. And Alexandria was the ideal place where this knowledge could fall on fertile soil. Africanus had been very confident.
The Governor had also supplied them with the latest information from Aksum, as far as things were known in Egypt. Accordingly, the political and economic situation in the neighboring Empire could be assessed as quiet. The old Emperor or “Negusa Nagast”, King of Kings, as the Aksumites named his position, despite being quite old, enjoyed great health, and had even regulated his succession to the general satisfaction of his subjects. They didn’t expect any difficulties, as the Romans were generally held in high regard.
And so they left. At almost the same time, the Valentinian, under the command of Sepidus, began its journey back to Ravenna, on board the captured Tennberg and the wounded but by now quite happy Marcellus. The parting had been quite difficult for them. Neumann had written a detailed report, and Marcellus promised to hand it over to Dahms. The fact that a second copy lay in the ship’s main cabin in the possession of Sepidus hadn’t been mentioned. Marcellus’ disappointment that his journey was already coming to an end had been reduced somewhat by assigning this important task to him.
The fact that an Alexandrian street boy named Josaphat had been hired into the Valentinian’s crew also might have contributed to this. The two of them were big friends, welded together by their shared experiences. Neumann, however, feared that the predatory appetite of the new crew-member would diminish the supplies of the steamer for the return journey considerably.
The sailing ship, on which they’d continue along the canal on this sunny day, accompanied by a river galley of the Roman navy, which had been forced upon them, seemed to be a solid ship with a solid and loyal crew. For Köhler, Neumann and Africanus, the period of relaxation lasted a few days until they became nervous again and especially weary of doing nothing. It was as if the events in Alexandria had only been a temporary nightmare, fading into nothingness the farther and farther they sailed away from the port city. The pleasantly warm weather, the bright sunshine, the rippling of the Nile, the delicious dishes that the chef was able to conjure up – all this enticed a happy holiday mood. The German expedition members had initially reacted with great enthusiasm. They had spread canvas on the deck of the ship and placed themselves in the sun, drinking wine from sweat-amphorae, eating occasionally. But the leisure of the day had also led to a general downturn in their level of attention, and Africanus was convinced that at least the soldiers on board shouldn’t let their guard down like that.
Anyway, they were all getting restless after few days. The entertainment program on board left much to be desired, despite the efforts of some crew members to delight the guests with all kinds of musical instruments. Also, the lessons intended to dispense further knowledge in Latin or Greek didn’t work too well, not least because those with sufficient language skills were not necessarily the best teachers. It also turned out that the Germans had a lot more to gain in practical vocabulary if they simply dared to look for conversation. Since their Roman friends showed a great deal of tolerance when it came to the correct grammar or the choice of words, this kind of learning worked much better than formal lessons. It was a pleasant side effect that the teachers also caught up with a few chunks of German.
Köhler observed with particular interest that the sailing master of the ship was looking for a conversation with the Germans. He seemed to be very interested in the principle of the steam engine and squeezed out anyone who had something to say about it. Obviously, it was quite possible to find adequate Latin or Greek words, despite the fact that German concepts dominated for technical descriptions and German seemed to become something like the engineering language of the Roman Empire. The master, who, as Köhler was informed, owned a quarter of the freighter, wrote the German words carefully and fought for every emphasis. He seemed to perceive this knowledge as a potential competitive advantage in the future, a development that Köhler was a bit surprised about. They had only been in this time for a good half year, but the upheavals which they had caused were evident both on higher and lower levels. The fact alone that some of the sailors nodding knowingly, when Behrens told them of the merits of brandy, was enough to point out that some news spread at an astonishing pace even in Late Antiquity.
Although the wind was quite favorable, the journey drew. The realization that this pleasant canal trip was only another stretch, and that at the end they still had to endure a coastal journey to Adulis, didn’t help to alleviate the impatience of the travelers. Köhler had to breathe deeply, as the captain wanted to explain to him the sights of the Nile. These were certainly not uninteresting, but the German was simply not able to muster the necessary patience.
“There!” Africanus suddenly said. He had been standing next to Köhler, a hand shadowing his eyes. “The jetty!”
“What about it?”
“When we get there, there are no more than two miles left to the village of my grandfather.”
Köhler looked down at the inconspicuous spot, barely more than a fortified bank on which river ships could be moored. Agriculture was nurtured directly at the Nile to benefit from the regular floods that spread fertile mud across the fields. Here ships took over the har
vested crops, brought them to Alexandria, where they were transferred onto bigger vessels and brought to Italy via the Mediterranean. Egypt was the granary of the Empire.
“We can take a break,” Köhler offered.
“No. I was there when my grandfather had died, to set a memorial. I don’t know if the stone is still standing, but I suspect my relatives have cared well for it. The rest of the family will still live in our old house, though I haven’t seen it for many years.”
“So you could return here once you have finished your service?”
“Sure, why not? Even my father could have done that, but he didn’t. I won’t be a peasant anymore, at least not a fellahin like my ancestors. When I collect my land, somewhere in Gaul or another patch of the Empire, I think I’ll sell it and sign on. There is nothing to come back to here.”
Köhler nodded, though he felt he could only understand half of what Africanus was telling him. The Trierarch seemed to notice this, for he regarded Köhler for a long time, then sighed, as if he had to choose the following words wisely.
“It’s like this,” he began slowly. “For an Egyptian farmer, joining the Navy is one of the few ways to get release from the bond to his land and the duty to endure as a farmer. The laws are strict, it has always been like that. Whoever is tired of working on his soil and of the suffering once the Nile doesn’t come in time, went to the fleet. My grandfather did this, although he was the eldest son of his father and would’ve had inherited everything. But he decided otherwise. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you. I might be over there on one of the fields and would look at the prospects of my seed.”
Köhler said nothing. Africanus’ gaze was lost in the palms and streaks of the shore, as though he was expecting to see himself there.
“I don’t want to come back here, not even to be reminded of this place, because it has nothing to do with who I am.”
“Apart from your name.”
The Trierarch smiled. “Apart from that, yes. And I’m not even a famous man like Scipio, who has gotten the surname for good reason.”
“That can still happen,” Köhler replied.
“For sure. In any case, I’m no longer the son of a farmer; I never was, as already my father had arranged his life quite differently. I’m now a Roman officer, and as much as this province belongs to the areas I vowed to defend, this is not my homeland. I’m really at home on the mare nostrum and, if at all, in the little house where my father and my mother are still living, and that is a good hundred miles north of Ravenna. This one …” He made a sweeping movement with his right hand. “… this is the past – and not even mine. It is that of my ancestors. And they played a real role for me only after the decision of my grandfather to depart from here. So I don’t want to go back, not even in my mind. Do you understand that, Köhler?”
The German understood it, albeit on a purely intellectual level. But his own past had been quite different. No one had forced him to take up a certain profession or to do what his ancestors had done. But he had to admit that joining the Navy had been an escape from an otherwise very dull life. In this way, he felt akin to Africanus’s grandfather, and so he understood why his grandson wouldn’t return here or be too clearly reminded of his origin. “So we don’t take a break,” he said, half jokingly.
“Anything but that,” Africanus confirmed. “Our aim is the Empire of Aksum, not a village, in which, with some luck, only an old memorial stone is of any remaining importance.”
With this he turned away without appreciating the slow aft landing with another glance.
Köhler, too, didn’t look back.
25
And so they were resting one last time on Roman soil. The place was called Brigetio and was not too far from Aquincum, the city that Thomas Volkert knew in his time as Budapest. From there, his column would advance northeasterly, into the land of the Quadi, with which the Roman Empire had an unpleasant altercation a few years ago. A unified attack of Quadi and Sarmatians had been repulsed, and here, in Brigetio, Valentinian I, father of Gratian, had died from a heart attack, caused by anger about the unruly demands of Germanic tribes. That had been a good four years ago, and the situation hadn’t improved considerably. Since the end of the war and Valentinian’s victory, no one knew who was currently governing the Quadi. King Gabinius, whose violent death in the year 373 had triggered the war during a banquet of the Roman governor Celestius, had died without any direct descendants. The leaders of the border troops in Pannonia had reported that a new Quadian king named Erminius had taken power. He, however, limited his contacts with his Roman enemies only to the essentials, as the bitter defeat which his people had received from the hands of Valentinian surely remained in vivid memory. It was relatively peaceful since then, after all, but this couldn’t be interpreted as a sign of normalization. The history of relations with the barbarians was always characterized by a constant change between peaceful and warlike phases, and the Barbarian, who now sold his sword for a few coins to a Roman, would sink his blade with equal fervor into his former customer the next day – so at least went the stories.
Further northeast, it was said that the people of the Cottines and the Oser would live, the Markomans also settled there, the Racer, the Campi, and many other tribes, whose names passed to Thomas Volkert when he heard the more experienced subordinates tell their stories. At the latest in twenty years, Volkert knew from the historical lessons he had received from Rheinberg, the Quadi would fall under the rule of the Huns, and only shortly afterwards the attacks and extortion of the Empire by the Huns would begin, culminating in the victorious Attila’s campaign, which would take him to Upper Italy – a campaign that would never take place if things went differently and according to Rheinberg’s plans.
From there, they were ready to leave the fortified paths and fight through the barbarian wilderness. Because of all the contempt that was heard in the words of some men, Volkert had now learned enough about the representations to know that the image of this “wilderness” was drawn very one-sidedly. There were villages, even quite large, and some were linked by streets. Many barbarians had taken very Roman habits from their neighbors across the border. They built fortified settlements, no longer dressed in skins, and so the rumor went on, even went to bathe and shave regularly. Volkert knew that many an officer told particularly bloodthirsty stories to mentally arm the men who hadn’t yet fought in this area. Volkert had often talked to veterans of the wars conducted by Gratian’s father to understand that if Gabinius wouldn’t have been murdered they would still live in peace with the Quadi. Valentinian had seen himself as a conqueror, and like many other emperors, he had wasted the military power of the Empire. Volkert was reminded of the way the Romans had treated the fleeing Goths in the East instead of taking them seriously, helping them, and assuring them of their good intentions. Had they done it right, Adrianople wouldn’t have happened.
Afterwards everyone knew better. Volkert was in a good position to evaluate the truth of this statement.
The final deliberations were done fast and without ceremony. Soon Volkert’s column, about 500 strong, left Brigetio. Embassies had informed the new Quadian King that this wasn’t an attempt to conquer his land, and that peace would be maintained if he’d leave the legionaries undisturbed. Of course, there was no guarantee that Erminius would take these messages seriously. On the other hand, the memory of the Roman victory was still fresh enough to call into question a too premature action, Volkert hoped. A small Varus-like slaughter in the forests of the Carpathians was not one of the things he wanted to experience. Once shortly after the crossing of the imperial frontier, a small group of Quadi-cavalry joined to guide them – they were more likely observers of the Quadian King, who had an eye on the Romans – everyone relaxed. At least the chances of crossing the area undisturbed had increased significantly. The riders showed no hostility, were even courteous according to circumstances.
On the evening of the third day, when the troop had just begun to establish a night camp, the King wanted more than just keeping his eyes open. The sun was still just above the horizon, so the guard posts were able to have a good impression of the advancing riders, who were deliberately slow and moved unhindered toward the camp. Twenty men were, according to clothing and attitude, Quadian nobles joined by some guards. Everyone wore weapons, but none had pulled them, and just before the camp they got off the horses and led them slowly in. They wanted to talk, not to fight, there was no doubt.
Tribune Sedacius received the delegation and both Centurion Levantus and Volkert were summoned to the reception committee. When, from the middle of the newcomers, a tall man dressed in comparatively gorgeous clothing emerged, it was immediately apparent to everyone that after the murder of his predecessor, a Quadian King was again in the hands of the Romans: It could only be Erminius.
He looked like a king, straightened himself, struggled visibly for a majestic appearance, but Volkert saw in his eyes also fear and caution. Since his predecessor had been murdered by a Roman general, he couldn’t blame him. It spoke for the man’s courage to take this risk again.
“Noble King,” said Sedacius, making a bow. “I’m pleased with your visit.”
“I’m glad you received me, Tribune,” the Quadian returned in a somewhat stumbling Greek. Wherever he ultimately came from, he had enjoyed education, and it wasn’t even improbable that he had lived in the Empire for some time.
“What is the reason for your visit? Surely you will want to make sure that we have no evil intentions,” the Tribune continued. “We obviously are not a conquering army.”
“That’s what we’ve heard.” The King looked around, nodding. “It’s true.”
“We’re not a threat.”
“Sure,” the man admitted. “You are looking for the Huns, how far they are already. Your messages have reached me. Many strange things seem to have taken place in Rome. One hears a lot. Your expedition is unusual.”
The Emperor's Men 3: Passage Page 24
