One struggling novice swimmer cried out, ‘How far is that?’
‘Maybe ten miles.’
Rufus murmured something. Aetius squinted again towards the horizon but could still see nothing. The lad’s younger eyes had seen it, though. ‘Maybe less,’ he called out again. ‘Maybe only six or seven.’
‘We’ll drown!’ they cried. ‘You are condemning us to death!’
‘On the contrary, I am leaving you to death – which you deserve – knowing that there is a small chance you may be reprieved. You’re in God’s hands. It’s a good, flat calm. The sun is shining. There’s blood in the water around you, and plenty of sharks nearby. You’d better start kicking.
‘Hortator! Sound the drum!’
In the silence, the slow, renewed dip of oars, the gentle splash, and the low Liburnian began to move eastwards through the small waves again, the water breaking in no more than a silver trickle round her bows. The wretched pirates watched the Haifisch depart, a sailor on board already reaching down to scrub out the barbaric name and paint over it afresh: Cygnus II. It had all happened with such startling speed, such ruthless efficiency. Then some of the more optimistic souls turned in the water, pushed their spars ahead of them and began to kick.
The master shook his head. ‘Caesar had his pirates crucified.’
Aetius grunted. ‘Caesar was a greater man than I.’
Torismond sold his slaves at Thessalonika. Aetius resented the loss of even those two hours, but there was no food or water left on board for them. The prince netted a bag of thirty solidi.
He grinned. ‘Quite a catch.’
‘And behold, I shall make you fishers of men,’ said his brother sardonically, eyeing the weighty leather bag. ‘Not quite what Christ intended though, I think?’
Aetius roared with laughter.
It was quite a pleasant voyage after that.
5
I, Priscus of Panium, heard of his arrival and rushed down to the Harbour of Julian to meet him.
He smiled at me. ‘And who might you be, old man? An aged mendicant, supplicating for alms?’ He laid his hand on my shoulder. ‘Let us talk later. I must speak to the emperor even more urgently than to my old tutor.’
‘Divine Majesty. Master-General Aetius requests an audience. ’
There was a pause and a fumbling, while Theodosius seated himself upon his gilded wooden throne, and then he was admitted to the imperial presence.
‘Aetius. So far from home.’ His voice was as frosty as a Pontic winter, with a wind blowing down out of Scythia.
‘Majesty.’ He knelt and kissed the hem of the imperial robe in formal adoratio, privately detesting the gesture, and stood again swiftly. ‘You have still no news from the field army under General Aspar?’
Startled to find himself so abruptly questioned by a mere soldier, even if he was a general, Theodosius heard himself stammering, ‘They – they have not yet engaged, no.’
‘And it is true about the VIIth at Viminacium? Entirely destroyed?’
‘Such was the judgement of God. Also… also Ratiaria, downriver. That, too, has been overrun by these wretched Huns.’
‘ Ratiaria, too? Already? The III Pannonia? How many men did that number? And the weapons factories?’
The emperor could not look him directly in the eye, those limpid grey eyes. He surveyed the mosaics on the wall to his left, desperately hoping to radiate the regal serenity of God’s viceroy upon earth. ‘The III Pannonia, too, is destroyed, and the weapons factories are now in enemy hands.’
Attila. He knew. Now he had ownership of the most important armaments factories in the East. He knew.
‘Then I come to offer you urgent military assistance. I have cohorts remaining from the Ist at Brigetio, from the IInd at Aquincum, the XVIth at Carnuntum, the IVth Scythica at Singidunum. I know all are well trained – I appointed their legates personally. I could pull them back from the Danube frontier and attack Attila’s flank as he rides south on Naissus.’
‘And if Attila should turn on the West?’
‘Attila will turn on the West. But not yet. He will wish to neutralise the East first.’
The master-general spoke with such energy and conviction, as if he had been waiting all his life for this moment, this final confrontation. Theodosius understood then, with distaste, that Aetius actually enjoyed all this… this war business. It gave him his sense of purpose and destiny.
‘More importantly,’ resumed Aetius, ‘I have – with the Emperor Valentinian’s permission, of course – the core of the Western Field Army still stationed in Sicily, waiting for orders to sail for Africa. Two thousand horses and twenty thousand men, in peak condition, under command of my good general Germanus.’
Theodosius turned aside and touched a handsome polished wooden cabinet as if for reassurance. ‘And why should I trust you in bringing such a powerful force into the heart of our domain?’
‘Majesty?’
‘We are not wholly ignorant, Master-General Aetius – despite the fact that we are known for our love of learning, ’ he added sarcastically.
‘I sense mistrust.’
‘You sense aright.’
‘Then let me speak plainly. Your enemy is Attila, King of the Huns, and none other. Not your cousin Valentinian, nor Galla Placidia, nor I. Do not look for your enemy among your own. Your enemy is far cleverer and more ruthless than any of us. He is also cleverer than you, Majesty, though he has read fewer books.’
The emperor compressed his lips and stared hard and unblinkingly at Aetius. What he saw before him, though he was no great judge of men, was a blunt and unlikeable soldier, without learning, refinement or even common courtesy; but an honest man, for all that.
‘We have learned,’ he said, ‘that there were detachments from the Herculian Legion fighting alongside the Huns at Viminacium.’
‘Bogus! Do not believe it!’ Aetius smacked his fist into his palm, his eyes burning, and began pacing the room impertinently. ‘I knew it!’ he said with peculiar exaltation. ‘The fight has already begun! The fight of intelligence.’ He wheeled on the emperor and barked at him as if he was one of his lieutenants. ‘Who brought you this information? ’
Theodosius had already lost his chilly composure, despite himself. ‘My… my chamberlain. One Py-’
‘Search his room.’
Theodosius hesitated, then spoke to a steward.
Aetius continued pacing; it was most disconcerting. He snapped at another steward to bring him a map. The steward fled.
‘You said Naissus?’ said the emperor with some puzzlement. ‘But Attila will be destroyed by the field army before he rides down on Naissus.’
‘Well,’ said Aetius, inclining his head, ‘just suppose that he is not. Heaven forfend that so great a disaster should befall, of course, Your Majesty, but we must prepare for even the darkest eventuality.’
‘God is with us.’
‘I don’t doubt it. But “Trust in God, and keep a good hold on your sword,” my father, Gaudentius, always said.’
Theodosius crossed himself. ‘Ever since we heard of the fall of Viminacium, the bishops and people have given themselves up to ceaseless intercessions to the Holy Mother.’
‘Good, good,’ said the uncultivated general, pacing about, his hands clasped behind his back, clearly not listening. The steward returned, trembling like a rabbit, and laid the map on the marble-inlaid table. Aetius took one glance at it and turned to bellow at him. ‘Not a map of the city, you arse, a map of the empire – from here to the Danube! At the double!’
Again the steward fled.
‘He is not a soldier in your command,’ protested the emperor.
‘Damn right he’s not, he’s too bloody useless.’
Theodosius rose to his feet, his eyes burning with indignation. Tall, though of feeble build, he suddenly appeared a much more imposing figure.