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

A sudden silence fell and the king spoke to his people across the held hands of the two who were to be married, his own hand on theirs, the other uplifted, as though administering an oath. “Let it be done,” he cried. “By our custom and by our sacred way are you joined. Let your fates be the same, in peace as in war. So must you live; and so must you die.” There was a roar from the Hall and the warriors stamped their feet and clashed their spears against their shields, while the women wailed once, in ritual mourning for the loss of one of their kind. Then food was brought and great barrels of sour beer, and jugs of wine, and the long festival began. And then, Marcomir and the girl—she was very young, very proud and very serious—were married in the open by a priest who spoke my tongue, and there was a great silence while the words were said. Afterwards, there was a second ceremony in the woods, this time to propitiate the gods of the faith they had abandoned, but which, in their hearts, many still revered. Then there was a great feast at which everyone ate too much and drank too much beer, and oaths of friendship were sworn, and the roofed hall, in the centre of which a great fire blazed, rang with the noise of laughter and talk. In the cool of the evening, we stood by the stockade gates and watched Marcomir ride off to his land with the girl on the saddle in front of him, a white wreath in her hair, and the men of his bodyguard all about him. Everyone was happy and contented, and it was as though the Alemanni and the Vandals were people of no importance. The girl (it was the one who had spilt my drink that day) smiled, Fredegar nodded briefly, and then they were gone. For a flickering moment or two I remembered my own wedding so many years before; but I quickly dismissed it from my mind. I glanced at Quintus and saw him watching me, curiously. I said nothing and we turned and went back to the Hall; and the silence between us was a wall that we could not cross.

In the morning I said my farewells to Guntiarus, the king. As I mounted my horse, I glanced back for a moment. The prisoner was sitting on a horse between two guards. Her bare feet were roped beneath the horse’s belly, and her hands tied behind her back. She was a bedraggled looking creature, not much improved by a gag of some dirty cloth which concealed the lower part of her face. She stared at me with sullen hatred.

“Is that necessary?” I asked, pointing at the gag. I could see that it had been tied tightly, so that it cut into her flesh.

“Yes, sir. She’ll scream her head off, given half the chance. And they may be out looking for her. She’s tried to escape twice already.”

“Very well. If she tries again I shall hold you responsible.”

We rode off and I returned to my forts and my problems. For us there was no rest and little relief.

On the west bank nothing had changed. The soldiers still worked at their duties by day; building the palisade, digging ditches and improving the defences of the forts. The armoury was filled to overflowing with carefully made arrows and throwing spears, and the armourers grumbled at my insistence that we must have more and more—and still more. Each day the sun blazed in an unclouded sky, and our stock of drinking water had to be rationed, for the waters of the Rhenus were not safe in summer and men, before this, had died of fever after bathing and drinking there. The young cygnets that we had watched in the spring, paddling on the water, had grown large and were a darker colour now. Soon they would change altogether and be as white as their parents, who hissed angrily still, each time I threw bread to their inquisitive young. Quintus was fond of roast swan but these we did not take and eat. They had become our mascots and, like the soldiers, we believed that so long as they stayed they would bring us luck. And, all the while, the sentries patrolled the river bank in groups, stood in pairs upon the towers, leaning upon their spears, or tramped the firing platforms, wrapped in their thick cloaks (it was cold at night) and kept a soldier’s watch upon the dark, swirling waters of the Rhenus.

Rando’s daughter had been given a hut to herself, with a woman to look after her and a sentry at the door to see that there was no interference. I sent for her one morning, being curious to see her and perhaps learn something about her people.

She came, escorted by the sentry, and I waved the man out of my office so that we might be alone. She was a tall girl, with fair hair down her back, and she wore a blue, sleeveless gown, cut low across the breasts. It was girdled about the waist and very tight fitting about the body, as was customary with women of her race. She was very lovely. I shut the door and motioned her to sit down. She refused, with a shake of her head.

“Do you speak Latin?”

“A little. Can you speak Aleman?”

I said, “It is I, my girl, who asks the questions; not you.”

“And what will you do if I refuse? Beat me?”