head of Didius to the Vandal kings.” He paused, and then said, in an even louder voice, “They crossed the ice at Bingium and made for the camp, pretending one thing but doing another, and when the commandant let them in they took the camp by storm and destroyed your garrison. All that happened to-day. All this would I say, still, even though you burned me on a fire.”
Goar said quietly, “It is, of course, a lie. Bingium was betrayed by a man who had Aleman blood.” He turned to me in exasperation. “Did I not warn you of the risk you took? I do not blame you for it. It is only traitors and idiots who make fools of clever men. But that is no consolation to the clever men.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He gave me a strained smile. He said, “I, too, made mistakes. Your cavalry were a great help. But there were too many Vandals. We could not hold them, any more than you could. And you are trained soldiers. We are not.”
I turned to Fredegar. “Goar of the Alans was a brother in blood to your dead prince. That is a strong oath that he took. It is dangerous to meddle with the gods. Would he break it, do you think? Would you?”
“He is a liar,” said the Frank bitterly.
I said coldly, “I cannot busy myself with your feuds. They are not my concern.”
“What is then? Ask him why he crossed the river when he told you that he would not be able to do so.”
Goar said angrily, “I crossed to let the general know what I had done. My men are still on the other bank. But we have fought together and I owed him much. So I came to see him and to wish him well.”
“He is a liar,” said a voice out of the darkness.
We all turned. Straining my eyes, I could see a shadow against a tree and then the shadow became a man, dark against the white snow. He walked slowly towards us, like an old man, hunched and feeble, until we could see his face. It was Scudilio, the auxiliary commandant at Bingium. He was wearing his uniform, and his helmet was on his head. He held his right shoulder in his left hand and I could see blood upon the hand. His face was a ghastly colour and I could hear his breath rasp in and out, as it does when a man is in great pain. No-one moved or spoke. He came forward until he was almost face to face with Goar. The Alan did not move. “Traitor,” he spat.
Scudilio stood there, swaying on his feet. He said in a whisper, “If I am, then tell me whose arrow is in my back.”
He turned and fell sideways to the ground. The shaft of a great arrow protruded from his shoulder blade, and it quivered slightly as the wounded man fought for breath.
Quintus stepped forward, knelt down and touched the arrow. Then he looked up at me and said softly, “This is an arrow such as the Alans make. Look at the feathers, and this coloured cock feather here that they use as a guide for notching.”
Goar said, “When they betrayed Bingium they must have left the camp and met some of my men.”
Scudilio groaned. I bent down beside him. He said in a whisper, “We were surrounded by Burgundians. Then they withdrew. Later, some recrossed the ice. Then the Alans came. They shouted to us that the Marcomanni were crossing the river higher up and that they would reinforce us in return for food and weapons. I was a fool. I let them in. But Goar was with them and I knew you trusted him. Inside the camp they attacked us. There were too many of them. We fought back. We tried to escape. I fired the camp. Some of us broke out. Then we blundered into the Marcomanni. I gave my men a meeting-point and told them to run and hide, and find it later, in the dark. We split up. I was wounded and lost. I made for the road. That is all I know.”
Fredegar said, “He speaks the truth, that one. The Alans had spears on which were the heads of those men you sent across the ice.” He looked at me and smiled. “You do not know your friends.”
“What Roman ever does,” I said bitterly. “How many men have you?”
The Frank said, “I brought two thousand over the river. Some are dead. Some are prisoners in your laagar down the road. The others are scattered. But they will come back.”
“How many, Scudilio?”
He gasped with pain. He whispered, “I do not know. Perhaps three hundred.”
I said sharply, “Get that wound attended to, one of you.”
I turned back to Goar who was standing alone, very straight and still, his face grey in the moonlight, the sword naked in his hand. It was very cold, but I could see the beads of sweat slipping down his face as he stood and waited.
I said, harshly, “This was planned. Who planned it?”
Quintus said, impatiently, “Does it matter now?”
I stared at Goar. “Oh, yes,” I said. “It matters. Guntiarus is not that clever. Respendial would never come to terms with those who had betrayed him, even though they were his brothers; and Gunderic has too sharp a tongue. Talien was a clever man, but he is dead.” I paused. I said, “It needed someone else, someone who knew me and who knew how I might think and plan my campaign, someone who had done this kind of thing before....”
Scudilio muttered, “I was approached and offered bribes, but I refused.”
“You should have told me.”
“I did not like to. You trusted me so little. I knew that, when you gave the orders to the tribune to burn the bridge, and not me. I was afraid.”
I said to Goar, “He got at you, didn’t he? After Marcomir was dead, he worked upon you. You were loyal to me so long as you thought I might end by being the victor, but after the battle on the east bank you were not so sure. You thought I might lose, and you were afraid for yourself. So you began to change sides, and promised to betray me when the time was right. Oh, you chose it well. It was brilliantly done; you took the boy and returned him to his father to secure your rear, and you fought a little to make everything right. You might even have stayed on my side if I had stopped them crossing the river. But how could I, when you let the Marcomanni through, and murdered my wretched men? They were only fools because they trusted you upon my orders.”
I turned my back on him and mounted my horse. Quintus looked at me questioningly. I said, “Get mounted. We must get on. We have wasted too much time already on a matter of little importance.”
Goar said hoarsely, “What will you do with me?”
“If you were a man I would let Scudilio have the privilege of killing you. But you are not a man—you are nothing. Put down that sword before you cut yourself with it.”
He saw Quintus mounted, watching him intently. He dropped the sword into the snow. I looked about me and then caught Quintus’ eye. We had everything that we needed. Our thoughts were the same.
I said, “You are a christian, I believe.”
He tried hard to swallow. He licked his lips and I saw his red beard quiver; but not with cold. “Yes, I am,” he muttered. “What is it to you?”
I said, “Then I will give you an end fitting for a proper christian.” I turned my head. “Centurion, crucify this man.”
The moon was rising now and we moved on in silence, our horses plodding one behind the other, their riders sitting slumped in the saddle. I closed my eyes in a stupid attempt to shut out the full horror of what I now knew. For the man I had left behind me in the darkness I felt nothing. I thought only of the final treachery, of the destruction of Bingium, and of Scudilio whom I had not trusted enough.
I said, “But we parted friends. Why, Julian? Why?”
We rode on to where the legion rested in the snow. They were used to the cold now. They did not shiver: they slept. The cohort commanders got to their feet and gathered round my horse. I told them what had happened.
“We cannot storm Bingium—or what is left of it—with the Marcomanni in our rear. If we wait till tomorrow they will have closed the road and their men will be lining the Nava. Our only chance is to outmarch then—now. We shall skirt the Bingium hills and move up-river. There is a ford some way up and a track that will bring us back on to the road to Treverorum. One of Scudilio’s men will guide us.”
I coughed. “Quintus, I want a detachment of five reliable men to ride on to Treverorum and see that all the available weapons and stores are brought out to the thirtieth milestone without delay. In addition, I want two squadrons to go with them to patrol the road in the direction of Bingium. If contact is made with the enemy they must send word back at once. I want to know what signal towers are still held for us. Those in opposition must be taken or burnt—whichever is the easier. Arrange for more cavalry to forage for food. The men are to go on half rations as from tonight.” Aquila nodded. “Someone find Fredbal, the farrier. I want a word with him. Now get moving.”
