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

I mounted the dais and touched the arms of that golden throne hoping, perhaps, that it might transmit to me something of the power and the personality of those friendly ghosts whose faces, in my imagination, I could almost see. The vastness of the hall seemed overwhelming and I was conscious of a strange stillness and a quietness and peace such as I had never known. All these years the memory of Julian had haunted the jagged edges of my thoughts and he had stood, pale and reproachful, behind the faces of everyone to whom I spoke. The pain was always there. . . .

The flames from the oil lamps stood upright and still and the darkness lifted a little and I could see a young man with a helmet upon his head and a sword in his hand. And behind was the black shadow of a bull. The man’s face I could not see for it was in the shadows but we looked at each other for a long time and I knew then that I was in the presence of my mystery.

“In the name of the Great Bull give me strength,” I cried, and my voice crashed in echoes round the walls and the high vault of the roof until it died.

In spite of the hypocaust it was very cold now, and the oil lamps spluttered as draughts of air played about the walls. The hall no longer seemed as light and down the far end I could see two figures, standing motionless among the shadows. They moved forward and I saw then that they were the Bishop and Quintus.

The Bishop said, “Do you aspire to the throne also, like Victorinus?”

I walked down the hall and passed him in silence. To him I would not speak. Quintus turned and followed me in puzzled silence.

Out in the street, on our return to Romulus, with the torches flaring in the summer night and the reassuring tramp of my guard about me, we looked at each other.

He said, “You went into that room of ghosts to ask a question. I see from your face that something happened. What, I will not ask. But this I do ask—did you receive an answer?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was not the answer I wanted, but that in itself is of no importance.”

“What will you do?” he said.

“I shall do what Stilicho asked. Afterwards, if the spirits are kind, I shall take over the province in the name of Honorius, not for myself, but for Rome.”

“Which province” he asked.

“I will tell you that when the time comes.”

The duty centurion showed the Curator into my office, and he sat down cautiously upon a stool facing the table at which I sat.

“Will you drink with me?” I said. He nodded and I poured him a cup. He watched curiously while I poured the libation. He said, “I have never seen a man do that before.” He looked at me steadily. “You know it is against the law?”

“Yes. Of course, this is a great centre of your religion. Do I offend you? I hope not.”

“It is wrong.”

“Is it? That is a matter we might debate all night. Come, if I can tolerate your faith I am sure that you can learn to tolerate mine.”

He did not smile. He said, “Do you really mean to close the frontier?”

“I do.”

“There is a silver mine at Aquae Mattiacae opposite Moguntiacum. It used to be worked by the government. But that was before I was born. Now the Alemanni use it. They set a high value on silver and they exchange it for goods that we are willing to sell them. Many of our merchants do a considerable trade across the river in pottery and glass and clothes and—other things.” He paused and then said pleadingly, “Many people will be upset if this trade is stopped.”

“I cannot help that.”

“You will not change your mind?”

“No.”

He said enviously, “You must be a very wealthy man.”

“I am not. But what has that to do with it?”

“Forgive me, but—if you are not—then I do not understand.”. . . He trailed off awkwardly into silence.

“I am sorry, I do not follow you.”

He said hesitantly, “Few imperial posts pay well. It has always been accepted custom that—well, there are ways in which one can add to one’s salary. There are certain perquisites, of course. This matter of closing the frontier is, surely, properly a matter for disputation before an appointed commission. You, as governor, have judicial powers. Those with vested interests would appear before you to plead their case. Such a matter would—would provide suitable—opportunities—for—for a settlement of some kind.”

I remained silent.

He said, “I—I thought that, perhaps, was what you had in mind.” He looked at me hopefully.

I said, “I understand quite clearly what you are saying. I would not presume to suggest that you are dropping hints on behalf of others. That would be ungenerous.” I paused. I said, “It is kind of you to take such a close interest in my welfare but it is quite unnecessary.”

“Then you really meant what you said?”

I nodded. “In administrative circles, I believe, there is a saying that good governors die poor. I shall do my best, I promise you, to live up to it.”

He said coldly, “Then if you really intend to close the frontier I shall have to report the matter to the Praefectus. It is my duty.”