bank with half a cohort. The abandoned bridge-head camp was in a better state than I had imagined. True, the huts had been pulled down and the arched gate had no doors; the wells were choked with rubbish and the roofing had come off the corner towers. But the walls still stood intact and, with a little effort, the place could be made inhabitable again. Beyond it were the remains of the old villas, their walls crumbling gently in the autumn sunlight. Nothing stirred on the plain except the long grass, rustling in the wind. The countryside was deserted and though we pushed inland for four miles we saw no-one and were not attacked. Before we turned back I rode north to the hills where Marcomir held watch for me. He was absent when I reached his stockade and an apologetic chief explained that he had gone on a visit to Guntiarus, king of the Burgundians, and was not expected to return before the next moon. I wondered if the absence was a diplomatic one, but there was little point in pursuing the matter at that moment.
On my return the duty centurion came up, a bundle of swords and spears in his arms.
“Would you look at these, sir,” he said.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We picked these up on the bank. I thought that you should see them.”
The swords were long and with hilts similar to those issued to our cavalry. I took one up, held it and then swung it once or twice. I rubbed the muddy blade and the steel shone like silver beneath. I felt the edge and then looked at it carefully. It was ice sharp and smooth as a new blade that has never been used. I swung it again while the centurion watched me intently.
“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean.”
“They might have been captured in a scrimmage,” he said in a flat voice.
“Yes, that is true. Are they all like this?”
He nodded.
I held the sword up by the hilt and looked at the marks on the blade. The word Remi was stamped on it quite clearly.
“A Roman sword, and a new one at that. Spears too?”
The centurion said quickly, “I have told no-one except yourself, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I did not think that you would want me to.”
“Quite right. Give them to Marcus Severus and tell him to speak to me about them.”
“How did they get them, sir? I don’t understand.”
“I do,” I said. “No wonder the Alemanni opened up the old silver mine at Aquae Mattiacae.” I walked on up to my quarters and there found Quintus and Aquila awaiting me. “It was a try,” I said. “They raided us to test our words and see how strong we were. But it was a raid in strength also, in case we proved weak and they were successful enough to establish a bridge-head. There were signs,” I added grimly, “that ten thousand men at least, I should say, must have been waiting there on the other side in the dark. Bushes were broken, undergrowth trampled down and footprints by the score; all covering an area the size of a double camp.”
Aquila said doubtfully, “Yet we never heard them, sir.”
“Then they must move like cats,” said Quintus sharply. He was shaken by my news and looked it.
“Never mind,” I said. “Who were the dead?”
“Mainly Alemanni and Vandals,” said Aquila.
“Who else?”
“A few Marcomanni and some Alans.”
“Are you certain?”
“A Frank who knows these people was positive.”
I nodded. “Well, it was good practice for our men. But next time it may not be so easy. I expect the Aleman king is now busy killing all his spies. He may believe me now. We shall not be troubled again before the spring.”
Nor were we. It was a warm autumn and when the leaves fell my men began to fish the river again and no one watched them from the other bank. In November it rained a great deal and it became very cold, though the only ice that we saw were small floes that had come down from the Upper Rhenus, high above Borbetomagus, and even these were breaking up as they passed us by. In December the christians began to look forward to their great festival and much time was spent in making preparations for it. They were much cheered to learn—those in the camp garrison who did not know—that it was here at Moguntiacum that the emperor Constantine, on his way to destroy Maxentius at the Milvian bridge, had the famous vision that converted him to their faith. They laughed a lot and there was considerable drunkenness and the cohort commanders had a busy time soothing the feelings of outraged fathers of young women, while the charge sheets were full with details of men who had overstayed their leave.
One morning a legionary who had stayed out all night staggered into the camp with a knife wound in his chest. At the subsequent enquiry I learned that he had gone to one of the villages—he was drunk at the time—in search of a woman and had been attacked by a night watchman, who caught him climbing the palisade. I punished him with stoppages of pay and put him on fatigue duties for three months. Then I rode out to the village concerned. They were collecting brushwood in a clearing when I arrived, while further down the hill a handful of boys and old men were doing the winter sowing. A hunting party had just returned, singing and laughing, a freshly killed buck swaying from a pole. While I watched, they quartered the animal, cutting the meat into strips which would then be smoked over the hut fires, so many strips per man as the chief directed. On one side of the clearing was a huge mound covered with damp leaves, from under which smoke billowed fretfully.
Their chief wiped the sweat from his face and smiled broadly. “Charcoal,” he said, speaking in camp Latin. “We sell it to your soldiers. You have brought us much trade. That is good.”
“And trouble,” I said.
“Oh, that. He was drunk. Is the man dead?” For the first time he looked at me with an expression of alarm.
“No, a pity he isn’t. It would have been a good example to the rest.” I leaned forward over my horse’s neck. “I am sorry. I do not like my men to molest your women. He is well punished. It will not happen again, I promise you.”
He grinned and stroked his beard. “You cannot stop them trying; but I can stop them succeeding. Will you come to my hut and drink?”
I had tasted the native beer already. I did not like it. “Thank you, no. Another time.” I looked round at the activity. “You are happy here?”
“Of course. That is why we came.”
“You are of the Alemanni?”
“Yes. We found the east bank too crowded.”
“But surely it is only crowded because everyone insists on living in the same area?” I pointed to the east. “Beyond that river there are vast lands, more than enough for all your people.”
He shrugged. “But so much is forest.”
“Well, if you cut the forest back then there is more ground on which to sow crops.”
He said gravely, “But the forests belong to the gods. One cannot destroy their home lest they destroy ours in turn.”
“It is hard work being a farmer, I agree.”
He nodded eagerly. “And that is another reason. We are a restless people. It has always been so. Besides, we enjoy fighting; and it is easier to gain what you want by spilling blood instead of sweat.”
“And what will happen if more people cross the river?”
His face wrinkled. “Then we should have to fight to hold what we possess. But that is why you are here. They will not come now.”
“I hope you are right. Have you heard that the Vandals are looking for a new land?”
He shook his head. “No.” He looked alarmed. “I have heard nothing. I have no friends on the other bank. The Vandals, you say.” He touched his chin. “That would be bad.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “Why? Because we of the Alemanni fear death; but the Vandals fear nothing. They believe that if they die in battle then they go to a great hall where warriors like themselves are always welcome, and where
