chancellor, and the court reeked of a eunuch’s rule. I had met his sister, too. Galla Placidia was young and beautiful and she behaved like the cats that she kept in her private apartments. She purred one moment and spat the next. The gods alone knew what secret ambitions she concealed behind a wanton’s smile. I did not like her.
Stilicho spoke. “I need you on the Rhenus,” he said.
I was startled. I looked first at Quintus and then at him. The wind had risen and the oil lamps spluttered as their flames were touched by the icy fingers of air that streamed in through the string-holes of the tent.
“The men that Magnus Maximus took into Gaul never went back. It damaged the defences of our island for years,” I said desperately. “We have been away five years.”
“And have done good work. Without your aid we should not have held Alaric and forced him to withdraw to Illyricum.”
“Our return was promised.”
“Matters have changed.”
I said to him, “I have never questioned your orders before—”
“So?”
“I must do so now.”
He said, in a tired voice, “The pressure is growing along the Rhenus. I knew it would. I have had reports. The treaties I had made were only a temporary expedient. I didn’t expect them to hold for ever.”
“But you stripped the Rhenus of its troops to defend Italia.”
“It was necessary.”
“And now?”
“Alaric, for the moment, is quiet. I have been making preparations to move into Illyricum and deal with him properly. I hope to move this year. But now—” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “Now, I have news that the Ostrogoths, the Vandals and the Quadi have formed an alliance under Radagaisus and are preparing to invade Italia on their own account.”
“You will need us here then.”
“No. Someone with a trained force must hold the Rhenus and keep the peace, while I deal first with Radagaisus and then with Alaric.”
“The peace?”
“Yes. The Alemanni are restless. I have had reports—how true, I don’t know—that they are planning to migrate.”
“I see. But why the Twentieth?”
“Because it is the Twentieth—your legion—and you command it.”
Quintus said, curtly, “It took eighty thousand men to hold the Rhenus in the old days. Do you expect us to hold it now with only six?”
There was silence, and the wind drummed on the tent walls so that they curved inwards as though pushed by a giant’s hand. It was very cold and I put on my cloak. I felt chilled inside.
Stilicho said, patiently, “They held it on the east bank along the defences they called the Limes. These were abandoned long ago. Later, it was a matter of raids and skirmishes; war bands and looting. It was easy for them to cross the river in boats and make night raids upon a bored garrison. But now it is not a question simply of war; it is a question of a migration. You cannot move a whole people across that river unless there are bridges.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, please. In summer the Lower Rhenus floods its banks for miles and the whole countryside is water-logged. That provides a natural barrier. The high Rhenus is in the mountains and the passes are few and easily defended. That only leaves the middle Rhenus, in Germania Superior, to be guarded: a distance of fifty miles or so, and there are only a handful of places along that fifty miles where a crossing can be made. A tribe migrating needs a road, and roads are few. I do not say that one legion is enough, but skilfully handled it could be.”
He looked at me then and I saw the appeal in his eyes. “It must be enough, Maximus, my friend. I cannot spare any more men.”
I held the centre pole of the tent and felt it shake under the strain. The wind was howling through the camp and I could hear men shouting outside to each other to check the ropes and the pegs. The rain crashed upon the roof like a flight of arrows striking a shield and a spattering of drops came through a worn patch in the leather above my head. I moved away.
I looked at Quintus and he looked at me. I knew that we shared the same thoughts. We were neither of us young and we had had our share of the fighting. The exhilaration of the big command had almost gone. In its place was worry and work and sleepless nights. In five years we had had no regular camp. We were sick of living in tents, sick of hardship, sick of the dust and flies in summer, and of slush and rain in winter. We needed a rest. We had deserved one.
“For how long?” I asked. I could not refuse him.
“Give me eighteen months,” he said. “That is all I ask. Hold the Rhenus for eighteen months. By then the danger will be past and I shall be able to send reinforcements. When that day comes, and I promise you it will, you may take your legion back across the water.”
I said, “Are you quite sure, general, that you do not wish for a new legate.”
He smiled faintly. “Neither a new legate nor a new Maharbal.”
Quintus said, “You have told us how to defend the Rhenus in summer. But what about the winter?”
“In a very bad winter, which does not happen often, there is a chance that the Rhenus may freeze. But if it does not, the heavy rain and the melting of the snows raises the level. There will be a fast current too. In winter it is an impossible river to cross. No war chief would take such a risk.”
Quintus said, steadily, “It last froze thirty-nine years ago.”
Stilicho said, “Then the odds are in your favour. There is a risk, indeed, but it is a very small one.”
“I will hold it,” I said, and I added quietly, “If I can.”
“You must hold it,” he replied. “We cannot afford any more disasters. One major disaster and the western empire, like a cracked dam, will crumble slowly into pieces.”
I said, “If that happens, my general, then be sure of one thing: neither I nor Quintus will be alive to watch it happen.”
He did not say anything. He turned to the stool and picked up the wrapped parcels that he had put there. He handed one to each of us.
“They are gifts,” he said. “From one friend to another. There is also a cavalry standard which I have given into the safe keeping of the camp praefectus.” He smiled at Quintus. “Your present one has suffered much in my service.”
Quintus undid the wrappings on his parcel first. Inside was a most beautifully curved Sarmatian sword such as are worn by their horsemen. It had a wonderfully decorated hilt and the edge was as sharp as a razor. I could see from the expression on Quintus’ face that he was pleased.
“I would have given you the sword of Maharbal himself had I been able to find it,” said Stilicho with a smile. “You would have deserved it.”
I picked up my present in its turn. It was a short officer’s sword of a style that dated it from the great days of the legions.
“I found it by chance in Rome,” said Stilicho, quietly. “If you look on the blade below the hilt you will see from the inscription the name of its owner.”
I looked as he had told me. Very faintly I could see the marks cut by the swordsmith at the owner’s request:
He said, “I thought it fitting that one legate of the Twentieth should carry the sword of another.”
VII
