by Ross Laidlaw
Later in the year that he became ‘Lord of the West Romans’ (as writers began to style him), the one thousand, one hundred and eighty-seventh from the founding of Rome,1 Aetius heard that Rua had died, and that Attila had succeeded to the throne of the Huns.
1 433.
PART II
CONSTANTINOPLE
AD 434-50
SEVENTEEN
Their savage custom is to stick a naked sword in the earth and worship it as the God of War
Ammianus Marcellinus, The Histories, c. 395
Crowning its huge timber plinth, the Sacred Scimitar glittered in the pale spring sunshine. Looking at the shining blade, Attila smiled to himself as, accompanied by his guide, a one-eyed, smiling little Greek, he rode out of the Hun camp at the start of his long journey to the north-east. Years previously, the sword had been gifted to him by a herdsman who had dug it from the ground after one of his heifers cut its leg on the sharp point hidden in the grass. Attila had laid the thing aside and forgot it until, on becoming co-ruler with his brother Bleda, he had considered its potential as a symbol to enhance his kingship. For the sword possessed a strange quality which, in the eyes of unsophisticated nomads, gave it magical powers. Though made of iron, it never rusted.1 When cleaned after its removal from the earth in which it had lain for unknown decades, it was as bright and unblemished as though it were fresh from the swordsmith’s forge, an appearance it had retained ever since. Traditionally, his people had worshipped a naked sword stuck in the ground. The Sacred Scimitar, imbued with both ancient custom and magic power, could, Attila realized, be valuable in building his personal legend.
Attila’s production of the scimitar had created an effect beyond his expectations. After a trial period, in which it was exposed to the elements and observed not to rust, it was accepted by the Huns as a manifestation of their warlike god Murduk, and deemed to bestow on its owner semi-divine status. This, Attila thought, must give him a considerable advantage in the power struggle which he saw developing between himself and Bleda.
Since becoming king, a plan for his people’s destiny had begun to form in Attila’s mind: a vision of a great nation whose homeland would span the vast steppes extending between the empires of the Romans and the Chinese. In order to survive, and not, like innumerable nomad peoples in the past, flourish briefly, only to be absorbed or annihilated by the next westward-advancing wave, a nation must develop written laws, and institutions. Without these things, Attila believed, there could be no long-lasting stability. Rome had lasted for hundreds of years, China for thousands; with a viable constitution, and the energy of its teeming population productively channelled, there was no reason why the Hun Empire should not outlive them both. Was there? And who better than his friend Aetius, now ruler of the West Romans, to help him build the foundations for such an empire?
But Attila knew that his brother, unless kept in check, would compromise his vision. Jealous, vindictive, insatiably ambitious, Bleda made up in cunning what he lacked in intelligence. It was inconceivable he would co-operate with Attila in the furtherance of his plan. Therefore he must be sidelined. Two things should help to ensure that: Attila’s possession of the Sword of Murduk; and, if his current journey bore sweet fruit, the immense boost his prestige could receive. If the fabled sage and seer Wu Tze were to predict favourable auguries for Attila’s reign, that would confer on the king an authority decreed by Fate.
‘Callisthenes of Olbia’ — it has a certain ring, you must agree. You won’t have heard of me, of course. Yet. But you will, you will. And why is that? I hear you ask. The answer, my friends, is because I have decided to cast in my lot with that of one who I predict will prove to be the greatest man the world has ever seen — to wit, Attila, nephew of the late King Rua, and now joint ruler of the nation of the Huns. Lest you be tempted to dismiss my claim as mere sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal, let me explain.
I am what you might call a man of business (a definition I prefer to ‘merchant’) from a long line of traders settled in Olbia, a Greek outpost city near the north coast of the Pontus Euxinus,2 now in the Huns’ domain. My family were among the original settlers when Olbia was founded, a century and more before the Graeco-Persian Wars. The place was set up with the sole purpose of commerce, in which activity it was extraordinarily successful, establishing trading links throughout the Scythian world3 and beyond — to India and China. One of my ancestors, another Callisthenes, was chief supplier to Alexander the Great (not, I hasten to add, the Callisthenes who paid with his life for daring to criticize the Macedonian’s adoption of Persian regalia and mores). He ensured a constant flow of supplies, not only for Alexander’s army but for the flood of scientists, settlers, officials, and artisans that followed in its wake to consolidate his empire — the same categories of men that Attila will himself need when he implements his Great Plan.
You see, since choosing me (on account of my contacts throughout Scythia, and — though I say it myself — unrivalled knowledge of its peoples, tongues, terrain, and climate) to be his guide on his present journey to consult the seer Wu Tze, he has confided to me something of his ambitions. An Empire of the Steppes, bridging the realms of Rome and China: a virtually empty land providing a splendid opportunity for the eastern expansion of his people. What the Germans, in their drive to claim new territories within the Roman frontiers, call Volkerwanderung. What a man! What a vision! But to turn that vision into reality, he will need to build upon the vast network of trading links and multifarious interest groups that permeate Scythia. In other words, he will need me.
But that is for the future. This present journey of some two thousand leagues (or, if you prefer, six thousand Roman miles) to the shores of the Baikal lake, involving the crossing of six mighty rivers — the Borysthenes,4 the Tanais,5 the Rha,7 the Bantisus,8 the Yenisei, and the Lena — might seem to the ordinary traveller an immense and daunting undertaking. But to a Hun, and to a Greek acquainted with the region, it is nothing. For it follows all the way a fine and level road, greater by far than any the Romans ever made. A road a thousand miles wide and paved with grass, extending all the way from Old Dacia9 to China: the Highway of the Steppes. Rivers apart, there are only two natural obstacles, the Carpathus and Imaus Mons,10 and they both easy to surmount, both traversed by passes. Travelling light, with remounts, the round trip of four thousand leagues should take no longer than three months, four at most, for the Hun horses are sturdy and tireless, able to cover a hundred miles a day, more if ridden hard. Such a trip’s only to be undertaken from May to August, the northern steppes being gripped by winter in the other months, when the cold — at least beyond the Urals — can be really terrible.
And now, preamble concluded, I, Callisthenes, a Greek of Olbia, trader extraordinary, traveller, natural philosopher (and, if you will, both an Aristotle and an Arrian to
Attila’s Alexander) begin this chronicle, The Attiliad, a Scythian Odyssey, in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of the second Theodosius, Emperor of the East Romans.11
XVII Kalends Junii.12 Today crossed our third great river, the Rha some hundred leagues above its entry into the Mare Caspium. The stream here above a mile in width, which made the crossing lengthy; but the absence of strong currents, and the abundance of shoals and banks, allowed our horses to swim over safely and in stages. As far as eye can see, gently undulating plains clothed with rich grass, and destitute of trees; yet in the bottoms of the deep ravines concealed by the undulations of the steppes, a variety of trees and shrubs — willows, wild cherries, wild apricots, and others. For several days have noticed large mounds of earth up to forty feet in height. Ancient tombs?
Soon after our river crossing, encountered a band of nomads travelling with their wagons, the men riding, the women and children in the wagons, together with their flocks and herds. Found them courteous and hospitable, as are all steppe peoples who, though very warlike among themselves, are invariably kind to strangers. Invited by them to share a meal, a pottage of onions
, beans, and garlic, with horse-meat, lamb, and goat, cooked in a great bronze cauldron. Tunny and sturgeon (dried) also offered as side dishes, but declined. To drink, wine and the ubiquitous kumiss, or fermented mare’s milk. Men’s garments — close-fitting tunic and trousers (convenient for riding and therefore universal in the steppes, and even copied by the imperial cavalry of China). Their women wear long dresses and a tall headdress covered with a veil. Clothing of both sexes ornamented with colourful designs, cut out separately then sewn on to the garment, much jewellery displayed, especially gold. Clear skies. Weather very hot.
In this one band alone is displayed a wide variety of tints: hair red, fair, and black; skins white to olive; eyes blue, green, brown, black. Regarding these differences, which show clear intermingling of races and may in part be explained by polygamy being general among the nomads, they seem quite indifferent. (A lesson here, perhaps, for Romans, for whom intermarriage with Germans is forbidden.) Indeed, though diverse in blood, the peoples of the steppes show a remarkable uniformity of culture and, though all have their separate tribal languages, can communicate with each other easily enough in a bastard Persian, which serves as a common tongue. On their departing, presented them with some beads of amber from the shores of the Mare Suevicum13 (from our store of trade goods for just such occasions), which pleased them greatly.
Post Scriptum.
Everywhere we’ve passed, Attila spoken of with interest and respect, proof that his reputation as a leader is already to be reckoned with. (We travelling incognito as traders, Attila not recognized for who he is, though his presence and gravity of demeanour never fail to impress all we meet, that here is a man of consequence.) Have heard reported many supposed ‘sayings’ of Attila, which amuse him greatly (the only times I’ve observed him to smile), some of which I here set down:
A wise chieftain never kills the Hun bearing bad news, only the Hun who fails to deliver bad news.
Great chieftains never take themselves too seriously.
Every decision involves some risk.
Huns only make enemies on purpose.
Never appoint acting chieftains.
Some have solutions for which there are no problems.
Every Hun has value — even if only to serve as a bad example.
Suffer long for mediocre but loyal Huns; suffer not for competent but disloyal Huns.
IV Nones Junii.14 Made camp on the shores of the Cham lake, halfway between the Irtish and Bantisus rivers. Though hot by day, the nights now very cold. (The reason I think may be this: as we approach the centre of this vast continent of Asia, so the land, becoming ever further from Ocean, is no longer warmed by its winds; also, as we progress, our direction being north of east we trend away from the temperate lands, towards the Boreal. If Ptolemy is correct, we should now be near the latitude of Ultima Thule.15) Rivers here have gravelly bottoms, and from constant changing of their beds have formed strange abandoned banks and islands, marooned in the midst of dry land! We now encounter fewer parties of nomads (some for the first time displaying the Mongol cast of feature) and, though always from a distance, more wild animals than formerly — elks, bears, wolves, bison, wild horses. Stands of timber, mainly pines, birch, and larch, more and more commonly seen. The steppe in places carpeted with sanfoin and wild thyme which, with the increasing frequency of trees, helps to break the monotony of the endless sea of grass. (I’ve heard that these vast steppes can, in some travellers, induce a weariness or sickness of the spirit.) Abundance of francolin and pheasant, a number of which Attila (like all Huns a superb marksman with the bow) shot — a welcome change to our usual fare of dried flesh. These delicious seasoned with salt, which the nomads obtain from the many salt lakes hereabouts, and which they’re willing to trade for trinkets — mirrors, needles, and the like.
Attila much given to contemplation. As we ride, he observes everything around him with a hunter’s eye, distinguishing an eagle from a buzzard when to me both are mere dots in the sky, yet all the time thinking deeply, as evidenced from the penetrating questions he continually shoots. Why, think you, Callisthenes, does the sun appear to move round the earth? What makes objects fall? Why do things appear smaller with distance? Why does a stone acquire more force the further it drops? Which shows that, in addition to possessing a supreme gift of leadership, Attila has a deep and penetrating mind.
That notwithstanding, I remind myself he is still a savage — an unlettered barbarian without recourse to written store of knowledge, and so limited by memory and observation to everything he can know or recall. Can a barbarian, however noble his vision, ever transcend such limitations? Ever react to, or plan against, what is not in the present? Construct a water-clock or understand Pythagoras? I venture to think that Attila might indeed discover the power to snap the bonds of barbarism, and escape the tyrrany of the immediate. For he seems aware of such restrictions, and that surely must be half the battle to free himself of them. A man who cannot read, provided he has the will and can command the influence, may at least surround himself with those who can, and thus provide himself with access to learning.
XII Kalends Julii.16 Arrived today at the shores of that great inland sea, the Lake of Baikal or Bai-Kul (which the Mongols call Dalai Nor or ‘Holy Sea’) enclosed by high, fir-covered hills. Since crossing the Yenisei river ten days ago, the country much changed — a chain of tall mountains always on our right hand,17 and the grassy plains much interrupted with hills and forests. Several days of heavy rain (from the proximity of mountains?); plagued by mosquitoes. Since the Yenisei, all the natives of Mongol race — Calmucks, Buryats, Ostyaks — in appearance so resembling the Huns that they take Attila for one of themselves, and seem surprised he does not comprehend when they address him in their own tongue. Which is surely proof that the belief of some natural philosophers, that the Huns originated from a region to the north of China, is correct. These people all herders of reindeer, which they also ride sitting on their necks or shoulders, the animals’ backs being not strong enough to bear a man’s weight. They introduced us to a drink called chai; this comes in the form of a cake a little of which, broken off and infused with boiling water, is drunk with a lump of butter. Somewhat bitter, but refreshing and much to be preferred to kumiss.
A curious incident occurred as we pitched camp on the banks of the Lena, not long before we reached the lake. We were struck by hearing a low, pleasing, musical note, repeated time after time and issuing from beyond a nearby rise. Investigating, we observed a great bear standing on his hind legs and, with his forepaw, bending then releasing a broken-off bough projecting from a tree, whose vibrations caused the sound. (Which proves that the myth of Orpheus charming the beasts with his lyre was based on true observation — namely, that animals are not indifferent to music.) Seeing us, the bear made off; Attila and I then tried in turn to bend the branch, but could not move it.
For many days have observed quantities of huge bones littering the ground: rhinoceros and elephant, but from animals of a size far exceeding that of any members of those species known today. Which leads me to speculate: did the Creator fashion such creatures (which in respect to size are so different from their modern counterparts) on the Fifth Day, along with the other beasts? Or could they be the ancestors (as Empedocles — who held that forms are constantly changing from an inferior to a more perfect state — seems to imply) of today’s rhinoceroses and elephants, grown smaller through the ages? And is it heresy (by challenging Holy Writ) to raise such questions? I trust not; after all, the Schools of Athens are still permitted to discuss all matters freely, whether or not they touch on the Divine Logos.
Tomorrow, Attila sets out for the abode of the sage Wu Tze, to ask (myself interpreting) what the Fates portend — as the Greeks of old, before embarking on any great enterprise, sought out the Delphic Oracle.
Excursus:18 Terra Nova?
The nomads here tell of a land beyond Ocean to the east, not further than a four moons’ journey north-eastwards to its nearest
point, where it’s separated from the end of Asia by a narrow strait of only ten leagues’ width, in which are three islands. This, the local people, who are called Inuit, cross with ease in their canoes, paddling from island to island, as we would cross a river using stepping-stones; also, when the sea’s frozen, on sleds drawn by dogs, but then with more difficulty on account of the ice being hummocky, not smooth. Could this be that lost island of Atlantis of which Plato wrote in the Timaeus and the Kritias, and which was spoken of (although I think on hearsay) by Pliny, Diodorus, and Arnobius? Lucian, in his True History, speaks of an island eighty days’ sail westwards of the Pillars of Hercules, but this has generally been dismissed as imagined. The Celts believe in a Land of the Dead beyond the Western Sea, which they call Glasinnis or Avalon (the Hesperides or Isles of the Blessed, of our Greek forebears?); these things however pertain rather to Legend than to Geography.
Atlantis, then: substance or mere shadow? And, if more than fabled, could it be related to the land visited by the Inuit? Had but the modern Hellenes the same spirit of enquiry and adventure as that Greek of old, Pytheas,19 then might we know the answer ere too long.
And now, for the moment, Callisthenes must lay aside this his chronicle, as translating for both Attila and Wu Tze will take precedence over other matters.
With anticipation not unmixed with doubt, Attila drew near to the abode of the holy man Wu Tze. Reputedly over a hundred years old, the famed seer was a native of China, whence, so ran the story, he had travelled as a child with his father as part of a mission to the court of the great Constantine, when Rome was still the mightiest power in the world. On the journey home, the party had been captured and enslaved by Alans. The young Wu Tze, however, had impressed his masters by exhibiting a rare gift: an apparent ability to contact the world of spirits and dead ancestors. Released from bondage, he developed this talent through following a regime of contemplation and rigorous disciplines, gradually acquiring a status of pre-eminence among the shamans consulted by the nomads of the plains.
