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

I kicked the squadron commander awake, and he yawned in my face, apologetically. “The signal posts between here and Bingium, sir, are in their hands. I burned the first four and we killed their men as they jumped to safety. At the fifth the enemy were guarding the road in strength, so we retired. The first three posts back up the road, however, are still loyal.”

Quintus said, “Can we hold the road here?” He looked at the high bank with the thick woods that stretched upwards to the sky-line. “It’s a strong position to defend.”

“Perhaps. I’m too tired to think. The men are dead on their feet, too. They had better camp here, off the road. Put the waggons across the pass in front of the tower. A pity we had to burn it.”

The squadron commander choked back a laugh. “We couldn’t force our own ditches, sir.”

“Yes, they were well sited. Put a guard inside the place anyway and tell off a party to repair the palisade.”

We slept for four hours and when we awoke it was to a black sky and falling snow. The nearest enemy had been three miles away when we slept, and the main force six miles further on at Bingium, where only the Alans, if they were not too drunk on the garrison’s wine, would have been in a fit state to march at dawn. Had they done so, we should have been attacked by now. Yet it was more probable, I thought, that they would remain there and leave matters in the hands of the Marcomanni. The Alans were leaderless now, and they had their own lands to look to. The Marcomanni under Hermeric were our nearest foe. So far they had proved to be clumsy and slow and stupid. Gunderic, I was sure, would never have let me get so far. The Vandal host was another matter. They needed food desperately and there was little enough in the surrounding countryside, with its pitiful handful of villages and its wasted land. They would march for Bingium where they knew there was food; but not enough. There would be quarrels between the chiefs, and fights between their men. It would all give us a little time.

“We have about three hours, possibly five, Quintus. In that time we must fell trees, build palisades and dig ditches. We have no ballistae worth speaking about.” I looked at the road. It looped and coiled, like the Mosella, between high hills whose steep slopes were covered with trees. “All they have to do to outflank us, is to climb through the woods. This road looks easy to defend, but it isn’t. And I can’t make any effective use of cavalry here.”

A bearded man, who had been drawing lines in the snow with a stick, said quietly, “Is it wise to go on fighting like a soldier?”

It was Fredegar.

I said, equally quietly, “It is the only way I know how to fight. We held them for seven days at Moguntiacum because I was a soldier.”

He said, “I understand.”

“How many of your people are with us now?”

He said calmly, “I have not been able to count them all. I am waiting, still, for more to come in. About three thousand.”

The man I had spoken to the night before came up and saluted. He said, “The commandant, Scudilio, will be all right, so the doctor says. The arrow has been removed, but without too much loss of blood. He is trying to get up, but the orderlies are holding him down on the waggon.”

“Keep him there. He can walk when he is fit and not before. Aquila, how many of his men are with us?”

“Two hundred and forty, sir.”

“Does that include the wounded?”

“It is all those who can fight.”

Fredegar said, “Let me hold the pass for you. Leave me two centuries of your men. Give me some auxiliaries also. I will hold this position for two days while you withdraw and set up further ambushes at each signal post down the road. Leave me one troop of horse, also, to act as messengers and to fight as a rear-guard. In this way we will slow them down and give time for your ballistae to arrive.”

I hesitated. He put his head on one side and smiled. “I am not a young man, but I am a good fighter.”

“Right. We will do as you suggest.”

At that moment the sentry shouted, and we saw a horseman coming down the road from Treverorum at a canter. Quintus shaded his eyes and swore softly. At first I thought the animal was riderless but, as it came nearer, I saw that its rider was lying along the beast’s neck. The horse trotted up, blowing froth, and then stood still before us with heaving flanks and lowered head. Its rider slipped sideways out of the saddle and fell to the ground before any one could catch him. He was one of the five men I had sent on to Treverorum the night before.

He was still alive but there was blood on his neck and on his left thigh. They looked like spear wounds. He was bleeding badly and his face had no colour in it. I bent down and took him in my arms.