Eagle in the Snow

by Wallace Breem

  Flavius said grimly, “All I could lay my hands on. Many were evacuating the city when I left. I had to kill in order to take what I wanted. I have thirty waggons, loaded with biscuits, salt meat, corn and vinegar, as well as a little wine. Also arrow heads and shafts, ballistae bolts and spears. Enough food, that is, for five thousand men for two days on full rations.”

  I said, “We have Fredegar’s Franks to feed, as well as the signal post people we picked up on the way. How many did you bring?”

  “The two centuries you left me, and four hundred others.”

  “Any horses?”

  “Sixty. That was all I could muster. I had to use mules for the waggons.”

  “Artillery?”

  “Four ballistae and six carroballistae.”

  “Very well.” I nodded my dismissal.

  Flavius stood his ground. “There is just one thing, sir. I saw the Bishop before I left. He told me he had written to the Praefectus at Arelate, begging for help.”

  “So did I, but I had no reply.”

  “But I have a letter from the Magister Equitum per Gallias.”

  “Give it to me.” I read Chariobaudes’ letter carefully, while the others waited. “I would help you if I could and as I promised. But I learn that the Alemanni are across the Rhenus in strength and have captured two other cities, as well as Borbetomagus. This means that the road to Divodurum lies open before them. It must be obvious, therefore, that my first duty is to protect this city, else they would have an open pathway into the heart of Gaul. The Praefectus Praetorio has confirmed this decision. Do not think too harshly of me, therefore. I am confident that all will yet be well with you. Treverorum is a strong city to defend and these people are not good at siege warfare.” I read it through to the end and then flung it at Quintus. “So much for the help he promised us. The Praefectus can escape by boat, of course. He risks nothing; he forgets nothing, save his duty.”

  Quintus said carefully, “From Chariobaudes’ point of view he is quite correct.”

  “Of course. Only he doesn’t realise that the Alemanni have no intention of marching inland. He will keep his men there, and nothing will happen.”

  Quintus looked at the others in turn. “You will keep silent about this message. Is that understood?” They nodded. To me he said, “There is still some good advice in the letter.” He paused. He said, “If we pull the legion back to Treverorum we could hold it against them easily. If we stay here we risk being destroyed.”

  “Fetch Aquila.”

  He came, shaking the snow from his shoulders as he entered.

  “It is snowing again,” he said.

  “Aquila, can the men march another thirty miles back to the city?”

  He hesitated.

  “If we march at dawn? Can they?”

  He shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said slowly.

  Flavius said, “There is a lot of heavy snow on the road between here and the city. I had difficulty in getting through with the waggons.”

  Aquila said, “The men must have some rest, sir.”

  “It is only thirty miles,” said Quintus. He paused, as an orderly entered and lit the lamp. He leaned back and stretched himself. He said, “They won’t give us long even if we do stay here.”

  Fredegar said, “They are tired, as we are, and just as hungry. Yet behind these ditches we are safe until they attack us.” He gazed at me ironically.

  The post commander said anxiously, “I kept the ditches cleared as you ordered, sir, though it was not easy.”

  I smiled at him. “Nothing has been easy for any of us.”

  Quintus said, “They must have Treverorum. If we hold it, then they cannot have it. Without food they will die.”

  Aquila said, “I understand that, sir.” He glanced at me. He said, “They know you intended to fight here. They are full of confidence. This they will lose if they are asked to march again. As for myself—” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “They are marching faster than we. In spite of our start their cavalry has already caught up.”

  The door swung open and Marius burst in. He said, “One of my patrols has just come in. The main Vandal column has just reached that village in the valley.”

  “Are they camping?”

  “Yes, sir, but they have cavalry out in the snow, about four hundred yards from the palisade.”

  I looked at Quintus. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  “That settles it,” I said. “Put out double sentries; get those enemy patrols driven away and establish pickets of our own, five hundred yards from the camp. They must have fires ready so that they can signal at a moment’s notice. Now, let us get some sleep.

  But there was little rest for any of us. Units had to be re-organised to allow for casualties, food distributed, and time allowed for the repair of broken equipment and damaged boots. The armourers had to get fires going; spear heads had to be fitted on to new shafts, bow cords renewed and arrows flighted. The ditches, partially filled, in spite of Agilio’s efforts, with the loose snow of the night, had to be cleared; and the artillery sited on hurriedly built platforms. The waggons were emptied of their supplies and drawn up in arranged positions on the flanks, so as to make a barricade against attack by infiltration; and the palisade had to be strengthened with timber and brushwood.

  The camp was its usual square, twelve hundred yards on either side, surrounded by a timber palisade and an earthwork, built the previous year. The two corners facing the enemy, were strengthened by the addition of waggons, as well as platforms on which were mounted two carroballistae. Fifty yards in front of the gate was the signal tower, surrounded by a circle of triple ditches and a palisade. In front of this, stretching to left and right, was a four foot palisade, earthed and well dug-in, behind which the legion would fight when on the defensive. Protecting this there was the usual line of triple ditches, their bottoms spiked with sharpened branches. In addition, however, I had had dug in front of this, a wide zig-zag ditch. It was fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep, with narrow gaps at the ends nearest to our position. An enemy approaching would be forced by the closing up of this ditch, to concentrate his attack at single points where the gaps occurred. We, however, could concentrate our fire on these gaps and so destroy him as he tried to come through. In this way I hoped to reduce the effectiveness of the enemy’s vast superiority of numbers. Squadrons of cavalry and archers would protect our flanks, and I had no doubt but that we could hold our ground, so long as we had sufficient men and missiles to last out.

  All morning the men worked, while Quintus and I rode carefully over the ground upon which we would fight. Facing east, from the signal tower, the ground was level for about two hundred yards. It then sloped gently to the trees in the distance. On the right of the road the ground sloped away to a great wood of firs that guarded our flank. On the left the ground dipped for, perhaps, half a mile, and then climbed a long gentle slope to the horizon. The plain was thinly covered, here and there, by clumps of bushes. A little to the right of the Bingium road there was a small copse in which I intended to put a century to lie in ambush. The snow was packed hard underneath the surface, and there appeared to be few drifts. Quintus seemed satisfied and, at length, we returned to camp.

  At midday, while I was eating a bowl of hot porridge, we saw their horsemen in the distance. They came up to within a hundred yards of our furthest pickets. They circled the ground slowly but did not attack us. Presently they rode off, and in the afternoon the men who were not on duty washed themselves, and then sat outside their tents. The wind had dropped, the sun shone fitfully and the soldiers laughed as they rolled the dice and gambled away the pay that so many of them would never receive. They looked less tired after their long sleep; they smiled, made jokes, told each other bawdy stories, and some of them sang.

  Just before dusk one of the sentries reported men on the Confluentes road. I climbed the tower, and I could see them; a dark, straggling column, moving slowly towa
rds us. The Vandals could see them, too, and their horsemen spread out and rode towards them. Quintus hastily mounted three squadrons and led them out to intercept the Vandals. An hour later, with bloody cavalry skirmishes going on behind them, the column reached the safety of the palisade. It consisted of three hundred men, wounded, hungry, and exhausted; all that was left of the garrison at Confluentes and the crews of the signal posts along their line of march. Of the garrisons from Boudobrigo and Salisio there was no news, and I knew now that they would not come. They had been destroyed in the hills by the Burgundians, led by their king, Guntiarus, who had once been proud to call himself an ally of Rome.

  I went to the signal tower. There, I washed and shaved carefully. My beard was quite white and I was glad to see it go. I was drying myself with a towel when Quintus came in.

  He said, “What do you intend to do, Maximus? If you will take my advice it would be best to hold our position here. Let them break themselves on the palisade, as they did at Moguntiacum. On the defensive we shall lose less men; and they will starve and grow weak out in the snow.”

  I said, “We have supplies for only a few days. There will be no more help out of Treverorum now. What do we do when we are out of food and missiles? Beg for mercy?”

  He was silent.

  I said, “By rights, we should be in winter quarters; all campaigning over for the season.” I smiled bitterly. “But this is not a civilised war; it is a fight to the death.”

  “You have a legion still,” he said quietly. “Are we to throw all away on a gamble then?”

  I threw the towel on the bed. “Oh, Quintus, it has all been a gamble. What Stilicho proposed that night was only a gamble. I have known that all along.”

  “Well then?”

  “We might hold them, as you say, on the palisade. If the men were fresh I could be certain of it. But, in any case, you never win a battle by fighting on the defensive.”

  He looked at me steadily. He said, “You are going out to fight them on the plain, in pitched battle.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. I doubt very much if we can beat them. But whatever we do is a gamble. We should never survive a retreat to Treverorum now. All generals, at the very last, must be gamblers at heart. I shall stake all on a last throw.”

  He gave a long sigh. “In a way I am glad,” he said. “It is better to try, and fail, than not to try at all.”

  “Oh, I am going to try all right.”

  In the evening we walked through the camp, and I chatted to the men as I went, and inspected the defences carefully.

  “Well?” said Quintus when I had finished. “What do you think?”

  I said, “Even if they beat us, it will cost them more than they realise. We shall not have failed altogether.”

  In the darkness we stood on the platform of the signal tower and watched the lights of their fires; little sparks, winking across the snow. Later, there was a single clash of arms when one of their patrols met one of ours by mistake. Both withdrew at once and there were no casualties. I went to bed early that night, and I slept well and I dreamed no dreams.

  At dawn the legion marched out of camp, leaving only its wounded behind. The men paraded in their ranks, century by century, cohort by cohort, their backs to the palisade, while I inspected them. The light shone upon their scarlet standards, upon the polished armour of the officers and upon the white cloaks of the cavalry. Then, one of their number, who claimed to have been a priest in his time, blessed them. I sat my horse, with Quintus on my right hand and Fabianus on my left, and I spoke to them. It would be for the last time, I knew that. I had no illusions.

  “You’ll be glad to know that we have stopped running away. What generals call a strategic withdrawal, and you a long bloody march, is now over.” There was a murmur at this and some laughter. I went on: “The tribune, Flavius, has told me that in a few days we shall have help. The Army of Gaul is marching to our aid. Like you, I think they have left it a bit late, but that’s better than not coming at all. Your old general, Stilicho, has kept his promise. I knew he would not let us down.” They cheered loudly at this.

  I said, “You have held them already for fourteen days, and you can hold them for four or five days more. They, too, are tired, hungry and cold, and they have no supplies such as we have received from our gallant civilian friends at Treverorum.” They laughed.

  I paused. I said, “Now, we are going out to do battle. I am not fighting behind ditches this time. We are going to beat them, as we beat the enemy before at Pollentia. One hard fight is all I ask, and then it will be over.” I paused again.

  I said, in a loud voice, “You wanted once to elect me to the purple, and I refused. Win this battle for me, now, and I will not refuse if you do so again. I promised you gold when this campaign was over, and I shall keep my promise, if you will keep yours to me.” I turned and pointed at the Eagle, borne by the aquilifer at my back. The worn, polished bronze of that fierce head and outspread wings had been a silent witness to speeches like this before. Below, on the placard, were stamped the letters that had been carried into every corner of the empire—S.P.Q.R.

  “A good many weak-headed people think that the empire is dying,” I said. “That is what the Alemanni of Sunno, the Quadi, the Marcomanni of Hermeric, the Alans of Respendial and the Vandals of Gunderic think.” At my signal, the aquilifer held the Eagle high, so that the early morning sun glinted on the polished metal. “Prove to me now, in the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, and of the Eagle of the Twentieth, that they are wrong.”

  Normally, they cheered at the end of a speech, but now they remained silent, and I was startled and worried. I coughed to clear my throat. For a moment or two I had almost believed what I had said to them. Their silence began to frighten me.

  To my surprise, Quintus moved his horse forward, so that he was sideways on to the front rank. He drew his sword, that lovely curved sword that Stilicho had given him, and raised it in the air. “I give you a new emperor,” he cried. “I give you an emperor of Gaul—and of Britannia, too, if the fates are kind. I give you a new Emperor of the West. I give you—Maximus!”

  They cried my name then, three times, and began to pound their shields with their spears. And, as the roar of “Maximus!” filled my ears, I raised my hand in acknowledgement; and it was hard for me to see.

  The legion deployed quickly onto the frozen ground in front of the ditches. My centre was composed of a mixture of heavy and light cohorts, drawn up three deep, so as to give the maximum width to our front. There was one carroballista to each century, run slightly forward so as to have a good field of fire. Then, on each flank, there was a wing of archers, their lines slanted forward at an angle. Behind the centre, spread out two deep, were the auxiliaries under the command of Scudilio; and, mixed in with them, to make the line seem more solid, were the auxiliary horse, arranged three deep, by troops and not by squadrons. On the left wing, beyond the archers and slightly to their rear, were Fredegar’s Franks, who had strict instructions to prevent the enemy turning the flank. Beyond the right wing of archers, and flung well forward, were the seamen and signal post auxiliaries, a weak band, strengthened by a handful of legionaries, and commanded by Marius. He was to turn the enemy’s flank when the opportunity arose. Far out from the battle line, to left and right, were the regular cavalry, spread out in the shape of crescent moons. The left was under the command of Quintus, the right was led by Fabianus. In the copse that lay between Marius and Fabianus, I had concealed a small party under the leadership of Flavius. It was composed of all the men he had brought from Treverorum. They were fresh and determined, and he was a good soldier. I placed great reliance on his judgement to act at the right time. My headquarters I established behind the centre of the third row of the fighting line. Agilio and Aquila were with me, and my bodyguard were deployed behind, dismounted and awaiting my orders. Julius Optatus was in charge of the camp and of the tiny reserves I had left there to defend it. He was responsible fo
r bringing up spare horses and missiles, as required, and for the removal and care of the wounded.

  The barbarians, seeing that we intended to fight in the open, came on in six massive columns, made up of their usual wedge-shaped groups, each under its local chief. The Marcomanni were on our left, the Quadi and the Alans on our right, and the great host that made up the two Vandal tribes was in the centre. Their cavalry rode ahead of the infantry, a series of ragged lines that broke and wheeled to left and right when they saw where our horsemen were placed. A host of foot followed them at a run. Quintus, who held the left, was engaged first and found himself trying to deal with a mixture of horse and foot, both armed with bows. He broke through the enemy horse without difficulty and then charged the foot. In the thirty seconds it took him to close the two hundred yards that separated them, the enemy loosed four flights of arrows and unhorsed half his front rank. Unable to break through the enemy spears he disengaged, and withdrew his squadrons in good order. The remainder of the Marcomanni suffered fearful losses, trying to close with the archers on the wing, and a section, in desperation, tried to outflank them. Fredegar, shouting, swung his men round and fell upon them; and a grim hand to hand struggle followed.

  On the right, Fabianus had charged the enemy in the flank, but the Quadi, instead of standing their ground and waiting to be slaughtered, opened ranks, stepped aside, and flung their spears and axes at our men as they rode past. This, however, proved a mistake, for the auxiliaries under Scudilio, who had already checked the enemy horse with their arrows, charged them on foot before they had time to re-group, and swept them back towards Fabianus’s cavalry, who easily rode them down. The Quadi fell back in confusion and Scudilio slowly began to turn their flank.

  In the centre the Vandals came at a run in a dense mass. The bolts of the carroballistae ripped great gaps in their ranks, but did not stop them. The fighting ranks stepped forward and flung their javelins, one after one; nine arrow flights went home; but they still came on over the bodies of their dead; and there was a tremendous shock and clash of arms as the two lines of infantry met. Our line bent for a moment and then held. For over half an hour a fierce struggle went on, with neither side giving way, and then Quintus fell on their right flank with seven hundred horse. A minute later, Fabianus attacked the left, just as Scudilio’s men were beginning to tire; and the Vandal wings crumpled as men began to throw away their weapons and run. I signalled my bodyguard to mount, and then led them round to the right, intending to reinforce Fabianus. At this moment, the Franks under Fredegar broke under the weight of the Marcomanni, who had been strengthened by reserves pouring from their camp. The Marcomanni began to close in upon the rear of Quintus’ wing, which was now almost at a standstill in the midst of a vast, struggling mass of screaming, shouting men. The din was appalling. I shouted, my trumpeter saw my mouth move and blew the two blasts that meant “change direction.” I wheeled round and crossed the rear of our centre just as the Marcomanni, mingling with the Vandals, were beginning to fall upon it. My men heard us coming and fell back quickly as we poured through the gap in our line and charged home. It was a tight, controlled, compact charge, and the enemy broke and gave way before us. At my order, the trumpet sounded again, and the front line disengaged and fell back, reforming as it did so. The enemy, glad of a breathing space, did the same. They also had had enough for the moment.