At midnight I held a war council in the signal tower.
“We are out of arrows, nearly,” I said. Julius Optatus nodded, grimly. “The last issue has just been made—thirty to a man. We have issued the last javelins—fifteen to a man. The ballistae are short of missiles, and the carroballistae have about thirty bolts each. When those are gone we shall have only our bare hands.”
No-one spoke. They stood round me in a half circle, gaunt and unsmiling; but they were with me, and I was glad.
“Fabianus, get the waggons hitched up and put the wounded aboard. Those who can walk must drive the waggons or go with them. They are to make for Treverorum and seek shelter where they can find it. I suggest they make for the Temple district. They will be safer there than in houses where there are men and women, food and valuables. Get them out before daylight.”
Quintus, his arm in a sling, said, “What do you want us to do, Maximus? We will do whatever you ask.”
“In a moment,” I said. I turned to Fredegar, who had a bloody bandage about his head. In his thick furs, and with his grey beard, he looked like some fierce and indomitable bear. “This is not your fight,” I said. “Not any longer. I suggest you withdraw your men. Make terms, if you wish, or go into the hills.”
He said, “Are you asking me to go? Or is it an order?”
I touched his shoulder. “It is neither a request nor an order. It is just a suggestion.”
He said, “I served Marcomir’s father and, from the day the boy threw his first spear, I stood always on his left side. I should have stood there on the day he died, but the fates willed it otherwise.” He reached for the wine jug and gulped down a great draught. Spots of wine hung on his beard like blood. “I will tell my men what you said, but I do not think they will hear me. As for myself—” He paused. He said, “I stay.”
I looked at Quintus, who shrugged his shoulder. I turned to Aquila. “Are you sorry now that you did not kill me that day in Treverorum and elect another emperor?”
He flashed a smile. He said, “Afterwards I was ashamed.”
I said, “I can only repeat what I said before at Moguntiacum. If any man wishes to go, then let him go now— quickly.”
Aquila touched the standard with his big hands. “I carried this many times through many years when it had the right to be ashamed of the soldiers who called it theirs. Now I am not ashamed. I have no wish to be a Vandal slave.”
The door rattled in the wind, and I was reminded of the night when Stilicho came to my tent with an officer, or an order—what it was I could not remember; I was too tired. It did not matter anyway. It had all led to this—this narrow circle of existence: a dozen exhausted men, gathered in a wooden hut on a winter’s night, and planning quite calmly how best they might end their lives.
Aquila said, “We have a thousand men under arms on foot.”
“Eight hundred horse,” said Quintus.
“Four hundred of my people,” said Fredegar proudly.
“And I have fifteen hundred of the city,” said Artorius.
Scudilio coughed on to the back of his hand, and I saw that there was blood on his mouth. “Five hundred auxiliaries, all told,” he spluttered.
I turned to Artorius. “Your men fought well to-day. You have a right to be proud of them.”
He fingered a cut above his left eye, and smiled. He had the look of a man who was at peace with himself. He said, “There is something I forgot. The Bishop sent a message. He has sent the girl away into safety.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “Tell Maximus I shall see him again. That was the message.”
“In heaven, no doubt. Did the girl have any messages for us?”
“I gave it to him,” said Artorius, drily.
I looked at Fabianus. He was smiling. I did not ask what the message was.
“We are almost a legion still,” I said. Quintus gave me a long, steady look. He remembered, I think, as I did too, that day I landed in Gaul, and he met me at the camp, and we had been so absurdly proud and so happy at the greatness of our command.
“What about the Eagle?” asked Fabianus.
“It will not fall into their hands,” I said. “That I promise you.”
Aquila said anxiously, “You are sure?”
“I swear it upon the sword of Agricola.”
They went out then and I was alone with Quintus.
I said, “We were both wrong. I would never have thought our casualties could have been so heavy, or that our supplies would have been used up so quickly. I would never have thought the barbarians could have fought the way they did these last two days.”
“Nor I,” he said. “But you know, Maximus, they have their women and their children in their camp behind them. That makes a great difference. And they do not mind dying either; our men do. That makes a difference also.”
The wind had dropped and, in the ghastly, grey light of the dawn, we lined the palisades with the last of our men. The bodies of horses were dragged into the gaps where the fencing had been smashed or burnt, and the dead bodies of our men were pulled clear and laid in rows inside the tents they had last occupied when alive. All the spare weapons that could be found had been collected and stuck into the ground by our feet, for ease of use. Under Aquila’s direction, small parties hurriedly crossed the ditch into the killing area to pick up whatever weapons and missiles they could find; on the flanks the cavalry were saddling up their horses, while Quintus walked along the line, checking the girths; and in the camp behind us the cooks were lighting fires and preparing the morning meal. Huddled against a carroballista I saw a man I recognised.
“Fredbal,” I said. “What the devil are you doing here?”
He looked up at me defiantly. “I come back,” he said. “I saw your message delivered. I done what you told me.”
“But—”
“They killed my woman and my children. Thirty years ago, that was. So I come back.”
There was nothing to say. I touched him on the shoulder and smiled, and then turned away. Agilio, who was at my side, said suddenly, “I did not know you believed in devils, my emperor.”
I laughed. “It is through living too long with christians I expect. I find myself talking as they do.”
“My lord Bishop will make another convert yet.”
“I doubt that very much.”
We walked back towards the signal tower. I rubbed my cold hands together, and had a sudden absurd wish that my cloak could have been clean instead of dirty. A voice cried suddenly out of the half dark, and a figure approached and I heard the words, “Truce… truce… we want a truce… we would speak with you.”
“Hold your fire,” I cried.
Quintus cantered up. “Steady, it may be a trap.”
The man came up to the outer ditch. “King Gunderic would speak with your general. Let him come out alone to the ditch and talk. I, his brother, will be a hostage for our good faith.”
“Don’t go, sir,” said Agilio. “It is a trick.”
“Has he a brother?”
“Three,” said Fredegar. “The youngest is a wolf cub called Gaiseric. But this is the eldest by his voice.”
“Don’t go, my Lord.”
“Why not?” I said. “It will give us time to breathe for five minutes.”
A gap was made in the palisade and a plank run out across the first ditch. Gunderic’s men came forward and threw a plank over the outer ditch, and then stood back.
Quintus said, in exasperation, “If you must go, then take my shield. But be careful.”
“Watch the flanks,” I said to Aquila. “Kill the first man who moves.”