Attila:The Scourge of God

young men. They must be brave, know how to handle themselves, and above all be trustworthy. I made enquiries of your centenarius; he recommended you two above all others in your unit. Also, it came to my ears that you clipped the wings of a certain young blood — my nephew, actually — driving at reckless speed through the Subura. I applaud; the young puppy needed taking down a peg. More importantly, it tells me you’re the sort of men I’m looking for. It takes courage to halt a galloping pair. Forgive me if I ask a personal question: what is your present rate of pay?’

‘Thirty solidi per annum,’ I replied, intrigued. ‘Plus rations, uniform, and fodder for our mounts.’

‘Would you be interested in trebling that?’

Gibvult and I exchanged the briefest of glances. ‘We’d be interested,’ we said in chorus. ‘Provisionally,’ I added. Where was the catch? I wondered. For that sort of money, there had to be one.

At that moment, Fronto returned bearing a tray on which were a silver flagon and two glass drinking-vessels decorated with hunting scenes in relief. Placing the tray on a table, Fronto filled the glasses, handed one to me, and was in the act of passing the other to Gibvult, when it slipped from his hand to smash on the mosaic floor. He began to tremble, and his skin turned from black to dusky grey.

‘Oh, Fronto,’ murmured Maximus, shaking his head, the angry glitter in his eyes belying the mildness of his tone. ‘My Rhenish beakers — irreplaceable.’

The mess was quickly cleared up and Gibvult supplied with a fresh tumblerful, but the trivial incident had taught me several things about our host. I realized as I sipped my wine — vinegary stuff from the Vatican vineries — that he thought Gibvult and myself unsophisticated barbarians who would neither notice that they were being fobbed off with an inferior vintage, nor expect it to be diluted with water in the Roman fashion. The reactions of Maximus and his slave to the breaking of the beaker showed that Fronto could expect to be severely punished. Maximus clearly had an arrogant, mean, and cruel streak, which gave the lie to his reputation for benevolent urbanity.

‘What would this task involve, Your Gloriousness?’ I enquired.

‘For a start, a transfer from your present unit to the scholae, the imperial bodyguard. An enviable advancement, most would think.’

‘What, serve Valentinian?’ I exclaimed in outrage. I stood up, as did Gibvult, his face suddenly gone red. ‘I’m afraid, Senator, you’ve chosen the wrong men.’

To my amazement, Maximus beamed delightedly. ‘Splendid,’ he declared. ‘Just the reaction I hoped for; you’ve proved beyond doubt your loyalty to your murdered master, Aetius. Please hear me out. I will explain.’

Whatever strings Maximus pulled to secure entry for Gibvult and myself to the scholae (mainly sprigs of noble families), we were not to know; for a man of his influence it would not be difficult, I think. Suffice to say that a week from our meeting with the great man, we were reporting for duty with the scholae at Domitian’s Palace. We were issued with splendid parade armour: muscled cuirass and crested helmet, fashioned by the barbaricarii, smiths who normally made armour only for officers. Our duties were light: mainly standing outside the main entrance to the palace looking impressive, or escorting the emperor on the rare occasions when he left it. At first, some of our new comrades tried to make mock of us, resenting us as low-born upstarts, I suppose. However, in a fight arranged on waste ground in the Fourteenth District, Transtiberina, Gibvult and I demolished their two champions. After that, we were accepted.

As for the task for which we had been chosen, our only instructions at this time were that we note the Emperor’s behaviour towards his wife, the Augusta Eudoxia, a kind and gentle lady, daughter of Theodosius, the late Eastern Emperor. Maximus had assured us that the purpose of our posting to the scholae was not to serve the Emperor but to help see justice done for the memory of Aetius; details would be disclosed to us later. On no account were we to communicate with the senator; he would make contact and give further instructions in due course. Although Maximus, accompanied by his beautiful wife, was a frequent guest at the palace, neither by word nor look did he ever acknowledge our presence.

Then, early in the year following that of Aetius’ murder, the summons came. Gibvult and I were off duty in our barracks when a slave arrived from Maximus, requesting that we accompany him to his master’s villa.

‘Your duties at the palace are congenial, I trust?’ asked the senator, when we were ensconced once more in his tablinum.

‘I’ve no complaints, Your Gloriousness,’ I said. ‘They’re hardly taxing, after all.’

‘Ja, sehr gut,’ confirmed Gibvult, whose command of Latin was rather less than mine, causing him to lapse at times into German.

‘And the Empress?’

‘He neglects her, although clearly she loves him; why, I can’t imagine. I’ve hardly once heard him address a civil word to her.’

‘He treat her shameful — worse than a Hund,’ declared Gibvult hotly. ‘In Germany, such a man would be Ausgestossene, outcast. And she such a kind lady, always with smile or Trinkgeld for us Soldaten.’

‘I see,’ mused Maximus. ‘Your opinion, then, would be that the marriage is a sham — at least on the Emperor’s side; that Valentinian no longer has any interest in his wife?’

‘That is correct,’ I said. I sensed that, bizarrely, the senator was pleased by this intelligence.

‘So presumably he looks elsewhere to gratify his desires?’

‘I’ve no means of knowing,’ I said. Where was all this leading? ‘The scholae are never with the Emperor on any occasion that could be termed intimate. You’d have to ask the palace eunuchs — especially Heraclius, who has the emperor’s ear. But I’d be surprised if you weren’t right, Your Gloriousness. After all, Valentinian’s fit, healthy, and still young.’

Maximus rose and began to pace the room, then halted and stood with furrowed brow, lost in thought. Eventually, ‘You have proved yourselves both discreet and reliable,’ he said in a low voice, almost as if he were speaking to himself. He turned to face us. ‘The time has come to take you into my confidence. I’m sure you need no reminding that anything I say must go no further than these walls.’

Gibvult and I assured him that our lips were sealed.

‘Then I must tell you this: the Emperor has begun to cast lustful eyes on my wife. She is the soul of honour and fidelity, and would never willingly betray the marriage bed. But that would not deter Valentinian, for whom to desire something is but the prelude to possessing it. He has no honour and would not scruple to force himself upon my wife, if he could find the opportunity. Despite my high position, how could I prevent him? After all, he is the Emperor.’

Gibvult and I exchanged concerned glances. To be party to this knowledge was horribly dangerous.

Maximus must have noticed, for he continued, ‘Why am I telling you all this? I will keep nothing from you. Should Valentinian succeed in ravishing my wife, I would be compelled to uphold the honour of my gens, the Anicii.’

‘By disposing of the Emperor?’ I suggested bluntly.

Maximus gave a wry half-smile, then shrugged. ‘As a Roman, and Anician to boot, I would have no choice.’

‘And we would do the “disposing”,’ I observed sourly, as realization dawned. Maximus was planning nothing less then seizing the purple for himself — a move which might well succeed, given Valentinian’s huge unpopularity. Avenging his wife’s honour would give Maximus a convincing motive for killing Valentinian, as well as being guaranteed to enlist public sympathy. I could see it all clearly. The information we had given the senator, slight though it was, had convinced him that the time was ripe to use his wife as bait for Valentinian’s lust. Gibvult and myself, chosen because of our proven loyalty to Aetius and, I suppose, our boldness, were simply to be convenient tools to implement the deed. Well, no matter. If falling in with the senator’s plans, however base, would enable us to avenge our beloved leader, we could ask for no greater privilege. I looked at Gibvult, and we both nodded.

I turned to Maximus. ‘Whenever you are ready,’ I declared heavily.

‘Excellent; we understand each other, then,’ he returned briskly. ‘Instructions will be given you in due course. Meanwhile, you will carry on as normal with your duties at the palace.’ He shot us a calculating glance. ‘Never fear — you’ll both be well rewarded.’