Attila:The Scourge of God

TWENTY-EIGHT

Praetorium of the Master of Soldiers, Ravenna, Province of Flaminia and Picenum, Diocese of Italy [Titus wrote in the Liber Rufinorum], in the consulships of Flavius Placidius Valentinianus, Augustus (his fifth), and of Anatolius, Ides Nov.¹

Aetius came close — so very close — to achieving what he had set his heart and mind on: the re-establishing of Roman ascendancy in Gaul. Then the joint Prefectures of Gaul and Italy would have become the base for launching the recon-quest of the lost dioceses in Spain and Africa, and even perhaps the recovery of Britain. With Roman rule firmly restored, the burden of taxation redistributed on a fair basis, corruption rooted out, and revenue efficiently utilized, an era of stability could have been ushered in. Then, following the pattern of client kingdoms in the past, the federate tribes would, in a generation or two, have become absorbed into the life and culture of the Roman Empire, and become loyal Romans: as Hispani, Gauls, Britons, Illyrians, et alii had done before them. Alas, it was not to be.

Yet even as recently as the summer of last year it all looked so promising. The Burgundians, after rebelling a second time, were crushed so completely (their King, Gundohar, was killed) as to pose no further threat to Rome. The Bagaudae had been put down with appalling but effective severity, thus securing the return of Aremorica to the Roman fold. The Visigoths had been hurled back from Narbo Martius with heavy loss and were now licking their wounds, with a commander of proven skill and experience, Litorius, keeping watch to make sure they stayed within their bounds. And, at least to my mind, something even more important than any of these had begun to take place, something intangible yet vital: a feeling of common purpose among the Roman troops. They had faced fearful odds — and won; and that experience had forged them into something like a band of brothers, united under a charismatic and inspiring leader. Wishful thinking? To some extent, perhaps. But a spark was there, and, if circumstances had not conspired to extinguish it, might have rekindled a flame of patriotism, not only in the army but among ordinary citizens. It is not impossible that Narbo could have become another Zama, where Scipio finally crushed Rome’s arch-enemy, Hannibal.

That summer, the only cloud on the horizon was the non-arrival of pay for the troops, Huns, as well as the Roman field army. Hence Aetius’ visit to Italia to find out the cause of the delay. At the time of his departure (with myself in tow), he was not seriously concerned; it seemed to be just another example of the inefficient administration of Valentinian — now an obnoxious youth of twenty — or rather of his mother, Galla Placidia. Aetius had submitted his returns, all scrupulously itemized and costed, to the Praetorian prefect, and had no reason to suspect that they would not be met in full.

By this time I had fully recovered from my injuries. Marcus I had entrusted to the care of a married couple, coloni on the family estate, good people unblessed with children of their own. As for me, I had returned to my old position on Aetius’ staff of agens in rebus, a flexible term officially meaning a courier, but which could be extended to cover roles in diplomatic missions, investigative work, or even spying. It felt good to be back in uniform — pillbox cap, military belt, and long-sleeved tunic with indigo government roundels sewn on the hips and shoulders. (Owing to government cut-backs, the tunic was of undyed linen instead of scarlet wool.)

Once in Ravenna, Aetius entrusted me with the task of locating the missing funds. In my innocence I imagined this would be a reasonably straightforward matter. I was in for a shock. Investigating the Sacrae largitiones, the imperial finance ministry, would have made threading the Cretan labyrinth seem like child’s play. I was passed from one department to another, interviewing a series of numerarii, or financial officials, and in turn their assistants, accountants, and paymasters; then separately scrutinizing the records of the various carae epistolarum, the officials in charge of financial correspondence. However, armed with a writ from Aetius, I was permitted to follow up my chain of investigation without obstruction, and, after ten days of the most mind-numbingly tedious and complex work I’ve ever undertaken, at last discovered what had happened to the missing funds.

And a sorry tale it was. The money had been ‘diverted’ (id est, peculated) along with other revenue, towards implementing a scheme of monstrous folly on the part of Valentinian: the refurbishment on a massive scale of the Colosseum,² followed by the most lavish games (wild-beast hunts et cetera, but of course no gladiatorial combats) to be staged in the Flavian Amphitheatre for a generation. And the reason? To celebrate the triumph of Valentinian for the victories in Gaul! As if the credit for those hard-won campaigns somehow belonged to the Emperor rather than his Master of Soldiers. (Shades of Claudius and the conquest of Britain.) The vanity, jealousy, and self-delusion of Valentinian and his scheming mother, which this act of insane extravagance illustrates, simply beggars belief. But the Emperor, I hear you cry, wouldn’t wittingly jeopardize the security of the empire just to gratify his envy and resentment of the man who ruled it in his name. Well, if you think that, all I can say is, you don’t know your Valentinian.

That this was a major setback for Aetius, there was no denying. Still, the money to pay the army could have been found somehow: if necessary by raiding the res privata, the Emperor’s private income, derived from royal estates, bequests, confiscation of common land and pagan temple property, et cetera. As Patrician and Master of Soldiers, Aetius certainly had the power (if not the authorization) to do this. But then all such considerations were pushed into the background as the thunderbolts started falling.

First came the shocking news that Gaiseric had captured Carthage, the capital of Roman Africa, and seized the remaining grain-producing areas. Four years earlier, when the crisis in Gaul erupted, Aetius had — in order to avoid trouble breaking out in his rear — agreed a deal with Gaiseric by which the Vandals accepted federate status. Now, with the taking of Carthage and the adjacent territories, any hope of accommodation between Rome and the Vandals evaporated. Gaiseric went on to declare himself monarch of an independent kingdom, dating his regnal years from this event. Africa was torn away from the empire altogether, and the last of its grain supplies to Rome cut off.

But worse was to follow. No sooner had we learnt of the final fall of Africa, than a letter arrived for Aetius from Avitus in Gaul, containing terrible news.

Titus sighed as he searched through the jumble of papers in Aetius’ office at his headquarters near Ravenna. Promotion within the courier service to the rank of curiosus, or inspector for the imperial post, meant that one of Titus’ tasks was to check the warrants of those using it. Locating the documents in the chaos to which the Master of Soldiers regularly reduced the tablinum could be a time-consuming business. Presiding over the clutter were bronze busts, one at either end of the office, of Valentinian and Placidia. They had replaced an earlier bust, of Boniface, and had been installed for the same reason: ‘Know thy enemy’. Typically, Aetius was marching up and down the room, consulting then discarding papers, while dictating to the unfortunate scribe who was trying to keep pace with him and simultaneously take down the message.

A slave entered and announced that a courier had arrived from Gaul with a letter requiring the general’s immediate attention.

‘Tell him to wait,’ replied Aetius, then, ‘Gaul, did you say? No, better send him in.’

Idly, Titus broke off his search to watch, while Aetius unfurled the scroll the dusty messenger handed to him, and began to peruse it. Suddenly, the general’s face blanched and he swayed on his feet. ‘Tell Avitus I’ll make all speed to join him!’ he cried hoarsely. Dismissing the courier, also the scribe, he stood in the middle of the room staring at the letter and muttered, ‘I should have seen that this might happen.’

‘Bad news, sir?’ ventured Titus.

‘What’s that?’ said the general distractedly, looking up. Seeing Titus, he exclaimed, ‘Disaster! It seems Litorius may have lost us Provincia. Listen to what Avitus says.

‘“I felt that the man had become dangerously unstable, — perhaps some of the things he had to do in Aremorica had affected him. You’ll have heard, of course, about the incident on my estate. That in itself wouldn’t have indicated that the count was unbalanced, only that he had difficulty controlling the Huns — admittedly, not an easy task. But when Quintus, his second-in-command, came to me privately and confided his doubts regarding Litorius (not from disloyalty — Quintus is the most faithful of subordinates — but out of genuine concern), I became seriously worried. Then came his brilliant relief of Narbo Martius. We were all tremendously impressed, and I began to think that I had judged the man too hastily. (Although in hindsight, there was, I think, an element of reckless bravado about the operation; it could so easily have gone badly wrong.) All things considered, when you appointed him commander-in-chief during your absence in Italia, I allowed my fears to become lulled. After all, the task you entrusted to Litorius was scarcely a demanding one. The Visigoths had been badly mauled and wanted nothing more than to be left to lick their wounds. Litorius, as I distinctly recall you making clear to him, was to be a vigilant policeman, nothing more.

‘“So when the count announced that he intended to invade the Goths’ homeland, granted them under treaty by Constantius, and invest their capital, Tolosa, I was thunderstruck. I tried to reason with him, pointing out that it was folly to pick an unnecessary quarrel with a tribe who appeared to have learnt their lesson, but who, if provoked, might still prove dangerous. But he wouldn’t listen, declared that the only thing barbarians understood was force, and that he was going to treat the Goths as you had treated the Burgundians. He ignored the fact that you destroyed that tribe only when they broke out a second time. I think that his success at Narbo may have gone to his head, creating the delusion that he was invincible.

‘“Anyway, he marched with the Huns to Tolosa. (Fortunately, I managed to persuade him to leave the bulk of the Roman field army behind, with myself, as a rearguard.) When he got to Tolosa — you won’t believe this, he conducted a full-scale pagan sacrifice,³ complete with augurs examining the entrails and predicting victory! What the Huns made of it I can’t imagine, and any Romans present must have thought he’d taken leave of his senses. Did you know the man was a closet pagan? I certainly had no inkling. When I heard about it, I became convinced that the man’s mind had become unhinged. I added my voice to that of King Theoderic’s emissaries — bishops, no less — pleading with Litorius that he accept their peace proposals. But he rejected them, with the predictable result that the Goths became desperate.

‘“With nothing to lose, they launched a night attack on the count’s camp, which in his rashness and over-confidence he’d neglected to fortify or appoint sentries to guard. Prepare yourself my dear friend, for what I must now tell you. Litorius has proved a second Varus, who led his legions into an ambush, resulting in their annihilation. The Huns were wiped out almost to a man, and Litorius himself taken; whether he is still alive, I have no means of knowing. The situation here is critical. The Goths, now full of confidence and clamouring for revenge, are preparing to invade Provincia. Whatever business you have in Italy, I urge you to abandon it. Collect what troops you can, and march for Gaul immediately. I am strengthening the walls of Arelate and, with the field army, will try to hold the line until you join me.”’

Rolling up the letter, Aetius stared at Titus bleakly. ‘Sixty thousand Huns — lost,’ he whispered, and Titus saw in his eyes a flash of something he had never seen before: despair. Suddenly, the general looked shrunken, old.

But only for a moment. Squaring his shoulders, Aetius announced crisply, ‘I must prepare to leave for Gaul. Meanwhile, you, Titus, will go to Attila as my emissary. Travel by imperial post to the frontier, then buy the fastest horse you can. Explain to Attila exactly what has happened, sparing no details — he’d see through any excuses or cover-ups straight away. Tell him that I’ll do all in my power to repay in full the debt I owe him, and assure him that I’ll come in person as soon as I have settled things in Gaul. Perhaps we can still save something from the wreck. If it is to survive, the West must continue to have Hun help. All right?’

‘Of course, sir. But. . wouldn’t a letter from you carry more weight?’

Aetius shook his head. ‘Attila is a barbarian, remember. They distrust and despise parchment promises. Believe me, personal contact is now our only hope of mending bridges.’ He gripped Titus by the shoulder and gave a wan smile. ‘Do you best, Titus. Once you saved the life of a Roman general. Now your words to Attila could save Rome itself.’

‘. . and promises to come himself, Your Majesty, as soon as he has finished dealing with the Visigoths,’ concluded Titus. He could feel his heart thumping and sweat break out on his palms, as he waited, standing to attention, for Attila’s response. At the other end of the reception chamber in the King’s timber palace, Attila, clad in a skin robe, was seated on a throne-like wooden chair: a stocky, powerful figure with an enormous head, whose very stillness, like a wound-up ballista, hinted at enormous reserves of stored energy. His flat Mongol features remained impassive.

‘Tell your master, the Patrician, Flavius Aetius,’ Attila said at length, in his deep, guttural voice, ‘that I will not see him. It is finished between us. I trusted him, put the flower of my army at his disposal. And how does he repay me? By contriving their destruction. You say he swears to make good the debt he owes me. How, then, does he propose to give me back my sixty thousand warriors? By sowing dragon’s teeth perhaps?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I had thought Aetius to be that rare thing among Romans, a man of honour whose word was good. Now I see his promises are worthless, like those of all his race. For the sake of the friendship that was once between us, I will allow his son Carpilio, my hostage, to return with you. Go now, Roman, and tell your master this: should we meet again, it will be as enemies, not friends.’

When Titus and Carpilio had departed, Attila rode out of the encampment alone, to nurse his fury and sorrow. Fury that his trust had been betrayed, sorrow for the ending of an old and valued friendship; both fury and sorrow for the loss of so many fine warriors, and the collapse of his vision of a Greater Scythia. If he and Aetius had been the only players in the game, perhaps their friendship could have survived. Perhaps. But, with the Council to answer to, that was no longer an option. Especially as Bleda could be guaranteed to exploit the crisis to the maximum, in order to undermine his brother’s position. Attila’s credibility was on the line; once the disaster of Tolosa became generally known, recriminations and divisions in the Council, with discord and disunity spreading like a cancer through the nation, would inevitably follow. Unless. .

In a flash of intuition, Attila realized what he must do. At this critical juncture, what was needed above all was decisive leadership — leadership which he alone could supply. If he could no longer give his people greatness, he could at least give them what they lusted after. Gold. And the source of that gold? The empire of the Romans.

His powerful mind teeming with plans and ideas, Attila returned to the palace. Which empire to attack, East or West? He would spare the West — he perhaps owed Aetius that much. Besides, the West’s treasury was depleted, half its territory ceded to German federates who paid no tribute. Whereas the East was wealthy beyond computation, its cities populous and rich, its churches and cathedrals crammed with treasure. And the time was ripe for an assault on the Eastern Empire. Its Emperor, Theodosius II, was weak and irresolute. And the East was distracted on two fronts. It was involved in a campaign against the Persians on its eastern frontier; and its remaining legions had been sent to Sicily, to help the West recover Africa from Gaiseric. In fact, the Vandal King, that implacable enemy of Rome, had already sent emissaries to Attila, proposing a Vandal-Hun alliance: a suggestion which Attila, hoping to establish good relations with the Romans, had so far ignored. But now such an offer seemed uncannily fortuitous. He would dictate a letter to Gaiseric, agreeing to the pact. He sent for Orestes, his young Roman secretary.⁴

While he waited, the words in which Wu Tze had described the second part of his vision suddenly rang in Attila’s head: ‘Now the ass pursues another eagle, wounding it before it can fly away.’ As before, when he had sent his Huns to help Aetius, the meaning became clear. The wild ass of the plains was the Huns, the another eagle the Second Rome: the Huns would attack and harm the Eastern Empire. A chill foreboding gripped the monarch, even as he insisted to himself that the seer’s prediction was merely coincidence.

. . and so Fortune, who only a short time ago smiled on Aetius [Titus wrote, tying up the threads of the entry in his journal], has now spun her wheel against him. In a twinkling, all his hard-won gains have been put in jeopardy. Gaul, which had seemed secure, is again under threat: the Visigoths, their power so nearly broken, are once more strong and ambitious, with eyes fixed upon Provincia; the Franks are encroaching in the north-east.

Money is the crying need — cash to pay the troops, to replenish supplies, arms and armour. Man for man, the Roman field army remains more than a match for its enemies, but for lack of cash is gradually eroding away. And the treasury is empty. Africa, once the jewel in the imperial crown, whose grain and tribute once filled Rome’s stomach and her coffers, is now totally lost (although a joint East-West expedition for its recovery is now preparing in Sicilia).

Most serious of all has been the slaughter of the Huns at Tolosa, through the folly of Litorius (who, Rome has learnt, has been put to death by his Goth captors). As a result, Aetius has lost the friendship and support of Attila, his oldest and most powerful ally. And without Hun help the West is dangerously weakened. If they should ever turn against us. .

One bright ray shines through the gathering clouds: Aetius and Theoderic, King of the Visigoths and son of the mighty Alaric, have become reconciled. When the Roman army and the Goth host confronted one another, following Aetius’ return from Italia to Gaul, the two generals decided that a bloody encounter whose issue was uncertain was not in the interests of either. Avitus arranged peace terms which have been accepted by both sides.

Boniface and Litorius: these two may prove to be Aetius’ Nemesis. Had he not made an enemy of one and put his trust in the other, Africa and Gaul, whose fate may decide that of the West, would today be secure within the empire.

¹ 13 November 440.

² In 438, one of the last major public works projects carried out in the Western Empire.

³ The last time an official pagan sacrifice was ever held.

⁴ Father of the last West Roman Emperor, Romulus Augustus (see Notes p.434).