cloak. He had little to say. All the posts had reported movement in the country to the east and south—this was before the moon rose—all had been attacked a little after midnight. In accordance with their instructions they had fired the beacons and withdrawn half an hour later.
“Were the attacks in strength?”
The centurion said grimly, “If we hadn’t left when we did, sir, we should all be dead by now.”
“How many casualties?”
“Three dead and four wounded, sir.”
I returned to the river. The sun was up and a mass of tribesmen were moving slowly from the woods that surrounded the old villa district to the water’s edge. There must have been between five and eight thousand, all told. An excited decurion from a cavalry patrol to the south of the camp rode in to report that the mouth of the Moenus was crowded, for as far back as he could see, with a fleet of small boats. “Filled with armed men, sir.”
“Order up the nearest ships of the Rhenus fleet,” I said.
“I have done so, sir,” came the reply. He was torn between apprehension, lest he had done the wrong thing, and pride in his own initiative.
“Good,” I said. “Signal them to attack, but they are to keep out of the narrows. They will be trapped if they go too far in.”
My building of the fleet justified itself that morning. The three ships moved rapidly into the mouth and, executing a series of turning movements, opened fire with their ballistae, using both fireballs and iron projectiles. Those of the enemies’ boats that tried to close and board had their crews shot to pieces by the archers, while their craft were set on fire. The action lasted a little over an hour and by the end of that time half the enemy boats had retreated to a safe point up-stream. The other half had been sunk.
“Signal them to return up river and anchor,” I said at the end. “They may try to concentrate again later.”
All that afternoon the Vandal war-bands remained close to the bank. Tents went up, fires were lit, supply waggons could be seen in the distance, while palisades for defence were erected along the river front. By the early evening the smoke from a hundred fires hung ominously, a dark blue cloud, above the shadowed plain; and, all the while, the constant thud of axes and the groans of dying trees told us that the woods were being cut back to provide camping space for the mass of people moving in slowly from the direction of the old Limes road. They had come at last: they were determined to stay.
Messages came in from Bingium, from Boudobrigo, from Salisio and from Confluentes to say that all was well and that no enemy threatened the opposite bank. A horseman, riding in from Borbetomagus, however, said that there was an Aleman host encamped opposite the fort but no fighting had taken place.
For a week nothing happened and then a boat pushed off from the other shore one morning, a man bearing a green branch standing in the bows. I met him on the shore. He was a young man with a short beard and he carried no weapons except pride.
“I am Sunno, son of the king, Rando of the Alemanni. I come as a hostage. My father would speak with you in his camp across the river.” I withdrew a few paces and said to Marcomir, who stood wrapped in a cloak, the cowl well over his face, “Does he speak the truth?”
“Yes. It is his eldest son. Let me come with you. I understand them. They are akin to my own people.”
“Thank you, but no. This is something I will do myself. There is little danger.”
“I am a warrior,” he said. “It is silly for me to hide behind this.”
“I want you alive when the time is ripe, not murdered before it. They cannot be sure of you—yet.”
He smiled. “That is true. They have not crossed my land.”
“So. They will waste time sending embassies to find out. Time—that is what I need.”
Barbatio, less plump now than when I had first met him, said anxiously, “Take care, sir. Rando will keep his word, perhaps, but the Vandals do not even trust their own shadows.”
Quintus said, “Let me come then.” There was a look of worry upon his face.
I shook my head. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will be very careful.”
He gripped my forearm. “This is a cold land to live in without your friendship to warm it,” he said quietly.
I nodded. “And for me also, without yours.”
I stepped into the boat and was rowed across. The level of the water was rising a little each day, and each day the current was becoming stronger. The time of the slack water was past.
We landed amidst a crowd of armed men who stared at me curiously but who made no threatening gestures. The Aleman king had his men well in hand. Past the outer lines of palisades, built well back from the river, past the tents, the cooking fires and the stacked spears, we mounted horses and set out along the old road that had led to the Limes. We rode along it for a mile, and on either side it was packed with tents, huts, horses and with men, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Presently we came to an inner camp, protected by a shallow ditch, built to stop horses straying, and a palisade. Inside was the Aleman king. He had not changed. He was as courteous as before, and as unyielding as an iron blade. With him was Gunderic, still smiling, but the smile was strained now and I wondered how many men he had lost in the fight on the river. The others, grouped round the council table, I did not know.
Rando said, “I have more friends to present to the General of the West: Godigisel, King of the Siling Vandals, Hermeric, King of the Marcomanni, Respendial, King of the Alans, and his cousin, Goar, a notable warrior.” A slight figure slipped quietly through the leather curtains of the hut and sat down without a word. Rando smiled warmly. “This is my last brother, Talien, King of the Quadi; a people of whom you will have heard.”
I said slowly, “You do me great honour.” They did indeed. Gathered here in this camp, with the exception of Guntiarus, were the war leaders of all the Teutonic tribes between the Rhenus, the Danubius and the steppes of the east. These were the people who, for three hundred years, from the days of Augustus to the days of Valentinian, had waged war, almost without cease, against the empire. There was hardly an emperor of Rome who had not been forced to fight them, not one legate along the Limes who in all that time had not reddened his legion’s swords with the blood of these people. How many they ruled, I did not know. How many warriors they could put into battle, I did not know. But in the days of our greatness, our confidence and our prosperity, eighty thousand men had been thought necessary to hold the Rhenus frontier against them. And I, Maximus, self-styled General of the West, had to do my poor best with a single legion.
I added, “I can only hope that the honour I do you will be worthy of a Valentinian and a Julian.” I hesitated and then turned to Talien and smiled. “For your sake I should add the name of Marcus Aurelius.” He stared at me impassively, without movement of any kind, but I thought his nostrils flared slightly at the thrust.
Rando stroked his beard. “I have no doubt but that you will do that.”
I looked at them in turn. Godigisel, King of the Siling Vandals, was short, compact and with a face like beaten iron. He was a fighter, not a man given to much thinking. Hermeric, King of the Marcomanni, was tall and lean, with the face of a hawk; and, as was customary with his people, wore his hair combed back over the side of his face and knotted. He would be as gentle as a hawk, too, if you fell into his hands. Respendial, King of the Alans, was dark, square faced and with bushy eyebrows. He had a deep, harsh voice and reminded me strongly of a bear who might stand on its legs and clap paws one minute or crush you to death the next. His cousin, Goar, was a younger man. He had good teeth still, said little, and reminded me strongly of a man I had once known in another life. Talien, King of the Quadi, was slim and lightly built. He would have made a good charioteer. He had a humorous face, or would have had if he had allowed it to relax. As it was he watched me carefully the whole time like a cat. He was, I judged, the most intelligent of them all, except Rando, and, potentially, the most dangerous.
“Well,” I said. “What may I do for you that I have not done already?”
Gunderic said, insolent as ever, “We ask you once again for leave to pass in peace across the Rhenus.”
Godigisel said flatly, “We need new lands and are willing to serve in yours.”
“As the subjects of my emperor or as the conquerors of his generals?”
“The one will ensure that you live; the other only that you die.”
“Are you all landless then?” I asked. “People without homes? Vagabonds and tramps who must steal from others in order to replace what they could not hold for themselves?”
Hermeric said, “Some of us have seen the Huns, smelt their stinking breath, felt the weight of their swords. They are barbarians in everything that they do. They are not christians like us. We are a better people; they are stronger; and all the time they press upon our borders, kill our young men, enslave our women and nibble our lands.
