Theodoric by Ross Laidlaw

under strict discipline, barbarian armies could not be kept in the field for long periods. Strictly, they were not armies at all, more mobs of individual warriors on holiday from labour at the sickle or the plough, and motivated by desire for plunder and glory, or hostility to an invading enemy. Battles were settled swiftly: a charge, followed by a shoving-match between the opposing lines, with victory going to the one that didn’t break. Siege warfare was out; glory-hunting heroes lacked the patience or resources to undertake protracted enterprises. Even the great commander Fritigern had declared, ‘I have no quarrel with stone walls.’ So, for his plan to succeed, Singidunum must be taken quickly.
    But it was one thing to conceive a bold plan, quite another to prepare its execution, as the young leader was discovering. A hundred matters, which previously had not occurred to him, suddenly clamoured for urgent attention: supplies, equipment, strategy, tactics . . . Timothy proved a tower of strength. At his suggestion, each man would carry a bag of dried meat and hard biscuit sufficient for a month. This would obviate the need to live off the country – a time-consuming alternative, which would moreover antagonize local populations, who might prove useful allies in the future. To save valuable time, it was decided to cut directly across country south-east to Singidunum, rather than head south to the Sirmium * road, then east along that highway to the destination. The preferred route, by avoiding the dog-leg created by the great bend in the Danube, would form the hypotenuse of a triangle and thus be much shorter than the alternative. Its main drawback, apart from taking the six-thousand-strong force across broken and largely trackless terrain, was that they would end up on the wrong side of the river. To remedy this, Timothy, with a small picked group, would leave ahead of the main party and requisition enough craft from local fishermen to ferry the rest across the Danube, on arrival.
    Thus far, everything had gone smoothly, according to plan. (Perhaps too smoothly, if you believed in hubris – Theoderic had seen a performance of Euripides’
The Bacchae
in Constantinople.) The men, all young and hardy, had made light of the forced march to the Danube, Timothy had done a sterling job ensuring transport, and the little army was now encamped in woods a few miles upstream of Singidunum. Now, through one glaring omission, the whole enterprise might fail, Theoderic reflected bitterly. If Babai – whom everyone he had spoken to dismissed as nothing more than an opportunist land-pirate – could take the place, its recapture should surely be feasible. However, this, his final reconnaissance, had convinced him him that nothing short of storming the ramparts stood any chance of success. But that, apart from being costly in lives, might well fail. The thought of returning home with his tail between his legs, instead of surprising his father with a triumph, made him shudder. Babai, he decided, must have gained entrance to the cityby bribing some in the garrison to open one of the gates, but that trick could hardly be repeated now that the Sarmatian’s own men were in charge.
    â€˜Any ideas?’ he asked Timothy, who lay beside him in a concealing stand of willows.
    Timothy gave a wry chuckle. ‘The words “Trojan” and “horse” rather come to mind. Sorry, Deric. Not a jesting matter.’
    â€˜You know, I think you might have something,’ murmured Theoderic after a pause. Then he went on excitedly, ‘A Trojan horse – that’s the answer!’
    At dawn, the two great half-sections of Singidunum’s north gate swung open to admit the first of the carts that daily brought produce to the city from surrounding farms. Filled with grain or vegetables, a stream of vehicles flowed slowly through the entrance, then halted as a great tented wagon lumbered to a stop