‘Your wife is dead, Titus. I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of such heavy tidings.’
‘What happened, sir?’ whispered Titus.
‘I was there,’ said Aetius. ‘When your village was raided, the fighting was officially over. Gundohar had already surrendered, and the Burgundians been granted generous peace terms — which means, of course, that you can’t be charged with aiding rebels, if that’s any comfort. The Huns who attacked you were a stray marauding band; one of several, I fear. After the peace agreement, I travelled round with a heavily armed detachment cracking down on looting, and abuse of civilians by undisciplined units. Unfortunately, I arrived just too late to save your village. The Huns made off as soon as we approached, but I found two in the meeting-house who hadn’t noticed our arrival. Probably intent on a spot of private plunder or mopping up. One, who was about to run through your little boy, turned on me but wasn’t quick enough to stop a thrust below the breast-bone. Before the other could attack me, he was struck by falling debris from the roof — as you were yourself.’
‘And Clothilde?’
‘I tried, of course, to shift the beam, but it was hopeless. It would have taken several strong men to move it, and there was no time to summon any of my soldiers — the roof was on the point of falling in. She implored me to kill her. Her lower body was crushed beyond any hope of her recovering — even had she been freed — and I could not let her perish in an inferno. So I. . I did what was necessary. As you yourself would have done.’ Aetius paused, then, his expression bleak, said, ‘But I could not blame you if you were now to hate me.’
Titus brushed away tears, collected himself with an effort. ‘The opposite is true, sir. I hope I’m Roman enough to appreciate that what you did was an act of mercy, carried out because it was the right thing to do. For that I’ll always be grateful — as I’m grateful that you saved my life and my son’s.’
‘I made Marcus leave the hut before-’ Aetius broke off, then continued quickly, ‘Then I dragged you out. I was only just in time — the roof collapsed as we got clear. You took a nasty blow on the head and you’ve lost a lot of blood, but the doctors say that with rest you’ll make a full recovery.’ There was a short silence, then Aetius asked in friendly tones, ‘Well, Titus Valerius, what will you do now?’
‘Probably return to Italia with Marcus, sir, and manage the family estate.’
‘That, in my opinion, would be a waste of your talents. I have another suggestion.’
‘Sir?’
‘Come and work for me again. Rome needs loyal servants as never before. Especially if they happen to be the son of Gaius Valerius Rufinus, whose heroism may have saved Gaul. No need to decide anything now. I’ll come back for your answer in a day or two.’
Titus recalled his father’s final letter, in which he’d recommended just such a course as Aetius was suggesting. Also, Titus felt that in some subtle way Aetius had changed, and was perhaps no longer the ruthlessly ambitious soldier/politician he had once been. He made up his mind. ‘No need for that, sir,’ he said. ‘If you’re willing to have me back, I’ll be glad to serve you again.’
Aetius smiled and took his hand. ‘Then welcome back, Titus Valerius, “thou good and faithful servant”, as the Scriptures say.’
1 Narbonne.
2 From a distinguished Gallo-Roman family, Avitus rose to become Prefect of Gaul in 439, and briefly (455-6) Western Emperor.
3 25 May 435.
4 Medical orderly.
TWENTY-FIVE
A race of uncivilized allies [the Visigoths] bids fair to bring Roman power crashing to the ground
‘Congratulations, Count,’ his young second-in-command said to Litorius as, accompanied by the mixed force of Huns and Romans, they forded the Liger near Caesarodunum1 and headed south, out of Aremorica. ‘It’ll be a long time before those scoundrels raise their heads again.’
‘A bloody business, Quintus,’ sighed Litorius, shaking his head. ‘The Bagaudae had to be crushed, of course. But still. .’
‘Don’t say you’re going soft, sir?’ jibed Quintus, with the affectionate familiarity born of months of shared campaigning. ‘They challenged Rome and got what they deserved. And so did those Burgundians. General Aetius was too easy on the Burgundians the first time; when they rebelled again, he really taught them a lesson. Killed — how many was it? Twenty thousand? — then marched off the survivors to captivity in Sapaudia.2 We should mete out the same treatment to the Visigoths.’
‘Everything’s in black and white to you young fire-eaters,’ laughed Litorius. ‘If only things were that straightforward. I met Tibatto, you know,’ he went on musingly, ‘after he was captured, and before we separated his head from his shoulders. Crucifixion, as for Spartacus, would have been more appropriate, I suppose; but of course that was abolished by Constantine a hundred years ago. By no means your ordinary rabble-rouser. Quite cultured, actually. Quoted Tacitus to me: “They create a desert and call it peace.”’
‘Who’s “they” sir?’ asked Quintus, mildly puzzled.
‘Don’t they teach the young the classics any more?’ exclaimed Litorius in mock outrage. ‘ “They” refers to the Romans, in a speech put into the mouth of Calgacus, leader of the Caledonians at the Battle of Mons Graupius, by Tacitus in his
‘We beat them, didn’t we?’
‘Well, we may have won that particular battle, but the Caledonians threw us out eventually — back in the reign of Septimius Severus, just over two centuries ago. The first time that had happened in the whole empire; perhaps it marked the turning of the tide for Rome.’
‘Look on the bright side, sir,’ said Quintus cheerfully. ‘The tide may now be turning the other way. Once we’ve dealt with the Visigoths, Gaul will be fully back under Roman control.’
‘You’re probably right,’ responded Litorius, brightening. ‘After all, we crushed the Bagaudae, didn’t we? Perhaps we can crush the Visigoths, too.’
‘No “perhaps” about it, sir,’ replied Quintus stoutly. ‘And it’ll be good to see the south again — feel the sun, breathe upland air, smell the shrubs and pines, see olive groves and vineyards once again, taste some decent wine instead of your piss-thin northern beer.’
They rode for some miles in silence, then Quintus suggested, ‘Like me to check on the column, sir?’
‘Yes, do that.’ Litorius sounded both relieved and grateful.
‘Column’ was a euphemism for the vast, amorphous horde of Huns that formed the bulk of the army, thought Quintus, as he walked his horse to the top of a hillock from which he could view the force. He was worried about his commander. Litorius was a decent man and, in normal circumstances, a good soldier, but suppressing the Bagaudian revolt seemed to have taken a heavy toll on him. Some of the things that had taken place had been pretty stomach-turning, Quintus admitted: that quarry near Lexovium3 where thousands of rebels and their children had been corralled, to become targets for Hun archery practice; the mass executions in the Sequana4, with prisoners roped together in groups and stones tied to their ankles. . But that was war — horrible things happened, and you just had to grit your teeth and get on with it. Perhaps the count was suffering from
On several occasions, Litorius had tried to restrain the Huns — with embarrassing lack of success: they ignored him, responding only to their own commanders. Outside the walls of towns and the great estates, they had raided and slaughtered indiscriminately. That was one thing if you were putting down renegade peasantry, but if they continued in that vein once they had left Aremorica, there would be serious friction with the Roman authorities. The strain of heading a ‘dirty’ campaign, one in which his control had proved at best tenuous, had had a
