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

At the end of the week Quintus arrived with the bullock waggons and the men were paid. Selected centurions were sent out on recruiting campaigns and, while we waited for the young unmarried men to come in to us, our hard core of two thousand began to learn, for the first time in their lives, what it meant to be soldiers. But stores were also a problem. We needed so much equipment and it took so long to obtain through official channels that I despaired of our ever being ready in time for Stilicho’s summons. I had to send my requirements through the Chief of Staff to the Praefectus Praetorio in Gaul who, in turn, would forward them to the appropriate factories, all of which were widely scattered. Those for woollen clothing, for ballistae, shield works and officers’ armour were at Treverorum; but—and this was typical of our administration—breastplates for the men were made in Mantua, while cavalry armour had to be requisitioned from Augustodunum. I could order arrows from Concordia, but the bows to fire them were made in Mantua; and the swords, of course, came from Remi. In addition, craftsmen had to be found or trained who could repair what we received, or make what we could not afford to buy. A special area of the camp, under the supervision of Julius Optatus, was set aside for these men to work in. It was a noisy, smoky area and the sound of iron beating upon iron went on all day long.

By the end of three months the legion had doubled its original size and the men were getting fit. At the end of a twenty mile march in the pouring rain, their clothes sodden and their feet sore, they could erect a camp complete with defences in the space of forty minutes and then fight a sixty minute action afterwards. “It is no good,” I would tell them, “learning to march fifteen miles if you are so out of breath at the end of it that you cannot kill a man first try when he is stabbing at you. He will kill you first instead, and your long walk will have been a waste of time.”

In the evenings, in camp and out of it, I gave special training to my officers and my centurions. “There are four things you must learn if you wish to be a good officer,” I would say to them. “You must learn self-discipline, initiative, patience and independence.”

“What about loyalty?” asked a centurion whose men had been grumbling at his too-frequent use of the stick.

“You cannot buy loyalty,” I said. “You can only earn it.”

There was difficulty over horses. We needed close on two thousand, and Quintus had the utmost difficulty in getting even four hundred. By the end of five months I had my full complement of men but still not enough horses. It was agreed between us that Quintus should cross to Gaul, base himself on Gesoriacum and look for the remainder of the animals there.

“It will be a big job transporting the animals I have got,” he said. “We shall need a lot of equipment.”

I looked at Julius Optatus. “Well?” I asked.

He grinned. “It will be an expensive business, sir.”

“I will give you the money. Just get on with it.”

To Quintus, I said, “A good deal of the stores we need have been sent to Gesoriacum to await our coming. I will write to the Dux Belgicae to see that he gives you every assistance.”

He laughed. “You mean you don’t want him taking our supplies. I will see that he accounts for them all.”

The cavalry left on a wet morning at the beginning of the new year and the camp seemed empty without them—empty, certainly, without Quintus.

When summer came I had a surprise visit from the young Constans, who rode in one day with some brother officers. “I came to learn when you would be ready to leave,” he said carelessly.

I was not surprised. They were growing anxious at Eburacum, wondering, perhaps, what my intentions might be now that my legion was raised and partly trained.

“You may see how ready we are,” I said. “You can watch my men to-morrow at exercise. Perhaps now you would care for refreshment and then look over the camp.”

“Of course,” he said insolently. “It is my duty, on behalf of the Dux Britanniarum, to see that the funds of Rome have not been wasted.”

I was tempted to slap him again but restrained myself with an effort. What was Constans to me?