The sun at its zenith bathed the generalissimo’s triumphant arrival in the streets of Rome in its rays. Behind him, some distance back, came horses ridden by their cavalrymen. Their chain mail and helmets glistened. Was it the sun or glory that illuminated them? Both, no doubt. All around the troops, the crowd threw petals at the victors and cheered the commander of the soldiers, Flavius Aetius. He revelled in his triumph without bothering to hide his pride. And with good reason! He had just routed Attila, a tremendous victory. He had succeeded where the East had failed.
For several years, the leader of the Huns had been following in his uncle’s footsteps. He had challenged the Eastern Roman Empire to the point of threatening Constantinople on several occasions. He had only withdrawn after the signing of a treaty guaranteeing him a heavy tribute. Yet, far from learning his lesson, Theodosius II, then emperor of the East, persisted in ignoring the terms of a treaty he found too restrictive. He did not return the peoples he had appropriated at Attila’s expense, nor did he ever pay the full sums owed. When he realised that the Huns were turning their attention to a new enemy, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. But he had not reckoned with the commander of the army, who was as skilled a diplomat as he was a strategist.
The victorious general’s prestige was reflected in his soldiers, including the centurion Cassian. The thirty-year-old revelled in this triumph, with the satisfaction of having played a part in saving the Empire he served with devotion. At that moment, pride filled his heart with such intensity that he swore never to turn his back on his emperor.
After the parade, the centurion went with the others to the barracks, where he was ordered to go about his business. Whilst he was tending to his horse, his friend called out to him.
“Ave, Cassian, are you joining us tonight?”
“No, thank you, Majorian, I have to go and see my mother.”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten you’ve got family in Rome. You’re a lucky one. Ours are a long way away.”
Cassian scanned the faces around him, most of whom came from provinces beyond the Alps, and some from even further afield. Some were there by virtue of the foedus, the oath sworn by peoples welcomed into the Empire in exchange for their service, whilst others were there because their position as soldiers was hereditary.
“I’ve been away for so long that I’ve almost forgotten what a family is,” Cassian confided. “I’m not sure I’d recognise my own mother.”
Majorian gave him a sympathetic smile and changed the subject.
“In any case, I wouldn’t want to be in Aetius’ shoes right now. He may well be the hero of the day, but he’s in for a rough evening.”
“I’m sure Valentinian will be full of admiration. After all, he saved his Empire.”
Majorian let out a small, sarcastic chuckle.
“We certainly put right his mistake!”
“The emperor was ill-advised,” Cassian said, trying to defuse the situation.
“If you say so. Don’t keep your mother waiting; she must be champing at the bit.”
Cassian nodded in agreement and left. He didn’t know the town and decided to visit it another day. He found himself quickening his pace at the thought of seeing her again.
For a long time, Attila showed no apparent interest in the Western Roman Empire. Whilst Aetius eventually came to fear a conflict, Emperor Valentinian III did not believe the threat was real. However, a fire ravaged diplomatic relations, and it was the emperor’s own sister who started it. A year earlier, Honoria, at odds with her brother, had appealed to the king of the Huns for help in freeing her from her gilded cage. When she sent him her ring as proof of her identity, Attila interpreted it as a marriage proposal and held out hope that he would finally be recognised as worthy of the Roman honours that had so long been denied him. Alas, Valentinian opposed the idea and ignored the warnings of those around him. The emperor felt protected by his general Aetius, a long-standing friend of Attila’s. He knew the Hun very well, having been a hostage of honour at his court and his tutor. For years, Attila and Aetius had maintained good relations, exchanged frequent letters and shared secretaries. Aetius even received horsemen sent by his friend.
Attila would never dare to attack Aetius, Valentinian thought. After all, it was the East that was provoking him, not the West. The emperor’s reasoning was quite flawed. In 450, the Huns, accompanied by other tribes, crossed the Rhenus[1]and attacked northern Gaul. The federated tribes responsible for defending this region were unable to halt the wave that swept over them. Attila continued southwards to reach Aurelianum[2]. After an initial skirmish with the Romans, he marched back towards Campus Mauriacus [3], where the battle took place.
With some difficulty, Cassian made his way through the crowd, which was thick as the day drew to a close. Rome was teeming with people, with its shopkeepers and passers-by of all sorts. Occasionally, the carriage of a wealthy family, a merchant’s cart or a small group would break up the crowd, which would part long enough to let them through, only to reform a moment later. To Cassian, these movements brought to mind the flight of starlings in autumn. As a soldier, he was more accustomed to organised ranks and a precisely regulated march.
The townspeople looked on with curiosity at this unknown centurion. His tunic barely managed to conceal his roughly hewn build and bulging muscles. A few scars dotted his body, including a recent one that traced the shape of a crescent moon across his left upper arm. Another ran from just above his right temple down to his ear. It clearly parted his short-cropped black hair. His dark blue eyes scanned the arcades on either side. In this affluent neighbourhood, more accustomed to seeing merchants, notables and their slaves, a soldier attracted attention, all the more so as he seemed lost.
Cassian stopped a little boy who was running along to ask him for directions to the family home. The child led him to the door of an imposing villa and caught the bread Cassian threw to him as a thank-you. The centurion gazed for a moment at the house he did not recognise. Standing alone before the doorway, he took a moment to collect his thoughts before knocking.
A slave girl came to open the door and asked him who he was.
“Tell my mother that her son is here,” he replied.
She stepped aside to let him pass.
“Come in, I’ll show you to the patio.”
Cassian marvelled at his surroundings. Behind him, barely muffled by the closed door, the sounds of the city stood in stark contrast to the calm of the household. The soldier recognised the sounds typical of meal preparation, accompanied by the smell of roasted meat which overpowered that of the flowers planted around the atrium. Comfortable armchairs had been arranged facing the fountain. Cassian approached one of them, but did not dare to sit down. This house was not his own and would probably never be. He had grown up in an insula in Bononia[4] until he was recruited into the army.
The maid offered him a glass of wine and a tray laden with several bowls. Each contained different delicacies, such as honeyed almonds, figs and other treats that Cassian could not identify. To turn his nose up at such refined fare would make him look like a boor. So he plunged his hand into one of the bowls and took a mouthful of meat.
“Where’s my mother?” he asked.
“She’s gone out.”
“Didn’t she know I was coming?”
“Yes, Master. She’ll be here any minute now.”
He nodded and forced a smile. Yet the little boy deep inside him felt a profound sense of disappointment. The welcome he had imagined so many times had not materialised.
[1] The Rhin.
[2] Orléans (France).
[3] Known as the Battle of the Catalaunian Fields. The exact location has not been identified, but historians place it near Troyes (France).
[4] Bologna (Italy).
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