I went on to explain what I wanted and I was conscious, all the while that they listened intently, that they were waiting for something to happen. I looked at Quintus and I knew that he knew, too. I might guess at it but Quintus was in the secret.
At the end when they had asked their questions and I had answered them, the Chief Centurion stepped forward.
“May I speak, sir?”
“Yes, Aquila. You intend to anyway.”
“The men have not been paid—”
“I explained all that. Within two months at most they will have all their arrears.”
“It has been a long march from Italia, sir, and now they are to go straight into camp fortification work without leave.”
“They had six months, drinking themselves silly outside Ravenna and Ticinium.”
“They thought they were going home, sir.”
“Have they homes?” I asked. “They left wives and families in Britannia and they left wives and families in Italia. Which particular home do they want to go to now?”
He said, “Sir, you are their general. Gaul has no troops. It is a rich country. The men—we—we want you to take this province and—” He hesitated and glanced at Quintus.
Quintus said, quickly, “Well?”
The Chief Centurion looked at me and raised his arm in the beginning of the salute that is only made to an emperor.
I threw my stick onto the floor. “No,” I said. “I will not. I am too old. I have an emperor in Ravenna, and thirty years ago I took an oath to be faithful unto death to the Senate and the People of Rome. Proclaim an emperor now and you will have war with Honorius. How will you defend your province then with a single legion, while you have the legions of Stilicho to fight on the one hand and the barbarians across the river on the other? You will be buried by both and will never see the gold you hope I shall bring you.”
A young tribune, Marius, said angrily, “We could kill you and elect another.” His eyes flickered towards Quintus who stood as still as stone.
With a great rasping sound I drew the sword of Agricola and held it out so that the sun, through the windows behind my back, glinted on the polished steel.
“You can try,” I said.
There was a long silence. I threw the sword to the Chief Centurion, who caught it awkwardly.
“Kill me,” I said. “I am old enough.”
They looked at each other.
I said, “But for me you would have been starving still, most of you, in your miserable villages and your foodless towns. I made soldiers of you and turned you into a legion. I did not bring you here to indulge in a crazy mutiny. Is that what you want? To die, butchered on another legion’s swords. It would be easier to invite the Alemanni over the Rhenus and let them do it for you. What happened to the soldiers of Maximus? Shall I tell you? They died, too, for having just such an idea as you have now. But keep me as your general and you may be sure I shall not let one man die without necessity. I led you for five years in Italia and we were never beaten. All I ask is that you trust me. Hold this frontier till it is safe and we are sent reinforcements and I will see that you have all the gold you want. It will be gold with honour. I promise you.”
They murmured their assent. They saluted me and then they left. I was their general still.
I wiped the sweat from my face then and turned to Quintus, who stood there motionless, watching me with eyes that were full of pain. Slowly the pain vanished and he smiled, though with an effort.
“And what did you want?” I asked.
He said, “I wanted what they wanted. You are a fool, Maximus. Stilicho would have let you hold the province for him. He knows you. He would trust you with his life.”
I said, “He has. That is why I refused.”
The next day the legion marched to the city and paraded inside the Circus Maximus, watched by a huge crowd who were duly impressed by the soldiers’ smartness and efficiency. This was what I intended. The city would know now that my men were not a rabble but a body in whom they might have confidence. They needed my aid, though they might not realise it; but I also needed theirs. After the parade the legion withdrew to a new camp just outside the walls and a selected number of troops only were allowed to go into the city, though strictly on military business.
But the real work of the day was still to come. That evening I held a meeting with the city council in their chamber at the Basilica. They were not accustomed to working after sunset and the light of the oil lamps shone on their startled faces. The Curator gave what for him was a warm smile and said that he hoped I would continue the tradition of making Treverorum my personal headquarters. A good relationship had always existed between the officials of Belgica and Germania, and he hoped that it would continue. He paused then, smiled again, and said smoothly, “The Dux Belgicae pays us frequent visits, so you will not be lacking in military company, should you get tired of ours.” There was a murmur of laughter at this, but I noticed that the faces round the table were watching me anxiously.
A magistrate with a bald head said, “We can offer you, I think, amenities quite as fine as you have enjoyed in the south. There is good sport here, if you wish it, as well as good wine.”
Another said, “When you have seen your troops settled into their forts you must come to stay at my villa. I understand”—he nodded pleasantly at Quintus—“that you have an interest in horses. I breed them on a large scale. You must inspect my herds and tell me what you think of them. I should value your opinion highly.”
I said, “Your offers of hospitality are kind but I shall have little time for recreation.”
“I don’t understand,” said a voice to my right.
“It is quite simple,” I said. “I am here only to re-fortify our defences against the Alemanni; and there is a great deal to be done.” I paused and turned to the Curator. I said, “I wrote to the Praefectus Praetorio before leaving Italia, informing him of my needs. So what I say should not be new to you.” There was a sudden stir and Artorius frowned, his eyes never leaving my face. “I need corn for my men: five hundred bushels a week.” There was an exclamation at this. “Yes,” I said. “My men eat, too, just like yourselves. They need two pounds of bread, a pound of meat, a pint of wine and a tenth of a pint of oil a day. In addition, there is the question of my cavalry. I have over eighteen hundred horses to feed and they eat, between them, roughly forty-five thousand pounds of food a day. Besides this, I shall want timber to build my fortifications, waggons and ships to transport my supplies, and men who can dig ditches and be paid for it. Finally, there is the matter of remuneration for my troops.” I went on and gave details, supplied to me by Julius Optatus, of exactly how much of each I required.
There was a long silence and then the bald magistrate said politely, “I understand that you are now also governor of Germania?”
“That is correct.”
“And your responsibility is to the frontier?”
“Yes.”
“Surely then, your administrative problems are ones that can be settled within your own province? They are nothing to do with us.”
“Quite right,” muttered a red-nosed man whom I could not identify.
I said, “You know very well that Germania is a military zone; and a province in name only. It is, I believe, a poor area.”
He shrugged. “There is trade across the river with the Alemanni. The customs revenue is in your hands.” He smiled slyly.
The tribune in charge of the granaries gave him a curious look and said hurriedly, “It is true there is trade but it is variable.”
I said, “I cannot rely on that. I am a soldier, not a merchant. Besides, the trade, such as it is, will cease when I close the frontier.” There was a sudden click and a clerk blushed and bent to pick up his stylus. It had snapped in his hands. I heard the heavy breathing around me. It was very warm, and there were beads of sweat on Artorius’ face.
One of the senators said, incredulously, “You are going to close the frontier?”
“Yes. I have information that the tribes across the river are on the move. That is what I am here to prevent.
