Attila (36 page)

‘Enough!' said Pulcheria sharply. ‘Rather than fight among ourselves, we should be planning how to deal with our common foe. Aspar is right. Things must not be allowed to drift any further.
Let us recall our legions from Sicilia and the east; the situation on neither of these fronts is critical, and anyway operations can be resumed when the present danger is past.' She turned to Theodosius. ‘Agreed, my lord?'

‘Oh, very well,' assented the Emperor testily. Then, as if to avoid giving the impression that he was passively yielding to pressure, he sat up erect on his throne and announced loudly, ‘It is our word and our command that the African Expedition and the troops now serving on the Persian frontier be immediately recalled to Constantinople, and that they be put in readiness to march against the Huns. You, Arnegliscus, will be in overall charge, with Aspar as your second-in-command.'

Surveying the Roman dispositions from a low hill behind the cavalry wing on the army's left, Aspar was overwhelmed by uneasiness. The terrain was hot, barren, and dusty; in the distance, the Thracian trading-port of Kallipolis
⁶
huddled beside the blue waters of the Hellespont. A splendid opportunity to check ‘the Scourge of God', as Attila was becoming known, had been squandered by the folly of the Emperor.

Following the recall of the troops from Sicilia and the Persian front, Aspar, with Arnegliscus' agreement, had bought time by arranging a truce with Attila, through promising the return of fugitives, also paying part of the arrears of tribute fixed by the Treaty of Margus. Time which he had made good use of to begin to hammer the two halves of the army into a disciplined, united force capable of taking on an unfamiliar and terrible enemy. But, to Aspar's fury, these solid gains had been needlessly thrown away. With a false confidence inspired by the return of the legions, Theodosius had forced Aspar to renege on his promises to the Hun king. By order of the Emperor, fugitives were not after all to be returned, nor was any further tribute to be paid. Predictably, Attila had been enraged, and had responded by launching a strike to the east: taking Ratiaria (an important state arms factory and the base of the Danubius fleet), Naissus, Serdica
⁷
, and Philippopolis. With the Huns now dangerously near his capital, Theodosius had ordered a reluctant Arnegliscus
to take the field against them. Unsurprisingly, the half-trained army had suffered two reverses. Pressed ever eastwards by the victorious Huns, it had been outflanked by Attila and now, its retreat cut off, had been forced into the Chersonesus of Thracia, the narrow peninsula bounding the northern shore of the Hellespontus.
⁸

Never was a position more hopeless, thought Aspar despairingly, looking at the way Arnegliscus had drawn up the army. The infantry were arranged in a solid block twenty-five ranks deep, with a cavalry wing on either side. The formation resembled a plump partridge, a partridge ready for plucking. The two engagements with the Huns so far had been running skirmishes rather than full-scale encounters. Now, boxed into the Chersonesus, the Romans had no choice but to fight a pitched battle. What on earth was Arnegliscus' tactical thinking? By concentrating his men in a solid mass, the German presumably imagined he was maximizing their effectiveness. That might have made sense in the days of the Macedonian phalanx, but against a highly mobile and – in terms of numbers – vastly superior enemy, armed moreover with long-range weapons, it was suicidal folly. Ultimately, however, the blame must lie largely with himself, Aspar admitted, with a sick feeling of guilt. If he hadn't overridden Arnegliscus and persuaded the Empress to take the battle to the Hun . . .

Arnegliscus had positioned the Roman force on open ground facing the direction the enemy must approach from, with the supply wagons some distance to the rear. What he had failed to grasp was that there
was
no rear. He was inviting the Huns to employ their most successful tactic: to move round behind their opponents and encircle them. Unless something was done, the Battle of Kallipolis would prove to be another Hadrianopolis. Well, he, Aspar, wasn't going to stand by and let disaster overtake them, without first putting some suggestions to his superior. Dispatching a galloper to summon Areobindus, the commander of the cavalry on the right wing, Aspar spurred over to Arnegliscus' command tent behind the infantry. Dismounting, he strode inside.

Arnegliscus was seated at a table strewn with maps and documents; there were also a flagon and goblets. He stared at Aspar
with some irritation, but retained enough manners to offer the general some wine.

‘Thank you, but I prefer to keep a clear head,' retorted Aspar. ‘I have several suggestions that must be made.'

‘“Must”?' growled Arnegliscus, his blue eyes widening. ‘You forget yourself, I think.'

‘Yes, “must”, snapped Aspar. At that moment, Areobindus, a tall German with hair cut short in the Roman fashion, entered the tent. ‘As things stand,' Aspar pressed on, ‘you face almost certain defeat. Your flanks are exposed, therefore the Huns will surround you. The infantry are packed together in a solid mass, a formation far too deep to allow the rear ranks to help those in front.' He turned to Areobindus. ‘
You
can see that, surely?' he appealed.

‘Aspar does have a point, sir,' Areobindus observed tactfully. ‘Our front would become more effective if you were to expand it; eight ranks are quite sufficient to give staying power. May I also suggest that the wagons are brought up closer to the line? They would then be protected and could, if occasion arose, be deployed to form a protective screen. Left where they are, they will certainly be looted and destroyed.'

‘Above all, you must protect the flanks,' urged Aspar, his heart sinking as he noted a look of stubborn defensiveness settle on Arnegliscus' face. ‘Only a mile from here, there's a steep-sided valley, not too broad for our troops to span. Our flanks would then be secure.' Actually, what he was suggesting was, Aspar knew, a desperate enough alternative; to form an unbroken front across the valley would mean stretching the Roman line perilously thin. But almost any plan would be preferable to the present arrangement.

‘I had thought guarding the flanks was the duty of the cavalry,' said Arnegliscus sourly. ‘I must have been mistaken.'

Areobindus stiffened and an angry gleam appeared in his eye. Determined not to be drawn, Aspar said coolly, ‘I shall ignore that, sir. Another thing. The men have been standing in the sun for hours. They're hot, thirsty, and demoralized. Issue them with food and water, and give them permission to stand down until the enemy's sighted. They'll fight better rested and on a full stomach. Also, a few words from yourself might help to raise their spirits.'

‘Very well,' conceded Arnegliscus, ‘it shall be done. And I shall
extend the line as you suggest. Also the wagons will be brought up closer to the rear. These things are only sensible, I grant. But I see no need for other change. The army stays where it is.'

Further argument was pointless, Aspar realized. He glanced at Areobindus, who shrugged resignedly. ‘On your head be it,' Aspar said to Arnegliscus. ‘If the year of the consuls Maximus and Paterius
⁹
is remembered in Rome's annals for another Cannae, Rome will know whom to blame.' Saluting, he left the tent, mounted, and rode back to his station.

A murmur passed along the Roman lines as a galloping scout hove into sight. A little later, the commanders assembled in front of their units to announce that the enemy was close; and that from this moment on the men were to maintain silence, observe orders, and keep position.

A bank of what seemed like mist or smoke had appeared on the horizon. Extending on either hand to the limit of visibility and growing taller by the second, it rolled swiftly towards the waiting Romans. A distant murmur changed to a steady pattering, which in turn became a rumbling roar. The earth began to tremble. Now dots could be made out in the dust-cloud, dots which rapidly grew into galloping riders.

‘Right, boys, let's have the
barritus
,' called a
primicerius
. ‘Make it a good one.'

Clashing their lances against their shields, the Romans gave their battle-cry, beginning on a low note and swelling to a deafening shout. It was intended to raise morale when the line confronted a charging enemy, but this time the
barritus
wavered and died away as the Hun formations, instead of engaging the Roman front in a head-on attack, split and wheeled when just beyond javelin range, to pour past the army's flanks in two enormous masses and reunite behind its rear. Now the Romans found themselves encircled in a vast whirlpool of horsemen, who began to shoot their arrows.

In a continuous blizzard, the shafts arced high in the air, to plunge down on to the Romans. The front ranks, the only men issued with both helmets and mail coats, and with enough room to raise their shields, remained comparatively unscathed. But the
soldiers in the middle, helmeted but lacking body-armour, and so close-packed they were unable to use their shields to protect their upper bodies, began to suffer terrible punishment. The cavalry wings did their best to keep the Hun archers at bay, charging time after time to drive them back. Barring scouts and skirmishers, the Roman horse consisted of heavy armoured cavalry, virtually invulnerable to arrows, and more than a match for their opponents on an individual basis. But when outnumbered on a huge scale their effectiveness was severely limited.

Once, in an attempt to come to grips with the enemy, the trumpets on the Roman side sounded the advance. But the encircling Huns merely kept pace with the advancing Romans, whose formations began to lose cohesion and to take even more casualties. When the halt was eventually sounded, the Roman infantry had been reduced to a panic-stricken rabble, desperate to flee or to engage their tormentors, but unable to do either. Taking turns to peel away and breathe their horses, the Huns were able to maintain a constant barrage, which exacted a terrible toll. Throughout that endless afternoon, the Roman ranks thinned steadily, which by a grim irony benefited the survivors, who now had room to raise their shields and protect their torsos. Only the coming of darkness brought respite to the beleaguered army.

Tortured by thirst and wounds throughout the long night, the Romans awaited the dawn with dread. But the rising sun showed only an empty plain. The Huns had gone.

To his captains, Attila's decision to spare the shattered remnant of the Roman army smacked of commendable contempt for a negligible foe. How could they guess that it stemmed from self-disgust? Attila's stock could now stand hardly higher. To his people he was a conquering hero, who had brought them plunder beyond imagining and made their name feared throughout the world. But to Attila himself it was all a hollow triumph, like those apples of legend which turned to ashes in the mouth. This was not what he had wanted for his nation. Any hopes now of creating a Greater Scythia were dashed for ever; he had sent home the team of advisers Aetius had provided. Posterity would remember Attila not as a second Caesar or another Alexander, but as the Scourge of God, the barbarian who had loosed death and destruction on a scale never before witnessed.

 

¹
Mitrovica, in Kosovo.

²
Belgrade.

³
The Sea of Marmara.

⁴
The Balkan provinces.

⁵
The Balkans (region).

⁶
Gallipoli.

⁷
Ni
, Sofia.

⁸
The Dardanelles.

⁹
443.

We knew not whether we were in Heaven or on earth; for on earth there is no such splendour or such beauty

Report of the envoys of Prince Vladimir of Kiev, on Constantinople, tenth century

‘Gold, more gold . . . Let us send envoys to extort rich gifts . . . They are pressed by enemies on all sides – Persians, Isaurians, Saracens, even black men from Axum in the farthest south, so they cannot refuse us anything we ask . . . Gold, gold . . .' From all over the assembly, convened to determine Hun policy towards Eastern Rome, arose excited demands, inflamed by avarice and arrogance deriving from overwhelming victory, to extract more and yet more tribute from the Romans following their crushing defeat in the Chersonesus. After that battle, peace terms had been negotiated with Anatolius, military commander for the diocese of Oriens, terms which were vastly harsher and more punitive than those of Margus, but which the East had been in no position to refuse.

Savages, thought Attila, surveying his Council with weary contempt. Short-sighted barbarians. In wishing to impose such humiliating conditions on the Eastern Romans, his people were forgetting the cardinal rule of nomad society: you did not destroy a beaten enemy, you assimilated or befriended him, becoming in the process more powerful yourself. The Huns were changing he thought sadly. Gold and grass – or rather the lack of it – were now the new determinants. Gold had made them greedy; and in extending their conquests so far westward, the Huns had at last run out of steppe. With no more grasslands to the west of them, and too little in their present homeland to sustain their herds indefinitely, the old free nomadic life was ultimately doomed. All the more reason then to find accommodation with the Romans, rather than bleed them white.