Wallace Breem - Eagle in the Snow - A Novel of General Maximus and Rome's Last Stand

I said, “Do you wish to cross the Rhenus also?”

He grinned. “I have a small territory which I hold with difficulty. My problems would not be less if I enlarged it.”

“Can I count on your support?”

“Why not?” He added softly, “We all need help.”

“There was a time—” I began.

“But it is not now,” he cut in quickly. “Do not worry, your Excellency,” he went on. “I made a pact with Stilicho. He is a man. I am in friendship with Guntiarus, and the Alemanni tolerate me because I am between them and the Burgundians.”

He laughed quietly but without amusement. “My strength lies, you see, in not being strong.”

I looked at him, sitting there half naked on his horse, the sweat trickling across a pattern of scars on his chest and arms. He was young and strong and had a sense of humour. I liked him and felt that he was a man I could trust.

“I spent some time in Gaul,” he said. “I was a hostage for my father’s good behaviour. Treverorum is a fine city—very rich. Too rich,” he added gloomily.

“Do you know the Alemanni well?”

“I know their swords,” he said grimly.

“Tell me what you know. It will be of great use to me.”

We dismounted from our horses and walked towards a fallen tree trunk.

Quintus said, “We need more men. We want twice the auxiliaries we have at the moment.”

“Perhaps we can raise them in Gaul.”

“Do you really believe that?” He snorted his contempt.

“Where else then? I agree with you about the men. I have had a stone in my stomach ever since the letter came from Stilicho.”

He said, “There is supposed to be an army of thirty thousand in Gaul.”

“Yes, on files, in the archives at Mediolanum. And not enough money in the provincial treasury to pay a third of that number.”

“Well, what then, my General?”

“I think I had better go back to Treverorum and talk to the Curator. If we have taken all the veterans’ and soldiers’ sons we can get hold of, and there are no more volunteers, then we must use other means. I can see Gallus too. He will have time enough now in which to build his ships. In any event something must be done to smooth our relations with the officials there. They will have to endure us another year whether they like it or not.”

He frowned. “Perhaps longer. Shall I come?”

“Of course. Lucillius can take command. He is reliable and the experience will be good for him.”

There was a knock and the Chief Centurion came in. “About the bath house, sir. I am having great difficulty in getting the men to use it.”

“Why, Aquila? Don’t they like washing?”

He smiled. “Yes, sir, but they prefer to use the river?”

“When I was young they used the bath house as a club. They played dice in it and gambled away their pay.”

He said patiently, “They prefer to do that in the town, sir.”

“Habits change, is that it? Yes, of course. The thing is, I don’t want trouble with the local women. These people have very strict ideas, and if our men get their girls into the family way there will be some fighting. I had to buy off a village last month when some young fool in the second cohort got too friendly with their chief’s daughter. I need gold for more important things than that.”

“I know, sir.”

“Very well, Aquila. See what you can do. Find some other way of amusing them in their spare time.”

He said, “Are you going to Treverorum, sir?”

“Yes. Why? Do you want me to bring you back a present?”

He smiled. “No, sir. But there’s that business of the legionary who killed himself last week.”

“I remember. He was in the Headquarters Cohort. Flavius Betto was his name, wasn’t it?”

Aquila nodded. “He was a Brigante, sir. Worried about his family. Wanted his discharge papers.”

I said, “We all want our discharge. I refused him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s about his property, sir. His father owned a big estate near Eburacum, sir. He bought it out of his profits as a silversmith.”

“Yes. Land was cheap enough then. I remember.”

“The father died a month ago and left him everything.”

“Any next of kin?”

“One sister, but she may be dead.”

“Did our chap make a will?”

Aquila looked straight ahead of him. “We haven’t found one yet, sir.”

I knew what he was thinking. If there were no will and no next of kin his property belonged to the legion. We were short of funds. Even a patched-up estate in Britannia might bring in some revenue.

I shook my head. “You had better see if you can find it. Give me his documents and I’ll put the matter in the hands of the magistrate. He can sort the thing out.”

“You won’t forget the boots, sir?”

“No. I won’t forget the boots.”

We made a slow journey to Treverorum, stopping to inspect the signal posts on the way and taking pains to establish contact with the new auxiliaries who now manned them. Twice we met detachments of men returning from leave, for I would not let them travel alone, and once a cavalry patrol appeared suddenly out of the scrub, their commander, young Marcus Severus, explaining apologetically that he had used us as a target for a practice ambush. Quintus said brusquely, “Very well done, but don’t spread out so much. And get those horses’ manes plaited. I’ve told you about that before.”

Back in the city we established ourselves in Romulus and sent for the Curator and his staff. Brieflly I told him the news. He went white when he learned that our stay was to be extended indefinitely.

“What can we do for you?” he asked cautiously.

“Firstly, there’s the matter of trading dishonesty. My quartermaster made a contract with a number of leather-smiths here for the supply of boots. They were to be made in standard sizes and each was to contain four thicknesses of leather in the sole. When they were delivered and issued it was found that they had only two thicknesses of leather. Here is a pair in proof of the matter.”

Artorius turned the boot over in his hand. “This is a matter for the courts.”

“I have not the time to go to the courts to sue the man for fraud. I need the boots now, not in four months time.”

He said nervously, “How can I help?”

“I am not going to pay again for a fresh supply. Quintus Veronius has the details. A word from you, and a little pressure, and the matter is attended to. You had better tell your guilds that my legion has an unusual quartermaster—one who is honest. He neither makes money for himself nor allows others to make a profit out of him. Value for value is all we ask.”

He nodded, speechless. He owned two big estates to the south of the city and kept herds of cattle and goats that supplied much of the leather for the entire district. And he knew that I knew this thing.

“One other matter. The grain supply we received last week, and for which we paid, was two pounds underweight in each sack. I know, because I weighed them myself. This also, Quintus Veronius will deal with.”

I paused and looked at the silent, hostile faces around me.

“And now,” I said gently. “I want men for the army.”

The Curator stiffened and I saw his knuckles whiten. But he kept himself admirably in check.

He said apologetically, “I don’t really think—”

“Just a moment,” I said. I took from my tunic a rolled letter than even Quintus had not seen. “I had this a week ago. It is from an old friend, a man named Saturninus, who succeeded me in command of Borcovicum, a fort on the Great Wall where I used to serve. Would you like to hear what he says?”

I had their interest now, and Quintus was looking at me with something of the old expression that I had not seen since the early days with Stilicho.