In a mountain pass a little to the westward of the spot where now stands the small town of Bassano, among the first shoots of the Rhætian Alps, travelled onward the family of wanderers, whose various course we have traced from the beginning of this tale, as, compelled by circumstances, and dogged by misfortune, they were driven from land to land.
They were no longer, however, alone and undefended amid all the strife and danger of those perilous times: for the small body of Huns which had guarded Theodore in his journey to the imperial city had formed a nucleus, round which the Hunnish auxiliaries in the neighbourhood of Rome had gathered, as he retrod his steps towards Pannonia; and a little army of barbarians now accompanied him on the way. Those who had been attached to him from his first arrival in the Hunnish territory had not failed to magnify his deeds and reputation to every detached troop who joined them. The favour in which he stood with Attila was told and commented on; and his power and influence, as well as his courage, skill, and conduct, were so highly represented, that each party tacitly submitted to his authority; and in all great things, such as the direction and general regulation of their march, suffered the young Roman to retain the command of the whole force, as well as of his own particular followers.
He was thus enabled to save the country through which he passed from pillage; and though two or three times reports reached him of bodies of the imperial troops following his path, and even rumours of Ætius having returned, and being on his march across the fertile plains of Lombardy with a powerful army met his ear, he was happily enabled to reach the foot of the Alps without having recourse to one act of violence against any Roman citizen whatsoever.
The spot where they now halted for the day was by the banks of one of those small lakes, whereof so many fertilize and beautify the lower passes of the Alps. On every side around rose up the mighty mountains; and over their wooded sides the clear masses of light and shade flew swift as the soft large clouds were borne by the quick wind through the lustrous summer's sky. It was evening time; and in all the thickets round about the nightingales--sweet untaught choristers, in whose tuneful art no time nor cultivation can improve a tone or sweeten a single note--were chanting their thrilling anthem to the God of nature. In the clear mirror of the lake, deep down appeared the inverted mountains, with the softened sky beyond, and every quick change of light and shade.
It was a lovely scene; and though the hearts of Theodore and Ildica had now become sadly learned in the lessons of frequent disappointment, yet that spot recalled their sweet refuge on the other side of those dark Alps, where, amid the friendly Alans, they had enjoyed some brief, but never to be forgotten, hours of unalloyed delight. It recalled that place of refuge, and the hopes which they there had felt; and though those hopes had again been disappointed, they blossomed anew, different, yet the same; changed a little in form and arrangement, but not less beautiful, not less sweet--flowers of another spring, but of the same kind, from the same stem, from the same earth.
They had pitched their tents in a situation which recalled their former resting-place the more strongly, as it was upon a projecting point a short way up the hill. Below them lay the encampment of their Hunnish followers, and around them the domestic servants of their house; and as they sat there, and wisely encouraged once more the happy feelings that were willing to return, Theodore urged that, as they were now once more in safety, Ildica might give him her hand, whenever they could meet with a minister of religion to sanctify their union. Ildica said not one word against it; and as, with a slight blush and downcast eye she gave no unwilling consent, Theodore thought her far more lovely than ever, although a shade of melancholy, gathered from frequent disappointment, anxiety, and grief, hung over her as if it had been a veil, seldom, if ever, raised entirely, even in her happiest moments. That shade of melancholy also was somewhat darker now, inasmuch as her fair and beloved mother had shown signs of failing strength under the long and weary journey which they had just been compelled to take. Theodore hoped that the day's repose which they were now enjoying in that calm scene might sufficiently restore Flavia to proceed with comfort; but Ildica clearly saw that her mother could bear no great fatigue; and from some casual words which had fallen from her parent's lips, she had gathered that it was her intention, as soon as the double union of her children with those of Paulinus had taken place, to retire for ever from the busy world, and pass her remaining days in one of those places of seclusion which were at that time to be found in almost every part of the world. Ildica could not contemplate such a separation without pain; and though she shrunk not from her union with one whom she loved so deeply and intensely, yet she feared the parting with her mother, whom she had loved so long, and who loved her so tenderly.
Upon the brow of the promontory, Theodore and Ildica sat and gazed, and thought over the future, with sweet hopes and dark apprehensions crossing the expanse of thought, like the sunshine and the shade that flitted across the mountains before their eyes; and ever and anon they spoke over many things, with that unreserved confidence which is one of the sweetest drops in the ambrosial cup of love. Since they had last met, the tone of Ildica's mind had undergone some alteration. It had become deeper, more intense, more enthusiastic. In everything that engaged her--though there might be fewer things that did so--she took a profounder interest; and, whether it was her love for Theodore, her devotion to the bright faith in which she had been reared, her love for her mother, or any other thing in which her heart was concerned, there was a depth, a strength, an energetic eagerness in her whole feelings which raised and ennobled her still more than ever in the eyes of her lover.
They sat and gazed. Wide spread over the valley below, and up the sides of the hill, even higher than themselves, might be seen various parties of the Huns, seeking forage for their horses, or food for themselves; and as the eye of Theodore was turned towards the entrance of the valley, where mountain falling over mountain seemed to close up the pass, he thought he saw a considerable degree of bustle and movement in a body of about thirty or forty of the barbarians, whom he had marked winding down in that direction by the banks of a small stream that entered the lake hard by. It subsided in a few minutes, however, and he took no further notice, pursuing his conversation with Ildica, and looking on well pleased, while the Huns, in a spot void of other inhabitants, engaged themselves in a thousand peaceful occupations, as if they never sought for strife or dipped their hands in blood.
Half an hour more had elapsed, or perhaps scarcely so much, and Theodore and Ildica were deep in the business of their own hearts, when suddenly a step sounded among the tents behind them, which--wherefore he knew not--made Theodore start and turn round.
What was his astonishment when, not a spear's length from him, he beheld Attila himself,[4]who, advancing with a slow step, looked upon the young Roman with a smile as distinct as ever crossed his stern, fixed countenance. The next moment, however, the glance of the barbarian monarch turned upon Ildica; and the light of suddenly-excited admiration shone forth from his eyes. It was but momentary, however, and, addressing himself kindly to Theodore, he said, "So, my son, thou hast left the bright court of Valentinian to come back to the barbarian. Thou art welcome; for I may chance to have much need of thee; and thou shalt find, as thou hast found, higher honours and a kinder monarch in the land of the stranger than in thine own."
Thus saying, he sat himself familiarly down upon the bank between Theodore and Ildica. She, however, rose, and was about to retire into the tent; but he stopped her, gently saying, "Do not depart! Fear me not, fair one; I will not injure thee. Who is this, my son?" he continued, addressing Theodore--"is this thy sister?"
"Not so, oh king!" answered Theodore, who had always found it best to speak to Attila the straightforward truth, without the slightest disguise or concealment. "Not so: she is my promised bride, and in a few days will be my wife."
"'Tis well!" said Attila; "'tis well! She is beautiful, and doubtless good. I will witness thy nuptials, and give thee the bridal present; for I hear, from those whom I met but now at the end of the valley, that thou needest a protector, and one shalt thou find in Attila."
Ildica still stood lingering, as if anxious to retire; and the monarch of the Huns perceiving her embarrassment, added suddenly, "Well, hie thee in, then, fair one; thou fearest the barbarian king; but Attila can be gentle to those he loves. I will pass this day with thee, my son; and this timid girl shall see that he whom she has been taught to look upon as a cruel tyrant, can sit him down as peacefully to a calm and humble board as the most polished and effeminate Roman of them all can cast himself on his couch to gorge upon a thousand dishes. Hie thee in, fair one; I will speak with thy lover alone."
Ildica obeyed; and after she was gone Attila remained for several moments in a deep fit of thought. Then, raising his head, he turned to some of his attendants who stood near, saying, "Get ye gone, and bring up hither the roe deer that the men took in the forest as we came along, with what fish ye can find in the stream. Here will I take my evening meal. Get ye gone, all of you."
The attendants departed as they were bid; and Attila again fell into a deep fit of thought, after which he turned to Theodore, and said, abruptly, "I am glad thou hast come back. This Valentinian, this woman-emperor, is insolent, and must be punished; and I am well pleased that thou dwellest not among those who will soon feel the sword of Attila. Knowest thou what has happened in the East?"
"I heard as I went to Rome," said Theodore, "that the base murderer of my father, Theodosius, is no more; but I have heard no further tidings, and only guess that the empire has fallen to his sister, Pulcheria."
"And that Pulcheria has taken unto herself a husband," added Attila, "on whom she has conferred the rule of the land. We hear that he is a brave man and a wise man. If he be wise he will pay our tribute, or he will have to do with a braver than himself."
"Doubtless he will pay it," replied Theodore, with a sigh. "Hast thou sent to demand it, oh mighty king?"
"I have," answered Attila. "For if it be not paid after conquering Rome, I march to Constantinople. But doubtless he will pay it."
"Is this new monarch's name known?" demanded Theodore: "I know most of those who were in favour at the court of the East; but I know none on whom Pulcheria was likely to shower such gifts."
"His rise has been sudden," answered Attila. "He had gained some renown as a soldier, and was a military tribune; but enjoyed no great favour with the empty Theodosius: his name is Marcian."
"Marcian!" exclaimed Theodore, with joy sparkling from his eyes: "he was the dearest friend of my dead father, and since my father's death has been equally the dear and considerate friend of his friend's children. He is, indeed, great as a warrior--noble and wise as a man."
Attila's brow grew dark, as if he loved not to hear such praises of the Eastern emperor.
"Think you," he demanded, harshly, "that he will pay the tribute? Think you that he will yield obedience to our commands?"
"I think," replied Theodore, firmly, "that he will yield to no demand urged in a haughty tone. Were the greatest monarch on all the earth, I would rather have Marcian for my friend than for my enemy."
"Ha!" cried Attila: "he had better set his naked foot upon an asp than cross my path of victory. Ha! what sayest thou? will he dare to raise himself up against Attila?"
"Perchance not, oh great king," replied Theodore, "perchance not; but it will depend upon Attila's demeanour towards him. Marcian is no Theodosius. Bred in arms from his youth upward, his birthplace was the battle-field; the camp his cradle; war and strife the sport of his youth; command the employment of his manhood. He is no silken reposer on soft couches, but a hardy soldier, for whom the palace will scarcely afford a pillow hard enough to prop his head. If Attila entreat him fairly, Marcian is one to reverence and to love the high qualities of that mighty monarch, and to grant him the friendship that one great man is fond to feel towards another; but if Attila declares himself the enemy, and seeks to become the master of the emperor, Marcian will draw the sword, and it will never be sheathed till one or the other lie in the cold grave. Oh Attila, you have never yet met with Marcian. Better, oh king, better far to have him for your friend than for your enemy!"
Attila rolled his dark eyes fiercely as Theodore spoke; but for some minutes he answered not, and then, gradually resuming his stern calmness, he said, "We shall see! We shall see! I seek not to wrong him--but we shall see! So this Macian was your father's friend; and you know and love him yourself?"
"I do, oh Attila!" answered Theodore, "and I have cause. After my father's death, Marcian sought out, protected, befriended me; enabled me and mine to pursue our flight in safety, and risked even the emperor's wrath in order to favour our escape. I love him dearly, and he, for my father's sake, loves me. He is one of those men who, like thyself, oh king, are hard and firm as some fine gem, which nothing but a gem will cut; but upon which, the lines once engraved no power will afterward remove; and there they last, as clear and definite under the wearing power of time as if nothing but a soft stream passed over them. My father's love will never be forgot."
"The tribune might remember," said Attila, "what the emperor may forget."
"Not so, oh king!" answered Theodore: "Marcian changes not. The same was he as a common soldier in the Roman ranks, as when a tribune, possessed of vast power. When in the lowest military station in the state, his conduct, his manners, his mind, showed him worthy of the highest; and when midway to power and dignity, unlike the changeful herd of ordinary men, authority sat as lightly on him as obedience. What he was as a soldier he was as a tribune, and will be as an emperor. Though not born in that high station, he was born for it; and not only his virtues and his talents, but many another more marvellous indication showed that one day God would place in his hand the destinies of the Roman people."
"Indeed!" cried Attila, fixing his eye upon the young Roman with a greater expression of surprise than he ever manifested on any ordinary occasion. "Indeed! What were these portents?"
"They have been many, as I have heard," replied Theodore. "Escapes from danger almost miraculous; and twice, when sleeping in the open field, an eagle has been seen to hover over his head, and shade him from the scorching sun. These I report but on hearsay. Once, however, I can speak myself to an event of the same kind. After a great earthquake, some four years ago, he was coming from Salona to Aspalathos, and was met by us upon the road. He pitched his tent where we encountered him; and while we were still with him, an eagle, which had followed his troop all day, came down and rested on the tent-pole."
Attila started up and seemed troubled. "This is very strange," he said: "you were present yourself?"
"I was," answered Theodore. "There is no more doubt of it than that I stand here."
"An eagle!" exclaimed the monarch: "so wild and fierce a bird to alight and rest amid a troop of men!"
"It is strange, indeed, oh king!" said Theodore, "most strange, but no less true; and its very strangeness made all men but himself believe that it was an indication of some future greatness."
Attila replied not, but remained several minutes with his eyes bent upon the ground; and then, starting somewhat abruptly, he exclaimed, "Let us into thy tents, my son; I will eat with thee and drink with thee this night; and then leave thee till to-morrow, when thou shalt go back with me to Tridentum. There my own ambassadors and those of Marcian come to seek me; and as I will not ask thee to bear arms against thy country, instead of taking thee with me to sweep away Valentinian and tread upon Rome, I will send thee to this noble monarch of the East. Thou mayst do more with him, perchance, than a mere stranger."
The heart of Theodore beat high, for he saw before him a prospect of better things and happier days. The hope of a journey to Constantinople, where he might place Ildica, and all who were dear to him, under the generous protection of Marcian, was in no slight degree joyful, and he at length beheld, or imagined that he beheld, a certain and permanent refuge for the future, and a happy termination to all his wanderings. Gladly, then, did he express his willingness to accept the office which Attila proposed to confer upon him; and though there was something dark, and even gloomy, in the countenance of the king as he followed the young Roman into his tent, yet the eyes of Theodore were lighted up with joy and satisfaction, which spread itself to all around.
He found no opportunity of relating what had happened, or of explaining the hopes and prospects which had cheered his breast, yet Ildica saw sufficient in the glad smile of Theodore's lip to feel sure that some new source of joy had been opened out for them all. At heart, indeed, she was anxious for her mother, who, ill at ease, and reposing in another tent, entered not that in which the king partook of the evening meal with her children; but still the demeanour of the monarch himself, and the satisfaction which he saw upon the countenance of Theodore, banished the darker apprehensions which had mingled with her former hopes.
The dark monarch of the Huns, retaining all his simple habits, drinking from the cup of horn, and served on no richer materials than wood, unbent in the tent of the young Roman, as far as his own stern nature would suffer him to do, from the rigid gravity of his usual demeanour. He spoke kindly and gently to Theodore and the rest, whom he made sit around him, and from time to time his lip almost relaxed into a smile at the wild, light spirit of Ammian, which would have way, notwithstanding the overawing presence of that mighty and terrible man. On Eudochia he gazed as on a beautiful child; and though he but seldom turned his eyes towards Ildica, yet when he did so there was in them an expression which showed that her exquisite beauty, however graceful and refined, was appreciated by the barbarian monarch as much as it could have been by the most delicate sculptor of ancient Greece. Theodore, however, felt no alarm; and as soon as Attila had mounted his horse and departed for his own camp, which was at the distance of but a few miles, the young Roman hastened to communicate to Ildica and her mother his hopes and wishes. He told them the prospect of his being sent on a mission to Marcian; and he besought her he loved to give him her hand, and to go with him as his bride to the city of Constantine. Flavia's countenance lighted up with joy at the thought, and Ildica said not nay. Again the time of their union was named, with but an intervening day, and Theodore lay down to rest with as much happiness as hope can pour into the human breast.
It was in a vast hall in the ancient city of Tridentum, hanging over the Adige, where, rushing through the mighty rocks of the Rhætian Alps, that river pours on to fertilize the plains of Lombardy, that Attila stood alone, on the evening of the day following his meeting with Theodore. He had sent on messengers to demand the peaceful surrender of the city; and he had promised, in simple but direct terms, that if no resistance were shown, no violence should be offered. The citizens, without any means of defence, gladly embraced the chance of safety; and Attila, entering with a few thousand men, occupied the public places and buildings; while the innumerable army that followed him lay encamped upon the mighty hills that sweep up round about the town, and the trembling inhabitants, shut up in their houses, waited in terrified expectation, hoping that the monarch's promise might be kept, but fearing lest it should be broken.
Attila stood alone; and little could he have brooked that any eye should behold the unwonted emotions that then shook his firm unbending nature. To all his host it had become evident, indeed, that since his encounter with Ætius a great change had come upon him; that his mind had lost a portion of its mighty calmness; that his strong passions had been gradually triumphing over the powerful intellect which had alone sufficed to rule them. But none had ever beheld him moved as he now was moved; and Attila himself, finding that he was shaken by the tempest within his breast as he had never before suffered himself to be, grew fierce at his own weakness, and added to his own emotions, by his very anger at not being able to suppress them; and yet those emotions were not displayed like the passions of ordinary men.
He stood in that hall alone, and remained for many minutes with his eyes bent sternly on the ground, while over his harsh features passed a thousand shades of varying expression. But his form at first seemed calm; and the only movement perceptible through his whole frame was the clasping and the unclasping of his left hand upon the hilt of his massy sword. At length, however, he broke from that quiescent attitude, and strode quickly up and down the hall, then paused again, and once more gazed upon the marble pavement, enriched by the beautiful art of ancient Rome with a thousand flowers and fruits smiling up out of the cold stone.
But the eye of Attila saw not the rich mosaic over which it wandered; and, after another deep, long pause, he exclaimed, "Why should I not? Is he not my slave, my prisoner? Is not his life and all he has mine own? That which I left to him upon sufferance, can I not resume when I will? By all the gods I will do it! He has had favours enough at my hands already. He may well sacrifice something to gratify Attila!" And again he fell into a fit of musing, which was at length broken by the door of the hall being slowly opened, and Onegisus, one of his most attached chieftains, entering with a cautious and apprehensive step.
"So," said Attila, speaking to himself--"so--so I will do it. I would not see his grief, nor hear his complaints--Ha! Onegisus! What seekest thou?"
"Pardon me, mighty king!" replied the chieftain; "I come from thy son Ellac. He finds not food enough for his troops upon the mountain, and he would fain force these dronish citizens to give up the stores they have concealed from us in their houses."
"Thou meanest he would fain plunder the city," replied Attila, sternly. "But it must not be: Attila has pledged his word. Tell him to seek for food in the valleys, or, if his troops be women, who cannot bear an evening's hunger, let him lead them down into the plains beyond. There shall he find food enough! Yet stay, Onegisus, I would speak with thee on another matter. Ellac was busy at mine ear to-day with the beauty of this maiden, this Roman girl, who, some people say, is to be the bride of Theodore. Thinkest thou," he continued, putting on a tone of indifference--"thinkest thou that Ellac covets her for himself? That cannot be, you know, unless she herself be willing; for I have promised protection both to him and her."
"Not so, oh mighty king!" replied Onegisus, casting down his eyes, and, to speak but truth, appearing pained and embarrassed--"not so: Ellac has but lately taken unto himself a bride, as thou well knowest, and he seeks no other. He did but think that this maiden was too beautiful to be cast away upon a stranger. Perhaps he fancied that she were fair enough even to attract the love of such a king as Attila himself."
"Vain talk!" cried Attila, sharply. "She is very beautiful, it is true--as fair, perhaps, as the eye of man has ever seen--but Attila has other thoughts before him. Conquest! Victory! Onegisus, they shall be the brides of Attila. Bear Ellac my message, and tell Ardaric I would take counsel with him."
Onegisus retired without reply, and Attila remained waiting the coming of Ardaric; but the monarch had, with the words he had spoken, resumed his habitual self-command: the sound of his own voice had recalled him to himself; and no trace of the varying passions which had lately agitated him could now be seen upon his countenance.
But, alas! Attila was not what Attila had been. The firm immoveable nature which he now assumed had then been really his own. He had formerly been what he now appeared. A change, a sad change had come over him since he had fought without conquering. He felt fallen from that height of irresistible power which he had once possessed: he felt irritated at its loss; angry with himself for the very irritation that he felt; and obliged to have recourse to duplicity to conceal the change from himself and others. For that duplicity again he contemned himself, and gave way to many a wilder passion, which had formerly been controlled, in order to relieve his thoughts from irksome contemplation. He conquered almost all external appearances, however; the victory of his internal enemy was within. With him it was like a sudden strife in a banquet hall, where contention raged fiercely in scenes that had once been calm, and where few signs betrayed to those without that fury and wrath struggled within those halls, from the windows of which the lights beamed calmly, except when a passing shadow, flitting rapidly across, told of some violent movement, the nature of which could hardly be divined.
Thus seating himself in an ivory chair that stood at the farther side of the hall, he waited for his friend and counsellor with a calm countenance, playing with the hilt of his sword, and apparently listening to the murmurs of the river as it flowed by the building, and gazing upon the changeful light and shade as it danced upon the blue masses of the opposite mountains.
Ardaric, however, was not long ere he appeared; but it was evident that there was some degree of embarrassment upon his countenance.
"Hast thou seen this new ambassador, my friend?" demanded Attila as soon as he approached. "Hast thou seen this Apollonius?"
"I have, oh king!" replied Ardaric; but there he paused, and spoke no further.
"What said he then?" exclaimed the monarch of the Huns, impatiently. "Why art thou such a niggard of thy words, my friend? What answer gives the puppet on the Eastern throne unto our just demand? What says he to our contract with Theodosius? Has he sent the tribute therein promised?"
"No tribute has he sent, oh Attila!" replied the King of the Gepidæ, looking suddenly up, as if forced at length to tell unpleasant tidings, and resolved to tell them plainly. "No tribute has he sent, oh Attila! and touching the contract he replies, that it was only between Attila and a monarch that is dead; and that Marcian is not Theodosius. Further, he declares that he will have no talk of tribute; and he bids your own ambassador say, that Marcian has gold for his friends, but steel for his enemies."
Attila had remained with his left hand resting on his sword; but as he heard the bold reply of Marcian to his demands upon the Eastern empire, the long sinewy fingers clasped upon the hilt; and though he uttered not a word, he drew the blade half out of its sheath in the agony of suppressed rage, while his white teeth might be seen shut close together, as if to imprison in his own breast the angry thoughts that struggled vehemently to burst forth. In the meanwhile Ardaric, who had now told the worst, and whose purpose was to sooth rather than to irritate the Hunnish sovereign, hastened to add what he thought might, in some degree, mitigate his wrath. "Nevertheless so, Attila," he said, "though this man's words and actions are bold indeed, yet he is not without that reverence for the fame and might of Attila which all inferior kings must feel; and this ambassador, this Apollonius, is loaded with presents far more costly and splendid than ever were wrung from the weakness of Theodosius."
Attila sprang up from his seat, and grasping firmly the arm of Ardaric, he gazed sternly in his face, exclaiming, "Seek not to sooth me, Ardaric, seek not to restrain my wrath! It is vain! It is unnecessary! The conduct of Attila shall not be governed by rage! Indignation shall have no share therein! Policy shall rule all: my conduct is determined; has been long determined, Ardaric; and thou shalt see that, provoked even to the utmost, Attila can play the lamb till the time be come for him to play the lion! Slaves, ho!" he continued, raising his voice; and instantly a number of attendants rushed into the room, among the first of whom was Zercon, the black jester of his dead brother Bleda.
There was something in the sight that seemed to irritate the king, and, fixing his flashing eyes upon the hump-backed Moor, he cried, "Who bid thee hither? What dost thou, listening to the king's private counsel? Take him away; take the foul, impotent lump away, and strike the eavesdropping ears from off his head! Away with him! Answer not, but let it be done! Thou!" he continued, to one of the attendants who had followed--"thou! Get thee to this ambassador from the East. Tell him that Attila has not time to give attention to such trifling things as the tribute due from Marcian; but, that as soon as he has a moment for lighter affairs and things of no importance, he will see him. In the meantime, let him deliver the presents that he bears unto my officers. Hence! Do my bidding quickly!"
The attendants withdrew without a second warning; and Attila resumed his conversation with Ardaric, who felt not a little relieved to find that the mighty king to whom he had attached himself could still so far govern his rage as to consult the dictates of good policy rather than those impulses of passion to which he had but too frequently given way since his encounter with Ætius.
"I have thought over all this, my friend," said Attila, calmly, "since a conversation which I held yesterday with the young Roman, Theodore."
Ardaric marvelled somewhat at the cold epithet which Attila bestowed upon Theodore, whom, during the two or three last years, he had been accustomed to call, not the young Roman, but "my son," or "my adopted son." Nevertheless he was well pleased that the conversation of Theodore had produced such an effect, and he replied, "Thy conduct, oh Attila! shows that you have considered well, and, as ever, have determined wisely."
"I think I have, my friend," replied Attila; "for if I had not, indignation would have trampled upon reason, and I should have been tempted to abandon that in which I am engaged, to tread upon the neck of the dog that thus snarls at my heels. But, as I have told thee, ever since that conversation I have thought over this. The youth, it seems, has known this Marcian for many a year, and tells me that he is, as he shows himself, bold, cautious, and vigilant. Now, though Valentinian and Marcian separately are but as scorpions, on which Attila would set his sandal's sole without a fear, yet the bite of the two might be dangerous, or at least painful. As it is, Ætius, possessed of Gaul, and planning to raise himself up there a separate kingdom, looks on not unwillingly while I crush the petty sovereign whom he has long despised and ruled. But if Marcian, joined to Valentinian, were to give the Western emperor a chance of resisting Attila with success, Ætius would be obliged to unite his forces to theirs, lest, at an after period, they should march together to punish the rebellious or negligent subject, who left them to struggle unassisted against the mighty power of the Huns."
"Wisely and well hast thou considered all things, oh Attila! I, less politic, had only thought of the union of Marcian with Valentinian as dangerous to us. But if the power of the East and the West were swelled by all the forces of Gaul, armies might be collected which, perchance, we should find to be overwhelming. How, then, oh Attila, do you purpose to deal with Marcian."
"As a skilful fowler, Ardaric, when he approaches his half-sleeping game, coming nearer and nearer while he pretends to be looking and going another way. We will treat his ambassador as if angry, but not enraged past all endurance. We will send him back with messages regarding the tribute, which will seem as if we were more covetous of gold than of honour, and would, perhaps, take a part, if we could not obtain the whole. Thus shall he lull himself with embassies; while we, marching on, sweep Valentinian from the earth, lay Rome in ashes, and scatter the dusty fragments of her once mighty power unto all the quarters of the earth over which her empire in other days extended. Still, as we advance and conquer, as if wholly absorbed in the great undertaking before us, we will make greater and greater concessions to this Marcian, and he, if he be a true Roman, will exact more and more, till at length, with justice on our side and conquest on our sword, our strength united and increased, and our troops fresh from victory, we will pour into the fertile plains of Greece, and, with our free and martial tribes, leave not a trace of any former yoke throughout the land. If my foot shall ever again tread the plains of Thrace, never again, so guard me all the gods who have made me what I am, will I go back one single step so long as one stone of all Byzantium remains upon another!"
He was still going on, when a door at the farther end of the hall opened, and the attendant whom he had sent to the ambassador presented himself. The man paused for a moment, with a pale countenance, as if uncertain whether to advance or not. He was evidently under the influence of terror; but Attila's irritation had subsided while pouring forth his plans into the ear of Ardaric, and he made the attendant a sign to advance, with an expression of countenance which partly reassured him. Hurrying forward, then, he cast himself prostrate at the feet of the king, exclaiming, "How shall I dare, oh mighty Attila, to relate the bold words of the most insolent Roman that ever approached thy presence?"
"Speak, speak!" said Attila: "thou art pardoned, if any pardon be needful, for repeating what it imports the king to hear. Speak! what said the ambassador?"
"His reply, oh king," answered the attendant, looking up, and half doubting the assurances of pardon that he heard--"his reply was, 'Tell Attila the king, that though the time of the servant of Marcian is of less value than the time of the monarch of the Huns, yet the dignity of the emperor must not be trifled with, and his ambassador is not one to sacrifice it. If Attila be willing to see me, let him fix the time and keep it. Hither have I followed him to Tridentum, from the wilds of Upper Dacia, and I will follow no farther, to be a spectacle to his nation or to others. As to the presents, they are of little import; some thirty vases of solid gold, and some caskets of jewels; but, if Attila would have them, he must receive them with his own hands. To him were they sent, and to none other will I deliver them.' Such were his words, oh mighty king," continued the attendant--"I have repeated them truly, and if I have offended, let me die!"
To the surprise of the attendant, and even of Ardaric, something like a grim smile passed over the harsh features of the Hunnish king. "He is a bold knave, this ambassador," he said; "he is a bold knave, and well chosen to do a dangerous embassy! Tell him to get him hence, and take his presents with him! Say also that Attila, though he loves courage, will not bear insolence, and therefore it is he will not see this man. However, he is not willing to lose the friendship of Marcian, who promises to fill the royal seat of the old Cæsars more nobly than late monarchs have done, and therefore Attila will send back unto him Theodore, the son of his friend Paulinus, with power to treat of things that concern the friendship of the two nations. He shall accompany the ambassador on his way. Go! tell him the words of the king."
Ardaric, at the mention of the mission of Theodore, suddenly cast down his eyes and bit his lip; and as soon as the attendant had risen from Attila's feet and departed, he exclaimed, "Hear me, oh Attila, and take thought before you determine upon sending this young Roman on such a task to the new emperor. Theodore is bold and faithful, I know it well, and love him truly. But he is one of those who will think his duty to his country superior to aught else on earth. He will reveal to Marcian all your plans and purposes, tell all the secrets of your court, and of the past as far as may affect the future, and think it a duty to caution Marcian against trusting to the semblance of moderation you put on."
"Wouldst thou do so, Ardaric, if thou wert a Roman?" asked Attila, with a smile; and then, before his friend could answer, he added, "Perhaps thou wouldst. In truth, I believe so. But I am prepared against that also, Ardaric. This Theodore has now with him a beautiful--a most lovely girl--his promised bride; and even to-morrow morning he fondly thinks she shall be his. He is mistaken, Ardaric; for I will keep her and her mother here, as sureties for his doing my bidding to the letter--as hostages for his speedy return. However strong may be his wishes to serve his country, be you sure that nature and passion will have its way. What is it that passion will not do? To what will it not blind our eyes? What will it not make us see in things the most different? With this Theodore, it will act to give the fairest colouring to everything that may keep Marcian at peace with Attila, and give him the opportunity of returning speedily to claim his beautiful Dalmatian bride. He will tell no tales, Ardaric! He will give no advice! He will speak no warnings that may raise up an eternal barrier between him and that most lovely woman! He will think he does his duty to his country, and will do it, as far as nature will let him; but passion will still have a voice in the council of his bosom, and make him do his duty unto me!"
Ardaric made no reply, but looked gravely down upon the ground, and Attila fixed his eyes upon him for several moments, as if in surprise at his silence. But there was something in the breast of Attila, a consciousness, a sense of duplicity even towards Ardaric, which made him forbear to question his friend. Attila was afraid to ask why Ardaric replied not! Attila, the mighty, the unconquered, the unconquerable Attila, was cowed by his own heart! Yes, Attila was afraid!
It was the same hall, but the things within it were changed. It blazed with lights; it was crowded with people; and the leaders of the Hunnish host stood round Attila the King, while in the clear deep tones of command he gave directions for their march on the following day. On his left hand, at some distance from the chair in which he sat, appeared a group in the Roman dress, consisting of Ildica, Ammian, Eudochia, and Theodore, with a number of the household slaves of Flavia, and the barbarian followers of the young Roman gathered together behind them.
Seated in the midst of her children was Flavia, the only person except the monarch who did not stand; but there was the weariness of illness on her face and in her attitude, and the chair she occupied had been looked upon by her and her family as a token of Attila's kind observation.
Suddenly the tones of Attila ceased as he gave his last commands to the leaders round him, and then, after a pause, he exclaimed, "Theodore! Come hither, my son; the king has a duty to impose on thee!"
Theodore gave a bright glance to Ildica, and advanced till he stood before the monarch, his countenance beaming with happy anticipations, and his heart beating high with the glad hope of soon bearing his sweet bride back to their own dear land. But the countenance of Attila was stern and grave; and Ardaric, who stood on his right hand, cast down his eyes as Theodore approached.
"My son," said Attila, "thou art very young, and yet unto thee am I about to intrust a mission on which may depend the lives of millions, the fate of empires, and the destiny of the whole world. The monarch of the East has sent unto me hither a bold and insolent ambassador; and were I to read the feelings of Marcian in the conduct of his messenger, I should instantly employ those arms which carried death and victory to the shores of the Ægean Sea not many years ago, to humble the pride and punish the faithlessness of this new emperor. But I have heard what thou canst tell of him--thou who hast known him from thy childhood; and Attila is inclined to respect and love Marcian. Attila may be his friend, if Marcian will; for while he treads upon the worm and struggles with the tiger, he admires the lion and the eagle--kings in their kind like himself. Go, then, to this thy friend: return to him with the ambassador he has sent hither, and tell him the words of Attila. Say, if thou wilt, that on thy report of his great nobleness, Attila desires rather to be at peace than at war with Marcian; and ask what he will do to gain our friendship. It is not the pitiful thought of a few ounces more or less of yellow earth that moves Attila; and if Marcian be poor, let him say so; but justice Attila will have in all things, and his honour and dignity will he defend so long as he has life. Go, then, to Marcian; tell him these things. Tell him what Attila is, and bring us speedily thine answer. If thou usest diligence, thou wilt find us between this and Rome. Seek the envoy from the East, and depart with him. Thou shalt have the train of a prince to honour Attila's mission, and gold to pay thy journey through a sordid land and among a grasping people."
"Willingly, oh Attila!" replied Theodore, "do I accept the charge; and honouring thee, as I do from the depth of my heart, for all the noble deeds that I have seen, and loving thee for all the kind ones thou hast done to me and mine, I will labour with the zeal of true affection to do thy bidding well."
As he spoke, a red flush came over Attila's forehead; and a large vein that wandered through the broad skin of his uncovered temples swelled and wreathed like a snake caught under the fork of a husbandman. Theodore, however, marked not the unwonted emotion, and went on. "Nor do I doubt," he said, "success in my undertaking; for, in the same manner, do I love and honour Marcian for the same noble deeds and the same kindness unto me and mine. I hope, I trust, I think that he loves me too, and therefore do I judge that I, perchance--however young and inexperienced I may be--that I may succeed better than one older and a stranger. Give me but to-morrow for repose, and on the following day I am ready to set out."
"Thanks for thy willingness, my son," replied Attila, "and thanks also for thy love; but thy young limbs scarcely do need repose, and the time thou seekest cannot be afforded thee. By the first ray of light tomorrow morning this insolent ambassador must leave the camp, and thou must go with him on the way."
Theodore's countenance fell. "Alas!" he said, "I have told thee, oh king! that after many a painful year of absence I have found and brought with me my promised bride, one to whom my heart is tied by bonds of old affection, with whom my childish hours were spent, to whom the thoughts of youth have all been given--"Attila made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Thou hast thyself promised, oh king," added Theodore, quickly, "to witness and confirm our union."
"And so I will," answered Attila, sharply, "when thou returnest from the mission on which I send thee."
"Oh, let it be before," exclaimed Theodore, eagerly--"oh, let it be before. I ask but a day, a single day, and then all can go with me to our native land, my bride, my mother, my sister, and her promised husband, Ammian. Once more re-established in peace, in the bright country of our birth, all my hopes will be fulfilled, and--"
"And thou wilt never return to Attila," said the deep voice of the king.
"On my life, on my soul, on my hopes of happiness in this life and hereafter," exclaimed Theodore, vehemently, "I will return if I be in life, ere two months be over, and bring thee an account of my mission and its success."
"It cannot be," said Attila, sternly--"it must not, and it cannot be. Youth, I will not tempt thee by granting thy request. We are all subject to be led astray. Nature is strong within us, is stronger far than all good resolutions; and with thy bride, thy mother, and thy family beneath the shield of Marcian, in thy native land, thou wouldst have strong temptation to remain, and bitter agony of heart to leave them all and come back hither. I say not that the frail thread which bound thee to return would even then be broken; but I say that Attila will never willingly stretch it more than it is formed to bear. Thy mother and thy bride shall stay with me; not as a pledge for thy good faith, for even wert thou to prove faithless, Attila would never injure those beneath his protection; but as inducements to make thy return speedy and joyful. Thy bridal must not be till thou hast seen Marcian and return to me. Attila has said it, and his words are not revoked."
The angry blood rushed up into Theodore's cheek, and his eyes sparkled as few were accustomed to flash in the presence of that mighty and terrible monarch. "Then, oh king," he exclaimed, in a sharp voice, "then, oh king--"
But at that moment a hand was laid upon his arm, and Flavia, anticipating the refusal that was about to burst from his lips, stood by his side, saying, in a low voice, "Go, my son, go! obey the will of the king!" but her interposition seemed to come too late, for the dark thunder cloud of wrath had gathered heavy on the brow of Attila; and while the chieftains near gazed with painful apprehension on the unwonted signs of emotion which he had suffered to appear, he demanded, in a voice that rolled like distant thunder round the hall, "Darest thou dispute the commands of Attila?"
Theodore's eye quailed not, however, under that fierce glance; and, with his spirit all in arms, as it was at that moment, he might have replied with words that would have sealed his fate for ever: but without waiting to hear him speak, Ildica, trembling with apprehension for him she loved, but filled with energetic resolution by that very love itself, glided past him, and kneeling at the feet of Attila, raised her hands towards him in earnest supplication.
"Forgive him, oh mighty king!" she cried, "forgive him! He will go willingly; he will go, and do thy bidding truly and faithfully. I, I will be the hostage for his faith and his obedience. Forgive him, oh forgive him! and let not your great soul be moved by the momentary rashness of one who loves thee well, and will serve thee, as he has served, honestly, truly, bravely, zealously."
The cloud cleared away from the brow of Attila as he gazed upon that beautiful creature kneeling at his feet, and he replied at once, "He is forgiven; let him do our bidding, and return. We will protect thee and thy mother till he comes again, and none shall harm thee. Thou art rash, oh Theodore, and hasty in thy youth; but Attila is great enough to be able to forgive: and, to show thee that thou art quite forgiven, we will grant thee one favour. But yesterday we were told that yon youth, Ammian thou callest him, and the maiden, thy sister, were plighted to each other, and that for his and her sake it was that thou fleddest from Valentinian. Thou thyself must return to seek thy bride and her mother; but, if thou wilt, thy sister, ere the earth be three days older, shall give her hand to him, and follow thee with our presents to the court of Marcian."
Theodore turned with a melancholy smile to Ammian and Eudochia, who, in the anxiety of the moment, had advanced to his side. He saw happiness in the bright eyes of the one and in the blushing, downcast face of the other; and then, looking again towards Attila, he replied, "My bitter disappointment, oh king! shall neither make me selfish nor ungrateful. I receive your offer as a favour, and am thankful for it as such. Let their union take place, oh king, as speedily as may be, and let them join me in Thrace. It will take, at least, from my mind part of the load which bears it down, to see them in peace and security."
"Be it so, then," replied Attila--"be it so. They shall follow thee quickly. Thou knowest thy mission; thou knowest my will. Early to-morrow morning, with thine own attendants and those that I shall send unto thee, thou settest out for Constantinople. So fare thee well upon thy journey! All now may go--Attila seeks rest."
With a sad but calm brow Theodore led Ildica and Flavia from the great hall of the palace of Tridentum to a distant part of the same building, in which a lodging had been assigned to them. Eudochia and Ammian followed; but no one spoke for some time, till at length, when they re-entered the chamber from which they had been summoned to the presence of Attila, Ildica raised her eyes, and gazed sorrowfully in the face of her lover. Flavia, too, paused and looked upon them for a moment with a sad and heavy heart; and then, beckoning to Ammian and Eudochia, she departed, and left the two alone.
Ildica cast herself upon the bosom of Theodore, and they both wept bitterly. "Oh, my Theodore! oh, my beloved!" cried Ildica, as soon as tears would let her.
He pressed her to his heart in silence; but, ere he could find words to reply, the door of the chamber was thrown open by one of the household slaves of Flavia, crying, "One of the barbarian kings, noble Theodore, would speak with you instantly;" and, almost as he spoke, Ardaric entered the chamber. The King of the Gepidæ pointed to the door, and the slave, who gazed upon him with some wonder, instantly closed it and retired. Then advancing to Theodore, Ardaric took him in his powerful arms, and pressed him frankly to his bosom.
"Theodore, my brother," he said, speaking the language of the Huns, which Ildica did not understand--"Theodore, I love you well, and grieve for you. We have fought together, and been enemies; we have eaten bread together, and been friends. Our enmity has been wiped out, our friendship never can; and I think that Attila deals hardly with thee. But look to thy fair bride," he continued; "she looks pale and faint: let her go from us; I will not keep thee long; but yet I would fain speak with thee ere thou departest."
"Ildica, my beloved," said Theodore, in the Latin tongue, but speaking slowly, so that Ardaric might hear and comprehend what he said, "this is one of my best and noblest friends. While I am absent, thou mayst trust safely in him. He has something of importance to tell me, and I will seek thee again instantly!"
Ildica made no reply, but retired into the inner chamber to her mother.
"Thou hast spoken truly, my friend," continued Ardaric: "she may trust in me when you are gone! and she may have cause to trust. Attila has dealt hardly with thee, I know not why. I love not to inquire. Let me not wrong him by suspicions; but ever since that fatal battle in Gaul he has been an altered man. Had he been always thus, he would never have reached the height of power he has attained. He has grown more like his brother Bleda, jealous, hasty, intemperate--ay, and deceitful too. He may hide his future purposes from mine eyes, perchance; but Ardaric knows that he is changed, and is upon his guard."
"I see it too," cried Theodore--"I see it too; but even if this change bodes ill to me, what can I do to guard myself against it? What evil, think you, he meditates against me?"
"Nay, I cannot tell," said Ardaric: "I know not, nor will pretend to guess; and as to guarding against it, I can give but one advice--return as speedily as may be. Lose no time; fear not to kill your horses; and as you named two months to Attila himself, be not a single hour beyond that time, as you value happiness and peace."
"But why," exclaimed Theodore, "why think you that his wrath points more particularly to me?"
"I know not well how to answer," replied Ardaric. "When we see a dull gray vapour gathering over the western sky, we say there will be a tempest soon. When we see the light clouds making the mottled heaven look like a dappled steed, we augur it will rain. Light signs forbode heavy storms; and when I see many a changeful variation in the mood of a man once so firm and steadfast, I am apt to augur evil, and to guess where it may fall. Towards you, to whom he was once kind as the spring rain, Attila is now harsh and fierce, and I argue thence that, for some cause, you have lost that favour which shielded you hitherto. But there is another reason why I bid you be upon your guard. You once tarried long, I have heard, in the house of Bleda, the brother of the king, and must have often seen his daughter Neva."
"Often, very often," answered Theodore: "a sweet, devoted, beautiful girl, whose whole happiness seemed to rest in doing good to others. But I injured her not!"
"Thy fate seems of deep interest to her," replied Ardaric, with a passing smile, "for she sought me out this evening as we were encamping on the hills--"
"Is she here, then?" cried Theodore, in surprise.
"Yes, and thousands of others," answered Ardaric: "the camp is full of women. One would guess we were going to people some uncultivated land, for we bear almost all our women and children with us. But Neva is here; for, alas, poor girl, her home is now desolate. Her mother died some few weeks ago. But, as I have said, not only the men of the land, but the women of the land also, have come forth to war."
"Then I shall leave my Ildica," said Theodore, "with a lighter heart. Where there are women, she will find some to pity and console her."
"Many, I trust," answered Ardaric; "but let me tell you, for the time wears, that this fair girl, Bleda's daughter, for whose orphan state my heart has often ached, sought me out this evening, and, calling you 'her brother Theodore,' besought me to aid and to support you against your enemies. Her words were somewhat wild and rambling; but it was evident she had reasons to fear that evil threatened you."
"Upon the journey?" demanded Theodore.
"No, no!" rejoined Ardaric. "I cannot tell you my own suspicions: I must not repeat the words she spoke. We may be both mistaken; and, even were we right, our warning could be of no avail if you neglect to follow the advice I have given. Hasten to Marcian; lose not an hour upon the road; fulfil your mission quickly, and bring back a reply, or good or bad, without delay. Suffer yourself not to be entangled by any one in long discussions; but simply tell your message, receive your answer, and return within the space that you yourself have mentioned. In your absence I will protect, as far as may be, the precious pledges that you leave behind; my wife is in the camp; and though she speaks not their tongue, our hearts, oh Theodore! shall speak for us. Ardaric has some power, and it shall be used for your service. Now fare you well, for I must leave you;" and pressing Theodore once more in his arms, he turned and left the apartment.
The young Roman paused for a moment in deep thought; and then, with a heavy heart, sought those from whom he was to part so soon.