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

On a cool October day, when there was a mist like milk over the river, we left Moguntiacum and set out on the long ride back to the city. It was a road I knew well now. As the miles passed under our horses’ feet our spirits rose. The weather held; it was clear and fine. We talked together of the old days on the Northern Wall, of wolves we had hunted, of deer we had killed and of a boar that we had pursued without success, all through one long wet day. We talked of Saturninus and of his friends who had shared our mystery, and who were now dead. But we never talked of my wife.

The few patches of bracken that I saw were a golden brown and the leaves were brittle on the trees as they changed from green to a brown the colour of dark honey. One morning we saw a flight of swans, skimming low in arrowhead formation above the trees towards the Mosella. Sometimes we rode in silence and I would think of Julian in that patch-work camp of strange tongues across the river. What would he do now that Rando was dead? Would he wait to cross with the others or would he turn away and find somewhere else to settle? I did not hate him now and the memory of the past had blurred a little. It was all such a long time ago. He was, after all, still Julian whom I had once loved as a friend. He was a part of my life, a part of me, and the realisation of this made me jerk suddenly at my horse so that he flung up his head. Quintus glanced at me without speaking.

“One half of my life has destroyed the other half,” I said aloud, and Quintus flushed and bit his lip. He was too proud to make excuses, too honest to apologise for things he had done, about which he could not be sorry.

At Treverorum we took up our old quarters in Romulus and I could relax inside those massive, cool stone walls, watch the afternoon sun make shifting patterns on the mosaic, listen to the sounds and cries of the city as it went about its business, and make plans for amusing myself in the coming evening. There was, of course, a certain amount of business that I could not neglect. I inspected the cohort on garrison duty, dined with Flavius, watched the training of the city auxiliaries, and made arrangements for improving the defences of the town. On the surface of the bridge over the Mosella bundles of brushwood were piled against the rails and lashed to the transoms. If necessary, they could be soaked with pitch and fired in a few minutes. I did not expect that an attack, pushed inland, would be made along the northern road but it was well to be prepared. Though, as Quintus said sardonically, when I told him what I had done, “If things get as bad as that who will be left alive to bother about such matters.”

Then I called a meeting of the senators and senior officials, told them what precautions I had taken and warned them that the next three months would be crucial. I had deliberately selected the great hall of the Basilica for this occasion, and though there were thirty of us present, we were dwarfed by the size of the place and our voices echoed strangely in that vast room.

“I am taking over the city,” I said. No-one moved but I heard Artorius say, “Ah,” very softly, and his eyes never left my face the whole time I was speaking. “I have informed the Praefectus Praetorio. The Magister Equitum per Gallias can spare me no troops; because he has none. The Dux Belgicae cannot help either. The Saxons are raiding his coast and he needs all the few men he possesses. The tribune, Flavius, as garrison commander, will be my deputy, with full powers. I am issuing an edict to conscript all men of military age, regardless of whether they are exempt by normal laws or not. I would not do this if the situation was not so grave. But it is.”

To my relief they accepted this without protest. One or two had already visited Moguntiacum and had seen the camp across the river. But, though they accepted, they could not really grasp the problem.

The Curator said, “Do you wish me to resign?”

“No.”

“I am to take my orders from Flavius?”

“Only in so far as they affect the military situation. In all else things will remain the same. I hope that you will be able to work in amity.”

He said, coldly, “I shall do my best.”

“If they cross the river, can you beat them in battle?” asked the chief magistrate, as though he were questioning a witness in one of his courts.

“Yes,” I said. “I can. But I must warn you that to win a battle one needs luck as well as judgement.”

“Then we have nothing to fear.” He did not understand my caution. He was a lawyer: he understood everything about law; nothing about anything else.

“But if you have, then I will give you good warning,” I said. “And, thanks to your help over the past year,” I lied, “I pray that all will yet be well.”

They grunted their satisfaction, and I was reminded of the pigs I had seen in the forest on my journey there; rooting among the trees for acorns.