5 Trier and Lorch.
6 Reims and Strasbourg.
7 Arras and Besancon.
8 The Marne.
9 Still clearly visible in 1851, according to Sir Edward Creasy, in his splendid
FORTY-NINE
A conflict terrible, hard-fought, bloody, and monstrous
Screened by a stand of willows on the banks of the Matrona, Titus watched Torismund’s Visigoths, crouching low, approach the hill on foot, then begin its ascent. They got halfway to the summit before being challenged. Issuing from the Hun camp, a large body of horsemen galloped to the base of the hill, then, dismounting, swarmed up its face on a parallel course to the Germans. But Torismund’s men gained the top well ahead of their pursuers. Turning, the Visigoths charged down upon the Huns with such impetus that the latter were broken and scattered before they could make a stand. Wave after wave of Huns tried to dislodge the Visigoths, only to fall back each time with heavy losses; eventually, further attacks were abandoned. Titus thought Attila must have decided that trying to storm what was virtually an impregnable position was too expensive. Hugging the shelter of the riverside trees, Titus returned to camp to report to Aetius.
‘First round to us,’ observed the general. ‘Let’s hope our luck lasts.’ He shot a keen look at his courier. ‘You realize that, potentially, Attila’s got one huge advantage over me.’
‘I can’t think what, sir.’
‘Your belief in me is touching, Titus. However, there’s no gainsaying that among his followers Attila’s word is absolute, giving him a control over his forces which I can only envy. The Romans apart, I don’t have a real command at all. The federates are here of their own free will, because it’s at last penetrated their thick German skulls that they’ve a lot more to lose by not fighting Attila than by combining against him. They could turn round now and march off, and there wouldn’t be a thing I could do about it.’
‘But that’s not going to happen, surely?’
‘Let’s hope not. I don’t trust that Sangiban an inch, but I think we’ve managed to contain him. The rest should stay in line — provided nothing happens to upset them.’
The day, just one short of the longest of the year, wore on: a bright, cloudless day, with just enough breeze to prevent it becoming oppressively hot. The sixth hour passed and the sun began its descent from the meridian; still there was no movement from behind the wagons the Huns had drawn up in front of their entrenchments. Then, at the eighth hour, scouts came galloping up to Aetius’ command tent with the news that Attila was at last beginning to form his order of battle. As Aetius had predicted, the Huns took the centre. On their right were the Rugians, Heruls, Thuringians, Gepids, and those Franks and Burgundians who had not joined the Romans. This right wing was commanded by Ardaric, King of the Gepids. On the left were the Ostrogoths, under the three brothers who jointly ruled the tribe, Walamir, Theodemir, and Widimir.
While the Huns and their subjects were moving into position, Titus galloped to the federate leaders with orders from the general to take up their posts. Soon, the Catalaunian Plains resembled an ant-hill into which a child has thrust a stick — men swarming everywhere, the armoured ranks of marching Romans contrasting with the loose formations of the federates. The air was filled with the harsh braying of the Goth war-horns, and the sonorous booming of Roman trumpets.
‘What now, sir?’ asked Titus, reporting back to Aetius.
‘We wait, Titus, we wait,’ replied the general calmly. ‘There’s nothing more that I personally can do. As I’ve said, I don’t control the federates. Everything now depends on whether they stick to the agreed plan. There’s one good omen: my scouts tell me that Attila himself has taken the field at the head of his Huns.’
‘And that’s
‘Certainly. It shows he’s worried. The one thing Attila never does is take active charge in a battle; he leaves that to his captains. He’s obviously concerned that this time, unless he leads his warriors himself, they may face defeat.’ A look of sadness settled on the general’s face. ‘I never thought to see it happen, Titus,’ he said quietly. ‘Myself and Attila, my oldest and closest friend, taking up arms against each other. A bit like Cain and Abel.’ Then his face cleared, and he said briskly, ‘I want you to join Torismund on his hill. From up there, you’ll have an excellent prospect of the battlefield. If you see anything major developing — a breakthrough by our side or theirs, for example — report back to me.’
From the summit of the hill, crowded with flaxen-haired warriors, most of them extended on the grass resting or asleep, Titus looked out over the plains. He was awed by the vast extent of the dispositions, which stretched away before him to left and right almost to the limit of his vision: six enormous ragged blocks of men and horses. On his left, the Ostrogoths, faced by their kinsmen on the opposing side, the Visigoths; in the centre, Attila’s Huns opposite Sangiban and his Alans; away to the right, Attila’s other subject tribes, looking across a mile or so of ground at Aetius’ Romans and the remainder of the federate allies.
For perhaps half an hour, the two great hosts stood motionless as if in silent contemplation of each other, then a mournful blare of horns sounded from Attila’s centre and the Hun cavalry rolled forward, like a swifly spreading stain. The usual manoeuvres followed — successive waves of horsemen advancing, wheeling and retreating, shooting volleys of arrows which looked to Titus like sudden shadows flitting over the ground.
Anxiously, Sangiban, in the third rank of the Alans, watched the Hun van, led by Attila himself, hurtle towards his front. The ground began to shake as the drumming of half a million hoofs grew to a sustained roar. Now he could see the enemy clearly: squat, powerfully built men with flat Oriental faces, controlling their huge mounts with knees alone as they fitted arrows to the strings of their bows. These were the deadly, recurved, composite weapons that, in conjunction with their horsemanship, had made the Huns the most feared warriors in the world. Sangiban knew that (in theory), so long as infantry kept formation protected by their shields, cavalry would not press home a charge against an array of spear-points. The reason was that, while men can be driven on to self- destructive acts, horses cannot. But would his men hold their line? They knew they shared their King’s disgrace, and were demoralized and fearful. It would not take much to make them break.
Suddenly, with a loud hissing like a nest of angry serpents, the air went dark with arrows. Most thumped into shields or clanged off helmets, but enough found their mark to create gaps in the line — a momentarily lowered shield was all it took for a shaft to pierce a throat or eye.
When only feet from the Alan line, the Huns wheeled away to right and left, the leading riders weaving back through the open formations to make room for those behind, thus enabling a constant succession of charges to be maintained. The terrifying sight of wave upon wave of fierce horsemen bearing down on them, the pitiless sleet of arrows, and the screams of wounded men, began to take their toll. To Sangiban’s horror, his worst fears were confirmed as, despite their officers’ frantic efforts, the Alan front began to disintegrate. In twos and threes, then groups, the men turned and tried to fight their way back through the ranks to escape that terrible archery.
Slowly at first, then with accelerating speed, the Alan line buckled and fell back. Panic began to sweep through the ranks, then suddenly the whole Alan formation broke in disorder, became a fleeing mob. Penned like sheep between the Ostrogoths on one flank and the Romans on the other, the struggling fugitives could find no refuge from the unremitting arrow-storm. The retreat became a rout, the rout a massacre, as the Huns swept the shattered remnant of Sangiban’s troops from the field.
Meanwhile, on the right flank of the allied army, the Visigoths were also under attack from cavalry, that of their Ostrogoth cousins. Brave, with high morale, led by a heroic and respected veteran, unlike the Alans the Visigoths maintained their shield-wall intact against repeated charges. The method was simple but effective,
