As Attila scourges the Roman empire and outmanoeuvers its forces, the emperor in Constantinople seeks a way to stop the ongoing ravages, and so a conspiracy is hatched to assassinate the Hunnic ruler.

In this episode, we follow a writer named Priscus who was part of a Roman embassy to Attila. Invited to dinner with the Hunnic ruler, Priscus entered the feast hall and saw Hunnic nobles wearing jewellery that reproduced Roman fashions, and Attila sitting on a lavish couch in the centre.

Priscus relates that, “when all were arranged, a cup-bearer came and handed Attila a wooden cup of wine. He took it, and saluted the first in precedence who … stood up and might not sit down until the king, having tasted or drained the wine, returned the cup to the attendant. All the guests then honoured Attila in the same way … but he did not stand up.”

When this ceremony ended, “a luxurious meal, served on silver plates, had been made ready for us and the barbarian guests, but Attila ate nothing but meat on a wooden trencher. In everything else, too, he showed himself temperate … His dress was quite simple, affecting only to be clean. The sword he carried at his side, the latchets of his Scythian shoes, the bridle of his horse were not adorned, like those of the other Scythians, with gold or gems or anything costly.”

Feast of Attila by Mór Than, 1870

When evening fell, two bards sang of Attila’s “victories and deeds of valour in war.” Afterwards, a “Moorish dwarf” named Zerkon made an appearance. At this time, the word “Moor” referred to inhabitants of the Roman province of Mauritania in northwest Africa. We don’t know how Zerkon first came to Hunnic territory, but we know that Attila’s brother Bleda had patronised him and offered him a Hunnic wife.

Bleda had been murdered in a bloody civil war, and his supporters, including Zerkon, had been exiled. The Moor now journeyed back into Hunnic territory to find his wife, yet “he did not succeed in recovering her, for Attila was angry with him for returning. On the occasion of the banquet he made his appearance, and threw all except Attila into fits of unquenchable laughter by his appearance, his dress, his voice, and his words, which were a confused jumble of Latin, Hunnic, and Gothic.” 

In fact, all through the evening, the only occasion on which Attila showed any emotion was at the approach of “Ernas, his youngest son, whom he pulled by the cheek, and gazed on with a calm look of satisfaction.” Priscus continues: “I was surprised that he made so much of this son, and neglected his other children, but a barbarian who sat beside me and knew Latin, bidding me not reveal what he told, gave me to understand that prophets had forewarned Attila that his race would fall, but would be restored by this boy.”​

If you want the rest of the details, head here to read Priscus’ original retelling of his dinner with Attila.

Transcript

Hello and welcome to A history of Romania.

Season 1, Episode 22: When swords turn to daggers

Last time, we followed the Huns as they migrated to the Pannonian Plain and made it their new homeland. From there, they established a political structure that ruled tributary peoples and received annual payments from Constantinople in exchange for peace. Their presence north of the Danube pushed several Germanic tribes to seek safety in the western empire, and we saw how, in the chaos that followed, the city of Rome was sacked and the emperor in Ravenna lost control of large swaths of territory to migratory peoples, as his army was unable to defeat them on its own.

In 436, the commander of the imperial armies in the West sent envoys to the Huns, proposing a trade: the emperor would relinquish part of the province of Pannonia and allow the Huns to graze there, in exchange for their support against the migratory peoples roaming the empire. The Huns thought this was a great deal, and accepted. A year later, a joint Roman and Hunnic force engaged the Goths in southern Gaul, but was unable to dislodge them. With neither side capable of decisively defeating the other, they turned to compromise: in 439, the Goths became foederati, meaning they were allowed to stay in southern Gaul, on the condition that they fight alongside the Romans.

While they were helping the western empire, the Huns were also in talks with the eastern one. You see, the Huns were led by two brothers, Bleda and Attila, who had only recently secured power after the death of their uncle. They still had internal rivals and unruly tribes on their borders, so they wanted to focus on strengthening their domestic position. And so, Hunnic envoys met their counterparts from Constantinople in the winter of 439 and agreed to some terms: the Huns would keep the peace and allow trade between the two sides of the Danube. In return, the Romans wouldn’t aid the Huns’ enemies; they would repatriate any Huns who fled into the empire; and would pay 700 pounds of gold annually to Bleda and Attila personally. While this treaty clearly benefitted the Huns, it also allowed the Romans to relocate troops from the Balkans to deal with emergencies elsewhere.

And indeed, the Romans didn’t lack emergencies. The Vandals in North Africa had been halted by imperial forces a few years before and had accepted the status of foederati. But as soon as they had the chance, they broke their pact and conquered the city of Carthage and the island of Sicily, which were some of the wealthiest areas in the empire. The two Roman emperors decided to combine their forces for a counterattack in 441, and so soldiers from the Danube frontier were transferred to this Mediterranean expedition.

Though Bleda and Attila had signed a pact only two years before, the weakened Balkan defenses gave them a perfect opportunity to raid; as soon as the Roman fleet set sail with the bulk of the army, the Huns struck the Danube frontier. Bleda and Attila justified their attack by saying that the Romans were still sheltering Hunnic refugees in defiance of their treaty, but really, they had sensed weakness and wanted to get more concessions from the empire. The emperor in Constantinople, Theodosius, immediately ordered his fleet to return, but it would take several months for his message to get there and for the ships to arrive. In the meantime, he sent envoys to the Huns to stop the fighting.

But Bleda and Attila didn’t want to talk just yet; they wanted to be in as strong a position as possible before negotiating. So, over the next year, they attacked and burned hundreds of Roman villages, and besieged and sacked almost all the major cities between Pannonia and Thrace. The city of Viminacium, from which Trajan had launched his invasion of Dacia, was devastated; as was Sirmium, which had been an imperial capital in Diocletian’s time. The people living in these settlements saw their relatives and friends killed, their homes set ablaze, their possessions stolen, and if they couldn’t escape in time, they themselves fell into slavery.

It might seem strange that a nomadic people like the Huns were able to assault and capture cities. But during the past few years, Bleda and Attila had been busy supplying their army with siege equipment. You see, the Huns had captured numerous Roman soldiers in previous raids, and forced them to build scaling ladders, battering rams, and siege towers that were staples of the imperial army. By combining their own horse archers with infantry from subject peoples and Roman-style siege engines, the Huns created a terrifyingly effective army.

By the spring of 442, the Roman fleet finally returned to Constantinople. Bleda and Attila had no wish to face an imperial army at full strength, so they withdrew their forces across the border, and that was the end of the campaign. With a perfectly-timed attack, the Huns had managed to devastate Roman cities and defenses all along the Middle Danube, which would make it easier to attack the area in the future. At the same time, they’d captured a tremendous amount of loot and prisoners, which Bleda and Attila distributed to their loyal followers, thus reinforcing their power.

Yet as so often happens, victory fragmented the winning party. Following the campaign, Bleda and Attila turned on each other, though we have no details about their quarrel. It may be that one brother took more of the spoils than the other, or that one aggrandized his achievements and diminished those of the other. Whatever the reason, the two brothers fell into a bitter, years-long struggle over control of the Hunnic confederation, at the end of which Attila murdered his brother and emerged as the sole ruler of the Huns in 445.

After securing his position, Attila resumed official communications with Constantinople. He wanted to reinstate the treaty he had broken, whose main point gave him 700 pounds of gold annually. Emperor Theodosius naturally refused, and instead offered to negotiate a new deal. In response, Attila attacked the frontier; and then, a few weeks later in January of 447, the heavens gave him a perfect gift. A severe earthquake hit Constantinople and collapsed large portions of both its land and sea walls; the invaders would be able to simply walk over the rubble and take the imperial palace. If Attila could capture the emperor, it would completely alter the dynamic between the Huns and the Romans.

Theodosius, of course, understood the grave threat he was facing. He camped all available forces in front of the capital and ordered his administration to repair the walls. Artisans set to work at once, and groups of labourers relieved each other periodically so the work would continue all during the day and all through the night without break.

Meanwhile, Attila was urging his commanders onwards, but the Balkans were dotted with fortified cities, and the Roman army was harassing his forces. The Huns couldn’t just bypass cities and head straight for Constantinople; they needed to take each one in turn if they wanted to protect their flanks and rear. And that’s what they did.

It’s at this point that the city of Sucidava on the north bank of the Danube fell. As you may remember, when the Romans retreated from Dacia, they kept Sucidava as a bridgehead beyond the river, then employed it as the keystone for the creation of the province of Gothia, and used it to exert their military, political, and religious influence in the area. The Huns now broke the city’s defences, and the inhabitants who weren’t killed or enslaved, fled to the countryside. In this way, the Romans lost their last territory north of the Danube, 176 years after the abandonment of Dacia.

The Hunnic advance was absolutely devastating, as the invaders breached and plundered 70 cities in the Balkans, and actually reached the Sea of Marmara 30 kilometers from Constantinople. But that’s as far as the Huns would go, since Attila received reports that, after 60 days of non-stop work, the people of Constantinople had repaired its walls. The capital once more became the best-defended city in the Mediterranean, and Attila knew he didn’t have the forces or supplies to successfully besiege it. Though the Huns were effective raiders and could capture cities, they couldn’t take on the empire on an equal footing; it’s why they always attacked when the Romans were preoccupied elsewhere. In a drawn-out war, the empire could rely on its massive size, methodical administration, and substantial treasury to gain victory.

And so Attila decided to retreat; even though he hadn’t taken Constantinople, he was happy with the destruction he’d caused and the plunder he’d taken. The Roman army had so far avoided battle since it didn’t want another Adrianople, but now that the Huns were withdrawing, there was less of a risk that a single battlefield defeat would lose them the entire war. Accordingly, the imperial army blocked the Hunnic retreat, which led to an incredibly fierce fight. The Romans lost their general and eventually the battle, but it was a close contest, and the Huns sustained heavy casualties. Attila was right not to underestimate the empire’s strength.

After Hunnic forces went home in 447, Theodosius sent envoys to Attila to discuss a permanent peace. The negotiations resulted in a Hunnic promise not to attack in exchange for three concessions. One, the Romans would return all Huns who had sought refuge in the empire; Attila evidently still had rivals to power and wanted to root them out. Two, the empire would evacuate its army from a broad belt of land along the Danube, running from the province of Pannonia to that of Dacia Ripensis, to a width of five days’ journey; this huge swath of territory had borne the brunt of the invasion, but the Huns didn’t want to occupy it; they wanted to create a buffer that would prevent surprise attacks and make it easier to strike at Constantinople if needed. And three, the emperor would pay Attila 2,100 pounds of gold a year, plus an additional 6,000 as back pay.

This may seem like a crushing amount, but let’s look at it more closely. The lump sum of 6,000 pounds of gold probably served in large part to ransom prisoners of war, while the annual payment itself isn’t as big as it may at first appear. Historians estimate that the provinces of the eastern empire collected about 66,000 pounds of gold in taxes per year, which means that the amount given to the Huns was about 3% of the state’s revenue. This was of course still a formidable sum, but it wouldn’t bankrupt the treasury. Looking at it another way, senatorial families in the city of Rome were said to have an annual income of around 1,500 pounds of gold, with the richest collecting 4,000. By this measure, the tribute made Attila as rich as the wealthiest families in the Roman empire, but no more.

Though much gold was spent on peace, the biggest cost brought on by this treaty was the humiliation of the emperor. Theodosius was seen as a coward who preferred appeasement over battle. And while this feeling is understandable, we also have to keep in mind that the Persians were a constant danger in the East, while the Vandals threatened the Mediterranean. The imperial army couldn’t focus on all enemies simultaneously, so the emperor used coins instead of swords to neutralize one threat, and hoped that the peace would hold.

And there was good reason to think that it would. Attila relied on this substantial annual payment to reward his loyal followers and maintain his dominant position. He didn’t want to weaken the empire to such an extent that it couldn’t pay; otherwise, he’d lose a huge stream of income. No, he wanted to exploit the Roman state for as long as he could by collecting this tribute. And so, both parties had an incentive to keep the peace.

After hostilities ended, Hunnic envoys regularly visited Constantinople to maintain official contact. In 449, Attila sent one of his bodyguards, a man named Edeco, with a letter stating that there were still Hunnic refugees inside the empire and Romans in the buffer zone, and that if these issues weren’t resolved, peace would not last. The emperor didn’t immediately respond to these accusations, but instead sent one of his men to talk with Edeco. In a private meeting, the emperor’s man lavished Edeco with gifts and let him know that he could be as rich as the courtiers in the imperial palace if he worked for the Romans; all he had to do was kill Attila.

Edeco took a few moments to consider becoming an assassin and… agreed. To do the job, he said he’d need 50 pounds of gold to bribe Attila’s bodyguards, but he couldn’t carry the sum himself since the Hun ruler was suspicious of gifts given to envoys. The emperor’s man said, “No problem, someone else can carry the gold,” and he knew just the man to do it: a courtier named Vigilas who spoke the Hunnic language. The plan, then, was for Edeco to travel to Attila’s court, introduce Vigilas, send him back with instructions on how to bring the gold, and then initiate the coup.

If the plan failed, the emperor could deny any knowledge of the plot; but if it succeeded, the Romans would remove a formidable enemy and replace him with a more sympathetic ruler. It was a risky gamble, but clearly the Romans felt that Attila was so dreadful and effective that the risk was warranted.

Of course, it would be suspicious for Edeco to return with a random Roman companion. So, to assuage any suspicions, the emperor decided to camouflage Vigilas by sending him as part of an embassy. This delegation would carry a letter saying that remaining refugees would be repatriated; and this letter was shown to Edeco so that he’d know the embassy was not hiding anything from him.

The man chosen to lead this delegation was a young and ambitious military officer named Maximinus. He was not informed of the plot, so as to reduce the chance of it being revealed; he was just a pretext for Vigilas going to the Hunnic court. For Maximinus, this would be a highly prestigious diplomatic mission, and he wanted his deeds to be recorded so as to advance his career at court. So, he asked a friend of his who was a teacher of rhetoric, to accompany him. This friend, named Priscus, relished the idea of travelling to the Hunnic court, as no Roman writer had had the opportunity to do so before; and it’s from Priscus’ writings that we know what is about to unfold.

In the summer of 449, Edeco, Vigilas, Maximinus, and Priscus started towards the Pannonian Plain. Their path took them across lands that had been devastated by the Huns just a couple of years ago. One night, the travellers pitched camp near the ruined city of Naissus; only a few shepherds had remained in the area, and bones still littered the land. While sitting around the campfire, Maximinus raised a toast to Theodosius’ health, and Edeco did the same to Attila’s. Vigilas jumped in and said that it wasn’t right to compare the divine Theodosius to the mortal Attila, and Maximinus had to apologize for the offence on behalf of his Roman compatriot. What he didn’t know was that this disagreement had been staged by Edeco and Vigilas so that they wouldn’t be suspected of being in league together.

A few days later, the travellers reached to Danube, and were ferried across by Hunnic subjects using canoes carved from tree trunks. When they alighted on the other shore, messengers said that Attila would meet them the following day. The Hunnic ruler had ridden here with his advisors and bodyguards to confer with his envoy.

The next morning, Edeco entered Attila’s tent to speak with him privately, while the Romans waited to be called. When the tent flap reopened, it wasn’t Edeco who stepped out, but one of Attila’s confidants. This confidant went to Maximinus and asked him directly what he was hoping to achieve here. The Roman ambassador was taken aback; this was no way to conduct diplomacy. He used all his rhetorical skills to avoid the question, but when the confidant continued to push, Maximinus finally answered that he was here to deliver a letter to Attila in person, and that he’d like to be granted an audience as befits an ambassador. The confidant was unmoved. He looked Maximinus in the eye and recited the contents of the letter he had come to deliver, then told him that unless he had other matters to discuss, he should leave Hunnic territory immediately.

Maximinus was left embarrassed and confused. How did the Huns know the contents of the letter? He had kept it by his side all through the journey. It must be that someone at court in Constantinople had leaked the information. But in fact, the leak came from Edeco, who had betrayed the plot to Attila at the first opportunity. Edeco had never intended to kill his ruler, but had goaded the Romans to reveal their plans. And so, Attila now knew that the emperor had tried to turn his envoy into an assassin, and knew that Vigilas was a conspirator; but he was unsure about Maximinus. The Roman ambassador was so laughably blunt in his efforts to see the Hunnic ruler that, if he was a conspirator, he was either foolish or suicidal. Since Maximinus didn’t know that Edeco had seen the contents of his letter, it made more sense that he and his friend Priscus knew nothing of the plot; they were just ignorant pawns. So, Attila decided to use the situation to his advantage and invited the Romans to talk.

Maximinus, Priscus, and Vigilas entered Attila’s tent and saw the Hunnic ruler surrounded by guards. The Roman ambassador presented Theodosius’ letter and said, “The emperor prays that you and those dear to you are well,” to which Attila replied that he wished the Romans what they wished for him. He then had his secretaries read out the names of the Huns still sheltering in the empire, and ordered Vigilas to return to Constantinople, tell the emperor to repatriate them, and come back with an answer. As for Maximinus and Priscus, they were to stay behind to receive an official reply to the emperor’s letter. As such, the Hunnic ruler peeled off the conspirator from the pawns.

Before leaving, Vigilas conferred with Edeco, who told him that the plan to kill Attila was still on track, and that he should return with the 50 pounds of gold needed to bribe the bodyguards. What Vigilas didn’t know was that, as soon as he would step on Hunnic territory, he’d be searched and forced to incriminate himself and reveal the plot.

As Vigilas travelled to Constantinople, Maximinus and Priscus were taken to Attila’s main residence somewhere in the northwestern part of the Pannonian Plain. On their journey, they were given food by locals, as well as a sour ale made from malted barley. This beer was not a Hunnic staple, but a drink traditionally brewed on the Roman frontier. It was, in effect, a Roman drink, which implies that the villagers who brewed it were either descended from Romans or had learned how to make it from some neighbours who were descended from Romans.

When Maximinus and Priscus reached Attila’s residence, they discovered a large settlement encircled by a wooden wall punctuated with towers. At its centre stood a hall with a stone foundation and a structure of expertly-fitted planks, while adjacent to it lay a stone bathhouse. Since the plains afforded no wood nor stone, the materials used in their construction must’ve been transported from plundered Roman towns a considerable distance away, and Priscus later learned that a Roman architect captured in a raid had built the bathhouse.

The sight was completely unexpected. All that Maximinus and Priscus had heard of the Huns was that they were savage nomads who didn’t even cook their food, let alone know how to build anything. And yet Attila had established a permanent, fortified capital that drew inspiration from the empire; the very fact of operating a bathhouse signaled that leading Huns were willing to adopt a key Roman custom, and that they had the resources to do so. Even though the Huns were avowed enemies of the empire, they could not escape the draw of Roman culture.

From the moment he arrived at Attila’s capital, Maximinus was shunned, as no Hunnic noble wanted to talk with him; since Edeco had been approached, Attila was wary of any of his subordinates spending too much time with the Romans. Plus, Attila was insulted that the emperor hadn’t sent a more renowned ambassador; Maximinus was a just common military officer, and Attila made it clear that he’d only negotiate with nobles, as befitted his standing. And so, with Maximinus brushed aside, it was Priscus who made the most progress with the Huns – which is great for us since he wrote about his experiences; but it was also great for Maximinus, because his friend got an invitation for both of them to dine with the Hunnic ruler.

That night, Maximinus and Priscus entered a hall packed with Hunnic nobles and bodyguards. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to get into all the details of the dinner in this episode; but you can read Priscus’ fascinating first-hand account yourself, and also check out the Facebook page where I’ll share some interesting sections from it.

Several toasts were made to Attila during the night, and though his nobles were served a lavish meal on silver and gold plates, Attila himself only ate meat from a wooden trencher. While Priscus relished being witness to a Hunnic feast, Maximinus was insulted. He had been seated far away from Attila and had not been allowed to speak with him, showing a complete lack of respect for his position as ambassador. Partway through the night, Maximinus had had enough; he got up to leave and told his friend to follow him, which Priscus reluctantly did.

From the moment Maximinus had crossed the Danube, Attila had mired him in meaningless matters. The point was to make the court in Constantinople believe that the Huns knew nothing of the assassination plot. But after nearly a month, Maximinus had reached his limit and decided to head home. Attila didn’t stop him, as Vigilas was most likely on his way back with the gold, and there was no longer a reason to stall the Roman ambassador. As they were leaving, Maximinus and Priscus were given horses and a reply to Theodosius’ initial letter.

When they returned to Constantinople, Maximinus continued his military career and Priscus returned to teaching rhetoric. He would finish writing an account of this journey three years later. Once released, his work found immense popularity in the capital, became the reference text regarding the Huns, and launched Priscus’ career as a historian.

As for Vigilas, the accomplice to the assassination plot returned to the Hunnic court later that year and was immediately arrested. He said that the gold he’d brought had been to buy food, fodder, and to ransom prisoners, but when Attila threatened him, he broke down and revealed the whole conspiracy. There was no point in hiding anything any longer, since Vigilas knew he’d be executed. But Attila didn’t kill him. Instead, he imprisoned him and sent an embassy to Constantinople demanding that the emperor explain his actions. When the embassy told the court that Theodosius had tried to assassinate Attila, the Romans dismissed the accusation. Clearly, the barbarians had fabricated a story to embarrass the emperor.

But behind the scenes, Theodosius worked to ensure Attila would not retaliate. He immediately sent him ambassadors, who were, by the way, high-ranking nobles as Attila had previously requested. These envoys ransomed Vigilas and provided Attila with some gold to smooth over the whole trying-to-kill-you thing.

The Hunnic ruler now had an excellent reason to invade. And yet, he didn’t use it. In fact, he offered extensive concessions to the Roman ambassadors. He freed large numbers of prisoners without ransom, stopped asking for refugees to be repatriated, and relinquished all claims to that vast strip of territory south of the Danube that ran from Pannonia to Dacia Ripensis.

It was a completely unexpected outcome. Why would Attila give up so much when he could’ve easily attacked? Well, because he didn’t want to attack the eastern empire. You see, whenever Attila complained about some affront – like refugees sheltering in the empire – he wasn’t actually looking to resolve the issue; he wanted to have a reason to strike if an opportunity arose. The point of all these threats and invasions was to exploit the wealth of the Romans, and he had already taken advantage of the eastern empire by plundering the Balkans and forcing Constantinople to pay a tribute.

But he had not yet touched the western empire. At this point in early 450, he wanted to secure his border with the East so he could concentrate on the West, as he had just received a perfect pretext to meddle in its affairs: the sister of the western emperor had sent Attila a ring and asked him to come to her aid.

Next time, Attila will answer the call and muster all the peoples under his dominion for an expedition to the West. It will then be Ravenna’s turn to tackle the full might of the Huns.