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

“I don’t know,” I said. “But if I was going to make the attempt I should either do it between the end of April and the beginning of June, or in September. The Rhenus reaches flood heights in June and July. No one in his senses would attempt a crossing then, with enemy on the other bank. During those months at least we should be safe enough.”

We might be safe but there would be no rest. We had to go on giving an impression of activity and of constant determination. The palisade along the road had to be finished. I needed another dummy camp on the bank beyond the stream, just clear of the point of Harbour Island. In addition there were other plans, less warlike, but in the long run more effective that I hoped to put into operation shortly.

One day I crossed the Rhenus at Bingium with half a cohort and three hundred cavalry to visit Guntiarus. His berg was in a great clearing in the forest, fortified by a palisade and a deep ditch; and there was only one entrance through a pair of massive log gates. The place was not clean. You could smell the stink of humans and animals half a mile away. The dwelling houses were built of timber, with thatched roofs, daub-coated walls and entrance porches over barred doors. They were arranged in no particular order but each was surrounded by its own barns, stables and byres, and the cattle rubbed shoulders with men and were not kept apart as on our own farms. The King’s Hall was nearly two hundred feet long; an impressive enough place, though very dark and dirty. It was here, surrounded by the warriors of his council that he received me. He was courteous enough but I could see that he was worried. He sweated like a nervous stallion and it was obvious that he wondered what I might ask of him when the attempt to cross the river was made.

“I am a friend of Rome,” he said. It was an expression he repeated at intervals as though to convince himself as much as me.

“That I know,” I said. “That is why I take your young men into my service and pay subsidies (it was the polite word for bribery) to you so that you may help your people who are poor.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I want nothing this time but information.”

“I will do my best to help you.” He looked relieved.

“Is the king Gunderic still in the land of the Alemanni?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes. His people wintered there.”

“All of them?” I asked sharply. “Or only those who fought under the shield of Radagaisus?”

“I do not know how many.”

“And what of the Quadi and the Asding Vandals whom my general and friend, Stilicho, drove from Italia? Have they gone to their own people?”

“It is as you say. They have joined with their own kind.”

He smiled and plucked at his beard. There was a stir among the men about him but though I looked at them hard there was little enough in their faces to tell what they thought. A slim arm that was about to lower a jug of beer onto the table between us shook slightly, so that a few spots spattered the roughly scraped boards. I looked up at the blue eyes of a tall blonde girl who stood beside me. Her hair lay in thick plaits upon her breast; about her neck she wore a silver torque, elaborately decorated. I judged her to be the king’s eldest daughter. She was certainly a fine looking girl. She smiled at me, wiped the spots with the sleeve of her gown, said something to her father (it sounded like an apology) and then withdrew.

The king said, “If you have time you must come hunting. I can show you some fine sport.”

“I would like that,” I said. “It has been a long winter.”

Quintus said, “I drink to your health. You have fine sons and beautiful daughters.”

“Indeed, yes. Four daughters, but six sons, all old enough to carry their axe, save for this cub here.” He dropped his hand onto the shoulders of a small boy who stood at his side. There was a look of great pride in his eyes. “You have sons, too, who will be men now with sons of their own, no doubt.”

Quintus glanced at me. “No,” he said. “We have no sons.”

The king looked troubled. “It is a fine thing to have sons who will bear one’s name. But sometimes it is the will of God that it shall not be so.” There was silence. Neither of us spoke. Then he said regretfully, “I am indeed sorry to hear you say that.”

I said, “Our camp was attacked last autumn. You heard of the matter, no doubt. There were Alans, Quadi and Siling Vandals among the dead. None of these belong to the Suevi.” By Suevi I meant those tribes whose lands marched with the frontiers of Rome along the Rhenus and the Danubius.

He shrugged his shoulders. “We have peoples of other tribes within our own. It signifies little.”