Attila:The Scourge of God

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‘You’re quite sure there’s nothing from the palace?’ he asked.

The biarchus looked in his satchel and shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. Wish I could say different. There’s not a soldier in the empire but wishes you and the army were back home.’ He added anxiously, ‘Er, best forget I said that, sir.’

‘Said what?’ smiled Aspar. He suddenly came to a bold decision; this farce had gone on long enough. ‘What’s your ship’s next destination?’

‘Cyrene, sir.’

‘No it isn’t. Tell the captain I’m requisitioning his vessel to take me immediately to Constantinople.’

‘Yes, sir!’ With a delighted grin, the man saluted and hurried off to deliver the general’s command.

Theodosius, the second of that name, Emperor of the East Romans, the Calligrapher (of all his royal titles, the one of which he was most proud), laid down his pen from the task in which he was engaged: copying, in beautiful Rustic capitals, Jerome’s Third Attack on the Pelagian Heresy. ‘Will it do, sister?’ he enquired anxiously of the handsome but dowdily dressed woman in her early forties who had just entered the scriptorium.

‘I’m sure the monks of my new monastery will be impressed,’ sighed Pulcheria wearily. She went on with a hint of impatience, ‘There are, however, also worldly matters which have a claim on your attention. I would remind you, brother, that the generals have been waiting more than an hour.’

‘Oh dear, as long as that?’ murmured the Emperor contritely. ‘Well, we’d better see them, I suppose.’ He rose from the writing-desk; two slaves dressed him in a purple robe and slippers, then placed the imperial diadem on his head. Meekly, he followed his sister, the Augusta, along a succession of corridors to the audience chamber. This was a grand colonnaded affair, overlooking the jumble of splendid but asymmetrical series of buildings, cascading downhill towards the Propontis,³ that made up the rest of Constantinople’s imperial palace.

The two men who bowed low, ‘adoring the Sacred Purple’, at the entry of the royal pair were very different in appearance. Aspar, the Alan general, was slight, with delicate aquiline features and olive colouring. The other was tall, of massive build, with shoulder-length yellow hair and fair skin, a magnificent specimen of manhood. This was Arnegliscus, the Master of Soldiers. Their dress pointed up the contrast between the pair. Aspar’s simple military tunic and leggings still bore the marks of travel, for he had come straight from the docks on the Golden Horn. The German was got up in the full regalia of a Roman general, complete with silvered cuirass and bronze-studded pteruges, leather strips protecting the shoulders, and the lower body from waist to knee.

Theodosius and Pulcheria seated themselves on thrones. ‘Aspar,’ declared the Emperor, ‘we are displeased that you have taken it upon yourself not only to return to Constantinople without our permission, but to commandeer a naval vessel, thus preventing it from transacting important business in Cyrene.’ Striving for stern censoriousness, Theodosius succeeded in sounding merely peevish. He turned to Pulcheria. ‘His presumption is inexcusable, do you not agree?’

‘Let us hear what he has to say, before we judge him,’ replied the Augusta. ‘You may speak, Aspar.’

‘Your Serenities must excuse me if I speak in plain terms,’ began the Alan. ‘The situation as I see it is approaching crisis. Our army is absent and divided — half on the Persian frontier, the rest in Sicily. Meanwhile Attila is rampaging freely throughout Illyria, destroying cities, massacring or enslaving the people. It makes no sense that our troops are not here. As a matter of the most urgent priority, I say we must recall both forces without further delay.’ All at once, Aspar realized that any appeal to reasoned compromise would probably fail. To make sure it was his view that prevailed, he was first going to have to daemonize the big German. Reluctantly switching to attack mode, he went on, ‘Frankly, I am at a loss to understand why the Master of Soldiers has not done this already.’ Despite having an Asiatic contempt for petticoat politics, Aspar was thankful for the presence of Pulcheria. Strange, he thought, that each half of the empire was run by a strong-willed woman controlling a weak Emperor. But where Pulcheria was sensible and decisive, Placidia was inept and devious; where Theodosius was merely ineffective, Valentinian was vicious and a liability.

‘Arnegliscus?’ invited Pulcheria.

The commander shrugged. ‘Come the autumn,’ he said slowly, ‘Attila must return to his meadows beyond the Danubius. Already his horses grow thin; he has all but exhausted the pastures of Illyria.’

‘And next year?’ sneered Aspar. ‘Having discovered that the empire provided such easy pickings, do you really suppose that Attila will fail to return? Or that he won’t keep coming back year after year — until the empire takes a stand? Or is it perhaps that Arnegliscus is afraid to match himself against the Hun?’ In fact, as Aspar well knew, Arnegliscus was no coward; few Germans were. But if it took a confrontation to unblock the log-jam of inactivity, so be it.

The German rose to the bait. ‘Anyone who says Arnegliscus is afraid, lies,’ he growled.

‘Fine words!’ retorted Aspar. ‘But words are cheap. Let us see if you dare match them with fine actions.’

An angry flush suffused the German’s cheeks. ‘Perhaps now is not the time for action,’ he countered, his tone defensive and his blue eyes flashing with resentment. ‘To confront Attila at this moment is to risk the destruction of our armies. I say let the Huns ravage Thracia, Dacia and Macedonia.⁴ Poor, thinly populated, in the last resort they are expendable. It is the wealthy east and south — Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, Libya — that we must safeguard above all. To attack them, Attila must first take Constantinople. And that he cannot do.’

Privately, Aspar was forced to concede that what Arnegliscus said had much to recommend it. The mighty walls of Constantinople could withstand the worst assault that Attila could hurl against them, and, with the capital inviolate, the security of the Eastern Empire’s heart was guaranteed. But abandon Illyris Graeca⁵ to the fury of the Huns? Unthinkable. Wasn’t it? For the first time, Aspar was assailed by a creeping doubt regarding the wisdom of taking the field against the Huns — at least until the armies of the East had developed effective tactics against the terrible archery of the nomad hordes. But it was too late to row back now.

‘So you would have the army sit safe behind the ramparts of Constantinople,’ he sneered, ‘without lifting a finger to help, while Attila’s savages wreak havoc and destruction throughout Illyria, Thrace, and Macedonia? To settle for a shameful policy of appeasement — that is the coward’s way.’

‘Enough!’ said Pulcheria sharply. ‘Rather than fight among ourselves, we should be planning how to deal with our common foe. Aspar is right. Things must not be allowed to drift any further. Let us recall our legions from Sicilia and the east; the situation on neither of these fronts is critical, and anyway operations can be resumed when the present danger is past.’ She turned to Theodosius. ‘Agreed, my lord?’

‘Oh, very well,’ assented the Emperor testily. Then, as if to avoid giving the impression that he was passively yielding to pressure, he sat up erect on his throne and announced loudly, ‘It is our word and our command that the African Expedition and the troops now serving on the Persian frontier be immediately recalled to Constantinople, and that they be put in readiness to march against the Huns. You, Arnegliscus, will be in overall charge, with Aspar as your second-in-command.’

Surveying the Roman dispositions from a low hill behind the cavalry wing on the army’s left, Aspar was overwhelmed by uneasiness. The terrain was hot, barren, and dusty; in the distance, the Thracian trading-port of Kallipolis⁶ huddled beside the blue waters of the Hellespont. A splendid opportunity to check ‘the Scourge of God’, as Attila was becoming known, had been squandered by the folly of the Emperor.

Following the recall of the troops from Sicilia and the Persian front, Aspar, with Arnegliscus’ agreement, had bought time by arranging a truce with Attila, through promising the return of fugitives, also paying part of the arrears of tribute fixed by the Treaty of Margus. Time which he had made good use of to begin to hammer the two halves of the army into a disciplined, united force capable of taking on an unfamiliar and terrible enemy. But, to Aspar’s fury, these solid gains had been needlessly thrown away. With a false confidence inspired by the return of the legions, Theodosius had forced Aspar to renege on his promises to the Hun king. By order of the Emperor, fugitives were not after all to be returned, nor was any further tribute to be paid. Predictably, Attila had been enraged, and had responded by launching a strike to the east: taking Ratiaria (an important state arms factory and the base of the Danubius fleet), Naissus, Serdica⁷, and Philippopolis. With the Huns now dangerously near his capital, Theodosius had ordered a reluctant Arnegliscus to take the field against them. Unsurprisingly, the