Everyone nodded, and Manlius could hardly dissent. He was uncertain himself which was worse, the abstract prospect of Euric’s troops—who certainly would be terrible enough if they ever arrived—or the steady wasting away of civil society that the slow attrition of labor meant. Both, certainly, had to be dealt with.
“I must point out,” he said, “that gold can only be spent once. It can bribe Euric, pay for troops, or be spent on supplies for Clermont. But not all three.”
“Which is why you must find the emperor . . .”
Manlius shook his head slowly.
“I really do not think that is the right course,” he said. “Not only because the emperor is little more than a puppet. Even if he were truly in command of himself, I doubt I could prevail on Rome—or Ravenna, or wherever he is—to help.”
“Why is that, brother?”
Manlius winced. He hated being addressed as brother by anyone, and certainly resented the implication of fraternal equality with the lowborn, ignorant Bishop of Aix.
“The suggestions are all noble and good,” he continued, “but they omit one detail. Time. There is little of it. We do not know why Euric and his army have decided to move no farther until Clermont falls, but it is a mistake on his part. The town is no threat to his army. He could sweep past it to the sea at any moment he chooses, and there is a risk he will do so. How long will it take to raise an army in Italy, even if it can be done? Many months at least, as I am sure you realize. By which time there is every possibility that Clermont will have fallen and Aix and Arles and Marseille as well.
“If we are going to get help, we need it now. Within weeks. And, in my opinion, the only people who might assist are the Burgundians. Before anything else, I propose to go to them at Lyon and persuade King Gundobad to block Euric’s advance to the East. He was brought up in Rome; his aunt was married to Ricimer and is a Catholic; he may be persuaded to help.”
A feint; deceive the enemy that your main advance was merely a skirmish. Lull them into the feeling that the battle was not yet joined, so it might be over before they even realized. This, in essence, was Manlius’s tactic at the meeting, which ended in unanimous agreement that he should first buy time, and then buy an army.
Thus it was that the end of Roman Gaul was decided by the enthusiastic nods of those who most wanted to keep it in existence.
HE GAVE a banquet that evening to end the meeting, and to impress on his fellows the extent of his power. There was no delicacy on this occasion; Manlius found the best musicians and cooks available, brought in his own servants and borrowed those of his family in the town. And toward the end he told them a story. It was nearly a parable, almost the first sermon he gave, for he was keen to educate them and prepare them for what he thought was inevitable.
“Let me tell you of my trip to Rome,” he told them when they had eaten well and the last dishes were cleared, the musicians finished and dispatched. And when they had settled and he had their attention, he began.
“I was in the entourage of Lord Majorian, traveling there to cement his grip on the throne, going with a large portion of his army. My father provided a substantial number of troops for his cause from our estate, and I was taken to honor his contribution while he remained behind to keep control of the province. Remember this: I was with an army, and in the company of the only decent emperor to have held the throne for forty years. Did the Romans welcome us? No. Did they honor us? No again. Did the prospect of an emperor able to reassert the glory of Rome fill them with gratitude? No, for a third time. The first delegation which came out to meet us asked for money for games. The second presented a bill for quartering the troops. Even the senate, when he wished to address it, had to be bribed heavily before they would present themselves.
“That is by the by, perhaps. Rome has long been legendary for its rapacity, and I tell you nothing you do not know already. What I wish to recount is a conversation I had with Lord Ricimer, who had been master of the empire for years, though always in the background, and who eventually struck Majorian down. And, through his agents, my father also.
“He was barbarian by breeding, and barbarian by nature; utterly unlike those who see the glory of Rome and wish to emulate it. Not one piece of its civilization did he wish for himself. His manners, bearing, and deportment were almost painful to behold. The first time I caught sight of him—a short, bowed, scarcely shaven man, dressed in a rough tunic, with a truculent scowl—I took him to be a gamekeeper or some other servant. The person I was with laughed out loud when I asked how such a person could wander freely about the powerful senator’s house in which we were at the time, and snapped his fingers at the man.
“ ‘You, sir,’ he called out. ‘Yes, sir. You. Come here. This fine young man here’—he gestured to me—‘wishes to know how a dirty gamekeeper like yourself comes to be wandering freely in this fine house.’
“He thought for a second, then replied, with a voice which sounded remarkably cultivated coming from such a source. The thing which struck me then, and continued to strike me thereafter, was its softness; he spoke so quietly you could barely hear him. Others have remarked on this as well. ‘It may be because of one of two reasons,’ he said. ‘The first being that I own both the house and the senator. The second being that not so long ago another great man of this town did deny me entrance. But that is an old story; and he is long since dead.’
“And then he smiled, a smile of such dazzling beauty that I almost gasped for breath. We are told that we see the soul in such little details and if so, then this man’s reputation must be wrong, for he had the smile of an angel, with beautiful white, even-spaced teeth lighting up eyes which were of a most remarkable blue—a legacy of his Visigothic mother, no doubt.
“ ‘Your name, sir?’ he asked of me. I told him immediately, with something of a stammer. I was scarcely twenty at this time and, although my training was complete, it had not yet encompassed situations such as this.
“ ‘You are one of Majorian’s Gallic entourage, then. What did he bring you for? Are you a cleric? A soldier? A diplomatist?’
“ ‘None of these. If anything, I can lay some claim to being a poet,’ I said.
“Ricimer laughed out loud. ‘A poet? How useful! I am glad to see the savior of the Western empire has his priorities straight. So, sir poet, make me a poem.’
“I thought, in all my foolishness, that my chance had come. A vision of myself standing before the senate delivering a panegyric danced before my eyes.
“ ‘Oh, willingly, sir. With the greatest of pleasure. The honor you do me . . .’
“But this was not what he meant at all. He wished to ridicule me, not honor me. My speech of gratitude was cut short.
“ ‘Yes, yes. Come along then. Begin.’
“ ‘But I need to prepare.’
“ ‘A poet is full of song, I am told. Preparation is not necessary. Generals do not fight battles when they are ready; a good commander can turn any situation to advantage. The same with a politician and a statesman. Are poets different? Make me a song.’
“The tone of his words was playful, yet there was an edge to them. He was prepared to impose his will even in this little matter. The more I protested, the more would he push, until I gave way. I did not want an unseemly fight which I would inevitably lose, but I did not wish to make a fool of myself either. A difficult situation, as you can imagine. So, red-faced and covered with embarrassment, I began. Fortunately, I had that very morning been perusing Horace, which I had brought with me for the pleasure of rereading it on the very sites where the master had composed his immortal lines. I hope I offend no one if I say I am convinced his shade hovered over me at that moment, and gave me inspiration that I should not disgrace the name of poet.