The Imperial court had for a time transferred itself from Ravenna to the Palatine, and seemed to have grown more wicked than ever, with the base wickedness of weakness, deeming itself emancipated from fear. Attila, the dread of Europe, Roman and Gothic, Imperial and barbarian, was dead. The Huns were scattered into a helpless herd of disconnected tribes. Ercan, Attila’s darling boy, was tranquilly and meekly reigning over a little portion of his father’s conquests, under the protection of the Eastern Empire, in the country around the mouth of the Danube. There was nothing more to fear from the Huns. It was true that their ancient allies, the Vandals, who had slaughtered more Romans than any other of the barbarians, had taken possession of the province of North Africa. But the Vandals would, it was hoped, be content with Africa; and although they were becoming skilful seamen, with great fleets like Carthage of old, and although they had a powerful king, Genseric, of a most savage temper, who might, some thought, prove another Hannibal to Rome, Africa was across the sea and a long way off, and the worst evil inflicted on Rome at present by the Vandal conquests, was the loss of the great granary of her hungry population. It was also true that the Vandals were Arians, and hated the Romans, not merely as Romans, but as Catholics. The stories of persecution from Vandal Africa were very fearful; but the stories of the iniquities of Roman Carthage before the Vandals captured it had been more fearful still. Augustine had died twenty-five years before, at besieged Hippo, repeating the penitential psalms and weeping for his people, yet saying—“Righteous art Thou, O Lord, and Thy judgment is just.” Augustine’s Hippo had fallen, Carthage had fallen, and had been sacked by the Vandals, experts, it was said, in plundering beyond all the barbarians; and with the greed of plunder was blended the cruelty of persecution. Nobles and ladies of gentle birth were sold in the slave-market; priests were slain in the churches as they read the Gospels and celebrated the Eucharist. Tortures unutterable were inflicted on the obstinate. And all the time the piratical raids were drawing nearer and nearer to Rome; yet Valentinian and his court went on revelling in careless indifference, disregarding every tie of honour and justice, betraying hospitality, dishonouring the noblest blood, rewarding with treachery the most faithful service. The great General Aetius was there at the court, his son betrothed to the Emperor’s daughter; but the Emperor had begun to feel Aetius no longer necessary, and his doom was sealed.