Chapter XV: The Peril and Escape

It was to one of those detached circles, which we have described as separated from the general encampment, that Edicon led the way, after speaking with several of the chiefs, as they passed along. It had been apparently reserved for himself and those who followed him, for the enclosure was nearly vacant, except where, before the entrance of a tall but curiously-formed tent, which had probably been taken in war from some Eastern nation, blazed up a large and cheerful fire. Around were seated about a dozen Huns, not less wild and fierce in the expression of their faces than the rest of their nation; and yet there was something about their dress and general appearance which struck Theodore as more familiar to his eye. As he approached, one of them rose and addressed him in the Latin language, and welcomed him to his tent with great purity of speech and accent; and oh, how sweet and musical did those sounds appear, after the strange, harsh tongues which had lately rung in his ear, amid scenes of ruin, bloodshed, and strife!

Sweet, sweet indeed it was, but overpowering. He felt the tears ready to gush from his eyes; a word would have made them overflow; and, without speaking, he entered the tent to which the man had pointed. It contained nothing in the outer chamber of the two, into which it was divided by a curtain, but a lighted lamp upon a small table; and in the inner a bed, piled up of skins, with a single wooden settle. It had an air, however, of civilization and comfort; and how often is it in this life that the air has more influence upon our happiness than even the reality? We are the slaves of association, and, as such, truly but children of a larger growth, to whom the paint and tinsel of appearances render the toy valuable, whatever be its intrinsic worth.

Theodore cared little for the comfort, and thought Roman civilization had fallen into effeminacy; and yet the sight of that tent, like the sound of Roman words, sent a thrill through his heart, and made him happier. Edicon saw his emotion, and seemed to understand its cause, at least in part.

"You are surprised," he said, "to hear the Latin tongue; but you will be more so to know that there are several thousands in our host who can use it fluently."

"I have heard," replied Theodore, "when I was in Rome, that [AE]tius, the great general in Gaul, has several bodies of Huns among his mercenaries."[8]

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[Footnote 8: Not only was such the case, but in various contentions in the empire, hired bodies of the Huns were frequently found fighting on both sides, and doing their duty faithfully.]

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"Ay, and Valentinian also," rejoined Edicon. "Not two years since full ten thousand of our nation were engaged in defence of the Western empire. We are too near neighbours to the East to have such friendly commerce with her. Besides, Theodosius is unworthy the defence of brave men--a mere weak coward, a flimsy knave, whose only means of proving his manhood is by murdering with hired steel the only honest and noble men left to save his empire."

Edicon struck the chord aright, and Theodore's heart replied, though his lips were silent. "These men," continued the Hunnish chief, pointing to the barbarians, who were again seated round the fire, and took but little notice either of Theodore or their newly-arrived companions, who had followed him with Edicon--"these men have been chosen by the king himself, not because they speak thy language better than others in the camp, but because they are known as faithful and just. They will accompany thee back into our land; and, though they go with regret, thou wilt find them true and trustworthy. Ten more will be added, whom thou mayst choose either from among the Huns who have lived with the Romans, or from among thy kinsmen the Alani."

"I will choose the Alani," answered Theodore, quickly; and he observed, as he spoke, the brow of his companion contract as if he were offended--"I will choose the Alani--not, noble Edicon," he added, "that I doubt or distrust the Huns, for to me they have been merciful, kind, and generous, whatever violence and cruelty they may have shown in dealing with my native land. But remember that those I love the best have gone to seek a refuge with the Alan tribes; and perchance, by having some of them near me, I may learn, as I go, tidings which will cheer and console me to hear."

"Not only as you go," answered Edicon, with a smile, "but afterward also; for those who are now chosen to accompany you are not only directed to be your guard by the way, but are also given you--not as servants to a lord, but as followers to a leader, and will obey you in all things, as far as our customs permit, so long as you remain with us."

"It is strange," answered Theodore, thoughtfully; "your king, so harsh and fierce towards others, is so gentle and merciful to me--considers my wants, provides for my security, and cares for my comfort as if he were a father."

"Receive it all with gratitude," replied Edicon, "and he may prove a father to you. Nor must you think Attila harsh and fierce towards any, except in the hour of battle, when the spirit of war is upon him, and with the powers of a god he claims the attribute of vengeance. No! though grave and stern, he is just and humane towards his people. Determined in his purposes, inflexible in his judgments, his purposes towards those who obey him are mild, his judgments even against himself are equitable. It is only the traitor among his own people, the aggressor among foreign nations, that he treats with rigour."

"Think me not ungrateful," said Theodore; "I meant not to accuse thy monarch; and while I felt thankful for the tenderness he hath shown to me and mine--thankful for life and liberty preserved, and for the safety of those who are dearer to me than life itself--I have been forced to marvel that he has dealt so different a measure to me and to others. There is something strange in it."

"There may be so," replied Edicon; "but think you there are no such things as sudden intimations given us from Heaven of those with whom our fate is to be linked for good or evil? Think you that those prepossessions for or against, which we feel so suddenly, so unaccountably, in rare and extraordinary cases, are mere fancies, passing whims, which have no reference to after events?"

Theodore made no reply, for he remembered well his own peculiar feelings when he had first seen that powerful monarch with whom his own destiny had since been so completely mingled. He remembered it well, but he answered not, for the Hun seemed to have seen his feelings, or at least divined them; and at length Edicon went on:--"Such may have been the prepossession of Attila towards you; and we know, or at least believe, that the feelings I have mentioned are given us by the gods, to let us know our friends and enemies. Does not the horse tremble when the unseen lion is near? Do not the bleatings of the sheep warn the shepherd to watch even while the wolf is yet afar off?"

He paused a moment for reply, and then added--"But I will leave you to repose; and yet, ere you seek sleep, take some food, for your eyes are haggard and hollow, your cheek burning as if this tent were a furnace, and you have neither drunk mead nor broken bread during the whole day. Bid a slave bring food," he continued, speaking to those without; and then, taking from one of his own followers the sword which Theodore had left in his hands, he laid it down on the small table by the lamp, saying, "You are now turning to another land. Keep your weapon, for, whether you need it or not, it is always well to be prepared. Add to it a javelin and a bow; for, as you go through our country, you may strike a stag or a wild bull, and gain honours in the chase, which we hold next to war. I will now leave you, and see you to-morrow ere you depart."

Thus saying, his conductor left him, and a frightful negro slave, precious in the eyes of the Huns from the hideousness of his face and figure, brought him cooked meat and thin cakes of flour, with a strong drink composed of honey. Theodore tried to eat, but only few were the mouthfuls he could swallow, though the meat was not unsavoury. He tried, too, to drink; but there was a burning heat in his throat and mouth, and the sweet liquor was revolting to his taste.

"I will bring wine," said the negro slave, in tolerable Greek; "I am a present from Attila the King to his Roman son, and he is henceforth my lord. Wilt thou have wine? for it shall go hard but, with mine own wit and Attila's name to bear me out, I will find you as pure wine in the Hunnish camp as ever you tasted in the city of Constantine."

"I would rather have pure water," answered Theodore; "I have a painful thirst upon me; and heart and tongue feel burning as if with fire."

The slave sprang away, and returned in a few moments with both water and wine; and mingling them together, Theodore drank with delight which he had not known for long.

"I thank thee, friend," he said, giving his hand to the slave in gratitude for the blessed draught: "it is exquisite, and I thank thee."

The slave took his hand and kissed it, gazing intently on his face; and then, seeing by the calm and grateful sincerity of the young Roman's look that no scorn existed in his bosom towards that deformed and frightful shape which crouched at his feet, he sprang up, saying, "I have deceived you, but I will not betray you. I am not sent by Attila, but by Bleda, his brother. Beware of him! Roman, beware of him!"

"I have no cause to fear him," answered Theodore: "I have done naught to injure him."

The slave shook his head mournfully. "Are we only injured by those whom we have injured?" he demanded. "Alas! were it so, I should not be what I am. But I must speed hence, and not talk with thee too long, lest he hear that I have done so, and think I have betrayed him."

"But tell me, what is thy name?" demanded Theodore. "I have naught to give thee as a reward, but some day, perchance, I may have, and I will not fail."

"My name is Zercon," answered the slave; "and I am the crooked and mutilated jester of Bleda, the brother of Attila. Thou hast looked upon me with eyes of feeling and compassion, and I am rewarded enough; but I will serve thee further still."

Thus saying, he left the tent, and drew the external curtain closely after him. Theodore paused to think over what he had heard; but, as he reflected, he could find in all the wide range of probability no cause why Bleda should seek to injure him--"There must be some mistake," he thought; and, overpowered with weariness and exhaustion, he laid his sword close beside the bed of skins, and casting himself down, endeavoured to forget his cares in slumber. Restless, unhappy, fevered, long and painfully he tossed upon that lowly couch, courting in vain the blessed influence which opens for us, for a while, those gates of care, that shut us in the dreary prison of ourself. The faintly-burning lamp stood beside him; and by its pale light, as his eye roved round, the dark hangings of the tent became peopled with the spectres of imagination. His father passed before him, as he last had seen him at Byzantium; but his garments were spotted and dabbled with blood, and his countenance was pale with the ashy hue of death. Then came Flavia, with a crown upon her head, and a shroud about her person. Then he beheld Eudochia struggling in the arms of a fierce and eager form, and then Ildica glided across the scene, clothed in bridal robes, and with her left hand clasped in that of a wild, shadowy shape, which led her slowly forward, while in her right she carried a naked dagger, dropping as she went large gouts of crimson blood.

He knew, he felt, that it was all delusion, but yet he could not banish the swarming fancies that disturbed his brain, and even deceived the organ of sight itself. He closed his eyes, and resolutely turned his face to the wall of the tent, near which he lay, and employed himself in listening to the various sounds which rose up from the myriads spread over that wide plain. Although there were some noises which might be distinguished from the rest, an occasional burst of laughter, the loud and measured tones of some singer or reciter, or the wild notes of various rude instruments of music, yet the general buzz of all the many voices far and near came upon his ear with a drowsy and lulling hum, which gradually brought on an inclination to sleep. As time passed, too, the louder and more distinct sounds died away, and the whole subsided into a low and whispering rustle, which was like the noise of the sea upon a pebbly shore, only that it wanted the regular intermission of the successive waves. Forgetfulness fell upon him; but in a moment he awoke again with a quick start, gazed round to see where he was, felt the load of care pressed back upon memory, and hastened again to close his eyes, and cast it off once more.

He slept again, and this time more profoundly than the last, though his breathing was short and thick, and his limbs tossed to and fro. The lamp burnt more and more dimly. The sounds in the camp fell into silence, only broken now and then by the wild neighing of a war-horse.

At length, a little before midnight, the curtain, which separated the tent into two chambers, and which he had let drop when he lay down to rest, trembled as with a slight wind--was slowly moved--was drawn back; and a tall, powerful form took a step within, and let it quietly fall again. Two more paces brought him to the side of the couch where the young Roman lay, and, with arms folded on his chest, the giant-like intruder gazed upon the sleeping youth, and then looked cautiously round the tent. When he had done so twice, he blew out the lamp, and drawing over his tall form the mantle which Theodore had cast off, he crouched himself down at the foot of his bed. All was still and silent but the quick, heavy breathing of the Roman youth, and the rustling of his clothes, as he turned from time to time upon his uneasy couch. In less than half an hour, however, the curtain again moved, and a listening head was advanced within it.

"The lamp has gone out," said a whispering voice, speaking to some one in the outer chamber, in the lowest tone that the human tongue can assume; "lift up the curtain of the door, lest I miss my blow."

The curtain was lifted up, the inner one pushed back, and in streamed the pale, calm moonlight, showing Bleda, the brother of Attila, partly advanced within the inner chamber. He took another step forward, and listened, grasping tight the shining blade which he carried in his hand. Another step brought him within arm's length of the Roman's couch, and his hand was raised to strike, when, bounding like a lion on his prey, up started from his master's feet Cremera, the Arab freedman, and seized the murderer in his gigantic grasp.

An instant struggle took place; but the Hun was no match for his antagonist, who cast him down upon the ground, shaken, and nearly stunned. Another barbarian, however, rushed in, sword in hand, from the outer tent; but Theodore was now upon his feet, and, springing across the prostrate body of Bleda, interposed between the armed Hun and his gallant freedman. Another barbarian appeared at the door of the tent, and how the struggle might have gone, who shall say? but then there came a cry of Attila the King! Attila the King! and, with a torch before him, the dark monarch of the Huns advanced slowly into the tent. He gazed round upon the faces of all present with that stern, calm, unmoved look which never changed but in the fury of the battle.

Bleda, who had risen, answered his brother's glance with a look of fierce and fiery impatience, and planted his foot upon his sword, which had fallen from his hand in the struggle, as if he feared that some one should snatch it up. The companion who had followed him, with his naked blade still in his hand, stood trembling before the face of Attila with a pale and changing countenance.

To Bleda the great monarch said nothing; but slowly drawing his heavy sword from the sheath, he raised it over his head, and at a single blow cleft through the scull of his brother's follower, till the trenchant blade stopped at his teeth and jaws.

Bleda sprang forward with wrath flaming from his eyes. "How darest thou," he cried, "slay my servant?"

"How darest thou," said Attila, in a voice of thunder, "lift thy hand against my friend? Thinkest thou that Attila can be deceived? Thinkest thou that Attila will not punish? Bleda, Bleda! Once, twice, thrice have I warned thee! The measure is full! See that it run not over. I am neither blind to thine ambition nor thy purposes. Beware while it is yet time, and be yet my brother."

"Why, what have I to fear from thee?" demanded Bleda, haughtily; "am I not a king as thou art? Did not the same father beget us, the same mother bear us? Was not the dominion left to us equally divided? What art thou that thou shouldst judge me? Am I not a king as thou art?"

"Our portion was once equal," answered Attila; "but though I have not robbed thee of one tribe or of one charger, what are my dominions now and thine? I have added nation unto nation, and kingdom unto kingdom, while thou hast held thine own only beneath the protection of thy brother's shield. Bleda, I have trod upon the necks if fifteen kings, each greater than thou art. Force me not to tread upon thine. Once more, beware! I tell thee, the cup is full! Thou knowest Attila; now get thee gone, and leave me."

Bleda paused a moment, as if he would fain have given voice to the rage that swelled within his heart. But there was a strange and overwhelming power in his brother's presence, which even he, who had struggled with him from infancy up to manhood, could not resist. He remained silent then, not finding words to answer; and taking up his sword, he shook it with a bent brow at Cremera, and quitted the tent.

"Take away, yon carrion, and give it to the vultures," said Attila, pointing to the body of him he had slain.--"Brave man," he continued, turning to Cremera, "well hast thou done what I gave thee in charge--thou hast saved thy master's life; now leave us, but wait with the men without, to whom I gave the task of guarding him from evil. Bid them be more cautious for the future and tell them, that the presence of the king's brother--nay, of his son himself can never more be an excuse to Attila for failing in obedience unto him. For the present, they are pardoned; get ye gone."

Cremera retired; and Attila motioning his own attendants to withdraw, made them drop the curtain of the tent, and then sat down upon the couch of skins. Theodore stood for a moment by his side, but the King made him be seated, calling him by the gentle name of my son.

"Thou art surprised," he said, "to see thy faithful freedman here amongst us; but when I found thee first, sleeping in the watch-tower beyond the Danube, he sat between thee and me with his spear in his hand, glaring upon me as I have seen in Eastern lands the lioness glare upon the hunters, who would take her young; and I said to mine own heart, 'If this youth should ever want a faithful guard, here is one who could spill his own heart's blood rather than a drop of his lord's should flow.' When I followed thee from Margus, too, I found him almost alone, struggling with some of my warriors who had gone on before, in defence of the women, for whom, as well as for thyself, I had promised thine uncle my protection. He would not yield till a heavy blow on the head had stunned him, but I gave him in charge to those who are skilled in the secret virtue of herbs and flowers, with commands to bring him after me, and to cure him. They promised me he should be soon well; and when I heard of thy danger, and that he had recovered, I sent him hither to guard thee, till I could come myself, not choosing to oppose any of my own nation to the hand of my brother; and I knew that that brother would do the deed he meditated with his own arm."

"Then I have once more to thank thee, mighty Attila, for life," said Theodore; "to thank thee, the enemy of my native land, the destroyer of my countrymen."

"Not so," replied the monarch: "I have once saved thy life, I grant, when thou wert in the power of Ardaric; but for the deed of to-night thou owest me nothing. I promised thee protection, and had I not given it when I could, I should have been myself thy murderer. But to-morrow thou seekest to depart and leave me. Is it not so?"

"It is," answered Theodore; "not that I am ungrateful for thy favours, oh king! nor insensible to the distinction which thou makest between me and others of my race; but the scenes I have beheld, the grief and bitterness of heart that I have endured, since the morning sun of yesterday, would soon terminate my existence, were they often to be renewed. Did your nation wage warfare like a civilised people, I might endure though I might grieve; but now the sight of the utter extermination and devastation which thy tribes inflict wherever they pass is death, is worse than death to me likewise."

Attila fixed his eyes upon the ground, and remained for a moment silent:--"I will reason with thee, my son," he said at length; "for, though I disdain the art of the idle and subtle fools, who wrangle, as I hear, for an empty word in the schools of thy capital, yet Attila is not without reasons for anything he does, and when needful, can give those reasons, if it so please him. Thou talkest of the hostilities of civilised nations, and speakest with anger and fear of our more just and reasonable dealings in our warfare. But we make war upon our enemies, not upon our friends. We either go to subdue and bring under our dominion other nations, or to avenge ourselves upon a foreign foe. If the first be our object, and resistance is offered to us, how foolish to leave our enemies the means of resisting us with success? how weak to spare men who have done all they could to slay us, or women and children, by which the race of our adversaries may be kept up and increased? No; it behoves us to smite with the arrow and the sword, so long as there is any power of resistance in the land, and never sheathe the blade; or unstring the bow, till we are undisputed masters of the whole race and region. Then again, if we go for vengeance, what vengeance do we gain by suffering our own warriors to be slain without slaying our enemies? The more that die, the more is vengeance satisfied, and if we purchase it with our own blood, we must drink the blood of our enemies. What you call civilised warfare is a mere folly, which protracts the attainment of the end it seeks, and often loses it altogether--which, instead of blazing like a bright fire, and consuming rapidly a small quantity of fuel, lingers long, and burns a thousand-fold as much. No, no, my son, the most merciful warfare is that which is the shortest; and that in which no compassion is shown or asked, is always sure to be the soonest over. Nevertheless," continued Attila, "I seek not to make thee witness the ruin of thy native land, though, methinks, the destruction of thy father's murderer might well repay the sight; but thou shalt go hence. The men I have chosen to accompany thee are under thy command, and thou shalt have cattle, and woods, and pasturage assigned thee from my own herds and lands; ay, even gold shalt thou have, and, what is better, security and peace; for whosoever lifts his hand against thee shall have Attila for his foe; and now fare thee well, till we meet again on my return."