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

I said formally, “I am Maximus, General of the West, and this is Quintus Veronius, my lieutenant and master general of my horse.”

I heard a quick intake of breath, saw Rando blink suddenly with his one eye, while the Vandal king frowned, the smile slipping from his face like a salmon from the net. “Shall we sit down,” I said. “At this table we can talk and I will listen to what you wish to say.”

Rando unbuckled his sword and laid it across his knees.

I said mildly, “I have come with no sword, as you can see. Do you always bear arms at the council table?”

“It is our custom,” said Gunderic. He glanced at my soldiers in the distance and smiled ironically.

The Aleman said, “I have not heard your name before.” He spoke carelessly as though to imply that I had been—that I was a man of no importance.

I said, “You have heard of me now. I was in Britannia during the years when your people made war on Gaul. We, too, had a great war with the Picts and the Scotti and the Saxons who invaded my island. I lived and they died.”

Rando raised his hand and signalled to one of his servants, who came forward carrying something wrapped in cloth. “I make you a present,” he said. “I hope that you will honour me by accepting it.”

The servant unwrapped the gift and held it out. It was a belt of solid silver, decorated in the Celtic fashion. It was very beautiful.

“Thank you,” I said. “It is, indeed, a belt fit for a king.”

Rando smiled. “It was made for one, though he never wore it.”

“I, too, have gifts for my guests and brothers: two white colts from the old royal herd of the Treveri, whose ancestors have carried kings.” I nodded to Quintus, who called out; at which a groom came to us, leading the animals on a bearing rein.

Rando looked at them and said, “Ah,” very softly. Gunderic grunted and, for one fleeting moment, gave a smile of sheer pleasure.

“If they are to your liking,” I said, “then it is General Veronius whom you must thank. It was he who chose them.”

Rando said thoughtfully, “It takes a warrior to choose such beasts.”

“And now, what can I do for you?”

The Aleman touched the belt that lay under my hand. “This was made from the silver out of a mine not far from here.”

“Aquae Mattiacae,” I said.

“So—that is how you call it. Yes, it came from there.” Rando paused and then looked at me directly. “Before you came there was much trade across the river; trade in silver, in slaves and in goods of all kinds. Your merchants wanted our slaves and our silver, and we wished to buy their goods in exchange. This you have stopped. Why?”

I said, “I have heard a rumour that your people are restless and wish to move to new lands. Perhaps the rumour is false. If it is then you will tell me.”

He ignored what I had said. “We made a treaty with your general—him they call Stilicho; and this treaty we have kept.”

I said, “That is so, but the treaty depended, in part, upon my government sending you subsidies—corn amongst other things. Last year there was a famine in Gaul and there was no corn to spare. When it was not sent you crossed the river at Borbetomagus and raided the land with armed men.”

“Our people were starving. They needed the food you promised and did not send.”

“We could not send what we had not got.”

Gunderic said, indifferently, “That is your concern, not my brother’s here.”

“It is certainly not yours,” I said, sharply. “King Rando, you were told the delivery would be late because the corn fleet from Britannia was delayed by storms. You should have known we would keep our word.”

Gunderic laughed.

Rando said, “In the treaty it was agreed that the corn should be delivered on certain dates. It was not we who broke the treaty but yourselves.”

Quintus said, “A king who was a king in more than name would have had better control over his own people.”

Rando said, quietly, “Then you do not understand my people. I do not rule them in all matters; only in some.”

I said, “Rome is not a feeble woman to be threatened and made a mock of in this way, as you will learn.”

Gunderic yawned.

Rando said, softly, “I hope the tribute will not be late this year.”

Quintus leaned forward. “Rome does not pay tribute to any race. It is the Alemanni, as we know, who make excellent slaves.”

Gunderic smashed his fist upon the table. “Are we to be insulted.”

Quintus said, “It is not possible. You are a Vandal.”

Rando did not move. He looked at us with quiet curiosity. He said, “I thought to ask for terms, not to listen to them.”

“I will tell you my terms,” I said. “Keep to your side of the river and we will keep to ours. It is as simple as that. There will be no more trade—not even in Roman slaves—until you have paid a fine in cattle for the damage done to Borbetomagus.”

“Is that all?” asked Gunderic.

“That is all.”

The Aleman said, “My brother needs land for his people. They wish to cross the river and settle in Gaul.”

I said, “My brother in arms, Stilicho, has made terms with you on this matter already.” I smiled at Rando. “Many of the Burgundians of Guntiarus, as well as those of your own people who wished to cross the river, have been allowed to do so up to the numbers that were agreed.” I looked from him to Gunderic and smiled again. “Are your people not happy under their own kings?”

The Vandal flushed but said nothing.

The Aleman king said harshly, “That is not in question.”

“What is?”

Gunderic said, “You have a great empire and vast lands containing many people. And you are rich and prosperous. We, too, are a numerous people but our land is not prosperous and—”

“You have no lands,” I said. “You came out of the east and abandoned your own lands. Why should you expect others to give you theirs?”

“We did not abandon our lands. We were forced to leave—”

Pride, perhaps, forbade him to mention the truth, that they had been driven out by the Huns. But perhaps he was speaking the truth: he did not know. The story had been twisted in the handing down, as fathers, determined to retain the respect of their sons, tried hard to turn stories of defeat into those of victory. Even we in Rome had done the same thing.

I said, “Italia was not your land but you tried to take it from us. Now you cross the white mountains. Why should we help you? Let the Alemanni do that, who are now your hosts and brothers.”

Rando said quickly, “It is our desire that those who wish be allowed to cross the river peacefully.” He glanced significantly at my sentries. “Without war,” he added softly.

I looked at them in silence. They had fought us in turn for years now, yet there were Alemanni serving with Stilicho, Burgundians married to citizens of Treverorum and Vandals without number in the army of the east. They envied us, they feared us and they hated us. They had never known a time when Rome did not patrol their frontiers and punish their raids with a strength they could never overcome. The enmity between us was an unhealed scar that reached down to the bone.

“Were you so peaceful when you visited Moguntiacum as a young man?” I asked. Rando did not answer me.

I said, “Let who wishes speak for himself. Do you, King of the Alemanni, wish to move your people into our lands and accept the protection of Rome?”

He hesitated. “I?” he said. “My people and I can take what we want—if we choose—if it is our wish. It is our wish at the moment to be content with what we hold.”

“So,” I said. “That leaves only you, King Gunderic, who are a king of a people without a land. It is you alone then who wishes to serve Rome?”