We came to a fire-blackened valley, and among the still-smoking stubble there were other black shapes, not of sheaves but of men, women, children, infants burned in their mothers’ arms, mothers clinging to their children, mouths open, black and charcoal. From such unimaginable weathering, we can only hope their souls do well to fly. In the night there was a downpour from a summer cloudburst over the valley, and in the dawnlight the bodies were ash-grey under the rain, some of them no more than washed white bones showing like strange root-crops through the folded grey mud half covering them like sodden earthen shrouds.
Our Hun guides remained expressionless throughout. The one called Geukchu only commented that this would be the work of their brothers the Kutrigur Huns, in their battle-madness. But he did not say it in exculpation.
We moved on a way before we camped that night, but it was not far enough. The smoke from the campfires rose into the night air as we lay on our backs and stared into the heavens, dreaming bad dreams open-eyed. Through the drifting smoke, the starry sky, those white celestial worlds where all things are pure and good, far above this sinful sublunary world so darkened by violence and wrath, and by the furious selfhoods of ambitious men. The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the little child shall lead them, saith the Lord. And they shall not kill nor hurt in all my Holy Mountain.
But how long, O Lord? How long?
It seemed to us that the viper and his venom would outlast all our days; that the bloodlust of Attila might rise even to the heavens and stain the white radiance of eternity, as the heavy smoke rose from that blackened charnel field, thick and greasy from where the bodies still smouldered, a choking veil between our wondering upturned faces and those white celestial worlds now lost to our sight.
8
At last we came down onto a broad grassy plain and there we saw stretched out in encampment, as far as the eye could see, the People of Attila. A city of leather tents beside a wide lakeshore; sunlight and slow plumes of woodsmoke and children’s laughter: a tranquil scene.
Aetius spoke at last, addressing the Greek. ‘So you have brought down your women and children again?’
Orestes’ eyes were very pale blue. ‘Why not? There is no danger to them now.’ He gave his almost-smile again. ‘Your army is destroyed.’
We had begun to set up camp on a small hill when a group of Hun warriors rode out to us and, with mockery and contempt, told us to camp lower down in the damp valley so that we should not overlook the tent of the Great Tanjou. We obeyed without a word. They also demanded that the wolf-lords hand over their weapons. Prince Theodoric answered, with undiplomatic brevity, ‘No.’ After brief talk among themselves, they said no matter, the Huns had never feared any Visigoths yet, armed or unarmed. One of the hulking wolf-lords, Jormunreik, growled at this barb, but his prince silenced him. The Huns said that the Lord Attila was out hunting, but would speak to us in time and galloped away, laughing.
When we rode into the camp towards the King’s tent at its heart, I marvelled at how many races there were. The great majority were horse-bound Huns, of course, stocky and immensely strong, sparsely bearded, with long black hair and moustaches; but there were also Greeks like our guide Orestes, and renegade Teutons, Thuringian chieftains in bearskins, even Celts. There were Africans, Spaniards, Syrians, many marked with the marks of criminals. They were fugitives from Roman law, consumed with disgust at the insipid life of the tottering empire, longing once more to be on History’s winning side. There were more savage Huns who were heavily painted and tattooed and stuck with feathers, and wore their hair limed white in a stiff topknot; other people, who looked almost like Chinamen, their language unknown to us, camped a little apart. We knew what this meant well enough. All these people believed that victory over the whole Roman world lay with Attila, and their fortunes with him.
As we came near a large, plain black tent in the heart of the camp, a woman appeared from inside. And what a woman. Perhaps fifty years old, immensely graceful, with high cheekbones, a red silk veil drawn back over her slim shoulders, and wearing a diadem of astonishing richness, of hammered sheet gold ornamented with Indian almandines. I do not think the diadem was paid for.
We dismounted and bowed low. She was Queen Checa, Attila’s wife. His first wife, that is – he had many more, and countless concubines. All round the central circle of the camp were huge wooden wagons, those ships of the steppes, laden with decorated copper cauldrons, rolls of the finest silks and stuffs, and even occasional marble statues. A smaller, lighter wagon, guarded by two burly fellows who looked like brothers, bore Far Eastern saddle ornaments, fabulous reins decorated with gold cloisons and Indian gemstones, Pontic crowns and oval Sarmatian mirrors; tethered to the wagon was a pair of grey riding-horses branded with Turkic tangas. What a motley, magpie people, yet they had raided and looted their way across half the world.
Then word came to us. The Great Tanjou had returned. We unbuckled our weapons and left them in a heap.
Attila received us in his black tent supported on carved and polished wooden columns and hung with animal skins. He was seated on a barbarically carved wooden throne. The warriors about him were outlandishly accoutred in Chinese silks and fur head-dresses, their cheeks scarred with blue tattoos, but Attila himself was simply dressed, with a hatchet in his belt. A powerfully built man of medium height, with the scarred cheeks of his people, muscular forearms corded with ropy veins, and messily scarred, I noticed, from fighting in many furious battles. He had a strong and bony nose, leonine eyes glittering beneath lowered brows, face weathered and wind-furrowed, and he was leaning forwards slightly, stroking his wispy grey beard, a glimmer of something like amusement in his eyes. But none of this captures the spirit of the man. He radiated a terrifying force, the kind that turns to fury in a moment. Being close to him was like trying to find rest on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Had he turned and looked at me, my eyes would have dropped away instantly. Few men could meet that gaze.
Chrysaphius bowed lowest.
‘The Emperor of the East, the Viceroy of God, the Divine Theodosius, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and his subjects, the Senate and the people of Rome, wish upon you health, happiness and length of days.’
Attila smiled and said, ‘I wish upon the Romans whatever they truly wish upon me.’
Slaves came forward and presented the gifts we had brought: furs and silver goblets, dates and pepper. Attila received them without thanks.
We dined on juicy steaks cut from the croups of grass-fattened horses, and freshly slaughtered sheep and cows, roasted whole. It would have been impolitic to enquire at what livestock market such excellent meat was purchased. We lay on couches, Roman style, drinking from the finest goblets. The Huns themselves sat cross- legged, or upright on benches. Attila ate only meat from a plain wooden platter. Conversation was stilted but innocuous. Attila spoke very little. Only when his young son Ellak – his favourite, so they say – was brought in to say goodnight to his father did the King show pleasure.
For the night, we were offered the choicest young female slaves for our comfort, a Scythian compliment, but one disdained by our leaders – somewhat to my chagrin, I must admit. Well into my sixth decade, the chains of lust had loosened but by no means fallen away entirely. And so after we had retired to our own tents on the hill, I wriggled my way back out again, and hurried after the retreating women in the darkness, at one point tripping in a marmot hole in my haste and very nearly doing myself quite an injury. The girls heard me and turned, and giggled.
Though they were all lovely to look at, one drew me in particular. A Burgundian she was, flaxen-haired and as pretty as a flower. I took her by the hand and pulled her back to my modest little partition in the tent. In the dark I could barely see her features, but her hands were small and her lips were soft, and I confess I passed a happy night with her. In the morning, as she lay there only half covered by my side, she stretched sleepily and smiled and said that, although I was a very old man, I had not entirely failed to please her.
Aetius passed me as we ate bread in the morning sunshine outside our tents, and nodded curtly as I munched. ‘You must be hungry,’ he said.
