Chapter XVI: The Power of Resolution

Scarcely was Zercon gone when the hangings of the tent which he had let fall behind him were again pushed aside, and an old woman, of some barbarian tribe, frightful in features, and fantastically dressed, entered and stood before Ildica. Neva started up; and when she beheld this personage she turned very pale.

"What wouldst thou?" demanded Ildica, in her own language; but the woman did not seem to understand her, and continued to gaze upon her from head to foot.

"What wouldst thou?" repeated Neva, in the Hunnish tongue; in reply to which the old crone burst into a loud and scornful laugh, adding, "I came to see what I have seen!" and, turning as she spoke, she left the tent without waiting for further inquiries.

"Who is that, dear Neva?" demanded Ildica. "She is rude and strange in her demeanour."

"Alas! alas!" replied Neva; "I fear her coming bodes no good. She is skilled in healing, and dwells among the wives of Attila; and I doubt not that she has been sent to see if thou art still as ill as we have reported."

At these words Ildica herself turned pale, and gazed anxiously upon the countenance of Neva. She had no time, however, to inquire further; for scarcely had the woman left the tent when there was a cry of "Attila! Attila! The king! the king!" and the domestic attendants, who had followed the fair Roman girl and her mother through all their fortunes, ran in with looks of apprehension from the outer tent, and surrounded their beloved mistress.

The moment after the cry of "Attila! Attila!" was repeated, the hangings were again drawn back, and the dark monarch of the Huns advanced at once into the tent. There was a mortal paleness upon Ildica's countenance; but, from the moment that the cry of "Attila! Attila!" had sounded on her ear till the moment that he came into her presence, the eyes of those who surrounded her saw an expression of high and noble resolution gathering upon that fair, lofty forehead, as the electric clouds upon a summer's day may be seen rolling round some mountain peak, till that which, in the morning light, was all clear and fair, becomes, ere noon, awful in the proud majesty of the coming storm.

All rose and retired a step as Attila entered, except Ildica; but she, with queenlike calmness, kept her place: and it was wonderful to all eyes to behold that sweet and gentle girl, full of tenderness and soft affections, changed in a moment, by the power of a great mind and mighty resolution, into a proud and lordly being, fit to cope with the great conqueror of one half of the earth. There she sat immoveable, gazing with the unquailing light of her lustrous eyes upon the dark monarch as he advanced towards her; and even Attila himself--though the cause was surprise and admiration only--paused for a single instant midway in his approach, and scarcely could believe his eyes, that this was the same creature whom he had last beheld dissolved in tears beside her departing brother. Her beauty, however, was as radiant, though it shone through another air; and, again advancing, he seated himself beside her calmly on the cushions, saying, "They have deceived me: they told me you were ill!"

"I have been ill, oh king!" replied Ildica, in a voice not a tone of which faltered, even in the slightest degree, "I have been ill, very nearly unto death."

"Illness seldom wears so lovely a form," replied Attila, in a softened voice. "Attila trusts that thou art better, fair maiden; else thy beauty belies thy state."

"I am better, oh king," answered Ildica; "and I trust that a few days more of repose may restore me completely unto health."

"Were it not better for thee," said Attila, "to seek the open air, and draw in the pure breath of the summer day, than, sitting here in the close atmosphere of a tent, to waste the hours of sunshine?"

"The covering of this tent, oh king," replied Ildica, boldly, "shuts out from me more things than the pure air; and if, in going forth. I should gain advantage from the sweet breath of heaven visiting my lips, the sights that I should behold would carry tenfold poison to my heart by the sure channel of the eye--at least, if all be true that I have heard."

"What hast thou heard?" demanded Attila, quickly, rolling his eye over those that surrounded them, "what hast thou heard, sweet Ildica?"

"I have heard," she replied, unwilling to call down the anger of that terrible monarch upon any one else, however sure she might be of encountering it ultimately herself--"I have heard but the usual tale of warfare: I have heard of populous cities taken and made desolate; of blood drowning out the fire on the dear domestic hearth: of thousands and tens of thousands slaughtered, and their bodies lying unburied in the fields, or nailed, if they resisted, to the trees of their own fruitful gardens. I have heard of the whole land swept of its produce, its arts obliterated, its monuments destroyed, its husbandmen slain, even its women and children put to the sword--and that land my country!"

She paused; but Attila made no reply, and sat listening as if he expected her to go on. "Pardon me, oh king," continued Ildica--"pardon me, if I am bold to say thus much; but as it was grief which brought me nearly unto death at first--deep, bitter grief!--I am told that any grief whatsoever, added anew, may complete what the other left undone, and bring me at once unto the grave."

"A mother's death," replied Attila, without any sign of anger at the bold and proud demeanour of the fair Roman girl--"a mother's death, so sudden and unexpected, might well shake the strength and fortitude of a daughter; but, as to other things, I see not why she should let her mind rest upon them."

"Let me not boast, oh king!" replied Ildica, resolved to leave no word unspoken which might guard her against all she feared--"let me not boast, but yet I may say, my fortitude is never shaken. It was the bodily strength gave way, and not the resolution of the heart. Neither was it a mother's loss alone: that was the last of many sorrows. Before it went the parting with my brother and the sister of my heart; and before that again the still bitterer parting with my promised husband, with him I loved, and always have loved, better than anything on earth."

Attila's brow grew dark, and he fixed his eyes bitterly upon the ground. Ildica marked the expression, however much he strove to control it, but she proceeded all the more eagerly; and had he been a tiger ready for the spring, still she would have gone on. "Yes, oh king! that, though the first, was the bitterest stroke of all--for who shall tell how I love him, how deeply, how sincerely, how beyond all other things I love him. Without him, life to me is a dark blank; and when you forbade our union, and sent him from me to a distant land, you struck the blow that undermined my health; you filled high the cup that my mother's death caused afterward to overflow."

She paused again, and Attila looked up and replied, "Thy voice is sweet and musical, lovely girl, but thy words are harsh and somewhat grating to mine ear. Attila seeks not to make thee unhappy; but be not rash, and change the tenderness which he feels for thee and thine into a less gentle temper. I would not force thee to behold sights which may be painful to a woman's eye; but to-morrow early, thou, as well as the rest, must set out upon our onward march."

"Must we then go on," said Ildica; "I had hoped, as thou hast encamped here long, some cause might induce thee to turn thy fiery sword another way, and not let the edge fall heavy upon Rome."

"We must upon our march!" replied Attila, "we must upon our march! The country around us is exhausted of its stores. We have dried up the land of its wine and oil, like the summer's sun shining on a scanty brook. All is consumed; and where the foot of Attila's horse has trod grows no grass afterward. I paused here," he added, with a grim smile, "because my son sent me word that a pitiful city of the Venetian province resisted the army of Attila, one of those stony piles in which you Romans love to dwell, called Aquileia."

"What? Aquileia, the beautiful, the proud," exclaimed Ildica, "the provincial Rome?"

"The same," replied Attila, "It dared to shut its gates against those I sent to possess it; and when I reached them myself, I found that it had made its resistance good. It was different from the usual Roman towns. There were more than women and boys within. The catapult and balista had been plied in vain. The walls held out; and as I rode around, the soldiers on the towers, in their fancied security, laughed loud, and mocked the arms of Attila. But there was a certain stork--wiser, by the gods' own teaching, than the fools within--who saw the horse of Attila pause before the spot where she had built her nest upon the ramparts, and, auguring destruction to the towers on which he looked, she took her young ones on her back, and flew away for ever. Over the fragments of her nest, strewed upon the ruins of that wall, passed the horse of Attila ere nightfall; and now let after ages look for Aquileia, and find some scattered stones spread over a desolate plain. The brothers of those who defended it shall never gather their bones into their family sepulchre; for the flames of that city have confounded all, and nothing but dust is left. Thus perish all who resist the will of Attila," he added, and fixed his eyes full on Ildica.

"They did but die," replied the Roman girl, and she gave him back his glance as proudly as it was sent. The light of irrepressible admiration rose in that mighty monarch's eyes, and for several minutes he remained gazing upon her in silence; but there mingled with that steadfast look an expression which, in spite of every effort, called the quick and modest blood into the cheek of Ildica.

"Those whom Attila loves," said the king, "are as sure of benefits as those who resist him of punishments; and surely the regard of one, before whom the proudest monarchs of the earth bow down their heads, is a prize worth having to those whose hearts are noble and their spirit high. The great, the generous, and the lofty minded should ever love each other; and I say to thee, fair maiden, that thy noble and thy daring mind has this day commanded the esteem of Attila more fully than even thy radiant, thine unequalled beauty has called forth the admiration of his eyes."

"Esteem, oh Attila!" replied Ildica, in a calm, solemn tone, "must ever create esteem; for it is founded on virtue, and ever springs from it. Those we esteem we would never debase, and dare not injure; and Ildica rests tranquilly upon the esteem of Attila for protection against all men--even should it be against himself."

Attila cast down his eyes, and for a few moments remained in thought; then turning to the attendants round, he said, in a tone that admitted no reply, "Leave us!"

One by one, those who stood near left the tent, Neva following more slowly and with downcast eyes. Ildica lifted her heart to heaven, and prayed internally for strength and wisdom, for she felt that the hour of trial might be coming near. The hangings of the tent fell; but scarcely had they fallen when there came sudden voices sounding eagerly without, and in a moment after Onegisus entered the presence of Attila.

"Let me die if I have offended, oh mighty king!" he said, in breathless haste; "but I have tidings that admit no delay."

"Speak them!" said Attila.

"[AE]tius, oh king, has passed the mountains," replied the chief; "he brings with him the legions of Gaul. Valentinian has left Ravenna, and gathers an army under the walls of Rome. The fleets of Marcian are upon the Adriatic."

Attila listened without a change of countenance. "Thy news from the East is false," he said: "Marcian stirs not. Valentinian is a fly in a spider's web. Is it sure that [AE]tius has passed the mountains?"

"The tribe of Ilgours, who were in the country of the Burgundians," replied Onegisus, "followed his march, and have sent on messengers to warn the king."

"Then it is true," said Attila, rising, "and we must scourge him back into Gaul. Attila marches for Milan. I leave you, my friend, to tread upon Verona and Padua, and to sweep the plains behind me of all adversaries. Leave nothing dangerous behind, and follow with all speed. Where are Ardaric and Valamir? They must accompany me this night!" and with a slow and deliberate step he left the tent, giving no sign of emotion of any kind, unless his leaving Ildica without a word, or even a look, might be construed into a proof of how much the tidings he had just heard affected him at heart.

Ildica lifted her eyes to heaven, and clasped her hands, exclaiming, "Oh God, thou dost not desert me in my utmost need! On thee will I rely!" and, with a heart relieved, she burst into a long but happy flood of tears.

"To Milan!" she thought--"to Milan! That is far off. [AE]tius, too, is before him. Ere I shall see his face again, Theodore will have returned, and I shall be delivered!" and again she wept. Her attendants flocked around her; and some seeing her state, without knowing why, mingled their tears with hers.

"Weep not, my friends," she said at length--"weep not! I weep for joy! Leave me alone for a while; and give me the ivory scrinium with the silver clasps. There is a book therein I would fain read to tranquillize my mind."

The attendants obeyed; and bringing her the casket which she had mentioned, set it down beside her and retired. Ildica opened the scrinium, and, from among a number of rolls of parchment and papyrus, selected a manuscript in vellum, gathered together into the form of two or three small volumes, and pored eagerly upon the pages, seeming to find there matter for deep meditation and solemn interest. Now, her eye ran rapidly over the lines, and her hand turned the pages without pause; and then again she would suddenly stop, and looking up, as if for light and direction, would think for several minutes over what she had just read, as if the sense were doubtful, or the precept difficult of application. But the book was one which, in every age since first its words were traced upon that page of light, has caused, and well might cause, the mind of man to lose itself in lofty musings. It was the book which to the eye of the inspired patriarch of old was shown, in the vision of those heavenly steps by which the angels of God came down to earth, and ascended back again on high. It was the book which leads the soul, step by step, from the thoughts of earth, and the common and familiar things which the mind of man can grasp, up to those wide and sublime regions where, standing at the footstool of the Almighty throne, we still gaze up on high, and thought loses itself in the boundless space of mercy, power, and wisdom. It was that book, down each gradation of which angels and prophets came to visit earth, and lead back into heaven the just, the humble, and the true.

There, as she read, the eye might see the history of that sacred Being during his short stay on earth, whose life was mercy and purity; whose words were wisdom and holiness; whose birth and whose death were equally miraculous and beneficent, an example, a teacher, a guide, a sacrifice, an atonement. There, too, as her eye ran back over the long record, which marks the preservation of the revealed knowledge of our God, holy, and true, and wise, throughout ages and among nations, corrupt, perverse, unfaithful, the eye might trace the simple, touching story of the early fathers of mankind, and see displayed in the candid words of Divine truth their thoughts, their errors, and their virtues, without a shade of palliation or excuse. There lay revealed the mighty trial of Abraham's triumphant faith; there, the sweet history of Joseph and his little brother; there, the tale of Ruth, and of the widow and her son, and the mighty faults and virtues of Israel's psalmist king; there, his son's instructive wisdom and monitory fall; there, all those affecting scenes which, in their grand simplicity, defy the brightest eloquence of every people and of every time, to move the heart of man as they do.

But it was not on such scenes that the eye of Ildica principally rested. She sought for matters more assimilating with her fate and fortunes at the time. She read of the battles of the chosen people of God, their wars, their victories, their reverses. She paused, and thought upon the history of Sisera and Jael; but oh, how her heart thrilled when she read the tale of the tyrant warrior, from whom a woman's hand delivered the people of the Lord! She read! she trembled! she gasped for breath! She laid down the book and wept aloud!

Oh let us leave the secret feelings of her heart to commune with themselves undisclosed! for who can say what those feelings were, how deep, how sad, how terrible? Who can tell them all perfectly, who can display the struggle, and the mingling, and the strife, wherein a thousand opposing thoughts, and hopes, and fears, bright sympathies, noble aspirations, lofty purposes, and mighty inspirations, together with woman's shrinking modesty, intense love, and tender nature, contended like hostile nations bent on mutual destruction within the narrow battle-field of that fair, beautiful bosom? Who can tell them all? and, if not all, should we trifle with a part? Oh no, no! we have said enough!