Chapter II: The Negro

The wind blew keen over the plains through which the Danube wanders, ere, in approaching Orsova, it rushes between the giant mountains, through which it seems to have rent its onward course. Barbed with sleet, that cold wind dashed in the faces of the young Roman and his followers as he led them onward towards the city of Margus, according to the directions which he had received from Attila by the way. He passed by Singidunum, and he rode through Tricornium. When last he had seen them, they were full of busy life, garrisoned with numerous troops, splendid with all the profuse luxury of old and corrupted civilization. There was now a broken wall, a pile of ashes, solitude, silence, and the whispering grass--already, like the world's forgetfulness, grown up upon the grave of things once bright. From the gate of Singidunum started away a wolf as the young Roman passed; but under the wall of Tricornium, a solitary hovel, raised from the massy ruins of a gate, and thatched with the branches and the leaves of trees, showed that either accident or old attachment had brought back some human being to dwell in that place of desolation. Theodore approached, but he found it was no other than an old half-crazy woman, who, when she saw him, shrieked forth, "The Huns! the Huns!" and fled, stumbling and tottering amid the piles of ruins.

What a strange contrast was it when, the next day, he approached the gates of Margus! Gradually the desolation ceased; the country resumed its appearance of fertility; cultivated fields and rich gardens appeared; the villa, the palace, and the church crowned the summits of the gentle hills; and everything betokened uninterrupted peace, and a place of splendour, luxury, and repose. As he entered the gates were seen the Roman soldiers, fully armed and equipped; but his Hunnish garb, and the barbarian features of those who accompanied him, seemed rather as passports to secure his entrance than impediments in his way. No opposition was offered, and the soldiers gazed upon him with a smile.

In the market-place, which was crowded with people as gay, as lively, as splendid as any city of the empire could display, a number of Huns were loitering about among the rest; and a Greek flower-girl, mistaking him for one of the barbarians, ran up, and while she fixed a garland of myrtle, mingled with some of the latest flowers of autumn, to his saddle-bow, addressed him in a few broken, mispronounced sentences in the Hunnish dialect, desiring him to buy her flowers with some of the spoils of the enemy he had slain in battle.

Theodore could have wept; but he answered the girl in Greek, telling her to place her wreaths on the tombs of those who had died in defence of their country; and he was riding on, when suddenly his eye was caught by a train crossing the market-place, and his ear almost deafened by the acclamations of the people. While slaves and attendants, in extraordinary numbers, both followed and succeeded, in the middle of the group which attracted so much attention was seen a chariot of ivory and gold, drawn by four white horses; and in it sat, bowing his head to the people, and scattering benedictions as he passed with his hands extended wide in graceful dignity, Eugenius, bishop of Margus.

Loud and repeated were the vivats of the multitude; and Theodore heard nothing on every side but warm and joyful praises of his kinsman. "Our good bishop," cried one. "Bless him for ever," exclaimed another. "He alone saved us in peace and prosperity, when all was death and desolation round," said a third. "Ay," rejoined his neighbour, "and Theodosius himself, who would have given him up to death, is now thankful enough to him for having saved the town of Margus." "And well he may be," said a fifth, who overheard what was proceeding; "well he may be thankful to him for saving the finest, if not the largest city of his empire." "I have heard," said another, "that Theodosius has vowed to put him to death, but that he is forced to dissemble for fear of Attila." "He had better dissemble," answered one of those who had spoken before; "put to death! we would sooner give ourselves altogether up to the Huns." "The Huns are very good people," continued another, seeing Theodore and his followers endeavouring to make their way past them. "I love the Huns; they are honest, and keep their word, and are only terrible to their enemies."

Theodore could not but smile, although his heart was full of bitterness; but he thought, at the same time, "If all these people judge thus of the bishop's conduct, how many arguments may he not find in his own bosom to justify the acts he has committed." Thus thinking, he pushed on his horse, and made his way through the crowd towards the dwelling of the bishop, whither the chariot of the prelate seemed to have proceeded before him; for a crowd of men and boys, who had accompanied it with loud acclamations, were now gathered together round the gates, the janitor of which had much ado to keep them from pushing their way into the building. Theodore demanded to see his uncle, and told his name, on which he and all his followers were instantly admitted.

He found the bishop seated near the centre of the hall, with a crowd of attendants near him, while before him stood several Huns in their barbarian garb, one of whom had his hand upon a chain, which was attached to the neck and hands of the miserable, deformed, and mutilated negro, Zercon. He was nearly stripped of his fantastic clothing, and with bare feet, bloody with long journeying, he stood with a haggard but a tearless eye, venting, even at that hour of misery, one of those wild jests which had procured him favour with his former lord.

"Faith, sir," he said, speaking apparently to the bishop, "you had better order me death if you intend to punish me properly; I have tried all other punishments but that, and therefore you have no choice left; as for the horrid prison that you talk of, I once inhabited for fifty years a prison more horrible than any you can devise."

"For fifty years!" exclaimed the bishop, "for fifty years! Say, where was that?"

"Here!" said the negro, striking his hand upon his breast; "here! Match me that, if you can. Let the greatest tyrant that ever cumbered earth show me a prison that will equal this; and herein has dwelt, for fifty years, a being not less sensible of pain, not less alive to kindness, not less capable of gratitude than any; but more patient, more enduring, more courageous than you all. Here, in this loathsome and abhorred prison, has he dwelt, scorned, buffeted, contemned, accused, condemned, and punished without guilt, the sport of fools, and scapegoat of the bad. Everything has been tried upon me that human wickedness could frame or man's endurance bear. Try death, at last! I cannot lose by the exchange."

The eye of the bishop had remained fixed upon the deformed negro, while he poured forth, in an eloquent tone, the words which we have repeated, and only wandered for a moment to the group of strangers who entered the atrium, observing nothing more than that they wore the common garb of the Huns. He was evidently moved by the man's speech, and was about to reply, when Theodore advanced, addressing him by his name. The bishop started up, and, after gazing at him for a moment, folded him in his arms.

"Theodore!" he exclaimed, "now can I welcome you to Margus; a Tadmor in the wilderness; a prosperous city in a land of desolation. But how came you hither?"

"I will tell you shortly, sir," replied Theodore; "but, in the first place, let me ask you, why stands this poor man before you thus?"

"He was sent hither," replied the bishop, "by Attila, that great and mighty king, whose words are as true as his arm is powerful. He promised me long ago to protect and defend you; and this slave, it seems, betrayed your purposed journey into the mountains to the ear of Bleda, your enemy. Therefore is it that Attila sends him hither, to receive what punishment I will. I doom no man to death; but I was about to sentence him to solitude and chains, in the tower by the water side."

"God has spared you a great crime," replied Theodore. "This man betrayed me not. Far from it. He aided to save my life, when, ere another evening sun had set, my fate would have been sealed. Twice has he contributed to deliver me from danger. Oh! set him free, my uncle. Take off that chain! it is not fitting for him. His mind is noble and generous, though his body is as thou seest. But what have we to do with that? God, wise and mysterious, has made him as he is; let us not trample on God's handiwork."

The negro sprang forward, dragging his chain after him; and casting himself at the feet of the young Roman, he dewed his hand with tears. "It is not," he cried, "it is not that you come to save me, but it is that you speak as if I were your fellow-man."

"Far be it from me, my son," said the bishop, "to treat any one possessed of our common nature otherwise than a Christian should do. We are all worms in the eyes of God, the greatest, the proudest, the most beautiful, as well as the lowly and the distorted. Take the chain from him, and let him go free. Now, tell me truly, man, I adjure thee, by whatever thou holdest sacred, tell me, was it thou who bore to Bleda the tidings of this youth's journey, and if so--"

"There is no if!" interrupted the negro, with solemn vehemence: "I opened not my lips. Was I not the first to warn him that Bleda hated him? Did I not convey to the ears of Attila himself timely notice of his brother's purpose, when Bleda whetted the sword against him between Viminacium and Cupp[ae]? Did I not hear Bleda vow, that, till age palsied his arm, or death closed his eyes, he would pursue that youth with vengeance, and seek the destruction of that bold Arab who dared to struggle with and overthrow him? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet betray to the tiger thirsting for blood the track of the deer that he sought to overtake? Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet tell to Bleda that he who had shown me pity and sympathy, came, as it were, to offer his throat to the knife within eight hours of that fierce man's dwelling-place? Oh no! I opened not my lips. There were whole tribes of Bleda's people round when the boy Ernac told me that the Roman was about to depart from the land. They bore the tidings to the king; and he gained from Ellac, the eldest son, the course of his whole journey, and the number of people whom they supposed would follow him. The number proved ten times more than they expected, and Bleda had too few with him to attack them all. He took vengeance on the Arab, however: and the Roman youth, after Bleda's departure, fell into a trap baited with his freedman's blood. I betrayed him not, but I aided to save him, and he knows it."

"I do," answered Theodore; "had it not been for thee, and for one whom I will not name, I had ended my life long ere now. But say, how am I to return to the dwelling of Attila when the tribes of Bleda lie across my way?"

"Did not those who told thee to come hither tell thee more?" demanded the negro.

"They told me nothing," answered Theodore, "but that it was the will of Attila I should pass by Margus as I returned. Of Bleda they said nothing."

"Bleda, oh Roman," replied the negro, "the powerful, the revengeful, the unforgiving, is like a dry stramonium bush in the desert, whose bitterness is parched up and gone, whose very thorns are withered and powerless. His name, his mighty name, is like the whisper of the wind among the rocks, speaking of tempests that we feel no more, of blasts from which we are sheltered! Bleda is dead, oh Roman; his arm is in the dust."

"Dead!" said Theodore, a presentiment of the dark truth coming over him, even before it was spoken; "dead! How did he die?"

"Those who told thee to come hither," said the negro, "were right to tell thee no more. Over the name of Bleda, and over his fate, there hangs a cloud: the Huns speak of it not, and are wisely silent; but of this I am sure, that there are not twenty men throughout all the land who do not feel that they are more at ease since there has been one great and unquiet spirit less in the world."

"But his children!" exclaimed Theodore, now fully convinced by the dark hints of the negro that the death of Bleda had been of an unusual and a bloody kind. "His family? his children? what has become of them?"

"They are safe," replied the negro, "they are safe and well; and one fair maiden, good, and gentle, and kindly as thou art, would fain have saved even me, lowly as I am, from a fate that she knew I deserved not. But her intercession was of no avail; and to say the truth, for I am wellnigh wearied out with this sad life, I grieved more that she should plead in vain than that I should be the object for which she vainly pleaded."

"My nephew shall try to make life more supportable to thee," replied the bishop. "Thou shalt go back with him, and he shall clear thee before the king. For well thou knowest, that when Attila has resolved the destruction of any one, no land can prove a shelter, no distance a barrier, no time an impediment, till he be avenged or appeased."

"I know it well," replied the negro; "and I know also, and willingly will say it, that fierce and stern as that great king is sometimes called, no one is more easily appeased for personal offences, no one more attentive to justice where truth can be made plain. Even with his brother Bleda, did he not forbear to the very last, though he well knew that his designs were pointed against Attila, not against the son of Paulinus?"

"How so?" demanded the bishop; "thy words are dark, my brother; I know not, and cannot even divine the cause of Bleda's hatred to my nephew. He injured him not."

"I could make my dark words clear," answered the negro in Greek. "But I love not to talk of things that do not concern me when there are many ears around."

The bishop paused for a moment, and giving the attendants of Theodore and the Huns who had brought the negro thither into the hands of one of his own officers, he bade him entertain them well, and return to conduct the unhappy Zercon thence in a few minutes. The attendants of the bishop easily divined his wishes, and the hall being instantly cleared, the negro was left alone with Eugenius and Theodore.

"Now," said the bishop, "now explain this mystery, why a man in command of reason should hate and seek the death of another who had never injured or offended him, and that, too, at first sight."

"Speak, Zercon," added Theodore, "and let us know the whole, for I have heard from Ardaric and others a part of the story, yet much remains unexplained. Was it not some prophecy that--"

"Listen, and you shall hear," said Zercon. "When Attila first heard that this noble bishop had carried off some treasures--"

"I carried off no treasures!" exclaimed the prelate, "and so I proved unto the king."

"But he heard that you had," answered the negro, "and that cause--with many another offence committed by the Romans, together with some idle time on his part, and no other object of conquest before his eyes--made him resolve to pour the tide of war upon the Eastern empire. When Attila, then, first determined upon war, he gathered his myriads together on the first plain beyond the mountains; and while messengers came to and fro, in order to avert hostilities which were already resolved, the king went up to the mountains to ask a holy man, who dwells there, the issue of his enterprise. So has he done in all the wars of the last five years, and the words of the hermit have ever proved true; for he promised Attila victory, and to those who know him it needs not be a prophet to foresee that. Now, also, he assured him of success, but upon one condition. He told him that if he would ride down towards the Danube with but few followers, he would meet a Roman on the Hunnish bank of the river, whom he should spare, and protect, and love. If wrong befell that Roman, or any of his family, the old man told him, either from the hand of Attila himself or any of his people, and if, for seven years, he, Attila, did not secure and protect him against all his enemies, not only his course of victory would cease, but death itself would cut him off in his return to his own hearth. 'His fate,' said the hermit to the king when he told this tale, 'his fate is bound up with yours! See that no evil happen to him, for worse will instantly fall upon yourself. You shall do him no wrong--you shall show him all favour. Go now and seek him!' Such were the old man's words."

The Bishop of Margus smiled as the negro proceeded, but Zercon went on with his tale: "Attila rode on from that spot; but, ere he had reached the banks of the great river he was met by some people posting inland to say that a Roman had ventured across the stream but slenderly attended, notwithstanding the daily feuds that already gave notice of the coming war, and to ask what they should do with him. At those tidings, Attila and Bleda both saw the first part of the old man's prophecy fulfilled, and from that moment they doubted not one word of the rest. Attila went on without his brother, and found this youth. Ye yourselves know all the rest."

"Still we see not why Bleda should seek his life," replied the bishop, "unless, indeed, he sought to take his brother's also; and then he might have taken it at once."

"He sought not to take his brother's life," replied Zercon: "he dared not, or he would; but he believed the prophecy, and thought that if this young Roman, on whom his brother's life and fortunes depended, were away, a hundred accidents in the course of war might lay the head of Attila in the dust. Ever through life did he covet whatever Attila possessed, and therefore was it that he sought at first to take a life on which that of his brother depended. Afterward revenge was added to the same ambition; but his plans had gone still farther. His daring had increased with impunity; and day by day he was nerving his heart to contend with Attila himself, vainly hoping that many of the great king's chiefs--perhaps even some of the monarch's children--would join him. But his life and his plots ended together."

"Wert thou with Bleda?" demanded Theodore, to whose ear the prophecy of the old man, and its partial accomplishment, appeared strange and interesting; "wert thou with Bleda and Attila when the hermit told him to go down to meet me?"

"I was!" replied Zercon, showing his white teeth with a wild laugh--"I was! Attila, when he set out, chose Ardaric and Onegisus to go with him; and Bleda asked the King of the Gepid[ae] whom he had better choose, for they made a solemn ceremony of it. Ardaric, who believes in no such things, replied, 'Why, take your black jester!' and whether Bleda thought that too a prophecy or not, I cannot tell; but certainly he took me, and I stood in the mouth of the cave while they conversed within."

He was interrupted by a woman entering to draw water from the tank in the midst of the hall; and, ere she was gone, the bishop's officer returned to conduct Zercon from his presence.

"Use him well," said the bishop, "and kindly. Put him among the most favoured slaves; give him water to wash his feet, and food, and wine. Nor must any one make a jest of him. It is forbidden in my dwelling to mock any of God's works."

The slave and the negro retired, and Theodore was left alone with his uncle, round whose lip a somewhat doubtful smile had hung during the whole of Zercon's account of that prediction which had obtained for his nephew security in some respects, and brought him into danger in others.

"The words of the good hermit, I rather think," he said, as soon as the negro departed, "have led even the mighty and clear-sighted Attila into error."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Theodore, in some surprise; "then you do not credit his pretensions to be a prophet?"

"He is better than a prophet, my son; he is a wise man," replied the somewhat worldly prelate; but instantly seeing, by the mounting colour in his nephew's cheek, that his profane words had shocked the sensitive mind of the youth, he added, "Far be it from me to say that the gift of prophecy is not excellent; but it is better to be a good man, and wise unto God, than to be a prophet and offend. This hermit is a man of all great qualities and Christian virtues; austere unto himself, charitable towards others; holy in life, spending his years in meditation and constant prayer! There is much reason to believe that to such a one the gift of prophecy might be extended. So much did I think of his wisdom, and so far did I trust in his advice being holy and good, that, ere the Huns poured down upon the Roman empire, I sent messengers to ask his counsel as to mine own conduct in such a moment of trial. He loves me well; and for many years I have profited by his wisdom and experience, till I am what I am. To show him and all men that personal fear was unknown to the bosom of Eugenius, I told him that on a certain day I would cross the Danube myself, and advance towards the mountains, if he would come down to meet me; and I doubt not that his prophecy referred to me and not to thee. Attila came down sooner than was expected, and encountered thee on the way: thy sudden coming delayed me for a day; and, ere I crossed the river, the myriads of the Huns were pouring down from the mountains. I obtained a promise of security, however, from Attila himself; saw him, found him mild to treat with, and easily appeased. The wiles of the Byzantine court he abhorred: but I told him truth. I offered to show him mine own treasury and the treasury of the city, and that we should purge ourselves by the most solemn oath of all share in taking that treasure which his people declared they had lost; but at the same time I proposed to repay it with fourfold its value as amends. He received the proposal well; swore to me, solemnly, that he would protect thee and Flavia, and all her household; and, upon some other conditions which he made, he promised to give the citizens of Margus peace. Thou seest how he has fulfilled his word."

"I see it, indeed, my uncle," answered Theodore; "I see that Margus, like an oasis in the Libyan sands, is fresh, and bright, and luxuriant, in the midst of ruin and desolation. But, alas! alas! would it have been so if Margus had not opened her gates to the invader? If the first city of the Roman empire had made a stand against the barbarians as they poured upon the frontier?"

"The only difference would have been," replied the bishop, his brow growing dark, "that Margus would now be in the same situation as the rest. What troops had we to resist? What means of defence had Theodosius given us? None! He thought but to appease the evil spirit of the war by drawing a line in my blood between himself and the wrath of Attila; and he took no measure to defend his territories, made no effort to protect his people. How did Viminacium stand, which had ten centuries within its walls? how did Tricornium resist? how Singidunum, how Naissus, Sardica, Ratiaria, and all the cities of the Illyrian border? Singidunum resisted for a day; Viminacium saw the Hunnish myriads with the dawning light, and was a heap of ashes ere nightfall. So was it with all the rest! Theodore, I am satisfied. In the midst of the desolation of the land, where many hundreds of thousands have fallen, where every trace of cultivation and of sweet domestic peace has been swept away, I have saved a Christian people in peace and prosperity, without one drop of blood shed, either of our own or others."

Theodore thought that this was one of those few accidental cases where good had sprung from evil; but his heart, as a Roman and a man, told him that his uncle's reasoning was false. He replied not, however, and the prelate went on. "I have done all this, Theodore, and I am satisfied. Is it not enough for the shepherd to save his sheep from the wolf, though the monster be obliged to seek his prey in some other flock? Would it not be enough for me to have delivered from peril and death those whom God has given to me, without any consideration of others? But when I know, and did know, that nothing I could have done would have saved myself or benefited them who have since fallen, ought I not to be satisfied? Whenever in my own heart a weak doubt arises, one shout of the glad multitude who owe their lives to me is sufficient to put all at peace within my breast. Yes, I can look back to every circumstance, and say, this have I done, and I am satisfied! But I have done more, oh Theodore?" he added, his mind seeming suddenly to turn into another path, and a different expression coming over his countenance--"I have done more! The weak, pale, cowardly Theodosius, who, trembling on his throne, would have spilt my blood, out of the true tyrant's vice of terror--the heretical wretch, led by the subtle Eutyches to persecute all those who hold the pure and orthodox faith--dare no longer wag a finger at Eugenius, or talk of punishing the citizens of Margus for submitting to an enemy they could not resist, and from whom he refused to defend them. He dare not dream of striking a hair from the head of one of the citizens of Margus. Nor, since Attila is thy protector, would he dare to lay hands upon thee, even if thou wert to cross the courts of his palace to-morrow--no, not for his very throne!"

Theodore was unconvinced; but he refrained from reply, and turned the conversation to another part of the same subject, by relating to the bishop the kindly offers of protection which Flavia had received from Valentinian.

"He has kept his word," replied the bishop, "for such was the tenour of a promise that he made to me. Think not that I went rashly and hastily into even that act which I knew would save Margus. To Theodosius I had applied for aid in vain, and I then applied to Valentinian. He could not aid me, but he justified my conduct, and promised me personal protection in case of need. I sent him messengers when all was secure, and he engaged to give both to Flavia and yourself justice, protection, and support, in the empire of the West."

Theodore felt that his uncle was kind, far more kind than he could have expected or hoped; he felt, too, that his mind was powerful, and his heart not without high and noble feelings; but, alas! the threads of cunning selfishness ran hither and thither through the whole, and, like the veins of some inferior substance in a precious stone, rendered nearly valueless the better part. Theodore felt that he could love Eugenius; but he would not have been Eugenius for the world.

Thus passed the day; but the next morning, as Theodore sat at meat with his uncle, it was announced that Edicon, one of the favourite officers of Attila, together with Maximin, ambassador from Theodosius, approached the city of Margus in their way from Constantinople to the country of the Huns; and when Theodore beheld the reverence and respect which the ambassador himself, and those who accompanied him, evinced towards the prelate who had first received the barbarians into the empire, he could not help feeling how brilliant a thing in the eyes of man is successful evil. During a whole day the ambassador and his train sought repose in Margus--and Theodore determined to accompany him on his onward journey. His uncle forced upon him a casket of gold ere he departed, conquering his aversion to receive it by declaring that it was a debt he had owed Paulinus; and Theodore, feeling that it might be needful, made no further resistance.