“How many casualties?”
“Three dead and four wounded, sir.”
I returned to the river. The sun was up and a mass of tribesmen were moving slowly from the woods that surrounded the old villa district to the water’s edge. There must have been between five and eight thousand, all told. An excited decurion from a cavalry patrol to the south of the camp rode in to report that the mouth of the Moenus was crowded, for as far back as he could see, with a fleet of small boats. “Filled with armed men, sir.”
“Order up the nearest ships of the Rhenus fleet,” I said.
“I have done so, sir,” came the reply. He was torn between apprehension, lest he had done the wrong thing, and pride in his own initiative.
“Good,” I said. “Signal them to attack, but they are to keep out of the narrows. They will be trapped if they go too far in.”
My building of the fleet justified itself that morning. The three ships moved rapidly into the mouth and, executing a series of turning movements, opened fire with their ballistae, using both fireballs and iron projectiles. Those of the enemies’ boats that tried to close and board had their crews shot to pieces by the archers, while their craft were set on fire. The action lasted a little over an hour and by the end of that time half the enemy boats had retreated to a safe point up-stream. The other half had been sunk.
“Signal them to return up river and anchor,” I said at the end. “They may try to concentrate again later.”
All that afternoon the Vandal war-bands remained close to the bank. Tents went up, fires were lit, supply waggons could be seen in the distance, while palisades for defence were erected along the river front. By the early evening the smoke from a hundred fires hung ominously, a dark blue cloud, above the shadowed plain; and, all the while, the constant thud of axes and the groans of dying trees told us that the woods were being cut back to provide camping space for the mass of people moving in slowly from the direction of the old Limes road. They had come at last: they were determined to stay.
Messages came in from Bingium, from Boudobrigo, from Salisio and from Confluentes to say that all was well and that no enemy threatened the opposite bank. A horseman, riding in from Borbetomagus, however, said that there was an Aleman host encamped opposite the fort but no fighting had taken place.
For a week nothing happened and then a boat pushed off from the other shore one morning, a man bearing a green branch standing in the bows. I met him on the shore. He was a young man with a short beard and he carried no weapons except pride.
“I am Sunno, son of the king, Rando of the Alemanni. I come as a hostage. My father would speak with you in his camp across the river.” I withdrew a few paces and said to Marcomir, who stood wrapped in a cloak, the cowl well over his face, “Does he speak the truth?”
“Yes. It is his eldest son. Let me come with you. I understand them. They are akin to my own people.”
“Thank you, but no. This is something I will do myself. There is little danger.”
“I am a warrior,” he said. “It is silly for me to hide behind this.”
“I want you alive when the time is ripe, not murdered before it. They cannot be sure of you—yet.”
He smiled. “That is true. They have not crossed my land.”
“So. They will waste time sending embassies to find out. Time—that is what I need.”
Barbatio, less plump now than when I had first met him, said anxiously, “Take care, sir. Rando will keep his word, perhaps, but the Vandals do not even trust their own shadows.”
Quintus said, “Let me come then.” There was a look of worry upon his face.
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will be very careful.”
He gripped my forearm. “This is a cold land to live in without your friendship to warm it,” he said quietly.
I nodded. “And for me also, without yours.”
I stepped into the boat and was rowed across. The level of the water was rising a little each day, and each day the current was becoming stronger. The time of the slack water was past.
We landed amidst a crowd of armed men who stared at me curiously but who made no threatening gestures. The Aleman king had his men well in hand. Past the outer lines of palisades, built well back from the river, past the tents, the cooking fires and the stacked spears, we mounted horses and set out along the old road that had led to the Limes. We rode along it for a mile, and on either side it was packed with tents, huts, horses and with men, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Presently we came to an inner camp, protected by a shallow ditch, built to stop horses straying, and a palisade. Inside was the Aleman king. He had not changed. He was as courteous as before, and as unyielding as an iron blade. With him was Gunderic, still smiling, but the smile was strained now and I wondered how many men he had lost in the fight on the river. The others, grouped round the council table, I did not know.
Rando said, “I have more friends to present to the General of the West: Godigisel, King of the Siling Vandals, Hermeric, King of the Marcomanni, Respendial, King of the Alans, and his cousin, Goar, a notable warrior.” A slight figure slipped quietly through the leather curtains of the hut and sat down without a word. Rando smiled warmly. “This is my last brother, Talien, King of the Quadi; a people of whom you will have heard.”
I said slowly, “You do me great honour.” They did indeed. Gathered here in this camp, with the exception of Guntiarus, were the war leaders of all the Teutonic tribes between the Rhenus, the Danubius and the steppes of the east. These were the people who, for three hundred years, from the days of Augustus to the days of Valentinian, had waged war, almost without cease, against the empire. There was hardly an emperor of Rome who had not been forced to fight them, not one legate along the Limes who in all that time had not reddened his legion’s swords with the blood of these people. How many they ruled, I did not know. How many warriors they could put into battle, I did not know. But in the days of our greatness, our confidence and our prosperity, eighty thousand men had been thought necessary to hold the Rhenus frontier against them. And I, Maximus, self-styled General of the West, had to do my poor best with a single legion.
I added, “I can only hope that the honour I do you will be worthy of a Valentinian and a Julian.” I hesitated and then turned to Talien and smiled. “For your sake I should add the name of Marcus Aurelius.” He stared at me impassively, without movement of any kind, but I thought his nostrils flared slightly at the thrust.
Rando stroked his beard. “I have no doubt but that you will do that.”
I looked at them in turn. Godigisel, King of the Siling Vandals, was short, compact and with a face like beaten iron. He was a fighter, not a man given to much thinking. Hermeric, King of the Marcomanni, was tall and lean, with the face of a hawk; and, as was customary with his people, wore his hair combed back over the side of his face and knotted. He would be as gentle as a hawk, too, if you fell into his hands. Respendial, King of the Alans, was dark, square faced and with bushy eyebrows. He had a deep, harsh voice and reminded me strongly of a bear who might stand on its legs and clap paws one minute or crush you to death the next. His cousin, Goar, was a younger man. He had good teeth still, said little, and reminded me strongly of a man I had once known in another life. Talien, King of the Quadi, was slim and lightly built. He would have made a good charioteer. He had a humorous face, or would have had if he had allowed it to relax. As it was he watched me carefully the whole time like a cat. He was, I judged, the most intelligent of them all, except Rando, and, potentially, the most dangerous.
“Well,” I said. “What may I do for you that I have not done already?”
Gunderic said, insolent as ever, “We ask you once again for leave to pass in peace across the Rhenus.”
Godigisel said flatly, “We need new lands and are willing to serve in yours.”
“As the subjects of my emperor or as the conquerors of his generals?”
“The one will ensure that you live; the other onl
y that you die.”
“Are you all landless then?” I asked. “People without homes? Vagabonds and tramps who must steal from others in order to replace what they could not hold for themselves?”
Hermeric said, “Some of us have seen the Huns, smelt their stinking breath, felt the weight of their swords. They are barbarians in everything that they do. They are not christians like us. We are a better people; they are stronger; and all the time they press upon our borders, kill our young men, enslave our women and nibble our lands. This we have endured for years till we can endure it no longer.”
“We are farmers,” said Goar suddenly. “A farmer needs peace and patience and time in order to make a success of his land. None of this do the Huns give us.”
I did not look at him and he did not look at me and we both knew the reason why.
I said, “You are willing to unite against my emperor, it seems. It would be better to unite against these Huns.”
Respendial said, “No-one wastes time building a bridge if he can wade through the stream.”
I smiled, I who felt so little like smiling. “I will give you nothing but promises. I promise you this, that for everything you try to take without payment, you will pay twice over.”
Rando said, “For the last time, I ask that you let my brothers cross in peace. You need people to populate your lands. Gaul and Hispania are great countries. There is plenty of room for all to share their riches. Besides, you need farmers; that I know. I know, too, that you need soldiers. Already, many of our people serve in your armies, yet still you need more and more. We are all good warriors. It would be a fair bargain; and a wise one.”
“No.”
He said, “If you refuse, then this province of Gaul will learn how to weep and its suffering will be your sin.”
“I am not a christian,” I said. “Only a soldier. Which one of you planned that night attack on my camp? The Picts or the Scotti could have done better. Perhaps it was your fledgling sons to whom you entrust command of your warriors? And which of you was so foolish as to imagine he could assemble a fleet of boats in a river mouth in broad daylight, and that I would be so blind as not to see them? Perhaps you are just children, playing at warriors, or perhaps one of you is a traitor who has reasons of his own for not wishing the others to cross. Do not talk of soldiers in my presence.”
“Enough,” cried Godigisel. He clapped his hand to his sword.
“I am unarmed,” I said. “Even you could kill me now. Which one of you has lost the most men? Which one of you wishes to weaken the others?”
Rando said intently, “If what you say is true it is still our business and not yours. We can fight, I promise you.”
“Fight then,” I said. “Because I will not let you cross that river.”
“But you would have a place still, a place of honour if you agreed to our terms.”
“I remember. A third of the soil of Gaul. I will give you only enough so that you may be buried with decency.”
Gunderic laughed. “Brave words. Tell us, Roman, how far is it to Augusta Treverorum? I hear that they have fine women there.”
“Nine days in good weather if you march fast.”
“So near.”
“Of course. But they will all be days of fighting,” I added gently.
Respendial shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “We are wasting our time,” he said. “Why talk when we can crush him in a single attack?”
“I agree,” said Gunderic, in that lazy voice of his. “He can talk all he wants—later—when he wriggles on the end of our spears.”
Hermeric rubbed his long fingers. “Yes, why do we wait? Gaul is no longer a lion to be feared, but a cow waiting to be milked. She is ours if we but stretch out our hand.”
Talien said suddenly, “Why do you not trust us?” He had a deep, resonant voice for so small a man. There was a sudden silence and everyone turned to look at him, and then at me, waiting for my answer.
I said, “You promise to serve my emperor and defend his lands who cannot defend your own, it seems, against the Huns. If you cannot perform the one, why should I suppose that you can perform the other? Why should I suppose you willing to try? You do not live according to our ways and do not wish to do so. We do not live according to yours, and we, too, have no wish to change. Is that a fair answer?”
He said, “Yes, it is fair enough, from your point of view.”
I said, “You are all confident in your strength; do not underrate mine.”
Rando frowned. “We have in our camp a man of the Marcomanni who has served in your emperor’s bodyguard. He has returned and told us that when Stilicho, the Vandal, faced Alaric it was with the soldiers of the Germania garrison under his command. You have no army. It is a lie to deceive us.”
“If it is, then it is one you can easily disprove. Ask your son when he returns. Perhaps he can give you confidence in the matter.”
They looked at me and I looked back with all the confidence and the insolence that I could muster. I said, “I am curious to see how long this vast host can camp by this river and not starve. Soon your camp will be a mud floor and you, having stripped the country bare in your search for food, will be hungry. Your men will become bored, quarrelsome and difficult to handle. You will have sickness and disease to contend with; and the Burgundians will give you no help. For how long will the Alemanni be content with a king who has brought the locusts to his land? Time can only weaken you; and when the time is ripe I may cross the river and do battle. There, I have told you my plans. I can afford to wait; you cannot.”
There was a murmur as though they growled in their throats.
Rando got to his feet. “Come, I will escort you back to the river and there meet my son. There is nothing more to say.”
The others sat there at the table, sullen and angry. I smiled, saluted them with a flourish and turned away.
We rode in silence back the way we had come. During the ride we passed a group of young men, all naked, who were doing acrobatics between swords and upturned spears planted in the ground. A group of older men stood by and watched. The trick was, I supposed, to avoid making a mistake and cutting oneself dangerously. Rando saw me watching. He said, “It is good training for the young. It teaches agility and lack of fear. I, too, could do that once.”
I said, “Let them be happy while they can.”
When the river was close by he checked his horse and looked at me impassively for a moment. “If you change your mind, then send me a message and I will see that you and your men remain unharmed. Meanwhile, there is a man who would speak with you. He was once of your kind. He is under my protection and no harm will come to him. You may say what you wish.”
I dismounted and walked between the tents, the rude shelters and the huts, till I reached a tree at which he had pointed. Standing beneath it was a man of my own age, wearing the dress of the Alemanni people. He was wrapped in a cloak, and a cowl hid his face. Beside him stood a young woman with two small children clutching at her knees, and on his right side was a young man. The children stared curiously at my armour and whispered to their mother, who watched me with a closed face. The young man had his hand on his dagger and I could see him hating me as I walked towards him, while the tribesmen about me laughed and joked amongst themselves. The smoke from the cooking fires drifted into the air and a group of horses, picketed in a line, cropped the grass and flicked their tails at the flies. The man in the cloak put his hands up to his head and pushed back the cowl. We looked at each other with curiosity and interest. We had not met now for over fifteen years and time alone should have stilled all emotions. But I felt the blood in my cheeks, the thumping of my heart; and I knew that my hands trembled.
“I told you that we should meet again,” he said. A smile flickered behind his eyes.
I said, “I would not have known you but for the lack of hair.” I stared at him, trying to see in this creased face the man I had once known. The voice, the movements and the hands were the same,
but the face—the face had changed so much.
“You, too, have altered. You look—” He hesitated. Then he said in a low voice, “You look battered but more distinguished. And you have been a success. I salute you, General of the West.” His voice was gentle and mocking, but it was not unkind. I wondered how much he knew but I did not dare to ask.
“And you?” I said.
He spread out his hands in the old gesture. “When we last met I was—I was not happy. I told you I was going to the Saxon people and it was true. I did go. But they were not my friends. They are barbarians; cruel, savage, treacherous and lustful. I did not like them, but I had too much pride to say so. Eventually we tired of each other’s company. So, I came south and made my home with the Alemanni. Yes, home. I who have no home.”
“You are content now?”
“Oh yes, in my quaint foreign fashion. I was friends with the old king and I married his daughter. Rando is my brother. These are my children and my grandchildren. My wife died.”
“I am sorry.”
“I believe you are.”
I said, “What do you want with me now? I have told Rando I will not allow the river to be crossed.”
He smiled. “Still the same old Maximus. Fierce, hard, ungenerous and incorruptible. When I heard tell of the name of the general who barred the river I knew it was you, and I told my brother it would be useless to talk. He did not believe me. He does now.”
“And does he expect you to make me change my mind?”
He frowned. “He hopes that I may, for when I heard your name I became angry at things best forgotten, and in my drunken rage I told him something that I, when I was sober, would not have told a living man. He thought I should tell you.” He paused. He said dully, “Rando is a good war lord. He knows that if you can defeat the enemy leader, you can defeat his men. Both he and Talien, who heard this thing also, urged me to see you. So, for the sake of the people who adopted me, I—I promised.”
“What is it that you will tell me that will make me change my mind?”
He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, palm upwards. “This,” he said bleakly. On the palm of his hand lay a single gold ear-drop.
Eagle in the Snow Page 16
