half-trained army had suffered two reverses. Pressed ever eastwards by the victorious Huns, it had been outflanked by Attila and now, its retreat cut off, had been forced into the Chersonesus of Thracia, the narrow peninsula bounding the northern shore of the Hellespontus.8
Never was a position more hopeless, thought Aspar despairingly, looking at the way Arnegliscus had drawn up the army. The infantry were arranged in a solid block twenty-five ranks deep, with a cavalry wing on either side. The formation resembled a plump partridge, a partridge ready for plucking. The two engagements with the Huns so far had been running skirmishes rather than full-scale encounters. Now, boxed into the Chersonesus, the Romans had no choice but to fight a pitched battle. What on earth was Arnegliscus’ tactical thinking? By concentrating his men in a solid mass, the German presumably imagined he was maximizing their effectiveness. That might have made sense in the days of the Macedonian phalanx, but against a highly mobile and — in terms of numbers — vastly superior enemy, armed moreover with long-range weapons, it was suicidal folly. Ultimately, however, the blame must lie largely with himself, Aspar admitted, with a sick feeling of guilt. If he hadn’t overridden Arnegliscus and persuaded the Empress to take the battle to the Hun. .
Arnegliscus had positioned the Roman force on open ground facing the direction the enemy must approach from, with the supply wagons some distance to the rear. What he had failed to grasp was that there
Arnegliscus was seated at a table strewn with maps and documents; there were also a flagon and goblets. He stared at Aspar with some irritation, but retained enough manners to offer the general some wine.
‘Thank you, but I prefer to keep a clear head,’ retorted Aspar. ‘I have several suggestions that must be made.’
‘“Must”?’ growled Arnegliscus, his blue eyes widening. ‘You forget yourself, I think.’
‘Yes, “must”, snapped Aspar. At that moment, Areobindus, a tall German with hair cut short in the Roman fashion, entered the tent. ‘As things stand,’ Aspar pressed on, ‘you face almost certain defeat. Your flanks are exposed, therefore the Huns will surround you. The infantry are packed together in a solid mass, a formation far too deep to allow the rear ranks to help those in front.’ He turned to Areobindus. ‘
‘Aspar does have a point, sir,’ Areobindus observed tactfully. ‘Our front would become more effective if you were to expand it; eight ranks are quite sufficient to give staying power. May I also suggest that the wagons are brought up closer to the line? They would then be protected and could, if occasion arose, be deployed to form a protective screen. Left where they are, they will certainly be looted and destroyed.’
‘Above all, you must protect the flanks,’ urged Aspar, his heart sinking as he noted a look of stubborn defensiveness settle on Arnegliscus’ face. ‘Only a mile from here, there’s a steep-sided valley, not too broad for our troops to span. Our flanks would then be secure.’ Actually, what he was suggesting was, Aspar knew, a desperate enough alternative; to form an unbroken front across the valley would mean stretching the Roman line perilously thin. But almost any plan would be preferable to the present arrangement.
‘I had thought guarding the flanks was the duty of the cavalry,’ said Arnegliscus sourly. ‘I must have been mistaken.’
Areobindus stiffened and an angry gleam appeared in his eye. Determined not to be drawn, Aspar said coolly, ‘I shall ignore that, sir. Another thing. The men have been standing in the sun for hours. They’re hot, thirsty, and demoralized. Issue them with food and water, and give them permission to stand down until the enemy’s sighted. They’ll fight better rested and on a full stomach. Also, a few words from yourself might help to raise their spirits.’
‘Very well,’ conceded Arnegliscus, ‘it shall be done. And I shall extend the line as you suggest. Also the wagons will be brought up closer to the rear. These things are only sensible, I grant. But I see no need for other change. The army stays where it is.’
Further argument was pointless, Aspar realized. He glanced at Areobindus, who shrugged resignedly. ‘On your head be it,’ Aspar said to Arnegliscus. ‘If the year of the consuls Maximus and Paterius9 is remembered in Rome’s annals for another Cannae, Rome will know whom to blame.’ Saluting, he left the tent, mounted, and rode back to his station.
A murmur passed along the Roman lines as a galloping scout hove into sight. A little later, the commanders assembled in front of their units to announce that the enemy was close; and that from this moment on the men were to maintain silence, observe orders, and keep position.
A bank of what seemed like mist or smoke had appeared on the horizon. Extending on either hand to the limit of visibility and growing taller by the second, it rolled swiftly towards the waiting Romans. A distant murmur changed to a steady pattering, which in turn became a rumbling roar. The earth began to tremble. Now dots could be made out in the dust-cloud, dots which rapidly grew into galloping riders.
‘Right, boys, let’s have the
Clashing their lances against their shields, the Romans gave their battle-cry, beginning on a low note and swelling to a deafening shout. It was intended to raise morale when the line confronted a charging enemy, but this time the
In a continuous blizzard, the shafts arced high in the air, to plunge down on to the Romans. The front ranks, the only men issued with both helmets and mail coats, and with enough room to raise their shields, remained comparatively unscathed. But the soldiers in the middle, helmeted but lacking body-armour, and so close-packed they were unable to use their shields to protect their upper bodies, began to suffer terrible punishment. The cavalry wings did their best to keep the Hun archers at bay, charging time after time to drive them back. Barring scouts and skirmishers, the Roman horse consisted of heavy armoured cavalry, virtually invulnerable to arrows, and more than a match for their opponents on an individual basis. But when outnumbered on a huge scale their effectiveness was severely limited.
Once, in an attempt to come to grips with the enemy, the trumpets on the Roman side sounded the advance. But the encircling Huns merely kept pace with the advancing Romans, whose formations began to lose cohesion and to take even more casualties. When the halt was eventually sounded, the Roman infantry had been reduced to a panic-stricken rabble, desperate to flee or to engage their tormentors, but unable to do either. Taking turns to peel away and breathe their horses, the Huns were able to maintain a constant barrage, which exacted a terrible toll. Throughout that endless afternoon, the Roman ranks thinned steadily, which by a grim irony benefited the survivors, who now had room to raise their shields and protect their torsos. Only the coming of darkness brought respite to the beleaguered army.
Tortured by thirst and wounds throughout the long night, the Romans awaited the dawn with dread. But the rising sun showed only an empty plain. The Huns had gone.
To his captains, Attila’s decision to spare the shattered remnant of the Roman army smacked of commendable contempt for a negligible foe. How could they guess that it stemmed from self-disgust? Attila’s stock could now stand hardly higher. To his people he was a conquering hero, who had brought them plunder beyond imagining and made their name feared throughout the world. But to Attila himself it was all a hollow triumph, like those apples of legend which turned to ashes in the mouth. This was not what he had wanted for his nation. Any hopes now of creating a Greater Scythia were dashed for ever; he had sent home the team of advisers Aetius had provided. Posterity would remember Attila not as a second Caesar or another Alexander, but as the Scourge of God, the barbarian who had loosed death and destruction on a scale never before witnessed.
1 Mitrovica, in Kosovo.
