Eagle in the Snow (33 page)

They saluted the Eagle and they saluted me. And then they left. I poured myself a cup of wine and put it carefully on the table before me. Then I sat down heavily upon a stool and put my head in my hands. I felt very old and very tired.

That night it snowed again.

It was December now and each morning the birds gathered about the cook-houses, hoping for scraps of food. The wolves howled in the forest at night and the foxes, desperate with hunger, broke through the village palisades in their search for prey. The blue smoke from the enemy camp hung thick and heavy in the cold air and the black sludge on the dark, moving water turned to thin delicate circles of ice. The galleys moved slowly up and down the main channel and the sentries shivered in their watch-towers and cleared the ballistae of snow each morning. Many men went sick; some with sores, others with fever, and those who remained on duty looked thin and pinched with the effort of fighting the intense cold. Others tried to fish, hoping to eke out their diet with fresh food, but few caught anything. Fabianus, who knew about these things, told them that it was a waste of time. “It is no good,” he said. “In such conditions the fish only bury themselves in the mud.”

The circles of ice began to join together and formed what we called black ice. Floes from higher up came floating down, some to break through the black ice and be carried on to Bingium, others to remain, jammed against the banks or caught and held by the thinner ice. Each day at set times we fired missiles from the ballistae into the water. At the beginning this was successful. The sixty-pound balls of iron broke the ice with ease so that it was carried away by the moving current; but each day there seemed to be more ice on the move than there had been the day before, and it grew more and more difficult. The galleys smashed at the ice with their oars and the water level, which should have been dropping, remained constant. Each day the sun rose, a pale disc in a grey sky, and the rooks, black and hard of eye, sat on the walls, cawing dismally, and watched us at our work. In the evenings now, wolves could be seen. They moved about the edges of the clearings, sometimes snarling and fighting amongst themselves, but more often simply just standing and waiting as though they knew that we must come to them in the end. They were like the Vandals and they got on our nerves with their terrible, controlled patience. And at night the moon rose to light a land that was white and dead and silent, save for the hooting of the owls that lived on the islands and which were better sentries than the iron helmeted legionaries who stood there, numb and still, staring with strained eyes across the water and quivering gently with the cold. The ice floes changed colour in the shifting light; sometimes they were blue, sometimes green and sometimes black. Only at the end did they stay white. Each morning the galleys found it more difficult to weigh anchor and cut their way out into the stream. The bows would press against the ice and a thin black line, or a series of lines perhaps, would streak out suddenly, like ropes laid across the frozen water, and there would be a great booming noise as the ice cracked and then a harsh grinding that went on and on as the smashed floes jostled against each other and the galleys forced them apart.

Quintus said, “It will not be much longer now.”

“No, not much longer. We have been a long time waiting.”

The ice began to thicken along the banks and the ice field spread outwards until there was only a narrow stream, a hundred yards wide, down the centre, through which the water coiled and writhed like a gigantic snake. The ice was thin still and, as Gallus said, would break up under pressure, but each night it froze again and the work of the day was undone in a few hours.

One afternoon five men tried to cross the river from the east bank. Why they tried we never knew. Perhaps they were ordered to test the ice; perhaps they were desperate or out of their minds through fatigue and starvation; the last most likely. We watched them, five tiny dots in the distance, who, as they came closer, slowly turned into men, scrambling across the hummocks and slipping on the ridged snow. When they reached the centre channel they paused and cast about for a way across. One tried to jump onto a floe but it tipped and he lost his balance and fell into the water. Even at that distance we could hear his thin, despairing cry. Then two ballistae from the camp opened fire. The iron balls crashed with sickening accuracy to right and left of the remaining men. The ice boomed and split and the men disappeared into the water. A moment later we saw their heads on the surface as they clawed frantically at the jagged edges of the floes. Then the floes turned slowly in the current, rubbing against each other as though in friendship; and after a while there was nothing to be seen but the black water and the moving ice.

Then the signal beacons flared and plummets of smoke drifted upwards, and the signallers were busy with messages from the outlying forts, and an elderly cavalryman with a sun-blacked nose, brought a message from Goar that Gunderic would speak with me. “Why go?” said Quintus. “Talking is only a waste of time.”

“So is this,” I said, pointing at the draughts-board where he had my pieces nicely penned up like sheep under the care of an over-attentive dog. “Why not? I, at least, have time to waste.”

He looked at me with half a smile. “It is your company I value. Time is running out.”

“Very well. Let us finish the game anyway.”

I went with Fabianus for company. We crossed the bridge at Bingium and cantered slowly up the river bank till we met Goar, who was quite alone. He led us up into the hills, past our fighting camp and then through the snowed up woods to the slopes overlooking the enemy position. It was a world of white up here now, a silent mysterious world of sparkling snow and naked trees. There was no wind and the sun gleamed like a gold coin in a grey sky. A white-winged falcon with a brown flecked body stood on the dead carcase of a goat and tore at the frozen flesh with furious energy. It was so hungry that it scarcely looked up as we passed it by. It was terribly cold and I shivered as I watched the steam from my breath mingle with my horse’s in the thin air. Overhead, a skein of swans flew south, and I knew that they came before the threat of a blizzard that lay in the darkened sky to the north-east.

Two horsemen were waiting for us in the distance, close by a stunted, solitary tree. They were two black figures against an infinity of white. As we came closer I saw that the Vandal king was accompanied by Julian. We circled each other for a moment but this was not a time for dismounting. It was warmer to sit one’s horse. I did not fear an ambush. What would have been the point? They did not fear me. Why should I kill the Vandal by treachery? What was Gunderic to me? It was his people I feared, not him.

He rested his hands on the saddle and I did the same. Drops of snow sparkled on his thick eyebrows and on his matted beard. He looked gaunt and hollow cheeked, like a famished fox. If his people had gone hungry he, at least, had shared their hunger.

He said, “You are a clever man. You tricked us over your numbers.”

I said, “You made it necessary. But still, we gave you a good fight on the east bank.”

He said, “For a year now you have held us with trickery, with lies and with deceit.” He glanced at Goar and frowned. “You caused such dissension amongst us that we quarrelled amongst ourselves. It was well done. And yet—” He paused. “We are still here on the east bank and the river is freezing fast. Soon it will be time for us to cross.”

“That I know. What is your problem?”

“In spite of all that has happened, we would still prefer to cross in peace. You are a soldier and we respect you as a good warrior.”

“Before you have finished you will think me a great one.”

“That may be.” He frowned and then rubbed his nose.

“So. Do you speak in this matter for your brother kings?”

“I do.”

“Well?”

He said harshly. “We are willing to serve under Rome and take the oath to your emperor. But we must have land.” He held his hands out wide as he spoke. His hands were very large.

“I cannot give it to you.”

“That is understood. But I make a new offer.”

“Yes.”

“We are all equal, each king ruling his own people. Not one of us can be high-king over all, else there would be jealousy, mistrust, hatred and war. But you whom we respect we would trust. Allow us to cross in peace, take Gaul, and we will raise you on a shield, as is our custom, crown you with a torque of gold and proclaim you emperor. And we will swear to serve you, if you, in your turn, will swear to serve us.”

“On which side of the river will you perform this thing?”

“We will crown you in our camp to show the measure of our trust.”

“Do you believe that I will accept?”

He said slowly, “Because you are what you are, we make this offer. If you do not believe me then talk to this man here. He stands high with the Aleman people and I believe he once knew you well in another life. I will wait.” He turned his horse in a flurry of snow and rode off a score of paces to the tree behind him. I signalled Fabianus and Goar to join him.

Julian pushed back his cloak and smiled ironically. “Well?” he said. “It is a great honour.”

“Do you think that I will accept?”

He ignored my question. He said, “You once offered me your villa at Arelate. Do you remember? Does it still stand? Did you ever go back to it?”

I nodded. “It stands. I never went back to it.”

“A pity. It would have been better to die there in the sun than in this bleak and terrible place.” A wolf howled in the distance and the wind whipped at our faces.

I said, “What makes you think that I shall die?”

He said sadly, “If you die it will be because you are—Maximus. For no other reason.”

“That is true of every man.”

“Perhaps.” He leaned forward and patted his horse on the neck. “It is a good offer. You have only a single legion. Which one, I wonder?”

“The Twentieth.”

He flinched. “The gods still make jests then about our small affairs.”

“There is no man but myself who served with them in our time.”

“You love that legion, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Refuse this offer and it would be better that you had sent them to the mines as condemned criminals. They would at least be still alive.”

“I know that.”

We stared at each other. There was a curious expression on his face that I could not understand. I said, “Surely, you knew before this the number of my legion.”

“No.” His reply was emphatic.

I shivered. It was very cold.

“Why do you refuse?” he asked calmly.

“My empire has had more usurping emperors than I can count. Most were murdered; all weakened the empire they thought to strengthen. I shall not add to their number; not in this way.”

“The empire is dying, Maximus. It is weaker than when you were a boy playing on those sandy beaches of Southern Gaul.”

I bit my lip at the memory. I said, “It has recovered before. How many times has the barbarian broken through the frontier and each time men said that Rome was finished? But each time we drove them back and Rome still stands. Rome is. Nothing can alter that. It is her destiny.”

He said, “Perhaps. But perhaps not in the way you think.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I do not know. But we live in a time of great change. Few things last for ever. I should know that.”

The wind blew harder now and the surface snow whirled, like dust, about our horses’ legs.

I looked at him. I said, “You are very thin, Julian.”

“It is only the cold and the lack of food.” He spoke as a man who was used to these things.

I said, “I will offer you something now: an amnesty to you and to your family. Bring them across the river at Bingium and I will give you money to go where you will, to settle where you please. Take it for the sake of old times.”

He said, “Can you strike a rock and bring forth water? I want nothing from you. You gave me enough: the years in the arena, the stigma and the shame. For that I still bear the brand on my ankle to show I was once a slave.” He flung up his head. “Well, I accept it. It was the price I had to pay for what I had done. I understand that now.” He stared down blindly at the snow. He said in a low voice, “You took the life of my high-priest’s daughter and you cannot give it back. From you I want nothing. You cannot throw me a coin and make right what has been wrong. I shall do very well for myself without your aid.”

I said hoarsely, “I understand. I, too, cannot accept your offer. Tell Gunderic that if I were to do so, I would not be the man he wants for his emperor.”

He said, “If you had been that kind of man the offer would not have been made.”

I said, “Did you ever find what you wanted? That purpose that would not break in your hand.”

He looked at me then and I was shocked at the pain in his eyes. He said, “I want nothing except to live in peace. When my children and my grand-children smile at me, then I am warm inside. But even that must be paid for it seems.” He paused and when he spoke again I could hardly hear him. He said in a whisper, “Before we went out into the arena we used to offer our prayers at the Shrine of Vengeance which stood between the changing room and the exit tunnel. Down that tunnel you could see the white light that was the arena, and hear the voices of the sentries and the ugly roar of the crowd. But in the tunnel it was dark and peaceful. The rough stone of the walls and the cool marble of the altar were wonderful to touch when you stood there, shivering with fear and excitement. I used to pray for so many things, but I never thought my prayers would be answered.” He raised his head for a moment. “Oh, gods, why must they be answered now, after all these years, and in this way?” He sat slumped in the saddle with eyes averted and his shoulders shook.

I said, “Be happy if you can. Live in the present, Julian. It is easier than the past.” I held out my hand. “I shall not meet you again. But I shall remember the happy times, I promise you—with pleasure and not with pain.”

He turned to me and gave me the parody of a smile. He said, “Goodbye, Maximus, my friend. It is because of people like you that Rome has lasted so long. We shall win the battle but you will not be defeated.”