calamity, comes upon Justice sad at heart in her palace, and thus provokes her with horrid utterance: “Is this that old reign of peace; this the return of that golden age thou fondly hopedst had come to pass? Is our power gone, and no place now left for the Furies? Turn thine eyes this way. See how many cities the barbarians’ fires have laid low, how vast a slaughter, how much blood Rufinus hath procured for me, and on what widespread death my serpents gorge themselves. Leave thou the world of men; that lot is mine. Mount to the stars, return to that well-known tract of Autumn sky where the Standard-bearer dips towards the south. The space next to the summer constellation of the Lion, the neighbourhood of the winter Balance has long been empty. And would I could now follow thee through the dome of heaven.”
The goddess made answer: “Thou shalt rage no further, mad that thou art. Now shall thy creature receive his due, the destined avenger hangs over him, and he who now wearies land and the very sky shall die, though no handful of dust shall cover his corpse. Soon shall come Honorius, promised of old to this fortunate age, brave as his father Theodosius, brilliant as his brother Arcadius; he shall subdue the Medes and overthrow the Indians with his spear. Kings shall pass under his yoke, frozen Phasis shall bear his horses’ hooves, and Araxes submit perforce to be bridged by him. Then too shalt thou be bound with heavy chains of iron and cast out from the light of day and imprisoned in the nethermost pit, thy snaky locks overcome and shorn from thy head. Then the world shall be owned by all in common, no field marked off from another
by any dividing boundary, no furrow cleft with bended ploughshare; for the husbandman shall rejoice in corn that springs untended. Oak groves shall drip with honey, streams of wine well up on every side, lakes of oil abound. No price shall be asked for fleeces dyed scarlet, but of themselves shall the flocks grow red to the astonishment of the shepherd, and in every sea the green seaweed will laugh with flashing jewels.”
(IV.)
(IV.)
Return, ye Muses, and throw open rescued Helicon; now again may your company gather there. Nowhere now in Italy does the hostile trumpet forbid song with its viler bray. Do thou too, Delian Apollo, now that Delphi is safe and fear has been dispelled, wreath thy avenger’s head with flowers. No savage foe sets profane lips to Castalia’s spring or those prophetic streams. Alpheus’[55] flood ran all his length red with slaughter and the waves bore the bloody marks of war across the Sicilian sea; whereby Arethusa, though herself not present, recognized the triumphs freshly won and knew of the slaughter of the Getae, to which that blood bore witness.
Let peace, Stilicho, succeed these age-long labours and ease thine heart by graciously listening to my song. Think it no shame to interrupt thy long toil and to consecrate a few moments to the Muses. Even unwearying Mars is said to have stretched his tired limbs on the snowy Thracian plain when at last the battle was ended, and, unmindful of his wonted fierceness, to have laid aside his spear in gentler mood, soothing his ear with the Muses’ melody.
[55] A reference to Stilicho’s campaign against Alaric in the Peloponnese in 397 (see Introduction, p. x).
(V.)
(V.)
After the subjugation of the Alpine tribes and the salvation of the kingdoms of Italy the heavens welcomed the Emperor Theodosius[56] to the place of honour due to his worth, and so shone the brighter by the addition of another star. Then was the power of Rome entrusted to thy care, Stilicho; in thy hands was placed the governance of the world. The brothers’ twin majesty and the armies of either royal court were given into thy charge. But Rufinus (for cruelty and crime brook not peace, and a tainted mouth will not forgo its draughts of blood), Rufinus, I say, began once more to inflame the world with wicked wars and to disturb peace with accustomed sedition. Thus to himself: “How shall I assure my slender hopes of survival? By what means beat back the rising storm? On all sides are hate and the threat of arms. What am I to do? No help can I find in soldier’s weapon or emperor’s favour. Instant dangers ring me round and a gleaming sword hangs above my head. What is left but to plunge the world into fresh troubles and draw down innocent peoples in my ruin? Gladly will I perish if the world does too; general destruction shall console me for
[56] Theodosius died in January 395, not long after his defeat of Eugenius at the Frigidus River (near Aquileia), September 5-6, 394 (see Introduction, p. ix).
mine own death, nor will I die (for I am no coward) till I have accomplished this. I will not lay down my power before my life.”
So spake he, and as if Aeolus unchained the winds so he, breaking their bonds, let loose the nations, clearing the way for war; and, that no land should be free therefrom, apportioned ruin throughout the world, parcelling out destruction. Some pour across the frozen surface of swift-flowing Danube and break with the chariot wheel what erstwhile knew but the oar; others invade the wealthy East, led through the Caspian Gates and over the Armenian snows by a newly-discovered pass. The fields of Cappadocia reek with slaughter; Argaeus, father of swift horses, is laid waste. Halys’ deep waters run red and the Cilician cannot defend himself in his precipitous mountains. The pleasant plains of Syria are devastated, and the enemy’s cavalry thunders along the banks of Orontes, home hitherto of the dance and of a happy people’s song. Hence comes mourning to Asia, while Europe is left to be the sport and prey of Getic hordes even to the borders of fertile Dalmatia. All that tract of land lying between the stormy Euxine and the Adriatic is laid waste and plundered, no inhabitants dwell there; ’tis like torrid Africa whose sun-scorched plains never grow kindlier through human tillage. Thessaly is afire; Pelion silent, his shepherds put to flight; flames bring destruction on Macedonia’s crops. For Pannonia’s plain, the Thracians’ helpless cities, the fields of Mysia were ruined but now none wept; year by year came the invader, unsheltered was the countryside from havoc and custom had robbed suffering of its sting. Alas, in how swift ruin perish
even the greatest things! An empire won and kept at the expense of so much bloodshed, born from the toils of countless leaders, knit together through so many years by Roman hands, one coward traitor overthrew in the twinkling of an eye.
That city,[57] too, called of men the rival of great Rome, that looks across to Chalcedon’s strand, is stricken now with terror at no neighbouring war; nearer home it observes the flash of torches, the trumpet’s call, and its own roofs the target for an enemy’s artillery. Some guard the walls with watchful outposts, others hasten to fortify the harbour with a chain of ships. But fierce Rufinus is full of joy in the leaguered city and exults in its misfortunes, gazing at the awful spectacle of the surrounding country from the summit of a lofty tower. He watches the procession of women in chains, sees one poor half-dead wretch drowned in the water hard by, another, stricken as he fled, sink down beneath the sudden wound, another breathe out his life at the tower’s very gates; he rejoices that no respect is shown to grey hairs and that mother’s breasts are drenched with their children’s blood. Great is his pleasure thereat; from time to time he laughs and knows but one regret—that it is not his own hand that strikes. He sees the whole countryside (except for his own lands) ablaze, and has joy of his great wickedness, making no secret of the fact that the city’s foes are his friends. It is his boast, moreover, that to him alone the enemy camp opened its gates, and that there was allowed right of parley between them. Whene’er he issued forth to arrange some wondrous truce his companions thronged him round and an armed band of dependents
[57] Constantinople.
danced attendance on a civilian’s standards. Rufinus himself in their midst drapes tawny skins of beasts about his breast (thorough in his barbarity), and uses harness and huge quivers and twanging bows like those of the Getae—his dress openly showing the temper of his mind. One who drives a consul’s chariot and enjoys a consul’s powers has no shame to adopt the manners and dress of barbarians; Roman law, obliged to change her noble garment, mourns her slavery to a skin-clad judge.
What looks then on men’s faces! What furtive murmurs! For, poor wretches, they could not even weep nor, without risk, ease their grief in converse. “How long shall we bear this deadly yoke? What end shall there ever be to our hard lot? Who will free us from this death-fraught anarchy, this day of tears? On this side the barbarian hems us in, on that Rufinus oppresses us; land and sea are alike denied us. A pestilence stalks through the country: yes, but a deadlier terror haunts our houses. Stilicho, delay no more but succour thy dying land; of a truth here are thy children, here thy home, here were taken those first auspices for thy marriage, so blessed with children, here the palace was illumined with the torches of happy wedlock. Nay, come even though alone, thou for whom we long; wars will perish at thy sight and the ravening monster’s rage subside.”
Such were the tempests that vexed the turbulent East. But so soon as ever winter had given place to the winds of spring and the hills began to lose their covering of snow, Stilicho, leaving the fields of Italy in peace and safety, set in motion his two armies and hastened to the lands of the sunrise, combining
the so different squadrons of Gaul and of the East. Never before did there meet together under one command such numerous bands, never in one army such a babel of tongues. Here were curly-haired Armenian cavalry, their green cloaks fastened with a loose knot, fierce Gauls with golden locks accompanied them, some from the banks of the swift-flowing Rhone, or the more sluggish Saône, some whose infant bodies Rhine’s flood had laved, or who had been washed by the waves of the Garonne that flow more rapidly towards, than from, their source, whenever they are driven back by Ocean’s full tide. One common purpose inspires them all; grudges lately harboured are laid aside; the vanquished feels no hate, the victor shows no pride. And despite of present unrest, of the trumpet’s late challenge to civil strife, and of warlike rage still aglow, yet were all at one in their support of their great leader. So it is said that the army that followed Xerxes, gathered into one from all quarters of the world, drank up whole rivers in their courses, obscured the sun with the rain of their arrows, passed through mountains on board ship, and walked the bridged sea with contemptuous foot.
Scarce had Stilicho crossed the Alps when the barbarian hordes began to restrict their forays and for fear of his approach gathered together in the plain and enclosed their pasture lands within a defensive ring. They then built an impregnable fortification with a double moat, planted stakes two deep at intervals along its summit and set wagons rigged with ox-hide all round like a wall.
Panic fear seized upon Rufinus as he saw this from afar, and his cheeks grew pale. He stood with ice-cold face, not knowing whether to fly, to own himself
beaten and sue for mercy, or go over to an enemy whose good faith his treachery had assured. Of what use now were his riches, his vast stores of golden ore, his halls upheld with red marble pillars, his sky-towering palace? He hears of Stilicho’s march and counts the days, measuring his term of life according to the distance of his enemy from him. He is troubled with thoughts of coming peace and cannot sleep, often starts up distraught from his bed and suffers as punishment the fear of punishment. But his fury repossesses him and, regaining his genius for crime, he enters the sacred portal of the rich palace and addresses Arcadius with prayers and threats: “By thy brother’s royal star, by the deeds of thy divine sire and the flower of thine own age, I beg thee deliver me from the edge of the sword; let me escape the cruel threatenings of Stilicho. All Gaul is sworn to my destruction. Tethys’ extreme coasts, the wandering tribes beyond the farthest Britons are stirred up against me. Am I thought fit prey for all those armies? Are so many standards advanced against a solitary man? Whence comes this lust for blood? Stilicho lays claim to either hemisphere and will brook no equal. The world forsooth must lie at his feet. Italy is his kingdom, Libya his dominion, Spain and Gaul his empire. The sun’s path circumscribes him not, no nor the whole universe. All the wealth collected here by Theodosius or received by him after the war is Stilicho’s alone, and he has small mind to restore what he has once acquired. Is he to enjoy his gains in peace and quietness while ’tis mine to stand a siege? Why should he encroach on thy share? Let him leave Illyria, send back his Eastern troops, divide the
hosts fairly between the two brothers, and do thou not be heir to the sceptre only but to thy forces. But if thou neglect to come to mine aid and make not ready to prevent my death, this head of mine shall not fall alone—by the dead and the stars I swear it. The blood of another shall be mingled with mine. I will not go unaccompanied to the waters of Styx nor shall the victor be free to exult in my death.”
So saying he dictates a treasonable letter and sends therewith an emissary to bear the message extorted from the emperor’s unwilling lips.
Meanwhile Stilicho, exulting in the thought of advancing upon the foe and of the narrow stretch of country that separated him from the fortifications, inflames with his words the hearts of his troops already thirsting for battle. On the left wing are posted the Armenians, farther to the right the Gauls. A beholder might have seen bits covered with warm foam, clouds of dust uprising, and on all sides waving banners bearing the device of a scarlet dragon; the very air seemed to teem with these fierce flying monsters. The glint of steel fills all Thessaly and the cave of the wise Centaur; the river whose banks supported Achilles’ baby footsteps and the forests of Oeta are agleam with arms, snowy Ossa re-echoes to the sound and Olympus smitten therewith sends it back twofold. Hearts beat high with a courage that is lavish of life. Neither precipice nor deep river could check their advance: their headlong speed would have overthrown all barriers.
If the two armies had then joined battle in this temper ruined Greece would not have witnessed such disaster as she did, the cities of the Peloponnese would still have been flourishing untouched by the hand
of war, Arcadia and Sparta’s citadel would have remained unravaged. Burning Corinth would not have heated the waves of her two seas, nor would cruel chains have led in captivity the matrons of Athens. That day might have set an end to our disasters and destroyed the seeds of future calamities. For shame, envious Fortune, of what a triumph didst thou rob us! The kingly mandate came to Stilicho in arms amid the cavalry and the trumpets’ din.
He stood amazed; anger and great grief o’erwhelm the hero and he wonders that such power for ill is allowed a coward. His wavering mind ponders the uncertain issue: shall he continue his advance or fail his brave beginnings? He longs to stem Illyria’s ruin but fears to disobey orders. Loyalty annuls the prickings-on of valour. The public good urges him one way, fear of the emperor’s displeasure another. At length in his distress he raises his hands to heaven and speaks from deep within his heart: “Ye gods not yet glutted with Rome’s destruction, if ye will that our empire be utterly uprooted, if ye have resolved to blot out all the centuries with one blow, if ye repent you of the race of man, then let the sea’s unrestrained fury burst forth upon the land or let Phaëthon, deviating from his ordained course, drive his straying chariot at random. Shall Rufinus be your tool? ’Twere shame that such an one should be the author of the world’s destruction. O the grief of it! recalled in mid fight; forced to lay down the swords we have drawn! Cities marked out for the flames, walls doomed to destruction, I call you to witness: see, I retire; I leave the unhappy world to its fate. Turn your banners, captains; to your homes, soldiers of the east. Needs must we obey.
Silence, ye clarions; men, forbear to shoot. The foe is at hand, spare him; ’tis Rufinus’ command.”
At these words an unanimous roar went up from all the companies. With less din are the cliffs of Ceraunia buffeted by the Italian sea or the thunders evoked from the western winds’ wet storm-clouds. They will not separate, and demand the battle of which they have been defrauded. East and west claim the leadership of that illustrious chief. It is a contest of affection; insubordination that none can blame threatens to sap the loyalty of both armies who thus utter their common complaint: “Who is it robs us of our drawn swords? Who strikes the lance from our hand and bids us unstring the bent bow? Who dares dictate to an army under arms? Valour once roused knows no abatement. Spears thirsting for barbarian blood cast themselves from out our hands; our headlong blades force our vengeful arms to follow them; our very scabbards refuse to sheath an unblooded sword. I will not bear it. Shall the Getae ever profit by our dissension? Behold once more the shadow of civil war. Why dost thou seek to separate armies whose blood is one, standards of immemorial alliance? We are a body one and indivisible. Thee will we follow whithersoever thou goest; thee will we accompany even as far as Thule lying ice-bound beneath the pole-star, or to the burning sands of Libya. Should thy path be by the waters of Ind, or the bays of the Red Sea,[58] I would go drink Hydaspes’ golden stream. Shouldst thou bid me fare south and search out the hidden sources of the stripling Nile, I would leave behind me the world
[58] By the mare rubrum the ancients meant the Indian Ocean. The Hydaspes is the modern Jhylum.
I know. Wheresoever Stilicho plants his tent there is my fatherland.”
But Stilicho said them nay: “Cease, I beg you,” he cried, “stay your eager hands. Suffer to disperse the mountain of hatred that towers over me. I hold not victory so dear that I would fain seem to win it for myself. Loyal gentlemen, so long my fellow-soldiers, get you gone.” He said no more but turned away, as a lion loath to retire makes off with empty maw when the serried spears and the burning branches in the hands of the shepherd band drive him back and he droops his mane and closes his downcast eyes and with a disappointed roar pushes his way through the trembling forest.
When the armies saw that they had been parted and left, they groaned deeply and bedewed their helmets with a stream of tears. The sighs that refused egress to their smothered words shook the strong fastenings of their breastplates. “We are betrayed,” they cried, “and forbidden to follow him we love so well. Dost thou despise, matchless chief, thine own right hands which have so often won thee the victory? Are we thus vile? Is the Western sky to be the happier which has won the right to enjoy thy rule? What boots it to return to our country, to see once more our children dear after so long an absence, to live again in the home we love? Without thee is no joy. Now must I face the tyrant’s dread wrath; mayhap e’en now he is making ready against me some wicked snare and will make me a slave to the foul Huns or restless Alans. Yet is not my strength altogether perished nor so complete my powerlessness to wield the sword. Rest thou beneath the sun’s westering course, Stilicho, thou art still
ever our general, and though we be not together thou shalt still know our loyalty. Long has a victim been owed thee; he shall be sacrificed and thou placated by an immolation promised of old.”
Sad at heart the army left Thessaly, reached the borders of Macedon, and arrived before the walls of Thessalonica. Indignation deep hid in their hearts prepares the silent wrath of revenge. They look for a place where they may wreak their vengeance and a moment propitious for the blow, and of all that vast army not one is found to divulge with incautious speech his heart’s intent. What succeeding age and time but will marvel that a plot so widespread could be kept hid, a deed of such vast import concealed; that the ardour of their minds was not rendered of no avail by the chance word of a soldier on the march or a drunkard’s babbling? But discretion ruled all alike and the people’s secret was kept. The army crossed the Hebrus, left Rhodope behind, and struck across the uplands of Thrace until it came to the city called after Hercules.[59]
When Rufinus learned that Stilicho had retired and that his troops were approaching he held his head high in triumph, believing everything safe, and, anxious to seize the power, inflamed his traitorous minions with this speech: “We have conquered; have driven off our enemy; empire is within my grasp, nor have we anything to fear from the foe. Will one who dared not approach me when I stood alone defeat me now that I am strengthened by the addition of so great a force? Who could stand against him armed whom unarmed he could not conquer? Plot my destruction in exile, friend
[59] Probably Heraclea, at the west end of the Propontis.