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.”
He came, in a few moments, and stood before me, his head down, his hands clutching at his sword. The marching had tired him and he looked ill and old. Perhaps I looked the same to him.
I said, “This is not your fight. You paid your debts long ago. I want you out of this. I need a man to go with the messengers to Treverorum and carry a letter I have written.” I was writing, as I spoke, clumsily upon a tablet. “Give this to the Bishop. It is instructions about the safety of the legion’s treasure chest. He will know what to do. And this”—I handed him a second tablet—“is for the Curator. He must tell the Army of Gaul to hurry, or they will be too late.”
He said, “Why trust me and not your men?” He spoke as to an equal.
I said gently, “There are thirty reasons and they are all years. You are a good hater.”
He nodded. “I would rather stay and kill a Vandal.” He spoke with a fierce regret.
“That I know. You will still have the chance, believe me.”
He stuffed the tablets inside his tunic. “I’ll go,” he muttered. “You can trust me.”
I shook my head. “It is your hatred I trust. Now go and join the others.”
He gave me the parody of a salute and shambled off into the darkness.
We marched in silence, so that there was no noise but the jingling of a horse’s bit, and the steady crunch of nailed sandals upon the hard snow. The moon was well up now, so that it was not difficult to see the way. I prayed that both the Alans inside Bingium and the Marcomanni outside it would believe that we had camped for the night, somewhere between the two of them, and would not have patrols out, keeping watch. Presently, we came under the shadow of the wedge-shaped hills, on the other side of which lay the ruined camp on which I had staked all our hopes. Here, the road ran straight towards the Nava and the fort, and here, too, the track that we must follow, curved left towards the ford of which Scudilio had spoken, before we put him with the other wounded on the waggon. At this junction the column came to a slow, unsteady halt, and a horseman cantered back to say that the advance guard had run into a night patrol of Marcomanni, that a sharp fight was going on, but that the general had the matter in hand.
The men stood off the side of the road and I sat, relaxed upon my horse, waiting. I called out softly to a decurion of cavalry, “Find out how the commander, Scudilio, does, and send me that Frankish man we took prisoner.” He saluted and rode off down the line.
After half an hour the column moved on again and I rode over bloodstained snow, saw bodies lying in a ditch, and two of our men with arrows in their chest. A few minutes later a beacon glimmered on the hills to our right, and I knew then that we had been seen by watchers on the cliffs, and that the alarm would soon be given. We quickened our pace and dropped down a steep slope between tall pine trees, bowed with snow, and could hear the patter of water somewhere to our front. The waggons were in difficulties and men had to be detailed to help them over the bad ground. They held our tents, our cooking gear, our palisade stakes, our entrenching tools, fodder for the horses, our medical supplies, our wounded and our spare arms. They were essential to our continuing life as a legion, and without them we should be doomed. Each man carried his weapons and rations for five days; that was all the food we had, and some of it would have to be shared with the men who had come out of Bingium and who had been able to bring nothing with them, save their weapons. There were others to feed as welclass="underline" Franks, who were loyal to Fredegar; the remainder of the garrison at Moguntiacum; and the sections from the signal posts, who joined us as we passed them by. How many all these made, I did not know. I left matters like that to my quartermaster. He would tell me soon enough.
Our pace was slower now because of the bad going. The men sweated, even in the cold, and they walked hunched up against the drifting snowflakes. Sometime before midnight there was another halt, and in the silence I could hear the screams of horses, the clash of swords and the sound of men shouting. This time our halt was much longer, and a messenger rode back down the line to tell me that the cavalry had had to dismount because of the steepness of the bank on the far side of the Nava, and that a cohort was in action against a group of tribesmen.