Wallace Breem - Eagle in the Snow

“It is quite simple,” I said. “I am here only to re-fortify our defences against the Alemanni; and there is a great deal to be done.” I paused and turned to the Curator. I said, “I wrote to the Praefectus Praetorio before leaving Italia, informing him of my needs. So what I say should not be new to you.” There was a sudden stir and Artorius frowned, his eyes never leaving my face. “I need corn for my men: five hundred bushels a week.” There was an exclamation at this. “Yes,” I said. “My men eat, too, just like yourselves. They need two pounds of bread, a pound of meat, a pint of wine and a tenth of a pint of oil a day. In addition, there is the question of my cavalry. I have over eighteen hundred horses to feed and they eat, between them, roughly forty-five thousand pounds of food a day. Besides this, I shall want timber to build my fortifications, waggons and ships to transport my supplies, and men who can dig ditches and be paid for it. Finally, there is the matter of remuneration for my troops.” I went on and gave details, supplied to me by Julius Optatus, of exactly how much of each I required.

There was a long silence and then the bald magistrate said politely, “I understand that you are now also governor of Germania?”

“That is correct.”

“And your responsibility is to the frontier?”

“Yes.”

“Surely then, your administrative problems are ones that can be settled within your own province? They are nothing to do with us.”

“Quite right,” muttered a red-nosed man whom I could not identify.

I said, “You know very well that Germania is a military zone; and a province in name only. It is, I believe, a poor area.”

He shrugged. “There is trade across the river with the Alemanni. The customs revenue is in your hands.” He smiled slyly.

The tribune in charge of the granaries gave him a curious look and said hurriedly, “It is true there is trade but it is variable.”

I said, “I cannot rely on that. I am a soldier, not a merchant. Besides, the trade, such as it is, will cease when I close the frontier.” There was a sudden click and a clerk blushed and bent to pick up his stylus. It had snapped in his hands. I heard the heavy breathing around me. It was very warm, and there were beads of sweat on Artorius’ face.

One of the senators said, incredulously, “You are going to close the frontier?”

“Yes. I have information that the tribes across the river are on the move. That is what I am here to prevent. There is to be no repetition of their last invasion of Gaul.”

The Bishop leaned forward, his long face yellow in the light. “Can you be certain of this?”

“Quite certain, my lord Bishop. That is why I need the utmost co-operation.”

The Curator looked at me and then at his colleagues.

He said, nervously, “You ask what I cannot give. Besides, the Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul is responsible for the granaries, not I.”

“They can be opened,” I said.

The tribune in charge said, plaintively, “I cannot release grain without a warrant bearing the Praefectus’ signature.”

I said, patiently, “Here is a commission, signed by the Emperor, appointing me Dux Moguntiacensis. That should be sufficient.”

Artorius said icily, “General, the grain is already allocated. It will mean raising the taxes. Only the Praefectus can do that. Besides, this province has paid the state its share for this year. The burden would be unjust. We are not as wealthy as we appear.”

I said, “You are, pardon me, more wealthy than you appear. Your merchants do great business. If you are rich it is because you have taxed even the sweat from the bodies of your slaves. If you feel poor it is because the peasants have been taxed of their blood and have run away rather than work your farms and your land.”

The Bishop said, “The people are poor, as you say, but is it not better to live at peace in poverty than grow rich in war?”

I said, “You may count yourself lucky that this city was sacked by the barbarians before you came here. Most of its inhabitants had to flee—those who were not killed—and they saved nothing but their lives. I need money and help so that it may not happen again.”

The Bishop said smoothly, “Exile is no evil for him who believes the whole world to be but a single house.”

“Go then to the east bank of the Rhenus and you will soon find out what your relatives are like.”

“They are barbarians, perhaps, in that they do not enjoy the benefits that Rome confers.” The Bishop spoke as though to a congregation in one of his churches. “But still they are christians, many of them, even though, alas, their views are tainted by the Arian creed. Still, I console myself with the thought that their hearts are in the right place even if their heads are wrong.”

Pushing my hair back off my forehead in exasperation I saw the Bishop’s eyes narrow suddenly.

I said, “I doubt if it is much consolation for one christian to be killed by another.”

The Bishop raised his voice as though appealing to a multitude. “They at least are not pagans,” he cried. “They do not worship false gods.”

Artorius said anxiously, “Is the situation really so dangerous? We have had no trouble these last few years.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “This frontier has always given trouble. The great Constantine—your Constantine, Bishop—who built this palace in which we sit, fought a campaign to defend this city and Gaul against these tribes. And when I was a child these same tribes broke through again and there were thirteen years of bloodshed, pillage and rape before order was restored by Julian and Valentinian. When we had troops we had peace.”

Artorius said, “But I had no word of your coming from the Praetor. Is not that—unusual?”

I said, startled, “I know nothing of the governor but I wrote to the Praefectus Praetorio before I left Italia. I know that communications in Gaul can be slow, but they cannot be that bad.”

He said stubbornly, “I received no official letter of any kind. Surely if the matter were as urgent as you make out—”

The insolence in his voice died with the words, upon the look I gave him. I said in a loud voice, “The Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul is happy in that his government sits at Arelate. It would seem that those who sleep in the sun seldom worry about those who shiver in colder climates.”

A senator with a brown, narrow face, said sharply, “If I understand you aright, you propose to commandeer our ships. It is disgraceful.”

Artorius said hastily, “Of course, I and my department are at your service. But as for money—really!”

I hit the table with my clenched fist. “Enough of this. It is for you to arrange matters with the Praefectus—not I. Though I will do it over your head if you prefer it.” The Curator gasped at this. “Time is short and I cannot wrangle all night. If you cannot raise the money, and I do not advise that you tax your wretched peasants further, then sell the ornaments, the gold and the silver in your eight churches and in your fine cathedral, for a start.”

The Bishop glared at me. “That would be sacrilege. Only a pagan would suggest such a thing.”

“I am a pagan, as you term me.”

“I know.”

I said, “If I do not get what I ask I shall take over this city and rule it under martial law in the name of Honorius and Stilicho, his general.”

I picked up a silver cup that stood on the table between us. “I think it better to save lives,” I said, “than the lifeless.”

“Thief!”

I swung round on the Bishop in a rage. “I would not advise you to hold what you cannot defend.”

“It is robbery,” he spluttered.

“It is your god who approves of poverty and abhors wealth—not mine.”