Gunderic said insolently, “That is what my father told me and he fought at Adrianopolis. I forget how many Roman soldiers were killed there. The plain was white with their bones.”
“Precisely. My cavalry is anxious to see if they can do the same.”
“You have not enough men.”
“Try me,” I said. “It is your wives and your children who will be sorry. Did I not tell you that the Burgundian king stands on my left side in this matter. And that is the side that matters: the side of loyalty.”
The Aleman king rose to his feet. “Remember that we asked to come in peace,” he said.
“Share your lands in peace with each other and be content with what you have.”
Gunderic glared at me. “If you offered silver as Stilicho did I would not accept it.”
“Do not worry,” I replied. “That offer was never in my mind.”
Gunderic clenched his fist. “When the spring comes—” he said, threateningly.
“Yes, when the spring comes I may decide to hold the right bank of this river instead of the left, as we did in the old days. I await only my other legions. But by that time you may be hungry. I will pray that the winter is a mild one.” I turned to the Aleman king. “I hope that your harvest was good so that you may feed your guests with true hospitality. It would be cruel if they were to be a burden to you.”
Rando said stiffly, “My friends are my friends.”
Quintus laughed, and his sudden laughter startled them. “Of course. Why not? For myself I never let my friends stay too long lest they come to think of my home as their own. Guests are thoughtless people.”
As they turned to go I said, “Remember, King of the Alemanni, there is peace so long as the river is between us. But let one of your people set foot on my bank without permission and he will be killed before he has time to dry himself.”
They left, discomfited, and we returned to Moguntiacum.
Lucillius, my senior tribune, unlaced his helmet. “I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “They scared me.”
“The question is,” said Quintus, “whether they believe our bluff.”
“They have to,” I said.
Lucillius said, “They were worried at the start when you mentioned the cavalry.”
“That was what I intended.”
Quintus raised an eyebrow. “I hesitate to criticise but—was it wise to put our dice on the table.”
“Why not? If we were strong enough I would be happy to encourage them to do battle, and beat them. But we are not, so I must discourage them from attempting to cross in any way I can.”
“But if they know how many men we have—”
“They don’t. They suspect we are a small force. Their spies told them as much. Remember, I kept the cavalry this summer always apart in small detachments. They thought us a legion in the old formation. As Lucillius says, they were alarmed at my having a master general of horse.”
“Fifteen hundred cavalry,” said Quintus softly. “Oh, Mithras.”
Lucillius said, “If only the Vandals want to cross—well, surely, there aren’t many of them, sir. Wouldn’t it be better to come to terms? We could absorb them easily.”
“Is that what you think?” I said. “Why did the Aleman king say—and he did not mean to let it slip—that we could not hold out against even one of them? Because the Vandals aren’t the only tribe who wish to make the crossing.”
Quintus looked at me sharply. “Are you sure?”
“I am certain of it. Radagaisus’ men included Ostrogoths and Quadi. They were the advance guard. If their Italian raid had been successful the rest would have followed. But they failed, their retreat home was cut off and they were forced to take refuge in the Aleman country. The Aleman are too strong to be pushed out but not rich enough to feed their unwilling guests for ever.”
“If the Aleman are so strong why don’t they do the pushing?”
“Probably because the Quadi, for one, provide a fine buffer state between them and—” I hesitated. I said slowly, “You heard what Gunderic said. They have the sea to the north as a barrier, and we are the barrier to the west and the south. The barrier in the east is not the desert—it is the Huns.”
Lucillius shivered and crossed himself.
Quintus said, “Will they fight each other? That is what you want them to do.”
“Yes.”
“And if they try to cross now?”
“They won’t. They are afraid of my cavalry and they think I have reinforcements coming.”
“And just how long will they continue to think that when the west bank is riddled with their spies?”
I said hopefully, “There are other ways of winning battles than by fighting them.”
That afternoon I called a council of my cohort commanders. They had all come in from their forts to witness the meeting on the island but, upon my orders and much to their disappointment, had remained in camp. Briefly I told them what had happened. Even more briefly I told them what we must do. I shouted an order and one of the centurions in gilded armour came in and saluted. “They thought this man a general,” I said. “And there were nine others dressed alike.” There was a roar of laughter. “Now,” I said. “They must go on believing that we have the men to serve these generals. It will not be easy but it can be done.”
A week later the six ships of the Rhenus fleet made their appearance on the river and I spent a day on board Gallus’ flag-ship, Athena, testing their efficiency. The rowing was competent but not first class. I did not worry about that. It would improve, inevitably, with practice. The archery of the marines was accurate but too slow and the ballistae crew were below standard. The fire tubes were handled efficiently enough, but as weapons they were useless except against other boats at extremely close range. Gallus said he would try to do something to improve this. It was agreed that one ship each should be stationed at Confluentes, Borbetomagus and Moguntiacum, and the remainder should operate from Bingium which Gallus would make his headquarters.
Before he moved downstream I said, “I shall hold you responsible for sinking any boat that tries to cross from the east bank.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” he said cheerfully.
“It is you who will do the worrying,” I said shortly.
They were famous night fighters and they came with blackened faces and arms on a night when there was no moon because of the heavy skies. Exactly how many there were, I do not know, but I judged a thousand when all the evidence had been collected afterwards. They came in two groups from up river, one trying to land a little above Moguntiacum, the other a little below it, and there were twenty men to each boat. Fortunately for us they were seen by the night patrols I had left on the islands and by a boat of my own that was moored in a concealed position high up the river. This boat let them pass and then followed them down.
Fired on from the warship, fired on from the island and fired on from the camp they suffered terribly. Many had never met liquid fire before—the fire that cannot be put out—and their screams tortured the sky. Those who tried to land were killed in the shallows, cut down while still wet by Quintus’ cavalry. Afterwards, the troops on the islands reported that only six boats of wounded and dying men made the journey back to the east shore. The bodies were still floating past Confluentes ten days later.
Just after dawn, while the troops from the camp were clearing up, pushing the dead back into the water, finishing off the wounded with a clean stroke and piling up the weapons for my inspection, I crossed to the east bank with half a cohort. The abandoned bridge-head camp was in a better state than I had imagined. True, the huts had been pulled down and the arched gate had no doors; the wells were choked with rubbish and the roofing had come off the corner towers. But the walls still stood intact and, with a little effort, the place could be made inhabitable again. Beyond it were the remains of the old villas, their walls crumbling gently in the autumn sunlight. Nothing stirred on the plain except the long grass, rustling in the wind. The countryside was deserted and though we pushed inland for four miles we saw no-one and were not attacked. Before we turned back I rode north to the hills where Marcomir held watch for me. He was absent when I reached his stockade and an apologetic chief explained that he had gone on a visit to Guntiarus, king of the Burgundians, and was not expected to return before the next moon. I wondered if the absence was a diplomatic one, but there was little point in pursuing the matter at that moment.
On my return the duty centurion came up, a bundle of swords and spears in his arms.
“Would you look at these, sir,” he said.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We picked these up on the bank. I thought that you should see them.”
The swords were long and with hilts similar to those issued to our cavalry. I took one up, held it and then swung it once or twice. I rubbed the muddy blade and the steel shone like silver beneath. I felt the edge and then looked at it carefully. It was ice sharp and smooth as a new blade that has never been used. I swung it again while the centurion watched me intently.
“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean.”
“They might have been captured in a scrimmage,” he said in a flat voice.
“Yes, that is true. Are they all like this?”
He nodded.
I held the sword up by the hilt and looked at the marks on the blade. The word Remi was stamped on it quite clearly.
“A Roman sword, and a new one at that. Spears too?”
The centurion said quickly, “I have told no-one except yourself, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I did not think that you would want me to.”
“Quite right. Give them to Marcus Severus and tell him to speak to me about them.”
“How did they get them, sir? I don’t understand.”
“I do,” I said. “No wonder the Alemanni opened up the old silver mine at Aquae Mattiacae.” I walked on up to my quarters and there found Quintus and Aquila awaiting me. “It was a try,” I said. “They raided us to test our words and see how strong we were. But it was a raid in strength also, in case we proved weak and they were successful enough to establish a bridge-head. There were signs,” I added grimly, “that ten thousand men at least, I should say, must have been waiting there on the other side in the dark. Bushes were broken, undergrowth trampled down and footprints by the score; all covering an area the size of a double camp.”
Aquila said doubtfully, “Yet we never heard them, sir.”
“Then they must move like cats,” said Quintus sharply. He was shaken by my news and looked it.
“Never mind,” I said. “Who were the dead?”
“Mainly Alemanni and Vandals,” said Aquila.
“Who else?”
“A few Marcomanni and some Alans.”
“Are you certain?”
“A Frank who knows these people was positive.”
I nodded. “Well, it was good practice for our men. But next time it may not be so easy. I expect the Aleman king is now busy killing all his spies. He may believe me now. We shall not be troubled again before the spring.”
Nor were we. It was a warm autumn and when the leaves fell my men began to fish the river again and no one watched them from the other bank. In November it rained a great deal and it became very cold, though the only ice that we saw were small floes that had come down from the Upper Rhenus, high above Borbetomagus, and even these were breaking up as they passed us by. In December the christians began to look forward to their great festival and much time was spent in making preparations for it. They were much cheered to learn—those in the camp garrison who did not know—that it was here at Moguntiacum that the emperor Constantine, on his way to destroy Maxentius at the Milvian bridge, had the famous vision that converted him to their faith. They laughed a lot and there was considerable drunkenness and the cohort commanders had a busy time soothing the feelings of outraged fathers of young women, while the charge sheets were full with details of men who had overstayed their leave.
One morning a legionary who had stayed out all night staggered into the camp with a knife wound in his chest. At the subsequent enquiry I learned that he had gone to one of the villages—he was drunk at the time—in search of a woman and had been attacked by a night watchman, who caught him climbing the palisade. I punished him with stoppages of pay and put him on fatigue duties for three months. Then I rode out to the village concerned. They were collecting brushwood in a clearing when I arrived, while further down the hill a handful of boys and old men were doing the winter sowing. A hunting party had just returned, singing and laughing, a freshly killed buck swaying from a pole. While I watched, they quartered the animal, cutting the meat into strips which would then be smoked over the hut fires, so many strips per man as the chief directed. On one side of the clearing was a huge mound covered with damp leaves, from under which smoke billowed fretfully.
Their chief wiped the sweat from his face and smiled broadly. “Charcoal,” he said, speaking in camp Latin. “We sell it to your soldiers. You have brought us much trade. That is good.”
“And trouble,” I said.
“Oh, that. He was drunk. Is the man dead?” For the first time he looked at me with an expression of alarm.
“No, a pity he isn’t. It would have been a good example to the rest.” I leaned forward over my horse’s neck. “I am sorry. I do not like my men to molest your women. He is well punished. It will not happen again, I promise you.”
He grinned and stroked his beard. “You cannot stop them trying; but I can stop them succeeding. Will you come to my hut and drink?”
I had tasted the native beer already. I did not like it. “Thank you, no. Another time.” I looked round at the activity. “You are happy here?”
“Of course. That is why we came.”
“You are of the Alemanni?”
“Yes. We found the east bank too crowded.”
“But surely it is only crowded because everyone insists on living in the same area?” I pointed to the east. “Beyond that river there are vast lands, more than enough for all your people.”
He shrugged. “But so much is forest.”
“Well, if you cut the forest back then there is more ground on which to sow crops.”
He said gravely, “But the forests belong to the gods. One cannot destroy their home lest they destroy ours in turn.”