Attila (17 page)

After a night at an inn which was notable less for its hospitality than for its insect life, Titus was in the saddle before sun-up. Looking back as he left the town, he spotted on the far side of the Tarus eruptions of glowing dots where his pursuers were kicking out the embers of their fire. How would they fare crossing the river? Drown with any luck, he chuckled.

He rode on, past noble stands of chestnuts, their leaves a glory of gold and russet, meeting no one except an occasional shepherd or group of
carbonarii
, charcoal-burners. The foothills were now behind him, and he was into the Apennini proper. All morning he made good progress, switchbacking up and down the ridges separating the three remaining rivers this side of the watershed, but overall climbing steadily. The second river, the Parma, he forded as he had the Tarus; the others he was able to cross by rickety wooden causeways. All the time he checked his route by sightings of a strange rock looming on the southern skyline, a vast square column thrusting up from a sloping base.
⁵

Early in the afternoon – about the eighth hour he reckoned – Titus came to the mouth of a deep and silent valley, hung with enormous woods and sloping upwards to where it was closed by a high grassy bank between two peaks. This bank, he felt, must be the central ridge of the Apennini, the watershed beyond which lay Etruria and journey's end.

An hour later, Titus dismounted on the crest. Looking back, he surveyed with a quickening of the pulses, all the Aemilian plain, the old province of Cisalpine Gaul, unrolling northwards
from the mountains' base, and on the far horizon a line of sharp white clouds. But they were motionless, and he soon realized they must in fact be the Alpes. Far below and miles away, five crawling dots told him the pursuit had not been abandoned. He was not worried; all being well, by dusk he'd be in Luca, his mission safely accomplished.

Crossing the watershed marked by a line of cool forest, Titus heard on every side the noise of falling water, where the Sercium, springing from twenty sources on the southern slope, cascaded down between mosses and over slabs of smooth, dark rock. A glade opened, giving a view down the Garfagnana, whose western wall was a high jagged massif, with cliffs and ledges of a dazzling whiteness. Snow, thought Titus at first. But no: these must be the mountains of Carrara, quarried for their marble these five hundred years. He rode on, filled with pleasant thoughts of the bath, food, and rest that awaited him at Luca – no doubt to be followed in due course by congratulations from a grateful Boniface for a task well done.

Titus had begun to relax when his horse suddenly checked and stumbled. Titus dismounted and examined its legs, but could find no damage. Then his eye caught the glint of metal a few paces behind; it was a
solea ferrea
, a broad iron cavalry horseshoe. He quickly checked his horse's hoofs, and found that the off front shoe had been cast, while a rear shoe was so loose that it would likely have come off within another mile. Cursing the imperial farrier who had done such an evil job, Titus realized that the game might well be up. To ride on would be to lame his horse to no avail, for his pursuers must now inevitably overtake him. Nor could he expect to fare any better on foot; in this steep-sided valley, here clothed with grass instead of sheltering woods, he was as effectively trapped as a penned steer. Relieving his mount of its harness and saddle, which he concealed in bushes (a futile gesture, he admitted), he left it to graze and, for want of a better alternative, trudged on downhill, his saddlebag containing the precious missive slung over a shoulder.

He had gone perhaps three miles when he came to a strange and solemn place, a veritable ‘town' of cone-shaped tumuli. Etruscan tombs from a thousand years before? Feeling like a hunted animal run to earth, he entered a tunnel which opened out of one of the tombs. As a hiding-place it was hopeless. His
pursuers had only to spot his horse to know that its rider could not be far away. Still, at least the narrow entrance meant they could not surround him but must come at him singly. At least he would go down fighting.

So this was how his bright dreams were to end, Titus thought bitterly: in failure, and death at the hands of unknown killers. All he could do was ensure that Boniface's message to the commandant at Luca remained secret. He removed the parchment scroll from his saddlebag and tore it into tiny pieces which he proceeded, with some difficulty, to swallow. Gulping down the last fragment, he looked out of the tunnel's entrance and saw, with a sinking of the heart, five distant riders moving down the valley. When the distance had closed to a hundred paces, he could see them clearly at last: five soldiers, their leader a giant of a man.

Five against one: despite his fighting skills, those odds were too great. But at least he could try to take one or two with him. Drawing his sword (as an
agens in rebus
, he had been issued with uniform and weapons), he backed a few feet into the tunnel. While he waited, inconsequent details of his surroundings registered in the dim light filtering from the entrance: strange wall-paintings showing dancing-girls, boar-hunts, wrestlers, musicians, dead souls led away by good or evil spirits.

Footsteps sounded outside. A series of questions as to the purpose of his journey was fired at Titus by his unseen hunters. Ignoring the temptation to bargain for his life, Titus maintained a stubborn silence. If he had to die, he would die with honour.

A pause, then laughter sounded outside the tomb: Titus determined grimly to inflict maximum damage before he went down. Then a familiar voice called out, ‘The game's over, Titus. You can come out now.'

His brain in a whirl, Titus emerged to find a smiling Boniface standing there. ‘Well done, Titus Valerius,' said the Count. ‘You gave us a good run for our money. We can all go home now.'

‘But . . . my mission, sir? The messages?'

‘The first, to the commander at Placentia, was genuine. The second was a subterfuge.'

‘And the horseshoes were loosened, I suppose?' Titus felt anger begin to stir inside him.

‘You suppose correctly; the deed was done when you stopped at Placentia.' Boniface shrugged, and smiled apologetically. ‘The
second message was intended to be confidential. So naturally you didn't read it. Ah, did you?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Well, if you had, you'd have found it was a poem by Catullus. What did you do with it, by the way?'

‘I ate it, sir.'

Boniface stared for a moment, then gave a shout of laughter, in which he was joined by his four men. The fury and resentment that had begun to build up in Titus abruptly dissolved, and he found himself joining in. It was less amusing when he and his saddlebag were searched, but he knew it was necessary.

In a gesture oddly reminiscent of Aetius' after Titus had saved him from the
catafractarius
, Boniface grasped Titus by the arm. ‘Don't be angry, my young friend,' he said. ‘In my position, I have to be sure that those who serve me can be trusted. I'm glad to say you passed my little test like a true
agens
.

 

¹
Piacenza and Lucca.

²
The Taro, Parma, Enza, and Secchia.

³
Tuscany.

⁴
‘To the Greek Kalends', a Roman proverb, roughly equivalent to our colloquialism ‘When Hell freezes over' (see Notes p.430).

⁵
Known today as Castelnuovo, from the nearby town of that name.

Before the battle, Aetius provided himself with a longer spear

Count Marcellinus,
¹
Chronicle
, fifth century

‘Placentia, that's the rendezvous.' Aetius rapped the tip of his staff against the map, on the red circle at the northern end of the Aemilian Way. ‘I, with the Visigoths and Roman contingents shall take the Julian Augustan Way along the coast to Nicea, then north-east to Placentia. Litorius, you'll head north from Arelate, up the Rhodanus valley to Lugdunum,
²
and await the Frankish and Burgundian federates. As soon as they arrive, press on eastwards to the rendezvous via the Mons Matronae Pass
³
and Augusta Taurinorum.
⁴
There's a good secondary road and a station refuge, Druantium, at the summit of the Cottian Alpes. Our forces will meet at Placentia not later than the Ides of June. Further briefing when we get there. Right, gentlemen, I think that's all. Any questions?'

The officers – Romans with a sprinkling of Germans – were silent for a minute. Then a lone voice called out, ‘Sir, is the wine in Italy any better than the vinegar we get in Gaul?'

‘Much better,' Aetius assured him amid the general laughter. ‘If that's all, to your posts. We march in an hour.'

The officers filed out. Aetius sank gratefully on to a folding stool. God, he felt tired. Dealing with barbarians was enough to wear out an Alexander or a Caesar. It wasn't that they were difficult to beat; apart from Hermann's destruction of Varus' legions back in the reign of Augustus, the only pitched battle they'd ever won against Rome was Hadrianopolis, fifty-four years ago. And that only happened because the Eastern Emperor hadn't waited for
Gratian's Western army to join up with him. Then he remembered the recent African disaster. Well, that was entirely due to Boniface panicking; inviting in the Vandals, and then losing his nerve. If he'd really wanted to serve Rome, he should have done the decent thing and fallen on his sword, the moment he received the summons recalling him to Italy. Ferociously brave the Germans undoubtedly were, but they lacked patience and discipline. Properly led and supplied, Roman troops could thrash them every time. It was the Germans' raw energy, resilience, and sheer persistent aggressiveness that eventually began to grind you down. Like this recent trouble with the Visigoths. They wanted to be part of Rome but, like unruly children, kicked over the traces when conditions were imposed. Still, under Roman officers they made effective soldiers. Which was why, this time, he would at last be able to finish Boniface.

‘You look tired, sir,' said a voice behind Aetius, echoing his reflections. ‘You should get some rest.'

‘Litorius, you still here? Didn't see you.' Aetius accepted the proferred cup of wine. ‘Thanks. Was there something you wanted?'

‘May I speak frankly, sir?'

‘When people say that, it's usually to tell me something I don't want to hear,' sighed Aetius. ‘Oh, very well, then, if you must.'

Count Litorius, Aetius' second-in-command, pulled up a camp stool beside the general. ‘I'm concerned about you, sir,' he said solicitously. ‘You can't continue like this – you're wearing yourself out. You've more than enough to cope with, keeping the barbarians in check in Gaul, without embarking on a civil war in Italy.'

‘I'm touched,' sneered Aetius. ‘You'll have me crying next. What do you suggest I do? Extend the hand of brotherly love to Boniface?'

‘Something like that, sir,' said Litorius earnestly. ‘Why not? Together, the two of you could cure some of Rome's most pressing ills.'

‘You're beginning to sound like Titus, my former aide,' observed Aetius in wry tones. ‘It's too late to make things up with Boniface. Once, perhaps, we could have worked together, but since Africa—' He broke off and shook his head. ‘He blames me for what went wrong, and is never going to trust me again. He and Placidia won't rest until they've seen me crushed. Which isn't going to happen, by the way.'

‘I should think not, sir!' declared Litorius. ‘Your plan will see
to that. But once you've dealt with Boniface, I beg you to set yourself an easier pace. Rome needs you.'

‘I doubt Placidia would agree,' said Aetius drily. Draining his cup, he rose and clapped Litorius on the shoulder. ‘You're getting to be like an old mother hen, Count. I appreciate your concern, but after Boniface there's still Gaul to keep an eye on, Spain to be cleared of Suebi, Africa to re-conquer, perhaps one day even Britain. However, if the federates in Gaul start causing trouble, I can always call in my friends the Huns to whip them into line.'

‘The Huns . . . mightn't they in turn become a threat to Rome?' said Litorius doubtfully.

‘Hardly. A mob of primitive shepherds. Against disciplined Roman troops backed by Roman-led federates, they wouldn't stand a chance. Right, my friend, time to inspect the troops.'

Marching six abreast, freshly scoured helmets and corselets glittering in the June sunlight, square and dragon standards fluttering and flapping bravely, Aetius' Roman bodyguard swung down the Via Aemilia. Behind, without regard to formation, tramped the Visigoth levies, flaxen-haired giants without armour, carrying spears and round shields. In the van, headed by Aetius and his staff, rode the cavalry, keeping to the grassy belts verging the paved road-surface. The force crossed a stone bridge over the little Rubicon, and halted after a further mile or so, in sight of a squat stone column beside the Uso brook – the fifth milestone from Ariminum. On the far side of the Uso, Boniface's troops were drawn up: the imperial army, consisting of the Western survivors of the African expedition, supplemented by household troops. On either side of the Way, stretched dreary marshland: reedbeds to the north, swampy levels to the south.

‘Look, Litorius, there's Boniface in that ridiculous antique armour of his,' Aetius chuckled. ‘That lanky beanpole beside him is his son-in-law Sebastian. And there, by all the saints, is young Titus Rufinus, the ungrateful renegade. I should have hauled him before a military tribunal while I had the chance.'

‘You can see why they call Boniface “the fighting general”,' observed Litorius. ‘He seems ready for action – personally.' He smiled. ‘Best not get too close, sir. That long spear of his looks pretty businesslike.'