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

She shook her head.

I looked at her. “I have some unhappy news for you,” I said gently.

She raised her face then.

“I am afraid that your father is dead. He was killed in the fight when we raided the camp. He was a brave man.”

“It is a lie.”

“No. It is not a lie. I have spoken to—to a man who saw him killed.”

She did not cry. She said, “My brother, then, is the king now.”

“Will he make a good king?”

“What is that to you?”

“A great deal. I would rather not have to fight him, if it can be avoided.”

“You should not have killed him,” she said colourlessly. “My brother will want revenge.”

“Could you persuade him that it is not worthwhile?”

She shook her head. “He is fond of me, but not that fond. I would never wish to persuade him.”

I said, “You think you have been ill treated. Had I left you with Marcomir you would have been married off by now to one of his chiefs—if you were lucky that is. More likely you would just have been a slave in some old man’s hut.”

“You had me flogged instead,” she said angrily. “I would kill you myself, if I could.”

“You have tried once already and failed. Don’t be so foolish again.” I leaned forward. “I have more troops on the way. Two legions from Britannia and two from Hispania, as well as soldiers from Gaul. When they arrive I shall be stronger than ever. Your people on the east bank are short of food; soon they will be starving. Many are already moving back to their old lands. When my troops arrive, I shall cross the river. And when I do so, I shall destroy all those little kings and their princes. You may write that to your brother, if you wish. It would be better that he takes his people away before they are destroyed utterly.”

She caught her lip between her teeth. “Why should I write such a letter? I don’t understand.”

I said patiently, “If you love your brother and your people, you might wish to save them from an unnecessary war. I would do so, if I were in your place.”

She smiled then, and I saw from her smile that I had failed. She said, “When Marcomir took me prisoner, he said to one of his men that I would be worth all the legions that you had not got. He would not have said that, if he had known what you are telling me now.” She smiled again. “And yet I do not think that he was lying. It is you who are trying to trick me. I have seen your camp and heard your soldiers talk. I know how many men you have not got. And those you have, are forced into your service.” She laughed scornfully. “The young men of my people do not have to be branded like animals before they take a spear in their hands.” She paused. She said, “I will do nothing to betray my people—nothing.”

I said, “You are a clever girl but you are not as clever as you think.”

She looked curiously round the room. It was large and very bleak. The plastered walls were white, and bare of decoration of any kind. The floor was of rough wood; the only furniture was a low bed in one corner, the table at which I sat, two stools and a large chest in which I kept my few clothes. By the bed, there was a native rug that I had bought in Treverorum, and on the table a small oil lamp. That was all.

“This is all you have?” she asked with a puzzled frown.

“Yes.”

“But you are a general. I do not understand. Even the chief of a small band among my people has a—richer hut.”

I said, “This is how I live. It contains all I need.”

She looked at me. “You must be lonely. You have no family.”

“But I have—there are six thousand of them.”

“I did not mean that.”

“Yet it is enough.”

She pushed her hair back and said, “May I go now?”

“Of course.”

“Please let me go free.’

“Why? There is a man in this camp who was thirty years a slave of your people. He has told me what it was like. They had no pity. Why should I? Talk to him—he works with the farrier—and you will be glad then that you are at least the servant of men who are not barbarians.” I checked and looked at her. I said, slowly, “But I will send a message to your people to let them know that you are—safe.”

She said urgently, “It would be better to let me go. If you do not, then you will be sorry. There, I have warned you. I will not do so again.”

As she turned and walked from the room, I heard her say in a low voice, “And Marcomir will also be sorry for the shame that he put upon me.”

I was startled. I crossed the room and swung her round. “What is that you are saying? Is that true? Did he touch you before I brought you away?”

“Yes,” she cried. “He did. And though I hate him for it, he, at least, is a man. He is not like you. You are only a Roman.” She wrenched herself free and fled from the room. I did not understand. I went back to the table and sat down. I picked up the map of the area and studied it. Maps were easy to read.

The weather broke at last. The sun and the blue sky vanished and we had days of fine, driving rain that left the fields sodden, and which brought with them a cold wind that made us reach for our cloaks each time that we stepped out of our huts into the open. It was on one of these days that a messenger arrived from Bingium. He had ridden all night and he stood dripping water all over my office while he apologised for the delay due, so he said, to a loose horse-shoe. The letter from Fabianus explained his urgency. “Come quickly to the camp of Marcomir,” he wrote. “Only you can prevent a great disaster.”

I left Quintus in charge, took ten men as an escort under Barbatio, and reached Bingium in a little over two hours. There, a boat was waiting for me and, on the east bank, under guard of a group of Fabianus’ men, fresh horses to carry us the remainder of the way. It was still raining when I reached Marcomir’s berg; the stockade was full of armed men, and alarm and anger were the signs I recognised on all the faces that I met. Fabianus, his cloak dripping, met me outside the prince’s hut. Two dozen horses or more were standing there, fully saddled, and many of the men on guard were Alans as well as Franks.

“Well,” I said. “Tell me what is wrong that I must put right.”

He said, in a dead voice, “A party of Vandals raided the berg three nights ago. They came secretly and they went secretly.”

“If it was not a war party what did they want? To spy?”

“They cut the throats of the few guards, but that was all. They went to the women’s side and took the wife of Marcomir from her hut.”

I blinked. “Go on.”

“They had a two hour start before the affair was discovered. Marcomir was away at the time visiting a post that had been attacked the previous day.”

“That was clever of them.”

“Yes. I was in camp. I followed them with two sections and men from the prince’s war band. But we never caught them. The trail ran clear, through a litter of murdered sentries and wiped-out patrols.”

Fabianus wiped the rain from his face. He said, “She was very popular. It was a good match—a fine marriage. It is an insult to be wiped out only in blood. The whole tribe is arming now.”

I said, “He cannot be allowed to go on the war trail. That is what they want. They will destroy him, and then us. And none of it will help his wife.”

“I told him all that. He would not listen to me.”

“Will he listen to me though?”

“That is why I sent for you, sir.”

“Where is he now?”

He jerked his head sideways. “In his hall, holding a council.”

“I shall not see him there. Is he armed?”

“Not yet.”

“I will talk to him in his hut when he arms. It will be best to see him when he is alone. Now get me a dry cloak and some wine. I am very tired.”