They turned their horses and ran.
Now hundreds of tons of rock were sluicing over the precipice like a stone waterfall, and when they struck the bridge there was an eruption. Planks kicked skyward as if catapulted. Aging beams exploded into a spray of splinters.
The avalanche punched through the bridge as if it were paper, taking two Huns and their horses with it, and then the plume of rubble hit the torrent with a titanic splash. Bridge bits rained down.
We climbed to the top of the talus, where Eudoxius was, and looked back. I was jubilant. It was as if a giant had taken a bite out of the mountain. A haze of dust hung in the air.
Below, the middle of the bridge had disappeared.
The surviving Huns had reined in on the far side of the stream and stared upward, quiet at the damage.
“It will take them days to find another way around,” I said with more hope than knowledge. “Or at least hours.” I patted Zerco. “Let’s pray Aetius got your message.”
XIX
I
THE ROMAN TOWER
The guard tower of Ampelum overlooked the junction of two old Roman roads, one going west to the salt mines around Iuvavum and Cucullae, the other south to Ad Pontem and the mountain passes beyond. The tower was square, fifty feet high, crenellated at its crest, and topped by a tripod-hung kettle in which oil could be lit to send signals to distant towers like it. The fire had been lit many more times than help had ever arrived, given the depleted nature of imperial resources; and so this garrison, like so many, had learned to depend on itself. Rome was like the Moon: ever present and far away.
Around the tower’s base was a wider fortification of stone walls eight feet high, enclosing a courtyard with stables, storerooms, and workshops. The dozen occupying Roman soldiers slept and ate in the tower itself, relying on cows stabled on the ground floor to provide some warmth.
This animal heat was supplemented by charcoal braziers that gave the air a stale haze and, over the centuries, had stained the beams black.
To call the garrison “Roman” was to stretch the historic meaning of the term. It had been ages since legions consisted primarily of Latins marching out of Italy. Instead, the army had become one of the Empire’s great integrating forces, recruiting men of a hundred conquered nations and training them under the common tongue. Slowly, the universality of language, custom, and armament had slipped away, and so what manned the tower now was a collection of mountain farm boys and recruited vagabonds, all under the command of a gruff decurion named Silas who originated in the marshes of Frisia. One soldier was Greek, one Italian, and one African. Three were Germanic Ostrogoths, one a Gepid, and the other five had never ventured more than twenty miles from the fortress and thus were simply inhabitants of Noricum. While these men owed nominal allegiance to Rome, they principally guarded themselves, plus a few villages in surrounding valleys from which they extracted provisions and a few coins in taxes. Travelers passing the crossroads were required to pay a toll. When reminders from the clerks in Ravenna became insistent enough, a small portion of this levy was shared with the central government. The soldiers did not expect, and did not receive, anything in return. They were responsible for providing their own food, clothing, weapons, and any material needed to repair the guard tower. Their reward was permission to levy taxes on their neighbors.
Still, these men had at least nominal allegiance to the idea of Rome: the idea of order, the idea of civilization. I hoped they represented refuge. Our destruction of the bridge several miles back had delayed but not necessarily stopped the Huns. A Roman garrison might force Skilla to give up and go home.
“What the devil is
“An important aide to General Flavius Aetius,” I replied, reasoning it would not hurt to exaggerate the truth.
“Is this a jest?”
“His wisdom is as tall as his stature is short.”
“And that sack of grain across your saddle?” He looked at the trussed and gagged Eudoxius, who wiggled to communicate outrage.
“A traitor to Rome. Aetius wants to question him.”
“An aide, a traitor?” He pointed to the woman. “And who is she, the queen of Egypt?”
“Listen. We’ve important information for the general, but need help. We’re being pursued by a party of Huns.”
“Huns! This
“Then why are four of us on two horses while our other grows Hunnish arrows?” Zerco piped up. He slid down from his mount and waddled over to the Roman captain, peering up. “Do you think a man as big as me would stop in a sty like this if I weren’t in dire peril?”
“Zerco, don’t insult our new friend,” Julia interjected.
She too dismounted. “I apologize for his rudeness. We’re being chased by Attila’s men, decurion, and only the collapse of the bridge below saved us from capture. Now we ask your protection.”
“The bridge collapsed?”
“We had to destroy it.”
He looked as if not certain whether to believe anything we said, and to dislike us if he did. “You’re with him?” The commander nodded from Julia to me.
“It’s this rude one who is my husband.” She put her hand on Zerco’s shoulder. “He’s a fool and sometimes makes jokes that others don’t find humorous, but please don’t mind. He’s taller in spirit than men twice his size, and it is true, he serves the great Aetius. Do you know where the general is?”
The soldier barked a laugh. “Look around you!” The tower was mossy and cracked, the courtyard muddy, and the stabled animals thin. “I’m as likely to see Aetius as I am Attila! There was a report he was in Rome or in Ravenna or on the Rhine, and even a report he was coming this way, but then there was also a report of a unicorn in Iuvavum and a dragon at Cucullae. Besides, he never stays anywhere for long. With winter coming on, he may retire to Augusta Treverorum or Mediolanum. If you’re to reach him, you need to move quickly before the passes are snowed in.”
“Then we need food, fodder, and another horse,” I said.
“Which means I need a solidus, a solidus, and another solidus,” Silas replied. “Let’s see your purse, strangers.”
“We have no more money! We’ve escaped from Attila’s camp. Please, we have information that Aetius needs to hear.
Can’t you requisition help from the government?”
“I can’t get anything myself from Rome.” He looked at us and our meager possessions dubiously. “What’s that on your back?”
“An old sword,” I said.
“Let me see it. Maybe you can trade for that.”
I considered a moment, and then climbed down and un-wrapped it. Black and rusty, it looked like it had been pulled from the mud. Which it had. Only the size was impressive.
“That’s not a sword, it’s an anchor,” Silas said. “It wouldn’t cut cheese, and looks too big to swing. Why are you carrying that piece of scrap?”
“It’s a family relic that’s important to me.” I wrapped it back up. “A token of our ancestors.”
“Were your ancestors ten feet tall? It’s ridiculous.”
“Listen, if you won’t provision us, at least let us spend the night. We haven’t slept under a roof in weeks.”
He looked at Julia. “Can you cook?”
“Better than your mother.”
Silas grinned. “I doubt
