glee. Within minutes the great moat was flooded to a siege-depth of twenty-five feet. The seawater settled and stilled, glinting and opaque.
‘The Huns don’t like water,’ murmured Theodoric.
‘You see that the moat is divided into segments,’ said Aetius, ‘rather than being a continuous ditch. Why?’
Torismond frowned. ‘I’d have thought that weakened us. Those dividing walls – the Huns can come across them on foot.’
Aetius snorted. ‘One at a time, single file. We can pick ’em off easily enough. No, those dividing walls are Prefect Anthemius’ most brilliant device of all. What will the Huns do when they first encounter the aqueducts outside the city?’
‘It had crossed my mind,’ murmured Theodoric. ‘They’ll destroy them.’
‘Poison them, block them up, break them down, whatever. Quite so. But, firstly, every one of our cisterns will be filled to the brim before then. Secondly, those dividing walls below you conceal further underground aqueducts. The Huns will never realise. Our water supplies will continue, if severely reduced, even with our great arched aqueducts destroyed.’
The princes gaped at such ingenuity.
Having crossed this first obstacle, by swimming or boat, pontoon or cumbersome infill of timber and brushwood lashed together, the attackers would have to scale a low crenellated wall and then face an exposed terrace thirty feet wide. This was the first killing-ground, bare under the sun before another, higher crenellated wall, seven feet thick, thirty feet high and with ninety-six towers along its length. Even the most skilled artillery attackers, utilising the most minutely calculated trajectories for their missiles, would find it virtually impossible to hit this second wall at its foundations and effect any serious damage. Should the attackers succeed in scaling the second wall, they would face another broad, cruelly exposed terrace, wider still than the last, and then the final obstacle: the Walls themselves, beyond compare, no walls in the world higher. Sixteen feet thick, a sheer forty feet high, and with a further massive ninety-six defensive towers. Not even Babylon’s walls at her apogee could rival the walls of Constantinople; walls whose broad tops, Herodotus tells us, the young men of ancient Assyria used to race around at evening-time, in chariots drawn by four horses abreast. A thousand years ago.
Aetius observed the princes’ faces now shining, all youthful confidence and eagerness for battle, and reminded them that the Huns would have learned much in the siege and destruction of dozens of former cities. There was also disease. There were also food and water shortages, with the city’s swarming populace swelled further by refugees. They could expect no help, no relief forces, no lifting of the siege by outside agency. There would be no mercy shown if the city fell to Attila, only the same universal massacre that he had perpetrated before.
‘And we have no defensive forces to speak of,’ he added.
‘We have artillerymen, and the wolf-lords.’
‘Forty-four wolf-lords, yes. Two centuries of Imperial Guard, some auxiliaries. Attila’s army could be a hundred thousand men, and he has the whole of Thrace and Moesia behind him for looting and forage. We have failed to disrupt a single supply line. Neither his men nor his horses will go hungry, even as winter approaches. We have only what is already within the walls. And perhaps a few hours to prepare ourselves for the assault.’
The princes looked very different now, but Aetius had no remorse. The truth must prevail.
As if to confirm his grave diagnosis, a centurion appeared before them and snapped to attention. It was Tatullus. Only the third centurion in the entire city, and already appointed Aetius’ second-in-command.
‘Sir. Manpower report.’
‘Proceed.’
‘Sir. Two centuries of Palatine Guard stationed beside the palace, a hundred and sixty men, on orders to remain there. Four survivors from the VIIth Legion, including myself, sir. Two auxiliary alae of Isaurian mercenaries, loyalty uncertain, numbers severely reduced, survivors from Thessalonika and Trajanople. Total head-count, around eighty. Currently barracked off the Forum of Arcadius. Full complement of city watch, couple of hundred, untrained, armed with staves. Able enough to police a crowd but in battle couldn’t fight off my granny, sir. Artillery operators, unarmed and unarmoured, untrained in any hand-to-hand, but full complement. A machine on fifty-six of the ninety-six towers. No specialist archers, sir. No-’
‘No archers? In the entire city?’
Tatullus remained expressionless. ‘No, sir. None.’
Aetius compressed his fists. ‘Very well. Continue.’
‘That’s the manpower report, sir. No cavalry. And that’s it. Apart from civilian population, around a million, plus further forty or fifty thousand refugees.’
‘And forty-four Gothic wolf-lords,’ said Theodoric. ‘Archers, spearmen, swordsmen.’
Aetius brooded. Around three hundred fighting men in all. ‘Billet all refugees on existing households – none to be camped rough in the streets, do you hear? The city is to be kept scrupulously clean. No handouts from the state granaries until I give the order. Have the city watch oversee it. Order the auxiliaries to the walls. And your three men along with’ – he turned to Theodoric – ‘your wolf-lords.’
A hundred and thirty men, including eighty mountain mercenaries from the wilds of Cappadocia. Christ have mercy. The Palatine Guard must be released to fight on the walls. He sent an urgent message to the palace.
Almost immediately, there before him was another messenger, his face white and taut. One of the palace staff.
‘Have I the honour of addressing Master-General Aetius?’
‘You have. Speak, man.’
‘Esteemed sir, ships have been seen passing eastwards through the Hellespont and coming this way. A small party crossing to Chalcedon saw their sails over the Propontis and courageously turned back to warn us.’
Aetius’ blood ran cold. ‘Ships? How many?’
‘They said… they said, “a flotilla”, sir. A large number, not precisely counted.’
‘But, but,’ interrupted Theodoric, looking bewildered, ‘the Huns may have mastered siegecraft, but they have no naval forces. Impossible.’
Aetius turned on him so fiercely that the prince almost quailed before him. ‘When is your sister – what’s her name?’
‘Amalasuntha.’
‘When is the poor maid to be married to the son of Genseric?’
‘I, I have no idea, sir. I… She is already betrothed to him. ..’
The poor girl. A child, a light-footed, laughing child when last he saw her in the Court of King Theodoric at Tolosa, throwing her slim arms round her father’s shaggy old head. Now a mere pawn in this catastrophic game of chess, which was becoming a war for the fate of the world.
‘Pray God she is not yet sent to Carthage.’
‘But… the Vandals are our allies. We have sworn ancient Teutonic oaths of blood loy-’
‘Too late, boy. Those are Vandal ships crossing the Propontis towards us. Those are Attila’s allies. We are now at war, we and Genseric, and your father will soon have to choose on which side he stands. We will get no supplies or reinforcements from the sea now.’ He turned to the messenger and rapped out the latest sketch of the situation for the emperor, unsparing in its direst details.
‘What of the Byzantine navy?’ asked Torismond.
‘No manpower. No marines. They died with the field army on the Utus. I’ve given orders for the ships to be scuttled to block the Golden Horn.’
Theodoric crossed himself. ‘If it is true that the Vandals have allied with the Huns…’
‘It’s true.’
‘Then my father will have blood for blood.’
‘I pray it may be,’ said Aetius. ‘I’ve said it before: your people may yet be Rome’s last hope.’
The messenger returned breathless from the Imperial Palace only a few minutes later. The Palatine Guard had been released for duty on the Walls, and the Divine Emperor Theodosius had retired into his private chapel to hear mass and to pray. He wished to receive no further communications from Master-General Aetius until the victory was won. Until then they must trust to God and his Holy Mother.
Tatullus brought two men to him, very different in appearance. One was clearly the Captain of the Guard,
