by Ross Laidlaw
‘Nothing to worry about, Sire, until we reach the Ulca,’* replied the Rugian in response to Theoderic’s query about possible hazards. ‘That’s the river forming the boundary between the Empire and Pannonia.’
‘Pannonia, the Amals’ old homeland,’ observed Theoderic. ‘But that was many years ago. We abandoned it to become. . “guests”, let us say, of the emperor.’
‘“Guests” — I like it,’ chuckled Frederick. ‘Well, Pannonia’s since been taken over by the Gepids, a brutish bunch allied to Odovacar. Their orders were to wipe out me and my Rugians following our escape from the attentions of the last-named gentleman. There not being many of us, we managed to detour round them undetected. No way can you hope to do the same, unfortunately, Sire. But my guess is you won’t have any trouble; you’ll only be passing through their territory, after all. They’d be mad to pick a fight with so formidable a nation as the Ostrogoths.’
‘Let us hope you’re right.’
* The Baltic Sea.
† The Black Sea.
‡ The Oder, Vistula, Pruth, Dniester, Dnieper and Don.
* Scythia: an imprecise term, roughly equivalent to the steppes of Central Asia.
* River Vuka. The town of Vukovar has become familiar from the 1990s’ Balkan conflict. On 18 November 1991, it fell to the Serbs after enduring a terrible siege.
SIXTEEN
And the children of Israel. . about six hundred thousand on foot. . and flocks and herds, even very much cattle. . went out from the land of Egypt
Anonymous, The Bible: Exodus, c. 900 BC (referring to an event some four hundred years earlier)
‘You expect to get to Italy in that?’ screamed the merchant, administering a savage kick to the side of the wagon. His single eye glittering with simulated rage, the diminutive Greek advanced towards the vehicle’s owner, a huge, tow-headed Goth, who backed away in alarm. ‘Well, I, Callisthenes of Olbia, whose wagons have forded the Borysthenes and traversed the Altai Shan,* say that you’ll be lucky if this apology for a donkey cart gets as far as the Alps, which it stands as much chance of crossing as an icicle in Hades. Those spokes — they’re oak, hard but dense — like your head, my friend. They should be of ash, tough yet springy, yielding instead of cracking when the going’s rocky.’
Enjoying the performance from the sidelines were Theoderic and Timothy. ‘The man’s a treasure,’ chuckled the king. ‘Remind me how you found him.’
‘He’s from Olbia, an old Greek colony and trading-centre on the opposite side of the Euxine from Anatolia — my home turf, you’ll remember. Everyone in Anatolia — a Greek sphere of influence since long before Alexander — knows of Callisthenes the famous trader. He claims in his youth to have guided Attila to the shores of Dalai Nor,† to confer with the seer Wu Tze.’
On meeting the tiny Greek, who was one-eyed, aged and voluble — especially concerning his own alleged exploits — Theoderic had not at first been impressed, being inclined to dismiss him as a bombastic blowhard. However, within an hour of Callisthenes’ arrival at Novae, the king changed his mind. Without waiting for explanations or introductions, the little merchant had begun buzzing round the camp like an angry gadfly, examining wagons and draught oxen, poking into stores, quizzing Goths in their own tongue. . After completing an exhaustive inspection of the site, he had delivered his verdict.
‘Half your transport isn’t fit for purpose, King,’ he snapped (eschewing the usual respectful ‘Sire’). ‘Many of your oxen are in poor condition or require their hooves treated; gear’s often defective or lacking; a lot of grain and foodstuffs badly stored — which means it’ll spoil. I could go on. All in all your expedition’s anything but ready.’
‘But half our lives, we Goths have been on the move.’ Theoderic protested mildly. ‘So far we’ve managed to cope, without-’
‘Oh, yes — inside the Eastern Empire!’ cut in the little Greek, with a dismissive snort. ‘Good roads, tamed countryside. What happens when you reach what used to be the empire’s Western half? Roads in disrepair, tillage and pasture reverting to wasteland, above all the crossing of the eastern Alps to face. A journey of a thousand miles, part of it over some of the hardest terrain in the whole of Europe. I tell you this, King: if your transport and provisioning are defective, you may not make it.’
‘What must I do?’
‘Nothing. Put me in charge, and be willing to see that my instructions are carried out — to the letter, mind.’
‘To the letter.’ With difficulty, Theoderic suppressed a smile.
Like a miniature tornado, Callisthenes swept through the encampments in Moesia Secunda and Dacia Ripensis, the two provinces assigned to the Ostrogoths: observing, questioning, assessing, taking notes. His lightning tour completed, he returned to Novae, armed with a lengthy list of Things to Be Done. First, transport. To be ‘fit for purpose’ (the merchant’s favourite expression), each wagon must be eighteen feet long by four wide, the body constructed of hard-wearing timber such as oak or hornbeam. The wheels (two pairs, bound with iron tyres fitted when white-hot so as to shrink and grip securely, the front ones with pivoted axle for steering) must be of tough, flexible wood such as ash or some species of walnut; connected to the front axle, the drag pole must be sturdy and long enough to inspan twelve draught oxen by a system of yokes, yoke-pins, and rawhide ropes. Attached to the body by iron staples, there would be green-wood boughs to support a canvas tent against hot sun or foul weather. At the front there should be a large chest stretching the width of the wagon, providing seating for the driver and storage space for personal belongings, also iron hooks inside and underneath the body to support pots and pans, tools and other heavy gear. Stores must include sacks of flour and grain (plus hand querns for milling) and bags of dried meat — sufficient to feed each family as far as the edge of the Empire; also drums of fat to grease the wheels hubs, spare ropes, yokes, yoke and linch-pins; rolls of canvas and rawhide for repairs; bars of iron; tools such as augers, spokeshaves, chisels, tongs, hammers, drawing-knives to trim hooves; spare horseshoes (for those wealthy enough to own a mount), and a hundred other items. All livestock (especially draught animals) to be rigorously examined and if necessary treated, to ensure they were strong and healthy enough to cope with the rigours of the long trek.
Regarding implementation of these specifications, Callisthenes was utterly inflexible. ‘“Intolerance” is my middle name,’ he told the king. ‘To get your people to their destination safely and securely, you can’t afford any weak links in the chain. One single broken wheel or axle could bring the expedition grinding to a halt.’ Fortunately, a seemingly inexhaustible stream of funds from the Treasury in Constantinople ensured that even the poorest Gothic household could afford to meet Callisthenes’ stringent requirements. (This heightened Theoderic’s suspicion that Zeno was only too willing to part with however much gold it took, to be rid of ‘guests’ whose presence had become unwelcome.)
Regarding weaponry, Callisthenes had nothing to say, declaring that he was a trader, not an arms dealer. Theoderic had few worries on that score. As a warrior nation, the Ostrogoths were probably equipped as well as or better than any other tribes they might encounter. The great mass of the host, some forty thousand warriors, was armed with spears; a few — leaders or the wealthy — might also possess helmets, swords, and ring-mail hauberks.
With the last of the harvest in, and all items on Callisthenes’ list of Things to Be Done ticked off, the great migration finally began on the last day of September in the year of the consuls Dynamius and Sifidius.* Headed by Theoderic’s party, then Frederick and his Rugians, the wagon train set off in sections of a hundred vehicles, there being two hundred sections altogether. In charge of each section was a wagonmaster, hand-picked by Theoderic and Timothy for reliability and leadership. Conspicuous for not being chosen to fulfil such a role was Thiudimund. (Theoderic’s suspicions of treachery on his brother’s part had been aroused too many times for the king to risk entrusting him with such a key
responsibility.) Predictably, Thiudimund had protested, then, his brother remaining adamant, had raged and sulked, but in the end been forced reluctantly to accept the king’s decision.
Like a long, long snake, the column of wagons wound slowly south, covering ten to fifteen miles per day. This first part of the journey was over familiar terrain: through the Shipka Pass to the Maritsa Valley, where the train picked up the great Roman highway leading them west to Philippopolis; then north-west through the Succi Pass, scene of Theoderic’s ambush by Strabo; and after a further three hundred miles to Singidunum, where, all those years ago, he had defeated Babai. Knowing that in all likelihood he was viewing these scenes for the last time, Theoderic felt a keen nostalgia as the train rolled steadily north-westwards through the diocese of Dacia. Ablaze with the reds and golds of autumn, a succession of achingly beautiful landscapes moved slowly past: forests, majestic mountains, lakes and waterfalls. Beyond Singidunum the scenery changed abruptly, rolling hills clad in woods of oak and chestnut giving place to tillage and meadow, as the Roman road led them down into the broad valley of the Danubius.
Some fifty miles beyond Sirmium, as the wagon train, with supplies now running out, approached the River Ulca (where the empire ended), outriders, who had been scouting ahead, came galloping back.
‘We can go no further, Sire,’ gasped the leading scout. ‘The way is blocked. Gepids, Sire — they’ve barricaded the far bank of the Ulca.’
* A range of mountains in central Mongolia, to the north of China’s Great Wall.
† The ‘Holy Sea’ of the Mongols, Lake Baikal.
* 488.
SEVENTEEN
Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle. . that he may be smitten, and die
Anonymous, The Bible: Samuel, c. 500 BC (referring to an incident some five hundred years earlier)
Spotting Theoderic, who had ridden out to scout their position, the Gepids broke into a chorus of derisive catcalls. Contrary to Frederick’s optimistic prediction, it was obvious that the Gepids were not putting on a show of bravado, but were determined to deny passage to the Ostrogoths. The king’s heart sank. The Gepids were entrenched in force behind a system of barricades surmounting the steep western bank of the Ulca, below which the river flowed sluggishly, more marsh than stream, its course delineated by a series of pools and reed-beds — the worst possible approach from which to mount an assault. Half concealed as they were behind their defences, it was hard to estimate the Gepids’ strength, but Theoderic thought they must number many thousands of hostile warriors. It was going to be extremely difficult to dislodge them from such a strong position. But unless they were removed the consequences for the Ostrogoths would be serious. With food supplies virtually exhausted, any delay would spell starvation.
What on earth had caused the Gepids to get fired up? Theoderic wondered, as he cantered back to the encampment through pasture overlooked by vineyards. To put on such a show of force, they must consider the Ostrogoths a threat — which made no sense at all. By now, all the world must know that the Ostrogoths’ objective was Italy and not Pannonia; armed confrontation must inevitably result in a bloody battle with enormous casualties. Why would the Gepids risk that, when all they had to do was wait until the Ostrogoths had passed beyond their territory?
*
On reaching the Amal camp, Theoderic was accosted by a concerned-looking Timothy.
‘Your brother, Deric — have you seen him recently?’
‘Well, no, but what of it? A day or so back, he rode off on his own, as he often does. Said something about a spot of hunting.’
‘Hunting?’ Timothy shook his head. ‘Does that seem likely? Since Singidunum it’s been all fields and vineyards. Normally, I suppose one wouldn’t pick up on a little inconsistency like that. It’s just that. .’ Timothy paused, and looked uncomfortable.
‘Get to the point, man.’
‘It may be nothing — I wouldn’t wish to stir up trouble needlessly between yourself and your brother. But last night when, as is my habit, I was snooping round the wagon lines — you know me: “To see and not be seen” etc. — I spotted Thiudimund sneaking back into camp from the direction of the Ulca. I use the word “sneaking” deliberately; he was leading his horse and clearly anxious not to be observed. But I thought no more about it — until I heard that the Gepids had blocked the route ahead.’
Theoderic’s brain whirled. Suddenly it all made sense. Singidunum, the Shipka Pass, Illus, and now the Gepids. Past suspicions crystallized into certainty: Thiudimund had made contact with the Gepids and told them something. Whatever it was, it had had the effect of turning them from passive unfriendliness to active hostility.
‘Thank you, Timothy. You were right to report this.’ And the king strode off towards his brother’s wagon.
‘You will tell me about your meeting with the Gepids,’ Theoderic demanded. Concealed from outside view within a clump of alders beside the Danubius, the brothers faced each other. Something in the king’s grim expression had prevented Thiudimund from arguing, when summoned to accompany his brother to this isolated spot.
‘What meeting?’ Thiudimund protested.
An ungovernable fury swept over Theoderic. ‘Liar!’ he roared, and he sent his brother spinning to the ground, as the back of his hand smashed into his cheek. Mastering himself with a huge effort, he went on, ‘The truth, brother — or I swear you will not leave this grove alive.’
‘I told you, I was hunting,’ blustered Thiudimund, picking himself up. Then, something in his brother’s look made him change his stance. ‘All right, all right,’ he pleaded, as the king drew a dagger and advanced towards him. ‘I–I’ll tell you everything.’
It all came out, the words tumbling pell-mell from the lips of the terrified man, in his haste to avert Theoderic’s threat. At Singidunum, he had deliberately failed to give the signal for the diversion to begin; he had colluded with the Romans to bring about the confrontation with Strabo at the Shipka Pass; he had sent a message to Zeno misinforming him that Theoderic planned to join Illus in a coup to overthrow him; and, yes, he had secretly visited Thrapstila, king of the Gepids, warning him that the Ostrogoths intended to make war on his people. The reason: the Gepids had allied themselves with Odovacar, the foe of Theoderic and the oppressor of those friends of the Ostrogoths, the Rugians.
‘I’ll do anything — anything you want — to make amends, brother,’ babbled Thiudimund when he had exhausted his list of confessions. ‘Only spare my life.’
‘I will not stoop to take your worthless life,’ sighed the king, regarding him with weary contempt. ‘But others may. Tomorrow, you will lead the Forlorn Hope in an attempt to breach the Gepids’ barricades. It’s unlikely you’ll survive. But, no matter if you live or die, you’ll be regarded as a hero.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘Never say your brother is ungenerous.’
About to ask Thiudimund what had prompted his treachery, the king desisted. What would be the point? The reasons were obvious: resentment fuelled by jealousy, stoking up malicious spite which had spiralled out of control.
Their ranks thinning steadily as they came within javelin range, the Forlorn Hope, headed by the tall figure of Thiudimund, struggled through the boggy shallows of the Ulca towards its western bank. Whatever the risk, there was never any shortage of volunteers for this most dangerous of roles, spearheading an attack on the enemy’s defence in order to create a weak point which those who followed could exploit. With half their numbers down, the Hope reached the father side, then, stabbing and hacking like men possessed, began to clear a passage through the mass of Gepids who swarmed to meet them. A few, a very few, made it to the top of the bank.
Heading the host across the stream, Theoderic watched the swirling knot of warriors — a chaotic melee of struggling bodies and flashing blades — surge back and forth before the barricades. Then, suddenly, a gap appeared in the defences: the Hope had broken through! A great cheer burst from the Ostrogoths as they waded the last few y
ards to the shore. Knowing that death from hunger would soon begin to harvest their people unless they prevailed, and inspired by the example of their king — a heroic figure in the gilded Roman armour that was Zeno’s parting gift — they fought grimly step by step up a slope grown slippery with blood. Cutting a gory swathe through the press of foes with sweeps of his great sword, Theoderic formed the tip of an advancing wedge which gradually forced a salient in the Gepid line. A final push and they had gained the crest, then in a bloody rush the barricades were carried. Perhaps daunted by their opponents’ ferocious valour, the Gepids broke and fled, to be cut down in their thousands by the triumphant Ostrogoths. Among the slain was later found the corpse of Thrapstila, their king.
Also recovered was the body of Thiudimund, pierced by twenty great wounds, all to the fore. As befitted a hero, he was buried in his armour with his weapons by his side, the host filing past his open grave to honour this most valiant warrior who had secured them victory against the Gepids. It was ironic, thought Theoderic without rancour, that his brother’s glory should eclipse his own. In dying a royal hero who had sacrificed himself for his people, Thiudimund had exemplified, like Ermanaric before him, the highest tradition of the legends of his race. At least in death, the king reflected, he had made a kind of reparation.
Theoderic himself had crossed a great watershed in his life, he realized. By masterminding the migration of his people, and taking them successfully beyond their journey’s halfway point, he had proved himself a great leader. And his victory against the Gepids had achieved for him the status of a hero king. When he faced Odovacar in the spring, it would be at the head of a united, strong and confident nation.
