“Perhaps.” He leaned forward and patted his horse on the neck. “It is a good offer. You have only a single legion. Which one, I wonder?”
“The Twentieth.”
He flinched. “The gods still make jests then about our small affairs.”
“There is no man but myself who served with them in our time.”
“You love that legion, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Refuse this offer and it would be better that you had sent them to the mines as condemned criminals. They would at least be still alive.”
“I know that.”
We stared at each other. There was a curious expression on his face that I could not understand. I said, “Surely, you knew before this the number of my legion.”
“No.” His reply was emphatic.
I shivered. It was very cold.
“Why do you refuse?” he asked calmly.
“My empire has had more usurping emperors than I can count. Most were murdered; all weakened the empire they thought to strengthen. I shall not add to their number; not in this way.”
“The empire is dying, Maximus. It is weaker than when you were a boy playing on those sandy beaches of Southern Gaul.”
I bit my lip at the memory. I said, “It has recovered before. How many times has the barbarian broken through the frontier and each time men said that Rome was finished? But each time we drove them back and Rome still stands. Rome is. Nothing can alter that. It is her destiny.”
He said, “Perhaps. But perhaps not in the way you think.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. But we live in a time of great change. Few things last for ever. I should know that.”
The wind blew harder now and the surface snow whirled, like dust, about our horses’ legs.
I looked at him. I said, “You are very thin, Julian.”
“It is only the cold and the lack of food.” He spoke as a man who was used to these things.
I said, “I will offer you something now: an amnesty to you and to your family. Bring them across the river at Bingium and I will give you money to go where you will, to settle where you please. Take it for the sake of old times.”
He said, “Can you strike a rock and bring forth water? I want nothing from you. You gave me enough: the years in the arena, the stigma and the shame. For that I still bear the brand on my ankle to show I was once a slave.” He flung up his head. “Well, I accept it. It was the price I had to pay for what I had done. I understand that now.” He stared down blindly at the snow. He said in a low voice, “You took the life of my high-priest’s daughter and you cannot give it back. From you I want nothing. You cannot throw me a coin and make right what has been wrong. I shall do very well for myself without your aid.”
I said hoarsely, “I understand. I, too, cannot accept your offer. Tell Gunderic that if I were to do so, I would not be the man he wants for his emperor.”
He said, “If you had been that kind of man the offer would not have been made.”
I said, “Did you ever find what you wanted? That purpose that would not break in your hand.”
He looked at me then and I was shocked at the pain in his eyes. He said, “I want nothing except to live in peace. When my children and my grand-children smile at me, then I am warm inside. But even that must be paid for it seems.” He paused and when he spoke again I could hardly hear him. He said in a whisper, “Before we went out into the arena we used to offer our prayers at the Shrine of Vengeance which stood between the changing room and the exit tunnel. Down that tunnel you could see the white light that was the arena, and hear the voices of the sentries and the ugly roar of the crowd. But in the tunnel it was dark and peaceful. The rough stone of the walls and the cool marble of the altar were wonderful to touch when you stood there, shivering with fear and excitement. I used to pray for so many things, but I never thought my prayers would be answered.” He raised his head for a moment. “Oh, gods, why must they be answered now, after all these years, and in this way?” He sat slumped in the saddle with eyes averted and his shoulders shook.
I said, “Be happy if you can. Live in the present, Julian. It is easier than the past.” I held out my hand. “I shall not meet you again. But I shall remember the happy times, I promise you—with pleasure and not with pain.”
He turned to me and gave me the parody of a smile. He said, “Goodbye, Maximus, my friend. It is because of people like you that Rome has lasted so long. We shall win the battle but you will not be defeated.”
I waited for Fabianus to rejoin me. On the edge of the slopes the two distant horses paused for a moment and one of their riders raised his hand in salutation. I held up my own in reply. It began to snow again and the wind drove into our backs as we made for the river. It was so cold that I could not help shivering, but inside I felt warm. In a curious way I felt almost happy.
The wind increased in strength that night and doors banged and shutters rattled as the cold blew mercilessly through the camp. The channel narrowed, inch by inch, and the snow settled on the ice and piled itself into great ragged hummocks. I ordered the ships to move downstream before they were trapped, and they had difficulty in moving, so that I was forced to use tow lines, and the men heaved and strained on the bank to pull the galleys clear and get them past the safety of the south island. One galley remained, which had a damaged hull below the water-line, and the crew worked all night to make it right again. The delay was fatal, however, and though we got the ship out into midstream, having moved her thirty yards in two hours, she stuck again and the snow fell and we had to abandon her. I gave orders that the moment the weather eased, the crew were to bring off all her stores and useful supplies. They wanted to stay on board but I would not let them. They were safer on shore.
That night the cold became worse and we could hear the ice groaning on the river, as the wind whipped at the surface and the remaining loose floes smashed into each other. Some, driven by the pressure of the ice upstream, were forced out of the water to freeze themselves onto the ice in front. For three days the blizzard raged, the sky was black with clouds from north to south, and the snow fell and smothered everything where it lay. It was impossible to go out, visibility was less than a spear’s throw in the camp, and at night nothing could be seen but a whirling mass of black and white. The sentries huddled round the braziers on their towers and turned their backs to the wind. An army could have approached the camp then and the sentries would neither have seen nor heard them. Faintly, through the moaning wind you could hear, if you had good ears, the ceaseless crack and crash of the grinding ice. All night long I heard the floes shudder and roar as the wind drove them one into another, and they froze in a series of high ridged barriers, like a field that is ploughed all ways at once. Two sentries died at their posts during that time, and later, on the road outside the camp, we found a horse and rider, both still erect, who had been caught in the worst of the storm and smothered to death in a drift of snow. The rider had come from Borbetomagus, but what message he carried I never knew. On the fifth day the blizzard blew itself out and the wind shifted to the north-east again, and the sky was clear, except for a few broken clouds overhead and a dark mass away to the east that would not reach us unless the wind changed again.
The river was silent now and the absolute quiet was frightening. I walked down to what I imagined must be the bank of the Rhenus. It had disappeared altogether beneath a desolate waste land of jagged, lumpy, broken fragments of ice and snow; distorted by the current, whipped by the winds into fantastic shapes of sculptured silence. There was no water to be seen at all. To the right, the broken hull of the abandoned galley stuck out upwards at a sharp angle. I walked on over the uneven surface and could not tell whether I stood on land or on ice. Nothing creaked beneath my weight. It must have been inches thick. I shaded my eyes against the hard dazzle and could see men in the distance, tiny black figures against an aching blaze of light. I did not know whether they stood up
on the shore or upon the ice. Nothing separated us now, but a short walk that any man might take on a winter’s day. I turned and walked back to where my officers stood waiting for me, in a silent group on the high ground before the camp. It was then that my hands began to shake with fear.
“Fabianus, signal the fort commanders to move in with their men; the auxiliaries to take over. Tell the town council that the city is to be evacuated; everyone is to leave by midday tomorrow.
“Quintus, get your cavalry out to break up the snow on the road and on the main paths to the camp.
“Aquila, get those firing platforms cleared of snow. Send reliefs to the islands and issue them with five days’ rations.
“Barbatio, all houses within three hundred yards of the camp walls are to be evacuated and then destroyed. See to it now.
“One more thing, Fabianus. Tell the commander at Bingium to burn the bridge before he leaves. Get that message off at once. Scudilio is a good man but he’ll have enough to worry about without that on his mind.
“Quartermaster, issue all spare javelins and arrows. They will be no use to us in the storehouse now. Give out three days’ rations and tell the section commanders to grind their corn now.”
Trumpets blew, orders were shouted and the troops began to move about their business.
A centurion came up. “Sir, there is a man crossing the river. He’s alone. What shall we do?”
“Let me see,” I said. I went to the river wall and Quintus came with me. The tribesmen were still on the bank, a faint patch of dark against the snow, like a smear of dirt upon a toga. Coming across the broken ice was a man. As he came closer we could see that he was running gently, his sword in his right hand and a spear in his left.
“Is he mad?” said Quintus in amazement.
“A spy perhaps, sir,” said a legionary, standing by with a bow held loosely before him.
I shook my head. “My spies don’t come in like that. He’s not on an embassy either, not with those weapons out.”
The duty centurion said quietly, “Perhaps he is mad.”
He came closer and closer. We could see that he was a man of middle age, his beard was streaked with grey and his face was contorted, but whether with hate or merely with the effort of running I could not tell. There was something strange and terrible about this man’s approach. He came on steadily as though nothing would stop him. He was shouting in a loud voice, but at first we could not hear what he said.
Quintus said, “He is mad.”
“Shall I fire, sir.”
“No. Wait for my orders.”
The man wore the dress of the Siling Vandals and he was bareheaded. When he was two hundred yards away I put my hands to my mouth and shouted to him: “Stop where you are or we shall shoot. Put your weapons down and declare yourself.” He took no notice. He was crying in a loud, high voice: “Butchers… murderers… my wife… my wife… children… butchers… starved… butchers… barbarians….” Fifty yards away he stopped, his chest heaving. “Butchers,” he cried. He straightened up and hurled the spear with tremendous force. It passed between two legionaries and buried itself on the parade ground at the feet of a startled soldier carrying a sack of grain. Then he ran forward again, his sword outstretched in his hand. I nodded swiftly to the centurion, who cried, “Fast… stand… loose.” Three arrows took him in the chest as he ran hard for the gate. He stopped dead. His body went backwards six feet with the force of the arrows, twisting as it did so and then, arching slightly, lay crumpled sideways upon the snow.
The soldiers lowered their bows and we all looked at each other in silence. No one knew what to say. It was bizarre and horrible, even for us who were professional soldiers. He had been a man out of his mind, as Quintus said.
“Collect his weapons,” I said. “Leave the body where it is. The wolves will deal with that.” I turned away and walked to the ladder. It was then that I made up my mind.
Quintus, following, said tersely, “Rando’s daughter?”
“Well?”
“Don’t do it. There’s no point now.”
I did not answer him and I left him standing by number four armoury, staring after me in bewilderment.
As I went through the camp I saw the signal fires flare as the tar and pitch caught light, and a stray dog yelped suddenly as it cowered againt a wall and a troop of horse clattered by. Inside the Adjutant’s office the clerks were burning all unnecessary documents while the rolls that were to be kept were being loaded into a waggon under the direction of an auxiliary. Fatigue parties went from hut to hut with incendiaries, so that each building might be fired without difficulty when the time came; while others fixed prepared sections of palisading at strategic crossings in the camp, so that if the outer wall fell the barbarians would still have to fight their way through, building by building. Here, an archer was busy flighting his arrows; there, a legionary was fitting javelins into racks along the firing platform; and the north and south gates were being shored up with great balks of timber. They would withstand even a battering ram when the time came. I spent the morning inside my office, answering questions and giving orders, while messengers came and went with a stream of information. A little before midday Quintus lounged in, his face wet with sweat.
“The girl,” he said. “You never answered my question.”
I had a headache and I was deathly worried. I looked up at him. He too looked tired, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was always like that before the fighting—overtensed, wrought up and inclined to be irritable.
“Why the interest?” I said. “Do you want her for yourself?”
He began to look angry, flushed a dull red, started to say something, checked, turned and went out, slamming the door behind him. I grinned and went on with my work. Another messenger came in with news from Goar. Guntiarus had learned that his son was in the Alan’s hands and had promptly discontinued his supply trains to the enemy camp. “I do not trust him, however,” wrote Goar. “For the moment he is frightened. It will not last. If he moves against us I shall send him his son in small pieces. I have men on watch constantly, and will let you know the moment the enemy begins to break camp. Can you…” I read on to the end and then ate a meal of pork and beans, washed down with some wine that not even the Quartermaster would have drunk.
In the afternoon I picked up my stick and went out into the camp. I knocked on the door of her hut and a faint voice answered. I went in. She was standing by the table, her hands resting on its edge, and she was very pale. She trembled violently when she saw me; she reminded me of a sick dog. The shutters in the walls were still closed and the room smelt oddly. I threw them open. I said harshly, “The river has frozen over.”
She nodded, raised her head and looked at me with dilated eyes. “I thought so when—when I heard the trumpets.”
I glanced round the room, saw the crumpled bed, the dried vomit on the floor and the empty water jug on the soiled table. Of food there was no sign. “Do you always live in such a mess?” I said.
She locked her hands together and did not answer me. She just stared. She was too frightened to speak.
I went towards her and she backed away with a whimper. “Have you been here alone since the blizzard started?”
She nodded again. “Yes.”
“In the dark?”
“I had a light at first. Then the oil ran out. The door was locked as usual. No-one came. It was—very cold.”
I turned to the door. “Sentry. Get me the duty centurion. Now.” She had moved behind the table as though she needed it for support. I went up to her. She shrank back. “Is it time?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “Time for you to go.”
“I am ready,” she said in a voice that I could hardly hear. “I am not afraid. No—that’s a lie. I am. Will it hurt terribly? I tried not to think about it. I asked the farrier. I asked him after—we were caught. I thought it would be easier if I knew—exactly. He gave me some. These are what will be
used, aren’t they?” She opened her hands and I saw three great triangular shaped nails lying across her palm.
They were indeed what we used.
“My poor child,” I said. I held her in my arms and she began to cry. Five days in the dark, in that hut, thinking about what I had threatened, trying to summon up the courage to face the horror, the pain, the unendurable.
“I am sending you to the Bishop of Treverorum. He will look after you. If you remained here you would not be safe, not even from your own people. I have seen how men behave after a battle. Afterwards, whatever happens, you may go back if you wish.”
“Fabianus,” she whispered.
I said, “You must be brave. There are young men of your own people. Perhaps you had one. I don’t know.”
She tried to smile. “You did not ask me.”
No, I had not asked her. I remembered what Julian had once said. I never had asked people. I never had cared.
“Fabianus must stay with me. He is a soldier.”
“I love him.” She began to cry. “I tried to hate him—he is the enemy—but I can’t. I love him.”
“You must tell him so. It will help him. We—soldiers always fight better when we know that someone loves us,” I said harshly. I patted her on the shoulder. “I will send him to you.”
She raised her head. “I thought—”
“I know what you thought.” I paused. I said, “I did kill a woman once. It is something I have not been able to forget.”
“Why—?”
“You are so like the daughter I always wanted but never had.”
I found Fabianus in my office and told him what he had to do. “You may escort her as far as Bingium and that is all. We have not much time.”
“How long, sir?”
“I don’t know. It will take them as long to get ready as it takes us. To-day is the christian festival. Three days, perhaps. Goar will light a beacon the moment they move. He has prepared three fires on the escarpment slopes in the shape of a triangle. When they are lit we shall know that the time has come. Now get a move on. I have a lot to do.”
Eagle in the Snow Page 27
