Eagle in the Snow (42 page)
I went to the signal tower. There, I washed and shaved carefully. My beard was quite white and I was glad to see it go. I was drying myself with a towel when Quintus came in.
He said, “What do you intend to do, Maximus? If you will take my advice it would be best to hold our position here. Let them break themselves on the palisade, as they did at Moguntiacum. On the defensive we shall lose less men; and they will starve and grow weak out in the snow.”
I said, “We have supplies for only a few days. There will be no more help out of Treverorum now. What do we do when we are out of food and missiles? Beg for mercy?”
He was silent.
I said, “By rights, we should be in winter quarters; all campaigning over for the season.” I smiled bitterly. “But this is not a civilised war; it is a fight to the death.”
“You have a legion still,” he said quietly. “Are we to throw all away on a gamble then?”
I threw the towel on the bed. “Oh, Quintus, it has all been a gamble. What Stilicho proposed that night was only a gamble. I have known that all along.”
“Well then?”
“We might hold them, as you say, on the palisade. If the men were fresh I could be certain of it. But, in any case, you never win a battle by fighting on the defensive.”
He looked at me steadily. He said, “You are going out to fight them on the plain, in pitched battle.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. I doubt very much if we can beat them. But whatever we do is a gamble. We should never survive a retreat to Treverorum now. All generals, at the very last, must be gamblers at heart. I shall stake all on a last throw.”
He gave a long sigh. “In a way I am glad,” he said. “It is better to try, and fail, than not to try at all.”
“Oh, I am going to try all right.”
In the evening we walked through the camp, and I chatted to the men as I went, and inspected the defences carefully.
“Well?” said Quintus when I had finished. “What do you think?”
I said, “Even if they beat us, it will cost them more than they realise. We shall not have failed altogether.”
In the darkness we stood on the platform of the signal tower and watched the lights of their fires; little sparks, winking across the snow. Later, there was a single clash of arms when one of their patrols met one of ours by mistake. Both withdrew at once and there were no casualties. I went to bed early that night, and I slept well and I dreamed no dreams.
At dawn the legion marched out of camp, leaving only its wounded behind. The men paraded in their ranks, century by century, cohort by cohort, their backs to the palisade, while I inspected them. The light shone upon their scarlet standards, upon the polished armour of the officers and upon the white cloaks of the cavalry. Then, one of their number, who claimed to have been a priest in his time, blessed them. I sat my horse, with Quintus on my right hand and Fabianus on my left, and I spoke to them. It would be for the last time, I knew that. I had no illusions.
“You’ll be glad to know that we have stopped running away. What generals call a strategic withdrawal, and you a long bloody march, is now over.” There was a murmur at this and some laughter. I went on: “The tribune, Flavius, has told me that in a few days we shall have help. The Army of Gaul is marching to our aid. Like you, I think they have left it a bit late, but that’s better than not coming at all. Your old general, Stilicho, has kept his promise. I knew he would not let us down.” They cheered loudly at this.
I said, “You have held them already for fourteen days, and you can hold them for four or five days more. They, too, are tired, hungry and cold, and they have no supplies such as we have received from our gallant civilian friends at Treverorum.” They laughed.
I paused. I said, “Now, we are going out to do battle. I am not fighting behind ditches this time. We are going to beat them, as we beat the enemy before at Pollentia. One hard fight is all I ask, and then it will be over.” I paused again.
I said, in a loud voice, “You wanted once to elect me to the purple, and I refused. Win this battle for me, now, and I will not refuse if you do so again. I promised you gold when this campaign was over, and I shall keep my promise, if you will keep yours to me.” I turned and pointed at the Eagle, borne by the aquilifer at my back. The worn, polished bronze of that fierce head and outspread wings had been a silent witness to speeches like this before. Below, on the placard, were stamped the letters that had been carried into every corner of the empire—S.P.Q.R.
“A good many weak-headed people think that the empire is dying,” I said. “That is what the Alemanni of Sunno, the Quadi, the Marcomanni of Hermeric, the Alans of Respendial and the Vandals of Gunderic think.” At my signal, the aquilifer held the Eagle high, so that the early morning sun glinted on the polished metal. “Prove to me now, in the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, and of the Eagle of the Twentieth, that they are wrong.”
Normally, they cheered at the end of a speech, but now they remained silent, and I was startled and worried. I coughed to clear my throat. For a moment or two I had almost believed what I had said to them. Their silence began to frighten me.
To my surprise, Quintus moved his horse forward, so that he was sideways on to the front rank. He drew his sword, that lovely curved sword that Stilicho had given him, and raised it in the air. “I give you a new emperor,” he cried. “I give you an emperor of Gaul—and of Britannia, too, if the fates are kind. I give you a new Emperor of the West. I give you—Maximus!”
They cried my name then, three times, and began to pound their shields with their spears. And, as the roar of “Maximus!” filled my ears, I raised my hand in acknowledgement; and it was hard for me to see.
The legion deployed quickly onto the frozen ground in front of the ditches. My centre was composed of a mixture of heavy and light cohorts, drawn up three deep, so as to give the maximum width to our front. There was one carroballista to each century, run slightly forward so as to have a good field of fire. Then, on each flank, there was a wing of archers, their lines slanted forward at an angle. Behind the centre, spread out two deep, were the auxiliaries under the command of Scudilio; and, mixed in with them, to make the line seem more solid, were the auxiliary horse, arranged three deep, by troops and not by squadrons. On the left wing, beyond the archers and slightly to their rear, were Fredegar’s Franks, who had strict instructions to prevent the enemy turning the flank. Beyond the right wing of archers, and flung well forward, were the seamen and signal post auxiliaries, a weak band, strengthened by a handful of legionaries, and commanded by Marius. He was to turn the enemy’s flank when the opportunity arose. Far out from the battle line, to left and right, were the regular cavalry, spread out in the shape of crescent moons. The left was under the command of Quintus, the right was led by Fabianus. In the copse that lay between Marius and Fabianus, I had concealed a small party under the leadership of Flavius. It was composed of all the men he had brought from Treverorum. They were fresh and determined, and he was a good soldier. I placed great reliance on his judgement to act at the right time. My headquarters I established behind the centre of the third row of the fighting line. Agilio and Aquila were with me, and my bodyguard were deployed behind, dismounted and awaiting my orders. Julius Optatus was in charge of the camp and of the tiny reserves I had left there to defend it. He was responsible for bringing up spare horses and missiles, as required, and for the removal and care of the wounded.
The barbarians, seeing that we intended to fight in the open, came on in six massive columns, made up of their usual wedge-shaped groups, each under its local chief. The Marcomanni were on our left, the Quadi and the Alans on our right, and the great host that made up the two Vandal tribes was in the centre. Their cavalry rode ahead of the infantry, a series of ragged lines that broke and wheeled to left and right when they saw where our horsemen were placed. A host of foot followed them at a run. Quintus, who held the left, was engaged first and found himself trying to deal with a mixture of horse and foot, both armed with bows. He broke through the enemy horse without difficulty and then charged the foot. In the thirty seconds it took him to close the two hundred yards that separated them, the enemy loosed four flights of arrows and unhorsed half his front rank. Unable to break through the enemy spears he disengaged, and withdrew his squadrons in good order. The remainder of the Marcomanni suffered fearful losses, trying to close with the archers on the wing, and a section, in desperation, tried to outflank them. Fredegar, shouting, swung his men round and fell upon them; and a grim hand to hand struggle followed.
On the right, Fabianus had charged the enemy in the flank, but the Quadi, instead of standing their ground and waiting to be slaughtered, opened ranks, stepped aside, and flung their spears and axes at our men as they rode past. This, however, proved a mistake, for the auxiliaries under Scudilio, who had already checked the enemy horse with their arrows, charged them on foot before they had time to re-group, and swept them back towards Fabianus’s cavalry, who easily rode them down. The Quadi fell back in confusion and Scudilio slowly began to turn their flank.
In the centre the Vandals came at a run in a dense mass. The bolts of the carroballistae ripped great gaps in their ranks, but did not stop them. The fighting ranks stepped forward and flung their javelins, one after one; nine arrow flights went home; but they still came on over the bodies of their dead; and there was a tremendous shock and clash of arms as the two lines of infantry met. Our line bent for a moment and then held. For over half an hour a fierce struggle went on, with neither side giving way, and then Quintus fell on their right flank with seven hundred horse. A minute later, Fabianus attacked the left, just as Scudilio’s men were beginning to tire; and the Vandal wings crumpled as men began to throw away their weapons and run. I signalled my bodyguard to mount, and then led them round to the right, intending to reinforce Fabianus. At this moment, the Franks under Fredegar broke under the weight of the Marcomanni, who had been strengthened by reserves pouring from their camp. The Marcomanni began to close in upon the rear of Quintus’ wing, which was now almost at a standstill in the midst of a vast, struggling mass of screaming, shouting men. The din was appalling. I shouted, my trumpeter saw my mouth move and blew the two blasts that meant “change direction.” I wheeled round and crossed the rear of our centre just as the Marcomanni, mingling with the Vandals, were beginning to fall upon it. My men heard us coming and fell back quickly as we poured through the gap in our line and charged home. It was a tight, controlled, compact charge, and the enemy broke and gave way before us. At my order, the trumpet sounded again, and the front line disengaged and fell back, reforming as it did so. The enemy, glad of a breathing space, did the same. They also had had enough for the moment.
I said to Quintus, “Don’t charge home into a mass that size. It’s like trying to drive your fist through a barrel of glue. Ride round them and cut them down on the perimeter.”
He wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought it was worth a try.” He hammered the pommel of his sword angrily. “With only two more alae I could have broken them into pieces.”
I said patiently, “If we go on like this, it is we who will break into pieces.”
There was a long lull in the fighting, while the wounded went to the rear, and the men’s wounds stiffened in the cold. I issued a ration of biscuit and vinegar to all ranks, and two hours later we tried again. I pulled Fredegar’s Franks back into line with the left wing of the archers, split my reserves into two halves and pushed them out towards the wings, and then ordered the whole line to move forward until contact was established with the cavalry. In this way we gained about four hundred yards of ground, while the enemy watched us from a distance and made no move. Then I ran the carroballistae forward and they opened fire at two hundred yards, supported by a screen of bowmen who had instructions to fire into the air, so as to drop their arrows into the enemy centre. As the nine inch bolts tore through men’s stomachs, and smashed ribs and backbones at a single blow, the Vandals fell back sullenly. I ordered the advance, and the cohorts’ first waves moved out at a trot. The two lines met, wavered and again held. The enemy cavalry waited on the flanks, watching our horse, while we goaded them with arrow fire from the wings. I sounded the trumpet, and Fredegar and Scudilio moved out to take the enemy on the flanks. More men were pouring out of their camp now and forming up on the rear of their centre. The carroballistae on my wings now opened fire and an enemy horseman went down at every shot. Angered into action they moved outwards to where my cavalry stood waiting patiently for my order. I waited till they were well clear of their main body, and then ordered the trumpet to be sounded. Our cavalry charged, and within three minutes it was all over. Half the Vandals were unhorsed and dead, the other half was in flight back to the camp. With no horse to oppose them, the two alae, led by Quintus and Fabianus, fell upon the enemy’s flanks and began to ride round the Vandals, working their way in, closer and closer to the centre. Slowly my front line began to move forward again. Still more men came streaming across the plain to help the enemy host. They were principally bowmen, and, from their position at the rear, they began to fire inwards, regardless of whether they struck our horse, or their own foot. Our men, who had fought all day in grim silence, now began to shout, as though they sensed that victory was within their grasp.
“Now,” I said to Aquila, and the two reserves on the flanks moved into action. At the same time, Flavius broke from the copse and led his men straight through Scudilio’s and into the weakening left flank of the Quadi, who began to give ground rapidly. I blew the “Advance” and ordered my bodyguard to mount. “They’ll break,” I cried to Agilio excitedly. “Any moment now and they will break.”
At that moment there came a sudden wailing cry, which even I could hear above the shouting and the dreadful, familiar clatter of iron upon iron. Our cavalry checked—it was an appalling sight—and began to break backwards, as though overtaken by panic and fear. This feeling spread to the infantry and they hesitated, and then began to give ground. Through a gap in a flurry of horsemen, I saw a figure in a red cloak, lying across its horse’s neck, and being cantered back under escort. I tried desperately to rally the infantry, but they were giving way now steadily, each rank retiring, in turn, through the next. “Come on,” I shouted to Agilio. We cantered through our own men—I heard our foot shout, “Ware horse”—and saw their startled faces drop away from me. Then we were moving at a fast gallop into the midst of a horde of yelling, excited Vandals. The weight of our charge, its very unexpectedness, carried us through and out the other side, leaving a swathe of dying and broken bodies behind us. We turned quickly, in the midst of their startled archers at the rear, cutting down every man we could reach; and then reformed and charged back. There is nothing quite so demoralising as being attacked from the rear. To this the Vandals and their allies were no exception. They broke away from us, their advance crumbled uncertainly into isolated fragments of ragged, exhausted and defiant men, so that, when we had ridden clear, and the cohorts had reformed, they turned and withdrew slowly towards their camp, collecting their wounded as they did so. A few minutes later I gave the signal to retreat, and the tired centuries plodded back across the blooded snow to the safety of the ditches, the palisade and the camp.