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

I glanced at Fabianus and saw him looking at me expectantly. I said, “I am a soldier, not a husband.”

“So.” He stepped aside. “Go in then and let each do what he must.”

I nodded and went in. I pulled back the skins covering the entrance to the inner room and stepped inside. He was standing in the centre by his great fur-lined bed, his arms held out, while two young men dressed him in the apparel fitting to a war lord of the Franks. His face was cold, remote, expressionless, like the stone face of a god upon an altar. Only the black marks round his eyes betrayed the reality of his grief.

I said, “I have heard your news. I would share your sorrow if it would help, oh my brother.”

He said, “You have come to help us. I am glad. Fabianus will have told you.”

“You are going to make war?”

“Yes. I am going to make war.”

I said, “It is best to fight when one is cool. Men who are angry make mistakes.”

“I am not in the mood for making anything but war.”

I sat down upon the bed. I said, slowly, “You made a pact to serve our emperor, whose general I am. It was agreed between us that no attack should be made without my permission. Do you mean to betray my trust in you?”

He said, “It is not your wife who is in their hands.”

I said, “That is understood.” I watched his face, saw him adjusting his sword belt with deliberate care, and realised that he was in the grip of a cold rage that nothing could penetrate.

I said, “You realise what you are doing?”

“Yes. I and my people know.”

“What is your plan?”

“We shall try to rescue her first, secretly. If that fails, then we shall attack the camp.”

“The daughter of Rando is our prisoner. I will be glad to use her as a bargaining counter. That is what I would do in your place.”

“But you are not in my place. She is an Aleman and Douna—my wife—is in the hands of Godigisel. The Alemanni and the Vandals will not help each other in this matter.”

“If you fight, you will destroy yourself and your people.”

He said, “Your men took one prisoner out of their raiding party. He had twisted an ankle and they had left him behind in their haste to escape. You will find what is left of him upon two poles behind this hut. When I have the Vandal king in my hands I shall make him feel that he is dying.”

I said, “I am your friend in this matter, as in all other matters. But I must warn you of one thing. Do not ask me to help. If you go out against the Alemanni and the Vandals I cannot support you with even one man from my legion.”

He said bitterly, “I have not asked you. But if you were my friend I would not have to ask you.”

I said, “If you do this thing, will Goar and his war-band help you?”

He hesitated. “Goar has told me that he will help me as a friend would, but that he will obey you.”

“In this matter?”

“Yes, in this matter and in all matters.” He tightened his belt, slid his sword into its sheath and moved into the outer room.

I followed, and stepped in front of him. “I had a wife—like your wife. Once, a long while ago, I had to leave her in a town abandoned to an enemy while I retreated away from it with my soldiers. It was not an easy thing to do.”

He tried hard to smile. “That is why you became the rulers of the world. I admire your courage. I envy you your sense of duty, but I hate your pride. I am not a Roman, like you.”

“You took my emperor’s money. You promised to obey me. March out with your men and you doom, not only yourselves, but me also.”

He said, “I am sorry. You can still march with me.”

“Marcomir.”

“No,” he said. “It is my wife they have taken. For two nights I have dreamed of what Godigisel has done to her. Now I am going to kill him.”

I remembered the Vandal; his square iron body; the brutal face and the thick lips, and the hairs on the back of the stubby fingers. I knew what he was thinking.

I stepped aside. “Go,” I said. “And in the name of Mithras, do what has to be done.” I gave him my salute and watched him go out into the rain at the head of his men. He was a brave man. As a soldier I could not forgive him, but in his circumstances I might, myself, have done the same thing.

I saw the glint of bronze and went across the mud to the stable. “Fabianus,” I said. “I have failed. Ride to Goar’s berg and tell him what has happened. Ask him to support Marcomir at his discretion. Stay with him and do what you can.”

He saluted. He said, “And do we not help?”

“I am a general,” I said, “not the captain of a robber band.”

On my return I said to Quintus, “There was nothing I could say that would have stopped him. He had that look on his face. I tried, but only because I had to.”

He raised that eyebrow of his. He said, “It seems a pity that we cannot help him.”