Attila:The Scourge of God

The Roman officer, getting shakily to his feet, clasped our hands in turn. ‘A close call,’ he said with a wry grin. (Though he spoke in Latin, both Gibvult and myself had enough knowledge of that tongue from talking with the veterans at home, to understand him well enough.) ‘But for you two, I would now be dead or badly wounded. I’m sorely in your debt. If there’s any way within my power to repay that obligation. .?’ He smiled and spread his hands.

When we told him our wish was to join the legions, he declared, ‘Rome welcomes volunteers, especially brave young Germans. In these hard times few follow the Eagles from choice. But carrying a spear in the ranks? A poor reward for such a service as you’ve done today.’ Borrowing tablets from the biarchus in charge of the sentries, he scratched a message on the wax and returned them to the man, saying, ‘See that the general gets this.’ He turned to us. ‘A recommendation to the commander-in-chief that you be allowed to join his bodyguard.’ Remounting nimbly, he waved and cantered off.

The biarchus whistled and shook his head solemnly. ‘Well, you’re in luck all right,’ he said enviously. ‘Know who that was? Only Count Majorian, that’s who. Second-in-command to General Aetius, the man who runs the empire.’

And so we joined the Eagles. But before we could join Aetius’ bodyguard of bucellarii — mostly Franks and Alamanni drawn from the auxilia palatina and vexillationes palatinae, the best units in the army — we had to undergo a time of training.

Some Germans (but only those who have never fought the Romans) think that, because at present Rome seems weak, her soldiers must be cowardly or badly trained. Having served in Rome’s Army of Gaul, I can say with truth that this is not so. Along with other recruits, we were taught, both on foot and mounted, to use spear, sword, javelin, and lead-weighted darts, practising on wooden dummies, later against fellow soldiers using blunted weapons. We were drilled without pity till some recruits dropped on the parade-ground. That never happened to Gibvult or myself, thanks to our having practised hard with weapons from boyhood, like all Germans. Above all, we learnt discipline: to keep steady in formation, and to obey orders — that comes hard to Germans, which is why, in almost all our battles with the Romans, we have been the losers. You see, Titus Valerius, we Germans, unlike you Romans, have never trembled before a schoolmaster’s rod. That is, I think, the reason why we are bolder in battle than you, but why your discipline is better. Anyway, having passed our training tests — with eagles held high, as they say — Gibvult and I joined the general’s bodyguard. Splendid was the war-gear they gave us as full-fledged bucellarii: shirt of mail, helmet of the Greek or Attic type, which is stronger than the ridge-helmets worn by ordinary troops, spatha of fine Hispanic steel, tough oval shield made from layers of laminated wood, a lance, a spear.

As for Aetius, whom I accompanied on his last campaigns in Gaul and by whose side I fought on the Plains of Catalauni, this I can truly say: he was the best man I ever knew. Bold, frank, open-handed, never asking of another what he would not do himself, he was a leader such as Germans love to serve. Gladly would I have laid down my life for him when he met the Emperor in Rome. But that was not to be, for he entered the palace alone.

Truly is this Rome a mighty Stadt. Riding down the Flaminian Way, we (that is, Aetius with his bodyguard and a small train of officers and attendants) came to the city from the north, with the Tiber flowing to our right. Standing in the middle of a dreary plain, Rome is guarded by a high brick wall full twenty miles round,³ made by order of Emperor Aurelian against inroads by my own tribe, the Alamanni. Passing beneath the portcullis of the Flaminian Gate, a great arch through the battlemented curtain with strong towers clad in white marble on either side, we kept on down the same road (now a street) past the huge drum of Augustus’ tomb with two tall columns from Egypt standing before it, then through the Arch of Marcus Aurelius and under the mighty aqueduct called Aqua Virgo. (Understand, this being my first visit to the city, I did not then know the names of these buildings or anything about them, but found out later.)

And so, passing beneath the Mount of the Capitol crowned with stately buildings, we entered the famous Forum Romanum, surrounded by more temples, basilicas, and statues than I could number. Our path then led along the Sacred Way beneath the Palatine Hill, and through the Arch of Titus to the Colosseum, the biggest thing made by man that I have yet seen. How, I asked myself, to find words to tell of such a marvel? Then beside me, lost in wonder, Gibvult breathed, ‘It’s a cheese — a great cheese!’ I cuffed him playfully and made to mock him for an ignorant barbarian, when it struck me of a sudden he was right. A monstrous cheese is truly what the Colosseum looks like — well, from a distance, anyway. But such a cheese as might have graced the board of Odin.

From the Amphitheatre of the Flavians it was but two hundred paces to where we were to stay, the Palace of Commodus, Aetius having sent ahead to make sure the place was ready against our arrival. (You, Titus, were the messenger on that occasion I believe.) What Valentinian thought of this ‘borrowing’ of imperial property (which was like to add to the tally of his grievances against the Patrician), I can only guess.

For Gibvult and myself, who thus far had known only the rough life of the backwoods village or the camp, it was strange indeed to eat in marble halls and sleep on beds of down. Aetius, who was a hard taskmaster when need arose, but an easy one when things were quiet, while making preparation for his meeting with the Emperor (of whose purpose we of course knew nothing) gave his bodyguard leave to see the sights of Rome, taking turns to do duty at the palace. I could fill a book (if I could write) telling of the wonders of the city. But that would weary you, Titus, my friend, so I shall speak only of those things that struck me most: the Colosseum (which I have already touched on); the Baths of Caracalla and of Diocletian, the size of towns in Gaul; the Circus Maximus near half a mile in length; the Forum of Trajan flanked by a wondrous mall with covered markets, shops, and galleries; the Pantheon’s stupendous dome; the Basilica of St Peter below Mount Vaticanus outside the Walls, the empire’s greatest church they say; the Insula of Felicula, a gigantic tower block out-topping Trajan’s column and accounted one of the wonders of the Roman world; above all, the mighty aqueducts snaking through the city like Orms⁴ above the rooftops.

Such works, it almost seemed to me, mere men could not have wrought, but only Gods or giants. They made me wonder: how was it that the people who had made such marvels could let their city, which even Hannibal had not dared assault, be taken by the Goths? (Though, saving a few great villas on the Caelian which — too badly damaged to be restored to their former state — have been patched up and made to serve as hospices, there’s little sign today of the Great Sack, which many Romans still recall.) The pagans say that Rome’s luck went out with the closing of the temples, which made the Gods withdraw their favour. However that may be, one thing is sure: the folk of Rome today show little of the hardy spirit of their forebears, who conquered Carthage, then the world.

Each day you can see crowds of poor (and shamefully the not so poor) gathering on steps throughout the city to await a dole of bread, pork (in season), and oil. This any free head of family can claim by showing a little slip called a tessera. Fed by the state, these pampered leeches show little wish to work, but spend their days in the baths (to which a trifling coin gains entry), where they mingle freely with the great and wealthy. Or, if Games are being held in the Circus or arena at the Emperor’s expense (or of the quaestors, praetors, senators, and consuls), they live for nothing but betting on the outcome. Huge sums are spent on these shows, one given by Petronius Maximus (about whom more hereafter) costing, I’ve been told, four thousand pounds of gold.

But do not the patricians set the plebs (for such in olden times were called the higher and lower ranks of citizen now termed honestiores and humiliores) a good example of behaviour? Rather, the opposite is true. The nobles think only of pleasure and display, flaunting their wealth in rich apparel and carriages of gold or silver, which they drive at furious speed around the city, careless of harming passers-by.

Touching on which, Gibvult and I caused pride to have a fall. We were strolling in one of the narrow streets of the district called Subura, when towards us, whirling along at breakneck speed came one of these equipages driven by a youth in billowing silken robes. Scattering before this would-be Diocles,⁵ folk leapt for safety into alley-mouths and doorways. A glance between my friend and me decided us to teach this arrogant puppy a lesson.

Scorning to jump aside, we stood our ground — though on my part, I confess, with a thumping heart. The horse, though a noble animal, is not (save for endurance) a brave one. Confronted, his nature is to flee, as Gibvult and I had learnt when practising cavalry tactics against ranked infantry. Sure enough, the matched pair drawing the conveyance reared up before us, pawing the air and pitching the driver from his seat; his fall was broken by his