Free Attila by Ross Laidlaw Page B

mountains, an endless expanse of dusty grassland, sere and yellow as a withered leaf, rolled away to the horizon. A gust of wind like the breath from an oven, fanned his cheek. This, Titus felt, was where the real Africa (the continent as opposed to the province) began. The swift tropical darkness was spreading when he reached his stopover for the night, the little town of Sufes, 11 a rustic backwater whose only claim to distinction lay in being another place to have incurred the censure of Augustine. Here, for the first time, he gleaned news of Boniface; the Count was reported to be three days’ march away, at Thelepte, and heading north.
    Much encouraged, Titus set off next day at dawn, and after an easy journey of some twenty miles, reached Sufetula, a han some town, completely Roman despite its Punic name. Built on a grid pattern in a striking ochre-coloured stone, it boasted a theatre and amphitheatre, aqueduct, public baths, a cathedral, and no fewer than three triumphal arches. Boniface’s advance guard was already in the streets, requisitioning billets and ordering grass to be cut for fodder. Titus could travel much faster than cavalry on the march, so he pressed on, hoping to catch up with Boniface’s advancing force at the fortress settlement of Cillium, some thirty-five miles further on. He arrived there to find the general’s troops pitching camp outside the place, which was not large enough to provide adequate billeting. A tribune conducted Titus to where the Count was pacing up and down in a grove of figs.
    â€˜A courier from Ravenna with a message for you, sir,’ announced the officer. ‘Says it’s urgent.’
    â€˜Ah, they all say that,’ murmured Boniface, breaking off his perambulations to face them. ‘A message that was not urgent – now that would be breaking the mould. Well, we’d better have a look at it.’ And he held out his hand to Titus.
    Titus found himself staring at an extraordinary figure who might almost have stepped down from the Arch of Constantine. It was not so much that the man was huge (he must have stood at least six and a half feet), as that his appearance commanded attention. He was wearing parade armour which looked as though it dated from the time of Gallienus or Aurelian: a muscle cuirass complete with Gorgon’s-head pectoral, and an old-style Attic helmet which had gone out in the West with Diocletian. And – a real period piece – instead of the modern
spatha
, a short
gladius
sword depended from the general’s baldric. Even the cut of his hair – a brutal stubble extending to both face and scalp – seemed to echo the fashion of that distant era. But there was nothing brutal about Boniface’s manner.
    â€˜You like my uniform?’ the general enquired affably, as he took Aetius’ letter from Titus. ‘Yes, it is indeed a bit outdated, but as it’s been handed down in my family for seven generations I feel a certain obligation to wear it. However, you must be tired after your journey. The tribune here will see that you can bathe and change and have a meal. Later, we shall share a flask of wine and you will give me all the news from Ravenna.’
    When Titus had departed with the officer, the Count unrolled the letter and began to read.
    Written at Ravenna, Province of Flaminia and Picenum, Diocese of Italy, in the consulships of Hierus and Ardaburius, VII Kalends Jul. 12 Flav. Aetius, Master of the Horse of All the Gauls, Count; to my lord Boniface, Count of Africa and commander of all forces there, greetings.
    Most noble and excellent Count, I write this in haste and secrecy as a true friend, out of concern for your welfare and for that of Rome. I have it from the most impeccable of sources that you will shortly receive, in the name of the Emperor, a formal summons from the Empress Mother Aelia Galla Placidia, ordering you to return forthwith from Africa to Ravenna. What has transpired