Eagle in the Snow: A Novel of General Maximus and Rome's Last Stand

“He is a liar,” said the Frank bitterly.

I said coldly, “I cannot busy myself with your feuds. They are not my concern.”

“What is then? Ask him why he crossed the river when he told you that he would not be able to do so.”

Goar said angrily, “I crossed to let the general know what I had done. My men are still on the other bank. But we have fought together and I owed him much. So I came to see him and to wish him well.”

“He is a liar,” said a voice out of the darkness.

We all turned. Straining my eyes, I could see a shadow against a tree and then the shadow became a man, dark against the white snow. He walked slowly towards us, like an old man, hunched and feeble, until we could see his face. It was Scudilio, the auxiliary commandant at Bingium. He was wearing his uniform, and his helmet was on his head. He held his right shoulder in his left hand and I could see blood upon the hand. His face was a ghastly colour and I could hear his breath rasp in and out, as it does when a man is in great pain. No-one moved or spoke. He came forward until he was almost face to face with Goar. The Alan did not move. “Traitor,” he spat.

Scudilio stood there, swaying on his feet. He said in a whisper, “If I am, then tell me whose arrow is in my back.”

He turned and fell sideways to the ground. The shaft of a great arrow protruded from his shoulder blade, and it quivered slightly as the wounded man fought for breath.

Quintus stepped forward, knelt down and touched the arrow. Then he looked up at me and said softly, “This is an arrow such as the Alans make. Look at the feathers, and this coloured cock feather here that they use as a guide for notching.”

Goar said, “When they betrayed Bingium they must have left the camp and met some of my men.”

Scudilio groaned. I bent down beside him. He said in a whisper, “We were surrounded by Burgundians. Then they withdrew. Later, some recrossed the ice. Then the Alans came. They shouted to us that the Marcomanni were crossing the river higher up and that they would reinforce us in return for food and weapons. I was a fool. I let them in. But Goar was with them and I knew you trusted him. Inside the camp they attacked us. There were too many of them. We fought back. We tried to escape. I fired the camp. Some of us broke out. Then we blundered into the Marcomanni. I gave my men a meeting-point and told them to run and hide, and find it later, in the dark. We split up. I was wounded and lost. I made for the road. That is all I know.”

Fredegar said, “He speaks the truth, that one. The Alans had spears on which were the heads of those men you sent across the ice.” He looked at me and smiled. “You do not know your friends.”

“What Roman ever does,” I said bitterly. “How many men have you?”

The Frank said, “I brought two thousand over the river. Some are dead. Some are prisoners in your laagar down the road. The others are scattered. But they will come back.”

“How many, Scudilio?”

He gasped with pain. He whispered, “I do not know. Perhaps three hundred.”

I said sharply, “Get that wound attended to, one of you.”

I turned back to Goar who was standing alone, very straight and still, his face grey in the moonlight, the sword naked in his hand. It was very cold, but I could see the beads of sweat slipping down his face as he stood and waited.

I said, harshly, “This was planned. Who planned it?”

Quintus said, impatiently, “Does it matter now?”

I stared at Goar. “Oh, yes,” I said. “It matters. Guntiarus is not that clever. Respendial would never come to terms with those who had betrayed him, even though they were his brothers; and Gunderic has too sharp a tongue. Talien was a clever man, but he is dead.” I paused. I said, “It needed someone else, someone who knew me and who knew how I might think and plan my campaign, someone who had done this kind of thing before....”

Scudilio muttered, “I was approached and offered bribes, but I refused.”

“You should have told me.”

“I did not like to. You trusted me so little. I knew that, when you gave the orders to the tribune to burn the bridge, and not me. I was afraid.”

I said to Goar, “He got at you, didn’t he? After Marcomir was dead, he worked upon you. You were loyal to me so long as you thought I might end by being the victor, but after the battle on the east bank you were not so sure. You thought I might lose, and you were afraid for yourself. So you began to change sides, and promised to betray me when the time was right. Oh, you chose it well. It was brilliantly done; you took the boy and returned him to his father to secure your rear, and you fought a little to make everything right. You might even have stayed on my side if I had stopped them crossing the river. But how could I, when you let the Marcomanni through, and murdered my wretched men? They were only fools because they trusted you upon my orders.”