Chapter XIX: The Chase of the Urus

Theodore pursued his way with his own followers only after the king had left him to return to his host; and less than two days more brought him to the banks of the Tibiscus. At the third hour after sunrise, on the second day after meeting with Attila, he came in sight of one of the few fixed habitations of the wandering Scythians--the ordinary dwelling of the king. It was all unlike a Roman capital, and yet it was not an unpleasing scene.

Upon a wide plain, broken by some tracts of wood, and skirted by some rich sloping hills, at the foot of which it rested, stood a congregation of several thousands of low wooden dwellings, each separated from the other, and covering a large space of ground; but with all their lowliness, those houses were not without ornament--of a different kind, it is true, from that which decked the stately mansions of Rome or Constantinople, but suited to the buildings, the people, and the scene. Before each ran along the same long portico, supported by the trunks of trees, which Theodore had remarked in the dwelling of Bleda; and many an ornamental screen and piece of trellis-work gave lightness and beauty to various parts of the building. Trees were scattered here and there among the houses, giving shade to their high-peaked roofs; and flowers and shrubs were not wanting, such as the infant art of the age and country could produce.

Many a busy group was there, engaged in all the peaceful occupations of pastoral life; and though here, as before, women and children formed the greater part of the population, a number of men--mingling with the other groups--showed Theodore that the land had not been so entirely left without defenders as he had imagined. As he rode on and entered the streets--if by such name we can designate the wide open spaces between the houses--the population became more dense; and he observed among them every shade of complexion and every line of feature that it is possible to conceive. The colour and cast of countenance of the Huns was certainly more general than any other; but there also might be seen the Roman and the Greek, the beautiful tribes of Caucasus, the fair-haired children of the North, the Goth, the Vandal, and the Helvetian. Nor was this mixture merely apparent, but, on the contrary, it was borne out by the many tongues which struck the ear of Theodore as he rode along. There his own language was frequently heard; there the tongue of his mother's land was common; and not only did Theodore recognise Greeks and Romans as captives or bondmen, but many walked free and armed among the rest of the population, as if holding rank and authority among them. The young Roman now began to perceive that Attila, with wise policy, had left the guardianship of his land during his absence to persons whose situation, as fugitives or exiles from their native country, would render their resistance to any invading force desperate, determined, and unconquerable. He himself, as he passed, excited no great attention, for the Roman features with the Hunnish dress was too common among them to call forth much remark. Cremera the Arab, however, by his powerful limbs and gigantic height, drew all eyes upon the little troop as it advanced towards the mansion of the king; and Theodore heard many an observation made upon him and his, in tongues which the speakers thought he could not understand, but which were familiar to his ear.

At length they reached the open space in which the dwelling of Attila was placed. It was merely a wooden building like the rest, but far more extended; and though as simple as any in some respects, yet much more ornamented and tasteful in others. Besides the principal mansion, a number of smaller houses were congregated in the same space, probably destined for the reception of his immediate officers and friends; but the whole mass of buildings thus collected was separated from the rest by a piece of open ground, spreading on all sides to the extent of several acres. In this space several horsemen were exercising themselves with various arms, poising the spear, casting the javelin, drawing the bow, or urging the mock contest with the sword. Under the porticoes and within the low screens groups of women and children were seen employed in various household occupations and juvenile amusements; and the whole presented a picture of cheerful, active, and happy life, which might have taught an inexperienced heart to believe that among that people was to be found the wished-for state, where busy life proceeded in peaceful tranquillity, without the cares, the anxieties, the jealousies, the strifes of more civilized and more corrupt society.

Theodore rode on, as he had been directed, towards the gate of the principal dwelling; but he was surprised, and somewhat offended, as he came near, by one of the horsemen, who was careering in the open space, hurling a javelin right across his path so as to pass within a foot of his head. Theodore's nerves, however, were too strongly strung to give way even to the slightest appearance of emotion; and urging forward his horse rather than checking it, he passed on without noticing a loud and scornful laugh which burst from the young man who had cast the dart. Cremera, who rode a little behind his master, turned and gazed fiercely round, while the Hunnish youth and those who were sporting with him dashed in among the followers of Theodore, as if on purpose to disturb him, separating a part of them from the rest. Theodore was now turning to remonstrate; but he heard the chief of his attendants already in sharp discussion with his fellow-countrymen; and the first words that caught his ear made him resolve to abstain from even remonstrance, in a case which might add new causes of anxiety and circumstances of difficulty to his long and painful exile among the Huns.

"Know you who I am?" cried the youth who had hurled the javelin.

"Well!" answered Theodore's attendant. "You are Ellac, the son of the king, yourself a monarch; but we are here under the shield of Attila, where his son himself dare not strike us; for Attila is just, and kindred blood shields no one from the stroke of his equity." Some more words ensued, and Ellac at length said, "Is not this he who has dared my uncle Bleda, and provoked him to anger?"

"We know naught of that, oh king!" replied the attendant; "all we know is, that we are given to this young leader by Attila the King, as true soldiers to their chief. We are commanded and are willing to die in his defence, and will guard him against any one and every one with our lives."

"Have ye no tribe and chieftain of your own?" demanded Ellac, scornfully. "Where is the head of your own race, that ye have the base task of following a stranger?"

"The head of our race died upon the plains of Gaul, with fifty of our brethren," replied the attendant; "and it is not a base task to follow a sword which has drank deep even of the blood of our own nation."

"If it have drank the blood of our nation," replied Ellac, "he that wields it should be slain."

"Such is not the will of the king," replied the attendant; and he then added, "Stop us not, oh king, for we do our duty."

The young chieftain sullenly drew back his horse, and turning with a look of angry comment to his own followers, he suffered those of Theodore to proceed. They accordingly rode on and overtook the young Roman, who had preceded them by a few paces, just as he reached the light screens of woodwork which separated the palace of Attila from the open space around it.

There Theodore dismounted from his horse, and in a moment was surrounded by a number of those who were spending their idleness under the shade of the portico. A mixed and motley group they were, comprising old warriors, unfit any longer to draw the sword, beautiful girls of various ages--from that at which the future loveliness bursts forth from the green film of childhood like the first opening of the rose, to that at which charms that have seen the fulness of the summer day spread out in their last unfaded hours like the same rose when its leaves are first ready to fall. Children, too, were there, and many a slave from every distant land, with mutes and dwarfs, singers, jesters, and buffoons.[10]

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[Footnote 10: Both the Greek and Roman historians strive to impress their readers with the idea that the Huns were mere Scythian savages; but at every line they let fall something which impugns this assertion. We find that gold, gems, silver, tables, various kinds of drinks of their own manufacture, firearms and equipments, jesters, dwarfs, singing, and several games of chance, were common among them: and, in short, that there was an extraordinary mixture of civilized arts with barbarian habits.]

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A number of these, as we have said, now crowded round Theodore with looks of interest and expectation, while others, listless and unheeding, lay quietly in the sun, casting their eyes with idle carelessness upon the stranger, without thinking it worth their while to move. Many was the question that was now asked, and many was the curious trait which struck the sight of Theodore. But we must not pause to paint minutely the life and manners of the Huns. That Attila was on his march homeward was already known at the royal village, and orders had been received regarding the treatment of the young stranger. One of the houses in the same enclosure as that of the monarch had been appointed him for a dwelling; and having taken up his abode therein, he found himself served and supplied as if he had been one of the barbarian king's own children.

Although the scene which now passed daily before his eye was very different from that which he had beheld at the dwelling of Bleda, and he found it more difficult to enter into the kindly intimacy of any of the barbarian families than he had done there, yet the same simple manners were to be seen. Large flocks and herds were daily driven out to pasture; from every dwelling poured forth the drove in the morning, and to every dwelling returned the well-fed cattle in the evening, with him who had been their guardian during the day singing his rude song to cheer the empty hours.

The women, too, whatever their rank or station among the people, were seen sitting before their dwellings, twirling the spindle in the sun, or occupied in other domestic cares which had long since been abandoned by the polished and luxurious dames of Rome.

The mixture of foreign nations with the Hunnish population had indeed produced a sort of mockery of the vices and luxuries of civilized capitals; and Theodore saw that simple fare, and coarse, unornamented garments were by no means universal among the Huns. Gold, and silver, and precious stones appeared upon the persons and in the dwellings of many, and even the silken vestures of the East were seen among the female part of the inhabitants.

For several days Theodore remained almost totally without society; for, after the first movement of curiosity, the inhabitants of the palace took no further notice of him, and no one else sought for his acquaintance, except, indeed, some of those Romans who had abandoned their country and assumed the appearance of the Huns. Several of these, it is true, presented themselves at his dwelling, and would fain have looked upon him as one of themselves; but Theodore was on his guard, and he received their advances somewhat coldly. He was ready, indeed, to meet with kindly friendship any one whom the arm of injustice had driven from their native land, and who preserved pure their faith and honour, but unwilling to hold an hour's companionship with men who had been scourged forth by their own vices, or had betrayed their native land for the gratification of any passion, whether the sordid hope of gain, the wild thirst of ambition, or the burning fury of revenge. Of all who thus came to him he was suspicious, and his doubts were not removed by their manners; for all more or less affected to graft upon the polish of the Roman the rude and barbarian fierceness of the Hun. Though accustomed to a more refined, though perhaps not a better, state of society, they endeavoured to assume the manners of the nation among whom they dwelt; and the mixture thus produced was both painful and disgusting to the feelings of the young Roman, whose character was too decided in its nature ever to change by its contact with others, and possessed too much dignity to affect manners of any kind but those which sprang from his own heart, tutored as it had been from youth in habits of graceful ease.

In all the visits of this kind that he received, and they were many, a topic of conversation soon presented itself which acted as a touchstone upon the exiles. This was the comparative excellence of the Roman and barbarian mode of life. Almost every one broke forth on the first mention of such a subject into wild and vague praises of the simplicity, the freedom, the purity of the most unrestrained and uncivilized nation into whose arms either fortune or folly had driven them; and all the commonplaces against luxury and effeminacy had been conned and noted down to justify as a choice that which was in fact a necessity--their abode among the Huns. But Theodore thought differently, and he expressed strongly his opinion.

No man hated more effeminacy, no one more despised sensual luxury; but he thought that refined manners and refined taste might exist with virtue, purity, even simplicity; and he thought, also, that as the most precious substances, the hardest metals, and the brightest stones take the finest polish, so the most generous heart, the firmest and the most exalted mind, are those most capable of receiving the highest degree of civilization. At all events, he felt sure that no one who had tasted the refinements of cultivated life could lose their taste for what was graceful and elegant; and that if, from any hatred of the vices or follies which had crept into a decaying empire, they fled to a more simple and less corrupted state, they would still prize highly, and maintain in themselves that noble suavity, that generous urbanity, which springs from the feelings of a kind, a self-possessed, and a dignified mind.

These opinions, as I have said, he did not scruple to express boldly and distinctly; and he soon found that such notions, together with those he entertained regarding patriotism and the duty of every man towards his country, were not pleasant to the ears of his visiters. Some slunk away with feelings of shame, not altogether extinct in their bosoms. Some boldly scoffed at such prejudiced ideas; and only one or two, with calm expressions of regret, acknowledged that they felt as he did, and only lamented that injustice and oppression had driven them from the society in which they had been accustomed to dwell, and the refined pleasures which they were capable of enjoying, to the wilds of Dacia and the company of barbarians. With these Theodore would not have been unwilling to associate: but, ere he did so, he sought to see more of them, and to hear their history from other lips than their own; and, therefore, with a coldness of demeanour which was not natural to him, he received all advances from his fellow-countrymen.

Ellac, the son of Attila, he saw no more; and he was glad to be spared fresh collision with one who was evidently ill disposed towards him, and who was so dangerous an enemy. He strove not to avoid any one, however, but walked forth alone among the houses of the Huns with that fearless calmness which is generally its own safeguard. Still he saw, without choosing to remark it, that Cremera's apprehensions for his safety were greater than his own; and that, though he ventured not to remonstrate against any part of his master's behaviour, yet whenever the young Roman went forth on foot towards the close of the day to enjoy the calm hour of evening in that tranquil meditation with which it seems to sympathize, he caught a glance here and there of the tall, dusky form of the Arab following his footsteps with watchful care.

Sometimes the young Roman would ride out on horseback, followed by his attendants, to hunt in the neighbouring woods; and if any of the idler Huns followed their troop to join in the amusement or to share their game, the skill and activity which Theodore had acquired excited their wonder and admiration.

Early on the morning of the seventh day after his arrival at the residence of Attila he thus went forth, accompanied both by the Alani and the Huns who had been given to him, and rode along by the banks of Tibiscus to the wide deep woods which, at the distance of about five miles from the village, swept up from the river, and covered the sides, nearly to the top, of a lateral shoot of those high mountains which crossed the country to the eastward.

He followed the side of the river as closely as the nature of the ground permitted, even after he had entered the woods; for he knew that about that hour the stags and the elks, then so common in the Dacian and Pannonian forests, came down to drink at the larger streams, seeming to disdain the bright but pretty rivulets that sparkled down the sides of the mountains. He had heard, too, that such was the case with the urus, or wild bull; but the animal was scarce even in those northern solitudes, and he had not any personal knowledge of its habits.

Remarking the course of the stream when first he entered the wood, he ordered his attendants to spread out at some distance from himself, and drive the game towards the river, the banks of which he himself proposed to follow. Little appeared, however, and that of a kind not worthy of pursuit. A wolf, indeed, crossed his path, and, casting his javelin at it, he struck the grim robber of the fold down to the ground; but, shaking it quickly from his weapon, he passed on, and for near an hour followed the side of the stream, hearing from time to time the cries of his attendants, as they shouted, both to give notice to their companions of the course they were pursuing and to scare the game from the lair.

Mingling other thoughts of a more heartfelt and interesting kind with the alternate expectations and disappointments--trifling, indeed, but still exciting--of the chase, he did not remark that after a time the voices of his followers sounded less and less loud, and that the river swept away more than he had calculated towards the west. Cremera, indeed, he saw from time to time emerge from the deeper parts of the wood to catch a glance of him, and he fancied that the others were not far distant. But at length all the sounds ceased, and after some time he became aware that he had strayed considerably from the direction which he had proposed to take. He heeded it not much, however, saying to himself, "They will soon rejoin me: the river sweeps round again not far on."

As he thus thought, he heard the distant cry of dogs; and putting his horse into a quicker pace, he hurried on towards the spot from which the sounds proceeded. They were faint and far off, however; but, as he rode forward, they seemed to advance upon him, winding hither and thither in the wood; and he thought, as his practised ear caught the sounds, "It must be an elk they are upon; they cry more eagerly than on a stag."

There were some high grounds above him, but covered with deep wood; and though, soon after, Theodore could hear the musical voices of the hounds pass across the upland, and could even catch the rushing and crashing sound of some large beast passing through the underwood, he could neither see dogs nor game. He thought, however, "That is no elk! It does not bound like an elk--most probably a wild boar; and, if so, one of enormous size."

Then, giving a hasty glance to the river, he exclaimed, "It turns there: the brute must either take the water, face the dogs, or come back hither by the open ground;" and urging his horse as close as possible to the stream, he rode on to meet the animal, whatever it was, just as it burst from the wood. As he approached, he heard that he had calculated rightly by the turn which the dogs took; and he paused that he might fling his javelin with a surer aim.

At that moment, however, a cry like that of a human being in pain or fear caught his ear, proceeding from among the trees just before him; and dashing on to give aid if the beast were brought to bay, he plunged his horse in among the brushwood, passed in a moment a narrow slip of forest that impeded his sight, and found himself in a small open space, round three sides of which the river bent like a sickle.

One object, however, in that space occupied all his attention, one feeling took possession of his heart, and but one course was left him to pursue. In the midst, clothed in a shaggy mane, with foam covering its black nostrils and fury flashing from its dark sinister eyes, its foot planted on a hound that it had just killed, and its enormous neck bent and head drawn back, in act to strike again with the short but pointed horns upon its wide square brow, stood the urus which the dogs had driven from its mountain solitudes.

Before it, prostrate on the earth, and panting in the agonies of death, lay one of the small horses of the Huns, with streams of blood pouring forth from a tremendous gore in its side. Fallen with the fallen horse lay a boy of about twelve years of age, splendidly apparelled after the barbarian fashion, and with one small hand raised and grasping a sword, he made a vain effort to strike the fell adversary that was rushing upon him.

On one moment hung life or death; and, even while his horse was clearing the last brushwood, Theodore, with all the strength and swiftness of youth and vigour, hurled his unerring javelin at the monster. It struck him but slightly, for the youth's hand was shaken by the spring of his horse; but it flew so swiftly, that the sharp steel cut through the tough hide upon his back just as he was dashing forward to crush the boy to atoms. It shook and turned him; and as the young Hun writhed partly on one side, the fury of the animal's stroke was spent upon the dying horse. Mad, however, with pain, he now turned upon his new assailant; but Theodore, active as well as strong, snatched the second javelin from his saddle bow, sprang from his horse, and met the brute as he rushed upon him.

With his head down and his eyes closed, the urus rushed on; but Theodore, though knowing his danger, was neither fearful nor unprepared; and when the animal was within two steps of where he stood, he darted on one side, and then plunged the spear into its back. The weapon struck against the bone, however--stopped--broke short off; and, but little injured, the bull turned upon him again.

There were now the cries of coming huntsmen, but no time was left for distant succour to arrive. On himself, on himself alone, the young Roman was forced to depend; and, drawing his short sword, he again stood prepared to meet the assault of his adversary. With his eyes not now closed as before, but keenly watching his prey, the urus again rushed upon him; and Theodore, knowing that, though his sword was sharp and his arm was strong, it was in vain to strike at that bony head or that thick and heavy mane, again sprang on one side, but farther than before, more to avoid the first rush than to strike the animal as he passed.

The bull, however, was not again deceived, but followed him like lightning; as he did so, however, the coming huntsmen and dogs rushing through the trees met his ferocious eye. He wavered for a moment between flight and vengeance--exposed, as he turned, his side to the arm of the young Roman--and Theodore, seizing the moment, plunged the keen blade into his chest up to the hilt, casting himself forward upon the beast with such force that they both fell and rolled upon the ground together.

The weapon had found the heart of the fierce animal; and after but one faint effort to rise, his head and hoofs beat the ground in the bitter struggle of the fiery and tenacious life parting from the powerful body, till with a low bellowing groan he expired.

Theodore raised himself from the ground, and drawing his sword from the carcass of the urus, he gazed round upon the scene in which the strife had taken place. Greatly was it altered since he had last looked about him, for it was filled with a multitude; and when Theodore turned his eyes towards the spot where had lately lain the boy he had just saved from death, he saw him raised up from his dead horse, and clasped in the arms of Attila himself.