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

“They will only be too strong if we get tired first or run out of missiles. But if that does happen, I shall withdraw the legion to Bingium, cross the Nava and hold the further bank, leaving the garrison to defend the fort. It is an easy place to defend.”

“And if we still have to retreat?”

I said, “You are very sanguine about this?”

“Yes. I have never contemplated fighting at these odds before. Besides, something always goes wrong.”

“Well then, we shall pull straight back, leaving delaying ambushes, and hold the junction where the road splits for Confluentes and Bingium, at the thirtieth milestone. I shall have defensive positions prepared there as well.”

“And after that?”

“Oh, after that, if we have any men left we shall try to hold Treverorum.” I was silent for a moment. I said, “But if it goes like that there won’t be any legion left to worry about.”

He stood up, fiddling with the strap of his sword belt, a look of uncertainty upon his face. He glanced at me as though he would say something more, hesitated, and then turned upon his heel. “Thank you,” he said politely. “I thought that might be the plan.” He went from the room slowly, like an old man, and I returned to my papers.

It was a hot summer and we all sweated as the ditches were dug by night on the slopes behind Moguntiacum, for I had no wish that the enemy should see what we were doing and so guess at the truth of our weak state. The soldiers continued to come and go on leave, and the smoke from the fires on the east bank seemed to multiply each day. But my six ships patrolled the river as before and we were safe.

Sometimes in the afternoons I would ride to the training ground to watch Quintus exercising his men. He had great enthusiasm, great patience and great understanding. He was tireless in his efforts to perfect the small shock force under his command. The horses’ coats glistened in the sunlight and the sweat dripped from the faces of their riders as they tried for the tenth time, perhaps, to carry out some complicated pattern of movement. The troops and squadrons wheeled, broke and formed shifting patterns of geometrical precision at the snap of a voice or the thin high sound of the trumpet. Finally, as the climax to the afternoon’s work, they practiced attacks upon prepared positions and afterwards, while the led horses were being circled to cool off slowly, the decurions, squadron commanders and officers gathered about the tall figure in the burnished armour to hear his comments. He looked hot and tired but he held himself rigidly under control.

I drew closer. I had heard him give this same talk half a hundred times before but I always enjoyed hearing it again.

On horseback, Quintus and the animal were one. I had never seen such a rider, not even among the men of Treverorum, and they had a reputation for their skill in these matters. An officer from the Eastern Empire, who had fought with Stilicho in Italia, had told me that he was a good deal better as a rider than any Hun, and a better horse soldier than any Goth. The officer had met both in his time and I could believe him.