Eagle in the Snow (26 page)

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.”

I waited under shelter by the stables while men ran past with war-harness and gear, and more and more clans poured into the stockade from the outlying districts. It was cold and I was wet through but it was best that no-one saw me, so I put my cowl over my head and told my men to do the same.

Fabianus squelched through the mud. “Quick. He has gone. Now is the time.”

I nodded and went with him. Outside the hut, with the rain dripping off the porch a light flared suddenly and a bulky figure moved and stood before me. I dropped my hand to my sword and then saw who it was. “Fredegar.”

He nodded, his face streaked with wet. “You have come,” he grunted. “That is good.”

“Have you spoken with him?” I asked.

“Yes. I was at the council meeting. It is all decided.”

“And so?”

“Blood has been spilt. It must be re-paid.”

“I have come to stop him.”

“So. You will be lucky. He will not listen to me.”

“He is mad.”

“Of course.” He glanced at me ironically. “Men are always mad where women are concerned. They let their bellies rule their heads.”

“But you will go with him?”

“Yes. It does not matter what I think. He is my lord and my prince. Your officers would do the same for you.” He smiled with bared teeth.

“Have you no influence? You know what will happen?”

He spat sideways and shook his head so that the rain drops flew from his beard. “Of course. Yet I have ridden too many years at his side not to know that I cannot change the path his horse walks. He goes where he chooses; I follow.”

“What about her father? Does he know? Will he help?”

He shrugged. He said, “She is of us now. It is our matter. Besides, you are here; you will aid us.”

I glanced at Fabianus and saw him looking at me expectantly. I said, “I am a soldier, not a husband.”

“So.” He stepped aside. “Go in then and let each do what he must.”

I nodded and went in. I pulled back the skins covering the entrance to the inner room and stepped inside. He was standing in the centre by his great fur-lined bed, his arms held out, while two young men dressed him in the apparel fitting to a war lord of the Franks. His face was cold, remote, expressionless, like the stone face of a god upon an altar. Only the black marks round his eyes betrayed the reality of his grief.

I said, “I have heard your news. I would share your sorrow if it would help, oh my brother.”

He said, “You have come to help us. I am glad. Fabianus will have told you.”

“You are going to make war?”

“Yes. I am going to make war.”

I said, “It is best to fight when one is cool. Men who are angry make mistakes.”

“I am not in the mood for making anything but war.”

I sat down upon the bed. I said, slowly, “You made a pact to serve our emperor, whose general I am. It was agreed between us that no attack should be made without my permission. Do you mean to betray my trust in you?”

He said, “It is not your wife who is in their hands.”

I said, “That is understood.” I watched his face, saw him adjusting his sword belt with deliberate care, and realised that he was in the grip of a cold rage that nothing could penetrate.

I said, “You realise what you are doing?”

“Yes. I and my people know.”

“What is your plan?”

“We shall try to rescue her first, secretly. If that fails, then we shall attack the camp.”

“The daughter of Rando is our prisoner. I will be glad to use her as a bargaining counter. That is what I would do in your place.”

“But you are not in my place. She is an Aleman and Douna—my wife—is in the hands of Godigisel. The Alemanni and the Vandals will not help each other in this matter.”

“If you fight, you will destroy yourself and your people.”

He said, “Your men took one prisoner out of their raiding party. He had twisted an ankle and they had left him behind in their haste to escape. You will find what is left of him upon two poles behind this hut. When I have the Vandal king in my hands I shall make him feel that he is dying.”

I said, “I am your friend in this matter, as in all other matters. But I must warn you of one thing. Do not ask me to help. If you go out against the Alemanni and the Vandals I cannot support you with even one man from my legion.”

He said bitterly, “I have not asked you. But if you were my friend I would not have to ask you.”

I said, “If you do this thing, will Goar and his war-band help you?”

He hesitated. “Goar has told me that he will help me as a friend would, but that he will obey you.”

“In this matter?”

“Yes, in this matter and in all matters.” He tightened his belt, slid his sword into its sheath and moved into the outer room.

I followed, and stepped in front of him. “I had a wife—like your wife. Once, a long while ago, I had to leave her in a town abandoned to an enemy while I retreated away from it with my soldiers. It was not an easy thing to do.”

He tried hard to smile. “That is why you became the rulers of the world. I admire your courage. I envy you your sense of duty, but I hate your pride. I am not a Roman, like you.”

“You took my emperor’s money. You promised to obey me. March out with your men and you doom, not only yourselves, but me also.”

He said, “I am sorry. You can still march with me.”

“Marcomir.”

“No,” he said. “It is my wife they have taken. For two nights I have dreamed of what Godigisel has done to her. Now I am going to kill him.”

I remembered the Vandal; his square iron body; the brutal face and the thick lips, and the hairs on the back of the stubby fingers. I knew what he was thinking.

I stepped aside. “Go,” I said. “And in the name of Mithras, do what has to be done.” I gave him my salute and watched him go out into the rain at the head of his men. He was a brave man. As a soldier I could not forgive him, but in his circumstances I might, myself, have done the same thing.

I saw the glint of bronze and went across the mud to the stable. “Fabianus,” I said. “I have failed. Ride to Goar’s berg and tell him what has happened. Ask him to support Marcomir at his discretion. Stay with him and do what you can.”

He saluted. He said, “And do we not help?”

“I am a general,” I said, “not the captain of a robber band.”

On my return I said to Quintus, “There was nothing I could say that would have stopped him. He had that look on his face. I tried, but only because I had to.”

He raised that eyebrow of his. He said, “It seems a pity that we cannot help him.”

“How? We have already talked on the difficulties and danger of moving the legion across the river. To build a good bridge would take too long, and a good bridge is hard to destroy if things go wrong. I cannot even use the fleet. They have put a boom across the mouth of the Moenus. It would take too long to break it down. In any case, they have strengthened their defences at just those points we attacked before. As for the east bank, they have pulled their camp back five hundred yards and are out of range of our catapults.”

The night raid must have been a failure, because Marcomir was compelled to do battle as he had foreseen. He challenged Godigisel to fight and the Vandal king, under pressure from his allies who wanted no attacks on their part of the camp, was compelled to accept. For a long day the two hosts faced each other and Marcomir, on the advice of Fabianus, waited till an hour before sundown before advancing his men. It had been a hot day, the Vandals were hungry for their evening meal, and it was good tactics to tire them with waiting. Marcomir attacked in strength and, aided by three thousand of Goar’s Alans, broke through the enemy centre and cut the Vandals to pieces.

Godigisel was taken alive and his men fled back to their camp. Marcomir then made his mistake. He camped where he had fought, eight hundred yards from the enemy, and, all night long, we on the west bank could see the flicker of his fires and hear the sounds of Godigisel dying. Few of us slept, and in the morning when I met Quintus upon the guard-walk his face looked as sick as my own. Three hours later Respendial led his men out onto the plain and attacked Marcomir as he was striking camp. Outnumbered, the Franks withdrew in disorder to the hills while small bands, who found themselves cut off, were hunted westward to the banks of the Rhenus and drowned in the shallows. Goar watched the fighting from the scrub and did not allow his men to take part. He had no wish to set one half of his tribe against the other. The Franks were routed utterly.

Late that afternoon an embassy crossed the river and asked to see me. I could guess the purpose of their visit, so I ordered Rando’s daughter to be brought to me, and I received them in the courtyard outside my headquarters, surrounded by a guard of honour. Their leader was a wiry man in his fifties, brown eyed and arrogant in his manner.

“I bring for the General of the Romans a present from Respendial, King of the Alans,” he said. He held out a bundle, shook it slightly and the head of Marcomir fell to the ground and grinned at me with sightless eyes. The girl put her hand to her mouth, but said nothing. Quintus dropped his hand to his sword, and Aquila grunted with rage.

I said, coldly, “I am glad that you kill each other. It saves me the work.”

He bared his teeth and said, softly, “When we cross the river we shall do the same to you.” His eyes flickered from face to face. “All of you.”

The girl said, in a whisper, “I am glad he is dead. Glad, glad, glad.”

I heard her. I said, “The day you cross that river I shall crucify the daughter of Rando, a princess of the royal house, upon a stake on the river’s edge so that she may see you coming. Tell that to the Alemanni, whose bread you eat like the beggars that you are.”

“You would not dare.” He was white with rage. “It is against all custom. It is even against your own laws.” His sense of outrage and shock was genuine. His people had a high regard for women. They would steal them, make slaves of them, rape them and force them into marriage; but they did not torture them. That was stupid. It was a waste of a life that might breed and produce new warriors for the tribe.

I said, “There is nothing I would not dare to protect the lands of my emperor.”

He stared at me with unblinking eyes. “I believe you would,” he said. He nodded to the men with him and they left abruptly.

I went back to my office and the courtyard was empty but for the girl. She was white-faced and weeping.

Quintus limped after me. He said, coldly, “We should have helped them. Men fight best when there is something to fight for. If Marcomir could destroy the Siling Vandals we could have beaten the Alans. We had the opportunity to destroy them in one pitched battle.”

I said, “We had no bridge.”

“Only because you would not build one.”

“I told Marcomir we could not help him.”

“Yes,” he said. “You would do that, of course. I can hear you saying it.”

“It was my duty.”

He said, bitterly, “It always is your duty. Marcomir is dead. Do you ever think of people instead of things?”

I was angry now. I said, “Do you question my command?”

He hesitated. He said, “I question your judgement. There is always a risk in battle. This was our opportunity, and you threw it away.” He added in a low voice, “You did not even ask my opinion.”

“There was no time. I was on one side of the river and you on the other.”

“There would have been if we had had the bridge.”

“But we had no bridge.”

He breathed heavily. “No,” he said. “You are not good at building bridges.”

“At least I do not break them down.”

He flushed and turned away.

The tribes across the river buried their dead, repaired their camp and nursed their wounded. There was little they could do except wait, and time was on my side and not on theirs.

Fabianus returned to the Franks and tried to put new heart into them, but many deserted, some to join the Alans, others to seek refuge in the shadow of Guntiarus and the Burgundians. Goar at least did not lose his nerve. He quietly annexed the Frankish land on the right bank and made preparations to defend it; but whether against me or against his own kind I could not be certain. I did not trust him as I had trusted Marcomir.