Chapter XIV: The Captured City

In one dark, close-rushing stream the Huns were pouring into Viminacium, when Theodore, with unutterable agony of heart, approached the gates with those who held him a prisoner. It was an hour in which he could full well have died with scarcely a regret, for every sight and every sound around him spoke nothing but despair.

A few words from his conductor brought the barbarians who accompanied them pressing round the young Roman, so as to keep him distinct from all the multitude which had followed Attila to his first actual conquest in the Roman territory. But so dense, so rapid, was that living torrent, that after they had once entered the gates no one could move except in the same onward course; and, knee pressed against knee, horse jostling horse, forward they rushed, while nothing could be seen in the dark long street but an ocean of human heads, except where the flames burst forth from dwellings, palaces, and temples, and formed a fiery canopy above them.

To see beneath the horses' feet was not possible; but every now and then some dreadful indications, on which it were needless to dwell, showed Theodore that his charger's feet were passing over a pile of dead; and still, amid the clang and rush of those wild horsemen, burst forth from other parts of the city the same long, piercing, awful shrieks, which told that the work of massacre had not yet ceased within those ill-starred walls. Wherever, too, a street, branching to either side, gave a momentary view of what was passing beyond, groups of struggling forms were seen, with heaps of corpses, falling houses, and masterless horses galloping hither and thither, and rolling clouds of smoke writhing in dark masses amid the building.

Still, however, Edicon pursued his way straight on, though at every turning some body of the Huns left the onward path, bent on plunder or on bloodshed. At length the way opened out into the forum, whose wide space was covered with scattered groups of the barbarian host, whirling here and there, in obedience to commands emanating from a group who had forced their horses up the steps leading to the temple of Mars.

Here, in the forum, the Roman legionaries had made their last stand; and here, thick and many, lay the bodies of those slain by hands that had never learned to spare. Here, too, dismounted from their horses, and stripping the yet warm dead of their rich arms and vestments, were thousands of bloodstained groups of the conquerors: and here, penned up, and dying man by man, was the last determined cohort which resisted the barbarian force. Even at that very moment, as Edicon was forcing his way onward, that last lingering spark of resistance was extinguished; for Theodore could see one Hunnish horseman, followed by several others, urge his horse fiercely down the steep steps of the temple, and plunge into the midst of the multitude which was pressing round the brave men of Viminacium. A loud shout burst from the barbarians as that horseman hurled himself forward like a thunderbolt against the front of the cohort. Its line, which had remained firm even in despair, was rent in a moment, as an oak that has withstood the winds is rent by the lightning, and the Roman helmets disappeared in the dark mass of the Huns. Again that same horseman separated himself from the multitude, rode slowly back towards the temple, and urged his horse once more up the steep and slippery steps. Towards him Edicon pursued his way; and, as they came near, Theodore perceived that it was, indeed, towards him their journey had been directed.

There, advanced before the rest, Attila sat gazing from his battle-horse's back over the awful scene before his eyes; while near him an equestrian statue of Trajan, with his calm, thoughtful features, and a bronze group of a lion tearing a bull, contrasted strangely, and harmonized well with the fierce and heated aspect of the stern Hun, as, covered with blood and dust, he rolled his flashing dark eyes over that terrible scene of massacre, fire, and desolation.

"Oh," cried Theodore, as they came near the steps, "oh, beseech him to sheath the sword, and spare the unresisting!" and, as he spoke, he naturally urged on his horse, to plead the cause of his miserable countrymen with one who had shown himself, in his own case, not insensible to pity.

But Edicon caught his bridle quickly, exclaiming, "Speak to him not! Speak to him not, if you value life! See you not that the mighty spirit of war is upon him. Speak to a hungry lion tasting the first blood! Plead with the tiger for its prey! But cross not Attila in his hour of battle and victory! Bleda, his brother, might hear you, and spare you at the time to slay you for his pleasure after; but were you to cross Attila now, he might strike dead the man whom to-morrow he would cherish as a son."

At that moment, however, the eye of the monarch lighted on the garb of Theodore. "A Roman!" he cried, "a Roman before my eyes! Smite him to the ground! Give his heart to the vultures!"

The youth understood not his words, which were spoken in the Hunnish tongue, but the fierce gestures of the barbarian king were enough; and at the same moment a hundred spears were raised around to drink the Roman's blood.

"Let them do their will," he said, calmly, "let them do their will. Who would love life after such sights as these?"

But Edicon interposed. "Hold!" he cried, to those so prompt to obey in any work of blood--"hold! he is the king's friend. Attila knows him not. Oh king!" he continued, raising his voice, "thou hast promised this youth protection: wilt thou break thy promise?"

Attila rolled his eyes over the whole group in silence; and Edicon, with those who surrounded him, well knowing that the fierce and eager mood of their lord would pass away, retired slowly from his sight, leading Theodore with them. No tranquil spot, however, no place of refuge or repose, did that wide city now contain. Plunder was still going on, though slaughter, insatiable still, even when gorging upon thousands, had exhausted nearly all, but only halted for want of food. Some wretched woman, indeed, or some helpless child, was dragged every now and then from its ineffectual hiding-place, and a solitary scream or a dying groan marked the new victim. But the work of butchery was now wellnigh complete; and conflagration, spreading rapidly in every part, threatened to consume the barbarian victors themselves, in the burning city which they had captured and destroyed.

A small open space, near what was called Trajan's Gate, at length afforded a place of repose to Edicon and his party; and there, following the example of the Huns, Theodore alighted from his horse, and, sitting down upon one of the massy stone steps before a dwelling which had once belonged to some rich banker, and had been one of the first to be plundered by the barbarians, he covered his eyes with his hands, and tried to shut out even from memory the horrors which he had just beheld.

In vain--it was vain! Confused, countless, terrible images and feelings of destruction and despair rushed through his burning brain and his indignant heart, and drove him wellnigh to madness. At length two or three wild notes of some barbarian trumpet, loud, long, and melancholy, sounded through the streets, and were heard above the general roar of the Hunnish multitudes, coming from different quarters of the city. Edicon sprang up and mounted his horse; and, seeing Theodore remain in the same attitude of despair, he exclaimed, "Up, up, we must away! It is dangerous to linger."

Theodore rose slowly; and though the curling flames which at once struck his eye, flickering above all the buildings around, together with the shower of sparks and flakes of fire which were falling incessantly from the dense and lurid clouds of smoke above, showed that the words of Edicon were true, and that the warning voice of the trumpet had only been sounded in time; yet slow and heavily did the young Roman rise, as if he would willingly have remained to die in the flames of that vast holocaust to the barbarian god of warfare. In vain the Huns urged him to haste; he gazed upon them dark and gloomily, as if the bitterness of death itself were passed; and they, with all their power, could do no more.

With strange and unusual gentleness for one of so fierce and uncontrollable a nation, Edicon endeavoured to persuade him to follow them from the captured city. He offered no violence, he used no rude command; but, after every other argument had failed to quicken the movements of the young Roman, he added, as if he could have divined the only chord which--left strung and resonant where so many were broken--could still vibrate the touch, "Remember that there are others in the world to whom your life is dear; beings kind, beautiful, and beloved, who may need the protection of your arm, the consolation of your affection, and the shelter of your breast."

The tears rose in Theodore's eyes: but the thrilling life of human hopes and fears was once more kindled from among the dead ashes of despair; and, springing on his horse, he followed wherever they would.

Wild, and terrible, and extraordinary was the scene of confusion and disarray which followed, while the Huns, some fast and eagerly, some lingering with their appetite for plunder still unsated, poured forth from the gates of the burning city. Order and ranks were there none. Tumult and confusion, loud cries, wild laughter, shouts of triumph, and barbarous songs, dark masses whirling hither and thither, horses, which had lost their masters, seeking them familiarly through the crowd, the rush of innumerable multitudes, and the mighty hum of congregated myriads, formed all that was seen and heard over the wide green fields which surrounded what a few hours before had been Viminacium--except when, loud and slow, surmounting every other noise, were heard the long, melancholy notes of the barbarian trumpet, calling conquerors from the work of spoil and desolation.

Sweeping round in a semicircle upon the declivity of the hills which domineered the city, the host of Attila was at length gathered together, at the end of about two hours after Theodore had seen the barbarian monarch in the forum. The youth had set apart upon the edge of the hill gazing upon the dim multitudes, as they covered and struggled up the intervening space between the walls and the spot where he was placed. The same party of Huns which had always hitherto accompanied him, more to protect than to detain him, remained with him still, except, indeed, Edicon, who had left him for the time. At length, however, he reappeared, and, sitting down beside the youth, addressed him kindly.

"The king," he said, "has asked for you. The fierce cloud of strife has passed away from his heart, and the sun will shine upon those that approach him now. Let us draw near. Lo! yonder he stands, where you see the crowd upon that high knoll. The warriors are going to bring their booty before him. If thou hast any boon to ask at his hands, ask it now."

Theodore rose, and followed on foot, though there was a fevered weariness in his blood, a confused giddiness in his brain, which prevented him from clearly comprehending, or, indeed, from taking any interest in the words that were addressed to him. Even when he had approached the presence of him on whom his whole fate now depended, the objects passed before him as if in some unreal pageant, wherein he had no feelings engaged, and by which curiosity and admiration were hardly excited.

There sat Attila on horseback, and beside him a taller and a younger chieftain, with keen sharp eyes, and a low fierce brow. In his countenance there might be more of cunning, but there was less of power and intellect than in that of Attila; and, as Edicon caught the eye of the young stranger wandering over his form, he whispered, "That is Bleda, the brother of the king."

Theodore paused, where his companion paused, at no great distance from the spot where the two leaders stood, and looked on, while the whole host passed in long line before the kings and their immediate followers, casting down in a pile all the rich and costly plunder which had been acquired in the first capture of a Roman city. How often, in the course of the succeeding months, was that scene to be repeated! There were the chased and jewelled cups and chalices which had graced the merry banquet, and poured the libation of hope or gratitude; there the sacred vessels of the church; there the gems and ornaments torn from the neck of beauty, and from the violated limbs of the tender, the gentle, and the beloved. There was poured out the miser's long-accumulated store; there the early gift of young affection; there the inestimable product of ancient art; there the shining mass, only prized for its intrinsic value. Each object there cast down recorded some deed of profanation, either of sacred civil order, or of holy piety, or of the sweet sanctity of calm domestic life: each spoke trumpet-tongued against the horrid, the desolating trade of war; the honoured, lauded, and rewarded curse, parent of murder, violence, and wrong.

Theodore scarcely remarked the division of the spoil, though he perceived that no voice, no, not even that of Bleda, was raised against the stern but just allotment made by Attila. Each soldier received his share; and each seemed to hear with reverence the words of his leader, and to gaze with awe upon the countenance of him whose steps seemed destined to crush thrones into the dust, and on whose breath hung the fate of nations and of empires.

When the division was over, Attila turned his eyes upon Theodore. "Bid the Roman approach," he said; and the youth advanced to the spot where he sat on the same horse which had borne him through the sacking of the city. His countenance, however, was now mild and calm; and the tone in which he addressed to Theodore some simple words of greeting was kind and father-like. Bleda said nothing; but he rolled his fierce eyes over the form of the young stranger, and his whole countenance spoke the unmitigated hate which he felt towards everything that bore the Roman name.

Theodore listened to the words of the monarch calmly; and then at once replied, "Oh king! I have a boon to ask at thy hands; I beseech thee to grant it unto me."

"Speak," said Attila, in the tongue of the Alani; but Bleda muttered in the same language, "Dash his brains out with an axe! that were the best boon to give him."

Attila's brow darkened; but, without noticing further than by that heavy frown his brother's words, he bade the youth proceed.

"Thou art mighty, oh king!" said Theodore, "alas! too mighty; and, it may be, that, ere thou receivest defeat from the Roman arms" (Attila smiled), "many such a city as this that thou hast to-day destroyed may fall before thee--"

"Many shall fall!" interrupted Attila: "I will tread upon their towers from Margus to Byzantium. I will mow the land as with a scythe: I will shake the armies from before my path, as a lion shakes off the morning dew from his mane. The fortified cities will I lay low, and the open villages I will burn, and my horses shall eat up the grass of the whole land. There shall be no green thing, and no beautiful thing, and no living thing, left throughout the country, unless speedy compensation for the wrongs done to me and to my people avert the wrath, and turn away the storm: but yet, what wouldst thou?"

"This, oh king!" replied Theodore; "my eye cannot witness the desolation of my native land. Either my heart will cease to beat, or my brain will turn, if I behold more of such scenes as those which I have this day beheld. I am thine to do with as thou pleasest, and I will keep the promise I have made; but, I do beseech thee, send me afar from such sights. Let me go into thine own country; and I swear, by all that I hold sacred, to remain there tranquilly till thou returnest."

"I know not how that may be," replied the king: "thy life is dear to me, youth; and were a Roman now to show himself in the land of the Huns, without protection and support, except, indeed, as a captive, the stream of his days would soon fall into the great gulf of death."

"If thou takest me on," cried Theodore, "to witness the murder of my fellow-countrymen, the ruin and devastation of my native land, thou slayest me by a worse death than any of thy people can inflict."

"Well, thou shalt go back," replied Attila; "but I will send people with thee, to protect thee in my name, till thou art known and in safety in the land. I cannot spare thee, Edicon; but he shall choose others who can speak some of the languages thou knowest: ours thou wilt soon learn. Follow me until this night be over; to-morrow thou shalt depart. See to his repose, Edicon, and find him wherewithal to cover him from the night air. These Romans are not, as we are, familiar with the elements."

Edicon smiled; and Theodore felt the scorn which had fallen upon his nation; but he replied not, for the reproach was too true; and, retiring from the presence of Attila, he felt his heart relieved at the certainty of being no longer forced to contemplate with his own eyes all the horrors that awaited his native land.

In their eager and fiery course towards the destruction of the Roman empire, the Huns knew no pause, lingered for no repose. Ere noon, Viminacium was a heap of ashes; ere two hours more had passed, the division of their plunder had taken place; and, ere another had gone by, the unwearied myriads were again upon their way, to repeat the same scenes of slaughter and destruction. At nightfall they halted. The innumerable small wagons, which followed them with a celerity quite marvellous, formed at once the ramparts of their principal camp and the abode of such as were affected by some touch of softer manners. In the centre of the camp was raised the standard of the king, the rude black eagle crowned;[6] and round it, at the distance of about a hundred cubits, was drawn an inner circle of wagons; but in the clear and starry nights of summer, no tent or awning covered the head of Attila; and beneath that victorious banner, which he carried unchecked from Caucasus to Gaul, he lay stretched upon the hide of a wild bull, which his own hand had slain.

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[Footnote 6: It was called Astur, and is supposed to have been the same as the tributary bird of the Tartars named the Schongar.]

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Round about the great camp were a number of smaller enclosures; some appropriated to different tribes and nations, who followed the multitude of the Huns in their career of victory and pillage; some assigned to various friends and officers of the great monarch himself. Nevertheless, the warrior horsemen of that innumerable host did not confine themselves, where they feared no attack, to the circle of their encampment, but, spreading over the plain around, spent the early hours of the night in feasting and revelry.

Theodore, with Edicon, who showed for him on all occasions kindness and consideration, which was little to be expected from one of so barbarous a race, followed full half an hour behind the general march of the army, in order to avoid those sights of occasional violence and cruelty which were sure to take place, even in the thinly-peopled part of the country which they now traversed. When they reached the spot, therefore, on which Attila had fixed for his encampment, night had already fallen; and for several miles around were to be seen blazing up a countless number of fires, with scarcely fifty yards from the one to the other, and with a circle of those wild soldiers surrounding and carousing about each. Little was the attention which they paid to the new-comers, as they rode through the midst of them; and Edicon, by frequently stopping to speak to those he knew, gave his companion a full insight into the habits of that roving people. We must not pause thereon, for this is not intended for a book of description; and yet it was a wild, strange scene that he beheld, full of matter of disgust and sorrow, and yet not without interest either. There all the vices of a savage state were displayed; while some peculiar virtues, and some of those strong enthusiasms which, though not virtues, find chords of sympathy in every noble heart, broke forth from time to time, and shed a lustre over the mingled whole.

At some of the fires, reclining or sitting in grotesque or picturesque attitudes, lay groups of the wild Scythians, in their strange but striking dresses, drinking deep of various liquors, which they had either compounded or plundered; and in the eyes of many the fiery gleam of intemperance was already shining, while with hoarse laughter and savage gesticulation they detailed the deeds of the day or mocked the agonies of their victims. Round other fires, again, gaming, with the same eagerness, the same loud words and fierce anxieties, so often to be found disgracing the capitals of civilized lands, might be observed other bodies of barbarians moved by another class of passions. Then, again, farther on, gazing with eager eyes, or listening with acute ears, and answering with bursts of thoughtless merriment, sat other bodies of the Huns, around some buffoon or jester,[7] in whose tale, or whose joke, or whose antic contortions their whole thoughts seemed to be engaged, forgetful of the bloody yesterday, unmindful of the bloody morrow. Farther still rose up the voice of song; and, in notes not unmelodious, some native minstrel sung of love and war; praised the beauties of some honoured fair, or extolled the valour of some mighty chief. There, too, around him might be seen, the dark countenances of those swarthy children of the North, moved by all the deep emotions which his song touched through the fine chords of association. There the youth leaned back; and, as he listened to the name of love, or heard the glowing words which painted some fair creation of the singer's mind, memory turned towards his native home, affection held up before his eyes the image of the one beloved, and his heart beat with eager palpitations at the gentler and the sweeter thoughts poured into his rude breast. There, too, might be seen the elder and the sterner soldier, who, when the song took up the tale of war, and told of things achieved by glorious courage, lands conquered, thrones acquired, and everlasting glory won, would half start from his grassy bed, and, resting on his arm, gaze with flashing eyes and stirred up enthusiasms upon the singer, and, with fond anticipations of the future, promise his own heart the glorious meed of deeds recorded in a song like that. Oh, beautiful, universal nature! noble feelings! touching harmonies of the musical heart of man! why, why among you must be thrown so many discords to bring out your sweetness? Why can we not have on earth the perfect harmony? where, from the lowest to the highest, from the most solemn to the gayest note, all may find place, and rise in one grand, all-comprising anthem to the God of all?[7]

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[Footnote 7: We find from all records that the Huns were peculiarly fond of gaming and of buffoons.]

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