Theodoric

riding towards him.

‘Timothy! How did-?’

‘To see but not be seen, to hear but not be heard,’ broke in the other with a grin. ‘Remember?’ He shot Theoderic a quizzical glance. ‘Anything you want to tell old Timothy? A trouble shared, and all that?’

Glad of the chance to unburden himself, Theoderic let it all spill out: his feeling of inadequacy as a reclusive scholar among rude fighting men, his nostalgic longing for the culture and refinement of Roman life, the fact that his succession might be dubious. ‘My father’s people would soon see through me — if they haven’t done so already,’ he concluded. ‘I’d become an embarrassment to everyone, myself included. My future’s in Constantinople, not Pannonia.’ He looked at the tough Isaurian appealingly. ‘I’d like you to come with me. Say you will.’

Timothy shook his head. ‘No, Deric, I’m not going back. And neither are you. You’re angry, disappointed and confused. Quite natural; but those feelings’ll pass. You know your trouble? You put yourself down too easily. You say they’ll see through you. Not the case. What they’ll see, if you give them time, is what I’ve already noticed. One: courage — you showed that with Cambyses, and the charge of the Excubitors. Two: decisiveness — you challenged Julian and won, and did the same with Strabo. Three: authority. Either one has it, or one doesn’t. You do, although you may not know it yet. Look how Julian’s archers snapped to it when you told them not to shoot.’

‘But. . what Thiudimund says about my claim, suppose it’s true. That would mean my staying on was pointless, anyway.’

‘Why? Among the Goths, I think you’ll find that primogeniture has never been the deciding factor regarding the succession. Take Fritigern and Alaric: successful warlords who became kings despite not having royal blood. Besides, your father’s named you his successor; it’s unlikely the tribal council would disagree. If it comes to a choice between you and that spiteful little whelp Thiudimund, I know who I’d put my money on. As for your own people, don’t let their lack of polish put you off. They may be rough and simple, but their hearts are true. Once they’ve accepted you, as I’m sure in time they will, you’ll have their total loyalty. Roman sophistication — that’s just the stamp on the obol piece; it’s the man, Goth or Roman, that’s the gold.’ He pointed to an imperial eagle stooping above the waters of the lake to take a fish. ‘Forget Constantinople, Deric. There’s your destiny.’

All Theoderic’s doubts and fears, which a short time before had filled his mind’s horizon like dark thunderheads, seemed to shred and dissolve to a few wispy clouds in a clear sky. He looked at the Isaurian with renewed affection and respect. ‘Thanks, Timothy. I needed putting straight.’ He smiled sheepishly then, after a pause, asked, ‘What must I do?’

‘I can’t answer that, Deric. Only you can. But you’ll find the solution; of that you may be sure.’

As they rode back towards his father’s baurg, the answer suddenly came to Theoderic, and he knew what it was he had to do.

* Belgrade.

* Barbarians used leaves as lavatory paper; Romans employed sponges on sticks.

SEVEN

With nearly six thousand men, he [Theoderic] crossed the Danube and fell upon Babai, king of the Sarmatians

Jordanes, Gothic History, 551

From his hiding-place on an island at the confluence of the Sava and the Danube, Theoderic surveyed the walls of Singidunum, and felt his heart sink. Massive, striped with reinforcing layers, bristling with towers, they were typical of the thickened shells that Roman cities everywhere had grown in the age of insecurity ushered in by the battle of Adrianople. Towering above them rose the citadel, a mighty complex of bastions and ramparts. In vain he scanned the visible defences for weak points — cracks or bulges, crumbling mortar between blocks of ashlar; the place looked utterly impregnable. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. His mind flashed back to when the plan had been conceived. .

On Theoderic and Timothy’s return to the baurg, Thiudimer had told his son he must be absent for some time. Under their leader, Hunulf, the Sciri had invaded the territory of his third brother, Valamir, to the north; in the fighting Valamir had been killed, and his people had appealed for assistance.

‘Take my place here while I’m away,’ Thiudimer had told his son, adding, ‘If you need help, just ask Videric.’ Videric, a grizzled veteran of many raids, was head of the assembly of the Kuni, the Amal tribal council. Though the king spoke with kindly tact, the implication of his words was clear: he didn’t trust Theoderic to run things in his absence, and was really leaving Videric in charge.

Theoderic had said nothing to his father about the idea that had come to him as he journeyed back from Lake Balaton: he would lead a raid against a Scirian settlement, returning hopefully with plunder and renown sufficient to dispel any doubts about his fitness to succeed Thiudimer. But, with his father’s announcement, a more ambitious plan had sprung to mind. He would raise a force from among the warriors not accompanying Thiudimer on his northern campaign, and recapture Singidunum from Babai. Such a feat would do more than impress his father and the Amali. Singidunum being an imperial city, returning it to the Eastern Empire’s fold would earn the gratitude of Leo and Zeno. Then truly could he call himself a Friend of Rome.

Once his father had departed for the north, Theoderic set about implementing his plan. With the approval of the Kuni, he summoned a meeting of the clan’s young warriors. Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, he expounded his idea, which was received with an enthusiasm far exceeding his expectations. He discovered, to his pleasure and surprise, that he had a natural gift for leadership, based on an ability to fire others with his own enthusiasm. Giving orders came easily; in fact, it didn’t feel like telling others what to do, more like making requests to friends, who would then carry them out because they wished to please you. In a heady moment of epiphany, he realized that here lay the secret of command: those you led became your comrades — a band of brothers united by common fellowship, like the men who followed Alexander, Caesar or Aetius, saviour of the West from Attila’s hordes. Even Thiudimund appeared to have come round and accepted his brother’s authority. Theoderic’s next step was harnessing the wild energy he had tapped into.

His main problem would be keeping his force together. Unlike Roman armies (at least, East Roman armies, the West being increasingly reliant on fickle and unruly federates), which operated under strict discipline, barbarian armies could not be kept in the field for long periods. Strictly, they were not armies at all, more mobs of individual warriors on holiday from labour at the sickle or the plough, and motivated by desire for plunder and glory, or hostility to an invading enemy. Battles were settled swiftly: a charge, followed by a shoving-match between the opposing lines, with victory going to the one that didn’t break. Siege warfare was out; glory-hunting heroes lacked the patience or resources to undertake protracted enterprises. Even the great commander Fritigern had declared, ‘I have no quarrel with stone walls.’ So, for his plan to succeed, Singidunum must be taken quickly.

But it was one thing to conceive a bold plan, quite another to prepare its execution, as the young leader was discovering. A hundred matters, which previously had not occurred to him, suddenly clamoured for urgent attention: supplies, equipment, strategy, tactics. . Timothy proved a tower of strength. At his suggestion, each man would carry a bag of dried meat and hard biscuit sufficient for a month. This would obviate the need to live off the country — a time-consuming alternative, which would moreover antagonize local populations, who might prove useful allies in the future. To save valuable time, it was decided to cut directly across country south-east to Singidunum, rather than head south to the Sirmium* road, then east along that highway to the destination. The preferred route, by avoiding the dog-leg created by the great bend in the Danube, would form the hypotenuse of a triangle and thus be much shorter than the alternative. Its main drawback, apart from taking the six-thousand-strong force across broken and largely trackless terrain, was that they would end up on the wrong side of the river. To remedy this, Timothy, with a small picked group, would leave ahead of the main party and requisition enough craft from local fishermen to ferry the rest across the Danube, on arrival.

Thus far, everything had gone smoothly, according to plan. (Perhaps too smoothly, if you believed in hubris —