arrayed) scarf is enough to put new heart into everyone.
Though officially I shall not be fighting, my position as a courier should ensure that I see more of the conflict than most soldiers. I have already made my will and dispatched it to my head steward at the Villa Fortunata with instructions that, should I fall, all my property is to pass to my son, Marcus, now a fine young man studying law at Rome. To him also I bequeath the
I close now in haste; Aetius has returned from his scouting expedition and has summoned me.
When he reached the Roman lines after surveying the Catalaunian Plains, Aetius handed his blown horse to a groom and sent a messenger to fetch Titus. Looking round, he could see that Aegidius and Majorian had done a good job of pitching camp, following the night encounter with Attila’s rearguard. Approvingly, he noted the neat rows of the legionaries’ leather tents, with patrolling sentries and even a rough-and-ready ditch and stockade — Trajan would have been proud! Even the federates’ lines, stretching away into the far distance, seemed reasonably well ordered — for German dispositions, anyway. Titus appeared, and Aetius sent him to order the
Surveying the motley array of German warriors and Roman officers who filed in, Aetius chuckled to himself. What would Hadrian or Constantine have thought, if they could have seen a Roman general solemnly preparing to discuss tactics with fur-clad barbarians?
‘Good morning gentlemen,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I trust you slept well. My apologies if my summons has caused you to delay your breakfasts, but I can assure you there will be plenty of time for that. The Huns are not yet astir, and my guess is that Attila is in no hurry to join battle. Clearly, he got a rude shock when we turned up in strength at Aureliani. He’ll probably play safe and postpone the fighting till late in the day, so that he can fall back under cover of darkness, should that prove necessary. I propose to exploit that. I’ve discovered that there’s high ground behind the Hun position, on their right. If we can occupy the hill while they’re unprepared, that’ll give us an enormous advantage. Torismund’ — he smiled at a fair-haired giant standing beside his father, King Theoderic — ‘does the task appeal to you?’
‘Definitely, sir,’ said the young man eagerly.
‘Excellent. Best be on your way, then. God speed and good luck.
‘Your Majesty,’ said Aetius, turning to Theoderic when Torismund had left to collect his assault force, ‘it is only fitting that the honour of commanding the right wing should fall to yourself.’ The venerable King inclined his head in assent. ‘Then I, together with the Romans and our other allies, apart from the Alans, will take the left.
‘Now, Sangiban,’ he continued, in tones suggesting he was addressing an old and trusted colleague, ‘I have reserved the most important post especially for you; the centre. This is where Attila is most likely to concentrate his main attack, using his best troops, the Huns. Who better than the King of the Alans to match against the King of the Huns?’ Ribald laughter from the Germans and Romans greeted this observation: everyone knew that Sangiban had tried to desert to Attila. The King, whose dark complexion hinted at his Asiatic origins, could only nod unhappily. ‘But don’t worry,’ went on Aetius reassuringly. ‘You’ll have friends on either side, to keep an eye on you.’ More laughter at the thinly veiled threat that, should Sangiban try to repeat his treachery, it would be instantly spotted and punished by those flanking him.
‘Right, I think that’s everything,’ concluded the general. ‘When the fighting starts, it’ll be a straightforward pounding-match, with no opportunity for elaborate tactics, and victory going to the side that doesn’t break. The lines will be so extended that there’ll be no question of the Huns trying their favourite encircling trick. I suggest you let your men eat and sleep their fill for the time being: they’ll fight the better for it. My scouts will keep me informed of what the Huns are doing; I’ll send word when it’s time for us to take up battle positions. Enjoy your breakfasts, gentlemen.’
Surveying the great wall of wagons behind which his forces were deploying, Attila felt unaccountably depressed. This despite the fact that, both tactically and strategically, he had done nothing which could be faulted, and was now in a very strong position. Given the circumstances, his decision to withdraw from Aureliani had been wise, as had his disengagement from Aetius’ Frankish vanguard in the night. The plains where he was encamped were ideal for the deployment of his Hun and Ostrogoth cavalry. His forces greatly outnumbered those of the Romans and their allies. So why was he so low in spirits?
Part of it was sheer weariness. If he defeated Aetius today — and all the signs were that he would — what then? The subjugation of the entire Western Empire, to be followed, perhaps, by an epic contest between himself and Gaiseric for domination of the barbarian world? There would never be an end to it, he thought despairingly. Together with his people, he was locked into a perpetual campaign of bloody conquest, in which war became its own self-fulfilling justification, and forward momentum the only choice. The Hun warriors themselves, he had noted, seemed to share his despondency, probably because of the withdrawal from Aureliani. Lacking the patience and perspective of the Romans, who could rally no matter how many times they were defeated, to his unsophisticated fellow tribesmen retreat and failure must seem like the same coin. Perhaps if they were to receive news of a favourable divination, that would help to restore their morale.
Summoning his shamans, Attila asked them what the immediate future held. After slaughtering two sheep and examining their bones and entrails, the augurs remained ominously silent. Pressed, they confided that the omens predicted Attila’s defeat, whereupon he dismissed them with instructions to keep silent regarding the prophecy. Unconcerned on a personal level, for he was not in general superstitious, Attila decided that the next best thing to an auspicious augury would be to encourage his troops with a rousing speech. His army was so enormous that only those within a limited distance could hope to hear him, but the gist would be relayed back to the others, and the mere sight of their leader addressing them should have the desired effect.
When the vast multitude was assembled, Attila mounted a rostrum erected on a wagon-bed. ‘Faithful Huns, loyal Ostrogoths, intrepid Rugians, bold Sciri and Thuringians, stout Gepids and Herulians, fellow warriors all, today we shall win a great and glorious victory surpassing all our previous feats of arms, against the Romans and their misguided friends. Of those, the Visigoths alone are worthy of our steel. As for the Romans themselves, they pose no threat; weak and timid, they dare not fight like men, but cower in close ranks for comfort, like lobsters in their iron shells. Fight bravely, and your gods will protect you. I myself will throw the first javelin, and the wretch who fails to follow my example is condemned to die. But such a one does not, I think, exist among you. Tell me that I am right.’
A chorus of affirmation grew and swelled, blending at last into a thunderous acclamation by the entire army. When it had died away, he dismissed the host, whose components returned to their stations. His troops’ confidence and fighting spirit were now, Attila judged, fully restored, and his own black mood had lightened somewhat.
As he prepared to return to his tent to snatch a little much-needed rest before the battle, a scout came galloping up. ‘Serious news, Sire,’ he gasped. ‘The Visigoths are about to occupy a hill overlooking our right flank.’
Attila’s mind reeled. What hill? Earlier reports had assured him that the terrain was totally flat and featureless. But these plains were so vast that a lone eminence could easily have been overlooked, especially in the half-light of dawn. He should have surveyed the ground himself, of course; he would have missed nothing of tactical significance. This was what happened when a leader lost his concentration, Attila thought grimly. Within moments he was in the saddle, issuing orders to secure the hill before the Visigoths could take it — even as the feeling grew within him that it was probably too late.
1 One of Julian’s generals in that Emperor’s Persian campaign, Victor risked censure by wisely advising against a rash attack on the city of Ctesiphon.
2 Chalons-sur-Marne.
3 He was West Roman Emperor from 457 until 461, when he was deposed and put to death.
4 20 June 451.
