Quintus said, “Don’t worry about that. The Treveri are famous horse breeders. I met one this morning and he asked if I needed animals. I told him I had eighteen hundred and he grinned and said, ‘You have brought owls to Athens.’”
The decurion asked, “When will you see the officers?”
“At the third hour. I will give my orders then.”
The city walls stood nearly twenty-five feet high and were ten feet thick. Not even our Wall—the Wall of Hadrian—had been so great. I never heard of a city in my life that had walls like this. The limestone wall, supported at intervals by guard towers (there were forty-seven of them) had been badly damaged in the great disaster of 278 and the scars still showed. Great gaps that had been torn in the original stone were now filled in with crude messes of rubble taken from damaged buildings and then hastily cemented together.
We rode round on our tour of inspection and it was obvious at once that, massive as these fortifications were, the city was too large to defend without a larger force than I could afford to leave behind. I had no intention of being trapped within its walls. On the east side was the amphitheatre, sited between the walls, and capable of holding twenty thousand people at a popular show. It was regularly cursed by the christian priests as a place of abomination but, in this respect, so I was told, their views had little effect upon the passions of the populace. In addition to the amphitheatre entrance there was yet a fifth gate to the south-east, of the same size as the others and equally impressive in appearance.
On our return to Romulus we rode through the district where the majority of the temples had once stood; temples to Jupiter, to Victory, to Epona, to Diana and to other gods, many of them local deities of whom I had never heard. Some had been pulled down and christian churches erected in their place. Others had been abandoned and were slowly being stripped of their stone for the building of dwelling houses, while the bishop and the priests looked on and approved. Quintus and I looked at each other but said nothing. What was there to say? The great statue of Victory in Rome itself, which had been for six hundred years the very spirit of my people, had now been cast out and it was forbidden by imperial edict to worship in the old way, each man according to his own desires, each man following his own path to the heart of his existence. But I—I was too old to change. I, who had prayed to her god that she might live. I was a part of the old Rome, and I should be dead myself if I proved a bad general. Meanwhile the new Rome still had a use for me.
I had made a map in sand upon the floor and the officers of my legion, my tribunes and my centurions, stood round it in a half circle while I pointed with a long stick and told them what must be done.
“It is a triangle,” I said. “At the apex is this city which will be our supply base and my official headquarters, though I shall use it very little. The garrison will consist of two cohorts and a cavalry squadron. You, Flavius, will be in command and the auxiliaries, too, will take their orders from you. You will provide guards for all gates and flank towers, as well as the dockyards and public buildings. Gallus, I want you to take over the dockyard. You will be in charge of our fleet. I will discuss the details with you later. I intend to establish a river patrol which can check infiltration by boats or rafts and which can land patrols on the east bank of the Rhenus if need be.”
“How many ships, sir?” asked Gallus.
“Six. One for each fort.”
I went on to explain what I wanted and I was conscious, all the while that they listened intently, that they were waiting for something to happen. I looked at Quintus and I knew that he knew, too. I might guess at it but Quintus was in the secret.
At the end when they had asked their questions and I had answered them, the Chief Centurion stepped forward.
“May I speak, sir?”
“Yes, Aquila. You intend to anyway.”
“The men have not been paid—”
“I explained all that. Within two months at most they will have all their arrears.”
“It has been a long march from Italia, sir, and now they are to go straight into camp fortification work without leave.”
“They had six months, drinking themselves silly outside Ravenna and Ticinium.”
“They thought they were going home, sir.”
“Have they homes?” I asked. “They left wives and families in Britannia and they left wives and families in Italia. Which particular home do they want to go to now?”
He said, “Sir, you are their general. Gaul has no troops. It is a rich country. The men—we—we want you to take this province and—” He hesitated and glanced at Quintus.
Quintus said, quickly, “Well?”
The Chief Centurion looked at me and raised his arm in the beginning of the salute that is only made to an emperor.
I threw my stick onto the floor. “No,” I said. “I will not. I am too old. I have an emperor in Ravenna, and thirty years ago I took an oath to be faithful unto death to the Senate and the People of Rome. Proclaim an emperor now and you will have war with Honorius. How will you defend your province then with a single legion, while you have the legions of Stilicho to fight on the one hand and the barbarians across the river on the other? You will be buried by both and will never see the gold you hope I shall bring you.”
A young tribune, Marius, said angrily, “We could kill you and elect another.” His eyes flickered towards Quintus who stood as still as stone.
With a great rasping sound I drew the sword of Agricola and held it out so that the sun, through the windows behind my back, glinted on the polished steel.
“You can try,” I said.
There was a long silence. I threw the sword to the Chief Centurion, who caught it awkwardly.
“Kill me,” I said. “I am old enough.”
They looked at each other.
I said, “But for me you would have been starving still, most of you, in your miserable villages and your foodless towns. I made soldiers of you and turned you into a legion. I did not bring you here to indulge in a crazy mutiny. Is that what you want? To die, butchered on another legion’s swords. It would be easier to invite the Alemanni over the Rhenus and let them do it for you. What happened to the soldiers of Maximus? Shall I tell you? They died, too, for having just such an idea as you have now. But keep me as your general and you may be sure I shall not let one man die without necessity. I led you for five years in Italia and we were never beaten. All I ask is that you trust me. Hold this frontier till it is safe and we are sent reinforcements and I will see that you have all the gold you want. It will be gold with honour. I promise you.”
They murmured their assent. They saluted me and then they left. I was their general still.
I wiped the sweat from my face then and turned to Quintus, who stood there motionless, watching me with eyes that were full of pain. Slowly the pain vanished and he smiled, though with an effort.
“And what did you want?” I asked.
He said, “I wanted what they wanted. You are a fool, Maximus. Stilicho would have let you hold the province for him. He knows you. He would trust you with his life.”
I said, “He has. That is why I refused.”
The next day the legion marched to the city and paraded inside the Circus Maximus, watched by a huge crowd who were duly impressed by the soldiers’ smartness and efficiency. This was what I intended. The city would know now that my men were not a rabble but a body in whom they might have confidence. They needed my aid, though they might not realise it; but I also needed theirs. After the parade the legion withdrew to a new camp just outside the walls and a selected number of troops only were allowed to go into the city, though strictly on military business.
But the real work of the day was still to come. That evening I held a meeting with the city council in their chamber at the Basilica. They were not accustomed to working after sunset and the light of the oil lamps shone on their startled faces. The Curator gave what for him was a warm smile and said that he hoped I would continue the tradition o
f making Treverorum my personal headquarters. A good relationship had always existed between the officials of Belgica and Germania, and he hoped that it would continue. He paused then, smiled again, and said smoothly, “The Dux Belgicae pays us frequent visits, so you will not be lacking in military company, should you get tired of ours.” There was a murmur of laughter at this, but I noticed that the faces round the table were watching me anxiously.
A magistrate with a bald head said, “We can offer you, I think, amenities quite as fine as you have enjoyed in the south. There is good sport here, if you wish it, as well as good wine.”
Another said, “When you have seen your troops settled into their forts you must come to stay at my villa. I understand”—he nodded pleasantly at Quintus—“that you have an interest in horses. I breed them on a large scale. You must inspect my herds and tell me what you think of them. I should value your opinion highly.”
I said, “Your offers of hospitality are kind but I shall have little time for recreation.”
“I don’t understand,” said a voice to my right.
“It is quite simple,” I said. “I am here only to re-fortify our defences against the Alemanni; and there is a great deal to be done.” I paused and turned to the Curator. I said, “I wrote to the Praefectus Praetorio before leaving Italia, informing him of my needs. So what I say should not be new to you.” There was a sudden stir and Artorius frowned, his eyes never leaving my face. “I need corn for my men: five hundred bushels a week.” There was an exclamation at this. “Yes,” I said. “My men eat, too, just like yourselves. They need two pounds of bread, a pound of meat, a pint of wine and a tenth of a pint of oil a day. In addition, there is the question of my cavalry. I have over eighteen hundred horses to feed and they eat, between them, roughly forty-five thousand pounds of food a day. Besides this, I shall want timber to build my fortifications, waggons and ships to transport my supplies, and men who can dig ditches and be paid for it. Finally, there is the matter of remuneration for my troops.” I went on and gave details, supplied to me by Julius Optatus, of exactly how much of each I required.
There was a long silence and then the bald magistrate said politely, “I understand that you are now also governor of Germania?”
“That is correct.”
“And your responsibility is to the frontier?”
“Yes.”
“Surely then, your administrative problems are ones that can be settled within your own province? They are nothing to do with us.”
“Quite right,” muttered a red-nosed man whom I could not identify.
I said, “You know very well that Germania is a military zone; and a province in name only. It is, I believe, a poor area.”
He shrugged. “There is trade across the river with the Alemanni. The customs revenue is in your hands.” He smiled slyly.
The tribune in charge of the granaries gave him a curious look and said hurriedly, “It is true there is trade but it is variable.”
I said, “I cannot rely on that. I am a soldier, not a merchant. Besides, the trade, such as it is, will cease when I close the frontier.” There was a sudden click and a clerk blushed and bent to pick up his stylus. It had snapped in his hands. I heard the heavy breathing around me. It was very warm, and there were beads of sweat on Artorius’ face.
One of the senators said, incredulously, “You are going to close the frontier?”
“Yes. I have information that the tribes across the river are on the move. That is what I am here to prevent. There is to be no repetition of their last invasion of Gaul.”
The Bishop leaned forward, his long face yellow in the light. “Can you be certain of this?”
“Quite certain, my lord Bishop. That is why I need the utmost co-operation.”
The Curator looked at me and then at his colleagues.
He said, nervously, “You ask what I cannot give. Besides, the Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul is responsible for the granaries, not I.”
“They can be opened,” I said.
The tribune in charge said, plaintively, “I cannot release grain without a warrant bearing the Praefectus’ signature.”
I said, patiently, “Here is a commission, signed by the Emperor, appointing me Dux Moguntiacensis. That should be sufficient.”
Artorius said icily, “General, the grain is already allocated. It will mean raising the taxes. Only the Praefectus can do that. Besides, this province has paid the state its share for this year. The burden would be unjust. We are not as wealthy as we appear.”
I said, “You are, pardon me, more wealthy than you appear. Your merchants do great business. If you are rich it is because you have taxed even the sweat from the bodies of your slaves. If you feel poor it is because the peasants have been taxed of their blood and have run away rather than work your farms and your land.”
The Bishop said, “The people are poor, as you say, but is it not better to live at peace in poverty than grow rich in war?”
I said, “You may count yourself lucky that this city was sacked by the barbarians before you came here. Most of its inhabitants had to flee—those who were not killed—and they saved nothing but their lives. I need money and help so that it may not happen again.”
The Bishop said smoothly, “Exile is no evil for him who believes the whole world to be but a single house.”
“Go then to the east bank of the Rhenus and you will soon find out what your relatives are like.”
“They are barbarians, perhaps, in that they do not enjoy the benefits that Rome confers.” The Bishop spoke as though to a congregation in one of his churches. “But still they are christians, many of them, even though, alas, their views are tainted by the Arian creed. Still, I console myself with the thought that their hearts are in the right place even if their heads are wrong.”
Pushing my hair back off my forehead in exasperation I saw the Bishop’s eyes narrow suddenly.
I said, “I doubt if it is much consolation for one christian to be killed by another.”
The Bishop raised his voice as though appealing to a multitude. “They at least are not pagans,” he cried. “They do not worship false gods.”
Artorius said anxiously, “Is the situation really so dangerous? We have had no trouble these last few years.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “This frontier has always given trouble. The great Constantine—your Constantine, Bishop—who built this palace in which we sit, fought a campaign to defend this city and Gaul against these tribes. And when I was a child these same tribes broke through again and there were thirteen years of bloodshed, pillage and rape before order was restored by Julian and Valentinian. When we had troops we had peace.”
Artorius said, “But I had no word of your coming from the Praetor. Is not that—unusual?”
I said, startled, “I know nothing of the governor but I wrote to the Praefectus Praetorio before I left Italia. I know that communications in Gaul can be slow, but they cannot be that bad.”
He said stubbornly, “I received no official letter of any kind. Surely if the matter were as urgent as you make out—”
The insolence in his voice died with the words, upon the look I gave him. I said in a loud voice, “The Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul is happy in that his government sits at Arelate. It would seem that those who sleep in the sun seldom worry about those who shiver in colder climates.”
A senator with a brown, narrow face, said sharply, “If I understand you aright, you propose to commandeer our ships. It is disgraceful.”
Artorius said hastily, “Of course, I and my department are at your service. But as for money—really!”
I hit the table with my clenched fist. “Enough of this. It is for you to arrange matters with the Praefectus—not I. Though I will do it over your head if you prefer it.” The Curator gasped at this. “Time is short and I cannot wrangle all night. If you cannot raise the money, and I do not advise that you tax your wretched peasants further, then sell the ornaments, the gold and the silver in y
our eight churches and in your fine cathedral, for a start.”
The Bishop glared at me. “That would be sacrilege. Only a pagan would suggest such a thing.”
“I am a pagan, as you term me.”
“I know.”
I said, “If I do not get what I ask I shall take over this city and rule it under martial law in the name of Honorius and Stilicho, his general.”
I picked up a silver cup that stood on the table between us. “I think it better to save lives,” I said, “than the lifeless.”
“Thief!”
I swung round on the Bishop in a rage. “I would not advise you to hold what you cannot defend.”
“It is robbery,” he spluttered.
“It is your god who approves of poverty and abhors wealth—not mine.”
I left the room with his cries of sacrilege echoing about me. I had not expected their co-operation, but their bitter, blind stubbornness and obstinacy in the face of danger made me feel sick. Their indifference and their fatalism had about it a hint of madness. I had met it in Britannia and in Italia—this blind refusal to face facts and to accept the need for change in a time of change. It was not new to me. If the empire were to die it would be because the people in it who held posts of responsibility no longer cared. They could not govern themselves and they had lost the confidence to govern others.
I found myself in the great hall that was the throne room. I called out and a servant came and lit the oil lamps. It was immense, the walls plastered and painted with faded designs which I found difficult to make out by the flicker of the yellow lamps. Galleries of wood ran round the walls, beneath windows whose outlines I could only just see in the half darkness. The floor on which my nailed sandals rasped was of marble, intricately patterned in black and white, and with glass mosaics that gave off a wonderful golden colour in the throne hall at the end.
I walked towards it, saw the raised dais and the great chair upon it that not even the Bishop had dared to take for the adornment of his faith. In this chair, in turn, they had sat, those emperors of Rome who had eaten and slept and worked in this city, and who had shouldered the burden that now lay upon my shoulders. Their ghosts came crowding in upon me out of the dark: the great Constantine who had created the new Rome; Julian, the ambitious Caesar of the West; Valentinian, the soldier-emperor who never in his life conceded a foot of Roman soil to barbarian rule; Constantius Chlorus who defeated Allectus the usurper of my island…. They had fought the barbarian all their lives and strengthened Rome’s frontiers, protecting always those who could build from the insensate fury of those who could only steal and destroy.
Eagle in the Snow Page 7
