A slave entered and announced that a courier had arrived from Gaul with a letter requiring the general’s immediate attention.
‘Tell him to wait,’ replied Aetius, then, ‘Gaul, did you say? No, better send him in.’
Idly, Titus broke off his search to watch, while Aetius unfurled the scroll the dusty messenger handed to him, and began to peruse it. Suddenly, the general’s face blanched and he swayed on his feet. ‘Tell Avitus I’ll make all speed to join him!’ he cried hoarsely. Dismissing the courier, also the scribe, he stood in the middle of the room staring at the letter and muttered, ‘I should have seen that this might happen.’
‘Bad news, sir?’ ventured Titus.
‘What’s that?’ said the general distractedly, looking up. Seeing Titus, he exclaimed, ‘Disaster! It seems Litorius may have lost us Provincia. Listen to what Avitus says.
‘“I felt that the man had become dangerously unstable, — perhaps some of the things he had to do in Aremorica had affected him. You’ll have heard, of course, about the incident on my estate. That in itself wouldn’t have indicated that the count was unbalanced, only that he had difficulty controlling the Huns — admittedly, not an easy task. But when Quintus, his second-in-command, came to me privately and confided his doubts regarding Litorius (not from disloyalty — Quintus is the most faithful of subordinates — but out of genuine concern), I became seriously worried. Then came his brilliant relief of Narbo Martius. We were all tremendously impressed, and I began to think that I had judged the man too hastily. (Although in hindsight, there was, I think, an element of reckless bravado about the operation; it could so easily have gone badly wrong.) All things considered, when you appointed him commander-in-chief during your absence in Italia, I allowed my fears to become lulled. After all, the task you entrusted to Litorius was scarcely a demanding one. The Visigoths had been badly mauled and wanted nothing more than to be left to lick their wounds. Litorius, as I distinctly recall you making clear to him, was to be a vigilant policeman, nothing more.
‘“So when the count announced that he intended to invade the Goths’ homeland, granted them under treaty by Constantius, and invest their capital, Tolosa, I was thunderstruck. I tried to reason with him, pointing out that it was folly to pick an unnecessary quarrel with a tribe who appeared to have learnt their lesson, but who, if provoked, might still prove dangerous. But he wouldn’t listen, declared that the only thing barbarians understood was force, and that he was going to treat the Goths as you had treated the Burgundians. He ignored the fact that you destroyed that tribe only when they broke out a second time. I think that his success at Narbo may have gone to his head, creating the delusion that he was invincible.
‘“Anyway, he marched with the Huns to Tolosa. (Fortunately, I managed to persuade him to leave the bulk of the Roman field army behind, with myself, as a rearguard.) When he got to Tolosa — you won’t believe this, he conducted a full-scale pagan sacrifice,3 complete with augurs examining the entrails and predicting victory! What the Huns made of it I can’t imagine, and any Romans present must have thought he’d taken leave of his senses. Did
‘“With nothing to lose, they launched a night attack on the count’s camp, which in his rashness and over- confidence he’d neglected to fortify or appoint sentries to guard. Prepare yourself my dear friend, for what I must now tell you. Litorius has proved a second Varus, who led his legions into an ambush, resulting in their annihilation. The Huns were wiped out almost to a man, and Litorius himself taken; whether he is still alive, I have no means of knowing. The situation here is critical. The Goths, now full of confidence and clamouring for revenge, are preparing to invade Provincia. Whatever business you have in Italy, I urge you to abandon it. Collect what troops you can, and march for Gaul immediately. I am strengthening the walls of Arelate and, with the field army, will try to hold the line until you join me.”’
Rolling up the letter, Aetius stared at Titus bleakly. ‘Sixty thousand Huns — lost,’ he whispered, and Titus saw in his eyes a flash of something he had never seen before: despair. Suddenly, the general looked shrunken, old.
But only for a moment. Squaring his shoulders, Aetius announced crisply, ‘I must prepare to leave for Gaul. Meanwhile, you, Titus, will go to Attila as my emissary. Travel by imperial post to the frontier, then buy the fastest horse you can. Explain to Attila exactly what has happened, sparing no details — he’d see through any excuses or cover-ups straight away. Tell him that I’ll do all in my power to repay in full the debt I owe him, and assure him that I’ll come in person as soon as I have settled things in Gaul. Perhaps we can still save something from the wreck. If it is to survive, the West must continue to have Hun help. All right?’
‘Of course, sir. But. . wouldn’t a letter from you carry more weight?’
Aetius shook his head. ‘Attila is a barbarian, remember. They distrust and despise parchment promises. Believe me, personal contact is now our only hope of mending bridges.’ He gripped Titus by the shoulder and gave a wan smile. ‘Do you best, Titus. Once you saved the life of a Roman general. Now your words to Attila could save Rome itself.’
‘. . and promises to come himself, Your Majesty, as soon as he has finished dealing with the Visigoths,’ concluded Titus. He could feel his heart thumping and sweat break out on his palms, as he waited, standing to attention, for Attila’s response. At the other end of the reception chamber in the King’s timber palace, Attila, clad in a skin robe, was seated on a throne-like wooden chair: a stocky, powerful figure with an enormous head, whose very stillness, like a wound-up ballista, hinted at enormous reserves of stored energy. His flat Mongol features remained impassive.
‘Tell your master, the Patrician, Flavius Aetius,’ Attila said at length, in his deep, guttural voice, ‘that I will not see him. It is finished between us. I trusted him, put the flower of my army at his disposal. And how does he repay me? By contriving their destruction. You say he swears to make good the debt he owes me. How, then, does he propose to give me back my sixty thousand warriors? By sowing dragon’s teeth perhaps?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I had thought Aetius to be that rare thing among Romans, a man of honour whose word was good. Now I see his promises are worthless, like those of all his race. For the sake of the friendship that was once between us, I will allow his son Carpilio, my hostage, to return with you. Go now, Roman, and tell your master this: should we meet again, it will be as enemies, not friends.’
When Titus and Carpilio had departed, Attila rode out of the encampment alone, to nurse his fury and sorrow. Fury that his trust had been betrayed, sorrow for the ending of an old and valued friendship; both fury and sorrow for the loss of so many fine warriors, and the collapse of his vision of a Greater Scythia. If he and Aetius had been the only players in the game, perhaps their friendship could have survived. Perhaps. But, with the Council to answer to, that was no longer an option. Especially as Bleda could be guaranteed to exploit the crisis to the maximum, in order to undermine his brother’s position. Attila’s credibility was on the line; once the disaster of Tolosa became generally known, recriminations and divisions in the Council, with discord and disunity spreading like a cancer through the nation, would inevitably follow. Unless. .
In a flash of intuition, Attila realized what he must do. At this critical juncture, what was needed above all was decisive leadership — leadership which he alone could supply. If he could no longer give his people greatness, he could at least give them what they lusted after. Gold. And the source of that gold? The empire of the Romans.
His powerful mind teeming with plans and ideas, Attila returned to the palace. Which empire to attack, East or West? He would spare the West — he perhaps owed Aetius that much. Besides, the West’s treasury was depleted, half its territory ceded to German federates who paid no tribute. Whereas the East was wealthy beyond computation, its cities populous and rich, its churches and cathedrals crammed with treasure. And the time was ripe for an assault on the Eastern Empire. Its Emperor, Theodosius II, was weak and irresolute. And the East was distracted on two fronts. It was involved in a campaign against the Persians on its eastern frontier; and its remaining legions had been sent to Sicily, to help the West recover Africa from Gaiseric. In fact, the Vandal King, that implacable enemy of Rome, had already sent emissaries to Attila, proposing a Vandal-Hun alliance: a suggestion which Attila, hoping to establish good relations with the Romans, had so far ignored. But now such an offer seemed uncannily fortuitous. He would dictate a letter to Gaiseric, agreeing to the pact. He sent for Orestes, his young Roman secretary.4
While he waited, the words in which Wu Tze had described the second part of his vision suddenly rang in
