Eagle in the Snow (41 page)

“They must have caught up at last. Tell your commander to hold his ground till he has collected the two groups. I want no-one left behind, do you understand.”

He was back again, an hour later. “Their horsemen are in sight,” he said breathlessly. “We picked up one patrol, but the other, so they think, was wiped out.”

I nodded. “Your commander knows what to do.”

By the middle of the afternoon we could see their horsemen coming down the road. They were a great distance away, but they were clearly silhouetted against the white dazzle of the snow. They closed up slowly, for there were not many of them, and then attacked the rear-guard. Their charges were wild and undisciplined, and were beaten off easily enough. Later, more and more horsemen joined them, and they got bolder, and followed us closely, making quick fierce attacks whenever the opportunity occurred. Quintus kept a screen of cavalry either side of the column, for there were heavy drifts on the road, and the marching was slow and painful. Soon our men got so used to watching cavalry fights take place out of bow-shot range that, presently, they took no notice. Occasionally, an enemy horseman would break through and canter up in a flurry of snow, and make a clumsy sweep at a helmeted figure trudging alongside a cart. The legionary might go down, unprotesting, too tired to defend himself, and the Vandal ride off, brandishing his sword in triumph. Sometimes, however, a bowman would hastily string his bow and loose an arrow, so that the man would continue his journey back to his waiting comrades, dying over the neck of his horse.

On the third day, after they caught us, we marched ten miles, and now there were horsemen all about us, in groups ranging from a dozen to twenty or thirty; but of the columns of their infantry there was no sign. That night their cavalry camped within two miles of us, and we were attacked, when the moon rose, by men both on horse and on foot. The enemy were a mixture of Vandals, Quadi and Marcomanni, and their efforts were, as Quintus remarked contemptuously, half-hearted in the extreme. A second attack, just after daybreak, was ended by a high wind and a sharp fall of snow which created a small blizzard; and both sides were compelled to cease fighting because of these conditions. That night I broke camp as soon as it was dark, despite the fact that the men had been on the march for nine hours. Again we made a forced march through fresh snow, the cavalry breaking the trail ahead of us in slow and coldly painful fashion. The pickets that we had left to keep the fires alight caught up with us late the next day, and reported that the enemy had not sent out patrols to the camp until well past daylight, and did not realise they had been tricked until the pickets rode off. We marched again all day, the men singing their tuneless songs, Fredegar limping beside the aquilifer, and Quintus bringing up the rear of the column and looking, as usual, a part of his horse.

In the late afternoon the sky cleared and I could see the sun, a circle of molten gold, just above the tops of the trees that thickened the horizon to our front. We dropped into a hollow, passed an abandoned straggle of huts, and then began to climb up a long slope; and either side of the road the snow lay thick and undisturbed, as far as a man on a horse could see. The legionaries began to quicken their pace, and the cavalry, as though at command, mounted their horses. A stir of expectation ran through the column, and faces began to peer through the slits in the waggon covers. There, ahead of us, between a gap in the trees, black against the sky, stood the framework of a signal tower, and the smoke from it streamed upwards into the cold air, as a message of welcome against our coming. We knew then that we had reached our destination—the thirtieth milestone out of Augusta Treverorum.

It was now the thirteenth day of January. For seven days we had held Moguntiacum against the hatred and envy and greed of five tribes. Then, we had retreated for six days through the hills in the most appalling conditions of ice and snow, fighting a rear-guard action of savage skirmishes over a distance of seventy odd miles. Yet not one man had fallen out who had not previously been injured by the swords or axes of the barbarians. It was still a legion that I commanded. As I went forward to greet the post commander, while my tired men began to bivouac behind the ditches we had prepared all those months before, a raven flew above my head and cawed dismally. I shivered. I knew, in my heart, that the legion had made its last march.

XVIII

I
NSIDE THE PALISADE
I met Agilio, no longer the care-free boy I had last seen a short while ago; his face was strained and he looked anxious the whole time.

“Is everything in order?” I asked.

He nodded dumbly, his eyes wide as he watched my tired men file past towards the site of their camp in the rear. He had not believed me when I had warned him of what might happen; he had not visualised the possibility of defeat.

“Is Flavius here?”

“Yes, sir. He has been here several days.”

“Have you seen anything of the garrisons from the other forts—Salisio, Boudobrigo, Confluentes?”

He shook his head.

“I signalled them to withdraw days ago,” I said. “They must have been destroyed by now. We saw nothing of them upon the road.”

Flavius was inside the tower, and Quintus and Fredegar joined me there. We sat down on the narrow benches in the living quarters and drank the wine Agilio offered us, in silence. We were so tired and so cold that nothing seemed to matter except sleep. Even death would have been welcomed as a friend at that moment. At length I roused myself with an effort. “What supplies have you got?”

Flavius said grimly, “All I could lay my hands on. Many were evacuating the city when I left. I had to kill in order to take what I wanted. I have thirty waggons, loaded with biscuits, salt meat, corn and vinegar, as well as a little wine. Also arrow heads and shafts, ballistae bolts and spears. Enough food, that is, for five thousand men for two days on full rations.”

I said, “We have Fredegar’s Franks to feed, as well as the signal post people we picked up on the way. How many did you bring?”

“The two centuries you left me, and four hundred others.”

“Any horses?”

“Sixty. That was all I could muster. I had to use mules for the waggons.”

“Artillery?”

“Four ballistae and six carroballistae.”

“Very well.” I nodded my dismissal.

Flavius stood his ground. “There is just one thing, sir. I saw the Bishop before I left. He told me he had written to the Praefectus at Arelate, begging for help.”

“So did I, but I had no reply.”

“But I have a letter from the Magister Equitum per Gallias.”

“Give it to me.” I read Chariobaudes’ letter carefully, while the others waited. “I would help you if I could and as I promised. But I learn that the Alemanni are across the Rhenus in strength and have captured two other cities, as well as Borbetomagus. This means that the road to Divodurum lies open before them. It must be obvious, therefore, that my first duty is to protect this city, else they would have an open pathway into the heart of Gaul. The Praefectus Praetorio has confirmed this decision. Do not think too harshly of me, therefore. I am confident that all will yet be well with you. Treverorum is a strong city to defend and these people are not good at siege warfare.” I read it through to the end and then flung it at Quintus. “So much for the help he promised us. The Praefectus can escape by boat, of course. He risks nothing; he forgets nothing, save his duty.”

Quintus said carefully, “From Chariobaudes’ point of view he is quite correct.”

“Of course. Only he doesn’t realise that the Alemanni have no intention of marching inland. He will keep his men there, and nothing will happen.”

Quintus looked at the others in turn. “You will keep silent about this message. Is that understood?” They nodded. To me he said, “There is still some good advice in the letter.” He paused. He said, “If we pull the legion back to Treverorum we could hold it against them easily. If we stay here we risk being destroyed.”

“Fetch Aquila.”

He came, shaking the snow from his shoulders as he entered.

“It is snowing again,” he said.

“Aquila, can the men march another thirty miles back to the city?”

He hesitated.

“If we march at dawn? Can they?”

He shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said slowly.

Flavius said, “There is a lot of heavy snow on the road between here and the city. I had difficulty in getting through with the waggons.”

Aquila said, “The men must have some rest, sir.”

“It is only thirty miles,” said Quintus. He paused, as an orderly entered and lit the lamp. He leaned back and stretched himself. He said, “They won’t give us long even if we do stay here.”

Fredegar said, “They are tired, as we are, and just as hungry. Yet behind these ditches we are safe until they attack us.” He gazed at me ironically.

The post commander said anxiously, “I kept the ditches cleared as you ordered, sir, though it was not easy.”

I smiled at him. “Nothing has been easy for any of us.”

Quintus said, “They must have Treverorum. If we hold it, then they cannot have it. Without food they will die.”

Aquila said, “I understand that, sir.” He glanced at me. He said, “They know you intended to fight here. They are full of confidence. This they will lose if they are asked to march again. As for myself—” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“They are marching faster than we. In spite of our start their cavalry has already caught up.”

The door swung open and Marius burst in. He said, “One of my patrols has just come in. The main Vandal column has just reached that village in the valley.”

“Are they camping?”

“Yes, sir, but they have cavalry out in the snow, about four hundred yards from the palisade.”

I looked at Quintus. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“That settles it,” I said. “Put out double sentries; get those enemy patrols driven away and establish pickets of our own, five hundred yards from the camp. They must have fires ready so that they can signal at a moment’s notice. Now, let us get some sleep.

But there was little rest for any of us. Units had to be re-organised to allow for casualties, food distributed, and time allowed for the repair of broken equipment and damaged boots. The armourers had to get fires going; spear heads had to be fitted on to new shafts, bow cords renewed and arrows flighted. The ditches, partially filled, in spite of Agilio’s efforts, with the loose snow of the night, had to be cleared; and the artillery sited on hurriedly built platforms. The waggons were emptied of their supplies and drawn up in arranged positions on the flanks, so as to make a barricade against attack by infiltration; and the palisade had to be strengthened with timber and brushwood.

The camp was its usual square, twelve hundred yards on either side, surrounded by a timber palisade and an earthwork, built the previous year. The two corners facing the enemy, were strengthened by the addition of waggons, as well as platforms on which were mounted two carroballistae. Fifty yards in front of the gate was the signal tower, surrounded by a circle of triple ditches and a palisade. In front of this, stretching to left and right, was a four foot palisade, earthed and well dug-in, behind which the legion would fight when on the defensive. Protecting this there was the usual line of triple ditches, their bottoms spiked with sharpened branches. In addition, however, I had had dug in front of this, a wide zig-zag ditch. It was fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep, with narrow gaps at the ends nearest to our position. An enemy approaching would be forced by the closing up of this ditch, to concentrate his attack at single points where the gaps occurred. We, however, could concentrate our fire on these gaps and so destroy him as he tried to come through. In this way I hoped to reduce the effectiveness of the enemy’s vast superiority of numbers. Squadrons of cavalry and archers would protect our flanks, and I had no doubt but that we could hold our ground, so long as we had sufficient men and missiles to last out.

All morning the men worked, while Quintus and I rode carefully over the ground upon which we would fight. Facing east, from the signal tower, the ground was level for about two hundred yards. It then sloped gently to the trees in the distance. On the right of the road the ground sloped away to a great wood of firs that guarded our flank. On the left the ground dipped for, perhaps, half a mile, and then climbed a long gentle slope to the horizon. The plain was thinly covered, here and there, by clumps of bushes. A little to the right of the Bingium road there was a small copse in which I intended to put a century to lie in ambush. The snow was packed hard underneath the surface, and there appeared to be few drifts. Quintus seemed satisfied and, at length, we returned to camp.

At midday, while I was eating a bowl of hot porridge, we saw their horsemen in the distance. They came up to within a hundred yards of our furthest pickets. They circled the ground slowly but did not attack us. Presently they rode off, and in the afternoon the men who were not on duty washed themselves, and then sat outside their tents. The wind had dropped, the sun shone fitfully and the soldiers laughed as they rolled the dice and gambled away the pay that so many of them would never receive. They looked less tired after their long sleep; they smiled, made jokes, told each other bawdy stories, and some of them sang.

Just before dusk one of the sentries reported men on the Confluentes road. I climbed the tower, and I could see them; a dark, straggling column, moving slowly towards us. The Vandals could see them, too, and their horsemen spread out and rode towards them. Quintus hastily mounted three squadrons and led them out to intercept the Vandals. An hour later, with bloody cavalry skirmishes going on behind them, the column reached the safety of the palisade. It consisted of three hundred men, wounded, hungry, and exhausted; all that was left of the garrison at Confluentes and the crews of the signal posts along their line of march. Of the garrisons from Boudobrigo and Salisio there was no news, and I knew now that they would not come. They had been destroyed in the hills by the Burgundians, led by their king, Guntiarus, who had once been proud to call himself an ally of Rome.