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

He said, “Sir, you are their general. Gaul has no troops. It is a rich country. The men—we—we want you to take this province and—” He hesitated and glanced at Quintus.

Quintus said, quickly, “Well?”

The Chief Centurion looked at me and raised his arm in the beginning of the salute that is only made to an emperor.

I threw my stick onto the floor. “No,” I said. “I will not. I am too old. I have an emperor in Ravenna, and thirty years ago I took an oath to be faithful unto death to the Senate and the People of Rome. Proclaim an emperor now and you will have war with Honorius. How will you defend your province then with a single legion, while you have the legions of Stilicho to fight on the one hand and the barbarians across the river on the other? You will be buried by both and will never see the gold you hope I shall bring you.”

A young tribune, Marius, said angrily, “We could kill you and elect another.” His eyes flickered towards Quintus who stood as still as stone.

With a great rasping sound I drew the sword of Agricola and held it out so that the sun, through the windows behind my back, glinted on the polished steel.

“You can try,” I said.

There was a long silence. I threw the sword to the Chief Centurion, who caught it awkwardly.

“Kill me,” I said. “I am old enough.”

They looked at each other.

I said, “But for me you would have been starving still, most of you, in your miserable villages and your foodless towns. I made soldiers of you and turned you into a legion. I did not bring you here to indulge in a crazy mutiny. Is that what you want? To die, butchered on another legion’s swords. It would be easier to invite the Alemanni over the Rhenus and let them do it for you. What happened to the soldiers of Maximus? Shall I tell you? They died, too, for having just such an idea as you have now. But keep me as your general and you may be sure I shall not let one man die without necessity. I led you for five years in Italia and we were never beaten. All I ask is that you trust me. Hold this frontier till it is safe and we are sent reinforcements and I will see that you have all the gold you want. It will be gold with honour. I promise you.”

They murmured their assent. They saluted me and then they left. I was their general still.

I wiped the sweat from my face then and turned to Quintus, who stood there motionless, watching me with eyes that were full of pain. Slowly the pain vanished and he smiled, though with an effort.

“And what did you want?” I asked.

He said, “I wanted what they wanted. You are a fool, Maximus. Stilicho would have let you hold the province for him. He knows you. He would trust you with his life.”

I said, “He has. That is why I refused.”

The next day the legion marched to the city and paraded inside the Circus Maximus, watched by a huge crowd who were duly impressed by the soldiers’ smartness and efficiency. This was what I intended. The city would know now that my men were not a rabble but a body in whom they might have confidence. They needed my aid, though they might not realise it; but I also needed theirs. After the parade the legion withdrew to a new camp just outside the walls and a selected number of troops only were allowed to go into the city, though strictly on military business.

But the real work of the day was still to come. That evening I held a meeting with the city council in their chamber at the Basilica. They were not accustomed to working after sunset and the light of the oil lamps shone on their startled faces. The Curator gave what for him was a warm smile and said that he hoped I would continue the tradition of making Treverorum my personal headquarters. A good relationship had always existed between the officials of Belgica and Germania, and he hoped that it would continue. He paused then, smiled again, and said smoothly, “The Dux Belgicae pays us frequent visits, so you will not be lacking in military company, should you get tired of ours.” There was a murmur of laughter at this, but I noticed that the faces round the table were watching me anxiously.

A magistrate with a bald head said, “We can offer you, I think, amenities quite as fine as you have enjoyed in the south. There is good sport here, if you wish it, as well as good wine.”

Another said, “When you have seen your troops settled into their forts you must come to stay at my villa. I understand”—he nodded pleasantly at Quintus—“that you have an interest in horses. I breed them on a large scale. You must inspect my herds and tell me what you think of them. I should value your opinion highly.”

I said, “Your offers of hospitality are kind but I shall have little time for recreation.”

“I don’t understand,” said a voice to my right.