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

The deception worked. It was an old trick, though I had never tried it before. Gunderic and Hermeric at first refused to parley, but Respendial, whose pride had been hurt by the defection of his cousin, insisted on a truce. If he could win another tribe to his side it would restore his self-esteem and his position in the eyes of the others. The meeting took place at day-break and, while Fredegar talked, his men began to slip away from their positions, keeping to the woods and not descending to the road until they were well out of sight. Difficulties arose over terms and Fredegar said—it was of course a lie—that we were camped a little way down the road, that it was necessary to re-assure me that he could hold his position, and that to make victory certain, the Vandals should pass through his lines that evening. They could then make a night attack and take us unawares. In return for this the Franks, under his leadership, were to be allowed to return to the Rhenus and hold land on both banks, between Bingium and Moguntiacum. It was now time for the morning meal, so both parties withdrew to eat in their own camps and consider the terms. All this Fredegar told me when he rejoined us.

“How long did it take them to discover they had been tricked?”

“I do not know,” he said cheerfully. “We kept a sharp watch but we never saw them following us. How goes it with you?”

“Our trick worked, too. The Burgundians have retreated north into the hills.”

“So!” he said. “And what do we do now?”

“We march,” I said. “Nothing stands between us and Treverorum except fatigue. That is the most difficult enemy of all, that we have to conquer.”

The retreat went on. We were out of the worst of the hills but, all the time, we were climbing upwards to a highland plain that exposed us to the worst of the weather. The wind had fallen, however, there was no more snow, and the sun shone and warmed our spirits. At intervals I would drop a mixed group of soldiers and Franks to make an ambush and, in every instance, my orders were the same. “Hold the position until they look like over-whelming you. Then burn the signal tower, if there is one, and retire behind the next ambush and march on the rear-guard. Keep your casualties as light as possible. Don’t try to be brave. There will be time for that later.”

We marched slowly and in self-imposed silence. There was only the everlasting rumble of the wheels of the ox carts, the monotonous clanging of the cooking pots that hung beneath them, the tired shuffling of feet, and the occasional whimper of a wounded man, tried beyond the point of human endurance. The men held their spears reversed over their shoulders, the blades wrapped in cloth to keep them dry, and the centurions strode stolidy behind their men, swearing softly if a soldier showed signs of falling out. Once, a man, parched with thirst, picked up a handful of snow and raised it to his mouth. I struck him across the back with my stick. “Lick the frozen snow, you idiot, and you may blister your tongue. Be patient. Wait until the next halt.”

The cavalry led their horses. Every hour we stopped for ten minutes, and the section commanders would pass round a flask of vinegar, so that each man might swallow a mouthful; while the mules were off-loaded and their backs examined for gall marks. At midday I went back to the waggon train and spoke to Scudilio. He had a better colour in his face now, and pleaded with me to let him march with his men. “No,” I said. “You will need all your strength at the thirtieth milestone.”

He said, “I let you down. All your plans in retreat depended upon the holding of Bingium.”

I shook my head. “We might not have been able to hold it in any event. Don’t think about it. Remember, I trusted him also. Up to the very last, I trusted him. If there is blame, then let us share it equally. It does not matter now.”

“I should march with my men,” he said. “I know what you think of the auxiliaries. I wanted, so much, to prove you wrong.”

“There is nothing now to prove.”

That afternoon, because of the icy conditions, we made only six miles, even though I took the precaution of continuing the march an hour after sundown, in order to keep our lead on the enemy. The next morning we set out a little after sunrise, as was our custom, and I had cavalry patrols range the countryside, looking for farms, huts or villages where they might pick up food; for the men were suffering acutely from being on half rations in the intense cold. They were more cheerful now, however, and began to sing those tuneless marching songs that all soldiers sing. They were all the same, usually obscene, about girls or a girl, had innumerable verses, and seemed to go on for ever. But I had not heard them sing since that last time when we had marched out of Treverorum, in what seemed to be another life. Then, we had been a legion. We were a legion still, and I was much cheered by the thought.

Two hours later, a messenger rode up from the rear-guard.