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

XII

I RODE TO Treverorum with an escort of twenty men, taking Flavius and Julius Optatus with me; but I left Quintus in command at Moguntiacum. I think he was glad to be alone, and I—I could not bear to talk to him. It was a hurried journey in the sun. We changed horses at each posting station and never stopped longer than the time it took to drink a mouthful of wine and swallow a bowl of food. It was midday when we saw the white gates of Romulus come into view and, once there, I went straight to my quarters. Listening to the murmur of the crowds in the streets and looking at the thick walls of the fortress in which I stood, it was difficult to believe that the camp on the east bank was a reality and that the danger we had feared all winter was now so close at hand.

I sent for the Curator and, while waiting for his coming, washed my face and hands, tried to comb the dust from my hair, and drank a bowl of white wine. Before I left Moguntiacum I had dictated letters to Honorius, to the Dux Beligicae, to Chariobaudes, and to the Praefectus Praetorio in his palace at Arelate, so far away, so warm and so safe. Now I dispatched them by the imperial post under seals of urgency. My orderly had just returned to report that they had gone off safely when Artorius arrived.

He saluted me politely, but did not smile. He was a man I could not understand. Once I had tried to. Now I no longer cared. “Sit down,” I said. “I want a talk with you.”

He inclined his head. “I am at your service.” He paused and added, “I also have things to say, general.”

“You had my letter about the inadequacy of supplies?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

He said, “You have made grave charges of incompetence, laziness, and even”—he hesitated—“of corruption.”

“Yes, I have.”

“I hope for your sake, general, they can be substantiated.”

I raised my head. I said, “It is a matter of indifference to me whether they can be or not. I am not a lawyer, concerned with abstracts like justice and fees; I am a practical man. I want these things corrected. I only want my stores.”

He said, “But I shall have to report the matter to both the governor and the Praefectus Praetorio.”

“Go ahead, just so long as you see that things are improved from now on.”

He said primly, “They are not my concern. It is all the business of the governor.”

“I made it your responsibility.”

“I am responsible to the city council and to the Praefectus, general—not to you.”

I blinked. “I know to whom you are responsible—the Emperor; but, as for what, remains something of a mystery.”

He was trembling with anger now. He said, “The economic life of the city is my concern, amongst other things. I must advise you that I have written to the Praefectus to protest against your closing the frontier, and to complain about the manner in which you have burdened this city with the responsibility of feeding and paying for your troops.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am serious, general. There have been gross irregularities, particularly in regard to the returns made by your commissariat for supplies for troops who do not exist except on rolls.”

I stood up. I said, “Do not judge my legion by the standards of the field army of Gaul.”

“You insult the Magister Equitum. Nevertheless it is true.”

“It is a lie. Discuss it with my quartermaster and you will soon find out that you have been misinformed. Better still, come to the Rhenus and count my men for yourself.”

“This is no laughing matter, general. There is also the question of the corn tribute. I have had cases reported to me of corn being sold back to civilians at a profit out of your warehouses.” He coughed. “Your chief quartermaster, an excellent man, may not be involved, but others are.”

“Can you prove this?”

He said stiffly, “Yes, general, I can.”

“Then I am sorry. It seems we are both at fault. I will have my military police look into the matter.” I looked at him hard but he did not flinch. Suddenly I began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. What did our petty differences matter now? They say that Nero recited the Fall of Ilium while Rome burned. I do not know if it is true. Suetonius may have made it up, for he had a nose for scurrilous gossip. Yet he may have been right; he was a good judge of human folly. The frontiers of the empire crumbled: we quarrelled.

He said again, “It is nothing to laugh about.”

I walked to the window and looked out at the road to Moguntiacum down which a waggon was creaking slowly, drawn by two teams of oxen. Some children were playing in the dust and a woman was walking arm in arm with a soldier off duty.

“No,” I said. “It is no laughing matter.” I swung round. “Do you know there are six tribes camped across the river? I have talked to their chiefs. They want a third of the soil of Gaul, and if we do not give it to them they will take it by force, if need be.”

He said, “But—it’s not true—you are jesting—you must be.”

“I rode through their camp. I saw them: warriors with their wives and children, old men and women with all their possessions. They are on a migration. They want this land. A quarter of a million people are sitting on that bank, waiting for the right moment to cross.”

He swallowed hard.

I said, “I can only hold them if I have more troops and the supplies I ask for. I have written to the Praefectus Praetorio. I need authority to conscript every able man I can lay hands on.”

He said, “If this is true—”

“If!” I walked up to him and he backed away nervously. “They have tried to cross already. I have seen their weapons— good Roman swords, Artorius, sold to them through the greed of good Roman merchants and the corruption of good Roman tribunes. Shall I report that to the Emperor, do you think?”

He licked his lips. I think he thought that I was accusing him. I said, “I am not concerned with the state of the civil administration of which you are so proud to be a member. I want only the things I need, that I may do what I have to do while there is still time. Every day matters, do you understand?”

He said, “The Praefectus is not at Arelate, if you have written to him there.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way to see the Emperor at Ravenna.”

“When will he be back?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. In two months, perhaps.”

“That is too long to wait.” I took him by the shoulders and I tried to smile. I said, “You are an imperial official.”

“I have no authority in Gaul.”

“But you have here. It would do for a start. The governor of Belgica could raise men, too. The Praefectus would confirm the instructions later. That’s the answer. Don’t you see?”

His hands began to tremble and he stared at me wide-eyed. He said, “But if I exceed my authority the Praefectus may dismiss me.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, it is not.” He stopped and then said bitterly, “The civic council are already displeased with me over the other matters. One or two even want to get rid of me.”

“Ignore them.”

“I cannot.”

I said brutally, “Have some courage, man. You have come a long way. Are you not now Curator of a great city? You are more important than you think. The Emperor will not be displeased at any man who uses his initiative to protect the foremost city of Gaul.”

He hesitated.

It was then that I made my mistake. I said, “Come, it is not as bad as all that. I am not setting up a private army.”

His eyes flickered. He said, in a squeaky voice, “I have no authority.”

“Authority was made to be exceeded.”

“I cannot.”

I smiled. That, too, was a mistake. “Surely?”