The Emperor Read online

  Von Klasewitz still stood at the pier, looking at the churning Mediterranean, as someone joined him. The wind was fresh, almost stormy, and it was cold. The nobleman felt for a moment the indefinite longing to leave all this behind to once again feel the staggering metal plates of a ship, a real ship, underfoot.

  He looked around as he heard the steps of the newcomer. No, there were several, but they didn’t pose any threat, at least not in the physical sense. There were three priests, one of them very special: Ambrosius of Milan, the man with the crooked face, whose careful manipulation of the citizens of Rome had helped make Maximus’ conquest of Gaul and northern Italy so easy.

  Von Klasewitz always felt a little smaller than usual in the presence of this man, who was revered as a church father and saint in his day. Other Romans, even Maximus, were opposed to his silent attitude of superiority, even though he didn’t always show it. Ambrosius, however, intimidated him.

  The Bishop stood beside the time traveler, looked out to the sea and took a deep breath. His two companions remained at a respectful distance.

  “A sad sight,” Ambrosius said softly. “The ruins give an idea of the potential lost here. But it has something good to it.”

  “Yes?” von Klasewitz asked.

  “We have kept our promise and cleansed the unholy sites of the time-wanderers with fire. In fact, we have even driven the outlaws to do it themselves. It’s good, because it’s a joke in favor of Maximus, a clear sign that God is fighting on our side.”

  The German preferred not to speak. For all the reverence he felt in the Bishop’s presence, he knew that much of what Ambrosius was doing here was ultimately just superstitious stuff. He also assumed that the Bishop himself didn’t believe half of what he said but did everything to promote the consolidation of his interpretation of the Christian faith in the sense of a future state church. If someone or something had to burn, this was to be accepted.

  Since this way, among other things, promoted von Klasewitz’s office and reputation, he had basically no objection against this procedure. Still, he faced the monumental task of rebuilding the industrial center that likely would keep him busy throughout the winter.

  Ambrosius seemed to have read those thoughts on his face. He smiled soothingly. “My friend, do not despair. All I’m saying is that it might be better not to set up your own witchcraft manufacturing facility in that location, but somewhere else, in a secret place, more difficult to access and not so open to the public that their existence could lead to … misunderstandings.”

  “I understand,” von Klasewitz replied, bowing his head. He indeed understood quite well what the man was about to say, though it suited him less than he wanted to admit. He had to stay as close to the sea as possible because he was aiming for an extra avenue of mobility for the cannons. And despite the destruction that had been done here, it was much easier to set up a new production facility on these remains than to start somewhere completely new. The stone foundations of the most important buildings were unaffected. Von Klasewitz intended to use them for reconstruction.

  “So I’d look for a suitable place for you,” Ambrosius went on. “I’ll be happy to help, if you wish.”

  “Maximus will have the last word.” And the German would make sure it didn’t work out in the Bishop’s favor.

  The bishop smiled. “The Emperor is busy. He will gladly agree to a well-worded and prepared proposal.”

  Von Klasewitz turned around so that he directly faced Ambrosius. He knew he had the ear of Maximus regarding the expertise he represented. This was also known to the Bishop. “That’s for sure,” he said carefully. “Where did your sudden interest in these things come from?”

  Ambrosius still smiled. “I have to think far, Klasewitz. Maximus will win over Theodosius, no doubt about that. After that, I have to make sure that everything that the time-wanderers introduced into our lives does not carry the smell of heresy. I have to make sure that the church officially approves and sanctions what we take from the future into our present. It would be for the good for the peace in the Empire and of course …” He gestured indefinitely.

  The German understood. If the Church succeeded in gaining the authority to interpret the right and wrong use of technology from the future, it could not only unite the apparent and propagated contradictions – even if only through complex and wordy justifications devised to hide everyone’s eagerness to harness the knowledge for one’s own good – but would also strengthen the Church’s general position of power. The nobleman suppressed a smile. He needed the help of the Bishop, but he had no intention of becoming his vicarious agent. In fact, he would much prefer rationality to be superior, especially in regard to issues of power. After all, von Klasewitz’s plans were quite ambitious.

  “In the future, noble Bishop,” Klasewitz said, “not so many years from here, in an epoch which the scholars of my time call the Middle Ages, the Church could resort to its own armed forces, knights, who were commanded by the leaders of the Church regardless of the will of many kings and emperors, in order to enforce the policies of the Holy See.”

  Ambrosius nodded. “The Holy See, yes. I also consider this as very important. Maximus will be in touch with the Pope, and I wholeheartedly support it.”

  The idea of the papacy had to appear consistent and natural for him, the German thought. Perhaps the process to cement the power of the Pope would now accelerate in comparison to what had happened in the past he knew. The current Bishop of Rome, a man named Siricius, already bore the title but so far didn’t have the outstanding position his successors would enjoy in the entire Church. Interestingly enough, Siricius had stayed very covered during the developments of recent months. Von Klasewitz suspected that he secretly supported and encouraged Ambrosius, yet maintained a seemingly neutral position to be prepared for the dangers of political change and not accidentally bet on the wrong horse. The nobleman made a mental note to give Siricius a closer look when it was time. Rumor had it that Maximus wanted to stay during winter with his army near Rome, as the conduct of a proper campaign against Theodosius became increasingly difficult due to weather conditions. If the Emperor remained in the vicinity, the Pope most likely would move more into the center of events. As far as von Klasewitz had heard, Siricius had so far exerted his influence mainly in matters of internal significance, developing a more binding version of liturgy and baptismal regulations.

  Ambrosius was the politician here, not the Bishop of Rome.

  “Thank you for all the help you want to give me,” von Klasewitz said. “If you have any further advice for me, I want to hear it.” He hoped that he had sufficiently signaled to Ambrosius that he would continue to be the master of his own decisions without being too rude.

  “You have settled remarkably well in our society. This strange mixture of subversives and bigots is not always easy to bear,” Ambrosius replied abruptly with a smile.

  Normally, the Bishop was ironic only if he could turn this against his opponents. The German felt like being tested. “Whoever is a subversive and who represents the lawful order is always decided according to the outcome of the dispute. The winner writes history.”

  Ambrosius made a dismissive gesture. “We’re in Rome, and chaos reigns. Here, emperors are now almost overthrown at will. Who legally came to his office and who didn’t is almost incidental. In one aspect, Rheinberg is quite right: Our stability depends on the common idea of the Empire, not so much on who ties this band. The idea, not the man, is important.”

  “And the Church,” von Klasewitz emphasized. “After all, it must be the Church that keeps everything together through faith.”

  Ambrosius nodded. “That’s the way it is. Everything is nothing without the Church. Then we would be barbarians. We wouldn’t be better and of no more significance than the Parthians or any Germanic chieftain.” He looked at von Klasewitz. “Sorry, if I should have offended you.”

  The German raised his hands defensively. “But no. My ancestors would do well to
focus more on the Empire, thinking, acting like Romans and …” He wrinkled his nose. “ …take some lessons in cleanliness and appearance.”

  Ambrosius laughed and clapped his hands.

  Von Klasewitz knew that he probably did his ancestors wrong, above all because, apart from the already largely romanized Alanians who lived within the realm, he had never met any true “wild” Germanic tribes. However, he felt no immediate need to change this. Already, it was bad enough dealing with the Romans, who considered themselves the pinnacle of civilization. For a moment, von Klasewitz wondered what the contemporary Chinese would say to the Romans and their civilization.

  “You will go a long way, time-wanderer. You are a good example that even the men who are currently following Rheinberg are not without a chance to receive forgiveness and live a peaceful and beneficial life during this time.”

  Von Klasewitz bowed his head. “Now, I …”

  “Sir!”

  The two men turned around. A centurion ran up to them. A little farther behind, two more soldiers had stopped, apparently escorting a prisoner. Nests of resistance remained in and around Ravenna, led by those who had done better under Rheinberg. Many had fled, but some had the insane belief that they could do something about the “occupiers.” Here, in this field of ruins, von Klasewitz was the supreme commander, and this dubious honor forced him to look after such wretched figures.

  The nobleman sighed and looked at Ambrosius apologetically. Then he started moving.

  The centurion hurried to his side. “He was found injured, probably lying in miserable conditions for days. A family cared for him because he promised them a reward. When he woke up and couldn’t pay, the guard was called.”

  Von Klasewitz frowned. That didn’t sound like the usual captive rebel.

  “He demanded to see you!” the legionary added.

  That didn’t sound like any prisoner at all.

  They reached the man. He was more or less dressed in rags with the scars of burn injuries visible. He wore his hair wildly, had a beard, and all in all looked very run-down. Von Klasewitz already opened his mouth to speak to him, but then he raised his right hand and cupped the man under the lowered head, examining him closely.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Let him go!” he ordered. The stunned legionaries obeyed. The prisoner groaned and held out his hand to the centurion. Von Klasewitz nodded.

  “Release the shackles!” The centurion drew a knife and cut through the leather straps.

  The prisoner rubbed his wrists, then showed a faint smile. “Thanks,” he said finally.

  Von Klasewitz looked at the torn-off figure calmly, then shook his head. “Tennberg, what happened to you?”

  Ensign Markus Tennberg smiled crookedly. “That’s a long story I’d like to tell you soon. But is there any possibility that I can wash and change clothes before that? I really stink.”

  5

  Cold.

  Really cold.

  Neumann knelt on the slightly crumbling floor, which radiated coldness. It was a deep night, and a starry sky lit up the plateau with a faint glow. A rising moon helped to illuminate the scenery. Neumann could have been lying in the tent and sleeping soundly, but the air in the mountains wasn’t good for him. He suffered from insomnia, woke up over and over again because his body assumed he wouldn’t get enough oxygen. He had to hold on in order not to hyperventilate, and after some futile attempts to find sleep, he had given up.

  No great dangers lurked here, apart from the few wild animals. They had set up a guard, but the man was dozing over his fire when Neumann crawled out of the tent. The cold awakened the doctor. He longed for the end of this excursion. Köhler and Behrens got along much better with the thin air. He would send them to go without him next time.

  His services as a physician were needed in Aksum. When he cared for the old servant of the Emperor, who had fallen in an accident, and gave some hints for correct treatment in general, the court’s doctors had watched him attentively. Word had spread quickly that there was someone present who knew everything about medicine. Neumann had been able to identify in some of the courtiers the illnesses usual for this time and suggested relief for their suffering. He talked about the blessings of hygiene to an interested audience. The midwives were most interested in hearing from the doctor things they had long suspected. Neumann almost had to tear himself away when he was asked by the Emperor to accompany a first expedition to the highlands to follow up on the coffee-agreement. The first very fundamental necessity was to find the coffee bean.

  Fortunately, Neumann had taken precautions there. The old guide, who had accompanied them on their first trip from Adulis to Aksum, knew his colleagues well and had asked around. The clues collected had been very helpful in narrowing down the search area. Nevertheless, they were already traveling for two weeks through this barren and largely uninhabited area without having found anything that resembled the coffee plant. The occasional shepherd they had met hadn’t been able to help them – or didn’t want to –, and Neumann was certainly not popular enough among the reclusive inhabitants of the highlands to go on his own.

  Anyway, Neumann was tired of it. He had agreed to stay for another two days, but then they would return to Aksum and wait until the weather on the Mediterranean was again suitable for returning to Ravenna. Neumann felt a strong desire to join Rheinberg. At that time, with the news reaching Aksum with great delays, he didn’t know what exactly had happened in the meantime, and this uncertainty gnawed at him.

  But at that moment, he was distracted.

  He knelt on the cold ground and felt the chilly temperatures through his thick woolen trousers, a gift from the Aksumite emperor Mehadeyis, crawling on his skin and wandering up his thigh. But he ignored the feeling for a moment longer.

  His nocturnal walk had taken him away from the campfire. It was bright enough to be sufficiently oriented, and Neumann was armed with his pistol. He felt reasonably safe so long as he stayed within sight of the fire.

  Then it had cracked under his boots, and he had bent over to examine.

  And now he held a crushed coffee bean in his hands.

  There could be no doubt. Form and color, as far as it was discernible in the pale starlight, matched the drawings he had seen. He looked around searchingly, saw a plant not too far from here, actually too small … but that was probably why he had overlooked it so far.

  He got up, took a few steps and leaned over the plant. He quickly identified the red fruits he picked up as coffee beans. He pocketed them, hurrying back to the fire with renewed vigor, startling the poor sentry as he almost rushed to the flames, squatted down, and looked at his find in the light of the fire. He felt confirmed, even more than that: He was absolutely sure.

  Neumann opened one of the beans, wet his fingertip, dabbed some of the crumbs, and put them on the tip of his tongue. Hardly any taste, just something bitter. Only by roasting the typical aroma was created. He had expected nothing else.

  Neumann spat, grinned, and nodded to the guardsman, who followed the strange behavior of that strange man with a drowsy interest.

  The doctor looked up to the sky. He saw the extremely pale, but clearly recognizable glimmer of the dawning dawn. “Time for breakfast!” he mumbled, getting up.

  Minutes later, Africanus, Köhler and Behrens rolled out of their blankets and considered the stoically waiting doctor with a selection of preferred German and Latin swear words, which the Aksumite companion of the expedition noted with some interest – quite willing to contribute their own variants to the discussion. After the first storm of indignation had subsided, Neumann stood in front of his friends and held out his coffee beans. Reverent silence prevailed. The anger over the unexpectedly broken off night’s sleep was gone – not least because it was now possible to use the find as an opportunity to start the journey back to Aksum. The goal of her excursion had been attained.

  After a hearty breakfast, the men swarmed out, each with an exemplary coffee-bean in hand, to g
o in search of the corresponding plants. By noon, not only had a bag of fruit been collected, but also a whole coffee plant dug out of the ground and put in a box with some soil to present it in Aksum.

  “The rest of the work,” Neumann said as he looked at the potted coffee plant with Köhler, “will be dealt with by our local friends. They will look for other plants, determine the appropriate growing conditions and find out how to sow properly and when to harvest. I think we should see quite some important advances in this regard by next year.”

  “We should collect as many of the wild beans as we can,” Köhler said. “We can start initial roasting experiments, so we’re ready as soon as the first proper shipment arrives from Aksum.”

  Neumann nodded. “A good thought. Again, I think, the Emperor will help us. It’s ultimately in his own interest.”

  As they all knew, Mehadeyis, despite his advanced age, was not only willing but also well able to define and enforce his own interests.

  They spent two more days on the plateau and kept searching. As they expanded the area considerably, their finds became more numerous. Soon they decided to finally end the expedition and return to the capital. Their work was really done.

  On the donkeys they used for transportation, the journey to Aksum would take about two weeks. Although neither Neumann nor his mount showed particular enthusiasm in the face of this prospect, both set themselves in motion bravely.

  After four uneventful days, during which they had reached one of the north-facing branch roads – a widened trail, not more – that would lead them safely into the capital, they were met by a troop of horsemen. Neumann quickly realized that they were soldiers of the imperial bodyguard. An uneasy feeling crept over him, as the three men headed straight for the time-wanderers, restrained their horses, and greeted them respectfully. The leader of the men spoke Greek, probably a major reason why he had been selected.