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

I turned my back on him and mounted my horse. Quintus looked at me questioningly. I said, “Get mounted. We must get on. We have wasted too much time already on a matter of little importance.”

Goar said hoarsely, “What will you do with me?”

“If you were a man I would let Scudilio have the privilege of killing you. But you are not a man—you are nothing. Put down that sword before you cut yourself with it.”

He saw Quintus mounted, watching him intently. He dropped the sword into the snow. I looked about me and then caught Quintus’ eye. We had everything that we needed. Our thoughts were the same.

I said, “You are a christian, I believe.”

He tried hard to swallow. He licked his lips and I saw his red beard quiver; but not with cold. “Yes, I am,” he muttered. “What is it to you?”

I said, “Then I will give you an end fitting for a proper christian.” I turned my head. “Centurion, crucify this man.”

The moon was rising now and we moved on in silence, our horses plodding one behind the other, their riders sitting slumped in the saddle. I closed my eyes in a stupid attempt to shut out the full horror of what I now knew. For the man I had left behind me in the darkness I felt nothing. I thought only of the final treachery, of the destruction of Bingium, and of Scudilio whom I had not trusted enough.

I said, “But we parted friends. Why, Julian? Why?”

We rode on to where the legion rested in the snow. They were used to the cold now. They did not shiver: they slept. The cohort commanders got to their feet and gathered round my horse. I told them what had happened.

“We cannot storm Bingium—or what is left of it—with the Marcomanni in our rear. If we wait till tomorrow they will have closed the road and their men will be lining the Nava. Our only chance is to outmarch then—now. We shall skirt the Bingium hills and move up-river. There is a ford some way up and a track that will bring us back on to the road to Treverorum. One of Scudilio’s men will guide us.”

I coughed. “Quintus, I want a detachment of five reliable men to ride on to Treverorum and see that all the available weapons and stores are brought out to the thirtieth milestone without delay. In addition, I want two squadrons to go with them to patrol the road in the direction of Bingium. If contact is made with the enemy they must send word back at once. I want to know what signal towers are still held for us. Those in opposition must be taken or burnt—whichever is the easier. Arrange for more cavalry to forage for food. The men are to go on half rations as from tonight.” Aquila nodded. “Someone find Fredbal, the farrier. I want a word with him. Now get moving.”

He came, in a few moments, and stood before me, his head down, his hands clutching at his sword. The marching had tired him and he looked ill and old. Perhaps I looked the same to him.

I said, “This is not your fight. You paid your debts long ago. I want you out of this. I need a man to go with the messengers to Treverorum and carry a letter I have written.” I was writing, as I spoke, clumsily upon a tablet. “Give this to the Bishop. It is instructions about the safety of the legion’s treasure chest. He will know what to do. And this”—I handed him a second tablet—“is for the Curator. He must tell the Army of Gaul to hurry, or they will be too late.”

He said, “Why trust me and not your men?” He spoke as to an equal.

I said gently, “There are thirty reasons and they are all years. You are a good hater.”

He nodded. “I would rather stay and kill a Vandal.” He spoke with a fierce regret.

“That I know. You will still have the chance, believe me.”

He stuffed the tablets inside his tunic. “I’ll go,” he muttered. “You can trust me.”

I shook my head. “It is your hatred I trust. Now go and join the others.”

He gave me the parody of a salute and shambled off into the darkness.

We marched in silence, so that there was no noise but the jingling of a horse’s bit, and the steady crunch of nailed sandals upon the hard snow. The moon was well up now, so that it was not difficult to see the way. I prayed that both the Alans inside Bingium and the Marcomanni outside it would believe that we had camped for the night, somewhere between the two of them, and would not have patrols out, keeping watch. Presently, we came under the shadow of the wedge-shaped hills, on the other side of which lay the ruined camp on which I had staked all our hopes. Here, the road ran straight towards the Nava and the fort, and here, too, the track that we must follow, curved left towards the ford of which Scudilio had spoken, before we put him with the other wounded on the waggon. At this junction the column came to a slow, unsteady halt, and a horseman cantered back to say that the advance guard had run into a night patrol of Marcomanni, that a sharp fight was going on, but that the general had the matter in hand.