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

He spread out his hands in the old gesture. “When we last met I was—I was not happy. I told you I was going to the Saxon people and it was true. I did go. But they were not my friends. They are barbarians; cruel, savage, treacherous and lustful. I did not like them, but I had too much pride to say so. Eventually we tired of each other’s company. So, I came south and made my home with the Alemanni. Yes, home. I who have no home.”

“You are content now?”

“Oh yes, in my quaint foreign fashion. I was friends with the old king and I married his daughter. Rando is my brother. These are my children and my grandchildren. My wife died.”

“I am sorry.”

“I believe you are.”

I said, “What do you want with me now? I have told Rando I will not allow the river to be crossed.”

He smiled. “Still the same old Maximus. Fierce, hard, ungenerous and incorruptible. When I heard tell of the name of the general who barred the river I knew it was you, and I told my brother it would be useless to talk. He did not believe me. He does now.”

“And does he expect you to make me change my mind?”

He frowned. “He hopes that I may, for when I heard your name I became angry at things best forgotten, and in my drunken rage I told him something that I, when I was sober, would not have told a living man. He thought I should tell you.” He paused. He said dully, “Rando is a good war lord. He knows that if you can defeat the enemy leader, you can defeat his men. Both he and Talien, who heard this thing also, urged me to see you. So, for the sake of the people who adopted me, I—I promised.”

“What is it that you will tell me that will make me change my mind?”

He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, palm upwards. “This,” he said bleakly. On the palm of his hand lay a single gold ear-drop.

I stared at it for a long time and when at length I would have taken it he closed his fist and stepped back. I raised my head and looked at him.

I licked my lips. I said, “That is my—that is mine.”

“It is. Catch.”

I caught it and turned it over and over in my fingers.

“Look at it carefully. You will see initials scratched on the gold. It was given as a keepsake.”

I stared. “How did you get it?”

“Much plunder was taken on the Wall. I was a war chief then, remember.”

“Why did you keep it all these years?”

He looked at me and then dropped his eyes. “It had once been your mother’s. It was a link between us. And in the times when I did not hate you I would look at it and—and remember.” He raised his eyes. “I would remember the happy times.”

“And now it is a weapon.”

“That is for you to decide.”

“I do not believe it.”

“If you do not believe me, it is easy for you to find out.” He paused delicately. “You are a Roman. You have your honour to think of. It is your honour, after all, for which you have lived all these years.”

I said, “I have no honour now.”

“Generals who have no honour can afford to treat with their enemies.”

I put my hands to my face and I knew then something of the despair that he had known.

He said cruelly, “I have other news. You wrote to Stilicho and asked for troops—you who already have so many. The letter is in our hands. You will have to write again before he can answer. It is a long way from the middle Rhenus to Illyricum where Alaric and the Vandal sit at meat, and play at dice with the empire for their prize. I have news out of your island too. Two men, Marcus and Gratianus, put up for emperor in turn but were killed by the soldiers. It happened this spring. A third, Constantinus, succeeded. He sits in Londinium, playing at kings. Perhaps he dreams of making a new empire in the west. Is that what you want, who could have been emperor yourself? You, who have so many men at your command.”

“How do you know all this—about—about Constantinus?”

“The Saxons are good tale-bearers and it is easier for them now to walk dry on the Saxon Shore. They could not do that in—in our time.”

I said, “Please, no.”

“Well?”

“We did each other great wrongs. I admit my part. Must we go on tormenting each other until the day we die?”

He said, “I have been dead for thirty years, I who did not kill your father.”

“You rose against Rome.”

“Twice,” he said. “This is the third time. These people need land. They need it as a fish needs water. Who are you with your false Roman pride and contempt to stand in their way?”

“I have my duty.”

“To what? To an emperor who cares only for his chickens? To a Vandal who takes bribes and thinks only of himself? To the people of Gaul who will not lift a finger to help you? To Constantinus who stole half your gold for his own aggrandizement? To your men who follow you only so long as they receive their pay each month? Or is it to the memory of your wife?”

“Be quiet.”

“No. Fullofaudes had more mercy than you. But I am not he.” I flinched and put my hand to my mouth. “You made a death mask of my dreams,” he said harshly. “Why should I spare you yours?” He paused. He said, “You have no honour.”