II THE RISE OF GIANT MAXIMIN
Exactly twenty-five years had passed since the day that Theckla the hugeThracian peasant had turned into Maximin the Roman guardsman. They hadnot been good years for Rome. Gone for ever were the great Imperial daysof the Hadrians and the Trajans. Gone also the golden age of the twoAntonines, when the highest were for once the most worthy and mostwise. It had been an epoch of weak and cruel men. Severus, the swarthyAfrican, a stark grim man, had died in far away York, after fighting allthe winter with the Caledonian Highlanders--a race who have eversince worn the martial garb of the Romans. His son, known only by hisslighting nick-name of Caracalla, had reigned during six years of insanelust and cruelty, before the knife of an angry soldier avenged thedignity of the Roman name. The nonentity Macrinus had filled thedangerous throne for a single year before he also met a bloody end,and made room for the most grotesque of all monarchs, the unspeakableHeliogabalus with his foul mind and his painted face. He in turn was cutto pieces by the soldiers, and Severus Alexander, a gentle youth, scarceseventeen years of age, had been thrust into his place. For thirteenyears now he had ruled, striving with some success to put some virtueand stability into the rotting Empire, but raising many fierce enemiesas he did so-enemies whom he had not the strength nor the wit to hold incheck.
And Giant Maximin--what of him? He had carried his eight feet of manhoodthrough the lowlands of Scotland, and the passes of the Grampians.He had seen Severus pass away, and had soldiered with his son. Hehad fought in Armenia, in Dacia, and in Germany. They had made him acenturion upon the field when with his hands he plucked out one byone the stockades of a northern village, and so cleared a path forthe stormers. His strength had been the jest and the admiration of thesoldiers. Legends about him had spread through the army and were thecommon gossip round the camp fires--of his duel with the German axemanon the Island of the Rhine, and of the blow with his fist which brokethe leg of a Scythian's horse. Gradually he had won his way upwards,until now, after quarter of a century's service he was tribune of thefourth legion and superintendent of recruits for the whole army. Theyoung soldier who had come under the glare of Maximin's eyes, or hadbeen lifted up with one huge hand while he was cuffed by the other, hadhis first lesson from him in the discipline of the service.
It was nightfall in the camp of the fourth legion upon the Gallic shoreof the Rhine. Across the moonlit water, amid the thick forests whichstretched away to the dim horizon, lay the wild untamed German tribes.Down on the river bank the light gleamed upon the helmets of the Romansentinels who kept guard along the river. Far away a red point rose andfell in the darkness--a watch-fire of the enemy upon the further shore.
Outside his tent, beside some smouldering logs, Giant Maximin wasseated, a dozen of his officers around him. He had changed much sincethe day when we first met him in the Valley of the Harpessus. His hugeframe was as erect as ever, and there was no sign of diminution of hisstrength. But he had aged none the less. The yellow tangle of hair wasgone, worn down by the ever-pressing helmet. The fresh young face wasdrawn and hardened, with austere lines wrought by trouble and privation.The nose was more hawk-like, the eyes more cunning, the expression morecynical and more sinister. In his youth, a child would have run tohis arms. Now it would shrink screaming from his gaze. That was whattwenty-five years with the eagles had done for Theckla the Thracianpeasant.
He was listening now--for he was a man of few words--to the chatter ofhis centurions. One of them, Balbus the Sicilian, had been to the maincamp at Mainz, only four miles away, and had seen the Emperor Alexanderarrive that very day from Rome. The rest were eager at the news, for itwas a time of unrest, and the rumour of great changes was in the air.
"How many had he with him?" asked Labienus, a black-browed veteran fromthe south of Gaul. "I'll wager a month's pay that he was not so trustfulas to come alone among his faithful legions."
"He had no great force," replied Balbus. "Ten or twelve cohorts of thePraetorians and a handful of horse."
"Then indeed his head is in the lion's mouth," cried Sulpicius, ahot-headed youth from the African Pentapolis. "How was he received?"
"Coldly enough. There was scarce a shout as he came down the line."
"They are ripe for mischief," said Labienus. "And who can wonder, whenit is we soldiers who uphold the Empire upon our spears, while the lazycitizens at Rome reap all of our sowing. Why cannot a soldier have whata soldier gains? So long as they throw us our denarius a day, they thinkthat they have done with us."
"Aye," croaked a grumbling old greybeard. "Our limbs, our blood, ourlives--what do they care so long as the Barbarians are held off, andthey are left in peace to their feastings and their circus? Free bread,free wine, free games--everything for the loafer at Rome. For us thefrontier guard and a soldier's fare."
Maximin gave a deep laugh. "Old Plancus talks like that," said he; "butwe know that for all the world he would not change his steel plate for acitizen's gown. You've earned the kennel, old hound, if you wish it. Goand gnaw your bone and growl in peace."
"Nay, I am too old for change. I will follow the eagle till I die. Andyet I had rather die in serving a soldier master than a long-gownedSyrian who comes of a stock where the women are men and the men arewomen."
There was a laugh from the circle of soldiers, for sedition and mutinywere rife in the camp, and even the old centurion's outbreak could notdraw a protest. Maximin raised his great mastiff head and looked atBalbus.
"Was any name in the mouths of the soldiers?" he asked in a meaningvoice.
There was a hush for the answer. The sigh of the wind among the pinesand the low lapping of the river swelled out louder in the silence.Balbus looked hard at his commander.
"Two names were whispered from rank to rank," said he. "One was AsceniusPollio, the General. The other was--"
The fiery Sulpicius sprang to his feet waving a glowing brand above hishead.
"Maximinus!" he yelled, "Imperator Maximinus Augustus!"
Who could tell how it came about? No one had thought of it an hourbefore. And now it sprang in an instant to full accomplishment. Theshout of the frenzied young African had scarcely rung through thedarkness when from the tents, from the watch-fires, from the sentries,the answer came pealing back: "Ave, Maximinus! Ave Maximinus Augustus!"From all sides men came rushing, half-clad, wild-eyed, their eyesstaring, their mouths agape, flaming wisps of straw or flaring torchesabove their heads. The giant was caught up by scores of hands, and satenthroned upon the bull-necks of the legionaries. "To the camp!" theyyelled. "To the camp! Hail! Hail to the soldier Caesar!"
That same night Severus Alexander, the young Syrian Emperor, walkedoutside his Praetorian camp, accompanied by his friend Licinius Probus,the Captain of the Guard. They were talking gravely of the gloomyfaces and seditious bearing of the soldiers. A great foreboding of evilweighed heavily upon the Emperor's heart, and it was reflected upon thestern bearded face of his companion.
"I like it not," said he. "It is my counsel, Caesar, that with the firstlight of morning we make our way south once more."
"But surely," the Emperor answered, "I could not for shame turn my backupon the danger. What have they against me? How have I harmed them thatthey should forget their vows and rise upon me?"
"They are like children who ask always for something new. You heard themurmur as you rode along the ranks. Nay, Caesar, fly tomorrow, and yourPraetorians will see that you are not pursued. There may be some loyalcohorts among the legions, and if we join forces--"
A distant shout broke in upon their conversation--a low continued roar,like the swelling tumult of a sweeping wave. Far down the road uponwhich they stood there twinkled many moving lights, tossing and sinkingas they rapidly advanced, whilst the hoarse tumultuous bellowing brokeinto articulate words, the same tremendous words, a thousand-foldrepeated. Licinius seized the Emperor by the wrist and dragged him underthe cover of some bushes.
"Be still, Caesar! For your life be still!" he whispered. "One word andwe
are lost!"
Crouching in the darkness, they saw that wild procession pass, therushing screaming figures, the tossing arms, the bearded, distortedfaces, now scarlet and now grey, as the brandished torches waxed orwaned. They heard the rush of many feet, the clamour of hoarse voices,the clang of metal upon metal. And then suddenly, above them all, theysaw a vision of a monstrous man, a huge bowed back, a savage face, grimhawk eyes, that looked out over the swaying shields. It was seen for aninstant in a smoke-fringed circle of fire, and then it had swept on intothe night.
"Who is he?" stammered the Emperor, clutching at his guardsman's sleeve."They call him Caesar."
"It is surely Maximin the Thracian peasant." In the darkness thePraetorian officer looked with strange eyes at his master.
"It is all over, Caesar. Let us fly your tent."
But even as they went a second shout had broken forth tenfold louderthan the first. If the one had been the roar of the oncoming wave, theother was the full turmoil of the tempest. Twenty thousand voices fromthe camp had broken into one wild shout which echoed through the night,until the distant Germans round their watch-fires listened in wonder andalarm.
"Ave!" cried the voices. "Ave Maximinus Augustus!"
High upon their bucklers stood the giant, and looked round him at thegreat floor of upturned faces below. His own savage soul was stirredby the clamour, but only his gleaming eyes spoke of the fire within.He waved his hand to the shouting soldiers as the huntsman waves to theleaping pack. They passed him up a coronet of oak leaves, and clashedtheir swords in homage as he placed it on his head. And then there camea swirl in the crowd before him, a little space was cleared, and thereknelt an officer in the Praetorian garb, blood upon his face, blood uponhis bared forearm, blood upon his naked sword. Licinius too had gonewith the tide.
"Hail, Caesar, hail!" he cried, as he bowed his head before the giant."I come from Alexander. He will trouble you no more."
The Last Galley; Impressions and Tales Page 6