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

On the far side of the camp, Marcomir and Goar led their men in a rush that took them straight through the palisade and the outer defences. Supported on each flank by Quintus’ cavalry their attack proved difficult to turn. They had strict orders to disengage and withdraw, the moment the enemy rallied and the impetus of their assault began to waver. I wanted no heroes, no fights to the death, no units cut off and making gallant last stands. I wanted only a limited success; and I achieved it. The camp was in an uproar. There was fire and smoke everywhere; horses neighing, women screaming, children crying, and men shouting in rage and terror. There was no order and discipline among the tribes. War chiefs, struggling to summon their men, were cut down while they shrieked defiance; men, groping for weapons, faced the armed legionaries one minute, only to be driven onto the spears of the cavalry behind, the next. Fireballs crashed through the roofs of tents and huts and a thick pall of acrid smoke streamed upwards, like a funeral pyre, into the clouded sky. Quintus’ cavalry broke loose, formed up as one, and swept like a curved scythe through the heart of the camp. The luck that was with us all that summer held. Rando, King of the Alemanni, trying desperately to rally his men and make contact with his brother chiefs, found himself in the line of the ala’s advance. It was Quintus who saw him—Quintus, riding at the head of his men, as though he were that young officer I had known in the old days upon the Wall. Rando snarled and threw his spear. It missed and took a man behind, who fell from his horse with a shriek. He reached for his dagger, saw that he stood alone and then, too late, turned to run. Quintus laughed, caught him with the curved sword that Stilicho had given him, and the Alemanni, with one blow, found themselves headless.

A trumpet blew the retreat and, with the cavalry covering them, Marcomir’s men retreated the way they had come, while Fabianus, surrounded as he should not have been, cut his way out and withdrew back to the boats, as steadily as though he were on parade. The Rhenus fleet kept the enemy in check, but I did not give the order to withdraw until the cohort, in its small boats, was back on the beach at Moguntiacum. Our total losses were under three hundred, and the action lasted for a little under an hour. Three days later Quintus was back in his old tent, very pleased with himself. I was a little envious for I had done nothing except stand on the deck of a ship and give orders.

“We could have stampeded the whole camp with more men,” he said irritably, for a gash on his left knee was giving him a lot of pain.

“Of course. But we hadn’t, so why worry? We did all that we set out to do. We proved that the men could fight in battle order; we did an immense amount of damage and we had the very good luck to dishearten the Alemanni. I am quite satisfied and I shall tell them so to-morrow.”

“Why to-morrow?”

“It is the day we pay them out of the pockets of the church. It is also their day for vinegar. I think we might give them a ration of wine instead. That should please them.”

“You will have trouble with the quartermaster.”

“If I do, he will have trouble with me.”

He said, “I noticed one thing. There was a lot of sickness in their camp; people on blankets in the open, who did not even try to move out of our way. We rode over them, of course. And the women and children were hollow cheeked. They are short of food.”

“The Alemanni have been sending in food. Will they continue to do so? I wonder.”

He said. “It is the end of August now. Two more months and it will be too late for them to make another attempt. They will surely starve if they try to winter there.”

“That is what I hope will happen.”

“Any news from Fabianus?”

“Not yet.”

He whistled tunelessly for a moment or two. Then he said casually, “Will you tell the daughter that her father is dead?”

I stared at him. “I had forgotten her.”

“I thought you had.”

Fabianus was now on the east bank with fifty men, engaged on liaison work with Marcomir and Goar. I hoped that, in addition to training our new allies, he would find time to take patrols out to spy for information on the movements of the enemy. I had thought to send an embassy, ostensibly to discuss terms. Ambassadors who kept their eyes and ears open often picked up a great deal of information, but now that Rando was dead the temper of the war chiefs was likely to be uncertain. They could be treacherous and cruel, and it was a risk I was not prepared to take. But we heard from him a few days later. The kings had continued to quarrel among themselves, and sections of the tribes, sullen and discontented, had decided to move back to their own lands. Each day small convoys of armed men, ox-waggons and women and children, were breaking away, moving either east or north. Nothing was being done to stop them going.