triumphal arches. Boniface’s advance guard was already in the streets, requisitioning billets and ordering grass to be cut for fodder. Titus could travel much faster than cavalry on the march, so he pressed on, hoping to catch up with Boniface’s advancing force at the fortress settlement of Cillium, some thirty-five miles further on. He arrived there to find the general’s troops pitching camp outside the place, which was not large enough to provide adequate billeting. A tribune conducted Titus to where the Count was pacing up and down in a grove of figs.
‘A courier from Ravenna with a message for you, sir,’ announced the officer. ‘Says it’s urgent.’
‘Ah, they all say that,’ murmured Boniface, breaking off his perambulations to face them. ‘A message that was not urgent — now that would be breaking the mould. Well, we’d better have a look at it.’ And he held out his hand to Titus.
Titus found himself staring at an extraordinary figure who might almost have stepped down from the Arch of Constantine. It was not so much that the man was huge (he must have stood at least six and a half feet), as that his appearance commanded attention. He was wearing parade armour which looked as though it dated from the time of Gallienus or Aurelian: a muscle cuirass complete with Gorgon’s-head pectoral, and an old-style Attic helmet which had gone out in the West with Diocletian. And — a real period piece — instead of the modern
‘You like my uniform?’ the general enquired affably, as he took Aetius’ letter from Titus. ‘Yes, it is indeed a bit outdated, but as it’s been handed down in my family for seven generations I feel a certain obligation to wear it. However, you must be tired after your journey. The tribune here will see that you can bathe and change and have a meal. Later, we shall share a flask of wine and you will give me all the news from Ravenna.’
When Titus had departed with the officer, the Count unrolled the letter and began to read.
Written at Ravenna, Province of Flaminia and Picenum, Diocese of Italy, in the consulships of Hierus and Ardaburius, VII Kalends Jul.12 Flav. Aetius, Master of the Horse of All the Gauls, Count; to my lord Boniface, Count of Africa and commander of all forces there, greetings.
Most noble and excellent Count, I write this in haste and secrecy as a true friend, out of concern for your welfare and for that of Rome. I have it from the most impeccable of sources that you will shortly receive, in the name of the Emperor, a formal summons from the Empress Mother Aelia Galla Placidia, ordering you to return forthwith from Africa to Ravenna. What has transpired to make her take this step I cannot say, but the palace is a hotbed of intrigue, swarming with scheming eunuchs and courtiers whose only concern is to advance their own careers. I know only that there exists a faction, jealous of your success and power, which drips poison into the Augusta’s ear, turning her against you. You, who of all her subjects have served her the most loyally. Such injustice! My friend, I urge you in the strongest terms I know: do not obey the summons when it comes. For if you do these creatures will encompass your destruction. Remember Stilicho, who, after his fall from favour presented himself at Ravenna without armed supporters and was summarily executed. Rome can ill afford the loss of the foremost of her servants. Meanwhile, I shall plead your cause with the Augusta; be sure these lies will be exposed in time. Farewell.
Sent by the hand of my trusted agent T. Valerius Rufinus.
Boniface reread the letter in growing incredulity. How could the Empress believe such perfidy? Placidia of all people, whom he had stood up for through thick and thin. Well, at least he was forewarned, thanks to Aetius. There were still, it would seem, some honest Romans left. What to do? If he returned to Ravenna, assuming the summons came, that would be equivalent to signing his own death-warrant, as Aetius’ warning had made clear. But if he refused, that would be construed as revolt, in which case an armed force would almost certainly be sent to arrest him.
However, if his enemies imagined he would give in meekly, they were in for a surprise. He would put his troops in a state of readiness, and prepare to resist. Of their loyalty he had no doubt, but of their ability to repel an expedition in force he was less certain. His Roman troops supplemented by Berber auxiliaries were adequate for occasional campaigns against insurgents. But faced with the might of an Imperial army. .? Well, the Gods (sorry, God, he amended to himself with a touch of gallows humour) would decide.
As soon as he spotted the distant but rapidly approaching dust-cloud, Boniface sensed that it spelled trouble. The cluster of dots at the cloud’s centre swiftly resolved itself into a knot of hard-riding soldiers. They pulled up at the camp’s perimeter; two decurions in full armour dismounted and marched purposefully towards him.
They saluted, then one handed Boniface a scroll. He did not need to unroll it to know what it contained: a summons, written in purple ink, to return to Ravenna.
‘You are to come with us, sir,’ said the officer respectfully but firmly.
For a moment Boniface hesitated, weighing up the enormous repercussions of ignoring an imperial summons.
‘That won’t be possible,’ he said, gravely courteous. ‘I regret, gentlemen, that your journey has been wasted.’
1 The Rhine.
2 Aquitaine.
3 Trier.
4 Arles, Provence.
5 Sbeitla, in central Tunisia.
6 River Dee.
7 Marseille.
8 The incident is recounted in Chapter 33 of Gibbon’s
9 Present-day Tozeur in Tunisia; then a Roman outpost marking the south-west extremity of the empire.
10 Present-day Testour.
11 Now Sbiba.
12 25 June 427.
FIVE
And absolutely, with a master’s right, Christ claims our hearts, our lips, our time
Pacing nervously in the palace of his friend the Bishop of Carthage, Aurelius Augustinus — Bishop of Hippo in the diocese of Africa, famed author of
It had not been an easy or a quick decision. It came to him that, in a sense, it was a decision for the making of which his whole life had been a preparation.
The world into which he had been born, the golden afterglow of the reign of the great Constantine, was, Augustine reflected, very different from the one he now inhabited. Then Christians, their faith established by Constantine as the official religion of the Roman state after years of savage persecution, had been willing partners in a compact with the empire, and Christianity had become a unifying force in a realm once riven by divisions and disharmony.
