Attila

by Ross Laidlaw

  Bleda opened his mouth to answer, but Attila silenced him with a look, and made reply: ‘A misunderstanding, Roman, which will cost your master dear. As to forgetting, that will happen only when we have received full reparation from your government for forming an alliance with our rebellious German subjects, and for affording refuge and protection to those of them who fled.’

  ‘That is fair,’ conceded Epigenes. ‘The Emperor is willing to make reasonable compensation for any wrongs we may have done you. We would know your terms.’

  ‘One: the right of our people to trade freely on your side of the Danubias,’ stated Attila roughly. ‘Two: a fine or ransom of eight gold pieces for every Roman captive who escaped from us. Three: your Emperor to renounce all treaties with the enemies of the Huns. Four: an annual contribution of seven hundred pounds’ weight of gold to be paid us by your government. Five: all fugitives now under your protection to be returned.’

  Gasps of astonishment among the Huns, and of consternation from the Romans, greeted this declaration. ‘Seven hundred pounds – that’s twice what the Council and I decided!’ protested Bleda. ‘They’ll never pay it – they can’t; they haven’t the resources. And fines for escaped prisoners, the return of the fugitives – what will that gain us? We’re better off without them; anyway, how could they begin to track down and identify prisoners? This is folly, brother. We could end up with nothing.’

  Privately, Attila worried that Bleda might be right, and that this might be pushing the Eastern delegates too far. But to reverse any damage Bleda had done his reputation, he had little choice but to come up with some radical proposals. These, in terms of financial gain for the Huns, must be a clear improvement on any conditions thought up by Bleda and the Council. They must also demonstrate that Attila not only could act independently of his brother but was the dominant sibling.

  ‘This is intolerable!’ snarled General Plinthas, his hand moving to his sword-hilt. ‘That unwashed savages should dictate such terms to Romans – it’s an insult to the majesty of the Empire.’

  ‘Excuse him, my lords,’ broke in Epigenes hastily. ‘His manners have been formed in camps not courts.’ He paused, then went on, a note of pleading in his voice. ‘But his rudeness is perhaps understandable. These are indeed heavy terms. Too heavy, I think.’

  ‘His manners are of no consequence,’ said Attila indifferently. ‘You think our terms heavy? Perhaps you would prefer to see your cities in flames, and your people massacred or enslaved.’

  ‘You would have us sail between Scylla and Charybdis!’ exclaimed the quaestor bitterly. He fought for composure, then continued more calmly, ‘Permit us to return to Constantinople, to put your terms to the Emperor. My authority, I fear, does not extend to accepting such conditions.’

  Attila, who had been prepared for such a reaction, considered his response carefully. If he allowed the Romans to return to Constantinople without having signed the treaty, negotiations would drag on and on, because Theodosius – flattering himself that he was playing a masterly political game of cat and mouse – would procrastinate endlessly. The Eastern Empire was wealthy; to pay the subsidy demanded would hurt, certainly, but could surely be managed without emptying the imperial coffers. To safeguard his reputation with the Huns (and therefore preserve the viability of his Great Plan for his people) Attila must convince the Roman ambassadors that they had no choice but to sign the treaty. Now. And to achieve that, he must provide them with an object-lesson which would leave them in absolutely no doubt as to his utter determination and capacity for ruthlessness in pursuit of his aims. This, although it had cost him much agony of spirit, he was also prepared for.

  ‘If parting with gold distresses you,’ he suggested, unable entirely to prevent the scorn from showing in his voice, ‘perhaps parting with the fugitives would cause you less concern.’

  ‘Betray those we are sworn to protect? Never!’ shouted Plinthas. ‘That would be to make a travesty of Roman honour. We spit on such—’

  ‘Hush, friend,’ interrupted Epigenes, laying a hand on the general’s arm. ‘We have no choice, shameful though it is to have to admit it.’ Turning to Attila, he declared heavily, ‘Take them; they are yours.’

  On Attila’s signal, Hun warriors surrounded the young Germans and removed them from the Roman group. ‘What shall we do with them, Lord?’ the escort’s leader asked Attila.

  ‘Crucify them,’ ordered Attila, his voice impassive.

  ‘No!’ roared Plinthas, making to draw his sword. Several of his own party restrained him forcibly, though he continued to struggle and protest.

  Some of the Huns swiftly felled trees and constructed rude crosses, while others dug pits to secure their bases. The unfortunate youths were bound by wrists and ankles to the beams, and spikes were driven through their hands and feet, pinning them securely to the wood.

  In a horrified silence broken only by the curses of Plinthas and the cries of the victims, the Romans watched as the crosses with their human burdens were hauled upright, then dropped into the holes prepared for them. Attila willed his face to remain a stone-like mask, while rage and pity warred within him. Rage that his brother’s folly had forced him to this action; pity for the young men sacrificed. He told himself that only an act of spectacular cruelty, calculated to spread terror throughout the Eastern Empire, would persuade the Romans, those masters of prevarication, to accept his terms without delay. And such a demonstration was also necessary to prove his authority to the Huns, after Bleda’s attempts to weaken it.

  It worked. The Huns immediately began to show him awed respect, far exceeding anything they accorded Bleda. That same day, in the lovely flower-starred meadow where the condemned fugitives groaned upon their crosses, the Romans signed the treaty.

  That night, alone in his tent, for the first and last time in his life Attila wept. What was it Wu Tze had said to him? ‘You will be a strong ruler, but will you also be a kindly sage?’ Well, he had shown he could be strong. To survive, and therefore to have any hope of implementing his vision, he had had to demonstrate that strength in an act of graphic brutality. As for being a kindly sage, perhaps that was a role no barbarian leader, however much he wanted it, could aspire to. Through no fault or wish of his own, the iron, he felt, had begun to enter his soul.

  1 Magistrate.

  2 An astonishing title, bestowed on Theodosius on account of the beautiful handwriting he displayed in transcribing religious books.

  NINETEEN

  He [Attila] alone united the realms of Scythia and Germany

  Jordanes, Gothic History, 551

  ‘Aetius, old friend, welcome!’ exclaimed Attila. The Roman general had just arrived in the Hun camp, accompanied by his son Carpilio, now grown into a tall, well-built young man. ‘It’s good to see you, Flavius,’ Attila declared warmly, ‘and you, too, Carpilio. You still have my gift, I see.’

  ‘I’ll never part with him sir,’ replied Carpilio, proudly, patting the neck of his beautiful Arab steed. ‘I’ve named him Pegasus for his speed and courage. You remember, sir, how he stood against the bear?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ murmured Attila dryly.

  ‘To what do we owe the honour of this visit?’ asked Attila, when he and his guests were ensconced in his private quarters within the wooden royal palace.

  ‘I come to ask a favour, old friend,’ said Aetius. ‘A very great favour. Twice in the past, the Huns have come to my assistance. Would they stand by me a third time, perhaps even a fourth?’

  ‘We were amply rewarded on both those occasions, I recall,’ said Attila, re-charging the Romans’ wooden cups with millet beer. ‘Why should we not help you again?’

  ‘This time, payment may have to be deferred,’ said Aetius with a rueful grin. ‘The West’s coffers are all but empty – I have to pay my field army in Gaul in kind. The loss of Britain, Africa, and part of Hispania, has decimated our revenue from taxes, and the federate Germans settled in Gaul are exempt from paying tribute.’

>   ‘But you have something to offer as security?’ said Attila, giving an oily leer and rubbing his hands, in imitation of a Syrian moneylender.

  ‘Only the Western Empire,’ replied Aetius wryly. ‘Or what’s left of it. Oh, and Carpilio here has volunteered to stay behind as your hostage.’

  ‘Well, let us call the Empire an “ultimate surety”,’ laughed Attila, ‘and Carpilio is welcome to remain as our honoured guest. I hardly think we’ll be calling in those particular assets.’ He added with apparently careless generosity, ‘Pay us when you can, Flavius. Your word is pledge enough. But tell me, why do you need our help?’

  ‘My problem concerns Gaul. The German federates – Franks and Burgundians in the east, Visigoths in the south-west, – were, in theory, originally allowed to settle in the Empire on condition they would fight for Rome if called upon. In reality, of course, they just marched in and took the land; we weren’t strong enough to stop them. However, the government of our late lamented Honorius patched up a face-saving understanding with them which has, on the whole, held. They know that in a pitched battle my army will beat them every time – and that keeps them in check. But my soldiers can’t be everywhere at once, in the event of trouble breaking out on several fronts. Also, as I’ve mentioned, pay is a constant worry, to say nothing of replenishing inevitable wastage of men and supplies. Then there’s the Bagaudae.’

  ‘The Bagaudae?’

  ‘A brigands’ movement centred in Aremorica1 in north-west Gaul, also active in Hispania. It’s made up chiefly of disaffected peasants and smallholders who’ve been taxed beyond endurance, and as a result have taken to a life of banditry. Their numbers have been swollen by fugitive slaves and army deserters. Their leader in Gaul is one Tibatto – a sort of latter-day Spartacus. They’re well organized, with their own courts and a quasi-military government of sorts. If the Bagaudae in Gaul were to start a full-scale revolt, I’d be hard pressed to cope.’

  ‘I can see you hardly have your troubles to seek,’ mused Attila. ‘What you’re asking for, then, is Hun backing to help suppress the federates, and these Bagaudae should they break out, if your field army can’t manage on its own?’

  ‘Exactly. Are you willing to provide that backing – in return for payment at a future date, if necessary?’

  ‘Just so. A poor friend he, who would not help another. And we two, Flavius, go back a long way. Consider the bargain sealed.’ And, in the Roman manner, he extended his hand. Aetius, his heart full, reached out and took it.

  During his return journey to Gaul (minus Carpilio), Aetius pondered the implications of what his friend had said about his own intentions. Attila was expanding his territory north-westwards to the Oceanus Germanicus, Mare Suevicum2 and Scandia3, thus adding to his realm all Germania outwith the Roman Empire. As he could field up to half a million mounted warriors at short notice, this ambitious project was not as formidable as it might seem. The plan was music to Aetius’ ears; at one stroke, the threat of further invasion by German tribes was cancelled, which would enable him to concentrate on pacifying Gaul.

  Attila had also confided to Aetius his dream of establishing a great and lasting Empire of the Huns, extending eventually to include all the steppe peoples, and had asked Aetius for advice and help in setting up institutions which would provide ‘Greater Scythia’ with the necessary continuity and stability. In this connection, he had introduced Aetius to his Greek factotum, one Callisthenes, a garrulous little merchant with a single eye, who claimed a vast web of contacts throughout the whole steppe region. Inclined at first to dismiss the Greek as an empty amphora, in the course of several conversations with him, Aetius revised his opinion, conceding that the man, despite his boastful manner, was in all likelihood extremely competent in his field, and also genuinely devoted to Attila’s interests. Such an ally would be invaluable in helping Attila realize his vision.

  Aetius thought the plan stood virtually no chance of succeeding, even with a leader of Attila’s stature. The Huns, despite rapid social change in the recent past – they now had a hereditary monarchy, an aristocracy of sorts, an economy beginning to be based if not on money, at least on bullion – were too primitive, too freedom-loving and nomadic, to be constrained by laws, taxes, cities, roads, et cetera. But Aetius could not bring himself to disillusion his friend. So, despite his reservations, he had promised to send Attila a team of jurists and administrators to help him start implementing the great design.

  Although sceptical about its chances, Aetius had been touched and profoundly moved by Attila’s vision. That an unlettered barbarian could conceive such a noble project put him, Aetius, to shame, and made him reflect on his own narrow ambitions. Compared to Attila’s, they suddenly seemed sordid and petty. Was he really content to be merely a successful warlord, with Gaul as his fief, pulling up the drawbridge while all around him the Western Empire crumbled? After all, did he not owe the Empire an act of reparation? It was his selfish rivalry with Boniface, he at last admitted, that had resulted in the loss of Africa – a potentially fatal blow to the West. With Gaul stabilized by means of Hunnish help, and, he hoped, the federates in time integrated as Roman citizens – a status the Visigoths were already aspiring towards, surely it was not impossible that the lost territories of Britain, Africa, and Galicia in Spain, could be recovered. Their resources and revenue from taxes, could then pump fresh blood into the arteries of Empire.

  Why, only six years ago,4 Germanus, a former officer of his father’s who had turned churchman and become Bishop of Autissiodorum, had shown what could be achieved in Britain, long abandoned by the legions. Sent by Pope Celestine to combat the Pelagian heresy, Germanus had stayed on to organize resistance among the eastern Britons, against a Saxon–Pict alliance. Inspired by the warlike bishop, the British host had raised a mighty cry of ‘Alleluia!’ and had so demoralized the enemy that they turned and fled without a blow.

  The West could be made whole again, and Rome perhaps begin a new revival, as in the days of Diocletian and Constantine. It was a task, Aetius knew, which called not only for military reconquest but for a rekindling of patriotic spirit. That would necessitate the rooting out of official corruption, and a fairer distribution of the tax burden. An enormous challenge, certainly – but, given dedicated leadership, surely not an impossible one. The voices of conscience that had so often troubled him in the past suddenly returned – this time with a message not of condemnation but of hope. ‘In hoc signo vince,’ they seemed to say, echoing the words of Constantine, when he saw his vision of the Cross: ‘In this sign shalt thou conquer.’ But what sign?

  Then it came to him. Attila’s unselfish ambition to build a ‘Greater Scythia’ – that was the examplar he had been vouchsafed. Like Paul on the road to Damascus, Aetius felt that he had been shown a new and worthier path to follow. He arrived back in Gaul filled with optimism and renewed energy. The iron had begun to leave his soul.

  1 Brittany.

  2 The Baltic.

  3 Scandinavia.

  4 In 429; Autissiodorum is now Auxerre.

  TWENTY

  They put out a smokescreen of minute calculations involved in impenetrable obscurity

  Edict of Valentinian III against corrupt financial officials, 450

  ‘I’ve a friend who works in the Treasury at Ravenna,’ Synesius, a rising lawyer, said musingly to Flaccus, son of a small landowner. The two young men were in the calidarium or hot room of Verona’s last functioning bath-house. Flaccus, who had just come into a legacy, was consulting his friend about finding a profitable way to invest some of it. ‘For a small consideration,’ Synesius went on, ‘I daresay I could get him to pull some strings. I happen to know that the post of canonicarius – financial overseer – for the land tax from First Belgica is about to fall vacant. It’s in the gift of the Praetorian prefect. If your application were successful, the prefect would naturally expect some, ah, “compensation” shall we call it?’

  ‘But . . . isn’t that illegal?’ exclaimed Flac
cus in shocked tones.

  ‘Don’t be naive,’ sighed Synesius, rolling his eyes. ‘Of course it’s illegal; I thought everyone knew that. But as long as those in the system turn a blind eye, who cares? Pass that strigil, would you? Thanks. Honestly, you’d think they could manage to lay on a slave or two to scrape you down. Cutbacks – that’s all you hear about these days. Well, shall I contact my friend?’

  Written at Ravenna, the Treasury, in the consulships of Areobindus and Aspar. Nones Aprilis.1

  My dear Synesius, your sponsio2 much appreciated. I have seen the Praetorian prefect re your friend’s application, and he says to tell him that the suffragium or going rate for the post is a hundred solidi. Of course, your friend will still have to present himself for interview, but that should just be a formality. What’s termed ‘general merit’ (id est, good birth, education, and loyalty) is more important than financial aptitude. Anyway, he’ll have a small staff of clerks to deal with technical matters.

  A hundred solidi may seem a largish sum to secure the appointment, so you should point out to your friend that, if he uses his imagination and initiative, he can expect to recoup his outlay at least fourfold during the two years the job will be his. The post does carry a salary: virtually nominal, but then you could hardly expect otherwise, could you?

  By the way, in order to arrange my meeting with the prefect, I had to proceed via the tractator, his intermediary with the relevant provincial governor. So you’ll appreciate that I had to grease a few extra palms. Which alas made quite a dent in the sponsio. The things we do for friends! Do you know Rufio’s wine shop in Verona, near the amphitheatre? Well, if you were feeling generous, an amphora of Falernian (or Massic at a pinch) despatched by wagon, wouldn’t go amiss . . .

  ‘This is nothing short of naked robbery!’ shouted the governor of First Belgica. He flung down on his desk the last of the rolls containing the revised assessments for the province’s land tax, which Flaccus had presented for his inspection. The two men were in the tablinum of the governor’s fortified villa overlooking the River Mosella. The room commanded a view of a blighted landscape: ruined vineyards, abandoned villas, fields reverting to scrub and swamp, the results of insecurity caused by recurring Frankish raids. The same landscape that, a mere two generations before, the poet Ausonius had described as smiling and fruitful.