Eagle in the Snow (12 page)

Walking through the streets one morning my eye was caught by a half-naked man sitting dejectedly in a pen by the slave market. He was dark skinned and wore round his neck a leather thong with a disc on it. His wrists were chained in front of him, which was unusual except in newly made slaves, and he was making patterns in the dust with his fingers. He was about my own age.

“Just a moment,” I said to Barbatio. “I want a word with this man. Find the dealer and have him brought out to me.”

The man was filthy; his one garment stank and I could see the movement of things in his hair. I put my stick under his chin and forced him to look at me. “What is your name?”

“Fredbal,” he muttered sullenly.

“Where did you get that disc on your neck?”

“It is mine.”

“Is it? Give it to me.”

Barbatio cut the thong and I took it between my fingers. It was a lead identity disc such as our soldiers always wore.

“Are you a Frank?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get this? In a fight with our people, I suppose.”

He shook his head violently. “No. It’s mine.”

“You’re lying.”

He stared at me and the sudden anger vanished, to be replaced by a look of incredible misery. The change was astonishing.

“Wait a minute. Barbatio, look at his ankle.”

The tribune did so.

“Is he branded?”

“Yes, sir.”

I said, “Then you were in our army. A deserter, I suppose?”

He looked at me gloomily, and said in bad Latin, “No—sir. I was—an optio in the auxiliaries here at Moguntiacum. I was taken prisoner when the Alemanni raided the town.” He dropped his eyes. “I was only a boy at the time.” He added, in a low voice, “I have been a slave ever since. That was a long time ago.”

I turned to Barbatio. “Thirty years,” I said. “In the name of the gods! Thirty years.”

Barbatio, his face flushed, said, “All the men in this pen have been sold, sir. To a merchant from Treverorum.”

“Did you tell the dealer you were a Roman citizen?”

Fredbal shrugged his shoulders. “It never makes any difference. They sell you just the same.”

“How do you know that?”

He said, “I used to listen to—to my master talking. He was an Aleman. People never care what they say in front of slaves. It’s a common thing. They all do it. There’s a big trade in the likes of us across the river.”

Barbatio said, “Yes, that’s true, sir.”

I said savagely, “You, certainly, should know that. Have him brought up to the camp. Get the records looked up and check his story. If it’s true then we can find a use for him—as a free man.”

Barbatio said in a shocked voice, “There will be complaints. This is a common practice.”

“You mean it was. If the merchant complains, arrest him. It is an offence to sell a free citizen in his own land. And get the magistrates and have the market closed at once.”

“But, sir, he’s one of a lot already bought and sold.” The tribune added desperately, “They’ve been purchased for work on one of the new churches in Treverorum. The merchant told me.”

“You heard my orders.”

“But, sir, the Bishop—the Praefectus—”

“I am the governor here.”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted and hurried off.

I turned and walked back towards the camp, the man following me like a dog.

‘Thirty years,’ I thought. ‘He kept that disc for thirty years in hope. And then he was bought and sold by his own people to work for the church. Oh, Mithras, you would not ask that of any man.’

At last came the news for which I had been waiting; first a rumour only of a great victory in Italia, brought by a wine merchant returning from Mediolanum; and then a letter, containing the facts and the details: a letter from Stilicho himself.

Radagaisus had been beaten. He had tried to besiege Florentia, had been besieged in his turn by Stilicho, had tried to fight his way out and had been captured and executed. More than a third of his men, Suevi, Vandals, Alans and Burgundians, had died beneath the walls of the city. The remainder had retreated north into the country of the Alemanni.

At the end Stilicho wrote: “We took so many prisoners that we glutted the market and, at the end, we were selling them at only one solidus a head, which was absurd. Many chose to enlist in our forces, however, and because of this I had hoped to return a part of my army to help you gather grapes in Gaul; but the news from Illyricum forbids this, unhappily, for the moment. From the complaints I have received about you from those close to the Emperor I judge that you are fulfilling my expectations to the uttermost. Alaric is, as before, the problem that I have to solve. To quiet his ambitions we have been compelled to appoint him to a high office in the imperial service, but the fact remains that those who follow him represent too large a lump for the stomach of the empire to digest in comfort. I intend to move into Illyricum next spring with all the forces I can muster, but I must not alarm Alaric as to the nature of my intentions towards him. This time a final settlement cannot be avoided. And I have affairs to smooth over in Dacia and Macedonia that can no longer be delayed. I must, as they used to say, hasten slowly.

“This means, my dear friend, that I must ask you to hold Germania Superior for another twelve months. Give me this time, I pray you, and all will yet be well. I have ruled this empire, who am no emperor, for ten years now, and I shall continue to rule it until I die. You may believe in my judgement as I believe in yours. Serena sends her greetings as I do to you both.”

I showed this to Quintus and he said, “Shall we ever get relief? I think they will only send more troops when we ourselves are in trouble. And then it will be too late.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” I said.

IX

T
WO DAYS LATER
I received a visit from Guntiarus, the Burgundian king, who crossed the river to meet me at Bingium by arrangement. He was short and swarthy and he reminded me strongly of a kestrel about to fly. But he was an old kestrel and I judged that he was fiercer in looks than in performance. Like all his people he greased his hair, which he wore down to the nape of his neck, and, it being a hot day, I could smell him before he came. Most of our auxiliaries were Burgundians and there had long been a standing feud between them and the Alemanni on account of a dispute over some salt springs which both tribes claimed as their own. I prayed to Mithras, unworthy though my prayer was, that the dispute might continue.

I showed him round the camp and, though he said little, he was properly impressed.

“This is only my advance guard,” I said. “Soon I shall have a great army. Rome does not forget its provinces when they need help.”

“Do you need help?” he asked shrewdly.

“No,” I lied. “But I can allow no more of your people across this river. That is what I wish to tell you.”

He looked troubled. He said, “Things have changed since Stilicho and I held hands over the salt. My people have increased in number and we have had bad harvests. The land is too poor to support so many.”

“Then you must spend more time in growing crops; less time in breeding horses.”

“It is not the same.”

“Rome can help with silver, if you are not too proud to accept the gift.” I paused and he blinked at me. “We would not wish your children to starve.”

He hesitated. “I am still a king in my own land,” he muttered.

“That is understood. And as a king in your own land you would hold it against all who tried to take it from you.” I paused again and looked at a squad of marching men. “My soldiers defend the allies of Rome as well as the citizens of Gaul.”

He put his knuckles to his mouth. “The Alemanni—”

“Are not as strong as they would have others believe,” I said.

Still he hesitated.

“Silver,” I said. “But no land.”

He said grudgingly, “My people are content with what they have.”

I did not smile.

That night we feasted him and he became very drunk. “I have fine daughters,” he said. “They are young and strong and pleasing. I will send you one and she shall be your wife as a sign that we are friends.”

“You do me great honour,” I said.

He left next morning, dripping with water that his servants had flung over him to get rid of his headache. I hoped that he would forget his promise. I did not want another wife.

Later I crossed the river at Bingium with a large escort and rode into the dark green hills that lay between the Burgundians and the desolate plain that belonged to the Alemanni. In a thick glade, full of dark shadows and shifting sunlight, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by armed men. I raised my hands to warn my men to keep theirs low on their saddles. Then I rode towards their leader who sat barebacked on a roan mare as still as himself.

“Prince Marcomir,” I said.

“Yes.” He saluted me in the Frankish fashion.

“You know me?”

“Yes.” He was taller than Guntiarus and young enough to have been my own son. Suddenly he smiled. “My people have talked of little else since your soldiers lined the river.” He added grimly, “It was not before time.”

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.”