Chapter XXIV: The End of a Sad History

It was a fair autumn day, and the mighty clouds which swept from time to time over the deep blue sky served not to lessen, but rather to increase the brightness of the face of nature. In the centre of the plain which lay between two wide sloping hills was erected a tent of crimson silk, the awnings of which, festooned on high, exposed to view, raised on a low platform, a coffin of burnished gold.[6]

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[Footnote 6: Let it be understood that such particulars are not imaginary Attila was buried with the rites here described.]

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The space around, for the distance of two bowshots on every side, was kept clear; but beyond the limits of that open ground, in one wide-spreading ring, extended the dusky line of barbarian warriors, whose hands had carried desolation into the heart of so many sunshiny and prosperous lands. Deep was the phalanx of those dark warriors, as, each mounted on his battle-steed, they sat in grim array around the body of their king. The whole plain was occupied by their multitude; and while the soldiers and chiefs themselves thus formed in regular order a living amphitheatre below, the women, the children, and the slaves swept up the hills around and gazed upon the awful spectacle.

After the first confusion incident to giving form and array to such a vast body of men had subsided, the sad and solemn occasion of their meeting, the important and terrible events that were likely to ensue, kept even the rude barbarians hushed around; and though the dull stamping of the horses, unconscious of the cause of halt, raised a murmuring sound, the human voice was not heard throughout that mighty host, or, at most, a low whisper rustled through the ranks.

At length two groups separated themselves from either side, and, advancing for a short space into the arena, dismounted from their horses, and approached the tent on foot. On the one side appeared Ellac, the son of the dead king, and three of his brethren, of whom Ernac, the youngest, was one; while Onegisus and Orestes, a favourite officer of Attila's, accompanied them towards the tent. On the other hand appeared Ardaric and Valamir, Theodore and Edicon, with two inferior chiefs of tributary nations.

All were unarmed, as had been before agreed; and with branches of oak in their hands, they one by one entered the tent, and laid the leafy offering on the bier of Attila. His children and the two Hunnish chieftains stood on the one side of the coffin, and the two kings with their companions on the other; and, after gazing for a time on the gold that covered the ashes of the mighty king, they raised their eyes to each other, and it was evident that but little love existed between those who were there face to face.

There came an uneasy pause; and then Ardaric, breaking silence, said, "Are we not here, oh Ellac! to celebrate the funeral of that mighty king who for so many years has led us on to battle and to victory? If so, let us plight our hands unto each other, that, for two days, all subjects of debate which may arise, either between me and thee, or between the nation of the Huns and the confederate nations which for so long have borne them company in war, shall be laid aside, and that we shall live together for those two days as friends and brethren united in common love and reverence for the mighty dead."

Ellac gazed at him with a fierceness that he could scarce subdue; and, after a violent struggle with himself, replied, "So shall it be, oh Ardaric! when thou hast satisfied me of one thing. Ere I clasp the hand of any man in amity, even if that amity be to last but for two days, I will know whether the hand offered to me be pure from my father's blood. Of late thou hast been heard to murmur at the will of the king--to condemn his actions--to say that he was changed--to declare the executions that his will ordained, unjust: ay, and, meddling even in his domestic life, to oppose, till his own wrath was excited, his taking to his bed a pitiful Dalmatian girl."

Theodore's hand grasped for the hilt of his sword; but, fortunately, the weapon was away.

"On the day of my father's death," continued Ellac, "comes back yonder Roman, the affianced husband of this slight womanly toy, wherewith Attila chose to solace his hours of idleness. Thou and some few others are together in the antechamber of the king when the viper he has nourished in his bosom returns. The king is found drowned in his blood. All this is strange, oh Ardaric!"

"Ellac," replied Ardaric, sternly and solemnly, "darest thou to accuse me of the murder of thy father, or of sharing in any way in his death? Ardaric was the friend of Attila, but the enemy of those faults which, alas! were growing but too thick upon him. But I tell thee, Ellac, that perchance the thought of slaying Attila might be more familiar to the heart of his own son than to the breast of Ardaric! Silence! and hear me," he continued, in a voice of thunder, seeing that Ellac was about to interrupt him--"silence! and hear me to an end; then answer! I know thine inmost thoughts, oh Ellac! But here I swear," and he laid his broad hand upon the coffin, "by the immortal gods, and by the blood of Attila! that neither I nor mine, nor one here present with me, is guilty of the death of the mighty king--contrived, or aided, or executed his murder. Now, oh Ellac, if thou art still unsatisfied, let this triple coffin be opened, and thou and I will separately place our hands upon the heart of Attila, calling on him to show who most conspired, longed for, thought of, planned the death of that great king. Then shall we see at whose touch his blood will soonest flow!"

Ellac turned away his head--"It is enough," he said; "thine oath will satisfy me!"

A bitter and indignant smile curled the lip of Valamir at his reply. "Since thou art satisfied, Ellac," he said, "pledge us thine hand that here, meeting in peace, at the funeral of thy father, we his friends, the companions of his toils, the sharers in his successes, may in peace also offer to his ashes the honours due to the mightiest monarch, the greatest conqueror, the most heroic warrior that earth has ever seen or shall see! Pledge us thy hand, that for this day and the next, peace, and amity, and good faith shall reign between the Huns and the nations we command, and let every question which may cause dispute or division be postponed till those days have passed."

Ellac hesitated: "Yonder is the grave," he said at length, pointing to a deep pit and a high mound of earth which had been cast up to form it. "Yonder is the grave. Thou knowest, Ardaric, that the blood of slaves and captives must be shed, as a sacrifice, on the spot where rest the bones of Attila. Thou wouldst not send the spirit of the mighty king upon its long journey through the realms of night with no attendant shades around it. I claim a sacrifice; and as the first who follows the great monarch to the pastures of the dead, I claim the bride that he had wedded on his night of death; I claim her he had made his own in the sight of heaven and earth, to follow him whithersoever the gods shall appoint him to go!"

"Out on thee, fiend!" cried Theodore; "out on thee, unjust and barbarous man! Lover of blood, faithless, false, and insolent; no bride of Attila's was she; no sacrifice shall she be to the demon of thy mighty father--to the manes of him who, had he been as pitiful and as contemptible as his son, would never--"

"Hush, hush!" cried Ardaric, laying his hand upon his arm--"hush, hush, Theodore! Provoke not quarrel now! Ellac, what thou demandest is impossible. Were she even here in the camp, my honour, and the glorious name of Attila himself, would demand that she whose hand had lain in his should be held sacred, so long as Ardaric had a sword to wield in her defence. But she is far hence. Long, long miles separate us from her; and ere thou or thine could reach her, she would be safe in her own land. If thou wilt swear peace, why well! but seek not to delay us longer with vain and idle pretexts!"

"Pretexts!" exclaimed Ellac, furiously; "proud leader, who art thou, to talk to me of pretexts? Who is king here on the Pannonian soil, that thou shouldst beard me thus?"

"Beard thee!" cried Ardaric, with a scornful laugh. "Who is king here! why, beardless boy, Ardaric is king as well as thou art! Thy father's friend, but not his servant; his ally, not his subject, serving him well and truly from love and admiration; but owing him nothing, no, not an ounce of gold! Speakest thou to me as if thou wert Attila? Poor worm! know thyself better; and if thou wouldst know who is king, three days hence I will give thee an answer--ay, such an answer as the world shall never forget--written with steel, in characters of blood. But let us now have peace! If thou wilt now swear to deal faithfully with us, say so at once. If not, lo, we mount our horses, and we draw our swords. But upon thee and thine be the shame and the disgrace of dishonouring thy father's ashes. We offer thee peace to perform the rites due to the ashes of the mighty king--take it or refuse it, now, and at a word."

Onegisus caught the arm of Ellac as he was about to reply, and whispered with him eagerly for several minutes. Ellac looked down sullenly on the ground for a moment, and then, raising his eyes, replied, "Peace! let it be peace for those two days! I swear to keep it inviolate by the ashes of my father, and by the eternal gods. But after that, oh Ardaric, will come the trial between thee and me. The hosts that have conquered under Attila shall not be divided under his son. Let our strength be tried, and if thou canst break the chain that I will put about thy neck, thou shalt drag Ellac after thee. Three days hence, at the third hour after sunrise, I will wait for thee in the plains beside the river Netad, where late I pitched my tents on the day of my father's death. There shalt thou find me, and if thou comest not to me I will seek thee, and I will bow thy proud head to the dust. As for yon paltry Roman, if he come with thee, he shall find the fate that he deserves. Perhaps he may not die--his blood is too like water to be worth the spilling. Shorn, mutilated, cropped, and his flesh marked with the burning steel, he shall stand among the slaves of Ellac, and wash the vessels from his master's table."

"Ellac," answered Theodore, calmly, "Ellac, I will come! and if the god of battles abandon me not now, I will give unto thee a better fate than that which thou wouldst grant to me. On the third day hence look thou well unto the dawning sun, for if I live thou never shalt see it rise again. For these two days, however, let us all swear peace!"

"We swear! we swear!" they cried, and laid their hands upon the bier of Attila.

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The dark squadrons began to move, a thousand horsemen at a time; and with a slow and solemn pace they approached the tent where lay the body of the mighty king, wheeling round it once, with still decreasing speed, as if reluctant to pass for the last time before him who had so often led them on to victory. Ever as they went, with downcast looks, they sung to a wild and melancholy air the song of the departed great.

When each squadron had performed its round, it took its place once more in the vast circle, and another succeeded and performed the same sad rite, till at length, when the sun's course had waned to less than an hour of light, the whole had completed the task. Then ten of the greatest chieftains lifted the golden coffin, and, placing it on their crossed spears, bore it towards the grave.

As they advanced, the circle of the Huns, rendered skilful in such an evolution by their practice in hunting, grew smaller and smaller, pressing into a narrower ring; and forth from among them were driven a crowd of pale and ghastly wretches, who knew the fatal hour of their immolation nigh, and yet, with vain and fruitless hopes, looked round for impossible escape. That iron ring was at length narrowed to less than a bowshot in diameter; and some hundred or more of the chief warriors pushing their horses forward, drove the trembling slaves on to the brink of the pit.

The golden coffin was slowly lowered down into the grave. Those who were behind pressed onward to behold. The swords of the nearest warriors leaped from their sheaths, waved above the heads of the victims, and a loud and fearful shriek rang up to the offended sky. Jewels, and gold, and precious stones were showered in from all hands among the blood and writhing bodies that half filled up that horrible tomb. Then piled they in the cold gray soil, till it rose in a mount high above the rest of the land. They covered it with the turf they had removed. Night fell, and all was done.

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An old man stood upon a hill and gazed, and though arrows fell at his feet, still he looked forth upon a widespread grassy plain, where two mighty hosts had been contending, from the third hour after the dawn of day till the fourth hour following noon. They had met, myriads upon myriads; but now thin and scanty was the field, and few and weary were the combatants; but still that old man gazed, and still his voice murmured forth, "Lord God Almighty, thou dealest righteously! The slayers of all men are slain by their own swords!"

At length, where flowed a rivulet on to the neighbouring river, those two dark armies seemed separated for a space, and rolled, like two thunder-clouds ready to meet, at a little distance from either bank: then, like lightning from those clouds, sprang forth two gallant men, borne on towards each other by their fiery chargers, as swiftly and unwearied as if throughout that day there had neither been fatigue nor strife. The one was habited as a Roman, and his steed, plunging in the stream, bore him to the other bank ere his adversary could reach it. They met; their swords waved in the air; the eyes of the beholders were dazzled; but, in a moment after, the barbarian was seen bending to his saddle-bow. A second deep stroke descended on his neck, and, falling headlong, he rolled, a corpse, upon the plain!

The Gepid[ae] poured across the stream: the Huns fled in disarray; slaughter and destruction hung upon their rear, and the mighty fabric of Attila's empire was at an end for ever.

* * * * * *

Nearly thirty years after, when the empire of the West was at an end, and the empire of the East revived for a time with a show of false prosperity, a powerful man, clothed in the splendid arms of a pretorian prefect, wandered up one of the low hills which border the Illyrian shore. He was led by a woman, on whose fair countenance remained the traces of splendid beauty; and whose deep blue eyes still retained an expression of deep, devoted tenderness, though that tenderness was now given to the highest object of human feelings. She was clothed in the habit of a recluse, such as was then common, and the way they took was towards the cemetery of a solitary nunnery. The guards of the prefect remained below, but he himself was admitted by a special favour; and, passing through the little wicket gate into the calm and silent spot where reposed the ashes of the holy and the pure, they came, after a few steps, to a grave covered with fresh turf.

"She lies there!" said Neva--and Theodore cast himself down upon the grave of Ildica, and wept!

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Attila., by G. P. R. James (George Payne Rainsford)