Eagle in the Snow by Wallace Breem Page B

twisted the bracelet on his wrist and said, “This place is like the end of the world.” It was as though he were thinking my thoughts.
    “Yes,” I said. “It is—the end of our world.”
    He said, moodily, “I still think it would be a good thing to repair this bridge and take back that camp on the further bank. It would give us a fine start if we should need to take the offensive.”
    Barbatio said diffidently, “The Alemanni, sir, would see that as an act of war. General Stilicho, by his terms, gave them absolute rights over the east bank.”
    “In that case there’s no point in provoking them without cause.”
    Quintus turned to the praefectus. “Have you seen the old camp? Can it be repaired easily?”
    Barbatio said hastily, “Yes, sir, though half the walls have been pulled down and the huts destroyed. They did the same to the villas.”
    “Who burned the bridge?”
    “That was done many years ago, sir, after Rando sacked the town. It was he who destroyed the cathedral.”
    “Who is Rando?”
    “He was a prince of the Alemanni then. He is now their king.” There was a note of enthusiasm in his voice that had been lacking before. I turned to him and said, “Have you had dealings with him?”
    He licked his lips and the sweat rolled down the sides of the leather cheek-pieces of his helmet. “Come on, man, tell me.”
    “Yes, sir,” he muttered.
    “Slaves, I suppose.”
    He nodded.
    I said to Quintus, “There isn’t a tribune of frontier troops anywhere in the empire who doesn’t trade in slaves. They’re more interested in that than in their military duties.”
    Barbatio flushed. He said, defensively, “We get paid so little. They give it to us in food and supplies instead, but half the time the rations are short. We get cheated by everyone.”
    “You should receive money,” I said sharply.
    “That’s what I mean, sir.”
    “I know all about that. I have been on a frontier too. Tell me, have you heard of the new law which allows you seven days rations a year from your men which you can commute for silver?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And have taken advantage of it, no doubt.”
    He nodded again, his eyes shifting from face to face.
    “Stick to the law then.” I stared at him hard. “You will have little time for being a slave dealer from now on. You will be too busy being a soldier. Your unit is in a disgusting state. Mend it quickly or I will have a new commander appointed.”
    He saluted and started to back away.
    “Don’t go yet. There is another matter I want explained. I thought your cohort’s strength was five hundred, but you’ve only two hundred, in fact. Why?”
    He said, “We had sickness, sir. Some died, others have gone on pension recently and—and there are a number on leave.” He spoke confidently.
    I said, “I saw your ration statements at the imperial granary. You have been drawing food for five hundred with regularity for the last four years.”
    “Well, sir, I—my quartermaster always asks for the rations of—of the men on leave. It is customary.” He sounded aggrieved now as though I did not understand something that was obviously a matter of simple common-sense both to him and to his quartermaster.
    “Stop lying. You haven’t had three hundred men on leave, now or at any time. You’ve been indenting for food for men who are dead or who were pensioned off years ago. Is that not so?”
    He did not say anything. He opened and shut his mouth like a fish.
    “Answer me,” I said. “What was the cohort’s strength when you took over. I want the truth.”
    He rolled his eyes as though in prayer. Then he licked his lips. “One hundred and eighty,” he whispered.
    I prodded him in the chest with my stick. “I could have you broken for this. You’ve recruited twenty men in four years. That must have been hard work.”
    “Everyone does it,” he muttered.
    I said, “I am not everyone. Remember that from now on.”
    When he had gone, Quintus said, “You were a