"'Tis not unlikely," said the wife of Bleda; "but still, my son, you must obey: tarry not here more days than needful; for we know not when Attila or Bleda may return."
Theodore, too, knew that it was needful he should go, and yet he felt regret at leaving those who had treated him with so much kindness and tenderness; at leaving scenes in which he had known a brief interval of tranquillity and peace, after having undergone so long a period of grief, of horror, and of danger. He gave himself but the interval of one day, however; and then, in the early morning, his horse and his followers stood prepared at the door. The wife of Bleda gave him her blessing as he departed with motherly tenderness; and Neva herself stood by, and saw him mount without a tear wetting the dark lashes of her tender blue eyes, without a sigh escaping from her lip. All she said was, "Farewell, my brother: remember us."
Theodore himself could have wept; and as he saw her stand there in her beauty, her innocence, and her devoted love, deeply and bitterly did he regret--ay, and reproach himself, for having, however unwittingly, brought a cloud over her sunshine, and first dulled the fine metal of her bright and affectionate heart. He sprang upon his horse and rode away, turning back more than once to gaze upon them as they stood gathered round the door of their dwelling, and to wave his hand in token of adieu.
The life of man is a series of scenes, generally connected with each other, often by the strong bond of cause and effect, but often linked together by some fine accidental tie, having no reference to the principal events. Each day may be considered as one act in life's drama; and sleep comes with night to change the scenes, and give the weary actors a moment of repose. Sometimes, however, there breaks in among the rest--but detached from all those that surround it--a scene in which we live, and act, and interest ourselves for a limited and defined space of time, but which, when it is over, produces no effect upon our general fate, acts as no cause in the complicated machinery of our fortunes. Sometimes the scene maybe fair and sweet, a solitary well in the desert, which cools our lip and quenches our thirst, but supplies no river, waters no distant land. Sometimes it is terrible and dangerous, a thunder-storm suddenly sweeping over the summer sky, coming when all is brightness, reigning an hour in awful majesty, and then passing away, and leaving the world as tranquil as it was before.
Theodore rode on, taking his way across the woods, and asking his heart what was to come next; what, in all the vast, vague variety of earthly chances, was the next thing that was to befall him on his onward way. When, but a few short months before, he had stood upon the mount of cypresses with those he loved, and had gazed over the calm splendour of the Adriatic Sea, with life all before him, and hope to lead him on, he had fancied that his fate would be as fair and bright as the glowing scene beneath his eyes; his future had promised to be as calm and unbroken by a storm as those tranquil waters, sleeping, unruffled, beneath the setting sun. Had any one less than a prophet then told him all that the next two months should behold, he would have laughed the prediction to scorn, in the full confiding hope of undisappointed youth. But now that for many a week every hour had brought its change, that he had seen the expectations of to-day, to-morrow trampled under foot, and the sunshine of the morning darkened ere the evening's close, he had learned still to ask himself, "What next?" with every day that rose, and every change of scene that came upon him. That blessed reliance on the dear deluding tales of hope, which is youth's peculiar power, had left him for ever; and though the "What next?" might be asked, with the determination of bearing all worthily, yet apprehension had always its share in the question too.
The woods were wide and intricate; and, as Theodore and his companions rode on, the trees and shrubs began to change their character: enormous birches tossed about upon the rocks and rising grounds, succeeded to the beech and oak; and after them again came the tender larch, and the dark pine, as the road began to wind up into the mountains. It was a sultry autumn day; and the misty haze that hung about the world, with the close electric air of the forest, were ominous of a thunderstorm; and at length the clouds, gathering round the summits of the higher hills, burst upon the heads of Theodore and his followers, just as they had reached a spot, where, from the top of the first range of eminences, they could gaze over a wide extent of forest ground. The rain poured down in torrents, the lightning flickered through the sky; but neither of those would have prevented Theodore from pursuing his way, had not the mountain paths they followed become so slippery with the rain that his horse could not advance, and even the lighter and more sure-footed beasts of the Huns could make no progress.
They were debating as to where they could find shelter, when suddenly they beheld, standing on the rock above, a tall thin human form, scantily covered by its tattered robes from the wind or storm. He was gazing down upon them without speaking; but Theodore, as soon as he turned his eyes that way, recollected the enthusiast Mizetus, who had attempted to persuade the people, during the earthquake in Dalmatia, to stay and perish amidst the ruins of the falling palace. He had heard long before that the enthusiast had wandered over many parts of the earth, and had dwelt long in deserts and barren places as a hermit, according to the prevailing superstitions of the day; and the young Roman doubted not, that since he had been driven forth by the partial destruction of Aspalathos, Mizetus had again returned to his erratic life, and found his way to the frontiers of Pannonia. "Go up to him, Cremera," said Theodore--"go up to him, and, telling him who we are, ask him where we can find shelter, for he must surely have some cave or hut wherein to dwell himself."
The Arab obeyed, leaving his horse below; but the enthusiast made him no reply, gazing sternly, and even fiercely at him, till the freedman used some angry words to drive him to an answer. He then exclaimed aloud, "Get ye gone! get ye gone from me, ye miserable, worldly, self-seeking generation! get ye gone! Ye shall not pollute my dwelling. Farther on ye will find one who will give welcome alike to the lustful Roman and the bloody, barbarous Hun. Get ye gone! I will have naught to do with ye. On, on upon the path, I say: ye will find shelter onward to cover your heads from the earthly storm, though not from the tempest of God's indignation."
Cremera reported to his master the reply he had received, for the thunder prevented it from reaching, at once, any ears but his own; and Theodore, as the only course, slowly pursued the path along which Mizetus had pointed, looking anxiously, as he proceeded over the wet and slippery rocks, surrounded by precipices and impeded by scattered fragments, for some sign of human habitation. It was long ere he discovered any, however; and was indeed passing on, when Cremera exclaimed, "There is a cave! there is a cave! and something standing therein like the figure of a man."
Theodore hesitated not; but leading his horse towards the narrow mouth of a cavern which he now beheld, ascended the steep path with risk and difficulty. The Huns followed; and though, on entering, they discovered that the object which Cremera had taken for a man was in fact a large crucifix, they found seated within the cave one of those many devout but enthusiastic beings, thousands of whom in that age devoted their lives to solitude and privation, on a mistaken principle of religion. Some subjected themselves to the most tremendous inflictions, thinking thereby to please God; and the pillar and the chain still find their place in history as illustrations of human fanaticism. But the hermit here was of a different character: his enthusiasm had taken a different form; and though not less wild, perhaps we might say not less diseased, prompted him not to the severer sufferings which were indispensable to obtain the reputation of sanctity among the anchorites of the Thebais. He dwelt, it is true, but in a cavern of the rock; but that cavern, high up on the mountain side, was dry, and not unwholesome: his dress was indeed composed of nothing but skins, yet the inhabitants of the country were principally clothed with the same materials, though arranged in a more convenient and agreeable form: his bed, which was raised high with rushes and forest hay, was piled up above that with soft and warm skins; and the contributions not only of some neighbouring villages on the other side of the hills, but of many distant towns (for the whole land regarded him as a holy being), supplied him plentifully with good and varied food. His appearance, however, was venerable; and his countenance, half covered as it was with a long white beard and a profusion of silvery hair, was calm, peaceful, and mild, and well calculated to obtain both reverence and love. There was, indeed, an occasional look of worldly shrewdness seen upon those high but withered features, which might have made many a suspicious man doubt the sincerity of his vocation; but there came also from his eyes, from time to time, gleams of quick uncertain light: whenever he approached particular subjects, too, his whole air and manner changed, his colour mounted, his eye flashed, his lip quivered; and Theodore could not gaze upon that countenance, under all its frequent changes, without believing that some slight touch of insanity had warped an intellect originally fitted for high and noble things. When he rose to welcome the strangers, his beard fell down below his girdle, and his long nails, untrimmed for many a year, were exposed in all their deformity. His manners, however, were noble, one might say courtly, for there was grace as well as dignity, and polished terms as well as mild and benevolent ideas. He asked no questions, neither whence the strangers came nor whither they were going; but gladly gave them shelter from the storm, and spread before them such viands as his cell contained, pressing them to partake with hospitable care, and blessing, in the name of God, the food to which he invited them. His eye, however, rested upon Theodore; and though the youth had by this time adopted in a great degree the dress of the Huns, yet his air and countenance were not to be mistaken, and the hermit addressed him at once in Latin.
"There is a hermit from our native land," he said, after some conversation upon other subjects, "living near, and doubtless a holy and religious man he is; but the Almighty has not endued him with the spirit of sufferance towards his fellow-creatures, and he thinks that he cannot serve God without abhorring men. He was sent hither unto me some months ago by Eugenius, bishop of Margus, to ask mine aid and counsel in dealing with the Huns; but, when he had received his answer, he would not depart, and has remained here ever since, doubtless sent as another thorn in my flesh."
Theodore very well conceived how the wild enthusiast might become a thorn in the flesh of any one less fanatical than himself, and he replied, "He refused us shelter but now, reverend father; and sent us on to thee in the midst of the storm, although I know him well. He dwelt for some two years at Aspalathos, on the Illyrian coast, and gained high repute for sanctity among the common people; but in the terrible earthquake in which we had all nearly perished some five or six months since, he strove to persuade the people to remain instead of leaving the falling buildings, prophesying that the last day was about to appear."
"He prophesy! my son," cried the hermit, with a wild look of scorn; "no, no; the gift of prophecy has not fallen upon him. It is for that he hates me: and because I impart, as I am directed, the knowledge of those things that are revealed unto me to all who ask it, he abhors and reviles me."
Theodore made no reply; for the spirit of prophecy was claimed by many a one in those days: and though their predictions had often proved false and worthless, yet that extraordinary endowment had been too recently exercised and confirmed by facts for any one in that age to say that the purpose was accomplished and the power withdrawn from the children of men. Theodore had learned, however, to doubt; and, therefore, he paused ere he gave credit to the gift which the hermit evidently wished to insinuate that he possessed.
"During the whole of this day," continued the old man, when he saw that the young Roman did not answer, "I have been waiting anxiously, looking for the approach of some stranger from distant lands. There has been a knowledge of the coming of some one upon me since the first dawn of day; but it was not thee I expected, my son. It was some one more powerful, some one more terrible, with whom I might have to wrestle and contend. I know not--I cannot have deceived myself. Still, it is now past the third hour, and no one has yet come."
"I should think," replied Theodore, "that it were not likely any one would come; for all the great and powerful of the land are absent with Attila, and we have made a long journey this morning without encountering a living creature."
"But have you had no tidings of Attila's return?" demanded the hermit. "Some messengers, who passed by this place but two days ago, spoke of it as likely, and brought me presents from the king."
Theodore would not suffer himself to smile, although he thought that the hermit, like many another man, might deceive himself in regard to his own powers, and confound shrewd calculations with presages. The old man had heard, it seemed, that Attila was likely to return; the messengers might very probably have dropped some hint as to the time; and the mind of the hermit himself having calculated the probabilities, the impression that it would be as he anticipated had become so strong that he looked upon that impression as a certain presage; and, if fulfilled, would consider it thenceforth as a new instance of his prophetical inspiration.
Theodore restrained all expression of such thoughts, however, and merely replied, "Then, by his sending you presents, you already know Attila, and are protected by him."
"I know him, my son," replied the old man, "but I am protected by a higher king than he is. He rather may call himself protected by me, or, at the least,directed, though he, as I am, is but an instrument in the hands of God. The sins of those who call themselves Christians have gone up on high," he continued, while a wild and wandering gleam of light glistened in his eyes, and his pale cheek flushed--"the sins of those who call themselves Christians have gone up on high, and the vices of the east and the west have risen up to heaven as foul and filthy as the smoke of a heathen sacrifice. They have called down judgments upon the earth; lightnings, and tempests, and earthquakes, and sickness, and pestilence, and warfare; and, lo! among the visitations of God, I tell thee, young man, this Attila the King is one of the greatest--an appointed instrument to punish the iniquities of the land! So long as he shall do exactly the work assigned him, and not disobey the word that is spoken, he shall prosper on his way, and shall sweep the lands from the east to the west, and from the north to the south: he shall stretch out one hand, and it shall touch the Propontic Gulf; and he shall stretch out the other, and dip it in the German Ocean; but neither the city of Romulus nor the palace of Constantine shall he see or injure. He shall pull down the cities, he shall destroy the nations, he shall trample under foot the yellow corn, and the purple fig, and the sweet grape. Of their olive-trees he shall light fires to warm him in the night; and with their flocks and herds he shall feed the myriads that follow him to victory and spoil. Armies shall not stand before him for an hour, and fenced cities shall not keep him out; he shall destroy wherever he cometh, and behind him he shall leave a bare plain; but the life of not one of those appointed to be saved shall he take; and if he touch but a hair of their heads, the power shall pass away from him, and he shall die a death pitiful and despised. Lo! he comes, he comes!" and spreading wide his arms, with a wild but striking gesture he advanced to the mouth of the cavern, and gazed out upon the road below.
Theodore, who had also heard the sound of horses' feet apparently approaching up from below, followed the hermit, and gazed forth likewise. The thunder had ceased, and the rain was falling but slowly, yet the ground was not less slippery and dangerous than when he himself had passed. Nevertheless, coming almost at full speed was seen a horseman, followed by two others at some short distance behind. Not a false step, not a stumble did the charger make; and Theodore at once perceived that the announcement of the hermit was correct, and that it was Attila himself who approached to within a yard of the spot where they stood. He came at the same headlong speed; and then, alighting from his horse, he threw the bridle over its neck, and entered the cavern with a slow, calm, and tranquil step. The monarch gazed at Theodore for a moment, as if surprised at beholding him there; but no slight emotions ever found their way to the countenance of Attila; and his only observation was, "Ha! my son, art thou here?"
Theodore bent his head, and the monarch turned to the hermit, who pronounced in his favour a singular prayer, one indeed which Theodore imagined might give no light offence to the stern chieftain of the Huns. "May God enlighten thine eyes," he said, "and purify thy spirit, and soften thy hard heart, and make thee leave the abomination of thine idols, so that thou mayst become a servant of the true God, and not merely an instrument of his vengeance!"
But Attila merely bowed his head, saying, "May the truth shine upon me, whatsoever it is!"
"Have I not told thee the truth?" demanded the hermit; "did I not tell thee thou shouldst conquer? Did I not say that no one should be able to oppose thee, if thou didst follow the words that were spoken unto thee?"
"I did follow those words," said Attila: "I spared Margus, as thou badest me, and I gave protection, as thou seest, to the first person who crossed the river to meet me;" and he turned his eyes upon Theodore.
"Ha!" cried the hermit, "and was this youth he? I spoke but the words that were appointed me to speak," he added; "but I had fancied that they had applied to another--not to him. God rules all these things according to his own wise will. Say, where met you the youth?"
Ere Attila could reply, the sunshine, which was now beginning to pour into the mouth of the cavern, was darkened by a tall form, which advanced with wild gestures, and placed itself directly before the monarch of the Huns. It was that of the enthusiastic Mizetus; who, in the exalted and menacing tone in which he usually spoke, now addressed the king, exclaiming, "Wo, wo unto the nations that thou wert ever born! Wo, wo unto the world, far and near, oh son of Belial, that thou didst ever see the light! Thou art died in blood, thou dost ride in gore. The earthquake precedes thee; blue lightnings march with thy host; famine goes forth on thy right hand, and pestilence on thy left."
"Shall I slay him, oh mighty king?" cried one of the attendants of Theodore, who had unsheathed his sword, and held it ready to strike the enthusiast to the earth.
"Slay him not," said Attila, calmly, "slay him not; the man is mad, and speaks the truth. What hast thou more to say, my brother? Thou hast but said what is true."
"I have said what is true," continued the enthusiast, "and there is more truth to be said. Wo unto thee if thou doest not the will of God! I say, wo unto thee! for, if thou failest to do his will, all the evils that thou pourest forth upon the nations shall, in return, be poured forth upon thee; nor shalt thou raise thyself up in the pride of thine heart and say, 'It is I who do all these things!' Neither shalt thou suffer thyself to be puffed up by the praises of the weak beings who now surround thee. Know that thou art no more than a sword in the hands of the slayer; a rod in the hands of Him who is appointed to chastise. Henceforth and forever cast away thy vain titles, and abandon thine idle pretences. Thy name isThe Scourge of God; and through all nations, and unto all ages, by that name shalt thou be known."
"I will fulfil thy words, and do accept the name," replied Attila, calmly; "yes, I will be called the Scourge of God; and truly," he added, with a dark smile, "I have already scourged the land from the Danube to the sea. But now, my friend, hast thou more to say t for though we reverence madmen, and those whose intellects the gods have taken into their own keeping, still my time is precious, and I would be alone."
"I am not mad, oh king," replied the enthusiast; "but I tell thee truth, and yet I leave thee, having given thee a name by which to know thyself, and by which thou shalt be known when thou and I shall have gone to our separate places;" and thus saying he turned and left the cave.[9]
"I will also go, oh king," said Theodore, "and will proceed upon the way towards thy royal dwelling."
"Do so," said Attila: "go not too fast, and I will overtake you soon."
Theodore craved a blessing of the hermit, and then departed. The road still mounted for some way; but by this time the rain was over, and, as a drying wind rose up, the horses could better keep their feet upon the steep and rocky ground. Passing over the ridge of the mountain, the road, in about half an hour, began to descend through woody glens and wild rocky ravines, similar to those which they had passed in ascending; and as Theodore slowly pursued his way, he revolved in his own mind that part of the conversation between the hermit and the mighty monarch of the Huns which referred more particularly to himself. It was not difficult to discover that, actuated by superstitious feeling, Attila had, in consequence of some vague warning of the hermit, spared the young Roman, not from any prepossession in his favour, but solely because he thought it the command of Heaven, and a condition on which the success of his enterprise depended. Since those first events, however, the monarch had shown him kindness of an extraordinary character; and either from some vague notion of their fate being linked together by some unexplained and mysterious tie, or from natural feeling of favour towards him, had evinced an interest in his fate and happiness which demanded gratitude. Theodore was not one to reason very nicely as to how far the motives of a benefactor lessen the obligation imposed by his kindness; and he only remembered that Attila had twice saved his life, as well as spared him where any other Roman would have fallen, when he intruded uncalled into the Dacian territory; that he had rescued from worse than death those he most loved, and had shown a kindly sympathy with feelings that few supposed him to possess. Thus, though he revolved the means of learning more of what were the first motives of the king in giving him such protection, he determined, as he rode on with his followers, to seek every opportunity of showing his just gratitude towards Attila.
They had not gone far, however, ere the sound of horses' feet was heard echoing among the crags; and in a moment after Attila was by the young Roman's side. A slight shade of triumphant pleasure--enough upon the countenance of Attila to tell that he was moved internally by no slight feelings of satisfaction--met the eye of Theodore as he turned to answer the monarch's greeting.
"Art thou quite recovered, my son?" demanded the king. "We heard thou hadst been ill, and likely to die; but the gods protect those whom they love."
"I am now quite recovered," replied Theodore; "but I was very ill, and should have died, had it not been for the care and tenderness of thy brother's wife and children."
"Let the good acts of the wife," replied Attila, "counterpoise the bad acts of the husband. But Bleda will not seek thy death now, I trust. We have made war in company; we have conquered together; and he has had a plentiful, a more than plentiful share of the spoil. It was me he sought to injure more than thee; and now that his appetite for prey and power seems satisfied, he may heed the suggestion of prudence, and forget the ambition for which he has neither talent nor energy sufficient."
Though the words of the king might have led to a fuller explanation of the mysterious tie by which he seemed to feel himself bound to Theodore, yet the young Roman was more strongly excited by the mention of barbarian triumphs in his native land than by anything which could personally affect himself; and he replied with an inquiring tone, "I have heard nothing, oh Attila! of thy progress since I left thee. I have received no tidings even of how the war has gone."
"War!" said Attila, proudly; "I call that war where brave men encounter one another, and fight till one surrenders or dies: but such is not that which the Romans have offered to Attila. Wouldst thou know, youth, how my march through M[oe]sia and Thrace has gone? Thus has it happened; but call it not a warfare, for warfare there has been none. I have marched upon the necks of conquered enemies to the Ægean Sea. H[oe]mus and Rhodope have not stayed me; seventy fortified cities have fallen before me; and the last Roman army which dared to look me in the face lies rotting in the Thracian Chersonese, as thou dost call it, or feeds the vultures from Mount Ada. I found the land a garden, and I left it a desert, even as I promised to do; but I say unto the weak thing that sits upon the Eastern throne, 'Why hast thou made me do this? Why hast thou called me to slay thy subjects and lay waste thy cities? I slept in peace till I was wakened by thine injustice. My sword grew unto its scabbard; my people kept their flocks, and were turning tillers of the ground: the Danube flowed between calm and peaceful banks, and my people held out the hand of amity unto thine. I gave thee leave to trade within my land, and at the first mart where thy subjects appeared they plundered mine, and scoffed at the claims of justice. I demanded that he who, as I was told, had concerted the deed with others, Eugenius, the bishop of Margus, should be given up to me; or some one, proved to be the robber, in his stead. Thou wouldst give me no justice, and I have taken vengeance; but the deed is thine, oh weak man, for thou wert the aggressor. Thou hast lighted the fire that has consumed thy land, and the punishment is not yet complete.'"
"And did none resist thee?" demanded Theodore, sorrowfully. "Did none show that the spirit of our fathers still lives at least in some of the children?"
"Yes, yes," replied Attila. "There was one small city, called Azimus, whose children showed me what ancient Romans may perhaps have been. They were worthy to have fought beneath my standard, for they repelled that standard from their walls. They fought as thou wouldst have fought, my son, and they won the reverence and the love of Attila. I found that they might be slain, but could not be conquered; and I valued my own glory too much to risk it by crushing a race that I acknowledged to be worthy of life. All the rest fought, if they did fight, like cowards and like slaves, and I slew them without remorse; but I would not have destroyed those Azimuntines to have saved my right hand. Bear witness, youth, of what I tell you. My people have been robbed and plundered by the creatures of Theodosius; I demanded justice; it was refused; I took revenge. Thine emperor now seeks to treat, because he thinks he can deceive Attila; thou shalt witness his proceedings, and shall judge whether I strike again without just cause. Attila slays not without cause; but thine is a lettered nation, and they will transmit a false tale of these deeds unto after times. We Huns write not our own histories."
Theodore pursued his way with his own followers only after the king had left him to return to his host; and less than two days more brought him to the banks of the Tibiscus. At the third hour after sunrise, on the second day after meeting with Attila, he came in sight of one of the few fixed habitations of the wandering Scythians--the ordinary dwelling of the king. It was all unlike a Roman capital, and yet it was not an unpleasing scene.
Upon a wide plain, broken by some tracts of wood, and skirted by some rich sloping hills, at the foot of which it rested, stood a congregation of several thousands of low wooden dwellings, each separated from the other, and covering a large space of ground; but with all their lowliness, those houses were not without ornament--of a different kind, it is true, from that which decked the stately mansions of Rome or Constantinople, but suited to the buildings, the people, and the scene. Before each ran along the same long portico, supported by the trunks of trees, which Theodore had remarked in the dwelling of Bleda; and many an ornamental screen and piece of trellis-work gave lightness and beauty to various parts of the building. Trees were scattered here and there among the houses, giving shade to their high-peaked roofs; and flowers and shrubs were not wanting, such as the infant art of the age and country could produce.
Many a busy group was there, engaged in all the peaceful occupations of pastoral life; and though here, as before, women and children formed the greater part of the population, a number of men--mingling with the other groups--showed Theodore that the land had not been so entirely left without defenders as he had imagined. As he rode on and entered the streets--if by such name we can designate the wide open spaces between the houses--the population became more dense; and he observed among them every shade of complexion and every line of feature that it is possible to conceive. The colour and cast of countenance of the Huns was certainly more general than any other; but there also might be seen the Roman and the Greek, the beautiful tribes of Caucasus, the fair-haired children of the North, the Goth, the Vandal, and the Helvetian. Nor was this mixture merely apparent, but, on the contrary, it was borne out by the many tongues which struck the ear of Theodore as he rode along. There his own language was frequently heard; there the tongue of his mother's land was common; and not only did Theodore recognise Greeks and Romans as captives or bondmen, but many walked free and armed among the rest of the population, as if holding rank and authority among them. The young Roman now began to perceive that Attila, with wise policy, had left the guardianship of his land during his absence to persons whose situation, as fugitives or exiles from their native country, would render their resistance to any invading force desperate, determined, and unconquerable. He himself, as he passed, excited no great attention, for the Roman features with the Hunnish dress was too common among them to call forth much remark. Cremera the Arab, however, by his powerful limbs and gigantic height, drew all eyes upon the little troop as it advanced towards the mansion of the king; and Theodore heard many an observation made upon him and his, in tongues which the speakers thought he could not understand, but which were familiar to his ear.
At length they reached the open space in which the dwelling of Attila was placed. It was merely a wooden building like the rest, but far more extended; and though as simple as any in some respects, yet much more ornamented and tasteful in others. Besides the principal mansion, a number of smaller houses were congregated in the same space, probably destined for the reception of his immediate officers and friends; but the whole mass of buildings thus collected was separated from the rest by a piece of open ground, spreading on all sides to the extent of several acres. In this space several horsemen were exercising themselves with various arms, poising the spear, casting the javelin, drawing the bow, or urging the mock contest with the sword. Under the porticoes and within the low screens groups of women and children were seen employed in various household occupations and juvenile amusements; and the whole presented a picture of cheerful, active, and happy life, which might have taught an inexperienced heart to believe that among that people was to be found the wished-for state, where busy life proceeded in peaceful tranquillity, without the cares, the anxieties, the jealousies, the strifes of more civilized and more corrupt society.
Theodore rode on, as he had been directed, towards the gate of the principal dwelling; but he was surprised, and somewhat offended, as he came near, by one of the horsemen, who was careering in the open space, hurling a javelin right across his path so as to pass within a foot of his head. Theodore's nerves, however, were too strongly strung to give way even to the slightest appearance of emotion; and urging forward his horse rather than checking it, he passed on without noticing a loud and scornful laugh which burst from the young man who had cast the dart. Cremera, who rode a little behind his master, turned and gazed fiercely round, while the Hunnish youth and those who were sporting with him dashed in among the followers of Theodore, as if on purpose to disturb him, separating a part of them from the rest. Theodore was now turning to remonstrate; but he heard the chief of his attendants already in sharp discussion with his fellow-countrymen; and the first words that caught his ear made him resolve to abstain from even remonstrance, in a case which might add new causes of anxiety and circumstances of difficulty to his long and painful exile among the Huns.
"Know you who I am?" cried the youth who had hurled the javelin.
"Well!" answered Theodore's attendant. "You are Ellac, the son of the king, yourself a monarch; but we are here under the shield of Attila, where his son himself dare not strike us; for Attila is just, and kindred blood shields no one from the stroke of his equity." Some more words ensued, and Ellac at length said, "Is not this he who has dared my uncle Bleda, and provoked him to anger?"
"We know naught of that, oh king!" replied the attendant; "all we know is, that we are given to this young leader by Attila the King, as true soldiers to their chief. We are commanded and are willing to die in his defence, and will guard him against any one and every one with our lives."
"Have ye no tribe and chieftain of your own?" demanded Ellac, scornfully. "Where is the head of your own race, that ye have the base task of following a stranger?"
"The head of our race died upon the plains of Gaul, with fifty of our brethren," replied the attendant; "and it is not a base task to follow a sword which has drank deep even of the blood of our own nation."
"If it have drank the blood of our nation," replied Ellac, "he that wields it should be slain."
"Such is not the will of the king," replied the attendant; and he then added, "Stop us not, oh king, for we do our duty."
The young chieftain sullenly drew back his horse, and turning with a look of angry comment to his own followers, he suffered those of Theodore to proceed. They accordingly rode on and overtook the young Roman, who had preceded them by a few paces, just as he reached the light screens of woodwork which separated the palace of Attila from the open space around it.
There Theodore dismounted from his horse, and in a moment was surrounded by a number of those who were spending their idleness under the shade of the portico. A mixed and motley group they were, comprising old warriors, unfit any longer to draw the sword, beautiful girls of various ages--from that at which the future loveliness bursts forth from the green film of childhood like the first opening of the rose, to that at which charms that have seen the fulness of the summer day spread out in their last unfaded hours like the same rose when its leaves are first ready to fall. Children, too, were there, and many a slave from every distant land, with mutes and dwarfs, singers, jesters, and buffoons.[10]
A number of these, as we have said, now crowded round Theodore with looks of interest and expectation, while others, listless and unheeding, lay quietly in the sun, casting their eyes with idle carelessness upon the stranger, without thinking it worth their while to move. Many was the question that was now asked, and many was the curious trait which struck the sight of Theodore. But we must not pause to paint minutely the life and manners of the Huns. That Attila was on his march homeward was already known at the royal village, and orders had been received regarding the treatment of the young stranger. One of the houses in the same enclosure as that of the monarch had been appointed him for a dwelling; and having taken up his abode therein, he found himself served and supplied as if he had been one of the barbarian king's own children.
Although the scene which now passed daily before his eye was very different from that which he had beheld at the dwelling of Bleda, and he found it more difficult to enter into the kindly intimacy of any of the barbarian families than he had done there, yet the same simple manners were to be seen. Large flocks and herds were daily driven out to pasture; from every dwelling poured forth the drove in the morning, and to every dwelling returned the well-fed cattle in the evening, with him who had been their guardian during the day singing his rude song to cheer the empty hours.
The women, too, whatever their rank or station among the people, were seen sitting before their dwellings, twirling the spindle in the sun, or occupied in other domestic cares which had long since been abandoned by the polished and luxurious dames of Rome.
The mixture of foreign nations with the Hunnish population had indeed produced a sort of mockery of the vices and luxuries of civilized capitals; and Theodore saw that simple fare, and coarse, unornamented garments were by no means universal among the Huns. Gold, and silver, and precious stones appeared upon the persons and in the dwellings of many, and even the silken vestures of the East were seen among the female part of the inhabitants.
For several days Theodore remained almost totally without society; for, after the first movement of curiosity, the inhabitants of the palace took no further notice of him, and no one else sought for his acquaintance, except, indeed, some of those Romans who had abandoned their country and assumed the appearance of the Huns. Several of these, it is true, presented themselves at his dwelling, and would fain have looked upon him as one of themselves; but Theodore was on his guard, and he received their advances somewhat coldly. He was ready, indeed, to meet with kindly friendship any one whom the arm of injustice had driven from their native land, and who preserved pure their faith and honour, but unwilling to hold an hour's companionship with men who had been scourged forth by their own vices, or had betrayed their native land for the gratification of any passion, whether the sordid hope of gain, the wild thirst of ambition, or the burning fury of revenge. Of all who thus came to him he was suspicious, and his doubts were not removed by their manners; for all more or less affected to graft upon the polish of the Roman the rude and barbarian fierceness of the Hun. Though accustomed to a more refined, though perhaps not a better, state of society, they endeavoured to assume the manners of the nation among whom they dwelt; and the mixture thus produced was both painful and disgusting to the feelings of the young Roman, whose character was too decided in its nature ever to change by its contact with others, and possessed too much dignity to affect manners of any kind but those which sprang from his own heart, tutored as it had been from youth in habits of graceful ease.
In all the visits of this kind that he received, and they were many, a topic of conversation soon presented itself which acted as a touchstone upon the exiles. This was the comparative excellence of the Roman and barbarian mode of life. Almost every one broke forth on the first mention of such a subject into wild and vague praises of the simplicity, the freedom, the purity of the most unrestrained and uncivilized nation into whose arms either fortune or folly had driven them; and all the commonplaces against luxury and effeminacy had been conned and noted down to justify as a choice that which was in fact a necessity--their abode among the Huns. But Theodore thought differently, and he expressed strongly his opinion.
No man hated more effeminacy, no one more despised sensual luxury; but he thought that refined manners and refined taste might exist with virtue, purity, even simplicity; and he thought, also, that as the most precious substances, the hardest metals, and the brightest stones take the finest polish, so the most generous heart, the firmest and the most exalted mind, are those most capable of receiving the highest degree of civilization. At all events, he felt sure that no one who had tasted the refinements of cultivated life could lose their taste for what was graceful and elegant; and that if, from any hatred of the vices or follies which had crept into a decaying empire, they fled to a more simple and less corrupted state, they would still prize highly, and maintain in themselves that noble suavity, that generous urbanity, which springs from the feelings of a kind, a self-possessed, and a dignified mind.
These opinions, as I have said, he did not scruple to express boldly and distinctly; and he soon found that such notions, together with those he entertained regarding patriotism and the duty of every man towards his country, were not pleasant to the ears of his visiters. Some slunk away with feelings of shame, not altogether extinct in their bosoms. Some boldly scoffed at such prejudiced ideas; and only one or two, with calm expressions of regret, acknowledged that they felt as he did, and only lamented that injustice and oppression had driven them from the society in which they had been accustomed to dwell, and the refined pleasures which they were capable of enjoying, to the wilds of Dacia and the company of barbarians. With these Theodore would not have been unwilling to associate: but, ere he did so, he sought to see more of them, and to hear their history from other lips than their own; and, therefore, with a coldness of demeanour which was not natural to him, he received all advances from his fellow-countrymen.
Ellac, the son of Attila, he saw no more; and he was glad to be spared fresh collision with one who was evidently ill disposed towards him, and who was so dangerous an enemy. He strove not to avoid any one, however, but walked forth alone among the houses of the Huns with that fearless calmness which is generally its own safeguard. Still he saw, without choosing to remark it, that Cremera's apprehensions for his safety were greater than his own; and that, though he ventured not to remonstrate against any part of his master's behaviour, yet whenever the young Roman went forth on foot towards the close of the day to enjoy the calm hour of evening in that tranquil meditation with which it seems to sympathize, he caught a glance here and there of the tall, dusky form of the Arab following his footsteps with watchful care.
Sometimes the young Roman would ride out on horseback, followed by his attendants, to hunt in the neighbouring woods; and if any of the idler Huns followed their troop to join in the amusement or to share their game, the skill and activity which Theodore had acquired excited their wonder and admiration.
Early on the morning of the seventh day after his arrival at the residence of Attila he thus went forth, accompanied both by the Alani and the Huns who had been given to him, and rode along by the banks of Tibiscus to the wide deep woods which, at the distance of about five miles from the village, swept up from the river, and covered the sides, nearly to the top, of a lateral shoot of those high mountains which crossed the country to the eastward.
He followed the side of the river as closely as the nature of the ground permitted, even after he had entered the woods; for he knew that about that hour the stags and the elks, then so common in the Dacian and Pannonian forests, came down to drink at the larger streams, seeming to disdain the bright but pretty rivulets that sparkled down the sides of the mountains. He had heard, too, that such was the case with the urus, or wild bull; but the animal was scarce even in those northern solitudes, and he had not any personal knowledge of its habits.
Remarking the course of the stream when first he entered the wood, he ordered his attendants to spread out at some distance from himself, and drive the game towards the river, the banks of which he himself proposed to follow. Little appeared, however, and that of a kind not worthy of pursuit. A wolf, indeed, crossed his path, and, casting his javelin at it, he struck the grim robber of the fold down to the ground; but, shaking it quickly from his weapon, he passed on, and for near an hour followed the side of the stream, hearing from time to time the cries of his attendants, as they shouted, both to give notice to their companions of the course they were pursuing and to scare the game from the lair.
Mingling other thoughts of a more heartfelt and interesting kind with the alternate expectations and disappointments--trifling, indeed, but still exciting--of the chase, he did not remark that after a time the voices of his followers sounded less and less loud, and that the river swept away more than he had calculated towards the west. Cremera, indeed, he saw from time to time emerge from the deeper parts of the wood to catch a glance of him, and he fancied that the others were not far distant. But at length all the sounds ceased, and after some time he became aware that he had strayed considerably from the direction which he had proposed to take. He heeded it not much, however, saying to himself, "They will soon rejoin me: the river sweeps round again not far on."
As he thus thought, he heard the distant cry of dogs; and putting his horse into a quicker pace, he hurried on towards the spot from which the sounds proceeded. They were faint and far off, however; but, as he rode forward, they seemed to advance upon him, winding hither and thither in the wood; and he thought, as his practised ear caught the sounds, "It must be an elk they are upon; they cry more eagerly than on a stag."
There were some high grounds above him, but covered with deep wood; and though, soon after, Theodore could hear the musical voices of the hounds pass across the upland, and could even catch the rushing and crashing sound of some large beast passing through the underwood, he could neither see dogs nor game. He thought, however, "That is no elk! It does not bound like an elk--most probably a wild boar; and, if so, one of enormous size."
Then, giving a hasty glance to the river, he exclaimed, "It turns there: the brute must either take the water, face the dogs, or come back hither by the open ground;" and urging his horse as close as possible to the stream, he rode on to meet the animal, whatever it was, just as it burst from the wood. As he approached, he heard that he had calculated rightly by the turn which the dogs took; and he paused that he might fling his javelin with a surer aim.
At that moment, however, a cry like that of a human being in pain or fear caught his ear, proceeding from among the trees just before him; and dashing on to give aid if the beast were brought to bay, he plunged his horse in among the brushwood, passed in a moment a narrow slip of forest that impeded his sight, and found himself in a small open space, round three sides of which the river bent like a sickle.
One object, however, in that space occupied all his attention, one feeling took possession of his heart, and but one course was left him to pursue. In the midst, clothed in a shaggy mane, with foam covering its black nostrils and fury flashing from its dark sinister eyes, its foot planted on a hound that it had just killed, and its enormous neck bent and head drawn back, in act to strike again with the short but pointed horns upon its wide square brow, stood the urus which the dogs had driven from its mountain solitudes.
Before it, prostrate on the earth, and panting in the agonies of death, lay one of the small horses of the Huns, with streams of blood pouring forth from a tremendous gore in its side. Fallen with the fallen horse lay a boy of about twelve years of age, splendidly apparelled after the barbarian fashion, and with one small hand raised and grasping a sword, he made a vain effort to strike the fell adversary that was rushing upon him.
On one moment hung life or death; and, even while his horse was clearing the last brushwood, Theodore, with all the strength and swiftness of youth and vigour, hurled his unerring javelin at the monster. It struck him but slightly, for the youth's hand was shaken by the spring of his horse; but it flew so swiftly, that the sharp steel cut through the tough hide upon his back just as he was dashing forward to crush the boy to atoms. It shook and turned him; and as the young Hun writhed partly on one side, the fury of the animal's stroke was spent upon the dying horse. Mad, however, with pain, he now turned upon his new assailant; but Theodore, active as well as strong, snatched the second javelin from his saddle bow, sprang from his horse, and met the brute as he rushed upon him.
With his head down and his eyes closed, the urus rushed on; but Theodore, though knowing his danger, was neither fearful nor unprepared; and when the animal was within two steps of where he stood, he darted on one side, and then plunged the spear into its back. The weapon struck against the bone, however--stopped--broke short off; and, but little injured, the bull turned upon him again.
There were now the cries of coming huntsmen, but no time was left for distant succour to arrive. On himself, on himself alone, the young Roman was forced to depend; and, drawing his short sword, he again stood prepared to meet the assault of his adversary. With his eyes not now closed as before, but keenly watching his prey, the urus again rushed upon him; and Theodore, knowing that, though his sword was sharp and his arm was strong, it was in vain to strike at that bony head or that thick and heavy mane, again sprang on one side, but farther than before, more to avoid the first rush than to strike the animal as he passed.
The bull, however, was not again deceived, but followed him like lightning; as he did so, however, the coming huntsmen and dogs rushing through the trees met his ferocious eye. He wavered for a moment between flight and vengeance--exposed, as he turned, his side to the arm of the young Roman--and Theodore, seizing the moment, plunged the keen blade into his chest up to the hilt, casting himself forward upon the beast with such force that they both fell and rolled upon the ground together.
The weapon had found the heart of the fierce animal; and after but one faint effort to rise, his head and hoofs beat the ground in the bitter struggle of the fiery and tenacious life parting from the powerful body, till with a low bellowing groan he expired.
Theodore raised himself from the ground, and drawing his sword from the carcass of the urus, he gazed round upon the scene in which the strife had taken place. Greatly was it altered since he had last looked about him, for it was filled with a multitude; and when Theodore turned his eyes towards the spot where had lately lain the boy he had just saved from death, he saw him raised up from his dead horse, and clasped in the arms of Attila himself.