The river at this point was about seven hundred and fifty yards across and it flowed more swiftly than any river I had ever seen. In the middle there were two long narrow islands, as flat as sword blades, and the lower end of the northern one was submerged in summer. They were thickly wooded and uninhabited, providing only a refuge for occasional outlaws from the communities on both banks. A third island, also long and thin, passed close to the west bank and sheltered the harbour from the force of the main channel. From the town walls we could see the broken bridge that jutted out forlornly over the water as far as the third pile. “What about that?” said Quintus. “Do we get it mended?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Across the river lay the ruins of the bridge-head camp that had once protected the settlement and the villas that had sprung up round the baths at Aquae Mattiacae. My father, I remembered, had always sworn that it was the hot springs there that had cured the injury done to his leg by an Aleman spear when he was a young man. And even in his later years he always insisted that its waters would have been better for his rheumatism than the baths at Aquae Sulis. The camp had been abandoned, finally, when the Alemanni sacked Moguntiacum in the year that my Theodosius came to our aid. It was unlikely that anything was left of the baths or the settlement now.
Quintus said stubbornly, “We could repair it. A useful thing, I would suggest, to have a toe-hold on the east side.”
I screwed up my eyes against the glare. “I’ll think about that one,” I said. “The important thing is to get ourselves established here first.”
That first evening I walked out through the river gate and down the bank to where the bridge stood. I walked out on to the broken planks and stared at the remaining piles, stretched out to the further shore, stepping stones for some giant in a child’s story. Patches of mist drifted above the swirling water. I threw a stick into the current and was amazed at the speed with which it was taken away. Barbatio explained to me that a little way upstream from the bridge the river Moenus flowed into the Rhenus. “That’s the division, sir, between the Alemanni and the Burgundians. The Burgundians’ western frontier lies between here and Confluentes where the Franks take over.”
“Are their frontiers firm ones?”
“No, not really, sir. It depends who is on top at the moment.”
“Well, what’s the position now?”
“You see those escarpments, sir, down-river on the east bank. Well, all the country behind that, extending from this town to Bingium, is disputed. At the moment it’s held by a Frankish clan who guard the right bank for us in return for subsidies.”
“You mean Roman silver; and they stay loyal just so long as the bribe is sufficiently heavy?”
He looked startled. “Yes, sir.”
It was getting cold now and I shivered, staring hard at the east bank. That bank there—on that my father had once walked in civilian dress and bearing no arms. But I, if I walked on it, would risk death as an enemy. In my father’s time we had owned it with as much certainty and as little doubt as we had the crumbling city of which I was now governor.
Quintus twisted the bracelet on his wrist and said, “This place is like the end of the world.” It was as though he were thinking my thoughts.
“Yes,” I said. “It is—the end of our world.”
He said, moodily, “I still think it would be a good thing to repair this bridge and take back that camp on the further bank. It would give us a fine start if we should need to take the offensive.”
Barbatio said diffidently, “The Alemanni, sir, would see that as an act of war. General Stilicho, by his terms, gave them absolute rights over the east bank.”
“In that case there’s no point in provoking them without cause.”
Quintus turned to the praefectus. “Have you seen the old camp? Can it be repaired easily?”
Barbatio said hastily, “Yes, sir, though half the walls have been pulled down and the huts destroyed. They did the same to the villas.”
“Who burned the bridge?”
“That was done many years ago, sir, after Rando sacked the town. It was he who destroyed the cathedral.”
“Who is Rando?”
“He was a prince of the Alemanni then. He is now their king.” There was a note of enthusiasm in his voice that had been lacking before. I turned to him and said, “Have you had dealings with him?”
He licked his lips and the sweat rolled down the sides of the leather cheek-pieces of his helmet. “Come on, man, tell me.”
“Yes, sir,” he muttered.
“Slaves, I suppose.”
He nodded.
I said to Quintus, “There isn’t a tribune of frontier troops anywhere in the empire who doesn’t trade in slaves. They’re more interested in that than in their military duties.”
Barbatio flushed. He said, defensively, “We get paid so little. They give it to us in food and supplies instead, but half the time the rations are short. We get cheated by everyone.”
“You should receive money,” I said sharply.
“That’s what I mean, sir.”
“I know all about that. I have been on a frontier too. Tell me, have you heard of the new law which allows you seven days rations a year from your men which you can commute for silver?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have taken advantage of it, no doubt.”
He nodded again, his eyes shifting from face to face.
“Stick to the law then.” I stared at him hard. “You will have little time for being a slave dealer from now on. You will be too busy being a soldier. Your unit is in a disgusting state. Mend it quickly or I will have a new commander appointed.”
He saluted and started to back away.
“Don’t go yet. There is another matter I want explained. I thought your cohort’s strength was five hundred, but you’ve only two hundred, in fact. Why?”
He said, “We had sickness, sir. Some died, others have gone on pension recently and—and there are a number on leave.” He spoke confidently.
I said, “I saw your ration statements at the imperial granary. You have been drawing food for five hundred with regularity for the last four years.”
“Well, sir, I—my quartermaster always asks for the rations of—of the men on leave. It is customary.” He sounded aggrieved now as though I did not understand something that was obviously a matter of simple common-sense both to him and to his quartermaster.
“Stop lying. You haven’t had three hundred men on leave, now or at any time. You’ve been indenting for food for men who are dead or who were pensioned off years ago. Is that not so?”
He did not say anything. He opened and shut his mouth like a fish.
“Answer me,” I said. “What was the cohort’s strength when you took over. I want the truth.”
He rolled his eyes as though in prayer. Then he licked his lips. “One hundred and eighty,” he whispered.
I prodded him in the chest with my stick. “I could have you broken for this. You’ve recruited twenty men in four years. That must have been hard work.”
“Everyone does it,” he muttered.
I said, “I am not everyone. Remember that from now on.”
When he had gone, Quintus said, “You were a little hard on him, Maximus. The poor devil’s been rotting here or in places like this for years.”
I said, “How many years were we on the Wall? And we never rotted.”
“Didn’t we?” he said. “I am not so sure.”
I looked at him. His face had gone pale and he looked sick and unhappy.
“Quintus.” I touched him on the arm. “Don’t look like that. Are you all right?”
He, nodded silently and I wondered if he was thinking of his home in Hispania which he had not seen in thirty years.
“Don’t worry about Barbatio,” I said. “He’ll prove a good soldier from now on. I’ll give you twenty denarii if he hasn’t shown an improvement by the end of a month.”