The door swung open and Marius burst in. He said, “One of my patrols has just come in. The main Vandal column has just reached that village in the valley.”
“Are they camping?”
“Yes, sir, but they have cavalry out in the snow, about four hundred yards from the palisade.”
I looked at Quintus. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“That settles it,” I said. “Put out double sentries; get those enemy patrols driven away and establish pickets of our own, five hundred yards from the camp. They must have fires ready so that they can signal at a moment’s notice. Now, let us get some sleep.
But there was little rest for any of us. Units had to be re-organised to allow for casualties, food distributed, and time allowed for the repair of broken equipment and damaged boots. The armourers had to get fires going; spear heads had to be fitted on to new shafts, bow cords renewed and arrows flighted. The ditches, partially filled, in spite of Agilio’s efforts, with the loose snow of the night, had to be cleared; and the artillery sited on hurriedly built platforms. The waggons were emptied of their supplies and drawn up in arranged positions on the flanks, so as to make a barricade against attack by infiltration; and the palisade had to be strengthened with timber and brushwood.
The camp was its usual square, twelve hundred yards on either side, surrounded by a timber palisade and an earthwork, built the previous year. The two corners facing the enemy, were strengthened by the addition of waggons, as well as platforms on which were mounted two carroballistae. Fifty yards in front of the gate was the signal tower, surrounded by a circle of triple ditches and a palisade. In front of this, stretching to left and right, was a four foot palisade, earthed and well dug-in, behind which the legion would fight when on the defensive. Protecting this there was the usual line of triple ditches, their bottoms spiked with sharpened branches. In addition, however, I had had dug in front of this, a wide zig-zag ditch. It was fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep, with narrow gaps at the ends nearest to our position. An enemy approaching would be forced by the closing up of this ditch, to concentrate his attack at single points where the gaps occurred. We, however, could concentrate our fire on these gaps and so destroy him as he tried to come through. In this way I hoped to reduce the effectiveness of the enemy’s vast superiority of numbers. Squadrons of cavalry and archers would protect our flanks, and I had no doubt but that we could hold our ground, so long as we had sufficient men and missiles to last out.
All morning the men worked, while Quintus and I rode carefully over the ground upon which we would fight. Facing east, from the signal tower, the ground was level for about two hundred yards. It then sloped gently to the trees in the distance. On the right of the road the ground sloped away to a great wood of firs that guarded our flank. On the left the ground dipped for, perhaps, half a mile, and then climbed a long gentle slope to the horizon. The plain was thinly covered, here and there, by clumps of bushes. A little to the right of the Bingium road there was a small copse in which I intended to put a century to lie in ambush. The snow was packed hard underneath the surface, and there appeared to be few drifts. Quintus seemed satisfied and, at length, we returned to camp.
At midday, while I was eating a bowl of hot porridge, we saw their horsemen in the distance. They came up to within a hundred yards of our furthest pickets. They circled the ground slowly but did not attack us. Presently they rode off, and in the afternoon the men who were not on duty washed themselves, and then sat outside their tents. The wind had dropped, the sun shone fitfully and the soldiers laughed as they rolled the dice and gambled away the pay that so many of them would never receive. They looked less tired after their long sleep; they smiled, made jokes, told each other bawdy stories, and some of them sang.
Just before dusk one of the sentries reported men on the Confluentes road. I climbed the tower, and I could see them; a dark, straggling column, moving slowly towards us. The Vandals could see them, too, and their horsemen spread out and rode towards them. Quintus hastily mounted three squadrons and led them out to intercept the Vandals. An hour later, with bloody cavalry skirmishes going on behind them, the column reached the safety of the palisade. It consisted of three hundred men, wounded, hungry, and exhausted; all that was left of the garrison at Confluentes and the crews of the signal posts along their line of march. Of the garrisons from Boudobrigo and Salisio there was no news, and I knew now that they would not come. They had been destroyed in the hills by the Burgundians, led by their king, Guntiarus, who had once been proud to call himself an ally of Rome.
I went to the signal tower. There, I washed and shaved carefully. My beard was quite white and I was glad to see it go. I was drying myself with a towel when Quintus came in.
He said, “What do you intend to do, Maximus? If you will take my advice it would be best to hold our position here. Let them break themselves on the palisade, as they did at Moguntiacum. On the defensive we shall lose less men; and they will starve and grow weak out in the snow.”
I said, “We have supplies for only a few days. There will be no more help out of Treverorum now. What do we do when we are out of food and missiles? Beg for mercy?”
He was silent.
I said, “By rights, we should be in winter quarters; all campaigning over for the season.” I smiled bitterly. “But this is not a civilised war; it is a fight to the death.”
“You have a legion still,” he said quietly. “Are we to throw all away on a gamble then?”
I threw the towel on the bed. “Oh, Quintus, it has all been a gamble. What Stilicho proposed that night was only a gamble. I have known that all along.”
“Well then?”
“We might hold them, as you say, on the palisade. If the men were fresh I could be certain of it. But, in any case, you never win a battle by fighting on the defensive.”
He looked at me steadily. He said, “You are going out to fight them on the plain, in pitched battle.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. I doubt very much if we can beat them. But whatever we do is a gamble. We should never survive a retreat to Treverorum now. All generals, at the very last, must be gamblers at heart. I shall stake all on a last throw.”
He gave a long sigh. “In a way I am glad,” he said. “It is better to try, and fail, than not to try at all.”
“Oh, I am going to try all right.”
In the evening we walked through the camp, and I chatted to the men as I went, and inspected the defences carefully.
“Well?” said Quintus when I had finished. “What do you think?”
I said, “Even if they beat us, it will cost them more than they realise. We shall not have failed altogether.”
In the darkness we stood on the platform of the signal tower and watched the lights of their fires; little sparks, winking across the snow. Later, there was a single clash of arms when one of their patrols met one of ours by mistake. Both withdrew at once and there were no casualties. I went to bed early that night, and I slept well and I dreamed no dreams.
At dawn the legion marched out of camp, leaving only its wounded behind. The men paraded in their ranks, century by century, cohort by cohort, their backs to the palisade, while I inspected them. The light shone upon their scarlet standards, upon the polished armour of the officers and upon the white cloaks of the cavalry. Then, one of their number, who claimed to have been a priest in his time, blessed them. I sat my horse, with Quintus on my right hand and Fabianus on my left, and I spoke to them. It would be for the last time, I knew that. I had no illusions.
“You’ll be glad to know that we have stopped running away. What generals call a strategic withdrawal, and you a long bloody march, is now over.” There was a murmur at this and some laughter. I went on: “The tribune, Flavius, has told me that in a few days we shall have help. The Army of Gaul is marching to our aid. Like you, I think they have left it a bit late, but that’s better than not coming at all. Your old general, Stilicho, has kept his promise. I knew he would not let us down.” They cheered loudly at this.