Attila:The Scourge of God

Arduenna Silva,⁶ he will be put to death on sight. Also, you must swear never again to take up arms against the Romans, and to fight for Rome when called upon. Do you so swear?’

Chlodio inclined his head slightly. ‘I do,’ he declared, in tones which suggested he was conferring a favour on the victors.

‘In that case, you may remove your dead. But everything else remains on the battlefield, as legitimate spoils of war. As from the first hour tomorrow, we grant you two days to remove yourselves to your homeland.’

‘Congratulations, sir. A splendid victory,’ said Constantius to Aetius, as the last of the Frankish wagons rolled away to the east.

‘A few more victories like that, and we’ll hardly be able to take the field,’ said Aetius ruefully. ‘Three hundred men dead. We can’t afford that sort of loss.’

‘But the Franks lost thousands. Surely-’

‘The Franks can soon make up their numbers; we can’t.’ A note of quiet desperation had crept into the general’s voice. ‘Theirs is a warrior nation. All their young men are potential soldiers, whereas for us it’s almost impossible to find fresh recruits. God knows how much longer we can pay or equip our troops, let alone feed them. The treasury in Ravenna’s bankrupt — really bankrupt this time. Fitting out the recent abortive African expedition has emptied the coffers.’

‘As bad as that, sir?’ murmured Constantius sympathetically. ‘I hadn’t realized. Still, the situation in Gaul’s well under control. The Burgundians and Visigoths, and now the Franks, have been taught a lesson and kept within bounds. Gaul’s still Roman.’

‘But for how long? If the federates were to break out again. . Rome is like a man crossing a frozen lake in spring. At any moment the ice may shatter and the man drown. If only we still had the Huns to help us.’

‘Can’t they be persuaded?’

Aetius shook his head. ‘I scarcely think so,’ he replied sombrely. Then the germ of an idea flashed into his mind. Perhaps, just perhaps. . The young man beside him could charm the birds off the trees. If anyone could succeed in talking Attila round, Constantius could.

A centenarius who had been supervising the burial detail, approached and saluted respectfully. ‘All ready, sir.’

‘Come, Constantius. We must commend their souls to God.’ As the two officers turned to leave the battlefield, Aetius stooped and picked up something from the ground, a drinking-horn, beautifully fashioned from glass. Miraculously, it had not broken. He handed it to the young tribune. ‘I wonder whose it was,’ he mused. ‘Keep it as a souvenir, my friend, a memento of your first battle.’

Praetorium of the Master of Soldiers, Ravenna, Province of Flaminia and Picenum, Diocese of Italia [Titus wrote in his journal], in the consulships of Flavius Theodosius, Augustus (his eighteenth), and of Albinus, Ides IV Aug.⁷

With Gaul quiet again after the Frankish scare, Aetius has returned to Italy, leaving Avitus — now Prefect of Gaul — to keep an eye on the two Gallic dioceses. Aetius feels his presence is needed in Ravenna, where he can more easily watch the situation in Africa. With the expedition for its recovery postponed, Gaiseric is flexing his muscles once more; the only barbarian with a fleet (of captured Roman vessels), he has seized the Baleares and Sardinia, established a beachhead in Sicilia, and is now threatening Italia itself.

Money to maintain the army is now the crying need, but all sources are exhausted. So desperate has the government become that it has this year invented a new tax on trade, the siliquaticum, a payment of one twenty-fourth on sales. Hoping to make up the shortfall of recruits by attempting to revive his alliance with Attila, the Patrician has sent a young tribune, one Constantius, to the King, to make overtures on his behalf. I must admit to having reservations. Constantius has admirable qualities: he is brave and resourceful, as he proved at the Battle of Vicus Helena against the Franks; he has tact, charm, self-confidence by the bucketload, and is from a good family, and therefore able to mix easily with the great — all attributes which make him (in theory) an excellent choice for an ambassador.

So why do I have doubts? I just have a feeling that, for all his charm, Constantius will always put his own interests above other priorities. In view of the importance of his undertaking (which could, it is no exaggeration to say, decide the survival of the West), I voiced my fears to Aetius. But he laughed them off good-naturedly. I believe he thinks I’m jealous of Constantius — in case his mission to Attila succeeds where mine failed, I suppose. Well, we can only wait and see what transpires.

¹ The Somme.

² Arras.

³ Tournai and Cambrai.

⁴ The Scheldt.

⁵ The Meuse.

⁶ The Ardennes.

⁷ 10 August 444.

THIRTY-TWO

A man who is base at home will not acquit himself with honour as an ambassador abroad

Aeschines, Ctesiphontem, 337 BC

Most unusually for him, Constantius was nervous. As he donned his best dalmatic for the interview with Attila, he began to regret having stolen the expensive gifts intended for the King. But the opportunity to raise sufficient cash to pay off his gambling debts, and come to an accommodation with the senator whose wife he had seduced, had been just too tempting — even if the amount paid by the Syrian moneylender in Arelate was but a fraction of the real value of the goods. Still, he could now return to his home and hold up his head again among his family and peers. And he had kept back one or two of the less valuable items, such as the glass drinking-horn Aetius had found on the battlefield of Vicus Helena. Worthless trinkets like that would probably impress a savage like Attila far more than an exquisitely patterned silver dish — or so he had managed to convince himself. Now, with the meeting imminent, he was less certain.

He set out from his quarters in the Hun capital, a vast, sprawling village of tents, with here and there a crudely built wooden mansion belonging to a noble. An astonishing sight — ridiculous, almost shocking in its incongruity — was a huge stone building in pure Graeco-Roman style, which towered above the flimsy roofs of felt or canvas like a war-galley among fishing-boats. This was the Baths of Onegesius, designed by a Greek architect enslaved during Attila’s invasion of the Eastern Empire and now a freedman in the service of Onegesius, one of Attila’s favourites. As he picked his way through the tangle of filthy lanes that passed for streets, Constantius became surrounded by a noisy crowd of children. During the three weeks that Attila had kept him waiting for an audience, he had become enormously popular among the youngsters, by his gift of mimicry and repertoire of tricks. Today, he was a bear. He rushed among the little Huns, roaring and swinging his head from side to side, his hands crooked like claws, while the children shrieked delightedly and pretended to flee in terror.

Reaching the foot of the hill crowned by the wooden royal palace, he shooed away his young following and began to climb. At the top, he paused to regain his breath while taking in the view: an expanse of flat grassland rolling away to the blue Carpathus mountains on one hand, and the glittering loops of the Tisa on the other. Like drifting shadows, the nomads’ herds moved slowly across the landscape. At the entrance gate of the palisade surrounding the palace complex, he stated his business to the guards, and was escorted past the houses of Attila’s wives to the main building, an impressive edifice constructed of massive beams of smoothed timber, with a colonnade of curiously carved tree-trunks. He was shown into the audience chamber, to find himself alone in the presence of the King.

Clad in a skin robe, Attila was seated on a simple wooden throne. Looking at the still figure, deep-sunk eyes