nobler cause by far. Which is to lay Vandal Africa waste from Tingis to Leptis Magna, and leave nothing behind but a desert of the dead. None shall reckon our vengeance for what that accursed Genseric did to our daughter, but it shall be a vengeance visited on him and his seed and his people a thousandfold – ten thousandfold. The very name of Vandal shall be wiped from the earth, and I will slay all his sons and daughters before him, and I will gut that accursed cur of a king with my own sword and hang his still-breathing body from the towers of his burning capital, to watch over his kingdom’s final cataclysm.’
Aetius did not flinch and his voice was low. ‘My heart breaks for you and your sweet daughter, friend Theodoric. Do not doubt it. Nor would I come between you and your wrath or your righteous vengeance.’
‘That is good, or I would strike you out of my way with my own fist.’
‘But if you ride against the Vandals, and we ride against the Huns, our forces are divided. Remember the wolf with one jaw.’
Theodoric glowered at him, but the passionate old man was thoughtful for a moment, his chest still heaving.
‘They were Vandal ships at Constantinople,’ continued Aetius, still quietly. ‘The Huns and the Vandals are in alliance. They mean to divide the world between them, and this is only the start. I give you my word, when we ride north against the Huns we will find Vandal horsemen fighting alongside them. And I also give you my word that, when we have defeated the Huns and wiped out the name and seed of Attila, Rome will be your ally until death, and we will ride against Vandal Africa together.’ He dared to seize Theodoric’s thick, gold-banded wrist. ‘Brothers- in-arms, riding together till ruin and world’s end.’
An ancient Teutonic phrasing, this last. It worked on Theodoric’s very soul. At last he turned back to his council.
‘It sickens my stomach and wrings my heart not to ride out in vengeance this very day. But there may be wisdom in what our Roman friend says. Vandals may already be fighting with the Huns. What say you?’
The four at the table looked at one another.
She was buried in a coffin of solid gold, in the most beautiful mausoleum in the Cathedral of St Mary the Virgin in Tolosa. Aetius thought he had never seen such deep and sincere mourning among the ordinary people for the death of a princess. It was as if the sweet girl had been the daughter of all the Visigoths, and they remembered the sunlight she spread wherever she went.
Her mausoleum was inscribed with a verse in both Gothic and Latin. It read,
Hic Formosa iacet.
Veneris sortita figuram
Egregiumque decus
Invidiam meruit.
Here lies Loveliness.
Hers was the beauty of Venus,
And hers the envy of heaven
For a gift so rare.
7
They rode out north the next day, banners fluttering, spearpoints gleaming. There was not a moment to be lost. They had delayed too long already. All of Gaul would soon be overrun.
Aetius could not help glancing back. It was a proud army. But did a sweet and innocent young girl have to be tortured half to death so that the Romans and the Visigoths could come together? Did God truly fulfil his purposes that way?
Now the resolution of the wolf-lords and their aged king was grim indeed. Theodoric had given orders that three thousand of his finest should be stationed down at Narbo, ready to repel any Vandal attack by sea, and another two thousand remain upon the strong walls of Tolosa. The rest rode north: fully fifteen thousand of the finest barbarian warriors in Western Europe. Together with the legions they numbered forty thousand. They rode at the fastest trot they could without tiring their horses beyond fighting speed.
The land rose to the central mountains of Gaul between Aetius’ horse’s nodding ears. He had always known in his heart that one day the Visigoths would ride with Rome. Those noble horsemen from the distant steppes, with their mighty ashwood spears, their Spangenhelms with nodding flaxen plumes, and their finely combed hair which shone like the burning sun. These things were written from the first dawn.
In order that they should not be outflanked or harried from behind, there was one more city Attila’s forces must take before they could ride on south: Marcus Aurelius’ city, fair Aureliana on the Loire, below the hills. For here was stationed Sangiban, the wiliest of Alan warlords, supposed Roman ally, and his force of several thousand horsemen.
The wanderings of the Alans, a people of Iranian origin, were almost as epic in nature as the wanderings of the Huns; and many times the two peoples had fought each other, as many times they had allied together, their friendship like the shifting sands of Khorasan. How an Iranian war-band came to be guarding the city of Aureliana for Rome is a story too complicated to be told here. But it is written in the chronicles.
Attila had expected the city to surrender promptly to his vastly superior numbers. The Alans were known for their taste for survival rather than for heroic death in battle. But, to his surprise, as the vanguard of the numberless Hunnish horde approached the city there came reports that the citizens of Aureliana and their Alan protectors had closed the gates of the city and were preparing for siege.
Attila cursed violently, and sent a blunt message to Sangiban and the people. ‘ Since you have decided to oppose me, I will lay the city to waste and destroy you all.’
To his surprise, the reply from Sangiban received only a few minutes later read, ‘ Your reputation rides ahead of you, Great Tanjou. You would have destroyed us anyway.’
For a moment, the old sardonic smile flitted across Attila’s face at Sangiban’s show of insolent spirit. It soon vanished. He smiled rarely these days.
‘Prepare the siege,’ he ordered.
The Bishop of Aureliana was one Ananias, an ecclesiastic of the type who was as willing to carry a sword as a crozier if the battle was on the side of right. Unknown to Attila, it was he who had pressured Sangiban into replying so impertinently.
Now he began to organise the citizens into armed bands and to fortify the city walls wherever possible. Beyond the eastern side of the city, the Hun horde, or that part of it which they could see – for it stretched for many miles, and the majority of those under Attila were in fact riding far and wide to pillage the countryside for leagues around, and would not even be required for the siege – already the Hun horde to the east of the city was busy constructing new siege-engines.
Ananias went up the tower of one of the churches with a younger priest, and they stared out.
The younger priest squinted hard, then said quietly, ‘Those building the engines, they are not easterners.’
Bishop Ananias nodded grimly. ‘I see them. They are Vandals.’
The people of Aureliana worked all night to prepare for the onslaught, but the next day broke grey and desolate indeed. Ananias came to address them. His message was short.
‘Our Alan friends,’ he said in his sonorous voice, ‘have deserted us. They crept out of the city last night.’
A low groan went up.
‘Whether they have gone to join Attila and his heathen horde, I do not know. But let us rejoice. They did not betray us into Attila’s hands, either. The gates remain barred, the city still stands. God is with us. And so: to work.’
The Huns did not trouble very long with the attack by the siege-engines and the onagers. Before an hour of the onslaught was up, the city’s east gates were smashed off their hinges and lying flat. In the exposed gateway, men of the city scrabbled to build new barriers, but Hun horsemen galloped in as close as fifty yards and shot them
