Ashes Under Uricon

Chapter 22. Maximus (383-8)

By Mihangel

Itemque tandem tyrannorum virgultis crescentibus et in immanem silvam iam iamque erumpentibus insula, nomen Romanum nec tamen morem legemque tenens, quin potius abiciens germen suae plantationis amarissimae, ad Gallias magna comitante satellitum caterva, insuper etiam imperatoris insignibus, quae nec decenter usquam gessit, non legitime, sed ritu tyrannico et tumultuante initiatum milite, Maximum mittit.

The growing thicket of usurpers came after a time to burst into a savage forest. The island was still Roman in name, but not in law and custom. Rather, it cast forth a sprig of its own bitter planting, and sent Maximus to Gaul with a great crowd of hangers-on and even the insignia of an emperor, which he was never fit to wear. He was raised to the title not lawfully, but tyrannically by the turbulent soldiery.

Gildas, On the Ruin of Britain

Permission from Count Flavianus to inspect the military mines took a long time to come through, and when in the middle of March it did finally arrive, it was in unexpected form. In a week's time, the letter said, the Count and Sebastianus the current governor were travelling north to Deva and on the way were spending a night at Viroconium, where they would pick me up. They duly arrived, with a surprisingly small convoy of assistants and servants. As was customary, they were greeted at the south-east gate by a bevy of dignitaries including the chairmen of the council and the bishop, but they put several noses out of joint by cutting short the formalities and going straight to the state hotel with only me in tow. There they told me that at Deva we were to meet up with the Duke of Britain -- the commander-in-chief of the whole army on the island -- who had just come down from the north, and that all of us were to go on a three-week tour of inspection of the mines and garrisons to the west of Deva. The inclusion of the governor and the Count was understandable -- it was their province, after all -- but why, I wondered, should the Duke spend so much time on minor outposts?

To the west of Deva, they reminded me -- not that I needed reminding -- our neighbouring tribe was the Deceangli. Beyond them lay the Ordovices. Neither was significantly romanised and neither had a civitas structure. Their mines were therefore supervised by military personnel, who were finding the task increasingly difficult. The question was, would I therefore consider taking these mines under my wing as if they were Cornovian?

It took my breath away. The undertaking would be huge. The distances were great. To the furthest mines it was at least a five-day journey. I had never been to any of them. What was their labour force? What were their transport arrangements? What protection did they have against the Irish raids to which they were exposed? By how much would the quota of metals I had to supply be increased? I was already worried because the lodes at Croucodunum seemed to be dwindling. The Count admitted frankly that he could answer none of my questions. Doubtful of my ability, I refused to commit myself to anything until I had seen the mines.

I went home to bring Bran up to date, who pursed his lips, and to make hurried preparations for the journey, which would take me away for longer than I had ever been before, except my time in Ireland. And next morning Sebastianus and Flavianus and I rode north. We talked largely about economics, about the value of Britain to the empire as a producer of goods needed in Gaul and by the armies on the Rhine -- grain, and textiles, and above all metals. Of all these, Britain still produced much more than it needed for itself. All very well, I thought. But the future of these trades hung on a knife-edge. Worthwhile production could only take place in a land of settled peace. What if barbarian raids worsened? What when there was no market to sell the goods to? But I kept my concerns to myself.

I had never before set foot in a military fortress, and Deva did not impress me. The legion being grossly under strength, civilians had been allowed to squat in the barracks, the troops were slovenly and the place filthy. We were greeted by a fanfare of trumpets and by the Duke of Britain, Magnus Maximus by name. He was a keen and orthodox Christian, the governor had told me, a Spaniard by origin, who had first come to Britain under Count Theodosius immediately after the troubles. Thereafter he had served in Africa, and a few years ago had returned as Duke. He proved to be an active and no-nonsense man, thin, with a sharp beaked nose, a sharp mind, and a sharp eye for detail.

Next morning we set out. A blow-by-blow account of our travels would be almost as wearisome as the travels themselves. We looked, as we passed, at the small flotilla of painted patrol boats based at Deva, but our first stop was the mines at Salicinum.

While they were more extensive than those at Onna and richer in silver, their output was far smaller. True, their furnaces were better than ours and worth imitating. But the miners were much fewer in number than the lodes of ore could support, and all of them were slaves. As Tappo had long ago warned me, they were treated appallingly. They worked in shackles, which hardly improved their efficiency, and they were overseen with the whip. Their living accommodation was disgraceful and their death rate prodigious. With a good labour force of willing freemen, I reckoned, I could transform the place. And the pigs of lead were expensively carted overland all the way to Dubris at the south-eastern corner of Britain; the relatively short distance overland to the Sabrina and then boat down the river would surely be cheaper. But again I kept it to myself.

The slaves were all Irish, mostly taken in the troubles of sixteen years ago but, so many having died of misuse, now much reduced in number. Two, however, had been captured more recently. There had been a succession of small raids, including that which saw Glaucias' death, but all had been quite easily dealt with because this time the western troops were still in place. I talked to these two slaves, who were astonished that I spoke their language. They were of the Uí Garrchon from the Oboca, and when I showed them Maqqos-Colini's ring, which I always wore, their eyes almost fell out of their heads. And they told me some very interesting news. Laigin was in turmoil with intertribal squabbling. Maqqos-Colini was under severe pressure as the neighbouring Uí Failgi pushed his clan down to the sea. He had had enough. If he had anywhere to go, he and his whole people would move out. The recent raids into Britain had been by way of reconnaissance to see if enough territory could be conquered to settle in. Judging by the military opposition they had met, the slaves reckoned it could not.

Deep in thought, I sought out Maximus and Sebastianus. Deep in trepidation, too, for who was I to suggest military strategy to the top brass? They were expecting me to say whether or not I would take on the Salicinum mines.

"I'd rather defer my decision," I told them, "until I've seen the other mines. But I've just learnt something you should know." I relayed what the slaves had said. "A dozen years ago, Sanctus the then Governor told me that he would like to see Irish settled here in the north as the counterpart of the Attacotti in the south. If that's still your policy, this might be a golden opportunity."

There was no mistaking their interest.

"But how could we talk to this Maqqos-colini?" asked Maximus. "I'm not sending anyone to Ireland to parley. And even if we do talk, can we trust him? We don't know anything about him."

"But I do. For three years I was his slave. True, he's proud. True, he raids Britain. That goes for most of the Irish -- it's in their blood. But he's an honourable man. If we treat him with honour, and continue to treat him with honour, I'm sure he can be trusted."

To illustrate his honour, I told them how Bran, as an Irishman himself, had persuaded him to release me, and how Maqqos-colini had spared our farm and returned the brooch given to him as ransom. I showed them my ring as the passport for access to him. Impressed, they excused themselves and went aside to confer.

"Docco, we like your idea," said Maximus, coming back. "We like it very much, and we are going to try it. Let us work out the details."

The long and the short of it was that the two most recent slaves would be released, put on board one of the painted boats, and dropped off on the Irish coast. They would carry a verbal message to Maqqos-colini that if he wanted a new home he was welcome to discuss settling in Britain. As evidence of our identity and goodwill they would name Bran and myself, and would carry with them a lump of wax impressed with the spiral pattern on my ring. If he sailed into Deva at noon on the day of the next full moon with a holly branch tied to his mast-head, he would be given all the immunity and respect due to an ambassador. The slaves, the message drummed into their heads, were taken back to Deva to begin their mission. Since a full moon was just past, we had nearly a month in hand.

The bigwigs had treated me with courtesy before, as something of an expert in a technical field. From that point onwards they treated me as a person of importance and, although I felt a small fry among very large fish, I had ready access to them and was rarely short of someone to talk to.

We proceeded westwards, the hills rising ever higher on our left. The coastal strip seemed, for the most part, fertile enough, but it was thinly populated. After a night at the state hotel at Varae we reached the fort of Canovium, a little inland up a large river. The copper mines of Cravodunum, which its troops oversaw, were on a large promontory almost islanded in the sea, and I inspected them too. The story here was much the same as at Salicinum. Onward again, over a bleak pass, back down to the sea, then paralleling the narrow strait which separates the great island of Mona from the mainland, as far as the fort of Segontium where we stayed with the commanding tribune. Next day we were all ferried across to ride to the copper mines of Truscolenum at the far end of the island, where we slept in tents for the want of anything better. Here too there was potential for far higher production.

Early next morning I stood on the summit of the hill into which the workings burrowed. I was pondering transport. A mile away lay a sheltered creek. It would make sense to boat the ingots from here, and from Cravodunum too, eastwards along the coast and then, like the lead from Salicinum, to cart them inland to the Sabrina. The only real alternative was to ship them around the west of Britain. But that would invite piracy, for the route lay within sight of Ireland. And suddenly, as I gazed thoughtfully over the sea, I myself saw Ireland, mountain-pimples on the horizon, lit by the rising sun . . .

"You're weeping, Docco," said Maximus, appearing beside me. "Why?"

"Those hills," I said, wiping my eyes and pointing. "Just below the right-hand peak. That's where Maqqos-colini lives. Or lived. That's where I spent three years, as a boy."

"Within sight of home? That must have been tough."

"In a way. But the life wasn't bad. I'd infinitely rather be a slave in those Irish hills than in the Roman mines we've just seen. Look . . ."

Maximus was Duke of Britain, and I knew I was being impertinent in laying down the law. But this was a matter where diffidence would not pay, and he was a man who liked directness.

"Look . . . If I do take these mines on, I will insist on releasing all the slaves and replacing them with free labour. Not only because the returns will be better, but because the conditions are simply inhuman."

"Yes," was all he said. "I understand. You're a pagan, aren't you, Docco? Sometimes I think your humanity is better than ours . . . And are you going to take the mines on?"

"l 'll think it over on the way back, and give you my answer at Segontium tonight."

"Very well. I hope it's yes. We need people like you."

Back at Segontium that evening, Maximus was busy until dinner. But as I followed him to the conference room I could not help overhearing, without understanding, a remark of his to Sebastianus. "I've spoken to the tribune, and he's enthusiastic. If we can get Levobrinta and Docco's Irishmen on board, that's pretty well everything lined up."

He was in expansive mood as we sat down with Count Flavianus around a table.

"I'm feeling virtuous tonight, Docco," he said by way of explanation. "There aren't many Christians in the army, at least in the lower ranks. But there are many more in the civilian settlements outside the forts. And for them, here, I've just endowed a church. They haven't had a proper one before . . . Anyway, gentlemen, to business. Docco, I believe you've come to a decision?"

I had, in principle. Hoping I was not about to make a complete fool of myself, I agreed to take the mines under my wing, with four provisos. One was that all the slaves should be released, not only in the interests of humanity and efficiency but because, if free Irish did settle the area, it would be ridiculous to have Irish slaves in their midst. The others followed Maximus in agreeing.

The second was that the increase in my annual quota should not be, in my view, excessive.

"Well, I propose," said the Count, "that the increase be pegged to the present value of the output of the three mines. If you raise their production, the extra will be yours."

That, to my huge relief, was also agreed without argument. These men had the power to set the quota at whatever level they chose and to force me to accept it. Instead, they were almost pleading with me to help them out. The output, being much lower than it could be, had only to grow a little to compensate for the likely loss of Croucodunum.

My third proviso concerned adequate protection of the mines, all of which were wide open to Irish attack. Maximus scratched his chin.

"Point taken," he said. "I have ideas about that, but I would rather leave it until we see how negotiations go with Maqqos-Colini."

The same applied to my last condition. The lessons of the Attacotti and the Goths had taught us that federates who were not kept sweet were liable to kick over the traces. If these Irish were to settle as federates, we must ensure that they felt they belonged. There must be reliable intermediaries to co-ordinate with them. Only Bran and I knew them. I could at a pinch combine co-ordination with my charge of the mines, though I might need an assistant. But Bran must be freed from his current civic duty. In this we must both be servants of the province rather than the civitas. That condition was also agreed, depending on the outcome of negotiations. At that, we adjourned.

Maximus wanted to return to Deva by way of Levobrinta, and next day we started on the inland route through the mountains of Venedotia. These too were new to me, and they were wild and sublime, smelling of the gods, of danger, and of no escape. Down and up in endless succession, dossing by night in the occasional native village -- clusters of timber-framed huts with wattle walls and thatched roofs -- and sleeping on vermin-ridden straw beside the central hearth. The people were grindingly poor but highly self-sufficient, living off their sheep or cattle, doing their own smithing, weaving and leather work. Although outsiders, and especially Romans, were a rarity here, we were not unwelcome. Maximus had been this way before and it was known that he paid well.

After a while, some distance short of Levobrinta, we entered the territory of the Pagenses who were nominally Cornovian. But few from Viroconium ever came here. The land was so poor that taxes were not worth collecting. Local government, I found myself thinking, was strange and unbalanced. The Christian majority on the council was far from representative of the Cornovii as a whole. It reflected only a Christian majority among the well-heeled gentry. Even in the town a sizeable majority of ordinary folk was still pagan. In the nearer countryside, where the bulk of the population lived, Christianity had made little headway. Here in the mountains it had made none at all.

We spent a night at the fort of Levobrinta, relishing our first bath since Segontium. Sebastianus was sending a courier to Corinium, whose services I borrowed to drop a message off at Viroconium as he passed. If Maqqos-Colini was going to swim into our lives, Bran must be in on the act from the outset. I asked him to be at Deva by the day of the next full moon, and with some misgivings I asked him to bring Maglocunus too. Outside our own household, I knew of no Irish speakers up here, and we were going to need them. And if Maglocunus came, Dumnorix had to come as well. Then we cut north again past Croucodunum -- at last I was back among familiar sights -- for the final lap to Deva.

And so we all assembled. There were the four of us from Viroconium, reunited, Bran agog to hear of my doings, the boys awed by the company. I had to remind Maglocunus that he was a senator. There was Maximus the Duke, Sebastianus the Governor, Flavianus the Count of the Mines, and to crown it all Majorianus the Deputy Prefect, whom Maximus had summoned all the way from London. That heartened me, as evidence that my suggestion was being taken very seriously at the highest level. It also frightened me, because everything hung on my belief that Maqqos-colini would be amenable and honourable. And nobody knew if he would put in an appearance at all.

On the day of the full moon I was on tenterhooks, fretting like a child over whether he would come and, if so, whether he would be met with adequate dignity. I had suggested to the bigwigs that they pull out all the stops, and had been told politely not to worry. Yet here I was, a humble Briton, not trusting these Romans to lay on the proper ceremonial. To while away the time, Bran and I were reduced to playing knucklebones with the boys on the steps of the assembly hall. Maximus passed and smiled at us.

"Waiting gets on one's nerves, doesn't it?" he said. "I know. I've been waiting long enough myself."

I did not understand him. But at that moment a subaltern came with the news that an Irish ship was in sight down the river, with a branch on its mast and a painted boat in escort. Maximus barked orders, and we made our way to the quay. A guard of honour drew up and, as the ship moored, came to attention while trumpets blasted a fanfare. Trust the Romans after all. There on board stood Maqqos-Colini, his mane faded now, his commanding face more rugged; and if he seemed bewildered it was understandable, for no Irishman, surely, had ever been received into Britain with such pomp. Beside him was a boy of perhaps fourteen who with his auburn hair could only be his son. I was glad that our own boys were there to look after him.

Maqqos-Colini, stepping ashore, made for the only faces he knew. He went first to Bran as his kinsman and gave him a bear-hug. Then the same for me. He introduced the boy as his son Cunorix, and we introduced our boys. Behind him came half a dozen of his lieutenants whose hands had to be shaken. Then it was the turn of the Roman officials, who were gravely courteous. It was not easy to find Irish equivalents for their titles, but Maqqos-colini took the gist and was gratified. We walked up to the commandant's house and a meal of which Bran and I, fully occupied in translating, tasted not a morsel.

Then we adjourned to the assembly hall. It was a large gathering with all the bigwigs and their assistants and secretaries, and Maqqos-Colini and his lieutenants, but without the boys. Bran and I took turns to interpret. Majorianus, as the senior Roman present, presided, and he did it well. Although nobody couched it in these terms, the Romans were admitting weakness. They could not properly defend their own province and wanted to buy protection. At the same time Maqqos-Colini was admitting weakness in wanting to escape from Ireland. It boiled down to scratching each other's backs.

After hours of debate, an agreement was thrashed out. The details were many, but in outline it authorised the Irish to settle unoccupied land on Mona and along the whole northern coast from the Ganganorum promontory almost as far as Deva. Maqqos-Colini thought the migrants would number only about three thousand, for whom there was plenty of room in those thinly-populated parts. But all the rights of the existing inhabitants were to be respected, and the governor would provide officials to sort out the allocation of land. Bran and I were to be in overall charge of liaison between the province and the federates. All the slaves in the mines were to be freed, to stay here or return to Ireland as they chose. But who, I asked, was to replace them? The Deputy Prefect said he had the answer, and I should have a word with him afterwards.

In return for the land, the Irish were to watch the sea, patrol it in their own boats, and warn the Roman land troops of other Irish coming in. When Maqqos-Colini very reasonably asked what land troops there were, and where, Maximus dropped his bomb-shell. This was not, he said, to go outside the conference room; but in the very near future all the existing garrisons would be removed from Deva and from everywhere to the west. So would the painted boats. He saw me staring at him aghast.

"The day of static garrisons is over, Docco. They cannot provide mobile defence. And their supervision of the mines is being taken over by you."

"But we must have some defence! It's all very well in the south. The Attacotti can look after that by themselves, now. But up here we're years behind them. Bring the Cornovian Cohort down from the Wall instead!"

He smiled. "Great minds, Docco, think alike. I am about to send an order to precisely that effect. Let the Cohort protect its own civitas from raiders from the mountains, and the whole area from raiders from the sea. Let it be a highly mobile force, scattered here and there in small groups, mounted, able to respond anywhere at speed. But keep that secret too. Does it satisfy you?"

It did, very much. And it ended the conference. Maximus left to carry out his business, the secretaries to draw up the treaty, most of the officials to entertain the Irish, Bran to interpret for them. I stayed with the Deputy Prefect and Governor and Count to discuss my new labour force. Tappo at Onna could release a few overseers to replace the Roman slave-drivers. If Croucodunum closed, there would be copper specialists in need of a new job. But where to find large numbers of ordinary labourers was another matter. The Deputy Prefect's answer was splendid. There were, he said, many humble Iceni in the east of Britain who, like their betters, were fed up with Saxon attacks and had appealed to him to find them work further west. They knew nothing of mining, but were desperate for anything. And several lead mines in the civitas of the Brigantes in the backbone of Britain were running down, leaving experienced miners out of work. Iceni and Brigantes together might total five hundred. Would that do?

It would, very well. But plans were one thing. Putting them into action was another, and a great many people had a great deal of work to do. We had to return to Viroconium, and Maqqos-Colini had to return to Ireland to organise his people's migration. Before he left next day, he got Bran and me by ourselves and thanked us very graciously for making the treaty possible.

"I am astonished how far the Romans trust their old enemy. That must, I think, be your doing. And as a guarantee that I am to be trusted I am leaving a hostage with you." This was not news to us. Maglocunus and Dumnorix had already told us, with enthusiasm. "Will you take Cunorix home with you? Will you bring him up in Roman ways?"

"Not in Roman ways. In British ones."

"Ah yes. My mistake."

"Gladly, if he is willing. But it is a big step for him, in a strange land, at his age."

"You should know, having been my, ah, guest. But he gets on so well with your boys that he relishes the idea. And once we are settled here he will not be so far away." He beckoned Cunorix over. "Bran and Docco are willing. They want to hear that you are willing, from your own mouth. Are you?"

Cunorix grinned widely at us. "Yes!"

"Macte nova virtute, puer, sic itur ad astra," said Bran, clapping him on the shoulder. "Blessings on your young spirit, lad; that's the way to the stars." Of which neither of the Irishmen understood a word.

So five of us returned through the spring countryside to Viroconium. I shall have more to tell, before long, about our altered lives; but first I must complete the political picture. Of our three emperors, young Valentinian was still only a child, and the other two had become unpopular. Theodosius was widely despised for his settlement with the Goths. Gratian had grown lazy, preferring hunting to ruling, and he favoured the barbarian element of the army, notably his regiment of tall blond Alans. Their Roman colleagues were miffed.

It therefore came as a shock but as no great surprise when, three weeks after our return, a messenger cantered in from Deva with the news that Magnus Maximus had proclaimed himself emperor.

Rumour got busy. As a friend and trusted colleague of the older Theodosius, it said, Maximus had hoped to be made emperor himself. He was jealous of the younger Theodosius' rise. His hopes had been finally dashed when, last January, Theodosius had elevated his elder son Arcadius instead. Looking back, I could see why Maximus had come with us on our journey. Having secured the north, he needed the allegiance of the garrisons of the west. Now that he had it, he had declared his hand. He was setting off immediately for Gaul, leaving only a token force to guard the Saxon shore in the east and the Wall and its hinterland in the north. No wonder he had welcomed the Irish to guard the west. Apart from those in the north and east, and apart -- as was known to us but to nobody else in the town -- from our own Cornovian Cohort, every soldier in the island was going with him. Within days we heard that they were already on their way to Dubris and Rutupiae.

So too was Maximus. But he took a small detour from the direct road to visit Viroconium. We had only two hours' warning. The place went into a frenzy of excitement. No reigning emperor, the know-alls told us, had set foot in the town since Hadrian two hundred and sixty years before. By the time the new emperor trotted into sight, escorted by only a few aides and a modest bodyguard, the whole of the council, the whole of the clergy, and indeed the whole of the able-bodied population was at the north gate, or as close as it could get. Our German platoon kept the road clear.

Amid a storm of cheering Maximus rode up and stopped, without dismounting. The councillors, following the lead of the chairmen who thought they knew the protocol, knelt and bowed their heads to the ground. Maximus smiled and nodded to them, which, because their faces were in the dust, they unfortunately failed to see. But Bran and I, aware that he was not a man who liked grovellers, had remained standing. He beckoned us over and shook our hands. The council was now upright again and the chairmen, stepping forward, prepared to deliver a hastily-composed address of welcome. But Maximus forestalled them.

"Citizens!" he cried raising a hand, and the cheers died down. "I thank you for your welcome. I am here, if briefly and in haste, for three reasons. One is to assure you that my purpose is to promote the wealth and welfare of the empire, of the west, and above all of Britain, which my, ah, distinguished colleagues in the purple have sadly neglected. The second is to tell you that, thanks largely to the efforts of Docco and Bran" -- he bowed generously to us -- "your safety here has been secured by the settlement of federates on the coast. And the third is to inform you that very shortly there will arrive something which I know you will all welcome. It is so close behind me that I suggest you stay out here to await it. Farewell!"

He raised a hand again in general salutation, and amid the buzz of puzzled speculation leant down to us.

"We overtook it less than an hour ago," he said under his voice. "Goodbye, Docco and Bran. And thank you."

"Good luck, sir."

He shook our hands once more, winked at the three boys behind us, and wheeled his horse round. Followed by his retinue he trotted across to the London road. The German platoon, forming a crude column, shambled after him and out of our lives.

Bran and I looked at each other. "Short and sweet. And I doubt we'll ever see Maximus again."

"I doubt we'll ever see an emperor again."

The crowd, beginning to put two and two together, was craning its neck. There came a distant trumpet call. A body of soldiers crept remotely into sight. As it came closer it took form, well-disciplined form, five hundred men marching in step, marching with pride, led by officers on horseback, standards held high. And when the nearest and largest standard could be discerned as the red dragon of the Cornovii, its long tail snaking in the wind, a huge cheer erupted. The Cohort had not been in in its home town in my lifetime. It reached the gate and Amminus, at its head, turned round.

"Cohort, halt!" he bellowed. "Assemble in the horse arena tomorrow at the third hour. Cohort, dismiss!"

Sons ran to parents, husbands to wives and children, and the air was filled with laughter and with tears.

We never did see Maximus again. He crossed straight to Gaul, met Gratian's army near Paris, and won only because Gratian's cavalry defected. Gratian lost his life in the retreat, leaving Maximus master of Gaul and Spain as well as Britain. Theodosius, tied up in the east with the Huns and Persians, was for the time being forced grudgingly to recognise him.

Our new emperor did not rule badly, but in some respects he went too far, and one of his excesses touched our household. Bishop Priscillian, his teachings having been condemned by Gratian, tried his luck with Maximus who, having no truck with heretics, condemned them again. More than that, he put the man himself on trial in a civil court. Despite an outcry against purely ecclesiastical disputes being decided by the state, Priscillian and six of his colleagues were beheaded. They were the first Christian heretics, it was said, to be martyred for their beliefs. Cintusmus was desolated, and when he heard that two of Priscillian's followers had been exiled to Silina, the island off the south-western tip of Britain, he dreamed up a madcap scheme of joining them there. Only with difficulty was he dissuaded.

Young Valentinian, Gratian's brother and now the only official emperor in the west, was based at Mediolanum. He had Arian sympathies, despite all of Bishop Ambrose's efforts, and therefore refused to recognise the rabidly orthodox usurper. Maximus, ostensibly to cleanse the empire of this taint of heresy, eventually crossed the Alps. But he had never had much chance, and his day of reckoning was at hand. In north Italy he was confronted by Theodosius and soundly defeated. In the sixth year of his reign, on the sixth day before the Kalends of September, which happened to coincide with my fortieth birthday, Maximus' over-ambitious head was chopped off.