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

When Aelia came back from the birth of Saturninus’ firstborn she was very quiet, after the initial joy women show on these occasions. I took her hand and said, gently, “You are not to worry. There is plenty of time yet. We shall have a son. You pray to your God and I will pray to mine. That way we shall have two chances of favour instead of one.”

She laughed, momentarily, and then her face changed. “Perhaps it is a punishment for my sins.” She was very serious now, and I was worried.

I said, lightly, “There is not much opportunity for committing wrongs at Borcovicum.”

She said, in a low voice, “With us they can be in thoughts as well as deeds.”

I returned to my letter. Presently she looked up from the fire. She said, “Do you remember the time that sentry slept at his watch and Saturninus asked you to overlook his offence?”

“I remember.”

“I came in when you were discussing what to do with him. And he said—do you remember?—he said, ‘You never had pity, sir, on the other one either.’ What did he mean?”

My hand shook. I said, “He thought I was being too strict.”

She said, “You are a good soldier. Even I can see that. But I think Saturninus is right. You can be very hard.”

“I try to be just.”

“It is sometimes better to be kind.”

She was silent then and went on staring into the fire. I stopped writing and looked at her. I loved her so much, but I did not know what she was thinking.

We had been there two winters when, on a warm spring day, I rode out to the second mile castle east of the camp, where some of our men were repairing the road. After my inspection was over I sat on a boulder, not far from the gate, and chatted with the post commander. As I did so I could see a man walking up the track towards us. I finished my conversation and mounted my horse. There was something in his walk that disturbed me, so I sat still and waited till he came up. I knew that kind of walk well, and when he stopped ten paces away and stared at me with that terrible tight look they always have, and the eyes that watch every flicker of a shadow and yet have no feel in them, no warmth of any kind, I knew who it was.

“Julian,” I said. “It is Julian.” And I waited.

“The noble commander knows everything,” he replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“I am a free man.” The words were spoken tonelessly. He fumbled inside his cloak and produced a square of parchment. “If the commander does not believe me I have this for proof.”

“So they gave you your wooden foil.”

“Yes. They gave me my wooden foil. We killed each other as you predicted, though some died more quickly than others. They were the lucky ones.”

I watched him in silence. Then I said, quietly, “But you lived.”

“Yes. I lived, if you can call it living?”

“And so?”

“In the end there were two of us left, myself and—but you would have forgotten his name, no doubt.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I would not have forgotten his name. I remember them all to this day.”

“As I remember yours, noble commander. They matched us to fight at Eburacum. We were the spectacle for which everyone waited, and the commander of the Sixth Legion sat in the seat of honour. It was a holiday, and his daughter newly married, and he wished to celebrate by showing his—mercy. He gave me my freedom while the blood of my companion dried on my sword.”

“I see. Where do you go now?”

“Beyond the Wall to where Rome does not rule.”

I leaned forward then. “Are you mad? What will you do up there, even supposing they don’t kill you first? What kind of a life will you live?”

“That is my concern.”

I said, harshly, “Julian, I have a villa and land in Gaul which I have never seen since we—since I was a boy. You can go to it; you can live on it; you can own it if you wish. I offer that much for the sake of a dead friendship. But don’t, I beg of you, go north of the Wall.”

He looked at me then, and there was still nothing in the eyes of any warmth or human feeling. “I go north,” he said. “And no-one shall stop me.” The spear, that I had thought at first to be a staff, was balanced lightly in his hand, but he was standing carefully on the balls of his feet, and I knew then that he would kill me if I moved. Any other man I could have run down with a fair chance of success. But he was different. He had been a gladiator. They were trained to move with a speed that no soldier could emulate. They could pick flies off the wall with their bare hands. I knew. I had watched them do it.

I turned my horse to let him pass. “You are a freed man under the law, as you said, and you may go where you will.”

“I shall indeed.”

“A word of warning, Julian.”

He turned at that, and for a moment I thought I detected something in his eyes that was almost human. “Well?”

“Go north by all means. But, if you do, then never come south again within spear range of my wall.”

He said, tonelessly, “I will remember that. When I do come you may be certain I shall not come alone.”