This Maximus, a Spaniard of low extraction, was both the mouthpiece and the tool of the other and far more powerful party in the Empire which had some show of reason for being discontented with Gratian’s rule, the Roman Legionaries whose jealousy was aroused by his frank preference for his Gothic and Teutonic fighting men. The preference was fully justified; the “Barbarians,” as the Romans still affected to call them, were brave, clean-living loyal soldiers, great fair-haired fellows rejoicing in feats of strength and in the display of rich ornaments on their handsome persons; they were far more sympathetic to Gratian than the decadent Romans, many of whom, as Hodgkin points out, were themselves the effeminate descendants of quite recently Romanised aliens. The parvenu is always the most zealous defender of the privileges of the class to which he has been undeservedly promoted; they made no secret of their discontent when the Emperor chose some big, genial Alani for his bodyguard and for many positions of honour and sent a couple of Roman Legions to improve their health and mend their ways in the sad isle of Britain.
It is amusing to read the wailing complaints of the exiled sybarites, condemned to what they considered a kind of convict station and quite the most miserable spot in the world. What, they, the flower of the aristocracy and the army, were to pass their precious time in dreary solitudes where the sun never shone, where grapes did not grow, and where the pay of an officer did not permit him even a decent glass of wine? Live under grey skies, on a soggy island cut off from the real world by most uncomfortably rough seas (the Latin is a wretched sailor to this day), where there was no music, no fun, and scarcely any pretty women—and, for their sole occupation, to have to keep the savage inhabitants from exterminating one another? No, it was not to be borne! And, after the usual time had passed in ever more angry grumbling, the Legions revolted, deposed the absent and unconscious Gratian, and named Maximus Emperor in his stead.
Had the garrison of Great Britain alone been in question, we should most likely never have heard of their mutiny, but that was unfortunately not the case. The jealousy and discontent in Gaul and other portions of the realm had spread and smouldered till but a single touch was needed to make it burst out in a blaze. That was applied by Maximus, who now, with a large body of troops, abandoned Britain and appeared in Gaul at the mouth of the Rhine. Gratian, who had been subduing some hostile tribes, hastened back to his camp to find that a large proportion of his men had deserted him to join his rival. He could still count, however, on sufficient numbers to give him hopes of success, and one is glad to read that the good veteran Merobaudes was with him and that another brave captain, one Vallio, clung to him loyally in this great emergency. They found Maximus encamped near Paris, but all their efforts failed to draw him to do battle. The crafty adventurer kept the commanders busy with feints of attack and cleverly planned skirmishes, and utilised the time thus gained to draw the Emperor’s men to desert, by lavish bribes and promises. At the end of a few days Gratian, who had no money wherewith to buy fidelity, found himself forsaken by all but his two old friends and some three hundred horsemen, and, in bitter humiliation and anger, turned to flee, hoping to reach Milan, the first point where he would have been able to pause in safety. The journey was a terrible one; the news of his disaster travelled faster than he did, every door was closed to him, and he could scarcely procure food enough to sustain life. Meanwhile the pursuers, led by one Andragathius, his bitterest enemy, raced at his heels, and every day that passed diminished his chances of escape. But the faith and courage of which he had given so many proofs before did not leave him now. A hunted fugitive, forsaken and starving, he never wavered or repined. “My soul waiteth upon God,” he said. “My foes can slay my body, but they cannot quench the life of my soul.”