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

We hurried out. The camp flared with torches and the men were parading outside their huts under the direction of their section commanders. Aquila came up, unshaved, and rubbing his eyes. “Take a roll call,” I said. “Find out who is missing.”

He saluted and a few minutes later I heard the trumpets sound. Then came a shout from the south-east gate tower. I ran towards it, followed by Fabianus and another tribune. “Up here,” shouted a voice. I climbed the steps to the firing platform. The sentry pointed and I saw a boat drifting downstream; a small boat such as fishermen used. It appeared to be empty. Caught in one current and then another, it nosed first one way and then the next. It passed close to the broken bridge, at which the sentry there cried out and flung three javelins in quick succession. Two went into the boat. A third hit the water behind. Then the boat moved outwards suddenly, caught in a cross eddy, and passed slowly along the west shore of the south island. The sentry ran back and came panting up to the wall. “There are men on board,” he cried. “They are lying on the bottom.”

“Use the catapults,” I said. “I will give a week’s extra pay to all who have a hand in sinking her.”

“Shall I sound the alarm?”

“No, you fool. I don’t want too much importance attached to it. They know our trumpet calls. The parade call is one thing; the alarm another.”

“Number Four and Five ready, sir.”

“Fire.”

They fired. The boat, guided crudely by a man lying upon the boards, holding an oar over the stern, was moving more rapidly now. It was clear of the island and heading towards the further bank. Fireball after fireball went hissing up into the dawn sky. They landed, with tremendous splashes and great hisses of steam, all round the boat; it was end on now and a difficult target. The seventh shot struck the boat; there came back across the water a hoarse scream and then silence.

“Well, that’s that,” said the duty optio in a satisfied voice.

Fabianus said, white-faced, “Do you think she was in the boat?”

“I don’t know,” I said, angrily. “If she was, then she was lucky.” He stared at me.

“How many in the boat?” I asked the sentry.

“Three, sir.”

“Are you certain?’

“I am positive, sir.”

“Let us hope you are right.” I smiled at the centurion. “Good work. The sentry and yourself are to be included. Send me the names and I will pass them to the accounts office.”

The centurion said, anxiously, “I hope they all drowned, sir.”

“Yes, I hope so to. I expect they did.”

Two hours later a report came in from the duty centurion on the south island. A man, who appeared to be badly injured, had been seen climbing out of the water onto the east bank. He had then vanished into the scrub. It was impossible to say whether he was likely to die or not. The centurion did not think so; and I was inclined to believe him. He was a man of some experience. He had seen many wounded men in his time. He knew how a man moved when he was dying.

It was day now, too late to go back to sleep. I went to the headquarters building and broke my fast on a biscuit dipped in wine. Aquila came in. He looked tired. He said, “Everyone is accounted for, sir, except the prisoner and—” He hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“The tribune, Severus, sir.”

“Was he on duty yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.” He added, awkwardly, “He had no leave of absence from the camp. I have checked that with the camp praefectus.”

“I understand.” I looked out of the window. I said, “Send the tribune Fabianus to me.”

He came. He looked ill, and, as he stood to attention before me, his hands trembled by his side.

I said, “Who else, besides you, was in the habit of talking to the prisoner?”

He said, miserably, “A number of us used to.”

“Anyone in particular? The tribune Severus, for instance?”

There was a long silence and then he said, in a low voice, “Yes, sir.”

I rose from my stool and stood over him. “Did you know about this?” He did not say anything. He dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Answer me,” I said.

“No, sir. I didn’t. But—”

“Go on.”

He licked his lips. “A month ago she asked me if I—if I would help her to escape. I refused, of course. I never thought she might try to persuade anyone else.’

“Why didn’t you report this?”

“I didn’t think—”

“No, you wouldn’t. I will deal with you later. You realise this is an offence, punishable by death?”

He swayed on his feet. “Not you, you young fool; the man who helped her.”

“But they’re dead,” he muttered.

“We found the marks where the boat had been drawn up on the mud; there were three sets of foot marks round it; but no tracks leading from the fort to the river. There should have been. It rained yesterday evening and the ground was soft. I think they lost their way; the people who supplied the boat lost their nerve because of the trumpets in the camp and didn’t wait. They pushed off and we caught them.”

He stared at me in horror.

“Yes,” I said. “I think the girl and the tribune are hiding in the town.”

“What will you do, sir?”

I said, “They had better have died in that boat.”