The officers began to file into the command tent. When all were seated, Aetius took up his position beside a large campaign map of Gaul, supported on an easel facing his audience.
‘Serious news, gentlemen,’ he announced briskly, ‘just arrived by fast courier from Raetia. It seems that trouble’s breaking out in Gaul on three fronts. First, Aremorica.’ With a pointer he circumscribed a large area in north-west Gaul. ‘The Bagaudae have risen in revolt against the big landowners and the Roman authorities in general. Second, the Burgundian Settlement.’ The pointer indicated a strip of territory along the upper Rhenus. ‘The tribe’s broken its boundaries and is invading the Belgic provinces. Thirdly, our friends the Visigoths in Aquitania.’ The wand rapped south-west Gaul. ‘Up to their old tricks again; hoping to expand their territory eastwards. It seems they’re preparing to invest Gallia Narbonensis. Any questions, gentlemen, before I go on?’
‘How do ve know all sis?’ asked a German cavalry commander.
‘It’s thanks to General Rufinus, whom some of the older ones among you may remember. Apparently, he was able to spy on a convention of Burgundian leaders, and overheard their king telling them what I’ve told you. He then covered over a hundred miles on foot through rough country, to bring the news from Gaul to Spolicinum fort in Raetia. Got mauled by a wolf on the way, and died later from wounds and exhaustion. Rome owes that brave old man a debt, gentlemen. Thanks to him, we’ve learnt about the situation early enough to be able to take effective counter-measures.’
‘And those are, sir?’ This anxiously from a middle-aged
‘I was coming to that. You’re probably thinking that, with just one field army to cope with three major insurrections simultaneously, we’d be hopelessly overstretched.’
‘Well, wouldn’t we?’ interrupted a tough-looking duke. ‘Putting it bluntly, sir, I don’t see how we can cope. If it was just the Bagaudae on their own we had to deal with, we could manage — they’re a rabble of slaves and peasants. But these wretched federates, the Burgundians and Visigoths, they’re a different matter. In my opinion, we’d be well advised to sue for peace and, for the time being, grant them the land they want.’
‘If you’d allow me to finish,’ Aetius protested mildly, ‘I was going to add that our field army won’t have to fight on its own. Reinforcements have been promised and should be arriving any day.’
‘Household troops from Italia, I suppose,’ sneered the duke. ‘Much use they’ll be. Parade soldiers who spend more time polishing their kit than campaigning.’
Aetius raised his hands in exasperation. ‘You’ve a short memory,’ he sighed. ‘Who was it helped me — twice — in the recent civil wars in Italia? The Huns, my friend, the Huns. That was in Rua’s time. Now, their new king, Attila, who’s an old and loyal friend, by the way, has sworn assistance. His word is even more to be trusted.’
A stir of interest swept round the tent. Faces which, following Aetius’ original announcement, had registered shocked concern now showed relief and eagerness.
‘Here, then, is what we do,’ continued Aetius. ‘Marcus, my old warhorse, remember how you held the Huns in check while I scouted Aspar’s lines?’
A grey-haired duke grinned in recollection. ‘Aspar son of Ardaburius — the Alan general who cramped our style in that Ioannes business? Hard to forget it, sir. Tremendous fellows in attack, your Huns. But nearly impossible to hold on a leash.’
‘Well, this time I’ve an easier job for you. The Visigoths, bless their hearts, have decided to oblige us by laying siege to Narbo Martius1. But, as we know, like all barbarians they’re hopeless when it comes to siege operations. Shouldn’t be too difficult for you to keep them pinned down with Roman troops, until I can send a force of Huns?’
‘I’ll enjoy it, sir,’ declared Marcus, rubbing his hands. ‘A series of hit-and-run raids to harass them and disrupt their supplies, while they blunder about with siege contraptions which fall to bits or fail to work. Why, we could even besiege the besiegers. Pen them in and starve them, by throwing up a circle of earthworks around their positions — as Stilicho did against Radogast and his Goths at Florentia. I should know; I was there.’
‘Excellent. That’s the Visigoths taken care of, then. Now, the Bagaudae. Litorius, I recall you did a first-rate job guarding our retreat after the Battle of the Fifth Milestone. Would it be beneath you to deal with the bandit revolt?’
‘Absolutely not, sir,’ rejoined the count. ‘I’m no Crassus, who felt soiled by taking on Spartacus and his slave army.’
‘Splendid. You’ll need a large force. The rising will affect a huge area — about a quarter of Gaul. Take half of what’s left of the field army, after Marcus has had his pick, and I’ll send you half the Huns. When you’ve crushed the Bagaudae, you can join forces with Marcus against the Visigoths. Myself and Avitus2 here’ — he nodded to a tall officer with patrician features — ‘will move against the Burgundians with the remainder of the Romans and the rest of the Huns. Right gentlemen,’ he concluded brightly, looking round the rows of faces, ‘that covers everything, I believe. Begin your preparations immediately. We march tomorrow.’
Spolicinum Fort, Province of 2nd Raetia, Diocese of Italy [Titus wrote in the
I was at the Villa Fortunata when my father’s letter arrived with the terrible news of the Burgundian rising et cetera. Fearing for the safety of my dear Clothilde and Marcus, I rode with all speed to Spolicinum (which seems little changed since I was last here twelve years ago) as it lies on the most direct route to the Settlement. Here, I was told the sad tidings that Gaius Valerius had died soon after writing to me. He is buried in the soldiers’ cemetery outside the fort. In my grief, I found comfort in the knowledge that he had given his life in the service of Rome. He could have wished for no better end. I have left some money, together with instructions, for a gravestone bearing this inscription:
GAIUS VALERIUS RUFINUS: COMMANDER OF THE PRIMANI LEGION: 77 YEARS OF AGE. HE LOVED ROME AND SERVED HER WELL. HE IS LAID HERE.
In his letter, Gaius begged me to consider re-entering the service of Aetius, who, he believed, is the only man who can deal effectively with the crisis in Gaul. I had thought my break with Aetius irrevocable, but
Tomorrow, I leave for the Burgundian Settlement via the valley of the upper Rhenus. The roads, I am assured, are still in good repair though now outwith Rome’s direct administration. I leave this journal here at Spolicinum for safe keeping, for I fear there will be little leisure or security where I am bound for.
From their position on a Pannonian hilltop, the two royal brothers watched as the Hun cavalry set out for Gaul. Soon, individual warriors disappeared in the dust-pall stirred up by sixty thousand horses — a vast greyish- yellow cloud which filled the plain and rolled swiftly towards the western horizon.
‘Well, brother,’ I hope you think it’s worth it,’ snarled Bleda. ‘That’s a tenth of our fighting force you’ve just lent out. And for what? So you can improve your standing with your Roman friends, I suppose?’
Attila studiedly ignored his brother — as he could afford to, ever since he had stamped his authority on the Huns, by his conduct at the Treaty of Margus. It was pointless trying to explain his ambitions to a coarse buffoon of limited vision like Bleda. The Empire of the Huns was now vast, approaching in extent that of the Romans. It stretched from Scandia to the Mare Caspium, uniting for the first time in history, the Teutonic peoples of Germania and the nomads of the steppes. A great achievement, surely? Perhaps; but only if it contained the seeds of permanence — like Greece or Rome. Otherwise, it might fall apart and vanish as quickly as it had arisen. In a vague yet passionate way, Attila yearned for something more satisfying than power and plunder. He wanted greatness for his people, so that in future ages men would speak of Attila not as they would of the cruel tyrant Gaiseric, whose African kingdom was surely transitory, but as they did of Alexander or Caesar, whose legacies survived even to this day. Which was why he needed the help and advice of Aetius and, if possible, the friendship of the Romans. (And that would now be hard to secure, Attila conceded. After Margus, his name throughout the Eastern Empire had become a byword for ruthlessness and terror.)
Although Attila would never admit it, Bleda had a point. The Council, and the Huns generally, would expect rewards for the massive investment they had made in backing Aetius. In the past, such credit had been handsomely repaid. But with the West now weakened and imperilled, could that still be guaranteed? Attila could only hope that it could.
