Chapter XII: The Parting

A silent pause of several minutes ensued, while the terrible monarch of the Huns thus suffered to burst forth so clear an indication of his hopes and purposes; and as he stood in the midst, still gazing up to the sky, with each firm and powerful limb in statue-like repose, his feet planted on the earth as if rooted to it, his broad chest thrown open, and his wide square forehead lifted to the morning sun, there was an air of might and majesty in his whole appearance which impressed those who beheld him with a belief in his power to accomplish fully that which he so boldly planned. Though far less in height than the chief of Gepid[ae], yet Ardaric gazed upon him with reverence and awe; and Theodore, as he beheld him, and traced the light of potent intellect flashing from those dark eyes, while his lip pronounced his vast designs, could not but feel that there stood the most dangerous enemy that Rome had ever known.

At length Attila recalled his thoughts from those dreams of conquest, and, waving his hand towards the spot where the standards of his nation were gathered together, he exclaimed, in a voice which, though not apparently loud, came deep and distinct to every ear around, "Edicon! Edicon, come hither!"

A tall, dark man, with the shrewd face of a Greek, but the air and expression of a barbarian, sprang from his horse and advanced a pace or two into the open space around the king; but, as he came forward, Attila bade him bring the principal captives with him; and, pale, faint, and sick at heart, Flavia and her family, uncertain either of their own fate or of his, so closely, so dearly linked with them, approached the spot where the dark monarch stood with his naked sword still clasped in his sinewy hand. As they came near, the joy of having saved them burst all restraint; and Theodore, though the blood was still dropping from his garments, clasped them one by one in a brief but joyful embrace.

"You are safe, my mother!" he cried, "you are safe, my Ildica! Ammian, Eudochia, you are safe! you are safe, and at liberty! The king will send you securely to the land of the Alani."

"And you, my son, are a slave!" said Flavia. "You are a slave, and we shall never see you more!"

"Not so!" said Attila, gazing upon the group, and somewhat moved by their meeting. "He is no slave, but has bound himself to dwell with Attila not less than seven years. Neither do I ask him to war against his country, it would be doing wrong unto his nature; but I ask him to be a faithful and true friend to him who has saved his life, in every other thing. Edicon, thou art a scribe: write down this compact between Attila the King and Theodore the son of Paulinus, in order that no one may ever doubt that he did not betray his native land, or that Attila could not be generous to his enemy."

He spoke in the Latin tongue; and though he used not that language with ease, yet his meaning was distinct, and Flavia replied--"Act ever thus, oh monarch! and thou shalt conquer more by thy generosity than by the sword!" A hope might, perhaps, have crossed her mind, even while she spoke, that in so free and kindly a mood the monarch of the Huns might be induced to suffer her and her children to take up their abode in the same land with Theodore; but she thought of Ildica, of her young blossoming beauty, of her tender nurture, and her graceful mind, and she repressed the wish ere it was spoken; all she added was, "Oh, keep him not from us for ever!"

"I have pledged and plighted my word," replied the king, "that in seven years he shall be free to leave me if he will. More: if he show himself as faithful to me as he has been to his country, he shall, from time to time, have leave and opportunity to visit those he loves. But I have mightier things to think of now," he continued: "wait ye here till I provide for your safety. Ardaric, come thou with me; I go to tread upon the necks of the Romans." Thus saying, he sprang upon his horse, and issued a few brief commands in the Hunnic tongue. The dark masses of the barbarian horse began to move on by the river-side as if towards Idimum; and while they swept along, like the shadow of a cloud over a field of green corn, the monarch continued conversing with his attendant Edicon, without further notice of the captives. At length, when Theodore saw him about to depart, he ventured to ask, "Go you to Margus, oh king?"

Attila looked upon him with a smile so slight that it scarcely curled his lip, and replied, "Margus was mine ere I came hither! My people are skilful in dressing wounds," he added; "let them tend thine, for thou art bleeding still."

As he spoke, he raised his hand slightly on the bridle of his horse; the beast sprang forward across the meadow, and, followed by a troop of Huns who had remained upon the left, Attila galloped on in the same direction which his host had taken before him.

Only two bodies of barbarians continued upon the field; one, consisting of perhaps a hundred men, remained with Edicon, near the spot where Theodore and his companions stood; the other, fewer in number, were gathered farther down in the meadow, near which the struggle between Theodore and the Huns for the deliverance of the captives had first commenced. A glance showed the young Roman that they were in the act of removing or burying the dead; but objects of deeper interest called his attention elsewhere, for Flavia, Eudochia, Ammian, Ildica, gathered round him, gazing in his face, pale as it was with loss of blood, and looking upon him with the thankful eyes of beings whom he had delivered from bondage worse than death. How he had delivered them, by what means, or by what motives in the breast of the Hun that deliverance had been accomplished, was strange and incomprehensible to them all, even to Theodore himself; but that it was by his agency, on account of his valour, constancy, and faithfulness, none of them for a moment doubted; and as Ildica raised her large dark eyes to his face, they were full at once of love, of admiration, and of gratitude.

Oh, who can tell the mingled feelings of that hour, when sitting round him they loved--while one of the rude Huns, with the peculiar appliances of his nation, stanched the trickling blood and dressed his many wounds--those who had lately given way to despair, now spoke to each other the few glad words of reviving hope! Oh, who can tell the deep and fervid yearnings of the heart towards God in thankfulness for the mighty mercy just vouchsafed! Oh, who can tell the thrilling, the ecstatic sense of security, of peace, and of happy expectation which succeeded, after having been plunged in such a depth of grief, of care, and agony!

What though their thoughts might wander on into the vague future, and sad experience might cause a fear to cast its shadow over the prospect! What though Flavia's heart might feel a chilliness at the idea of strange lands, strange habits, and strange nations! What though Ildica and Theodore might look upon a probable separation of seven long years with grief and regret; yet oh, how such pitiful alloy sunk into nothing when mingled with the golden happiness of knowing that safety, liberty, and peace had been obtained after so fearful a struggle! Could Theodore gaze upon the lovely and beloved form of the sweet Dalmatian girl, and know how dreadful a fate might have befallen her, without feeling that life itself would have been a poor sacrifice to save her from such a doom? Could Ildica behold her lover, and recall the moments when last she saw him surrounded by fierce foes, and determined to die, that he might give her a chance of liberty, without feeling that a seven years' absence was but a cheap price for the life and safety of so noble, so devoted a being?

To part--to part, perhaps, for seven long, solitary years--would, in happier days, have seemed a fate too bitter for endurance; but now, the dark and fearful images from which that lot stood forth made it look bright and smiling. The hour of horror and danger had passed by; despair had given way: and though fear still lived, yet hope, hope was the victor for the time.

Their words were few but sweet, and they were uninterrupted; for the Huns, after the youth's wounds were dressed, pointed out to them some shady trees as a place to repose, and left them unrestrained, and almost unwatched. The barbarians knew well that the whole land around was in their king's possession, and feared not that any one could escape. The words of the captives, I have said, were few, but still those words were not unimportant, for they went to regulate the future fate of all. Each promised, when occasion served, to give tidings of their health and prospects, hopes and wishes, to a mutual relation in Rome, the noble Julius Lentulus, and each unloaded the mind to the other of every feeling which, in a moment such as that, the heart could experience, of every thought which the memory could recall.

As they thus sat and conversed, the slaves and attendants who had been captured with them crept gradually nearer and nearer, not yet comprehending fully the situation in which they were placed; feeling themselves to be prisoners, and yet marvelling that their limbs remained untied, after such a bold effort to escape, when they had been bound with leathern thongs before. Nearly one half, however, of the freedmen were absent; and painful sensations passed through the hearts of Theodore and Flavia when they looked around, and missed some old familiar face; but neither spoke their feelings on this point to the other. As the sun passed the meridian, however, two or three Huns from time to time came riding down the road, driving before them, with their short spears, several of the absent attendants; and while the day went on, a considerable part of the baggage, whereof Flavia's company had been pillaged on their first capture, was brought back without a word of explanation, and piled up round the trees underneath which she sat. Strange is it and unaccountable how the heart of man, which despises many a mighty warning, draws auguries for its hopes and fears from the pettiest occurrences that befall us in our course through life. When Flavia, and Ildica, and Theodore saw the litters, and chairs, and chariots, and bales of goods restored, and laid down in silence, a well-pleased smile beamed upon the face of each; not that either thought at that moment of comfort or convenience, or of all the little luxuries which the glass of civilization magnifies into necessaries; but that each one thence drew a renewed assurance that the barbarian monarch, into whose hands they had fallen, however fierce and bloodthirsty he might have shown himself to others, at all events meant well and kindly towards them.

Towards the third hour after noon, food rudely cooked, and a beverage peculiar to the people of Dacia, were set before them; and Edicon, sitting down to meat with them, pressed them to their meal, using the Latin tongue as purely as if it had been his own. He spoke of the empire of the Huns, of their might, their conquests, and their innumerable hordes; he spoke even of Bleda, the brother of the king, and monarch of one part of the nation: but the name of Attila he pronounced not; and, when it was mentioned by Theodore, he turned quickly to some other theme.

The sun had lost much of its heat by the time the meal was concluded; and, shortly after, a Hunnish horseman came down the road with fiery speed, and addressed a few quick words to Edicon.

That chief instantly turned and addressed Flavia. "Tricornium and Singidunum have fallen," he said, "and the way is clear before you. It is the will of the king that you commence your journey."

Flavia gazed upon Theodore, and Theodore upon those he loved; and the bright drops clustered in the dark eyes of Ildica like dew in the half-closed leaves of the morning. Eudochia, too, hung upon her brother's neck, and Ammian grasped his hand; but still the son of Flavia, with wilder and less regulated feelings than the rest, could not yet understand or appreciate the grief of Theodore at that moment of parting. "Would I were you, Theodore!" he exclaimed. "Gladly would I see the country and manners of these wild Huns; and oh, if I had a father's murder to avenge as you have, I would march on with that brave and mighty Attila, and smite the tyrant, Theodosius, on his throne."

"Could it be without the ruin of my country," replied Theodore; "but, alas, Ammian, that cannot be. Weep not, dear Ildica! Sorrow not, my mother, that for a time you must leave me here. Let us remember our condition a few hours ago, and be thankful to God that it is as it is even now. Far safer, too, are you under the guidance and protection of these powerful barbarians, than if, unaided and unguarded, we had attempted to penetrate into Noricum: far safer am I left here, with those who have spared me even when my sword was drawn against them, than if I were attempting to guide you through strange lands that I know not, and barbarian people who hate us for our very civilization. I trust implicitly to the word of Attila. He has promised us his favour and protection, and I fear not."

"Thou judgest rightly, Roman," joined in Edicon, who still stood by. "The word of Attila, whether for good or bad, has never yet been broken. His sentence is irreversible; his mind unchangeable. Fear nothing for the safety of your friends. Two hundred of our bravest warriors guard them to Singidunum, whence a tribe of the Heruli, with a messenger from the king, convey them onward to their destination. They are safe wherever they go, for Attila has promised them protection; and is not Attila lord of the earth?"

Still Ildica clung to him; still Flavia gazed upon him with wistful affection; and the heart of Theodore, while they prepared once more for their journey, swelled with feelings too painful for utterance. Weakened with loss of blood, wearied with terrible exertion, and forced to part for long, dim, uncertain years from those whom alone he loved on earth, his manly fortitude wavered; but the presence of the Huns and the pride of a Roman sustained him. He could not bear that barbarians should see him weep; and though he held them one by one to his bosom in the warm embrace of passionate affection--though he spoke to the very slaves and freedmen with the tenderness of old and fond regard--though he looked upon each familiar face and long-remembered feature with the clinging earnestness of love--yet he mastered the emotions of his bosom, and saw them prepared to go without a tear moistening his eye. One last kiss, one long, dear embrace, and Theodore turned away. Then came the sound of many feet, the neighing of horses, the cries of barbarian voices in the tone of command, the rustling and the rush of a moving crowd. Gradually the noise became less, the tongues sounded more faintly, the tramp of feet subsided into a lower and a lower murmur, and Theodore, looking round, found himself left alone, amid a small party of the Huns, with a feeling of deep desolation at his heart, such as he had never known before.