Chapter XX: The Something Worse Than Death

We must now turn again to Ildica! In agony of heart, she sat within her tent with the spirit bowed down and nearly broken, and the bodily frame bent and shaken under the load of grief. Before her stood the messenger of Attila, who bore her the sad tidings of the loss of him she loved. Beside her stood the fair daughter of the dead king Bleda, and the wild enthusiast Mizetus.

Tearless, all tearless was the bright eye of the Dalmatian girl, although through the clear white skin of the temples might be seen the blue veins swelling up like cords with the rushing up of the agonized blood.

The enthusiast kept silence, and gazed on her with a look of deep grief; but from the dark blue eyes of Neva rolled profuse the large heavy tears, and in the sorrow of her own heart she asked many a question of the messenger regarding all the particulars of the fate of one still too dearly beloved.

"Art thou sure," she demanded, "that the winds and tempests did the work of death? Art thou sure that the commands of Attila, more cruel, more unsparing than the fierce elements, had not their share?"

"I know nothing," replied the messenger, "but that which I was commanded to say. The ship perished, and almost all on board were drowned."

"Almost all!" cried Ildica, starting up, and gazing eagerly in the man's face--"almost all! Then there is yet hope!"

"Alas, no!" replied the messenger. "All who reached the land were slain upon the shore by some wandering bands of warriors!"

"Even so! even so!" cried Ildica; "sent on purpose to destroy him at his landing! Oh, fatal beauty! Thou hast caused the death of him I loved most on earth;" and she cast herself down upon the couch and hid her face in her robe; while from time to time a sharp shudder might be seen to pass over that fair form, as if the anguish of the spirit were destroying its earthly tabernacle.

"Art thou sure that he was in the ship?" demanded Neva, still clinging to a hope.

"Quite sure!" replied the messenger; "presents from the Emperor Marcian--goods marked with the youth's name--his very clothing itself, have been brought into the presence of Attila."

"Of his murderer!" said Neva; "of his murderer!'"

The man, who was a Roman fugitive, made no reply; and, after a brief pause, withdrew from the tent.

"What means she, maiden?" demanded Mizetus, turning to Neva; "what means she when she says that her beauty has caused the death of him she loved?"

"Dost thou not comprehend?" cried the girl, gazing at him through her tears; "dost thou not know that Attila himself seeks her love? Canst thou not guess that he took the life of him who was his happier rival?"

"Is it even so?" cried Mizetus; "alas, unhappy maiden! for what art thou reserved?" and, after gazing at her for a moment or two in melancholy thought, he left the tent, and turned his steps towards the royal pavilion of Attila himself.

Where was that pavilion now? No longer on the shores of the wild Benacus, no longer looking over the fertile plains of Italy, but on the slope of the Carpathian mountains, amid the rude but magnificent scenery of the hill country. There were congregated the myriads of the North; there was pitched the camp of a thousand nations, covering every rise, and sweeping down into every valley. But as Mizetus wandered on among them, all were in movement; the Huns, and the Gepid[ae], and the Goths, the Heruli and the Alani, were pouring forth slowly on foot, and mounting with a low rushing murmur towards the tent of Attila. As they went one spoke unto the other, and the voice of complaint made itself heard.

"Why call for us now?" cried one.

"We might even now have been revelling in Rome!" said another.

"Has Attila lost his daring?" asked a third.

"Is he to be led by the smooth words of a graybeard in long robes?" demanded a fourth.

And thus they went murmuring on, till, gathering together upon the hill-side, they covered a vast extent, above which again--with a space of many cubits between it and them, kept clear by the officers of the king--towered the pavilion of their mighty chief. During some time the noise of coming feet was heard; but at length all the men of that vast host seemed congregated there: the curtains of the tent were drawn, and Attila stood before them. He gave one slow glance around, and the loudest murmurer in the host cast down his eyes before that dark countenance, as if he feared that the monarch might see the rebellion in his heart, and smite him on the spot. All was hushed as if in death; and then the voice of Attila was heard, spreading round and round, till scarce a man in all that multitude could fail to catch his words.

"Ye have dared to murmur at the will of Attila!" he said "Ye have dared to think that ye knew better than he did! Ye have dared to call his wisdom weakness, because he led you away from Rome, whose treasures were exhausted to buy your absence; and while ye thus complained, ye knew not whither he was leading you! It is time that ye should hear, in order that shame may glow like a burning spot upon your brows. I lead ye to Constantinople, to the city of the C[ae]sars, to the plunder of the richest capital in the universe! I swear," he continued, drawing his sword, as if moved by some sudden impulse, and holding it up on high before his eyes as he addressed to it his vow--"I swear that I will not leave one blade of grass in Thrace, nor one city standing, nor the wall of one fortress not cast down, nor one living enemy to oppose my path! This sword will I not sheath till I sheath it in the capital of the East. The feet of my horse shall never pause for more than one rising and setting of the sun, till I tighten the bridle in his mouth on the shores of the Thracian Bosphorus. I go forth to smite and to destroy, and I will make the land like unto one which has never been inhabited. I will cast down everything in my way; and the vulture which follows me, to eat the dead bodies of mine enemies, shall not have to raise his wings when he snuffs their carcasses from afar. Ye have heard the will of Attila! Get ye gone! Sharpen your arrows, but restrain your tongues!"

"Boaster," cried a shrill voice from the crowd, speaking in the Greek tongue, "thou shalt die even in thy pride!" But the crowd had already begun to move, and the noise of their innumerable feet drowned the sounds of that warning voice. The multitude separated slowly; Attila re-entered his tent; and Mizetus, with his hands clasped, and his eyes full of wandering fire, bent down upon the ground, strayed away with a slow irregular pace along the course of a little rivulet that streamed down from the higher hills. He muttered to himself as he went, and little note did he take of the various groups of Huns that passed him.

"Is it not so?" he said, as he wandered on--"is it not clearly so? Is it not the will of Heaven, distinctly revealing unto me the way to save the people of the Lord? Shall this pagan barbarian smite the faithful and the just? Heaven forbid! God has provided a remedy. The Lord has found a means of deliverance! I will do his will! I will work under the guidance of his spirit! I will not delay, no, not an hour, but I will gird up my loins and be doing!"

Long he wandered on, and long he continued thus muttering to himself; but at length he stopped suddenly, and exclaiming, "God strengthen me!" he turned and took his way straight to the tent of Ildica. Her attendants in the outer apartment sought to prevent his entrance; but he said, "I must see the Roman maiden; I come to bring her consolation." And, after some delay and inquiry within, he was admitted. Neva was with her still, and the wife of Ardaric, with some other women of high station among the Huns, were also present, striving to give her consolation; but Ildica, with her eye all tearless and fixed upon the ground, sat in the midst, her hands clasped together, her lip silent, her features motionless, as if she heard not one word of all that was addressed to her.

"Daughter," said Mizetus, in the pure harmonious tongue of her own land--"daughter, listen to me!"

There was something in the sweet tone of the melodious Greek--there was something in it associated with home, and happiness, and early years, and the bright images of joys for ever gone, that seemed to startle her, and for a moment she looked up with a thoughtful gaze upon his countenance; but the next moment she dropped her eyes again, and remained as silent as before.

"Daughter, listen to me," continued the enthusiast, in that wild but elevated tone which will command attention if aught on earth can awaken it--"listen, for I bring thee consolation! I bring thee consolation from on high! It is revealed unto me that thou art reserved for great things, and destined to work the deliverance of people and of nations! It is revealed unto me that by thy hand shall the faithful of the Lord be delivered, and that thou, in thy beauty and in thy wisdom, shall do more than the mighty and the great have been able to accomplish!"

Still Ildica gave no sign of attention. Not a feature in her face was moved, and she remained gazing with the same fixed, meditative look on one spot of the ground, as if utterly absorbed in deep and unbroken thought. The enthusiast paused to see whether she heard or not, and for a moment all was silence. But the next instant, to the surprise of all, the lips of the fair unhappy girl were seen to move; and, as if the Greek accent of Mizetus had touched the thrilling cord of association between her present misery and the moment when misfortunes first began to fall upon her, recalling the dark and painful moment when she left Dalmatia, her voice was heard singing snatches of the song that her mother's slaves had poured forth when they left behind them Aspalathos for ever:--

"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth;
Our life is a race to the death from the birth;
We pause not to gather the flowers as they grow,
The goal is before us, and on we must go!

"Fair scenes of our childhood! dear homes of our youth
Memorials of innocence, virtue, and truth!
The land of our birth, the dear mother that bore,
We leave you behind us, we see you no more!

"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth
Hopes, joys, and endearments, sport, pleasure, and mirth;
Like a tempest-driven ship, sailing by some bright shore,
Time hurries us onward, we see you no more!"

And when she had done, she looked round her with a smile so terrible at such a moment, that every woman's eye there present, whether they understood the words or not, overflowed with tears.

"Poor maiden!" cried Mizetus, "her heart is fearfully oppressed, her spirit sadly bowed down. Heavy has been the burden that the Lord has given her to bear, but great is the glory he reserves for her. Neither shall the mind break, nor the spirit be crushed under its load; but with time, and with care, and with consolation, this wandering mood shall pass away. Let us now, however, leave her, for the presence of many may irritate rather than sooth. Thou, maiden," he continued, turning to Neva, "thou that seemest to take a deeper interest than the rest, abide with her, and watch over her tenderly. Watch over her! watch over her carefully! for she has yet her appointed task to do."

Thus saying he left the tent, and the women followed, leaving Neva with Ildica alone. The next morning early Mizetus took his way towards the tent of Ildica ere the army began its march; but, as he advanced, a spectacle arrested his progress for a moment, which the Huns themselves in passing gazed on fearfully, but paused not to examine. Down from the tent of Attila to the bank of the rivulet extended a double row--an avenue, in short, of enormous crosses; and nailed upon them, as had been the case in the neighbourhood of Verona, appeared the corpses of at least a thousand of the monarch's own immediate subjects.

Among them were many of those chiefs and officers who had been previously believed to stand high in favour; and, as the various masses of the Huns passed by those sad memorials, the chiefs who had been among those to complain that he had not marched on Rome, and had yet escaped the terrible execution of that night, trembled when they beheld the ghastly spectacle, and thanked the gods that had preserved them.

Mizetus, on the contrary, gazed fearlessly on the proofs of Attila's stern severity, scanned the agonized countenances of the dead, marked the contorted limbs, and murmured as he passed, "More, more blood poured into the cup of vengeance! More to be accounted for! Nor is the day far distant!"

As the enthusiast passed on, Ardaric rode by slowly towards the tent of Attila, gazing with a frowning brow, and a sad but indignant air, upon the bodies of the dead. With a sudden spring forward, Mizetus laid his hand upon his bridle-rein; but Ardaric shook it from his grasp, exclaiming, "Why stoppest thou me in such a spot as this? Get thee hence, madman!"

"Not so mad as he who did this deed!" replied the enthusiast.

"Perhaps not," answered Ardaric; "but the deed is none of mine;" and raising his rein, he rode swiftly on. Mizetus proceeded on his way, and found her he sought sitting nearly as he had left her the day before. He found that she had undergone very little change. She took her food, and suffered her garments to be changed mechanically; but she spoke not, or very seldom, and then with wild and unconnected words, referring to things apparently remote. The enthusiast remained with her long, nor ceased, during all the time of his stay, to pour forth, in language wild but figurative, and with words ready and prompt, the same unconnected and mystical exhortations to which he had given utterance the day before.

He was interrupted by the marching of the army to another station in its advance upon Greece; but, ere he left the tent of Ildica, he saw, well pleased, that he had more than once gained her attention, though but for a moment; and on the following day that attention was more fixedly obtained. The third day she listened to him, though she answered not; and the fourth day she wept for the first time. Thenceforward, though she spoke but seldom, and though, when she did speak, there appeared in her words a difference from the ordinary train of thought, a slight deviation from that clear intellectual path which her mind had ever followed, yet in some degree she resumed her ordinary occupations, suffered herself to be moved on in her litter, calmly, if not cheerfully, and from time to time spoke a few words to Neva, with an effort to show her gratitude and regard.

Thus passed the time till ten days after the sad news of Theodore's death had reached her ear, when, as they marched along, and she lay in her open litter, carried in the rear of the army, suddenly Attila himself appeared, and drew up his horse beside her. He gazed upon her with an eye in which there shone some pity, and he asked, "How goes it with thee, beautiful Ildica?"

"As well as may be, mighty monarch," she replied, looking firmly upon him without a trace of fear.

"Thou art better than I expected," said Attila, apparently surprised at her calmness.

"I am better than I had hoped or feared," she answered; "but hope and fear are over, oh monarch!"

"Not so," replied Attila; "there is still, I trust, much joy for thee on earth;" and, thus saying, he rode on.

On the evening of that day, when the tents were pitched, Ildica, as pale as marble, was seated in her own; and leaning on the pillows of the couch, while Neva sat beside and held her hand, she listened to the old man Mizetus, who, standing on the other side, read from an open book, and commented as he went.

At length he closed the pages, and, gazing full upon her, he exclaimed, "Such is thy lot! Such is the will of Heaven! Such is thy destiny! and great shall be thy reward! Though thou hast suffered, and still shall suffer, till the work be accomplished, thy sufferings shall be forgotten in the exceeding great joy of thy recompense! Such, such, I tell thee, is to be thy fate!"

"I am ready!" replied Ildica, solemnly--"I am prepared! Let it come!"

Mizetus added a few words more; but, ere he could conclude the sentence, one of her attendants entered, and announced that a messenger from Attila awaited her without. Her cheek and lips turned paler still, but she answered calmly and at once, "Give him admission!"

"Beautiful maiden," said the messenger, when he stood before her, "Attila greets thee well, and calls thee his beloved. He says that grief has had its due, and that joy must have its day; and he bids my poor tongue announce to thee that Attila has chosen thee for the envied station of his bride. To-morrow the army halts the whole day, and at the hour of sunset, ere Attila sits down with his warriors to the banquet, his bridal shall be solemnized with thee by the priests of his faith and of thine! What answer shall I bear the king?"

Ildica heard him with apparent calmness; but Neva felt the fingers of her beautiful hand clasp tight with agonized emotion on her own.

The fair girl's lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Another struggle, they moved again, and her voice was heard!

"Who shall resist the will of the king?" she said, and bowing her head, she suffered the messenger to depart. The curtain of the tent fell behind him; and starting up, she fell at the feet of Mizetus. Then clasping the old man's knees with her arms, she exclaimed, "No vow! No vow! I can take no vow! Save me from that!"

"Fear not," replied the hermit--"fear not, my daughter! Thou shalt take no vow. Be but a passive instrument in the hands of God!"