Agintheus, commander of the Illyrian soldiers who had tentatively reoccupied the ravaged valley. While not pretending to be able to stand before another Hun invasion, this rough militia kept the region from anarchy. Now we carried embarrassing orders from the emperor that Agintheus was to give up five of the men who had joined him after deserting Attila. We were to take them back to the Hun king for judgment.
The five had been prepared for this. They rode without weapons, their hands tied to their saddles, and had the look of the doomed. Agintheus looked ashamed. By their appearance the five seemed to be Germans, tall and fair-haired. The smaller, darker Huns mocked them, galloping around like circling dogs. “Now you must explain yourselves to Attila!” Edeco cried in triumph.
“At your command, I return these men,” Agintheus announced. “The other twelve you wrote about are nowhere to be found.”
“Their good luck, I suppose,” muttered Maximinus.
“Or wisdom.” Agintheus sighed. “These soldiers deserve better, senator.”
“It is necessary to conform to the treaty.”
“It is an evil treaty.”
“Imposed by the Huns. Someday . . .”
“See that it doesn’t go badly for them, ambassador.”
“Attila needs men, not corpses. They’ll survive.”
As our expanded party rode away toward Hunuguri the five prisoners called back to their general. “Good-bye, Agintheus. God be with you! You have treated us well! Look after our families!” Their new wives ran after them, wailing, but the Hun rode among the deserters and lashed them into silence. At length, their homes were left behind.
“Why are we giving the Huns those men?” I asked Maximinus. “This is wrong.”
“It’s at the insistence of Attila.”
“And they have to leave their families behind?”
“Attila would say they should never have started families.”
“But why give back recruits to a despot we’ve been fighting?”
Maximinus frowned. “Because he is more desperate for men than for gold. Many German allies flee his armies. The Huns are great warriors, but they aren’t numerous.”
“What will happen when we turn them over?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they will be whipped. It’s possible they will be crucified. But most likely they will just be pressed back into his armies. The lesson here, Alabanda, is that sometimes you have to do bad things to do good: in this case, peace.”
I rode in silence for a while. “There is another lesson as well, senator.”
“What, my youthful friend?”
“That Attila has a weakness, and that is manpower. If the provinces of Rome and their barbarian allies could ever unite and field a truly great army, and make him pay a heavy price on the battlefield, then his power to frighten us would be at an end.”
Maximinus laughed. “The dreams of youth!”
I resented the condescension. It was not a dream. If Attila took the time to care about five fugitives, it was reality.
Although the province of Moesia that we traveled through had been Roman territory for hundreds of years, civilization had been abandoned. Hun and Goth had crisscrossed this land for nearly three-quarters of a century; and each invasion had further crippled the economy, stolen tax collections, and beggared repairs. As a result, mills had long since stopped turning, their waterwheels rotted away. Bridges had collapsed, forcing our embassy to detour upstream to fords. Fields were being reclaimed by oak and scrub pine. Granaries had been looted, and broken wagons lay rotting in high grass. Mountains that had not seen a bear for generations now were the home of sow and cubs. At Horreum we passed a cracked aqueduct spilling water uselessly into a new erosive channel.
Most haunting of all were the cities, empty save a few priests, wild refugees, and the dogs that went with them. Frost and rain had cracked the walls, stucco had peeled like tired paper, and roof tiles had cascaded off abandoned houses to heap in
The five had been prepared for this. They rode without weapons, their hands tied to their saddles, and had the look of the doomed. Agintheus looked ashamed. By their appearance the five seemed to be Germans, tall and fair-haired. The smaller, darker Huns mocked them, galloping around like circling dogs. “Now you must explain yourselves to Attila!” Edeco cried in triumph.
“At your command, I return these men,” Agintheus announced. “The other twelve you wrote about are nowhere to be found.”
“Their good luck, I suppose,” muttered Maximinus.
“Or wisdom.” Agintheus sighed. “These soldiers deserve better, senator.”
“It is necessary to conform to the treaty.”
“It is an evil treaty.”
“Imposed by the Huns. Someday . . .”
“See that it doesn’t go badly for them, ambassador.”
“Attila needs men, not corpses. They’ll survive.”
As our expanded party rode away toward Hunuguri the five prisoners called back to their general. “Good-bye, Agintheus. God be with you! You have treated us well! Look after our families!” Their new wives ran after them, wailing, but the Hun rode among the deserters and lashed them into silence. At length, their homes were left behind.
“Why are we giving the Huns those men?” I asked Maximinus. “This is wrong.”
“It’s at the insistence of Attila.”
“And they have to leave their families behind?”
“Attila would say they should never have started families.”
“But why give back recruits to a despot we’ve been fighting?”
Maximinus frowned. “Because he is more desperate for men than for gold. Many German allies flee his armies. The Huns are great warriors, but they aren’t numerous.”
“What will happen when we turn them over?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they will be whipped. It’s possible they will be crucified. But most likely they will just be pressed back into his armies. The lesson here, Alabanda, is that sometimes you have to do bad things to do good: in this case, peace.”
I rode in silence for a while. “There is another lesson as well, senator.”
“What, my youthful friend?”
“That Attila has a weakness, and that is manpower. If the provinces of Rome and their barbarian allies could ever unite and field a truly great army, and make him pay a heavy price on the battlefield, then his power to frighten us would be at an end.”
Maximinus laughed. “The dreams of youth!”
I resented the condescension. It was not a dream. If Attila took the time to care about five fugitives, it was reality.
Although the province of Moesia that we traveled through had been Roman territory for hundreds of years, civilization had been abandoned. Hun and Goth had crisscrossed this land for nearly three-quarters of a century; and each invasion had further crippled the economy, stolen tax collections, and beggared repairs. As a result, mills had long since stopped turning, their waterwheels rotted away. Bridges had collapsed, forcing our embassy to detour upstream to fords. Fields were being reclaimed by oak and scrub pine. Granaries had been looted, and broken wagons lay rotting in high grass. Mountains that had not seen a bear for generations now were the home of sow and cubs. At Horreum we passed a cracked aqueduct spilling water uselessly into a new erosive channel.
Most haunting of all were the cities, empty save a few priests, wild refugees, and the dogs that went with them. Frost and rain had cracked the walls, stucco had peeled like tired paper, and roof tiles had cascaded off abandoned houses to heap in
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