Attila:The Scourge of God

THIRTY-THREE

This was the life, thought Constantius as, with Attila’s other envoys, he approached the capital of the Eastern Empire. His fortunes were riding high: special ambassador to the Court of Constantinople, his stipulated reward a rich and noble wife. He relished the thought of returning in a year or so, wealthy and distinguished, to the home he’d left as a disgraced and penniless adventurer.

The walls of Constantinople came in sight, an immense bulwark extending for nearly five miles between the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmara, forty feet high, with massive square towers every two hundred feet or so. The variegated courses of white stone alternating with red brick created a dramatic, unforgettable impression on Constantius. He reminded himself that these were not Constantine’s original walls, now demolished. Following the general panic that had swept the Roman world with Alaric’s capture and sack of Rome nearly forty years before, these ramparts had been erected early in the reign of the present emperor, more than a mile to the west of the old ones, to incorporate the great cisterns and the mass of suburbs that had sprung up in the interim.

Entering the city via the marble Porta Aurea with its four bronze elephants and huge statue of the first Theodosius, the envoys and their retinue proceeded along the main thoroughfare, the Mese, and through the five forums of Arcadius, Bovis, with the great bronze ox for which it was named, Theodosius, Amastrianum and Constantine, to the imposing complex of buildings comprising the Hippodrome, the royal palace, and the church of the Holy Wisdom.¹ Constantius was intoxicated by the profusion of splendid public buildings — baths, porticoes, basilicas, churches, et cetera — and by the heady mix of old and new. Brashly uncompromising structures of the Constantinian and Theodosian dynasties (many embellished with statues ‘borrowed’ from both empires) clashed with venerable buildings from the time of Septimius Severus, when today’s mighty capital was merely the small Greek city of Byzantium.

Installed in quarters in the sprawl of buildings that made up the imperial palace, Constantius revelled in the luxury of Roman living after the privations of his stay among the Huns. What bliss to sleep on a feather bed instead of a pile of stinking pelts, to dine on honey-glazed sucking-pig washed down with wine, instead of greasy mutton accompanied by fermented mare’s milk. The days following his arrival were pleasant: relaxing in the baths, attending chariot races in the Hippodrome, flirting with the ladies of the court, and wooing the high-born widow selected as his bride — a congenial task, as she was as beautiful as she was wealthy. The other envoys depended on interpreters to converse with their hosts, but communication was no problem for Constantius, whose education had included the study of Greek. His facility in the language was already reaping rewards in terms of his spying obligations to Attila. From casual conversation and chance remarks overheard, he was gradually compiling a list of names of fugitives and deserters from Attila’s jurisdiction who were still being protected by the empire. More importantly, he was discovering that, through the efforts of Nomus, the brilliant Master of Offices, the northern frontier was being unobtrusively re-fortified, and its slaughtered garrisons replenished. Then, on the morning of the sixth day, a messenger from the senior notary’s office presented him with a scroll tied with a silk ribbon. Unfurling it, he found that it was from Chrysaphius, inviting him to attend for interview at the eighth hour the following day.

Balamir was making his own preparations to attend the interview between Constantius and Chrysaphius. Quartered, like most of the ambassadorial retinue, with the palace servants, he had made a point of striking up a friendship with a Hun named Eskam, one of the interpreters who translated the speeches of foreign envoys. These men came under the authority of Nomus, with whom Chrysaphius worked closely, so Eskam was in a good position to discover details concerning the eunuch’s timetable. With this in mind, Balamir decided to take Eskam into his confidence. He told Eskam that Attila had entrusted him with a difficult and dangerous mission — namely eavesdropping on the interview (which Attila had requested) between Constantius and Chrysaphius — and appealed to his fellow Hun for help. Swayed by pride at being able to help his people’s great leader (also by the generous sum that Balamir had been authorized by Attila to pay any accomplice he might need to enlist), Eskam agreed.

Between them, the two Huns devised a bold but simple plan. With funds supplied by Balamir, Eskam bribed one of the eunuch’s clerks to find out the place, date, and time for the interview. Such was the universal terror inspired by Attila’s name that Eskam was confident there was little risk of the man betraying them. Next, he had the clerk arrange to let Balamir inspect the eunuch’s office, at a time when it was unoccupied.

The dominant feature of the tablinum was a great book-cupboard, with pairs of folding shutters top and bottom. The upper section, with openwork shutters, contained documents required for frequent reference: returns from the secretariats, the imperial couriers, the palace guards, et cetera. The nether section, with solid shutters, was stuffed with texts which were consulted on rare occasions only, such as the Codex Theodosianus, the recently updated compilation of imperial laws. The plan consisted of temporarily removing these seldom-used works, thus creating a space to accommodate Balamir, from which he could listen to the interview unobserved. The wooden slats separating the two divisions were not tightly joined; the interstices would allow him to breathe freely and overhear anything said in the room. It was of course possible that Chrysaphius might decide to consult one of the volumes in the lower compartment — with resulting exposure and disaster. But the clerk assured the two Huns that the risk was so slight that it could be ignored.

Early on the appointed day, before the house-slaves had arrived to clean the office, the bottom section was cleared of its dusty tomes, which were re-housed in a nearby storeroom, then Balamir installed in their place. Making himself as comfortable as the cramped space would permit, he settled down to wait out the long hours before the interview.

When he was shown into Chrysaphius’ office, Constantius found himself in the presence of a grotesquely obese figure perched incongruously on a tiny folding stool. From the pear-shaped head with its multiple chins downwards, the eunuch seemed to consist of successive rolls of fat, putting Constantius in mind of a rotund ivory figure in his family home, which was said to have come from China and to represent an Asiatic sage, one Buddha.

‘Your Gloriousness,’ began the young Roman, bowing, ‘I am honoured, more than any poor words of mine can express, that you have condescended to meet one so humble as myself.’ Already, he had mastered the absurdly overblown rhetoric without which, it seemed, official procedure in the Eastern court was unable to function. To his surprise, the other cut him short with an impatient wave.

‘Yes, yes,’ the eunuch snapped testily. ‘Tell me,’ he went on, shrewd little eyes sunk in their beds of fat shooting an appraising glance at the other, ‘is the widow of Armatius — or more to the point, her fortune — to your liking?’

Constantius relaxed, knowing that he was in the company of another man of the world. He seated himself on the stool the minister indicated. ‘Very much so, sir,’ he replied with a smile.

‘She ought to be able to maintain you in the style to which you are accustomed, at least,’ observed the eunuch drily. ‘But, in addition to acquiring an income for life, perhaps you would not be averse to earning yourself a generous. . fee?’ His gaze flicked over Constantius, probing, assessing. ‘Very generous.’

‘How generous is “very generous”, sir?’ asked Constantius, intrigued. He had been expecting a tedious discussion about implementing the Peace of Anatolius. This unexpected line was far more to his liking.

‘Were you to succeed in the task I have in mind, one result would be the holding of the greatest Games ever seen in Constantinople. The amount expended on the Games, obligatory for a senator elected to the consulship, is two thousand pounds of gold. That seems to me, then, the appropriate amount for your reward.’

Constantius’ head swam. Two thousand pounds’ weight in gold. It was a staggering amount, enough to keep him in luxury for the rest of his life, irrespective of the widow’s wealth, which would of course legally become his on their marriage.

‘What. . I mean, how, would I set about earning such a sum?’ he asked weakly, momentarily robbed of his self-possession. What possible skill or talent did he possess, he wondered, that could justify that sort of payment?

‘It should not be too hard, given your circumstances and experience. You have killed before?’

Constantius nodded, recalling the Franks he had cut down at Vicus Helena.

‘And would be prepared to kill again? In cold blood, I must warn you.’

An assassination, then. Sobered, Constantius took a deep breath. It must be a political killing. No private person’s death could be worth the vast sum involved. Weighed in the balance against two thousand pounds of gold, a man’s life — any man’s — must rise in the scale holding it. So long as the victim was not a friend. . Again, he nodded.

‘The man is known to you, and has no reason to mistrust you. You will have opportunities to be alone with him. Dispatching him should present no real difficulty. In fact, your only problem is to choose a suitable opportunity.’

‘It’s Attila, isn’t it?’ breathed Constantius.

‘Yes, Attila,’ confirmed Chrysaphius, ‘the Scourge of God. Removing him should not trouble your conscience unduly, and you would be doing the world the greatest service possible for any man. As to repercussions, you needn’t worry: there won’t be any. Bleda has sanctioned the, ah, “elimination”, shall we call it. In fact, he’ll probably reward you with a handsome sum in addition to what you’ll receive from myself. You are willing, then?’

‘Yes,’ declared Constantius, all doubts evaporating. Attila meant nothing to him. His one regret was that he would be letting down Aetius, whom he liked and respected. But in this world a man had to look out for his own interests, for if he didn’t no one else would. A chance like this would never come again. The only question to be answered was: had he the courage and the resolution to see the matter through? Oh yes. Two thousand pounds of gold guaranteed that.

‘Good,’ said Chrysaphius briskly. ‘Then it only remains to settle the details. You will remain at Constantinople with the other ambassadors for the duration of the diplomatic visit. Behave normally, and do nothing to draw attention to yourself. Carry out any instructions Attila has given you, as if this meeting had never taken place. Now, your payment. Half in advance, the remainder when the job is done. Acceptable?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Then the first instalment will be ready for you on the day of your departure, together with mules for its transport. One thousand pounds of gold, half the amount payable by a senator on becoming consul, to hold the Games.’ The eunuch paused, his brows knitting. ‘I’m sure that’s right. Perhaps I’d better check in the Register of Senators. I’ll fetch it from the bottom of my bookcase.’

‘Please — there’s no need, sir,’ protested Constantius. Now he could afford to show an aristocrat’s disdain for such tradesman’s haggling. ‘Your word is warranty enough for me.’

‘Very well,’ said Chrysaphius, rising. ‘Enjoy the rest of your stay in Constantinople.’ The interview was over.

Several hours later, stiff and horrified, Balamir emerged from his confinement. The burden of guarding his appalling secret through the coming days would be a heavy one.

¹ The precursor of the present building known as the Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom) which dates from the time of Justinian in the following century. It is now a mosque.