Chapter XXI: The Bitter Wrong

In the audience hall of the rustic palace of Attila, towards the middle of the subsequent day, were assembled the chiefs of all the different nations he commanded; and at once strange and brilliant was the display of wild, but rich and picturesque attire which there presented itself. The gold and silver of conquered nations, the trinkets and precious stones of many a plundered palace, were mingled with the shining steel and rich furs of the conquerors; and scarcely could the luxurious courts of those famed Eastern monarchs, whose effeminate splendour had become a by-word in the world, exceed in the blaze of gems and gold the hall of the dark monarch of the Huns. But in the midst of all, and distinguished from all by the perfect simplicity of his garb, sat Attila himself, with his large hand resting on the iron hilt of his broad heavy sword. Kings of a hundred different nations stood around, gazing with awe and veneration upon that dark plain man, and acknowledging in every look and gesture the mighty influence of superior intellect. Beside these, on either hand, were placed the many sons and the favourite friends of the monarch; among the last appeared Onegisus, Edicon, and Theodore; and a number of slaves and attendants, covered with barbarian ornaments, filled up the rest of the wide space.

What had passed before needs not description; but at the moment we now speak of a messenger from the weak Theodosius was brought into the presence of the king, with the aspect of a trembling slave approaching an offended master. Attila gazed upon him sternly as he came near; and Theodore felt the indignant blood rush up into his cheeks as he beheld the degradation of his country.

"Art thou of what thy nation calls of patrician rank?" demanded Attila, when the ambassador, with his forehead almost bending to the ground, had approached within two steps of the monarch.

"Alas, no," he answered; "lam but the humblest slave of Attila the King."

"If thou art my slave, thou art happier than I believed thee to be," replied Attila; "for to be the slave of a slave is a humbler rank than any that we know on this side of the Danube. Yet such thou art, if thou art the servant of Theodosius. How dares he," continued the king, fixing his keen black eyes fiercely upon him, "how dares he to send any but the noblest in his land to treat with him who sets his foot upon his neck? 'Tis well for thee that thou art but a servant, and that therefore we pardon thee, otherwise hadst thou died the death for daring to present thyself before me. But now get thee gone! Yet stay! Edicon, we will that thou shouldst accompany him back to the vicious city of Theodosius, the womanly king of an effeminate nation. Thou shalt go into his presence and say unto him, 'How is it that thou hast been so insolent as to send any of blood less noble than thine own, even to lick the dust beneath the feet of Attila? As thou hast so done, thou shalt be exiled again by the same hand that has smitten thee; for Attila the King, thy master and mine, bids thee prepare a place for him.' Thus shalt thou speak--in these words and no others?"

"Oh king! I will obey thee to a word," replied Edicon. "When wilt thou that I set out?"

"Ere the earth be three days older," answered Attila: "take that Roman slave from my presence; to see him offends mine eye. Now, what tidings from my brother Bleda?" he continued, turning to a warrior who stood near, dressed in glittering apparel.

"He greets thee well, oh king! and bids me tell thee that, after resting in his own dwelling for a space, he will lead his warriors towards the banks of the Aluta, if thou dost not need his services against thine enemies."

Attila turned his eyes towards Ardaric, who cast his down, and smoothed back the beard from his upper lip.

"Fortune attend him," said the monarch; "and thou mayst tell him, my friend, that as he will be in the neighbourhood of the revolted Get[ae], he had better, if his time permit, reduce them to a wise and bloodless submission, otherwise Attila must march against them himself, and this hand strikes but once. Bid good fortune attend him, and wisdom guide him in all his actions!"

Attila placed a peculiar emphasis on his words, but his countenance underwent no variation. Such, however, was not the case with the chiefs who stood around, on the brows of many of whom Theodore had remarked a cloud gather at the announcement of Bleda's purposes; and they now heard the reply of their great leader with a grim but not insignificant smile. The young Roman could not, it is true, divine the secret causes of all that he saw; but the conversation of Ardaric on the preceding evening led him to believe that Bleda was hurrying on his hopeless schemes of ambition, and that he would soon be plunged into open contention with his far more powerful brother. With all the feelings of a Roman yet strong within him, Theodore could hardly regret the prospect of a struggle which might divide and occupy the enemies of his native country; but still he felt a degree of sorrowful regret that all the high and noble qualities of the barbarian king should not have been enough to win the love or overawe the ambition of his inferior brother.

When the messenger of Bleda had departed, Theodore himself was called before the king. The object of Attila was but to give him permission to begin his journey on the following morning; but as this was the first time that the young Roman, whose undaunted bearing had busied the tongue of rumour in the camp, had appeared before the monarch in the presence of the Hunnish chiefs, many an eye was turned to watch his demeanour, some of the leaders looking upon him with jealousy, as having suddenly started into a place in Attila's favour, some gazing with ready admiration upon one who had so early obtained that renown which is dear to every noble heart.

Whatever might be the feelings with which Theodore approached the powerful chief on whom his fate so entirely depended, he would not for an empire have shown before the eyes of the barbarians the slightest sign of fear or awe. Grave and respectful his demeanour certainly was; but when he had advanced before the seat of Attila, and bowed his head as a token of reverence due to his power and station, he raised his eyes full to the dusky countenance of him who spoke, and endured the gaze of those eyes before which so many mighty quailed, without withdrawing his own. When the monarch had concluded his commands, Theodore again bowed his head and withdrew; and though, as he passed, he heard Ellac, the eldest son of Attila, who had by this time returned, say something concerning "_the crafty Roman_," he suffered not the insulting word to disturb the joy which his approaching journey already bestowed.

Hope, like a kind parent, reaches up the cliff and gathers for us the flowers long ere our own slow childish efforts can attain them; and Theodore was already revelling in joys which were yet afar in that vague uncertain future. He spent the day in happiness; and after a night given up to waking dreams, far brighter than even the fair magician, Fancy, could have called up in the phantasmagoria of sleep, he rose with the first gray streak of dawn, and set out to realize the visions.

It was a dull and heavy morning, with the white veil of clouds rolled round the summits of the distant mountains, and flying showers passing frequently over the plains; but as the young Roman proceeded at the head of near two hundred of the Alan horsemen, whom Attila, on the pretence of sending them to their own homes, had given him in fact as a guard, his heart was too light and joyful to feel or know that the brow of nature was overcast. His eye might roll over the mountains plunged in mists; or over the forests, where the pattering rain was seen falling amid the autumnal leaves; or over the plain and along the meadows, where a hazy whiteness rested a few feet above the general level: but the mind's eye was in other lands and on other scenes; and, for the time, even his corporeal faculties seemed to correspond with the mental vision alone. It is scarcely too much to say that he knew not the morning was not fine.

Following on the banks of the Tibiscus for a long way, Theodore and his companions sought in vain for fords; for the heavy rain which had fallen during the preceding night had swelled the river which rushed on in haste, a brown, discoloured mass of hurried waters, towards the Danube. Night fell ere they had succeeded, and the early moon burst out and swept the clouds away. Choosing some sandy soil for their night's encampment, Theodore and his own immediate attendants sat round one fire, while the Alans, following the practice of the Huns, lighted several others; and, though the young Roman was again long ere he slept, yet at length pleasant dreams blessed his eyes, and daylight was already pouring on the world when he awoke. It was the bustle of preparation which aroused him, and he found all nearly ready to depart.

Looking round as he was about to spring upon his horse, he missed a face that was seldom absent from his side. "Where is Cremera!" he demanded of those who stood near.

"He went at daybreak," they replied, "to see if he could find a ford farther down the river. He said that he would not be long, but he has not yet returned."

"Then we must trace down the river till we find him," replied Theodore; and, mounting his horse, he led the way slowly along the banks of the Tibiscus. An hour went by, and then another, but Cremera did not appear. The woods which swept over the neighbouring country, and which every here and there approached within a few hundred yards of the river, though not thick, afforded quite sufficient covering to have concealed the Arab, if he had taken his way back to the sleeping-place by some of the forest paths; and such, Theodore became convinced, had been the case, as the third hour went by, and the freedman had not rejoined them. Towards the end of that period, however, they found a ford, and halted on the margin in expectation of his coming; for his young master could not help feeling it extraordinary, that one so quick and rapid in all his decisions as the Arab was should not long before have discovered that the whole troop had gone on, and overtaken them as they rode.

As more time passed and he appeared not, Theodore became uneasy, and the memory of the faithful African's zeal, and affection, and services came in full stream upon his heart. At length, bidding the Alani cross the ford and wait for him at the other side, he turned back with his little troop of Huns, and rode swiftly along, spreading out his men through the woods on the right, and, as was customary among them, keeping up his communication with them by cries of various conventional import.

Thus they had proceeded for more than an hour and a half, though they rode much more quickly than before, and they had nearly reached the spot whence they set forth in the morning, when Theodore heard one of his followers in the wood give the peculiar shout which was understood to express a desire for all the companions of him who uttered it to halt. The next instant the man appeared at the verge of the wood, beckoning eagerly to the young Roman.

Riding up with a sinking heart, Theodore eagerly asked what he had found. The man made no other reply than, "Come hither! come hither!" with an expression of countenance which did not serve to allay the Roman's apprehensions. Ten steps brought him into a little gap in the wood; and what was his horror to behold the gigantic form of the faithful African stretched out between two trees, with one hand nailed to each, so as to keep him in an erect position.[11] His head, fallen forward on his chest, showed that life was quite extinct, and a number of arrows left in the body spoke the cruel and painful death which he must have died.

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[Footnote 11: Crucifixion, which we have reason to believe one of the most agonizing kinds of death, was one of the common punishments among the Huns.]

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With a heart full of grief and indignation, Theodore approached the body with his companion; but while they gazed upon it, wondering who could have committed so horrible a deed, another of the young Roman's followers came up, galloping through the trees at full speed. Ere he could speak distinctly, however, the cause of his quick approach became evident. Other Hunnish horsemen appeared whose faces were unknown to the young Roman; men on foot came gliding through the wood, and Theodore, with his two followers, found themselves surrounded by at least a hundred fierce-looking strangers, whose purpose was scarcely doubtful.

They rushed in upon him suddenly and without speaking; and as he drew his sword to take some vengeance at least before he died the same death as the unhappy freedman, one of those on foot sprang upon his horse's back behind, and embarrassed his arm by clinging closely to him. He was then overpowered in a moment. His two Hunnish followers made no resistance to the overwhelming force which surrounded them, but only remonstrated loudly and rapidly, threatening the vengeance of Attila. Their captors, however, answered only by a scoff: and Theodore could hear the name of Bleda pronounced as authority sufficient for the act they had committed.

At that name, the prospect of immediate death presented itself more strongly than ever; and though he nerved his mind to bear with unshrinking fortitude the same dreadful lot which had fallen to the unfortunate Cremera, yet even then, in the dark moment of approaching fate, the memory of those he loved--whom he might never see again, and whom he left all alone and unprotected in the wide and perilous world--came thrilling through his heart, inflicting, by anticipation, the worst of all death's pangs. When once he found that he could not resist effectually, he suffered his captors to do with him whatsoever they pleased; but he found to his surprise that they did not take him from his horse, contenting themselves with tying his hands and arms tightly behind his back with thick thongs of leather; and it soon became evident, that, if their intention still was to put him to death, they would choose another hour.

Hitherto the young Roman had not spoken; but when at length they took the bridle of his horse, and were about to lead him away, he turned his eyes upon the body of Cremera, saying to one who seemed the leader of the troop, "Will ye not give him burial at least?"

"No!" replied the Hun, fiercely. "No! Did he not dare to raise his hand against our lord and king? No! There shall he stay, till from his bones the vultures and the crows have picked away his flesh: the toad, and the lizard, and the snail shall crawl over his feet, while the carrion-eater comes down from the heavens, and takes its daily meal upon his carcass. Such, too, shall be thy fate; but it is first needful that Bleda the King should see thee, that he may devise how to punish thee as thou meritest."

"I fear not death," replied Theodore, "and can bear pain; but of this I am sure, I shall not die unavenged. Attila will avenge me even of his brother."

"If he can," replied the Hun; "but perchance the day of Attila's power is gone by."

Theodore replied not, but suffered them to lead him whithersoever they pleased. At first they proceeded slowly, looking to the young Roman from time to time; but seeing that he sat his horse as well as before, although his hands were tied, they soon got into a quicker pace, which increased to a gallop when they reached the open plains. After crossing one of these, they again came to a large tract of wood; and when they issued forth once more, the sun, in setting, was pouring a flood of light upon the blue eastern mountains, towards which their course seemed bent. Theodore thought the features of the scene were familiar to his eye; and, as they rode on, he felt sure that a distant wood which he saw stretching out into the plain was that on the verge of which was situated the dwelling of Bleda. Night, however, came on rapidly; and, ere they came near the wood, the whole world was involved in darkness.

At length they began to pass among the houses, and Theodore became convinced that he had not been mistaken. All was quiet as they rode on, for the early Huns had betaken themselves to their dwellings; and it was only as he passed along before the wide rambling building which formed the dwelling of Bleda, that Theodore heard the sounds of mirth and rude revelry proceeding from that apartment which he knew to be the hall of the banquet. He was led along to the farther extremity of the building, and thrust into a chamber which had evidently been destined for a place of confinement. It, like the house, was all of wood, but no windows, except a row of small apertures near the roof, appeared to admit air or light; and across the outside of the door through which the prisoner had entered was cast, as his captors departed, a huge beam of wood, which would have defied the strength of a Hercules to shake it from within.

Theodore was left alone; for the two Huns who had been captured with him, and had been brought there at the same time, were placed in some other chamber, perhaps from a fear that they might assist him in escaping. All was darkness, for neither food nor lamp was given to the prisoner; and, seating himself upon the rude bench which he found at one side of the room, Theodore spent the succeeding hours in momentary anticipation of death, and in thoughts and regrets which added fresh gall to the cup of bitterness.

Few were the sounds which disturbed his painful reveries; for though from time to time the roar of barbarian merriment echoed through the long passages, and found its way even to the lonely chamber in which he was immersed, yet it came faint and softened to his ear, and at length, after rising to a louder pitch than before, suddenly ceased, and all was still. Theodore listened to hear if those sounds would be renewed; but deep silence seemed to reign over all the household, and for two hours everything remained perfectly quiet.

At length a streak of light appeared above and below the door, and a low murmuring sound reached the sharpened ear of the prisoner. "It is a fit hour for death," he thought; and the next moment he heard the heavy beam grate slowly and gently against the walls as it was removed from across the door. The door itself was opened cautiously, and the deformed head and shoulders of the negro jester, Zercon, were thrust into the room. In one hand he held a lamp, and with the forefinger of the other, raised to his lips, seemed to enjoin perfect silence.

He held up the lamp ere he entered fully, and looked round the room with careful attention, as if he expected to see some other tenant besides Theodore. Then, advancing rapidly, he whispered in Greek, "The Lady Neva knows of your being here; I heard that you were taken while I was in the hall, where her fierce father was drinking; and as I had found out by her face, when he talked of waylaying you yesterday, how it went with her young heart, I told her all directly, and she is coming to save you: but she sent me first to see if any of the guards remained with you, for the poor buffoon can venture, in his folly, upon things that the clumsy wise man would spoil if he touched--Hush! I hear her in the passage, or somebody else;" and he advanced and looked out at the door, which he had closed behind him as he had entered.

The next moment he made a sign with his hand--there was a light footfall--the door was pushed farther open, and with an eager step the beautiful daughter of Bleda entered the room, and stood before him she loved. She was very pale, but that might proceed from apprehension; and yet there was a devoted determination in those tender eyes which told that death itself would have no terrors if it lay in the path to save the young Roman. She also carried a lamp in one hand, but in the other she bore a naked dagger. Ere she spoke a word, she set down the lamp upon the ground, and cut with a rapid hand the thongs which bound the prisoner's arms.

"I knew," she said at length, "I knew that the time would come when I should save you. Oh, Theodore! how I have prayed for this hour! But I must not waste it now it has arrived. Zercon! quick! see why that tardy slave, Ahac, has not brought a horse. He would not betray me, surely. But sooner than that he should deliver the Roman again to death, drive thy dagger into his heart. I bid thee do it, and I will abide what comes!"

The negro hastened to obey; and Neva gazed upon the countenance of him whom she was risking so much to save with one of those looks of deep, unutterable affection, which the very hopelessness of the passion from which it sprung purified, dignified, sanctified even in its strong intensity. The next moment, as Theodore was pouring forth his thanks to an ear that seemed scarcely to hear them--so deeply was she occupied with the emotions of her own bosom--the sound of a horse's feet was heard, led gently forward; and a smile of triumphant pleasure played upon Neva's lip.

In another instant, however, it changed, as she thought that horse was to bear him away, perhaps for ever. The tears rose in her blue eyes, ran shining through the black lashes that fringed them, and fell upon her cheek; and for one moment she hid her face upon the young Roman's bosom, and he pressed her gently, gratefully in his arms, whispering words of comfort and of thanks. But, suddenly raising her head, she turned it away, while her hand still lingered in his, saying, "Go! go! Tarry not longer. I have saved you--that is enough--I am happy. To know that I have saved you is enough happiness for me through life. Go! go! every moment is precious!"

Theodore raised the hand he held to his lips, pressed upon it one kiss of deep gratitude, dropped it, and left the chamber which had been his prison. At the door stood Zercon, who led him quickly forth to a spot where, among the grass, so that his feet might not be heard, stood a horse, held by one of the slaves whom Theodore had seen when he was there before.

"I could have wished it had been my own horse," he said, speaking to Zercon.

"Your own horse will never bear any one more," replied the negro: "they slew him within an hour after they had brought him hither."

Theodore could have wept; but, without reply, he sprang upon the horse, and shook his hand towards the dwelling of Bleda.

"Follow yon star," continued Zercon, pointing to one near the pole, "and ere morning thou shalt be among the mountains that overhang the dwelling of Attila."

"I thank thee," replied Theodore, speaking to the negro--"I thank thee, my friend: the time may come when I can show thee my gratitude." Thus saying, he shook the bridle, and urged the horse on at full speed, following exactly the course which had been pointed out to him. Ere morning, he beheld the waters of the Mariscus stretching out before him; but knowing that the horses of the Huns possessed, either by natural instinct, or had acquired by constant habit, the power of distinguishing what rivers and what places they could swim across, he rode the beast rapidly to the bank, and then left the bridle upon his neck, in order that he might take to the stream or not, as he pleased. The horse, however, without any sign of disinclination, ran down the bank and waded into the water. After pausing for a moment to drink, he advanced still farther, and then, with a sudden plunge, began to swim, though the stream was running somewhat rapidly. The deep water was of no great extent, and the horse's hoofs soon struck the ground. The bank was soon gained, and, apparently refreshed with the cool wave, the swift horse bore the young Roman rapidly on his way.

The dawn was just breaking when he arrived at the foot of the hills, and by the time he had reached the top the broad light of day was shining over all the world. He saw, by one of the peaks to the south, that he was several miles farther up in the chain than the spot where he had before passed in the neighbourhood of the two hermits. Pausing to breathe his horse, he looked over the plain behind him, and could see, at the distance of several leagues, what appeared to be a strong body of horsemen following rapidly on the very track he had taken. There was no time to be lost; and, hurrying on, he reached the plains at the foot of the hill, nor paused again till the flagging powers of his horse obliged him to stop in order to give the animal food and repose.

He could well afford to rest, however; for even if the horsemen he had seen were really in pursuit of him, yet the distance at which they had appeared from the foot of the mountains, and the difficulty of climbing those mountains themselves, promised to afford him at least four hours of open time. His horse fed, and then lay down to rest among the long grass; and Theodore, in the latter respect at least, followed its example; knowing how small an object might be discerned from the tops of the mountains in that wide uncovered plain, and trusting that, while hidden by the grass, his enemies, if they came sooner than he expected, might miss his track, and perhaps turn back disappointed. He kept his eye fixed, however, upon the ridge of the hills; and well it was he did so, for, having taken, perhaps, an easier path than he had done, his enemies did begin to appear upon the summits in less than two hours after he had reached the base.

At first they could scarcely be distinguished from the rocks amid which they came forth on the top of the hills; but soon the number of moving objects which he beheld at one particular point showed the young Roman that as yet they had followed but too successfully. For a time the pursuers seemed to hesitate whether they should proceed any farther, and he could see them lingering during several minutes, hanging like a dark cloud upon the ridge of the mountain. At length they began evidently to descend, and that moment. Theodore sprang upon his feet, roused his horse, which seemed to have fallen asleep, and, leaping into the saddle, galloped on towards a wood that lay at the distance of three or four miles before him.

As he came near, he beheld several small huts gathered together; and, approaching them, he resolved to see if he could procure a fresh horse in exchange for the weary one which bore him. The name of Attila obtained what no bribe could have gained. The head of the little tribe, leading out his own horse, placed the rude bridle in Theodore's hand; and, once more hurrying on his way, the young Roman, ere night fell, saw the mountains and the woods that swept round the dwelling of the king, and heard the rushing sound of the near Tibiscus.

It was night when he arrived at the widespread village; but all was peaceful within, and no guard or sentinel impeded his way, even to the porticoes of the monarch's lowly abode. As he alighted and approached the inner gates of the building, he was met by one of Attila's slaves, whom he had seen more than once before, and who now told him that the king had gone to rest.

"He feared that you were slain," continued the man; "for many of those who went hence with you but a few days ago returned with speed this day, and declared that you had been put to death. They are now at the dwelling where you were lodged before, and will gladly see you living, for they thought you dead."

The young Roman took his way to the house he had formerly inhabited; and the unaffected joy displayed by the rude Huns who had been given him as attendants, on seeing him again in life, compensated for some bitter pangs. Attila's slaves brought him provisions and wine, but he was too weary to enjoy food, and, after a short and slight repast, he cast himself down to rest.

The image of his faithful Cremera, however, rose up before his eyes, and for some time banished sleep. His noble horse, too, though less in the scale of regret, was not without its share of painful recollection. "The two last friends," he thought, "who accompanied me from my native home to this barbarian land, have in one day been taken from me, and I am alone--without one being near me who has any memories in common with mine own." Fatigue at length prevailed, and he slept. Early on the following morning he was roused by a summons to the presence of the king, and at the gate of the palace he beheld a numerous train of horsemen, waiting as if prepared for a journey.

Attila himself was seated beneath the porch, and beside him stood Ardaric and another kingly leader, whom Theodore afterward learned to be Valamir, king of the Ostrogoths, with several other chiefs of inferior power. The brows of all were clouded, with the exception of that of Attila, which wore the same stern, calm aspect that so seldom left it.

"Thou hast been impeded on thy way, my son," said the monarch, slowly; "one of thy faithful followers slain, and thou thyself carried away to the dwelling of my unwise brother Bleda; so some who returned hither reported to me yesterday. Did he set thee free, after having, as he thought, sufficiently insulted his brother? Or didst thou escape?"

"I escaped, oh king! during the night," replied Theodore; but not knowing what might be the conduct of Attila, he refrained from telling how his escape had been accomplished, lest the share which Neva and Zercon had had therein might reach the ears of Bleda. "I escaped during the night, and have been keenly pursued, even across the mountains."

Attila rolled his dark eyes round to the faces of all the different leaders near, with a slight compression of the lips, which marked that he was moved more than usual.

"And thy faithful Arab is dead, then; is it not so?" demanded the king.

"Alas! so it is, oh king!" replied Theodore: "nailed by the two hands to two separate trees, I found him pierced with arrows by the banks of the river, some two hours' journey on this side of the first ford. There any one may see him, for they have denied him even the shelter of the grave."

Attila folded his arms upon his wide chest, and gazed for a moment upon Theodore in silence. "Wouldst thou still pursue thy journey," he asked at length, "after such misfortunes on the way?"

"If it may be pursued at all with life, I would fain pursue it," answered Theodore.

"It may be pursued with safety," said the monarch. "In thy case, Attila's protection has been twice insulted--it shall not be so a third time: None but a brother dared do what has been done; but even a brother has gone too far. If thou wouldst go on thy way, join with thy followers, in less than an hour, those warriors who stand around the gate. They will conduct thee by the higher country to the land of thy kindred; and I swear by mine own heart that those who stay you, going or returning, were it even by a willow wand across thy path, I will smite from the face of the earth, and lay their dwellings level with the sand, and sell their wives and children unto slavery. Now make ready quickly, and proceed!"

Theodore failed not to obey; and in as short a space of time as possible he was once more upon horseback, and on his way towards the west.