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  Register of persons

  Dirk van den Boom

  Passage

  Copyright © 2017 by Atlantis Verlag Guido Latz,

  Bergstraße 34, 52222 Stolberg (Germany)

  Cover © Timo Kümmel

  Editor: Rob Bignell

  eBook Production: André Piotrowski

  ISBN 978-3-86402-548-8

  www.atlantis-verlag.de

  1

  Jan Rheinberg was no friend of monuments.

  This had certainly to do with the fact that since his childhood every year he had been forced by his father to endure hours in front of the stone images of German glory at different occasions. Victory monuments, statues of heroes, kings, emperors – the old cavalry officer missed no opportunity to teach his son the correct attitude toward remembrance. Rheinberg indeed remembered endless hours spent with garlands, as rain worked through his festive suit and devout calm and respectful attention was expected. He remembered how he took the details of these memorials in and memorized them out of sheer boredom. Each striking lineament, every sword raised, every laurel wreath. Each carefully set plaque. Young maidens holding flowers. Inscriptions that spoke of the heroic death of the fallen, and the victors, and the Empire, and the fatherland. During his career in the Navy, he had have to go through these ordeals again. Here, many hundreds of years earlier in the past, he had to realize that the Roman and the German Empire, despite all other differences, shared a great common interest. The passion for statues, monuments and other forms of stony commemoration bound them through time. At least this curse was one the Captain hadn’t been able to escape through his journey.

  And so he stood with arms behind his back in front of the newly unveiled statue that towered on a marble base and listened to the speeches. He kept a respectful and attentive expression, practiced in decades of similar experiences. The statue was a product of perfect craftsmanship, at no point worse or less lifelike and elaborate than those he had visited with his father. It showed the idealized representation of Captain Jonas Becker. He wore his German officer’s uniform whose idiosyncrasies were reproduced by the artist with great love of detail – for that, one of the infantrymen had stood as a model for hours. Becker looked with angular face into the distance, holding a Roman sword in his right, and behind him was the standard of the Empire with the letters SPQR. In a sense, the statue was a perfect symbol of their situation here in Rome, nevertheless Rheinberg didn’t want to like this monument. It reminded him of the fact that the cause for the erection of this larger than life memorial was Jonas Becker’s death, the death of a friend and companion, who Rheinberg missed painfully.

  He suppressed a sigh. Many eyes were on him, those of the Germans and the Romans who gathered for the dedication of the monument; a Roman, military Prefect Renna, held the short but pathetic speech. Rheinberg wasn’t listening, he knew the words. The Roman officer had submitted them to him for comment because he wanted to be sure that the right words were said also for the German ears. Rheinberg had been relieved to see that Renna remained brief, which was the right thing in any case. Becker hadn’t been too talkative either.

  Rheinberg kept his attitude until Renna had ended. Thus, the official part was over. Of all those present were now expected to indulge for a few moments in the sight of the artwork, make appreciative comments, especially in the presence of the artist, who stood with beaming eyes beside his work, and then to withdraw to a nearby marquee in order to share the displayed delicacies.

  In one other thing the Romans differed little from the Germans – the buffet. Rheinberg didn’t escape the hungry glances, especially from the enlisted personnel who also were represented with a delegation. He didn’t reproach them. Once the gathering dissolved, he was just as relieved as those men who made off with subtle restraint, but determination, toward the tent with the food.

  Rheinberg had to exchange pleasantries. The first one was Renna, whose arm he took according to Roman tradition.

  “A worthy, a moving speech,” he said loudly and fervently. In addition to the military prefect, the bishop of Ravenna, two other priests, and General Arbogast were present, emissaries from the imperial court. The praise was intended more for them than for Renna’s ears, and the Prefect was well aware of this fact.

  “Thank you, my friend,” the gaunt Roman said. “He was a great man and deserves every honor.” Rheinberg only smiled and spared a reply. In Thessaloniki, a large tomb was built with superb facilities for the fallen Captain, funded at public expense and with donations of grateful notables of city rescued from the Goths. Rheinberg had decided not to transfer the body here, the “German village”, the newly created and continuously growing district of Ravenna. They needed symbolic places like that tomb, so sad the occasion might be, to promote the integration of the time travelers into the society of Rome of late antiquity. This required the goodwill of Emperor Gratian, which they had earned before Thessaloniki – but that was only one requirement and in no case sufficient. If the citizens of the Greek metropolis recognized the large memorial as theirs and showed some pride in it, they would also learn to accept the strangers with their supernatural technology, and, with luck, word would get around to other parts of the Empire. Word like the fact that here, in the village of the Germans – a de facto independent, small town right on the coast – each inventive, technically gifted and eloquent Roman citizen could make his fortune if he was willing to learn and ready to throw certain prejudices overboard. And another project to prove the usefulness of the newcomers was nearing completion. Rheinberg was eager to get acquainted with the latest developments in this regard, but until then to complete the dance of necessary courtesies.

  He stayed especially long with the bishop of Ravenna, an old, half-blind and half-deaf man. It was Rheinberg’s belief that he was an utterly spineless tool of Ambrosius, still one of the greatest critics and opponents of the Germans. The scanty information he received from the court of the Emperor, who currently stayed in Trier, clearly said so. However, it was considered to make Ravenna the capital, as Rheinberg has recently been appointed Magister Militium, Commander-in-Chief of the Roman forces. Rheinberg was, for some time at least, indispensable here, although he knew quite well that an immobile commander of the Roman forces ultimately had to be doomed. It was von Geeren, promoted to Captain, who currently stayed as Rheinberg’s official deputy with the Emperor and who, so his dispatches said, disliked the intrigues of the court heavily.

  The military situation was calm. Since defeating the Goths, the rule of young Gratian seemed strengthened. But ultimately they had fought only a respite before Thessaloniki. The real reason for the onset of mass migration – the onrush of the Huns – was still present, and the internal structure of the Empire, especially because of the reforms Rheinberg had initiated, was fragile and impermanent. It was boiling in many corners of the Empire and for very different reasons. And the cooks, who mixed this soup, belonged to Holy Ambrosius, not yet a saint, but a very clever and inventive church-politician who made no secret of his rejection of Rheinberg and the time travelers. The official cause was the suspicion that the Germans use demonic magic powers to perform their miracles, but actually the yo
ung captain was pretty sure that the real problem lied in the creed of religious tolerance he used to preach – tolerance between the various sects of the Christian church, the Arians and Trinitarians, and tolerance with respect to the traditional religions of Rome, which were already in a natural decline and ultimately didn’t hope for more than to die in dignity. Senator Symmachus, one of the most vocal advocates of the old Roman beliefs, was one of the supporters of the Germans in the Senate and was therefore an ally. He was one of the few Rheinberg was ready to rely on. Renna also, yes. But then?

  Rheinberg was not even sure if he could trust his own crew. The failed mutiny of the former first officer von Klasewitz had left wounds, established a basic mistrust. Rheinberg had the mutineers punished, but not as severly as the law – German and Roman law alike – actually allowed. Instead of condemning them all to death, he had established a kind of “punishment battalion”. With the explicit possibility of parole and return to normal service when the delinquent behaved decently and showed active remorse through zeal and discipline. He couldn’t just execute a few dozen men with their knowledge and experience that he still could use in this ultimately very strange world. He needed them, probably even more than they needed the company of their contemporaries. The example of men like Köhler and Behrens showed that one could achieve something in the Roman Empire on his own, if necessary. Formally, a state of war was in place on the Saarbrücken and purely from a legal viewpoint the crew members had no time limit for their service. But Rheinberg did not give himself to any illusions. He had to allow his men private contact with the population, which ultimately also led to the desire for a different life. He was by no means immune to this yearning. And the example of the young ensign who had disappeared with his bride was a warning.

  He had finished greetings and acknowledgments at the end and now could, with the remaining guests, go to the marquee where zealous slaves with trays and pitchers were already running around to provide all visitors with food and wine. Renna had invited and so the assembly was presented with the best delicacies of Roman cuisine. But the cook of the Saarbrücken had had his take as well and filled his own table with food. So there was something for everyone and they were all full of praise. Rheinberg accepted a wineglass and sipped politely from the liquid. He still had a lot to do and wanted no alcohol to distract him. When he looked up, he saw Chief Engineer Dahms nodding, and made a path through the crowd. When he reached Dahms, who held a small glass of brandy in his hands – with cordial greetings and good wishes of the distillery of Behrens and Köhler, who also had a very well thriving tavern in Ravenna –, they separated themselves in order to talk reasonably undisturbed. As most of the guests were already busy to fill their stomachs on the expense of others, this wasn’t a big challenge.

  “What’s up?” Rheinberg asked.

  The engineer looked extremely happy. “We’re right on schedule, Captain,” he said. “The Valentinian has been completed on time and will go to sea as planned.”

  Rheinberg was very pleased with this information. Their efforts to build a steam engine on the basis of the best available alloy – bronze – were successful. Added to this was the introduction of a new ship design, an ocean-going vessel of wood with a steam engine, not unlike trade clipper ships from the period at the beginning of the steam power. Unlike most Roman ships, the Valentinian, their prototype, wouldn’t be creeping along the coasts and fleeing each coarse swell in protective harbors or bays. Equipped with four steam catapults the ship was militarily far superior to every pirate rowers or sail ships. The new pride of the Roman Mediterranean fleet, built in newly constructed dockyards, should be on her maiden voyage in a short time – with a crew that consisted for ninety percent of Roman sailors. They were still not entirely clear about the destination, but yesterday he had a long conversation regarding this topic with the enterprising NCOs Behrens and Köhler, both presenting him with fairly precise ideas. It had only sounded insane at the beginning, but as Rheinberg had slept one night over it, the idea no longer seemed so absurd. He would, of course, discuss it with Joergensen, his new first officer, and the ship’s doctor, Neumann, who were among his closest confidants.

  “This is excellent. Your people have done an incredible job,” Rheinberg said.

  “They are good men,” Dahms replied proudly. “The Roman shipyard workers and carpenters have absorbed our designs like they were sponges in water. They were excited about the new ideas in regard to sailing ships, but of course, even more about the steam engine. The Valentinian is, like her whole class of ships, both a sailor and as well as a machine-powered cruiser. She is large enough to serve as a fast freighter for important or perishable goods and armed to eradicate pirates. I am confident that with a squadron of these ships the Mediterranean will soon become a very safe place. The basic ship design we also will sell to the trading and shipping companies, who can then rebuild it if they can. After some time, the first will be able to construct steam engines – well, it might actually take a while. As planned, we won’t keep this technology secret. It wouldn’t be possible in the long run anyway.”

  Rheinberg nodded. Langenhagen, the new second officer, had advocated to treat the steam power as a state secret and equip only the Roman Navy. There had been an intense discussion. Dahms had remained neutral – his interest was the technical challenge, not politics. Ultimately, however, his arguments had made the difference: Even if you distributed the technology freely, it would take at least two years until resourceful Roman craftsmen would be able to build a prototype without German consulting. Until then, the manufacturers in the “German village” should be able to produce steel in sufficient quantities. So far, however, they hadn’t been able to, and that was the reason for Rheinberg’s next question.

  “What about the puddling furnace?”

  Dahms made a sour face.

  “We have a third trial started but have not yet come to the temperatures necessary for steel production. This is of course only a matter of time. But even then, our experimental furnace won’t able to produce significant amounts. We need many furnaces and a lot more resources.”

  “Gratian has assured us of his full support.”

  Dahms still looked as if he had bitten into a lemon.

  “That’s all well and good, but what does it mean if you look at the current economic situation? Intra-Roman trade is down, there is a full-blown crisis. Your reform proposals, as well intended as they are, will only bear fruit in the midterm, but we really need anything right now to make real progress. Iron ore, oil, rubber … I’ve got a long list.”

  “I know your list.”

  “Then I don’t need to add anything.”

  Dahms wasn’t indignant. Maybe a little bit frustrated. The navy engineer wanted to achieve too much at once, Rheinberg thought. He had to be occasionally slowed down in his enthusiasm, so that no greater frustrations arose.

  Rheinberg decided therefore to optimistically examine the issue to cheer the man up a bit. “I had a long talk with Köhler and Behrens. After the men have blessed the Roman Empire with brandy, they forge further plans.”

  “I’ve heard that both seek, among other things, a much better beer,” Dahms said with some nostalgia in his voice. The Roman cervisia, like many others of Germans, he found outright distasteful.

  “Yes, that too. But that is related to the type of brewing and can ultimately be achieved with local agents. The raw materials are available.”

  “People will always drink,” Dahms said. “So what are they cooking up?”

  “Cooking says it quite well,” explained Rheinberg. “What many of us miss most – apart from the beer – is another drink, namely …”

  “Coffee!” It came like a shot. Dahms’ eyes lit up. “My God, every morning I drink these terrible Roman teas, and every morning I long more for a strong, black coffee!”

  “You’re not the only one. And it would also make economic sense
to introduce the coffee bean sooner than in our own history: Just as the Romans have obviously been thrilled to accept brandy, coffee should be a big seller. We need our own economic base if we don’t want to be overly dependent on the Roman intrigues at court. Köhler and Behrens are among the specialists – like you – who we need to spread technical innovation.”

  “For coffee, I would unhesitatingly give all I have.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Köhler has suggested that we use the maiden voyage of the Valentinian not only to demonstrate our new technology, but equally to embark on a small expedition. It should go to Egypt, to Alexandria. There Köhler wants not only to propose the idea of a second shipyard – consider the economic benefits for the poor if we introduce river steamboats – but also to advance to the southeast. He wants to travel with Behrens to Aksum.”

  “Aksum?”

  “In our time, the Empire of Ethiopia.”

  Understanding loomed on Dahm’s face. “I once saw pictures of our embassy there. A great building.”

  “The Kaiser has always attached great importance to show considerable presence at the court of the Emperor of Ethiopia,” Rheinberg said. “But what is much more important is the Ethiopian Highlands are the place where we hope to find the wild coffee bean. If we can persuade the Aksumites to harvest them, planting them to develop the crop, and sell the yield of us, it would be beneficial for everyone involved. One just needs to spread the idea.”

  Dahms was completely thrilled; it was abundantly clear for everyone to see. He looked downright dreamy when he imagined himself to be able to enjoy real coffee again.

  “So you see, Mr. Chief Engineer, we take care of the important commodities!” Rheinberg concluded grinning.

  Dahms nodded eagerly. “The Valentinian will be ready, Captain. Hell, I’ll even immediately rush back to the shipyard and lend a hand! Coffee! We will bless the Roman Empire more than these people can imagine at this time! Proper coffee!”