The Emperor Page 14

  Von Geeren winced when he heard the expected bang. For a tiny second, the blade pressed deeper into his flesh, but then the bearded one groaned, falling backward from the horse. There was an ugly crack as he hit the ground. The horse stopped, prancing uneasily back and forth. Von Geeren slid down immediately, ducked, then came the second bang.

  But as good as Sassmann was as a shooter, the second man had reacted quickly. He had also slipped off the horse, raised his blade and the corporal subsequently had missed him.

  Von Geeren took a step toward the bearded man, lying motionless on the ground. The other kidnapper got in his way, his sword ready, his face twisted into a grimace of rage. The Captain stumbled backward. He had nothing to oppose an armed and experienced swordsman without his pistol.

  Then his opponent winced. Von Geeren hadn’t noticed the shot in his focus on his adversary. He saw the Roman resolutely take another step, desperately trying to force his blade into von Geeren’s body, but then his strength left him, and he fell to the ground with a sigh.

  The Captain looked up. Four of his men stormed out of the main gate. He took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Up on the roof of the gatehouse he saw someone straighten up and wave to him.

  Someone had earned a commendation, thought von Geeren, as he waved back.

  A commendation and much more.

  Not least his own, very sincere thanks.

  22

  Volkert hated surprises. When he took a step back and tried to look emotionless, only his old comrade Secundus realized that he didn’t necessarily agree with what had just happened. But Sedacius gave him a friendly smile, as if he had done him a favor.

  Volkert had been promoted. Again. The last onslaught of the troops lead by Andragathius had been repulsed – it had been no more than a skirmish between the forerunners and the rearguard –, but it had not only shown that the Supreme Commander of Maximus was harder on their heels than their own scouts had discerned, but also had led to the death of Primus Pilus of the XVI. Legion, the legion of Sedacius. The reorganization of the remaining troops of Theodosius in a total of 17 legions had led to an exalted position of the former tribune – who had now been promoted to the rank of legate. The skirmish had disabled Centurion Levantus, the former Primus Pilus, the highest of all centurions, with a severe injury. He would survive, and he would, everyone said, return to active service with a promotion to Tribune, but until then there were vacancies, and for some reason Volkert was chosen to fill one.

  At the same time he was promoted from the position of a senior NCO to officer. He wasn’t even too young for that – the war favored fast promotions, because war also caused fast losses. Roman centurions led from the front, so they were exposed to the same dangers as the simple soldier and died just as easily. Volkert had been lucky so far due to the lack of staff, but he would not receive a quiet staff post despite his again improved position in the hierarchy: First among the Centurions, he kept his own unit and would wade through the dirt as well and lead his men as before, only with slightly better pay, and that troubled him more than anything else, even better chances for another promotion. From Primus Pilus to Tribune, it wasn’t that far, then the step to toward nobility wasn’t a big one as well, and as Diocletian had proved, there was no real hindrance to any further ascent.

  Volkert was now resigned to the fact that someday someone would blurt out his true identity. Thus, the promotion held an advantage. The likelihood of finding grace in the eyes of those in charge then increased with each higher rank. What bothered him most was the fact that he was now even more indebted to Sedacius, and then, when his plans for overthrowing Theodosius materialized, it was quite possible that this association would cost him his head. As a simple legionary, he could hope for mercy – and the winner still needed soldiers. But in such an exalted position, Volkert would no longer be able to talk himself out of executing orders. He finally became a co-conspirator, a traitor.

  He stifled a sigh, maintaining self-restraint. First deserter, then traitor. An illustrious career, truly. Volkert didn’t feel that he had much control over his life.

  He hadn’t much time to rejoice or be annoyed about his promotion. He had already received his marching orders. Instead of the injured Levantus, he would now try as far as possible to stop the advance of Andragathius, so that the bulk of the army could move further in the direction of the southern ports and, hopefully, soon ship out to Egypt. There was good news here: The African provinces had proved to be faithful to Theodosius, not least because it seemed to them that the existing edict of tolerance was very important for them. And they had begun to send their own fleet, to build new ships and thus to support the Emperor’s escape to Africa. In addition, in Alexandria, the plans for the steam engine had been circulated freely, and at least two factories had begun to produce their own prototypes. Soon, it was certain, the Emperor’s fleet would be able to operate independently of the weather. And if they dominated the Mediterranean, Maximus had a big problem.

  That’s what it was all about: getting Maximus into trouble until Rheinberg opened a second front against the usurper in the East. Volkert wasn’t happy to remember that in the case of success of Sedacius’ plans the German was expected to continue fighting right away. Among other things, side by side with Primus Pilus Thomasius, the highest of all centurions in this exalted legion, and by then probably already promoted to tribune, if it went on like this.

  Volkert was under no illusions. He was in a whirlpool full of sharks. And no one, least of all his friend Secundus, understood why he fought against his rise in ranks, weakly as he could. The whirlpool did not tear him down but pulled him up. He was invited to staff meetings, which remained closed to some higher-ranking officers. This didn’t only apply to the legion’s staff, to which he had already belonged as a normal centurion, but also to higher-level planning, sometimes with the Emperor himself. Volkert had held back in these meetings, maintaining silence. He hadn’t even caused attention by particularly obtuse behavior. Secundus had reported his idea to flee to Africa and, surprisingly, claimed no authorship. And then, during one or the other staff meeting, and despite his best efforts, he hadn’t managed to keep his mouth shut and expressed his opinion. His views had not always met with approval, but they had never been dismissed as complete nonsense. Precisely because he spoke so seldom, his contributions had gained their own weight, which didn’t quite correspond to their content, at least according to Volkert’s assessment. No matter how he looked at it, he was currently basking in the attention of numerous generals, the Emperor himself, and everyone assumed that his military career would find no bounds. The fact that he proved himself in combat, showed personal bravery, had given the Empire in the person of the Quadian King a most unexpected ally and had kept a clear overview and a cool head, probably also spoke for him. Last but not least, it was well-known that as a superior he dealt fairly and decently with his subordinates, showing no unnecessary cruelty but also no unacceptable gentleness, and had acquired the honest respect of his men. That sort of thing got around. It was gladly seen, because it helped the cohesion of the troops, strengthened loyalty and helped endure adverse circumstances. Which certainly helped, was the fact that Volkert didn’t embody any wealth or unnecessary luxury, but lived largely as everyone else, apart from the personal services of Bertius. Although these did not help him much in everyday life – the German had recovered his laziness with extended service –, but for once, the endless talk of the legionary even helped, as he did not tire to praise the gratitude and loyalty of his master to his subordinates.

  In fact, it was quite embarrassing. But since it was impossible to silence Bertius, he helped to establish a myth about the young officer. The men looked for role models, for orientation, for luminaries, and in this they were often only too grateful to believe things that they would have faced with greater distrust in other circumstances.

  Accordingly, Thomas Volkert was in a whirlpool that tore him up. He didn’t know how
he should deal with this situation yet alone controlling it. The only thing that could stop his ascent was a desertion or an enemy’s weapon. Both alternatives which he under no circumstances preferred to a career in the Roman forces.

  So deep in melancholy, Volkert climbed his horse. His unit consisted of around 500 soldiers, all mounted. Their target was an advance detachment of the army of Andragathius, which had been spotted by scouts about twenty Roman miles from the column of Theodosius. While the tapeworm moved slowly but steadily through the south of Italy, it was now the task of the newly minted Primus Pilus to disturb and stop the troops of Andragathius so long that the escape of the Emperor’s army wasn’t endangered.

  The morning dew was still on the grass as the 500 cavalrymen made their way. None of the German infantrymen were with them. Carefully preserving the remaining ammunition, they had been assigned to secure the rear flank of the major force. If pretentious attackers get close enough, they had to be driven out with well targeted shots. That would work safely for a while, even though the chilling effect of the weapons from the future had given way to the normal fear of death. Apart from a few even superstitious spirits, no one regarded the metal sticks as demonic work or witchcraft anymore. The realization had become established that it was intricate craftsmanship, barely comprehensible to the layman – but something a legionary was quick to accept as an effective and legitimate weapon. The use of cannons by von Klasewitz had certainly also contributed to the fact that the horror subsided. The more intelligent among Andragathius’ men could understand with some imagination how the bulky bronze cannons, with time and the right skill, could become something like these metal sticks. They also knew the difference between the mighty onager with their mighty arrows and smaller crossbows, fired from the chest of a soldier, which were based on the same principle.

  The fight into which Volkert rode now, however, was one among equals. No cannons for the men of Maximus – especially not in a mobile advance unit – and no guns for the men of Volkert. The Ensign longed for a pistol, a full magazine. But he couldn’t ask for one yet. Only a handful of officers from the army of Theodosius had been trained in firearms. There simply wasn’t enough ammunition to distribute excess rifles or pistols too freely. So they kept them with those who could handle them the most efficiently. Officially, Volkert had never held such a weapon in his life. He was therefore unable to register any legitimate claims without immediately triggering great mistrust.

  At the moment, he couldn’t use mistrust.

  Secundus joined him, led the column of men together with Volkert. They were the only two commanders of the operation, no tribune was assigned to them. Secundus saw this as a vote of confidence, but Volkert as trust he had to redeem. Secundus saw in it the chance of fame and fortune – especially fortune –, but Volkert remembered a sword in his stomach and the pain and the blood. The wound, though wonderfully healed, still hurt him, especially in the morning when the weather was humid and cool and cloudy. Bertius, who had lost his arm at the same time, felt the same way. It was a weird moment when both men, especially the otherwise talkative legionnaire, sat in front of the tent in the early morning, spooning the porridge that normally served as breakfast. Both felt the injuries of the past and both knew how the other suffered from the memory. Neither Volkert nor Bertius regarded the scars as a distinction, as did other men who displayed them and used them as an occasion for endless bragging. Whether because of the same attitude or because of another motivation, Volkert and Bertius agreed that the pain and blood and torment was nothing to be happy or proud of.

  That made their attitude pretty un-Roman, Volkert thought. Some of his officers in the Imperial Navy would also describe it as utterly un-German and unmanly. What a pity that many things had not changed over the centuries.

  “Let’s go!” Secundus said with an expectant grin, leaning over and slapping Volkert on the shoulder.

  He only nodded. He stared at the path ahead of him, the one made of stone and earth as well as the one in his mind’s eye.

  Neither of them looked very promising.

  23

  Of course, he had believed her.

  When Julia told Martinus Caius that she had eagerly awaited his early homecoming, and she, faithful wife that she was, had naturally done everything to personally receive her long-lost husband, he nodded his head and showed a flattered grin. He hadn’t been able to do much more after the voyage. His gluttony and drunkenness hadn’t gotten along well with the movements of the ship’s journey on a rough sea, and he had hardly eaten for a few days. Notwithstanding the fact that Julia was certain that Martinus was about to make up for this deficit in the near future, she believed that he didn’t feel well: He stood a bit shaky on his feet and was green in the face.

  There was not much else to elicit from him. Ravenna was firmly in the hands of Maximus, this was clear to everyone. The circumstances of his departure were likewise nothing that the faithful husband had wanted to describe in too many details. From the hints, Julia realized that Martinus’ father had shown only cautious enthusiasm. With some reassurance she heard that her family was well, as far as her mother and sister were concerned. Her father, Senator Michellus, stayed with Rheinberg in Constantinople. It was heard that the Saarbrücken had been well-received there. What had happened after that, especially if the Magister Militium had succeeded in taking the necessary steps to build an eastern front against the usurper, was generally unknown. But Constantinople was not far away, and with the ship traffic now commencing in full swing, news would travel faster. Julia was confident that she would soon hear the latest from the capital of the East.

  She temporarily buried her plans of escape. The poor legionary had been discreetly discharged from her service with a decent amount of money. Luckily, he behaved exemplary, and Caius hadn’t noticed. The whole episode was certainly one he would tell his children, a strange game of the rich, who didn’t know what they wanted and paid him for something he hadn’t done. And so he accepted the gold and didn’t ask any questions, the answer of which would have resulted in no more than the satisfaction of his personal curiosity.

  Julia had returned with Martinus to the estate of their relatives, on the outside quite the smiling wife, her interior torn by despair and fainting rage. The first evening went smoothly, as Martinus quickly exhausted, wanted to rest and still suffered from the aftermath of the sea voyage.

  But Julia knew that wouldn’t last long. As soon as her husband felt better, he would make demands – for wine, for food, and for her, as was his right.

  And she had ran out of excuses and tricks to avoid that. She was now unable to use the pregnancy she had put well behind her, or any ailment; she had neither her monthly bleeding nor any other impediment. Although everything in her was against it, she would have to be of service to her husband in everything, and the thought of it aroused such disgust that she soon felt as if she had made the multi-day voyage in heavy waves instead of him.

  Julia felt helpless.

  And she hated it.

  She hated that someone like Martinus Caius had control over her under Roman law. She loathed having to be a faithful wife to him, though her heart belonged to another, however out of reach he seemed to be. She hated being able to exert so little influence on everything that happened around her. And nothing repelled her more than having to open her thighs for the bloated body of Martinus, in the fulfillment of her sacred duties as a respectful wife.

  It was not until the third night after his return when her husband remembered her. On the second evening, recovering from the journey, he had first satisfied his stomach, consuming wine until he had tipped over and snored to sleep. That gave Julia a little breathing space. Of course, she hadn’t allowed anyone but herself to personally direct the slaves, who were allowed to drag their husband’s limp body into his room, where he could sleep off his intoxication. She ignored the compassionate glances that both the host and his own wife gave her, obviously both suspecting what Julia was goin
g through. But even they could do nothing against what was the right of a Roman husband.

  The intoxication of Martinus enabled Julia to make plans again. And when, at the end of the third day after his joyful return, Martinus’s pig eyes, with pleasure – others would have called it pure lust – rested on the gentle curves of Julia’s breasts and he not only began to lick his lips because of the wine consumed, Julia was ready. Since Martinus himself hadn’t been drinking so much that evening to get her another chance of him falling asleep, Julia had organized another distraction and spared no expense or effort. What helped was the fact that their hosts spent the night with friends in the city. So they had the whole property for themselves.

  The evening started, as she had expected. Martinus glanced at her, and his intention couldn’t be misinterpreted. “Tonight, sweetheart,” he said in a slightly sluggish tone, “it’s about time we’ve make some male offspring!”

  Julia forced a smile. “Our daughter is adorable!” she said.

  Martinus gave a grunt and made a derogatory gesture. “Women. They are good for some things, but not for continuing the family tradition and doing the things that move the world.”

  Julia wondered for a moment which earth-shattering things Martinus may already have “moved” but didn’t say so loudly. Her husband was quite capable of becoming very violent, especially when addressed with shortcomings that he sought to avoid mentioning.

  “An heir!” he exclaimed loudly, banging his fist on the back of the sofa. “An heir must come, and tonight I want to father him!”

  “Why so eager? I just gave birth!” Julia said feebly. She didn’t even blame Martinus. His parents as well as their own – especially the mother – expected the dutiful production of a son, not only from her but also from her husband, and that soon. Excuses wouldn’t help. The difference was that Martinus concentrated on the pleasant part, but she’d suffer this man in bed, and then another pregnancy with an unwanted child. A high price that far too many women had to pay, she thought.