‘Your Majesty, nobles of the mighty nation of the Visigoths,’ Avitus began, in a mild and friendly voice, ‘I thank you for your welcome, and applaud your courage in deciding to resist — alone — the Scourge of God. Indulge me, while I touch upon your past. These Huns Attila leads are the same cruel savages who drove your forebears from their homes, condemned your nation, like the Israelites, to wander forty years. But where the seed of Abraham had only the desert in which to pitch their tents, the fair expanse of the Roman Empire was the scene of your exile. I will readily admit that many times during your long sojourn your people have been wronged by Rome, as — let us be frank — Rome has been wronged by you. But there has been much of friendship also. It was the Romans gave you refuge from the Huns, and your warriors have filled our legions, proving among the staunchest of Rome’s defenders. Stilicho, Rome’s great commander, many times spared Alaric when he could have destroyed him. Athaulf, brother of that mighty leader the father of your present king, married Galla Placidia, mother of Rome’s present Emperor. And you were finally granted your homeland — Aquitania, the fairest of Gaul’s provinces — by the Emperor Constantius, Valentinian’s father, who married Placidia after Athaulf’s death. Many are the mutual ties that bind the Romans and the Visigoths. Search your hearts, and, if you are honest, which I know you are, you will acknowledge that what I say is but the truth.’
Avitus paused. There was a general murmur of agreement, and nodding of heads. So far, the senator thought, he had his audience’s sympathy. But that would change in an instant to hostility, if he misjudged things. He must proceed with circumspection.
‘Yet our two peoples, who should be friends, are enemies. That is indeed a pity, never more than now.’ He allowed his voice to rise. ‘You think you can prevail against the Huns, that because, eleven years ago outside this very city you slaughtered sixty thousand of them, you can again defeat them. I tell you, that is folly and delusion. Attila comes against you with ten times that number; do you really think you can prevail against such odds? You will, of course, fight valiantly — as you always do. But you will be destroyed. And it will have been a useless sacrifice. Your widows and orphaned children will be slaughtered or enslaved, your churches desecrated and your habitations razed. The Visigoth nation will vanish from the earth as if it had never been. Is this what you want to happen? For believe me it will happen, if you hold to your present course.’ He paused again, gauging the mood of his hearers. A tense silence gripped the assembly.
‘Let the Romans and the Visigoths put their differences behind them, and join together against our common enemy,’ he continued, once more lowering his voice. ‘Then, when the other federates — the Franks who are loyal to Merovech, the Alans and Burgundians — see the example we have set by our alliance, they will be encouraged to join us. Only if all Gaul combines to resist him can we defeat Attila.’ He raised his voice again, to finish almost on a shout. ‘Divided we can only fail; united we shall win. Visigoths, avenge your ancestors!’
The senator waited anxiously for his hearers’ reaction. For a few seconds, not a sound was heard throughout the great building. Then Theoderic turned towards his following. ‘Avitus speaks wisely,’ he declared. ‘Let us join the Romans.’ His words were greeted with shouts of assent, which gradually blended in a mighty crescendo of approval.
As he breathed a huge sigh of relief, Avitus realized that he was shaking and soaked with sweat.
FORTY-EIGHT
Jordanes,
‘Nothing, my lord,’ the messenger told Anianus, Bishop of Aureliani, an ecclesiastic noted for his zealous piety. ‘Not a sign of any relieving force, I’m afraid.’
‘If they don’t come soon, it’ll be too late!’ cried the bishop, too distracted by worry to conceal the desperation in his voice. ‘Listen to that.’ In the distance, a regular thump-
With a feeling that it was a hopeless exercise, the messenger hurried from the forum, which was crowded with anxious citizens, back to his post on the battlements, and bent his gaze towards the south. As he expected (and feared), the horizon remained empty of anything that moved. No — wait. There was something, surely: at the very limit of his vision, a tiny pale spot which seemed to grow as he watched. A dust-cloud! Pulse racing, he pelted back to the forum, barged his way through the densely packed throng and gasped out his news to Anianus.
‘It is the aid of God!’ exclaimed the bishop. Immediately his cry was taken up by the townsfolk, who, headed by their spiritual leader, poured on to the walkways behind the walls’ crenellations. The dust-cloud, now clearly visible, was suddenly blown aside by a gust of wind, revealing serried ranks of armoured Romans marching beneath their standards, together with a multitude of fair-haired giants armed with spears and shields.
‘Aetius and Theoderic,’ declared Anianus, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘Fall on your knees, good people,’ and give thanks to God for our deliverance. Let this fourteenth day of June be ever noted in the calendar, in commemoration of His favour extended to our city of Aureliani.’
‘Look, they’re going!’ shouted a soldier, pointing to the scattered suburbs beyond the walls. Like a fast-ebbing tide, the Huns were pulling out, leaving their siege-engines behind. Before the van of the relieving force had reached the city gates, the Huns were no more than a dust-cloud in their turn, rolling swiftly east towards the Sequana.
‘They’ve crossed the Sequana, sir,’ announced the scout, pulling up his lathered mount before Aetius.
‘And?’
‘They’re pressing on to the north-east, sir — even faster than before, I’d say.’
Dismissing the man, Aetius allowed himself to hope. Attila had seen the huge size of the force marching against him at Aureliani, not only Romans and Visigoths, but also Franks, Burgundians, Alans, and Aremoricans. Being always as prudent as he was bold, the Hun king had decided to withdraw. Could it be that Attila, daunted by the sheer scale of the alliance his invasion had provoked, had decided to return home?
‘What do you think, Titus?’ he asked his aide, tried and tested in the course of many campaigns. ‘Will he push on to the Rhenus?’
Looking at his commander’s haggard face, etched with lines of strain from holding the Western Empire together, while wearing himself out winning over the federates in Gaul while also countering the hostile machinations of Valentinian, Titus felt a stab of pity. In the same position, Titus would doubtless find himself clutching at any straw. But for Aetius that would be a dangerous luxury. The general was exhausted, utterly drained by coping with demands which would have broken lesser men. Small wonder, then, if he had allowed his judgement to be clouded by a temporary weakness. Suddenly, Titus knew where his duty lay. He must ensure that his master’s mind remained clear and objective, even if it meant destroying any false hopes he might long to cling to.
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ replied Titus gently. ‘That would be unlike Attila. Invading the West is the biggest commitment he’s ever made. He can’t afford to back down; to do so would be to shatter his prestige and thus forfeit his grip on his empire.’
‘But you saw what happened at Aureliani,’ objected Aetius, in a tone bordering on querulous. ‘That was two days ago, and he’s still retreating.’
‘It is not a retreat but a tactical withdrawal, sir. If he’d stayed, he would have been squeezed between our forces and the walls of a hostile city — a worse position would be hard to imagine. If he’d offered battle then, he would have risked defeat in the very heart of Gaul, with no avenue of retreat. Believe me, sir, he’ll stop and face us as soon as he finds ground favourable to himself.’
Aetius shook his head and passed a hand over his face. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he acknowledged with a weary smile. ‘What have I been thinking of?’ He clapped the other on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Titus Valerius — a true Victor to my Julian.1 “Ground favourable to himself” — that means an extensive, level area, where he can deploy his horse-archers to the best advantage.’ The general’s brow furrowed in thought for a few moments. ‘There’s only one place in this region that fits that description: the Locus Mauriacus — or the Catalaunian Plains, as it’s usually called — huge plains to the south of Durocatalaunum2 — that’s a small town about fifty miles north-east of here.’
