Attila (28 page)

 

¹
The Black Forest.

²
‘Thee we sing [O Rome], and shall ever sing, while the fates permit; no guest of thine can be forgetful of thee.' This noble poem was penned in 410 – ironically, the very year in which, a few months later, Rome was taken and sacked by Alaric.

He [Aetius], uniquely, was born for the salvation of the Roman Republic

Jordanes,
Gothic History
, 551

‘
Unconquered Eternal Rome, Salvation of the World
', ran the inscription on the coin that Aetius, awaiting the arrival of his officers at his headquarters in Provence, absently rolled between his fingers. The obverse showed Valentinian in armour dragging a barbarian by the hair, the reverse a winged figure representing Victory. (Officially it was an angel, but the symbolism was obvious.) Aetius smiled at the irony of the coin's message. Did those idiots of
procuratores
who ran the mints at Rome, Mediolanum, and Ravenna, really think that such fatuousness fooled anyone?

The officers began to file into the command tent. When all were seated, Aetius took up his position beside a large campaign map of Gaul, supported on an easel facing his audience.

‘Serious news, gentlemen,' he announced briskly, ‘just arrived by fast courier from Raetia. It seems that trouble's breaking out in Gaul on three fronts. First, Aremorica.' With a pointer he circumscribed a large area in north-west Gaul. ‘The Bagaudae have risen in revolt against the big landowners and the Roman authorities in general. Second, the Burgundian Settlement.' The pointer indicated a strip of territory along the upper Rhenus. ‘The tribe's broken its boundaries and is invading the Belgic provinces. Thirdly, our friends the Visigoths in Aquitania.' The wand rapped south-west Gaul. ‘Up to their old tricks again; hoping to expand their territory eastwards. It seems they're preparing to invest Gallia Narbonensis. Any questions, gentlemen, before I go on?'

‘How do ve know all sis?' asked a German cavalry commander.

‘It's thanks to General Rufinus, whom some of the older ones among you may remember. Apparently, he was able to spy on a convention of Burgundian leaders, and overheard their king
telling them what I've told you. He then covered over a hundred miles on foot through rough country, to bring the news from Gaul to Spolicinum fort in Raetia. Got mauled by a wolf on the way, and died later from wounds and exhaustion. Rome owes that brave old man a debt, gentlemen. Thanks to him, we've learnt about the situation early enough to be able to take effective counter-measures.'

‘And those are, sir?' This anxiously from a middle-aged
protector
, or senior officer.

‘I was coming to that. You're probably thinking that, with just one field army to cope with three major insurrections simultaneously, we'd be hopelessly overstretched.'

‘Well, wouldn't we?' interrupted a tough-looking duke. ‘Putting it bluntly, sir, I don't see how we can cope. If it was just the Bagaudae on their own we had to deal with, we could manage – they're a rabble of slaves and peasants. But these wretched federates, the Burgundians and Visigoths, they're a different matter. In my opinion, we'd be well advised to sue for peace and, for the time being, grant them the land they want.'

‘If you'd allow me to finish,' Aetius protested mildly, ‘I was going to add that our field army won't have to fight on its own. Reinforcements have been promised and should be arriving any day.'

‘Household troops from Italia, I suppose,' sneered the duke. ‘Much use they'll be. Parade soldiers who spend more time polishing their kit than campaigning.'

Aetius raised his hands in exasperation. ‘You've a short memory,' he sighed. ‘Who was it helped me – twice – in the recent civil wars in Italia? The Huns, my friend, the Huns. That was in Rua's time. Now, their new king, Attila, who's an old and loyal friend, by the way, has sworn assistance. His word is even more to be trusted.'

A stir of interest swept round the tent. Faces which, following Aetius' original announcement, had registered shocked concern now showed relief and eagerness.

‘Here, then, is what we do,' continued Aetius. ‘Marcus, my old warhorse, remember how you held the Huns in check while I scouted Aspar's lines?'

A grey-haired duke grinned in recollection. ‘Aspar son of Ardaburius – the Alan general who cramped our style in that
Ioannes business? Hard to forget it, sir. Tremendous fellows in attack, your Huns. But nearly impossible to hold on a leash.'

‘Well, this time I've an easier job for you. The Visigoths, bless their hearts, have decided to oblige us by laying siege to Narbo Martius
¹
. But, as we know, like all barbarians they're hopeless when it comes to siege operations. Shouldn't be too difficult for you to keep them pinned down with Roman troops, until I can send a force of Huns?'

‘I'll enjoy it, sir,' declared Marcus, rubbing his hands. ‘A series of hit-and-run raids to harass them and disrupt their supplies, while they blunder about with siege contraptions which fall to bits or fail to work. Why, we could even besiege the besiegers. Pen them in and starve them, by throwing up a circle of earthworks around their positions – as Stilicho did against Radogast and his Goths at Florentia. I should know; I was there.'

‘Excellent. That's the Visigoths taken care of, then. Now, the Bagaudae. Litorius, I recall you did a first-rate job guarding our retreat after the Battle of the Fifth Milestone. Would it be beneath you to deal with the bandit revolt?'

‘Absolutely not, sir,' rejoined the count. ‘I'm no Crassus, who felt soiled by taking on Spartacus and his slave army.'

‘Splendid. You'll need a large force. The rising will affect a huge area – about a quarter of Gaul. Take half of what's left of the field army, after Marcus has had his pick, and I'll send you half the Huns. When you've crushed the Bagaudae, you can join forces with Marcus against the Visigoths. Myself and Avitus
²
here' – he nodded to a tall officer with patrician features – ‘will move against the Burgundians with the remainder of the Romans and the rest of the Huns. Right gentlemen,' he concluded brightly, looking round the rows of faces, ‘that covers everything, I believe. Begin your preparations immediately. We march tomorrow.'

Spolicinum Fort, Province of 2nd Raetia, Diocese of Italy [Titus wrote in the
Liber Rufinorum
]. The year of the consuls Flavius Theodosius and Flavius Placidius Valentinianus,
Augusti, their fifteenth and fourth respectively, VIII Calends June.
³

I was at the Villa Fortunata when my father's letter arrived with the terrible news of the Burgundian rising et cetera. Fearing for the safety of my dear Clothilde and Marcus, I rode with all speed to Spolicinum (which seems little changed since I was last here twelve years ago) as it lies on the most direct route to the Settlement. Here, I was told the sad tidings that Gaius Valerius had died soon after writing to me. He is buried in the soldiers' cemetery outside the fort. In my grief, I found comfort in the knowledge that he had given his life in the service of Rome. He could have wished for no better end. I have left some money, together with instructions, for a gravestone bearing this inscription:

GAIUS VALERIUS RUFINUS: COMMANDER OF THE PRIMANI LEGION: 77 YEARS OF AGE. HE LOVED ROME AND SERVED HER WELL. HE IS LAID HERE.

In his letter, Gaius begged me to consider re-entering the service of Aetius, who, he believed, is the only man who can deal effectively with the crisis in Gaul. I had thought my break with Aetius irrevocable, but
tempora mutantur
, as they say. I will consider my father's plea. Whether Aetius would take me back is another matter, and I could be putting myself at risk in approaching him; he might bring me before a military court for switching my allegiance to Boniface.

Tomorrow, I leave for the Burgundian Settlement via the valley of the upper Rhenus. The roads, I am assured, are still in good repair though now outwith Rome's direct administration. I leave this journal here at Spolicinum for safe keeping, for I fear there will be little leisure or security where I am bound for.

From their position on a Pannonian hilltop, the two royal brothers watched as the Hun cavalry set out for Gaul. Soon, individual warriors disappeared in the dust-pall stirred up by sixty thousand
horses – a vast greyish-yellow cloud which filled the plain and rolled swiftly towards the western horizon.

‘Well, brother,' I hope you think it's worth it,' snarled Bleda. ‘That's a tenth of our fighting force you've just lent out. And for what? So you can improve your standing with your Roman friends, I suppose?'

Attila studiedly ignored his brother – as he could afford to, ever since he had stamped his authority on the Huns, by his conduct at the Treaty of Margus. It was pointless trying to explain his ambitions to a coarse buffoon of limited vision like Bleda. The Empire of the Huns was now vast, approaching in extent that of the Romans. It stretched from Scandia to the Mare Caspium, uniting for the first time in history, the Teutonic peoples of Germania and the nomads of the steppes. A great achievement, surely? Perhaps; but only if it contained the seeds of permanence – like Greece or Rome. Otherwise, it might fall apart and vanish as quickly as it had arisen. In a vague yet passionate way, Attila yearned for something more satisfying than power and plunder. He wanted greatness for his people, so that in future ages men would speak of Attila not as they would of the cruel tyrant Gaiseric, whose African kingdom was surely transitory, but as they did of Alexander or Caesar, whose legacies survived even to this day. Which was why he needed the help and advice of Aetius and, if possible, the friendship of the Romans. (And that would now be hard to secure, Attila conceded. After Margus, his name throughout the Eastern Empire had become a byword for ruthlessness and terror.)

Although Attila would never admit it, Bleda had a point. The Council, and the Huns generally, would expect rewards for the massive investment they had made in backing Aetius. In the past, such credit had been handsomely repaid. But with the West now weakened and imperilled, could that still be guaranteed? Attila could only hope that it could.

‘I see a wild ass running over the plains, and an eagle flying above it. Together, they attack and put to flight a wild boar.' Unbidden, the words in which the seer Wu Tze had described the first part of his vision, rang in Attila's brain. Suddenly, the meaning of the words was clear: the wild ass of the plains must represent the Huns; the eagle was the symbol of imperial Rome; the wild boar was a favourite emblem among the Germans,
standing for courage and ferocity. In other words, the Huns and Romans would join together to defeat the Germans – exactly what was beginning to develop! Awe tinged with dread rose in the King. What did the rest of the vision mean? Angrily, he shut his mind against further speculation. Attila would be the master of his own destiny.

When Titus reached the village where his family lived, he found it semi-deserted. Under Chief Vadomir, Clothilde's father, all the able-bodied men had left to join the host of King Gundohar, which had headed north to claim more land for the tribe. Rumours had filtered back of fighting with the Romans, but whether skirmishing or pitched battles was unclear. His joy at being reunited with Clothilde and Marcus was clouded by awareness that, should things go against the Burgundians, the village might become the scene of fighting or the target of raiding-parties. That night, when both were spent after passionate lovemaking, made more intense by long separation and the present ambience of insecurity, Titus mentioned his fears to Clothilde.

‘Come away with me,' he added on sudden impulse. ‘You, I, and Marcus, travelling as a small group, could easily make it to Roman-occupied Gaul. My horse can carry you and Marcus, and we can ride and tie.'

‘And leave my family and my people, at this time of peril for them?' She sat up below the furs that covered their bed, and gently traced her husband's features with her hand. ‘Darling, my heart urges me to do as you suggest. But . . .'

‘But your conscience tells you otherwise,' Titus completed the sentence. ‘I understand,' he said bitterly. ‘At least, I think I do.' He gazed at her in the faint illumination from the embers of the cooking-fire. Her face, serene and relaxed after love, and framed in heavy coils of flaxen hair, had never looked so beautiful. He was filled with an aching love, and a fierce longing to protect her and their child.

‘As my husband, you could command me and I would have to obey,' she said. ‘But that would not be the Titus I married, the man I know and love.'

‘I can't bear the thought of harm coming to you!' exclaimed Titus in anguish, knowing that the price of forcing his family to flee would be the loss of her respect and, in the end, her
love. ‘What must I do?' he cried, more to himself than to Clothilde.

‘What would Gaius Valerius have done, my love?' she murmured gently, planting a kiss on her husband's brow.

All at once Titus' doubts and inner conflict cleared away. Gaius would have stayed – as he, Titus, must. It was the right, the
Roman
thing to do.

‘My people need a leader,' said Clothilde, seeming to sense her husband's change of mood. ‘Darling, you could be that leader. The men left behind are old and weak, and they are also, being Germans, by nature fierce and quarrelsome. Without someone to guide them, they would argue among themselves and nothing would be done to prepare against attack. If the Romans came, they would rush out against them with what makeshift arms they could collect, and all be killed. Then it would be the turn of the women and children. But you, my dearest, are young and strong. You have served among the Romans and know how war is managed. It might take persuasion, perhaps even knocking heads together, but the villagers would listen if you put a plan to them. If an attack came from regular Roman troops, you as a Roman might be able to negotiate peaceful surrender terms. Alan or Frankish federates fighting under Rome's banner would be a different matter.'