I said, “You have held them already for fourteen days, and you can hold them for four or five days more. They, too, are tired, hungry and cold, and they have no supplies such as we have received from our gallant civilian friends at Treverorum.” They laughed.
I paused. I said, “Now, we are going out to do battle. I am not fighting behind ditches this time. We are going to beat them, as we beat the enemy before at Pollentia. One hard fight is all I ask, and then it will be over.” I paused again.
I said, in a loud voice, “You wanted once to elect me to the purple, and I refused. Win this battle for me, now, and I will not refuse if you do so again. I promised you gold when this campaign was over, and I shall keep my promise, if you will keep yours to me.” I turned and pointed at the Eagle, borne by the aquilifer at my back. The worn, polished bronze of that fierce head and outspread wings had been a silent witness to speeches like this before. Below, on the placard, were stamped the letters that had been carried into every corner of the empire—S.P.Q.R.
“A good many weak-headed people think that the empire is dying,” I said. “That is what the Alemanni of Sunno, the Quadi, the Marcomanni of Hermeric, the Alans of Respendial and the Vandals of Gunderic think.” At my signal, the aquilifer held the Eagle high, so that the early morning sun glinted on the polished metal. “Prove to me now, in the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, and of the Eagle of the Twentieth, that they are wrong.”
Normally, they cheered at the end of a speech, but now they remained silent, and I was startled and worried. I coughed to clear my throat. For a moment or two I had almost believed what I had said to them. Their silence began to frighten me.
To my surprise, Quintus moved his horse forward, so that he was sideways on to the front rank. He drew his sword, that lovely curved sword that Stilicho had given him, and raised it in the air. “I give you a new emperor,” he cried. “I give you an emperor of Gaul—and of Britannia, too, if the fates are kind. I give you a new Emperor of the West. I give you—Maximus!”
They cried my name then, three times, and began to pound their shields with their spears. And, as the roar of “Maximus!” filled my ears, I raised my hand in acknowledgement; and it was hard for me to see.
The legion deployed quickly onto the frozen ground in front of the ditches. My centre was composed of a mixture of heavy and light cohorts, drawn up three deep, so as to give the maximum width to our front. There was one carroballista to each century, run slightly forward so as to have a good field of fire. Then, on each flank, there was a wing of archers, their lines slanted forward at an angle. Behind the centre, spread out two deep, were the auxiliaries under the command of Scudilio; and, mixed in with them, to make the line seem more solid, were the auxiliary horse, arranged three deep, by troops and not by squadrons. On the left wing, beyond the archers and slightly to their rear, were Fredegar’s Franks, who had strict instructions to prevent the enemy turning the flank. Beyond the right wing of archers, and flung well forward, were the seamen and signal post auxiliaries, a weak band, strengthened by a handful of legionaries, and commanded by Marius. He was to turn the enemy’s flank when the opportunity arose. Far out from the battle line, to left and right, were the regular cavalry, spread out in the shape of crescent moons. The left was under the command of Quintus, the right was led by Fabianus. In the copse that lay between Marius and Fabianus, I had concealed a small party under the leadership of Flavius. It was composed of all the men he had brought from Treverorum. They were fresh and determined, and he was a good soldier. I placed great reliance on his judgement to act at the right time. My headquarters I established behind the centre of the third row of the fighting line. Agilio and Aquila were with me, and my bodyguard were deployed behind, dismounted and awaiting my orders. Julius Optatus was in charge of the camp and of the tiny reserves I had left there to defend it. He was responsible for bringing up spare horses and missiles, as required, and for the removal and care of the wounded.
The barbarians, seeing that we intended to fight in the open, came on in six massive columns, made up of their usual wedge-shaped groups, each under its local chief. The Marcomanni were on our left, the Quadi and the Alans on our right, and the great host that made up the two Vandal tribes was in the centre. Their cavalry rode ahead of the infantry, a series of ragged lines that broke and wheeled to left and right when they saw where our horsemen were placed. A host of foot followed them at a run. Quintus, who held the left, was engaged first and found himself trying to deal with a mixture of horse and foot, both armed with bows. He broke through the enemy horse without difficulty and then charged the foot. In the thirty seconds it took him to close the two hundred yards that separated them, the enemy loosed four flights of arrows and unhorsed half his front rank. Unable to break through the enemy spears he disengaged, and withdrew his squadrons in good order. The remainder of the Marcomanni suffered fearful losses, trying to close with the archers on the wing, and a section, in desperation, tried to outflank them. Fredegar, shouting, swung his men round and fell upon them; and a grim hand to hand struggle followed.
On the right, Fabianus had charged the enemy in the flank, but the Quadi, instead of standing their ground and waiting to be slaughtered, opened ranks, stepped aside, and flung their spears and axes at our men as they rode past. This, however, proved a mistake, for the auxiliaries under Scudilio, who had already checked the enemy horse with their arrows, charged them on foot before they had time to re-group, and swept them back towards Fabianus’s cavalry, who easily rode them down. The Quadi fell back in confusion and Scudilio slowly began to turn their flank.
In the centre the Vandals came at a run in a dense mass. The bolts of the carroballistae ripped great gaps in their ranks, but did not stop them. The fighting ranks stepped forward and flung their javelins, one after one; nine arrow flights went home; but they still came on over the bodies of their dead; and there was a tremendous shock and clash of arms as the two lines of infantry met. Our line bent for a moment and then held. For over half an hour a fierce struggle went on, with neither side giving way, and then Quintus fell on their right flank with seven hundred horse. A minute later, Fabianus attacked the left, just as Scudilio’s men were beginning to tire; and the Vandal wings crumpled as men began to throw away their weapons and run. I signalled my bodyguard to mount, and then led them round to the right, intending to reinforce Fabianus. At this moment, the Franks under Fredegar broke under the weight of the Marcomanni, who had been strengthened by reserves pouring from their camp. The Marcomanni began to close in upon the rear of Quintus’ wing, which was now almost at a standstill in the midst of a vast, struggling mass of screaming, shouting men. The din was appalling. I shouted, my trumpeter saw my mouth move and blew the two blasts that meant “change direction.” I wheeled round and crossed the rear of our centre just as the Marcomanni, mingling with the Vandals, were beginning to fall upon it. My men heard us coming and fell back quickly as we poured through the gap in our line and charged home. It was a tight, controlled, compact charge, and the enemy broke and gave way before us. At my order, the trumpet sounded again, and the front line disengaged and fell back, reforming as it did so. The enemy, glad of a breathing space, did the same. They also had had enough for the moment.