‘You pigeon-livered, dung-brained, degenerate excuse for a Roman emperor!’ He freed himself roughly from the guards’ hesitant grasp. ‘Unhand me, you dolts. I’m going. I’ve got work to do.’
He glanced back only once, and it was towards the empress. She still sat upon her throne, and she had not spoken nor stirred, but her luminous eyes were upon him, and he saw in those eyes something like pride at his rage.
Then he was gone.
Aetius returned hurriedly to the east of the city and summoned all the men who had fought on the walls, all the women who had hauled heavy supplies, ammunition, food and water up to the battlements, even the children who had helped. He had them all assemble outside the Church of St George, and he climbed atop the Charisius Gate.
‘People of Constantinople,’ he declared, ‘Isaurians, Imperial Guard, Gothic wolf-lords, you have won a great victory. I, Aetius, master-general of the West, regard each and every one of you as a hero, and were such things possible I would have you all in my army!’
There were great cheers.
‘Your spirit has been indomitable, your faith unwavering, your victory richly deserved. The pagans are gone, their hearts heavy with defeat, and I do not think that they will return. They know under whose Protection this Holy City stands. Now go, with my heartfelt blessings, and live in peace.’
There were more cheers, and weeping among the cheers.
He descended the steps, mounted his horse, and looked over them all one last time. ‘ Weep not, weep not. It is we in the West who must weep. Your city will stand for many centuries yet.’
Then he spurred his horse, and made for the Harbour of Eleutherius.
The wolf-lords rode with him. They would take ship back to Massilia, since Valentinian still would not permit Visigoths on Italian soil. At the docks he clasped the princes in farewell – Theodoric carefully, since his arm was still splinted and bandaged, though his healing had been remarkable.
‘We will see you again,’ said Torismond.
‘You will.’
Theodoric said, ‘Our father has a deep love for you.’
Aetius coughed, somewhat embarrassed.
They led their horses on up the gangway.
‘No vomiting over the side, you landlubbers!’
They grinned. Yes, he would see them again. He knew it with foreboding.
There was Gamaliel, looking old and stooped and tired.
‘Old man,’ Aetius said. ‘You know your stuff.’
‘I know other stuff, too,’ said Gamaliel. ‘We also shall meet again. One last time, I think. But it will be enough.’ With those riddling words he was gone into the crowd.
There was Captain Andronicus, fantastically colourful with cuts and wounds. He grinned.
‘The city’s in your hands now, Captain. But you will be at peace.’
‘I know it,’ said Andronicus. ‘Damn it.’
And Zeno.
‘We owe your people all thanks. Back to Cilicia?’
The chieftain’s eyes glimmered. ‘Back to banditry.’
Aetius grunted. ‘Mind you don’t get caught.’
There were also the four: last remnant of the VIIth legion. He eyed them.
‘You put us in your close guard,’ said Knuckles, reading his thoughts. ‘Besides, I’m no Easterner, anyhow. Dodgy, slitty-eyed lot, they are, sell their own grannies for a bunch of grapes.’
Arapovian snorted.
Aetius regarded the other two, Tatullus and Malchus. They looked resolute.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘jump aboard. But don’t expect any peace and quiet back West.’
PART III
The Last Battle
1
Aetius and his few companions arrived in an autumnal Ravenna to find the city in the throes of terminal panic. Riding up from the port of Classis along the causeway over the marshes, past stagnant pools and stands of bog willow, they emerged into the streets of the sprawling suburb of Caesarea to hear rumours of distant, calamitous wars, omens of apocalypse, and everywhere intimations of things coming to an end. People said that statues had been seen weeping real tears, oysters opened welling with blood, and from empty churches at night came the sound of many voices lamenting. They had heard the steely clash of weapons from the clouds, there had been numerous earthquakes, and the ghosts of ancient emperors were haunting the sacred palaces. In Rome itself, Bishop Sebatius had gone to pray at the tomb of St Peter and been granted a terrible revelation…
Aetius listened, unimpressed. Nearby, another bearded and wild-eyed millennial doomsayer ranted from the steps of a church, claiming that only days ago, while Valentinian was out hunting, two wolves had started up from nowhere under the emperor’s horse, and he almost fell to the ground. The wolves were speared and killed, and when they were cut open, their bellies were found to be full of severed human hands.
Aetius snorted. ‘This emperor doesn’t go hunting.’ He glared around at his men, walking behind his horse. ‘Anyway, we have problems enough without wolves full of severed hands. You’re under orders to silence any idiot prophet you come across.’
Knuckles hefted his club and went over to talk to the wild-eyed doomsayer, shouldering his way through the crowd, which parted promptly before him. The prophet argued a little, until Knuckles dropped his club on the fellow’s bare toes, at which he howled and limped away, talking of demon wolves no more.
They made for the palace, asking for news as they went.
Yes, Ravenna had heard of the Huns’ retreat from Constantinople, but didn’t that simply mean that the barbarian hordes would now be on their way here? Aetius didn’t reply. Instead he tried to ascertain what was left of the Western Field Army, but the only replies he got were of lightning bolts from a cloudless sky, and a wolf-cub found in the heart of the Imperial Palace, and tales of the long-foretold awakening of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.
He kicked his horse onward. ‘I need to find my General Germanus,’ he muttered.
The news from the imperial court was no better. A chamberlain said that the emperor was… indisposed. Imperial finances were in disarray, and the last revenue had been scant. Ever since the loss of the African grainfields, taxation had been less than ‘The legions?’ demanded Aetius.
‘The Field Army remains encamped inland of the city,’ said the chamberlain. ‘But its mood, alas, without pay for these few months, is sadly… restive. Winter is approaching, and I fear numbers are less than they were.’
‘And Her Majesty Galla Placidia?’
The chamberlain lowered his eyes. ‘I regret to say that Her Majesty is dying.’
He found her in a darkened chamber, seated upright on a high-backed wooden chair beside an iron brazier, swathed in white woollen blankets. She was clearly very weak, yet she knew him immediately. He sank to his knees before her.
‘On your feet, General,’ she said, her voice no more than a dry whisper. ‘The rest of the empire is on its knees. At least you should stand upright.’
He promptly stood again. How he loved this old battle-axe. She might be dying but her mind and her tongue were as sharp as ever.
‘And I’ll try not to die in your company,’ she added. ‘There might be talk.’
‘The emperor?’ he dared to ask.
She waved her hand, saying not a word, but the meaning was clear. The emperor was mad.
‘So,’ she whispered, ‘Attila has gone north.’
‘For now.’
‘The Western world stands on the brink.’ She fixed him with her watery green eyes. ‘And the Empress Athenais – Eudoxia?’
He was startled. How her mind flitted. Perhaps she was losing her sharpness after all.
‘You loved her,’ said Galla.
No. She was not losing her sharpness.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly, after a struggle. ‘But I was needed elsewhere.’
She gave the slightest nod. ‘You still are. Stop him, Aetius. With all your might. With all our prayers. You must stop him. Christendom depends on it.’ She held out a skeletal hand, and he understood and passed her the cup of water by her side. She drank and he set it down again for her.