On the far side of the camp, Marcomir and Goar led their men in a rush that took them straight through the palisade and the outer defences. Supported on each flank by Quintus’ cavalry their attack proved difficult to turn. They had strict orders to disengage and withdraw, the moment the enemy rallied and the impetus of their assault began to waver. I wanted no heroes, no fights to the death, no units cut off and making gallant last stands. I wanted only a limited success; and I achieved it. The camp was in an uproar. There was fire and smoke everywhere; horses neighing, women screaming, children crying, and men shouting in rage and terror. There was no order and discipline among the tribes. War chiefs, struggling to summon their men, were cut down while they shrieked defiance; men, groping for weapons, faced the armed legionaries one minute, only to be driven onto the spears of the cavalry behind, the next. Fireballs crashed through the roofs of tents and huts and a thick pall of acrid smoke streamed upwards, like a funeral pyre, into the clouded sky. Quintus’ cavalry broke loose, formed up as one, and swept like a curved scythe through the heart of the camp. The luck that was with us all that summer held. Rando, King of the Alemanni, trying desperately to rally his men and make contact with his brother chiefs, found himself in the line of the ala’s advance. It was Quintus who saw him—Quintus, riding at the head of his men, as though he were that young officer I had known in the old days upon the Wall. Rando snarled and threw his spear. It missed and took a man behind, who fell from his horse with a shriek. He reached for his dagger, saw that he stood alone and then, too late, turned to run. Quintus laughed, caught him with the curved sword that Stilicho had given him, and the Alemanni, with one blow, found themselves headless.
A trumpet blew the retreat and, with the cavalry covering them, Marcomir’s men retreated the way they had come, while Fabianus, surrounded as he should not have been, cut his way out and withdrew back to the boats, as steadily as though he were on parade. The Rhenus fleet kept the enemy in check, but I did not give the order to withdraw until the cohort, in its small boats, was back on the beach at Moguntiacum. Our total losses were under three hundred, and the action lasted for a little under an hour. Three days later Quintus was back in his old tent, very pleased with himself. I was a little envious for I had done nothing except stand on the deck of a ship and give orders.
“We could have stampeded the whole camp with more men,” he said irritably, for a gash on his left knee was giving him a lot of pain.
“Of course. But we hadn’t, so why worry? We did all that we set out to do. We proved that the men could fight in battle order; we did an immense amount of damage and we had the very good luck to dishearten the Alemanni. I am quite satisfied and I shall tell them so to-morrow.”
“Why to-morrow?”
“It is the day we pay them out of the pockets of the church. It is also their day for vinegar. I think we might give them a ration of wine instead. That should please them.”
“You will have trouble with the quartermaster.”
“If I do, he will have trouble with me.”
He said, “I noticed one thing. There was a lot of sickness in their camp; people on blankets in the open, who did not even try to move out of our way. We rode over them, of course. And the women and children were hollow cheeked. They are short of food.”
“The Alemanni have been sending in food. Will they continue to do so? I wonder.”
He said. “It is the end of August now. Two more months and it will be too late for them to make another attempt. They will surely starve if they try to winter there.”
“That is what I hope will happen.”
“Any news from Fabianus?”
“Not yet.”
He whistled tunelessly for a moment or two. Then he said casually, “Will you tell the daughter that her father is dead?”
I stared at him. “I had forgotten her.”
“I thought you had.”
Fabianus was now on the east bank with fifty men, engaged on liaison work with Marcomir and Goar. I hoped that, in addition to training our new allies, he would find time to take patrols out to spy for information on the movements of the enemy. I had thought to send an embassy, ostensibly to discuss terms. Ambassadors who kept their eyes and ears open often picked up a great deal of information, but now that Rando was dead the temper of the war chiefs was likely to be uncertain. They could be treacherous and cruel, and it was a risk I was not prepared to take. But we heard from him a few days later. The kings had continued to quarrel among themselves, and sections of the tribes, sullen and discontented, had decided to move back to their own lands. Each day small convoys of armed men, ox-waggons and women and children, were breaking away, moving either east or north. Nothing was being done to stop them going.
I sent for Rando’s daughter. She should have come to my office, but I was called away unexpectedly and forgot all about her. In the evening I went to my quarters and I was sitting, writing a letter, when there came a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
She came in, pushed by the sentry. She was very pale and her hands were tied behind her.
“Sit down,” I said. She sat down, and stared listlessly at the floor.
“If you give me your word that you will not try to escape or hurt yourself, I will give you more freedom to move about without a guard.” I gestured to her hands. “All this is unnecessary, you know.”
“I will never give you my word,” she said in a low voice.
I sighed. “Stand up and turn round.” She did so, and I picked up a small knife and cut the cord on her wrists. “I will have to trust my men, in that case, to see that you do not escape. Would you like some wine?”
She shook her head.
I looked at her. “I have some unhappy news for you,” I said gently.
She raised her face then.
“I am afraid that your father is dead. He was killed in the fight when we raided the camp. He was a brave man.”
“It is a lie.”
“No. It is not a lie. I have spoken to—to a man who saw him killed.”
She did not cry. She said, “My brother, then, is the king now.”
“Will he make a good king?”
“What is that to you?”
“A great deal. I would rather not have to fight him, if it can be avoided.”
“You should not have killed him,” she said colourlessly. “My brother will want revenge.”
“Could you persuade him that it is not worthwhile?”
She shook her head. “He is fond of me, but not that fond. I would never wish to persuade him.”
I said, “You think you have been ill treated. Had I left you with Marcomir you would have been married off by now to one of his chiefs—if you were lucky that is. More likely you would just have been a slave in some old man’s hut.”
“You had me flogged instead,” she said angrily. “I would kill you myself, if I could.”
“You have tried once already and failed. Don’t be so foolish again.” I leaned forward. “I have more troops on the way. Two legions from Britannia and two from Hispania, as well as soldiers from Gaul. When they arrive I shall be stronger than ever. Your people on the east bank are short of food; soon they will be starving. Many are already moving back to their old lands. When my troops arrive, I shall cross the river. And when I do so, I shall destroy all those little kings and their princes. You may write that to your brother, if you wish. It would be better that he takes his people away before they are destroyed utterly.”
She caught her lip between her teeth. “Why should I write such a letter? I don’t understand.”
I said patiently, “If you love your brother and your people, you might wish to save them from an unnecessary war. I would do so, if I were in your place.”
She smiled then, and I saw from her smile that I had failed. She said, “When Marcomir took me prisoner, he said to one of his men that I would be worth all the legions that you had not got. He would not have said that, if he had known what y
ou are telling me now.” She smiled again. “And yet I do not think that he was lying. It is you who are trying to trick me. I have seen your camp and heard your soldiers talk. I know how many men you have not got. And those you have, are forced into your service.” She laughed scornfully. “The young men of my people do not have to be branded like animals before they take a spear in their hands.” She paused. She said, “I will do nothing to betray my people—nothing.”
I said, “You are a clever girl but you are not as clever as you think.”
She looked curiously round the room. It was large and very bleak. The plastered walls were white, and bare of decoration of any kind. The floor was of rough wood; the only furniture was a low bed in one corner, the table at which I sat, two stools and a large chest in which I kept my few clothes. By the bed, there was a native rug that I had bought in Treverorum, and on the table a small oil lamp. That was all.
“This is all you have?” she asked with a puzzled frown.
“Yes.”
“But you are a general. I do not understand. Even the chief of a small band among my people has a—richer hut.”
I said, “This is how I live. It contains all I need.”
She looked at me. “You must be lonely. You have no family.”
“But I have—there are six thousand of them.”
“I did not mean that.”
“Yet it is enough.”
She pushed her hair back and said, “May I go now?”
“Of course.”
“Please let me go free.’
“Why? There is a man in this camp who was thirty years a slave of your people. He has told me what it was like. They had no pity. Why should I? Talk to him—he works with the farrier—and you will be glad then that you are at least the servant of men who are not barbarians.” I checked and looked at her. I said, slowly, “But I will send a message to your people to let them know that you are—safe.”
She said urgently, “It would be better to let me go. If you do not, then you will be sorry. There, I have warned you. I will not do so again.”
As she turned and walked from the room, I heard her say in a low voice, “And Marcomir will also be sorry for the shame that he put upon me.”
I was startled. I crossed the room and swung her round. “What is that you are saying? Is that true? Did he touch you before I brought you away?”
“Yes,” she cried. “He did. And though I hate him for it, he, at least, is a man. He is not like you. You are only a Roman.” She wrenched herself free and fled from the room. I did not understand. I went back to the table and sat down. I picked up the map of the area and studied it. Maps were easy to read.
The weather broke at last. The sun and the blue sky vanished and we had days of fine, driving rain that left the fields sodden, and which brought with them a cold wind that made us reach for our cloaks each time that we stepped out of our huts into the open. It was on one of these days that a messenger arrived from Bingium. He had ridden all night and he stood dripping water all over my office while he apologised for the delay due, so he said, to a loose horse-shoe. The letter from Fabianus explained his urgency. “Come quickly to the camp of Marcomir,” he wrote. “Only you can prevent a great disaster.”
I left Quintus in charge, took ten men as an escort under Barbatio, and reached Bingium in a little over two hours. There, a boat was waiting for me and, on the east bank, under guard of a group of Fabianus’ men, fresh horses to carry us the remainder of the way. It was still raining when I reached Marcomir’s berg; the stockade was full of armed men, and alarm and anger were the signs I recognised on all the faces that I met. Fabianus, his cloak dripping, met me outside the prince’s hut. Two dozen horses or more were standing there, fully saddled, and many of the men on guard were Alans as well as Franks.
“Well,” I said. “Tell me what is wrong that I must put right.”
He said, in a dead voice, “A party of Vandals raided the berg three nights ago. They came secretly and they went secretly.”
“If it was not a war party what did they want? To spy?”
“They cut the throats of the few guards, but that was all. They went to the women’s side and took the wife of Marcomir from her hut.”
I blinked. “Go on.”
“They had a two hour start before the affair was discovered. Marcomir was away at the time visiting a post that had been attacked the previous day.”
“That was clever of them.”
“Yes. I was in camp. I followed them with two sections and men from the prince’s war band. But we never caught them. The trail ran clear, through a litter of murdered sentries and wiped-out patrols.”
Fabianus wiped the rain from his face. He said, “She was very popular. It was a good match—a fine marriage. It is an insult to be wiped out only in blood. The whole tribe is arming now.”
I said, “He cannot be allowed to go on the war trail. That is what they want. They will destroy him, and then us. And none of it will help his wife.”
“I told him all that. He would not listen to me.”
“Will he listen to me though?”
“That is why I sent for you, sir.”
“Where is he now?”
He jerked his head sideways. “In his hall, holding a council.”
“I shall not see him there. Is he armed?”
“Not yet.”
“I will talk to him in his hut when he arms. It will be best to see him when he is alone. Now get me a dry cloak and some wine. I am very tired.”
I waited under shelter by the stables while men ran past with war-harness and gear, and more and more clans poured into the stockade from the outlying districts. It was cold and I was wet through but it was best that no-one saw me, so I put my cowl over my head and told my men to do the same.
Fabianus squelched through the mud. “Quick. He has gone. Now is the time.”
I nodded and went with him. Outside the hut, with the rain dripping off the porch a light flared suddenly and a bulky figure moved and stood before me. I dropped my hand to my sword and then saw who it was. “Fredegar.”
He nodded, his face streaked with wet. “You have come,” he grunted. “That is good.”
“Have you spoken with him?” I asked.
“Yes. I was at the council meeting. It is all decided.”
“And so?”
“Blood has been spilt. It must be re-paid.”
“I have come to stop him.”
“So. You will be lucky. He will not listen to me.”
“He is mad.”
“Of course.” He glanced at me ironically. “Men are always mad where women are concerned. They let their bellies rule their heads.”
“But you will go with him?”
“Yes. It does not matter what I think. He is my lord and my prince. Your officers would do the same for you.” He smiled with bared teeth.
“Have you no influence? You know what will happen?”
He spat sideways and shook his head so that the rain drops flew from his beard. “Of course. Yet I have ridden too many years at his side not to know that I cannot change the path his horse walks. He goes where he chooses; I follow.”
“What about her father? Does he know? Will he help?”
He shrugged. He said, “She is of us now. It is our matter. Besides, you are here; you will aid us.”
I glanced at Fabianus and saw him looking at me expectantly. I said, “I am a soldier, not a husband.”
“So.” He stepped aside. “Go in then and let each do what he must.”
I nodded and went in. I pulled back the skins covering the entrance to the inner room and stepped inside. He was standing in the centre by his great fur-lined bed, his arms held out, while two young men dressed him in the apparel fitting to a war lord of the Franks. His face was cold, remote, expressionless, like the stone face of a god upon an altar. Only the black marks round his eyes betrayed the reality of his grief.
I said, “I have heard your news. I would share yo
ur sorrow if it would help, oh my brother.”
He said, “You have come to help us. I am glad. Fabianus will have told you.”
“You are going to make war?”
“Yes. I am going to make war.”
I said, “It is best to fight when one is cool. Men who are angry make mistakes.”
“I am not in the mood for making anything but war.”
I sat down upon the bed. I said, slowly, “You made a pact to serve our emperor, whose general I am. It was agreed between us that no attack should be made without my permission. Do you mean to betray my trust in you?”
He said, “It is not your wife who is in their hands.”
I said, “That is understood.” I watched his face, saw him adjusting his sword belt with deliberate care, and realised that he was in the grip of a cold rage that nothing could penetrate.
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