The Emporers Men

by Dirk van den Boom

  “You have a big ship, but that will not help in the fight against the Goths.”

  “It will. It can move troops quickly.”

  “Too few troops.”

  “Not legionaries. My soldiers. If Gratian agrees, I’ll bring them to the East in a few days, to wherever it should be necessary. Or I let them march together with Roman troops across the country, if it is conducive to our mutual trust. Someone can reorganize the rest of the Eastern Roman army against the Goths, while Gratian pushes forward slowly from the west. Or …”

  “Or?”

  “Or we solve the problem without the army of the West.”

  Renna looked critically at Rheinberg.

  “How many men and weapons do you command?”

  “The number isn’t important,” Rheinberg replied. “The weapons’ quality is.”

  “And they are superior to anything we know,” Renna confirmed. “I’m considering just what these weapons can do against a formation of Goths. The result would be devastating.”

  “The Goths will learn and adapt – but the first battle will come as a complete surprise and is therefore decisive,” added Rheinberg. He didn’t go into detail what Becker’s company could accomplish with the four MG 08, firing into a horde of storming barbarians from a safe position. It would be a massacre, and one that would never be forgotten by the surviving attackers. Of course, an army of 20,000 warriors against maybe 200 German soldiers would result in a corresponding determination to defeat the soldiers, although massive losses among the attackers would be the price to pay. But it should never come so far. The morale of the attacker, shot to pieces by a seemingly invisible meat grinder, would collapse very quickly – and then it was time for diplomacy.

  It just had to all fit together at the right time at the right place. To achieve this, he needed the help of the Romans, and he also had to be there in order to transform the spirit of the victory into influence and support at court. Rheinberg noted with dismay that his idea required a parallel tactic at two very distant places, a plan that was rarely successful.

  “Communication,” he murmured absently. “I need the ability to communicate.”

  “You say?”

  “Nothing, just a thought.”

  Rheinberg looked around.

  “That was all a bit much, I fear. We should think about all this and meet again, maybe tomorrow. But time is short. Once the message of Valens’ demise has arrived, Gratian will start looking for a successor. If we want to persuade him to proclaim himself as overall ruler of the empire at least for now, we must act quickly and decisively.”

  “That is true; however, I really have to make my mind up in peace,” Michellus replied and looked into the fire.

  “There is much to consider,” Rheinberg said. “Gratian will first appoint Theodosius as general, but already by January of next year he will be raised to the status of Augustus. I have no problem with General Theodosius, if it really has to be, but once he wears the purple, it gets difficult.”

  Symmachus nodded to Michellus. “My friend here is right, we need to think. These are important decisions that you cannot make on a balmy summer evening. We meet again tomorrow … On your ship, if I may suggest.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Then we can discuss, if …”

  The door flew open. Visible was a stout, tall and in all very impressive-looking older woman. She pushed a servant aside, who wanted to fend them, and that with playful ease. In her face everyone could see that she was angry.

  Senator Michellus wasn’t too amused. “Lucia, my dear,” he greeted the matron weakly as she rushed into the room and gave both Symmachus as well as Renna a welcoming nod, ignored Rheinberg and placed herself terrifyingly in front of Michellus, which slumped visibly on his stool.

  “Michellus!”

  “My little dove, I’m busy …”

  Rheinberg recognized Lucia now. Maybe she was someone who had to be included in important decisions. Her voice was of cutting energy, and her tone reminded him of Köhler when he shooed recruits around.

  “Michellus! Julia is gone!”

  The senator winced, his eyes widened and he seemed now fulfilled with righteous anger. “What?”

  “Disappeared! That happens once you allow her out of sight! I told you: We leave her at home! But no, you have to be so endeared by her! And now look what you’ve done!”

  Michellus became even smaller. Very small. He threw begging glances to the other men. Renna looked into the fire. Rheinberg looked at the lady Lucia.

  Symmachus lifted the wine decanter. “I’ll pour you one, my friend!”

  20

  “It’s beautiful here.”

  “This is wrong.”

  “What?”

  “You used the wrong form. You said: You are beautiful here.”

  Thomas Volkert felt his cheeks grow hot, and it wasn’t because of the wine. He was grateful that the darkness had arrived and here, on a wooded hill on the outskirts of Ravenna, nothing but the twinkling stars lit up the scene.

  “Well, I’m still learning.”

  “How to make women compliments?”

  “How to pronounce Greek without making bad mistakes.”

  Julia’s small hand patted Thomas’ shoulder, causing the burning in his face to increase. He tried to distract himself by looking downhill at the city, which had some street lighting, even though it consisted mostly of the torches and lamps in front of the public buildings and taverns. From here one could see the villa of Urianus quite well, because it was right on the edge of town, and the ongoing reception was brightly illuminated by all kinds of lamps.

  “Good idea to leave,” Volkert said. “It was very stressful. One of the guests even asked me if our ship could not escort his grain cargo from Africa. He would pay us well for it.”

  “Well, you all will need to do something to earn your living.”

  “I think my captain has something else in mind but boring escort from Africa.”

  Julia said nothing, and so they both just sat there and looked at the panorama of the city at night.

  When Volkert had met the senator’s daughter at the party he had immediately been struck by the impression that she radiated a degree of self-confidence that was almost an insult to many of the other guests. In fact, even in the higher society of his own time, this not too decorous behavior of a “schoolgirl” would have been extremely unbecoming. Especially the older men – and of which there had been too many in the villa – had sent her quite disapproving looks. Julia had finally met with Volkert at the statue of Jupiter, where he had waited shyly as agreed and since then she hadn’t questioned him about the Saarbrücken, politics and the strange weapons, but only about himself. Quite a surprise.

  A welcome change, and not only because of her toga, which, while covering the whole body, was for some reason not at all that demure so that he could at least imagine that Julia possessed stimuli that exceeded her obvious self-confidence. Exceeded them significantly.

  When Julia had finally proposed to leave the festivities and to disappear with a few supplies from the buffet to the nearby hill, he agreed immediately. Whether due to a mistake or because it did simply not come to his mind, the captain certainly hadn’t forbidden anyone to leave the house. The senator’s daughter had unerringly selected food from the buffet that best corresponded to the palate of the German, which in turn spoke of her observational skills, for this particular problem he hadn’t discussed with her.

  “How are the women in your time?” asked Julia and shoved a piece of bread into her mouth. Volkert cleared his throat, wondering how he could answer the question.

  “It’s not very different,” he said lamely. “But it depends on where you live. If you’re invited to a noble family, the women are usually just as … cautious as here. And also in my time, the man is without a doubt the master of the house.” He frowned. “But lately there’s been some change, because more and more women demand rights … I think there are even
some in the parliament.”

  “Parliament?”

  “Ah … something like the Senate. But all members are elected by the people. They decide mainly about the money that the state may spend.”

  Julia processed this information. “Sort of like in ancient Athens?”

  Volkert was thankful at that moment that he had enjoyed a reasonably good education and was able to remember a lot of it. “Well, not quite like that, but something like it. I believe in ancient Athens women had nothing to say.”

  “They don’t speak in the Senate as well. I think my mother talks about some issues with my father, and sometimes his opinion expressed in the Senate is what she has … advised. But that is probably not comparable.”

  “In my time, there are many who do this … the women who demand more rights … many men find this strange and inappropriate.”

  Julia looked at him from the side, a pensive expression on her face. “And you? Do you consider that as inappropriate as well?”

  Thomas Volkert controlled himself. It was bad enough that he had apparently traveled with his ship 1500 years into the past, now he also had to take on a most winsome young lady who seemed to be the Roman equivalent of Clara Zetkin. Or close to it.

  On the other hand, he knew that he had to be very careful how he answered that question. No, he had an issue with these new, self-confident women, as many of them also were inclined toward socialism. He preferred the good old tradition that the man in the family was the boss, and of what he had noticed of the familiar conditions in the Roman Empire, he liked quite much.

  However, Julia he liked even more.

  Very much more.

  Perhaps too much.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d say that times change and we learn from history that nothing remains as it once has been.”

  This cumbersome and ultimately evasive answer seemed to satisfy Julia, or she had simply decided, for the sake of her own peace of mind, not to press the issue. “What will you do now?” was the next question.

  “I … I will perform my duty.”

  “And what else? Even in your time, your life must have consisted of but more than duty.”

  Volkert impulsively wanted to answer, as this assumption wasn’t quite true. He remembered suddenly that there was no longer an emperor who had to give an officer the permission to marry. How would this problem probably be solved now?

  And why the hell came this to his mind?

  “I will certainly not lead a relaxed life of a senator’s daughter,” he replied.

  Julia snorted. “A relaxed life, indeed. With parents who want to permanently marry me to a snob who wants to have a well-behaved, obedient girl and as many male offspring as possible. If I’m unlucky, I wouldn’t see my toes for years after marriage.”

  “Your mother didn’t seem to be so terribly obedient,” Volkert said.

  “But she is terribly conservative. In these things she is in full agreement with my father. I had the opportunity to get rid of spouses so far only because my father likes me.”

  Volkert didn’t comment. Based on her descriptions he guessed that the idolatrous father loved his daughter and despite all her lamentations wouldn’t be able to refuse her anything.

  Well, perhaps within certain limits. And possibly Julia began increasingly to test these limits.

  “Something is going on there,” muttered Volkert and leaned forward. Torches were moving through the night and all around Urianus’ villa.

  “They’re looking for us,” Julia stated calmly. “Of course I shouldn’t have left.”

  “What?”

  “No, it was not only improper but also dangerous. A senator’s daughter is a beautiful booty.”

  “What?”

  “My mother will be furious.”

  Thomas Volkert was dumbfounded – speechless at Julia’s callousness and his own carelessness. If their trip caused so much commotion, and it came out that he was part of this conspiracy, it would fall back to Rheinberg. To the Saarbrücken. To the unstable, provisional agreement that protected the ship in this city.

  Volkert looked at Julia from the side. She seemed completely unaffected by the commotion. A spoiled brat who got everything she wanted and didn’t care for others, Volkert suddenly thought. He stood. “We have to go back before they mobilize the whole city!”

  Julia stretched. Volkert tried not to stare at her breasts. Beautiful, perfectly shaped breasts, big like ripe fruit, such as …

  He shook his head. This led to nothing.

  Julia slipped her hand into his and pulled him back to the villa.

  Ensign Thomas Volkert stumbled behind her. He refrained from any comment and only thought about what he would be able to present for his defense. As they neared the villa and some of the searching servants and slaves saw them from afar and shouted the news to the property, he still didn’t have any idea.

  When he, in tow of a young woman, stepped with a red face into the illuminated area of the villa, he knew that he had just lost a war before he was ever able to compete in the first battle.

  And although he walked under the disapproving gaze of the guests, he felt at the same time the feeling of strange satisfaction and … happiness.

  He saw Captain Rheinberg built up before him, scowling and angry.

  And Volkert was happy. Damn, he thought.

  This could not end well.

  21

  “There can be no doubt?”

  “As far as we can determine our information to be reliable, yes. Your uncle is lost on the battlefield. Last time we saw him, he had been on a the wild ride with part of his bodyguard, but the chaos was big.”

  “What about Richomer?”

  “My Lord, he survived the battle, and with him half of our advance guard. He has been lucky. Serious mistakes were made, o Lord. The cavalry was sacrificed without any sense. A slaughter without equal, and so pointless.”

  The Tribune lowered his head as if he’d suddenly realize that he had criticized the orders of his superiors, even those of the emperor of Eastern Rome. Gratian sighed.

  “Speak openly, Tribune. Tell me everything.”

  The man looked up again. His face was covered with dust, his clothes looked torn and he was tired. He had to ride all night to convey the news to the Emperor. Gratian looked around, saw some servants who stood waiting and waved them. “A chair for the Tribune. Wine, meat and bread. Help him to take off his armor.”

  “Lord.”

  “Sit down, Tribune. Once you’re done with everything, you shall rest. And do not hold anything back.”

  The man allowed a servant to remove his breastplate, and sat meekly when another one pushed a stool toward him. On a small table a servant placed food and a carafe of wine. Gratian sighed. With forced marches he had pushed his troops eastward, and yet they were only as far as Sirmium, where the tribune had reached them. They had just crossed the Danube and had been ready to advance further in the direction of Adrianople, when the little troop of lone riders had emerged under the command of this exhausted officer, and he had carried the seal of Richomer, the commander of the cavalry division, which Gratian’s own legions had sent ahead to get in contact with Valens.

  Too late now as it turned out. And the consequences were not foreseeable. Emperor Gratian looked at the Tribune and felt in his limbs the same fatigue that he saw in the officer’s eyes. He wouldn’t follow the advice of his men and remain in Sirmium, where he had a palace and all the amenities, because he preferred to remain in the camp. Sirmium was the city in which he was born, and he had good memories of it. He didn’t want to pollute them with concerns of the present.

  “Eat and drink,” he asked the officer. “Valens won’t be brought back to life if we hurry you. Eat and drink!”

  The tribune bowed and let it not be said again. He dug his teeth deeply into the cold meat, took great sips from his cup, and got himself a refill. Gratian had meanwhile turned away in order not to unnecessarily force his lingering prese
nce on the man and joined Malobaudes, who stared on the great map of the Empire, which was clamped on the tent’s wall.

  “Valens is a fool,” growled the Frankish king and general.

  “Valens is dead.”

  “That happens to fools a lot,” replied Malobaudes. He could afford this disrespect because Gratian had to agree with him.

  “Why didn’t he wait for us? Together we would have beaten the Goths,” the Emperor said.

  “He wanted the victory.”

  Gratian spat. “Valens isn’t like my father.”

  “Your father always listened to his advisers, and then he made his own decisions.”

  “Valens decided as well.”

  “Your father was a wise man, a good general, loved by his troops. Valens was a fool.”

  “You said that already,” Gratian replied mockingly and put a hand on his shoulder. “The consequences are what make me worry. I’m now the Emperor of the East and the West. The army of the East has disassembled. My troops are the only ones that are currently organized and powerful, but I tarry to lead them immediately into the battle against the Goths.”

  “And you rightly hesitate, my Emperor. The Goths are many. The Eastern Roman troops were the best of the Empire, let’s not dispute that. We need time to gather the units of the East again, dig for new recruits and then go to the field together.”

  “I cannot take care of everything myself. It’s not that the West is suddenly an island of peace and security.”

  Malobaudes nodded. “We need a new emperor in the east.”

  “First of all, we need a new general in the east.”

  Both were silent, staring at the map, lost in strategic and political considerations. As the smacking had stopped in the background, both men turned as if on command.

  “Tribune, how are you?”

  “My Emperor, I thank you. Your mercy is great.”

  Gratian smiled. “My uncle had sent many good soldiers to their doom. I have to maintain all that remained to me.”

  “Once again my thanks, sir.”