I THE COMING OF MAXIMIN
Many are the strange vicissitudes of history. Greatness has often sunkto the dust, and has tempered itself to its new surrounding. Smallnesshas risen aloft, has flourished for a time, and then has sunk once more.Rich monarchs have become poor monks, brave conquerors have lost theirmanhood, eunuchs and women have overthrown armies and kingdoms. Surelythere is no situation which the mind of man can invent which has nottaken shape and been played out upon the world stage. But of all thestrange careers and of all the wondrous happenings, stranger thanCharles in his monastery, or Justin on his throne, there stands the caseof Giant Maximin, what he attained, and how he attained it. Let me tellthe sober facts of history, tinged only by that colouring to which themore austere historians could not condescend. It is a record as well asa story.
In the heart of Thrace some ten miles north of the Rhodope mountains,there is a valley which is named Harpessus, after the stream which runsdown it. Through this valley lies the main road from the east to thewest, and along the road, returning from an expedition against theAlani, there marched, upon the fifth day of the month of June inthe year 210, a small but compact Roman army. It consisted of threelegions--the Jovian, the Cappadocian, and the men of Hercules. Tenturmae of Gallic cavalry led the van, whilst the rear was covered bya regiment of Batavian Horse Guards, the immediate attendants of theEmperor Septimus Severus who had conducted the campaign in person. Thepeasants who lined the low hills which fringed the valley looked withindifference upon the long files of dusty, heavily-burdened infantry,but they broke into murmurs of delight at the gold-faced cuirassesand high brazen horse-hair helmets of the guardsmen, applauding theirstalwart figures, their martial bearing, and the stately black chargerswhich they rode. A soldier might know that it was the little weary menwith their short swords, their heavy pikes over their shoulders, andtheir square shields slung upon their backs, who were the real terror ofthe enemies of the Empire, but to the eyes of the wondering Thracians itwas this troop of glittering Apollos who bore Rome's victory upon theirbanners, and upheld the throne of the purple-togaed prince who rodebefore them.
Among the scattered groups of peasants who looked on from a respectfuldistance at this military pageant, there were two men who attractedmuch attention from those who stood immediately around them. The one wascommonplace enough--a little grey-headed man, with uncouth dress anda frame which was bent and warped by a long life of arduous toil,goat-driving and wood-chopping among the mountains. It was theappearance of his youthful companion which had drawn the amazedobservation of the bystanders. In stature he was such a giant as isseen but once or twice in each generation of mankind. Eight feet and twoinches was his measure from his sandalled sole to the topmost curls ofhis tangled hair. Yet for all his mighty stature there was nothing heavyor clumsy in the man. His huge shoulders bore no redundant flesh, andhis figure was straight and hard and supple as a young pine tree. Afrayed suit of brown leather clung close to his giant body, and a cloakof undressed sheep-skin was slung from his shoulder. His bold blueeyes, shock of yellow hair and fair skin showed that he was of Gothic ornorthern blood, and the amazed expression upon his broad frank face ashe stared at the passing troops told of a simple and uneventful life insome back valley of the Macedonian mountains.
"I fear your mother was right when she advised that we keep you athome," said the old man anxiously. "Tree-cutting and wood-carrying willseem but dull work after such a sight as this."
"When I see mother next it will be to put a golden torque round herneck," said the young giant. "And you, daddy; I will fill your leatherpouch with gold pieces before I have done."
The old man looked at his son with startled eyes. "You would not leaveus, Theckla! What could we do without you?"
"My place is down among yonder men," said the young man. "I was not bornto drive goats and carry logs, but to sell this manhood of mine in thebest market. There is my market in the Emperor's own Guard. Say nothing,daddy, for my mind is set, and if you weep now it will be to laughhereafter. I will to great Rome with the soldiers."
The daily march of the heavily laden Roman legionary was fixed at twentymiles; but on this afternoon, though only half the distance had beenaccomplished, the silver trumpets blared out their welcome news that acamp was to be formed. As the men broke their ranks, the reason of theirlight march was announced by the decurions. It was the birthday of Geta,the younger son of the Emperor, and in his honour there would be gamesand a double ration of wine. But the iron discipline of the Romanarmy required that under all circumstances certain duties should beperformed, and foremost among them that the camp should be made secure.Laying down their arms in the order of their ranks, the soldiers seizedtheir spades and axes, and worked rapidly and joyously until slopingvallum and gaping fossa girdled them round, and gave them safe refugeagainst a night attack. Then in noisy, laughing, gesticulating crowdsthey gathered in their thousands round the grassy arena where the sportswere to be held. A long green hillside sloped down to a level plain, andon this gentle incline the army lay watching the strife of the chosenathletes who contended before them. They stretched themselves in theglare of the sunshine, their heavy tunics thrown off, and their nakedlimbs sprawling, wine-cups an baskets of fruit and cakes circlingamongst them, enjoying rest and peace as only those can to whom it comesso rarely.
The five-mile race was over, and had been won as usual by DecurionBrennus, the crack long-distance champion of the Herculians. Amid theyells of the Jovians, Capellus of the corps had carried off both thelong and the high jump. Big Brebix the Gaul had out-thrown the longguardsman Serenus with the fifty pound stone. Now, as the sun sanktowards the western ridge, and turned the Harpessus to a riband of gold,they had come to the final of the wrestling, where the pliant Greek,whose name is lost in the nickname of "Python," was tried out againstthe bull-necked Lictor of the military police, a hairy Hercules, whoseheavy hand had in the way of duty oppressed many of the spectators.
As the two men, stripped save for their loin-cloths, approached thewrestling-ring, cheers and counter-cheers burst from their adherents,some favouring the Lictor for his Roman blood, some the Greek from theirown private grudge. And then, of a sudden, the cheering died, heads wereturned towards the slope away from the arena, men stood up and peeredand pointed, until finally, in a strange hush, the whole great assemblyhad forgotten the athletes, and were watching a single man walkingswiftly towards them down the green curve of the hill. This hugesolitary figure, with the oaken club in his hand, the shaggy fleeceflapping from his great shoulders, and the setting sun gleaming upon ahalo of golden hair, might have been the tutelary god of the fierce andbarren mountains from which he had issued. Even the Emperor rose fromhis chair and gazed with open-eyed amazement at the extraordinary beingwho approached him.
The man, whom we already know as Theckla the Thracian, paid no heedto the attention which he had aroused, but strode onwards, stepping aslightly as a deer, until he reached the fringe of the soldiers. Amidtheir open ranks he picked his way, sprang over the ropes which guardedthe arena, and advanced towards the Emperor, until a spear at his breastwarned him that he must go no nearer. Then he sunk upon his right kneeand called out some words in the Gothic speech.
"Great Jupiter! Whoever saw such a body of a man!" cried the Emperor."What says he? What is amiss with the fellow? Whence comes he, and whatis his name?"
An interpreter translated the Barbarian's answer. "He says, greatCaesar, that he is of good blood, and sprung by a Gothic father from awoman of the Alani. He says that his name is Theckla, and that he wouldfain carry a sword in Caesar's service."
The Emperor smiled. "Some post could surely be found for such a man,were it but as janitor at the Palatine Palace," said he to one of thePrefects. "I would fain see him walk even as he is through the forum.He would turn the heads of half the women in Rome. Talk to him, Crassus.You know his speech."
The Roman officer turned to the giant. "Caesar says that you are to comewith him, and he will make you the se
rvant at his door."
The Barbarian rose, and his fair cheeks flushed with resentment.
"I will serve Caesar as a soldier," said he, "but I will behouse-servant to no man-not even to him. If Caesar would see what mannerof man I am, let him put one of his guardsmen up against me."
"By the shade of Milo this is a bold fellow!" cried the Emperor. "Howsay you, Crassus? Shall he make good his words?"
"By your leave, Caesar," said the blunt soldier, "good swordsmen are toorare in these days that we should let them slay each other for sport.Perhaps if the Barbarian would wrestle a fall--"
"Excellent!" cried the Emperor. "Here is the Python, and here Varus theLictor, each stripped for the bout. Have a look at them, Barbarian, andsee which you would choose. What does he say? He would take them both?Nay then he is either the king of wrestlers or the king of boasters,and we shall soon see which. Let him have his way, and he has himself tothank if he comes out with a broken neck."
There was some laughter when the peasant tossed his sheep-skin mantle tothe ground and, without troubling to remove his leathern tunic, advancedtowards the two wrestlers; but it became uproarious when with a quickspring he seized the Greek under one arm and the Roman under the other,holding them as in a vice. Then with a terrific effort he tore them bothfrom the ground, carried them writhing and kicking round the arena, andfinally walking up to the Emperor's throne, threw his two athletes downin front of him. Then, bowing to Caesar, the huge Barbarian withdrew,and laid his great bulk down among the ranks of the applauding soldiers,whence he watched with stolid unconcern the conclusion of the sports.
It was still daylight, when the last event had been decided, and thesoldiers returned to the camp. The Emperor Severus had ordered hishorse, and in the company of Crassus, his favourite prefect, rode downthe winding pathway which skirts the Harpessus, chatting over the futuredispersal of the army. They had ridden for some miles when Severus,glancing behind him, was surprised to see a huge figure which trottedlightly along at the very heels of his horse.
"Surely this is Mercury as well as Hercules that we have found amongthe Thracian mountains," said he with a smile. "Let us see how soon ourSyrian horses can out-distance him."
The two Romans broke into a gallop, and did not draw rein until a goodmile had been covered at the full pace of their splendid chargers. Thenthey turned and looked back; but there, some distance off, stillrunning with a lightness and a spring which spoke of iron muscles andinexhaustible endurance, came the great Barbarian. The Roman Emperorwaited until the athlete had come up to them.
"Why do you follow me?" he asked. "It is my hope, Caesar, that I mayalways follow you." His flushed face as he spoke was almost level withthat of the mounted Roman.
"By the god of war, I do not know where in all the world I could findsuch a servant!" cried the Emperor. "You shall be my own body-guard, theone nearest to me of all."
The giant fell upon his knee. "My life and strength are yours," he said."I ask no more than to spend them for Caesar."
Crassus had interpreted this short dialogue. He now turned to theEmperor.
"If he is indeed to be always at your call, Caesar, it would be well togive the poor Barbarian some name which your lips can frame. Theckla isas uncouth and craggy a word as one of his native rocks."
The Emperor pondered for a moment. "If I am to have the naming of him,"said he, "then surely I shall call him Maximus, for there is not such agiant upon earth."
"Hark you," said the Prefect. "The Emperor has deigned to give you aRoman name, since you have come into his service. Henceforth you are nolonger Theckla, but you are Maximus. Can you say it after me?"
"Maximin," repeated the Barbarian, trying to catch the Roman word.
The Emperor laughed at the mincing accent. "Yes, yes, Maximin let itbe. To all the world you are Maximin, the body-guard of Severus. Whenwe have reached Rome, we will soon see that your dress shall correspondwith your office. Meanwhile march with the guard until you have myfurther orders."
So it came about that as the Roman army resumed its march next day, andleft behind it the fair valley of the Harpessus, a huge recruit, cladin brown leather, with a rude sheep-skin floating from his shoulders,marched beside the Imperial troop. But far away in the wooden farmhouseof a distant Macedonian valley two old country folk wept salt tears, andprayed to the gods for the safety of their boy who had turned his faceto Rome.