Attila (53 page)

Summoning his shamans, Attila asked them what the immediate future held. After slaughtering two sheep and examining their bones and entrails, the augurs remained ominously silent. Pressed, they confided that the omens predicted Attila's defeat, whereupon he dismissed them with instructions to keep silent regarding the prophecy. Unconcerned on a personal level, for he was not in general superstitious, Attila decided that the next best thing to an auspicious augury would be to encourage his troops with a rousing
speech. His army was so enormous that only those within a limited distance could hope to hear him, but the gist would be relayed back to the others, and the mere sight of their leader addressing them should have the desired effect.

When the vast multitude was assembled, Attila mounted a rostrum erected on a wagon-bed. ‘Faithful Huns, loyal Ostrogoths, intrepid Rugians, bold Sciri and Thuringians, stout Gepids and Herulians, fellow warriors all, today we shall win a great and glorious victory surpassing all our previous feats of arms, against the Romans and their misguided friends. Of those, the Visigoths alone are worthy of our steel. As for the Romans themselves, they pose no threat; weak and timid, they dare not fight like men, but cower in close ranks for comfort, like lobsters in their iron shells. Fight bravely, and your gods will protect you. I myself will throw the first javelin, and the wretch who fails to follow my example is condemned to die. But such a one does not, I think, exist among you. Tell me that I am right.'

A chorus of affirmation grew and swelled, blending at last into a thunderous acclamation by the entire army. When it had died away, he dismissed the host, whose components returned to their stations. His troops' confidence and fighting spirit were now, Attila judged, fully restored, and his own black mood had lightened somewhat.

As he prepared to return to his tent to snatch a little much-needed rest before the battle, a scout came galloping up. ‘Serious news, Sire,' he gasped. ‘The Visigoths are about to occupy a hill overlooking our right flank.'

Attila's mind reeled. What hill? Earlier reports had assured him that the terrain was totally flat and featureless. But these plains were so vast that a lone eminence could easily have been overlooked, especially in the half-light of dawn. He should have surveyed the ground himself, of course; he would have missed nothing of tactical significance. This was what happened when a leader lost his concentration, Attila thought grimly. Within moments he was in the saddle, issuing orders to secure the hill before the Visigoths could take it – even as the feeling grew within him that it was probably too late.

 

¹
One of Julian's generals in that Emperor's Persian campaign, Victor risked censure by wisely advising against a rash attack on the city of Ctesiphon.

²
Chalons-sur-Marne.

³
He was West Roman Emperor from 457 until 461, when he was deposed and put to death.

⁴
20 June 451.

⁵
Trier and Lorch.

⁶
Reims and Strasbourg.

⁷
Arras and Besançon.

⁸
The Marne.

⁹
Still clearly visible in 1851, according to Sir Edward Creasy, in his splendid
The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World
.

A conflict terrible, hard-fought, bloody, and monstrous

Jordanes,
Gothic History
, 551

Screened by a stand of willows on the banks of the Matrona, Titus watched Torismund's Visigoths, crouching low, approach the hill on foot, then begin its ascent. They got halfway to the summit before being challenged. Issuing from the Hun camp, a large body of horsemen galloped to the base of the hill, then, dismounting, swarmed up its face on a parallel course to the Germans. But Torismund's men gained the top well ahead of their pursuers. Turning, the Visigoths charged down upon the Huns with such impetus that the latter were broken and scattered before they could make a stand. Wave after wave of Huns tried to dislodge the Visigoths, only to fall back each time with heavy losses; eventually, further attacks were abandoned. Titus thought Attila must have decided that trying to storm what was virtually an impregnable position was too expensive. Hugging the shelter of the riverside trees, Titus returned to camp to report to Aetius.

‘First round to us,' observed the general. ‘Let's hope our luck lasts.' He shot a keen look at his courier. ‘You realize that, potentially, Attila's got one huge advantage over me.'

‘I can't think what, sir.'

‘Your belief in me is touching, Titus. However, there's no gainsaying that among his followers Attila's word is absolute, giving him a control over his forces which I can only envy. The Romans apart, I don't have a real command at all. The federates are here of their own free will, because it's at last penetrated their thick German skulls that they've a lot more to lose by not fighting Attila than by combining against him. They could turn round now and march off, and there wouldn't be a thing I could do about it.'

‘But that's not going to happen, surely?'

‘Let's hope not. I don't trust that Sangiban an inch, but I think
we've managed to contain him. The rest should stay in line – provided nothing happens to upset them.'

The day, just one short of the longest of the year, wore on: a bright, cloudless day, with just enough breeze to prevent it becoming oppressively hot. The sixth hour passed and the sun began its descent from the meridian; still there was no movement from behind the wagons the Huns had drawn up in front of their entrenchments. Then, at the eighth hour, scouts came galloping up to Aetius' command tent with the news that Attila was at last beginning to form his order of battle. As Aetius had predicted, the Huns took the centre. On their right were the Rugians, Heruls, Thuringians, Gepids, and those Franks and Burgundians who had not joined the Romans. This right wing was commanded by Ardaric, King of the Gepids. On the left were the Ostrogoths, under the three brothers who jointly ruled the tribe, Walamir, Theodemir, and Widimir.

While the Huns and their subjects were moving into position, Titus galloped to the federate leaders with orders from the general to take up their posts. Soon, the Catalaunian Plains resembled an ant-hill into which a child has thrust a stick – men swarming everywhere, the armoured ranks of marching Romans contrasting with the loose formations of the federates. The air was filled with the harsh braying of the Goth war-horns, and the sonorous booming of Roman trumpets.

‘What now, sir?' asked Titus, reporting back to Aetius.

‘We wait, Titus, we wait,' replied the general calmly. ‘There's nothing more that I personally can do. As I've said, I don't control the federates. Everything now depends on whether they stick to the agreed plan. There's one good omen: my scouts tell me that Attila himself has taken the field at the head of his Huns.'

‘And that's
good
?'

‘Certainly. It shows he's worried. The one thing Attila never does is take active charge in a battle; he leaves that to his captains. He's obviously concerned that this time, unless he leads his warriors himself, they may face defeat.' A look of sadness settled on the general's face. ‘I never thought to see it happen, Titus,' he said quietly. ‘Myself and Attila, my oldest and closest friend, taking up arms against each other. A bit like Cain and Abel.' Then his face cleared, and he said briskly, ‘I want you to join Torismund
on his hill. From up there, you'll have an excellent prospect of the battlefield. If you see anything major developing – a breakthrough by our side or theirs, for example – report back to me.'

From the summit of the hill, crowded with flaxen-haired warriors, most of them extended on the grass resting or asleep, Titus looked out over the plains. He was awed by the vast extent of the dispositions, which stretched away before him to left and right almost to the limit of his vision: six enormous ragged blocks of men and horses. On his left, the Ostrogoths, faced by their kinsmen on the opposing side, the Visigoths; in the centre, Attila's Huns opposite Sangiban and his Alans; away to the right, Attila's other subject tribes, looking across a mile or so of ground at Aetius' Romans and the remainder of the federate allies.

For perhaps half an hour, the two great hosts stood motionless as if in silent contemplation of each other, then a mournful blare of horns sounded from Attila's centre and the Hun cavalry rolled forward, like a swifly spreading stain. The usual manoeuvres followed – successive waves of horsemen advancing, wheeling and retreating, shooting volleys of arrows which looked to Titus like sudden shadows flitting over the ground.

Anxiously, Sangiban, in the third rank of the Alans, watched the Hun van, led by Attila himself, hurtle towards his front. The ground began to shake as the drumming of half a million hoofs grew to a sustained roar. Now he could see the enemy clearly: squat, powerfully built men with flat Oriental faces, controlling their huge mounts with knees alone as they fitted arrows to the strings of their bows. These were the deadly, recurved, composite weapons that, in conjunction with their horsemanship, had made the Huns the most feared warriors in the world. Sangiban knew that (in theory), so long as infantry kept formation protected by their shields, cavalry would not press home a charge against an array of spear-points. The reason was that, while men can be driven on to self-destructive acts, horses cannot. But would his men hold their line? They knew they shared their King's disgrace, and were demoralized and fearful. It would not take much to make them break.

Suddenly, with a loud hissing like a nest of angry serpents, the air went dark with arrows. Most thumped into shields or clanged off helmets, but enough found their mark to create gaps in the
line – a momentarily lowered shield was all it took for a shaft to pierce a throat or eye.

When only feet from the Alan line, the Huns wheeled away to right and left, the leading riders weaving back through the open formations to make room for those behind, thus enabling a constant succession of charges to be maintained. The terrifying sight of wave upon wave of fierce horsemen bearing down on them, the pitiless sleet of arrows, and the screams of wounded men, began to take their toll. To Sangiban's horror, his worst fears were confirmed as, despite their officers' frantic efforts, the Alan front began to disintegrate. In twos and threes, then groups, the men turned and tried to fight their way back through the ranks to escape that terrible archery.

Slowly at first, then with accelerating speed, the Alan line buckled and fell back. Panic began to sweep through the ranks, then suddenly the whole Alan formation broke in disorder, became a fleeing mob. Penned like sheep between the Ostrogoths on one flank and the Romans on the other, the struggling fugitives could find no refuge from the unremitting arrow-storm. The retreat became a rout, the rout a massacre, as the Huns swept the shattered remnant of Sangiban's troops from the field.

Meanwhile, on the right flank of the allied army, the Visigoths were also under attack from cavalry, that of their Ostrogoth cousins. Brave, with high morale, led by a heroic and respected veteran, unlike the Alans the Visigoths maintained their shield-wall intact against repeated charges. The method was simple but effective, provided every warrior kept his nerve – no easy task when confronted by a mass of charging horsemen. Locking his shield with those of his companions on either side, each man planted his right foot forward and fixed his spear-butt firmly in the ground, holding his weapon inclined between his shield and that of the man on his right. Again and again, the Ostrogoth cavalry swept up to the wooden barrier and hurled their javelins, hoping to break the Visigoth line, only to wheel round as their mounts balked in face of the deadly frieze of spear-points.

‘Well done, my heroes!' shouted the aged Theoderic, his long white locks streaming behind him as he rode along the ranks to encourage his men. ‘Only hold fast, then they can never break us.'
But his courage in exposing himself proved fatal. Arcing through the air, a heavy Ostrogoth
angon
struck him in the chest and, mortally wounded, he fell from his horse.

Instead of discouraging the Visigoths, however, his death had the opposite effect. Burning for vengeance, they surged forward, no longer a defensive shield-wall, but a charging mass fronted by a bristling hedge of blades. So ferocious and determined was their attack that the Ostrogoths were forced to give ground, retreating stubbornly pace by pace, fighting all the way. Both sides, being Germans, mostly scorned the use of armour or lacked the wealth to own it, which resulted in frightful wounds and a high casualty rate. A spear-thrust in the torso was almost sure to pierce a vital organ, while a blow from a sword could inflict spectacular damage. Pattern-welded, edged with razor-sharp steel, these fearsome weapons – almost exclusively the preserve of nobles – could slice off heads and limbs with ease, and in the right hands cleave a man from skull to crotch.

On the left flank, the Romans waited, silent, motionless: cavalry, consisting of light scouting squadrons, heavier Stablesian
vexillationes
, and one or two formidably armoured units like the ‘Equites Cataphractarii Ambianenses'; infantry, comprising a few of the old legions still proudly bearing their eagles, now outnumbered by the newer units with their dragon standards – the Celtae et Petulantes, Cornuti et Brachiati, and many others, the red crests of their helmets a vivid contrast to the sombre grey of their mail. Beyond the Romans, the remainder of the German allies stood in loose formation, mainly unarmoured infantry with spears and shields. Their chiefs were mostly mounted, many wearing
Spangenhelm
s and body armour, and armed with swords.

A message-carrier came posting up to Aetius, who was seated on his horse a little way in front of his troops, flanked by his two chief generals, Aegidius and Majorian.