Attila’s head: ‘Now the ass pursues another eagle, wounding it before it can fly away.’ As before, when he had sent his Huns to help Aetius, the meaning became clear. The wild ass of the plains was the Huns, the another eagle the Second Rome: the Huns would attack and harm the Eastern Empire. A chill foreboding gripped the monarch, even as he insisted to himself that the seer’s prediction was merely coincidence.
. . and so Fortune, who only a short time ago smiled on Aetius [Titus wrote, tying up the threads of the entry in his journal], has now spun her wheel against him. In a twinkling, all his hard-won gains have been put in jeopardy. Gaul, which had seemed secure, is again under threat: the Visigoths, their power so nearly broken, are once more strong and ambitious, with eyes fixed upon Provincia; the Franks are encroaching in the north-east.
Money is the crying need — cash to pay the troops, to replenish supplies, arms and armour. Man for man, the Roman field army remains more than a match for its enemies, but for lack of cash is gradually eroding away. And the treasury is empty. Africa, once the jewel in the imperial crown, whose grain and tribute once filled Rome’s stomach and her coffers, is now totally lost (although a joint East-West expedition for its recovery is now preparing in Sicilia).
Most serious of all has been the slaughter of the Huns at Tolosa, through the folly of Litorius (who, Rome has learnt, has been put to death by his Goth captors). As a result, Aetius has lost the friendship and support of Attila, his oldest and most powerful ally. And without Hun help the West is dangerously weakened. If they should ever turn against us. .
One bright ray shines through the gathering clouds: Aetius and Theoderic, King of the Visigoths and son of the mighty Alaric, have become reconciled. When the Roman army and the Goth host confronted one another, following Aetius’ return from Italia to Gaul, the two generals decided that a bloody encounter whose issue was uncertain was not in the interests of either. Avitus arranged peace terms which have been accepted by both sides.
Boniface and Litorius: these two may prove to be Aetius’ Nemesis. Had he not made an enemy of one and put his trust in the other, Africa and Gaul, whose fate may decide that of the West, would today be secure within the empire.
1 13 November 440.
2 In 438, one of the last major public works projects carried out in the Western Empire.
3 The last time an official pagan sacrifice was ever held.
4 Father of the last West Roman Emperor, Romulus Augustus (see Notes p.434).
TWENTY-NINE
They [The Huns] gallop about inflicting tremendous slaughter; what makes them the most formidable of warriors is that they shoot arrows from a distance
‘Three across, two down, Gallus,’ the soldier called to his comrade. They were
Gallus checked the reference chart, a square board divided into sixteen smaller squares, each marked with a letter of the alphabet: A-Q. Four squares across and two down, that was ‘M’. He consulted the message table: ‘M: hostile cavalry approaching, strength maximum.’ That was odd; and alarming. Incoming messages almost always referred to tiny isolated groups of Huns, Goths, or Sarmatians, who had crossed to the Roman side of the Danube, and were ‘A: small mounted party passing, armed’, ‘B: small foot party passing, armed’, or ‘C: nomads with herds, passing’. Large concentrations of warriors were rare. ‘Hostile’ was a first, as was ‘maximum’. ‘Sure you got the signal correctly, Paulus?’ he called.
‘See for yourself.’
Gallus crossed the keep’s flat roof and mounted the steps to the battlements. He looked towards the signal station. Sure enough, the distant installation, which resembled a giant rake with upward-pointing tines, showed three upright arms on the right side, two on the left, starkly silhouetted against the sky.
Any doubts concerning the accuracy of the message were about to be dissolved. ‘Domine!’ breathed Paulus, pointing. Five miles or so ahead, stretching to right and left as far as the eye could see, a shimmering wall of dust, dotted with winking points of light, was rolling swiftly towards them. There came to their ears a sound like the distant booming of breakers, which swiftly grew to a thunderous drum-roll. Now, they began to make out figures in the dust-cloud, skin-clad warriors with flat yellowish faces, bows slung on back and swords on hip, mounted on huge, ugly horses.
Like a tidal wave breaking on a reef, the horde of Huns crashed against the line of forts — strongholds which had held firm against Alaric’s Goths — pausing only long enough to overwhelm the defenders and torch the interiors before sweeping south, leaving a row of blazing shells, like beacons, in their wake.
On the roof of their tower, Gallus and Paulus, joined by comrades from below, strove desperately to dislodge the grapnels that showered over the crenellations. As well try to keep back the tide with a broom; no sooner was one hook removed than two more came thudding on to the walkway. Powerless to hold back the mass of Huns that swarmed over the parapet, they died where they stood. Blazing bales were hurled into the keep’s interior from the trapdoor in the roof, forcing those guarding the gate from inside to open it — and meet the fate of those above.
In the basilica of Sirmium,1 the mighty Illyrian city which had been the headquarters of the first Valentinian in his campaigns against the Germans, and where the great Theodosius had been proclaimed Emperor, there was an air of near-panic among the decurions assembling for an extraordinary meeting of the council. When all were seated and after the ritual acclamations had been made, the president, a chubby figure with a blandly beaming face, ascended the rostrum. He was immediately greeted by a barrage of questions: ‘Is it true that the Huns have taken Singidunum2. . Are they heading this way?. . What’s the army doing?. . Have the
The president raised his arms and gradually silence spread throughout the great hall. ‘Fellow decurions,’ he declared, assuming his most reassuring smile, ‘it is indeed unfortunately true that Singidunum has fallen.’ Uproar. ‘However,’ he continued, when the hubbub had died down, ‘it was to a large extent the citizens’ own fault. They kept no watch and were consequently taken by surprise. They had allowed their defences to fall into disrepair, and they made no effort to treat with the enemy. We in Sirmium, however, are in an infinitely stronger position. Our walls, the strongest in Illyria, are virtually impregnable. We’ve had ample warning, so we can strengthen any weak points and maintain a twenty-four-hour lookout. Also, I propose that we select a certain number from among our inner committee, the
Privately, the president intended to make quite sure that any delegation to the Huns would be headed by himself. For he had decided, as a personal insurance policy, to take a leaf out of the Bishop of Margus’ book. Just in case the projected negotiations failed. The bishop had provided the Huns with a pretext for their invasion. They alleged that he had plundered certain burial sites of their kings, north of the Danubius, removing valuable grave- goods. When, in order to appease the Huns, the Roman authorities had been about to hand the bishop over, the wily cleric had stolen a march. Making a secret deal with the Huns, he opened the gates of Margus to them, in
