“And now it is a weapon.”
“That is for you to decide.”
“I do not believe it.”
“If you do not believe me, it is easy for you to find out.” He paused delicately. “You are a Roman. You have your honour to think of. It is your honour, after all, for which you have lived all these years.”
I said, “I have no honour now.”
“Generals who have no honour can afford to treat with their enemies.”
I put my hands to my face and I knew then something of the despair that he had known.
He said cruelly, “I have other news. You wrote to Stilicho and asked for troops—you who already have so many. The letter is in our hands. You will have to write again before he can answer. It is a long way from the middle Rhenus to Illyricum where Alaric and the Vandal sit at meat, and play at dice with the empire for their prize. I have news out of your island too. Two men, Marcus and Gratianus, put up for emperor in turn but were killed by the soldiers. It happened this spring. A third, Constantinus, succeeded. He sits in Londinium, playing at kings. Perhaps he dreams of making a new empire in the west. Is that what you want, who could have been emperor yourself? You, who have so many men at your command.”
“How do you know all this—about—about Constantinus?”
“The Saxons are good tale-bearers and it is easier for them now to walk dry on the Saxon Shore. They could not do that in—in our time.”
I said, “Please, no.”
“Well?”
“We did each other great wrongs. I admit my part. Must we go on tormenting each other until the day we die?”
He said, “I have been dead for thirty years, I who did not kill your father.”
“You rose against Rome.”
“Twice,” he said. “This is the third time. These people need land. They need it as a fish needs water. Who are you with your false Roman pride and contempt to stand in their way?”
“I have my duty.”
“To what? To an emperor who cares only for his chickens? To a Vandal who takes bribes and thinks only of himself? To the people of Gaul who will not lift a finger to help you? To Constantinus who stole half your gold for his own aggrandizement? To your men who follow you only so long as they receive their pay each month? Or is it to the memory of your wife?”
“Be quiet.”
“No. Fullofaudes had more mercy than you. But I am not he.” I flinched and put my hand to my mouth. “You made a death mask of my dreams,” he said harshly. “Why should I spare you yours?” He paused. He said, “You have no honour.”
I looked at where he stood. I could hardly see him. I turned and walked to where my horse waited. I mounted it somehow and sat slumped in the saddle. Then I rode to the river with the Aleman king beside me. We did not speak, and he did not look at me once. I felt as though my head would burst. I knew then the black darkness of absolute despair. There was nothing now to look back on with pride, with happiness or with contentment. There was nothing to look forward to except old age, the unbearable loneliness of my thoughts, the emptiness of death. I had no honour.
I crossed the river, still in silence, and walked alone through the camp to my quarters. And everyone stepped aside as they saw my face. In the headquarters building Quintus stood waiting for me. I told him what had passed at my meeting with the five kings and with Rando. “There is a river, seven hundred and seventy five yards wide, that alone separates us from total disaster. The Vandals must number over eighty thousand people, including old men, children and slaves. That gives them roughly twenty five thousand fighting men.”
He whistled and began to fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist. “And the rest?”
“The Marcomanni are as large, if not larger. Once, long ago, they put seventy thousand into the field without difficulty.”
“In the days of Varus?”
“Yes. And then there are the Alans and the Quadi. I should say, at a rough guess, that they can put nearly a hundred thousand tribesmen in the field between them. And that still leaves the Alemanni, who have yet to make up their minds; and the Burgundians whom I do not trust.”
Quintus went to the table and poured wine into two silver goblets. “We might as well drink our own health. For no-one else will.” He gave me a mock salute. “We are all gladiators now.” He put down his cup. He said, “But will the Alemanni move?”
“Rando is a shrewd man, I do not think he wants his people to cross. He may well think his strength lies in holding what he has. Tribes on the march weaken themselves. They quarrel, they fall out; each man disputing with his neighbour the ownership of newly stolen land. Their loyalty to their kings is not absolute. If a chief loses prestige through defeat in battle, they desert him. In that lies our one hope. I have been in touch, through agents, with Goar of the Alans. If I can persuade him further, he may come over to us and bring half the tribe too. Gunderic lost many men in our attack on their boats. He and Godigisel do not like each other. They are rivals. If I can drive a wedge between them by means of letters. . . .”
“How?”
“It is an old trick to send treasonable letters to one man in the enemy camp and so arrange it that they fall into the hands of another.”
He said mildly, “It is not a very honourable way of fighting, but—” He broke off and then said quickly, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”
“No,” I said. “I am not ill; only tired.”
He said, “Get some rest. You work too hard.” He turned to leave the room.
“Quintus,” I said.
“Yes.”
I held out my hand. “Is this yours?”
He came forward and took what I held out to him.
He looked at it for a long time, turning it over and over in his hand just as I had done. It was as though he could not believe what he held against his flesh. He raised his head at last and looked at me. Then he shut his eyes and opened them again. I had never seen such a look of misery on his face before.
He said steadily, “It is mine. It was given to me.”
I stepped back as though I had been struck across the mouth. Then I moved and the blade of Agricola was at his throat, the point just touching the skin.
“Give me one reason why I should not kill you?”
He did not answer. His face was beaded with sweat; his eyes shut tight.
“You took my honour,” I said. “You, whom I trusted with my life.”
“Kill me,” he said. “It is your right.”
“You are worth more to me alive than dead.” I sheathed my sword with a trembling hand. I said bitterly, “I need my cavalry general too much to be able to afford the luxury of sending him away. Go back to your quarters and laugh, as you have laughed all these years behind my back.”
“Maximus.”
“Get out,” I said. “Leave me alone, at least. I have work to do. It fills the time between one meal and the next.”
He left the room. I watched him from the window. He walked with head bowed, his thinning hair blown by the wind. He walked heavily and I realised then how old he was. I had never thought of Quintus as being old.
XII
I RODE TO Treverorum with an escort of twenty men, taking Flavius and Julius Optatus with me; but I left Quintus in command at Moguntiacum. I think he was glad to be alone, and I—I could not bear to talk to him. It was a hurried journey in the sun. We changed horses at each posting station and never stopped longer than the time it took to drink a mouthful of wine and swallow a bowl of food. It was midday when we saw the white gates of Romulus come into view and, once there, I went straight to my quarters. Listening to the murmur of the crowds in the streets and looking at the thick walls of the fortress in which I stood, it was difficult to believe that the camp on the east bank was a reality and that the danger we had feared all winter was now so close at hand.
I sent for the Curator and, while waiting for his coming, washed my face and hands, tried to comb the dust from my hair, and drank a bowl of white win
e. Before I left Moguntiacum I had dictated letters to Honorius, to the Dux Beligicae, to Chariobaudes, and to the Praefectus Praetorio in his palace at Arelate, so far away, so warm and so safe. Now I dispatched them by the imperial post under seals of urgency. My orderly had just returned to report that they had gone off safely when Artorius arrived.
He saluted me politely, but did not smile. He was a man I could not understand. Once I had tried to. Now I no longer cared. “Sit down,” I said. “I want a talk with you.”
He inclined his head. “I am at your service.” He paused and added, “I also have things to say, general.”
“You had my letter about the inadequacy of supplies?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
He said, “You have made grave charges of incompetence, laziness, and even”—he hesitated—“of corruption.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I hope for your sake, general, they can be substantiated.”
I raised my head. I said, “It is a matter of indifference to me whether they can be or not. I am not a lawyer, concerned with abstracts like justice and fees; I am a practical man. I want these things corrected. I only want my stores.”
He said, “But I shall have to report the matter to both the governor and the Praefectus Praetorio.”
“Go ahead, just so long as you see that things are improved from now on.”
He said primly, “They are not my concern. It is all the business of the governor.”
“I made it your responsibility.”
“I am responsible to the city council and to the Praefectus, general—not to you.”
I blinked. “I know to whom you are responsible—the Emperor; but, as for what, remains something of a mystery.”
He was trembling with anger now. He said, “The economic life of the city is my concern, amongst other things. I must advise you that I have written to the Praefectus to protest against your closing the frontier, and to complain about the manner in which you have burdened this city with the responsibility of feeding and paying for your troops.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I am serious, general. There have been gross irregularities, particularly in regard to the returns made by your commissariat for supplies for troops who do not exist except on rolls.”
I stood up. I said, “Do not judge my legion by the standards of the field army of Gaul.”
“You insult the Magister Equitum. Nevertheless it is true.”
“It is a lie. Discuss it with my quartermaster and you will soon find out that you have been misinformed. Better still, come to the Rhenus and count my men for yourself.”
“This is no laughing matter, general. There is also the question of the corn tribute. I have had cases reported to me of corn being sold back to civilians at a profit out of your warehouses.” He coughed. “Your chief quartermaster, an excellent man, may not be involved, but others are.”
“Can you prove this?”
He said stiffly, “Yes, general, I can.”
“Then I am sorry. It seems we are both at fault. I will have my military police look into the matter.” I looked at him hard but he did not flinch. Suddenly I began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. What did our petty differences matter now? They say that Nero recited the Fall of Ilium while Rome burned. I do not know if it is true. Suetonius may have made it up, for he had a nose for scurrilous gossip. Yet he may have been right; he was a good judge of human folly. The frontiers of the empire crumbled: we quarrelled.
He said again, “It is nothing to laugh about.”
I walked to the window and looked out at the road to Moguntiacum down which a waggon was creaking slowly, drawn by two teams of oxen. Some children were playing in the dust and a woman was walking arm in arm with a soldier off duty.
“No,” I said. “It is no laughing matter.” I swung round. “Do you know there are six tribes camped across the river? I have talked to their chiefs. They want a third of the soil of Gaul, and if we do not give it to them they will take it by force, if need be.”
He said, “But—it’s not true—you are jesting—you must be.”
“I rode through their camp. I saw them: warriors with their wives and children, old men and women with all their possessions. They are on a migration. They want this land. A quarter of a million people are sitting on that bank, waiting for the right moment to cross.”
He swallowed hard.
I said, “I can only hold them if I have more troops and the supplies I ask for. I have written to the Praefectus Praetorio. I need authority to conscript every able man I can lay hands on.”
He said, “If this is true—”
“If!” I walked up to him and he backed away nervously. “They have tried to cross already. I have seen their weapons— good Roman swords, Artorius, sold to them through the greed of good Roman merchants and the corruption of good Roman tribunes. Shall I report that to the Emperor, do you think?”
He licked his lips. I think he thought that I was accusing him. I said, “I am not concerned with the state of the civil administration of which you are so proud to be a member. I want only the things I need, that I may do what I have to do while there is still time. Every day matters, do you understand?”
He said, “The Praefectus is not at Arelate, if you have written to him there.”
“Where is he?”
“On his way to see the Emperor at Ravenna.”
“When will he be back?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. In two months, perhaps.”
“That is too long to wait.” I took him by the shoulders and I tried to smile. I said, “You are an imperial official.”
“I have no authority in Gaul.”
“But you have here. It would do for a start. The governor of Belgica could raise men, too. The Praefectus would confirm the instructions later. That’s the answer. Don’t you see?”
His hands began to tremble and he stared at me wide-eyed. He said, “But if I exceed my authority the Praefectus may dismiss me.”
“Nonsense.”
“No, it is not.” He stopped and then said bitterly, “The civic council are already displeased with me over the other matters. One or two even want to get rid of me.”
“Ignore them.”
“I cannot.”
I said brutally, “Have some courage, man. You have come a long way. Are you not now Curator of a great city? You are more important than you think. The Emperor will not be displeased at any man who uses his initiative to protect the foremost city of Gaul.”
He hesitated.
It was then that I made my mistake. I said, “Come, it is not as bad as all that. I am not setting up a private army.”
His eyes flickered. He said, in a squeaky voice, “I have no authority.”
“Authority was made to be exceeded.”
“I cannot.”
I smiled. That, too, was a mistake. “Surely?”
“No,” he said stubbornly. “Oh, it is easy for you. You are of the equestrian order. You are a soldier—the friend of Stilicho. But I—I am not.”
“You have ambitions.”
He flushed. “Yes, does that surprise you.” He paused, glanced at me doubtfully and then said, in a low voice, “The governor of Belgica is due to retire soon. I have some hopes. I cannot help having hopes.”
“Then help me,” I said. “I spent half a lifetime as praefectus of a cohort. Yes, I too. Help me and I will use what influence I possess to help you. But, if the frontier goes neither of us will have a future. It is as simple as that.”
He bit his lip. “You don’t understand,” he mumbled. “I will inform the governor. I will write to the Praefectus Praetorio. When I hear from them I will let you know. It is all I can do.” He nodded briefly and hurried from the room, his face, shiny with sweat, wearing its usual nervous, obstinate look. His sandals clattered on the stairs and then he was gone, and I was alone in the room again.
I did not learn until much late
r—and by then it was too late—what it was that frightened him so. And yet, in his own way he was right. I had been born with all the advantages he had spent a lifetime trying to attain. I had all the things he wanted so badly; and I could not really understand his restlessness, his ambition, his lack of assurance, his envy or his insecurity. He wanted—as we all did—what he had not got. He did not realise that when you reached the crest of the hill, the wind blew colder there than on the slopes.
I sat down on a stool by the window and poured myself some more wine. I felt very tired.
The Vandals tried again. They made a night attack on the islands, hoping to secure them as a bridgehead that would make the final assault on the west bank an easy matter. I had been careful to keep the fact that I held these islands in strength a secret. The centuries on duty there were always relieved at night, the defensive positions were concealed by undergrowth and the garrisons had strict instructions not to show themselves during the daylight hours. Goar sent me a warning, as did Marcomir who maintained, from the high ground he commanded, a careful watch on the barbarian camp. Our fleet drove through their boats in the darkness and sliced them in half as you would slice an apple. The liquid fire, projected in special containers (a happy invention of Gallus) destroyed those who remained huddled on the east bank, waiting to embark, while those who reached the islands died, wetly, at the sword’s point. It was a complete disaster for them and they lost two thousand of their men in twenty minutes. These were the Marcomanni, and I was glad to think that each king, in turn, was learning to know the bitterness of failure. We lost only a few men, but our most tragic casualty was my senior tribune, whom I had put in charge of the north island to steady the inexperienced centurions who were on duty there. Lucillius was found under a tree, a small hole in his left arm-pit. He would never marry Guntiarus’ daughter now.
After that nothing happened, for the Rhenus was in full flood and we were safe for two months at least. It was then that I sent my soldiers on leave to Treverorum, moved units round from one fort to the next, to give each a change of conditions, turned the cavalry horses out to pasture and told Julius Optatus to take an inventory of all our stores. His report was not encouraging so I visited Treverorum myself, briefly, and warned the Curator that a levy would have to be imposed in the autumn on corn, sheep and oxen, and that I should need meat, salted down in vast quantities. “What about the authority?” he said, weakly. “That is your concern,” I replied. “Men who fight need food. That is an odd fact to which you must get accustomed, Artorius.”
Eagle in the Snow: The Classic Bestseller Page 17
