He said slowly, “Yes, I see. It will not be a cavalry action then?”
“Not as you would like it, Quintus. If I had enough men I would fortify the whole length of the bank and destroy them in the water. But I have not. So I shall use your cavalry to break them up when they have failed in their attacks. I must be economical.”
“I understand,” he said in a flat voice. “And if they succeed?”
“They will only be too strong if we get tired first or run out of missiles. But if that does happen, I shall withdraw the legion to Bingium, cross the Nava and hold the further bank, leaving the garrison to defend the fort. It is an easy place to defend.”
“And if we still have to retreat?”
I said, “You are very sanguine about this?”
“Yes. I have never contemplated fighting at these odds before. Besides, something always goes wrong.”
“Well then, we shall pull straight back, leaving delaying ambushes, and hold the junction where the road splits for Confluentes and Bingium, at the thirtieth milestone. I shall have defensive positions prepared there as well.”
“And after that?”
“Oh, after that, if we have any men left we shall try to hold Treverorum.” I was silent for a moment. I said, “But if it goes like that there won’t be any legion left to worry about.”
He stood up, fiddling with the strap of his sword belt, a look of uncertainty upon his face. He glanced at me as though he would say something more, hesitated, and then turned upon his heel. “Thank you,” he said politely. “I thought that might be the plan.” He went from the room slowly, like an old man, and I returned to my papers.
It was a hot summer and we all sweated as the ditches were dug by night on the slopes behind Moguntiacum, for I had no wish that the enemy should see what we were doing and so guess at the truth of our weak state. The soldiers continued to come and go on leave, and the smoke from the fires on the east bank seemed to multiply each day. But my six ships patrolled the river as before and we were safe.
Sometimes in the afternoons I would ride to the training ground to watch Quintus exercising his men. He had great enthusiasm, great patience and great understanding. He was tireless in his efforts to perfect the small shock force under his command. The horses’ coats glistened in the sunlight and the sweat dripped from the faces of their riders as they tried for the tenth time, perhaps, to carry out some complicated pattern of movement. The troops and squadrons wheeled, broke and formed shifting patterns of geometrical precision at the snap of a voice or the thin high sound of the trumpet. Finally, as the climax to the afternoon’s work, they practiced attacks upon prepared positions and afterwards, while the led horses were being circled to cool off slowly, the decurions, squadron commanders and officers gathered about the tall figure in the burnished armour to hear his comments. He looked hot and tired but he held himself rigidly under control.
I drew closer. I had heard him give this same talk half a hundred times before but I always enjoyed hearing it again.
On horseback, Quintus and the animal were one. I had never seen such a rider, not even among the men of Treverorum, and they had a reputation for their skill in these matters. An officer from the Eastern Empire, who had fought with Stilicho in Italia, had told me that he was a good deal better as a rider than any Hun, and a better horse soldier than any Goth. The officer had met both in his time and I could believe him.
Now he was saying, “You must learn to use your heads and take it slowly. If you know what you are doing, a cavalry charge is the slowest thing in the world. The temptation is always there to hurry when you see them massed to your front—but don’t. Never break from an amble until you are within their killing range. Outside that you are safe, so don’t waste your horse’s energy before it is needed. Don’t let your horse run unbalanced; get him collected well before you are in the killing range. Then, when you hear the order, move straight into a canter, but still keep him collected. Don’t try to outpace your left and right men; you are not having a race for a jug of wine. Watch them out of the corner of your eye. Keep in line and keep tightly together. And if you are going down hill, remember that those of your men riding big horses will have more difficulty bringing them down than those on the smaller animals. You must watch for that always. This is the most difficult part—when you can see their arrows or spears flickering towards you, and men and horses are going down. Then, you want to get on and be into them. You must resist the temptation. Stay together and wait patiently for that last trumpet. Then, when you hear it—sixty yards from the enemy line— throw your hands forward and break into the gallop. You will hit them with the most tremendous crash and you won’t have much time to use your weapons, so you must kill or maim with every stroke. There is no second chance. The man you miss will be behind you before you can strike again and he, then, may well kill a comrade of yours in the second rank. Now, if you hit them properly in a collected line, they will break; they always do. Remember to ride straight through them and out the other side. That is when you break up. Get well clear and then rally on the trumpets and the banner. You must rally quickly, because then you are at your weakest, facing the wrong way and surrounded by the enemy who, even if wounded and in flight, will still try to take advantage of you. So, rally quickly, reform and charge back while your horses are still warm; and, whatever you do, don’t stop to pick up a wounded comrade. If you try that you only endanger your mounted friends and lessen your own chances of getting back. The dismounted must look to themselves.” He paused. He said, “It is really quite easy.”
“How long does it take, sir?” said a young decurion.
“You can cover two hundred yards in thirty seconds, easily. It will be all over in five minutes. So you really have very little to do. But, your foot-soldier has to learn to fight for fifteen minutes at a stretch. That is a long time.”
Quintus saw me and saluted, as though I was a stranger.
I said, “You make it all sound so easy.”
“The difficult things always do.”
“You are a good soldier, Quintus.”
He did not smile. He said, “I understand horses; that is all. I am not so good with people.”
When August came I received a letter from Honorius. He regretted the inability of his generals to send troops from Italia but, as I knew so well, Stilicho handled these things for him; and besides, he had many problems on his hands. He reposed great confidence in me. He did not think the situation was so serious as I had suggested. There had been such alarms before. If, however, I felt I needed more support he was certain I could rely on the co-operation of Chariobaudes—a most excellent man. It was a relief to know that the barbarians were no longer massed along the Danubius, for Italia had suffered terribly on the last occasion. He had great hopes that Alaric would prove a powerful ally in the east. The news from Britannia was disturbing. Its army, of course, had always a bad reputation for mutinous behaviour. Perhaps, when things were quiet in Gaul again, I would cross to the island with full powers and bring it back in obedience to Rome. He had great confidence in me still and, as a mark of his regard, I was appointed Comes Galliarum, with all the appropriate allowances. Did I know that the climate of Ravenna was excellent for the breeding habits of chickens…?
I told Quintus that he was now officially Master of Horse and that the appointment—it had been a joke between us once—had been ratified by the Emperor. He did not smile. He thanked me stiffly and went to his hut. Once, he would have enjoyed the letter with me. But now—now, we had nothing to say to each other.
I had another letter from Saturninus. Marcus and Gratianus had in fact been killed by Constantinus who, it was rumoured, had his eyes on Gaul and Hispania. But he was frightened to move while I was still holding Gaul in strength. I laughed when I read that sentence. Many people wished that I would return. Constantinus was not liked and they thought the army—“two puny legions, Maximus, my old friend”—should stay to keep the Saxons out. Their raids were getting worse. Constans was the one who kept the troops loyal to his father. He was efficient and well liked. “But dragged in the wake of his father’s ambitions, I think. I saw him at Eburacum a week after Gratianus died. I warned him that no good would come of his father’s vanity. He laughed at me, bitterly, and said that he knew quite well it would all end in the same way as it ended for your namesake, but that life was short and he might as well get out of it what he could. I feel sorry for him. He would have done so much better to have joined you. Tell Fabianus to write to me. His mother worries a great deal. I am glad that he has turned out a soldier, and is of use to you. I would give much to have a talk of the old days. Perhaps, if the gods are kind, we shall meet again. And give my greetings….”
I read it all and then passed it to Quintus. It all seemed so far away.
The weather held. Each day I prayed for rain and each day the sun shone and the wheat and barley ripened
