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

I sent for Rando’s daughter. She should have come to my office, but I was called away unexpectedly and forgot all about her. In the evening I went to my quarters and I was sitting, writing a letter, when there came a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I said.

She came in, pushed by the sentry. She was very pale and her hands were tied behind her.

“Sit down,” I said. She sat down, and stared listlessly at the floor.

“If you give me your word that you will not try to escape or hurt yourself, I will give you more freedom to move about without a guard.” I gestured to her hands. “All this is unnecessary, you know.”

“I will never give you my word,” she said in a low voice.

I sighed. “Stand up and turn round.” She did so, and I picked up a small knife and cut the cord on her wrists. “I will have to trust my men, in that case, to see that you do not escape. Would you like some wine?”

She shook her head.

I looked at her. “I have some unhappy news for you,” I said gently.

She raised her face then.

“I am afraid that your father is dead. He was killed in the fight when we raided the camp. He was a brave man.”

“It is a lie.”

“No. It is not a lie. I have spoken to—to a man who saw him killed.”

She did not cry. She said, “My brother, then, is the king now.”

“Will he make a good king?”

“What is that to you?”

“A great deal. I would rather not have to fight him, if it can be avoided.”

“You should not have killed him,” she said colourlessly. “My brother will want revenge.”

“Could you persuade him that it is not worthwhile?”

She shook her head. “He is fond of me, but not that fond. I would never wish to persuade him.”

I said, “You think you have been ill treated. Had I left you with Marcomir you would have been married off by now to one of his chiefs—if you were lucky that is. More likely you would just have been a slave in some old man’s hut.”

“You had me flogged instead,” she said angrily. “I would kill you myself, if I could.”

“You have tried once already and failed. Don’t be so foolish again.” I leaned forward. “I have more troops on the way. Two legions from Britannia and two from Hispania, as well as soldiers from Gaul. When they arrive I shall be stronger than ever. Your people on the east bank are short of food; soon they will be starving. Many are already moving back to their old lands. When my troops arrive, I shall cross the river. And when I do so, I shall destroy all those little kings and their princes. You may write that to your brother, if you wish. It would be better that he takes his people away before they are destroyed utterly.”

She caught her lip between her teeth. “Why should I write such a letter? I don’t understand.”

I said patiently, “If you love your brother and your people, you might wish to save them from an unnecessary war. I would do so, if I were in your place.”

She smiled then, and I saw from her smile that I had failed. She said, “When Marcomir took me prisoner, he said to one of his men that I would be worth all the legions that you had not got. He would not have said that, if he had known what you are telling me now.” She smiled again. “And yet I do not think that he was lying. It is you who are trying to trick me. I have seen your camp and heard your soldiers talk. I know how many men you have not got. And those you have, are forced into your service.” She laughed scornfully. “The young men of my people do not have to be branded like animals before they take a spear in their hands.” She paused. She said, “I will do nothing to betray my people—nothing.”

I said, “You are a clever girl but you are not as clever as you think.”

She looked curiously round the room. It was large and very bleak. The plastered walls were white, and bare of decoration of any kind. The floor was of rough wood; the only furniture was a low bed in one corner, the table at which I sat, two stools and a large chest in which I kept my few clothes. By the bed, there was a native rug that I had bought in Treverorum, and on the table a small oil lamp. That was all.

“This is all you have?” she asked with a puzzled frown.

“Yes.”

“But you are a general. I do not understand. Even the chief of a small band among my people has a—richer hut.”

I said, “This is how I live. It contains all I need.”

She looked at me. “You must be lonely. You have no family.”

“But I have—there are six thousand of them.”

“I did not mean that.”

“Yet it is enough.”

She pushed her hair back and said, “May I go now?”

“Of course.”

“Please let me go free.’

“Why? There is a man in this camp who was thirty years a slave of your people. He has told me what it was like. They had no pity. Why should I? Talk to him—he works with the farrier—and you will be glad then that you are at least the servant of men who are not barbarians.” I checked and looked at her. I said, slowly, “But I will send a message to your people to let them know that you are—safe.”

She said urgently, “It would be better to let me go. If you do not, then you will be sorry. There, I have warned you. I will not do so again.”