cross.”
“That I know. What is your problem?”
“In spite of all that has happened, we would still prefer to cross in peace. You are a soldier and we respect you as a good warrior.”
“Before you have finished you will think me a great one.”
“That may be.” He frowned and then rubbed his nose.
“So. Do you speak in this matter for your brother kings?”
“I do.”
“Well?”
He said harshly. “We are willing to serve under Rome and take the oath to your emperor. But we must have land.” He held his hands out wide as he spoke. His hands were very large.
“I cannot give it to you.”
“That is understood. But I make a new offer.”
“Yes.”
“We are all equal, each king ruling his own people. Not one of us can be high-king over all, else there would be jealousy, mistrust, hatred and war. But you whom we respect we would trust. Allow us to cross in peace, take Gaul, and we will raise you on a shield, as is our custom, crown you with a torque of gold and proclaim you emperor. And we will swear to serve you, if you, in your turn, will swear to serve us.”
“On which side of the river will you perform this thing?”
“We will crown you in our camp to show the measure of our trust.”
“Do you believe that I will accept?”
He said slowly, “Because you are what you are, we make this offer. If you do not believe me then talk to this man here. He stands high with the Aleman people and I believe he once knew you well in another life. I will wait.” He turned his horse in a flurry of snow and rode off a score of paces to the tree behind him. I signalled Fabianus and Goar to join him.
Julian pushed back his cloak and smiled ironically. “Well?” he said. “It is a great honour.”
“Do you think that I will accept?”
He ignored my question. He said, “You once offered me your villa at Arelate. Do you remember? Does it still stand? Did you ever go back to it?”
I nodded. “It stands. I never went back to it.”
“A pity. It would have been better to die there in the sun than in this bleak and terrible place.” A wolf howled in the distance and the wind whipped at our faces.
I said, “What makes you think that I shall die?”
He said sadly, “If you die it will be because you are—Maximus. For no other reason.”
“That is true of every man.”
“Perhaps.” He leaned forward and patted his horse on the neck. “It is a good offer. You have only a single legion. Which one, I wonder?”
“The Twentieth.”
He flinched. “The gods still make jests then about our small affairs.”
“There is no man but myself who served with them in our time.”
“You love that legion, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Refuse this offer and it would be better that you had sent them to the mines as condemned criminals. They would at least be still alive.”
“I know that.”
We stared at each other. There was a curious expression on his face that I could not understand. I said, “Surely, you knew before this the number of my legion.”
“No.” His reply was emphatic.
I shivered. It was very cold.
“Why do you refuse?” he asked calmly.
“My empire has had more usurping emperors than I can count. Most were murdered; all weakened the empire they thought to strengthen. I shall not add to their number; not in this way.”
“The empire is dying, Maximus. It is weaker than when you were a boy playing on those sandy beaches of Southern Gaul.”
I bit my lip at the memory. I said, “It has recovered before. How many times has the barbarian broken through the frontier and each time men said that Rome was finished? But each time we drove them back and Rome still stands. Rome is. Nothing can alter that. It is her destiny.”
He said, “Perhaps. But perhaps not in the way you think.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. But we live in a time of great change. Few things last for ever. I should know that.”
The wind blew harder now and the surface snow whirled, like dust, about our horses’ legs.
I looked at him. I said, “You are very thin, Julian.”
“It is only the cold and the lack of food.” He spoke as a man who was used to these things.
I said, “I will offer you something now: an amnesty to you and to your family. Bring them across the river at Bingium and I will give you money to go where you will, to settle where you please. Take it for the sake of old times.”
He said, “Can you strike a rock and bring forth water? I want nothing from you. You gave me enough: the years in the arena, the stigma and the shame. For that I still bear the brand on my ankle to show I was once a slave.” He flung up his head. “Well, I accept it. It was the price I had to pay for what I had done. I understand that now.” He stared down blindly at the snow. He said in a low voice, “You took the life of my high-priest’s daughter and you cannot give it back. From you I want nothing. You cannot throw me a coin and make right what has been wrong. I shall do very well for myself without your aid.”
I said hoarsely, “I understand. I, too, cannot accept your offer. Tell Gunderic that if I were to do so, I would not be the man he wants for his emperor.”
He said, “If you had been that kind of man the offer would not have been made.”
I said, “Did you ever find what you wanted? That purpose that would not break in your hand.”
He looked at me then and I was shocked at the pain in his eyes. He said, “I want nothing except to live in peace. When my children and my grand-children smile at me, then I am warm inside. But even that must be paid for it seems.” He paused and when he spoke again I could hardly hear him. He said in a whisper, “Before we went out into the arena we used to offer our prayers at the Shrine of Vengeance which stood between the changing room and the exit tunnel. Down that tunnel you could see the white light that was the arena, and hear the voices of the sentries and the ugly roar of the crowd. But in the tunnel it was dark and peaceful. The rough stone of the walls and the cool marble of the altar were wonderful to touch when you stood there, shivering with fear and excitement. I used to pray for so many things, but I never thought my prayers would be answered.” He raised his head for a moment. “Oh, gods, why must they be answered now, after all these years, and in this way?” He sat slumped in the saddle with eyes averted and his shoulders shook.
I said, “Be happy if you can. Live in the present, Julian. It is easier than the past.” I held out my hand. “I shall not meet you again. But I shall remember the happy times, I promise you—with pleasure and not with pain.”
He turned to me and gave me the parody of a smile. He said, “Goodbye, Maximus, my friend. It is because of people like you that Rome has lasted so long. We shall win the battle but you will not be defeated.”
I waited for Fabianus to rejoin me. On the edge of the slopes the two distant horses paused for a moment and one of their riders raised his hand in salutation. I held up my own in reply. It began to snow again and the wind drove into our backs as we made for the river. It was so cold that I could not help shivering, but inside I felt warm. In a curious way I felt almost happy.
The wind increased in strength that night and doors banged and shutters rattled as the cold blew mercilessly through the camp. The channel narrowed, inch by inch, and the snow settled on the ice and piled itself into great ragged hummocks. I ordered the ships to move downstream before they were trapped, and they had difficulty in
