All was quiet amid the splendour of the pavilion of Attila. Not a sound was heard within its walls, though the light of day had made the long morning shadows short, and the squadrons of Huns had for some hours been moving in the plains below. Ellac and his forces had gone forth with the dawn of day to occupy the new ground appointed for the evening halt: and two or three hundred thousand men had followed some hours after. The heavier cavalry of the Gepidæ and Ostrogoths hung like dark clouds upon the sloping hills between which the river wandered; but while the Huns themselves continued to march on under their several leaders, according to the commands they had received upon the preceding evening, the forces of the two great auxiliary nations remained stationary, waiting the orders of their several kings.
Ardaric and Valamir, followed by a large train of their chief nobles, had ridden at an early hour to the pavilion of their great leader to felicitate Attila on his nuptials; and now they waited with Onegisus and Edicon, in an inner apartment of the pavilion, which served as an antechamber to that in which the mighty king reposed. They had remained there several hours; and while Ardaric spoke in a louder tone with Onegisus, Valamir conferred with Edicon apart. Doubt and anxiety, however, were now beginning to cloud the countenances of all; and some of the inferior attendants from time to time looked in, to see if the kings had yet been admitted to the presence of their chief.
"This is very strange!" said Ardaric, at length: "what may it mean?"
"It will soon be noon!" said Valamir; "and it is more than strange that he who through life has risen daily with the morning light should show himself thus tardy."
"It were well to wake him," said Onegisus.
"Ay, if he may be wakened," muttered Ardaric, drawing back the curtain which hung over an ornamented door of woodwork. "But what is here?"
Each started forward at his sudden exclamation, and beheld, welling from underneath the door, like water from the shelf of a rock, and dabbling the rushes with which the floor was strewed, a stream of dark gore, which had been concealed by the curtain. They gazed upon it, and then in one another's faces for a moment; and no one found a voice till Onegisus, turning suddenly as if to leave the chamber, exclaimed, "I will call the attendants! We must force the door!"
"On your life, Onegisus!" cried Ardaric, seizing him in his powerful grasp, and drawing his sword--"you stir not hence! We must deal with this deed alone. Valamir, you are with me. Edicon, I can trust in you; guard yonder doorway!"
"What would the noble Ardaric?" cried Onegisus: "why grasp you me so tight, oh king' I seek not to oppose your will; for if I judge by yon dark blood aright, there is none in all this camp greater than Ardaric. What would the mighty king with his servant?"
"I would nothing that is wrong, Onegisus!" replied Ardaric, freeing him from his grasp, as soon as he saw that Edicon had placed himself before the door which led to the outer halls; "I seek nothing that is wrong! I covet not the greatness that thou talkest of! I demand no pre-eminence! Valamir, my friend, are we not equal in all things? or, if there be a difference, thou art superior to me in calm considerate wisdom, and no way inferior to me either in power or right. What I seek, Onegisus, is this--only this! that we who are here present may investigate this deed alone, and take counsel together upon whatever exigency we may find before us. Thou art a man of wisdom and of courage, and true ever to thy word. Swear to me that thou wilt bear a part in whatsoever we determine in regard to the deed that is past; that thou wilt join in whatever report we make regarding the dark secrets of yon silent chamber; or we must find means to silence thy tongue, lest it sow dissension among the host, and give us over to the power of the enemy!"
"Willingly will I swear what you require, oh noble Ardaric!" replied Onegisus, "so far as regards the present deed; but if dissensions come--and I see that thy fears and mine look the same way--I will not pledge myself to take any given part. I will act freely as my judgment shall dictate when the time shall arrive. Rather than do otherwise, I would bid you plunge your swords into my bosom even now, and let me die before the doorway of my murdered master!"
"Onegisus," replied Ardaric, in a solemn and melancholy tone, "we know not yet what has befallen, but the oath that thou hast pledged is enough. None loved Attila better than Ardaric while Attila remained himself; but we all feel that Attila has been unjust! Now let us seek admittance here!" and he struck upon the door with his clinched hand, exclaiming, "Ho! does Attila sleep? What ho! within there! The sun stands high at noon!"
There was no answer! All was as silent as the grave!
There was an awful pause, while each looked anxiously in the face of the other. But then was heard a sound in the outer chambers, and voices in high dispute; the tone of a stranger, though speaking the Hunnish language well, demanding entrance; and the tongues of the attendants refusing him admittance. Then again were words spoken in the well-known voice of Theodore, the son of Paulinus, "Out of my way! By the God of battles, I will cleave thee to the jaws! Out of my way, I say! Be it on thine own head, then, fool! Thou strivest with a madman! Down!"
Then came a heavy fall.
"Give him admittance, give him admittance," cried Ardaric and Valamir in a breath: "oppose him not, Edicon! Poor youth, he will find himself already avenged;" but, as he spoke, the door burst open, and Theodore, with his naked sword all bloody in his hand, rushed in.
"Stand all without," cried Edicon, putting back those who were following to seize him. "Leave us to deal with him. The king has not yet come forth!" and closing the door upon them, he drew across it the massive wooden bar that hung beside it.
"Oh Ardaric, Ardaric!" cried Theodore, "hast thou betrayed me too?"
"No, on my life, dear youth," cried the King of the Gepidæ, catching him in his powerful arms--"we thought thee dead--thou earnest not at the time!"
"How could I come?" cried Theodore--"waylaid on every shore, tossed by the tempest, turned back, delayed--how could I come? But unhand me, Ardaric, I am mad with injury and revenge; and I will in to yonder false, faithless tyrant, and die for my revenge!"
"Theodore," said Ardaric, holding him still with his left hand, but pointing with the other to the stream of blood which flowed from beneath the door of Attila's chamber, "either the hand of some god, or her own, has avenged thee and thy poor Ildica already!"
Theodore gazed on it for a moment, and an awful glow of satisfaction rose in his countenance. Then darting forward from the grasp of Ardaric, he laid his hand upon the door and attempted to open it. It resisted, and, setting his powerful shoulder against it, he shook it with all his strength. Again he shook it to and fro! The fastenings within gave way, and it burst open with a loud and sudden crash. Theodore took a step forward, and then paused, while all the others rushed in.
The light streamed down from windows near the roof, and passing through the silken curtains, which both served for ornament and to exclude the air of night, poured softened into the chamber. It was an awful scene on which that calm, solemn light fell tranquilly.
There, on the floor, scarcely two paces from the door, clothed in the same splendid robes which for the first and last time in his life he had worn; with the jewelled circle on his brow, the blazing diamonds on his broad chest and in his sandals, lay the dark and fearful monarch of the Huns, the victor of a thousand fields, the mighty conqueror of unnumbered nations! Mighty no more! Awful still! but awful in death, and from a small spot on the silken vesture which covered that breast, wherein for so many years had lain the fate of empires and the destiny of a world, proceeded the dark stream of blood, thick and clotted, but not yet dried up, which had once throbbed in that lion heart, and now had left it cold and vacant. The ground around was flooded with the stream of gore; his vesture was soaked and dabbled in it; but it was clear that he had fallen at once, without an effort or a struggle; for there he lay, as calm as if in sleep, with even a smile of joyous triumph on his lip, as he had entered that fatal bridal chamber, which was to be unto him the hall of death.
It was an awful sight; but still more awful, still more terrible was the object on which the eye rested when it was raised from Attila. A few cubits beyond him, in a seat wherein she had evidently waited his coming, sat Ildica, the beautiful Dalmatian bride. On a table beside her stood a lamp, just dying out; on her knee rested her right hand, with her fair delicate fingers clasped tight round the hilt of a small dagger, from the point of which some drops of blood had fallen upon her snowy garments; her other hand grasped tight the arm of the chair. One of the shining tresses of her long dark hair had dropped from the pin that held it, and fallen upon her bosom; but in all else her dress was as she had appeared at the altar. Her cheek, her brow, her neck, were clear and pale as alabaster. The only crimson left was in her lips.
Some have written that she was weeping, but they lied! She wept not. Not a drop of moisture was in her eye, though its liquid light, pure and unquenched, beamed there as bright as ever. But those dark lustrous eyes, as if the whole world had vanished from her thoughts, as if for her the whole universe, except one dark and fearful object, was annihilated, were fixed immoveable on the corpse of that mighty king, whom no warrior had been found to conquer, but who had fallen in the hour of joy, intemperance, and in consummate injustice, by her own weak, delicate hand.
The blows of Ardaric upon the door, the sound of his voice, the crashing of the shivered fastenings, the tread of many feet in that awful chamber, had not roused her, even in the slightest degree, from that deep trance of overpowering thought. Her ear seemed deafened, her eye blind, her lips dumb, her whole form turned into stone, by the gorgon aspect of the just but terrible deed which her own hand and mighty resolution had achieved.
Well might she so remain; for the stern and resolute men who now stood before her, accustomed as they were to blood and slaughter in all the fiercest forms, prepared, too, as they were for the sight of death, were, nevertheless, overawed by that still, solemn, fearful scene, and stood for a space gazing silently, as if they, also, were petrified with the objects they beheld.
The first who raised his eyes from Attila was he to whom that dim chamber contained an object dearer far than any other thing on earth; and, gazing for a moment upon her, he exclaimed, "Oh, Ildica! oh beloved! thou hast been true to me, indeed!"
The counter-charm was spoken; the beloved tones were heard. Ildica raised her eyes, started from her seat, gazed wildly upon him, and, with a loud, piercing shriek, fell senseless at his feet.
Theodore threw his arm round her, caught her from the ground, and pressing her tight to his bosom, placed himself opposite to the chieftains who had entered with him. Then raising the drawn sword, which still remained in his hand, towards the sky, he exclaimed, "Almighty God, I thank thee even for this day! Ardaric, Valamir, Onegisus, Edicon, call in your warriors! call them in, and let them slay us together, for this deed which she has done, and in which I glory! Had her hand not done it, mine should have striven to do it. Call them in, and let them mingle our blood together. Thrilled with the same emotions through life, and faithful unto death, that blood may well flow forth at the same moment; and still will it keep apart from that of Attila! Call them in! call them in! or, if ye be generous, plunge your own swords in our bosoms! Lo, here I drop my weapon, and offer you my throat!"
"Onegisus," said Ardaric, "Attila has died in doing an injustice. What sayest thou?"
Onegisus paused, and looked down, while many emotions were evidently contending in his breast. At length he raised his eyes to Ardaric, and said, "It must not be known that Attila died by the hand of a woman?"
"Wisely bethought!" cried Ardaric. "The shame would travel through the whole world! Let it be given forth that Attila has slain himself. See, she has dropped the dagger. Let it be laid beside him."
"Not so," said Valamir; "that were a still greater shame! Let it be said that he died from the bursting of his mighty heart after the intemperance of last night's revel: and that we found him suffocated in his blood, and the bride--as all may see her carried forth--in a dead swoon from terror."
"But what shall be her fate'" demanded Onegisus; "what shall be her doom hereafter?"
"Onegisus," replied Ardaric, solemnly, "thou hast a wife whom thou lovest! thou hast a daughter dear unto thine heart! Look upon yon fair girl, and think she is thy child. Remember the terrible cause that she has had; remember that her mind, as all of us have seen, has wandered since the tale of this youth's death; remember all that thou wouldst remember were she thy child, and then say what shall be her doom!"
Onegisus turned away his head: and stretching forth his right hand, "Let her go free!" he said; "let her go free! But if it come to Ellac's ears, fearful will be the consequences."
"Fearful to those who fear him," replied Ardaric, his lip curling with scorn. "She shall go safe. Valamir, Edicon, what say ye?"
"Let her go safe," replied Edicon.
"She has done a great deed of sovereign justice," replied Valamir, more boldly. "Let him blame her who will. I give her mighty honour! Let her go safe!"
"All are agreed!" cried Ardaric. "Edicon, my friend, call up to the antechamber my train and that of Valamir, and let her be carried instantly hence; not to her own tent though, but to mine, under the care of my wife. I can trust thee, Edicon, from what passed between us yesterday--I can trust thee. Take this ring! Bid my squadrons come down hither with all speed!"
"And my brave Goths," added Valamir, "shall glide down and interpose between us and the Huns. Theodore, stay thou with us. Valamir and Ardaric pledge their hands to thee for thy safety and the safety of thy bride."
Theodore stood as one dumb; for life was a thing which had passed from his thoughts and his hopes, and he had only longed to die with her he loved Eagerly, however, did he grasp the hands of Ardaric and Valamir, and willingly did he intrust the fair inanimate form of that unhappy but heroic girl to the noble friends who had interposed to save them both. Borne upon a couch from that fatal chamber, he beheld her carried forth towards the tents of Ardaric; and in a few minutes after, the faithfulness of Edicon to his trust was displayed by the rapid movement of the Gepidæ down towards the pavilion. Dark and powerful, the squadrons swept around, while the Goths of Valamir marched on likewise, and cut off the spot where the corpse of the mighty king reposed from the great body of the Hunnish cavalry. Nor was their appearance too soon; for all, by this time, within the pavilion and without, was a scene of clamour and confusion, which might well have ended in bloodshed had not the two monarchs possessed power at hand to enforce obedience to their commands.
The decease of Attila was already known, and consternation was spreading among the ranks of the Huns. The report, too, was not wanting that he had met a violent death; but those only were admitted to view the body upon whom the chiefs who had first seen it could depend; and the word of Onegisus satisfied the great mass of the people. Messengers, however, were despatched to Ellac, and the other children of the dead monarch, with all speed, by the chiefs of the Huns who had remained behind; but Ardaric and Valamir took every precaution in order to meet in arms, should it be needful, either the natural thirst for vengeance of the young monarch, or the first outbursts of characteristic insolence which his newly-acquired power might call forth.
Instant preparations also were made for rendering back unto the bosom of the earth the clay of that mighty being who had so long proved its scourge; and the commands of the two great chieftains enjoined that all which barbarian splendour could effect should be done to give magnificence to the interment of Attila.
Ere nightfall the messengers reached the camp of Ellac; and, had they found him there, he might have returned in time to discover the manner of his father's death; but Ellac had gone forth with a large train to enjoy one of the favourite sports of the Huns, a torchlight hunting in the neighbouring forests; and he returned not to his tents till the dawn of the following day. Ere midday, however, he had reached the pavilion where all that remained of Attila reposed; but, by that time, the body was enclosed in a triple coffin, of iron, of silver, and of gold; and if he then entertained a suspicion, which he probably did, the aspect of the united Gepidæ and Goths taught him to restrain any expression that might bring on the struggle which all men saw must ultimately come, before he had rendered himself certain of the support of all the tribes of Huns, and prepared all the resources of his nation.
That support was doubtful; those resources were by him untried. Ellac stood beneath the crimson tent under which they had laid the body of Attila, and gazed upon the golden coffin of his mighty father; but no voice hailed him successor to his power!
A second, a third day had passed, and it was night; and, kneeling humbly before a small black cross, with tears continually streaming from her eyes, was that fair girl whose unhappy fate had led her from the sweet tranquillity of the domestic home--the home which love, and fancy, and hope had taught her to prize as the brightest lot on earth--to scenes of strife, and turbulence, and toil, to cares unceasing, and to acts which, purchased by the agony of her own spirit and the blasting of her own hopes, had changed the fate and wrought the deliverance of a world.
It was night; and she wept and prayed alone. An hour more, and she was to be borne, guarded in safety by a strong band of warriors, from a camp where, with the light of the ensuing morning, a ceremony was to be performed which might well end in general bloodshed: and she wept and prayed in silence; wept the blighting of her dearest wishes; wept her own fate and the fate of him she loved; prayed forgiveness for an act she had been taught to consider righteous, and holy, and sanctified, but for which her own heart smote her, even though by it she had won her own deliverance. She prayed forgiveness for that act, heroic, mighty, beneficial as it was; and while the whole Christian world raised up the thankful hands, and praised God for their deliverance, she besought his pardon for the deed that had achieved it.
Solemn and sad was the scene presented by that tent, as there, still exquisite in beauty, she knelt before the cross; and the solitary lamp, casting its full light upon her, showed those graceful lines and lovely features too truly expressive of utter despair. After a while, she strove to dry the fountain of her tears; those tears, bitter as they were, had been a relief to her overloaded heart. She thought she heard a sound, and rose from before the cross. It was but to be caught in the arms of him she loved.
He pressed her to his bosom; and for a moment she lay there, while joy ecstatic--joy worth years of suffering--thrilled through her heart, and took away all power to speak, to think, or to resolve.
The next instant, however, she started up, and struggled from his arms, exclaiming wildly, "Touch me not! Touch me not! Oh, Theodore, touch me not! I am unworthy that thou shouldst touch me."
Theodore paused and gazed upon her, and over his face their gathered the cloud of uncertainty and apprehension. A doubt, a suspicion, horrible, fiery, agonizing, maddening, rushed through his brain, and he exclaimed, "Oh, God! is it possible? Have I then lost my Ildica--my pure, my holy, my beloved!"
Written on his countenance, she saw the dreadful thought that crossed his mind; she heard it in the deep despair that shook his voice. "No, no!" she cried, lifting her eyes towards the sky; "no, no! As there is a God in heaven--as there is redemption for all sins--I am thine, thine only, thine faithfully, thine in every thought, in heart, mind, body! thine alone!"
"Then come to my arms!" cried Theodore; "come to my arms, and be my own for ever, brightest, dearest, most beautiful, and most beloved!"
"Oh, no, no, Theodore!" she answered, sadly; "oh, no, no! never can I be thine except in spirit and in love. This hand has lain in the hand of the barbarian. This hand has been died in the blood of his heart. This hand never, never can be given to thee in wedlock, pure, and noble, and virtuous as thou art."
"Nay, nay, Ildica," he said, twining his arms round her, and pressing her closer to his bosom--"nay nay; but hear me. Sit down here by your own Theodore, your brother, your lover, your promised husband."
She sobbed violently, and her tears deluged his bosom. "Listen to me, my Ildica," he continued, seating himself with her on the side of the couch, and still pressing her to his heart. "Is my happiness nothing to Ildica, that now, when fate at length unites us, her hand should sever the dear bond for ever?" Her only answers were sobs. "Hear me," he said--"hear me, Ildica. Thon hast done an act for which all nations bless thee. Nor wert thou to blame for any part therein. Thou hadst no other way to save thyself from a fate far more terrible. Thou thoughtest that I was dead! Flight was impossible, resistance vain!"
"Listen tome, Theodore," she said, raising her head and looking on his face more calmly, but still sadly and gloomily--"listen to me, and thou shalt see that I know, and have calculated, and pressed forth the honey from each excuse, for the act that I have committed. I will tell thee all--I can tell thee all--for my reason and my memory are now clear, and I can look back upon the past as upon a picture, wherein I can see my own image acting a part involuntarily in mighty and awful deeds. Listen to me, then, beloved; and while I lie here and repose, for the last time in life, upon that dear resting-place whereon I had hoped to cradle all my after years, I will tell thee all, all the dark thoughts and sad memories of the past. Thou hast heard how my mother died, and how a violent and a raging sickness deprived me for long of sense. Never after that, Theodore--never, after I awoke and found myself alone in all the world, thee absent, my mother gone, Ammian, Eudochia far away--Never do I think that my mind regained its tone. It was as a bow which the strong arm of misfortune had stretched too far; and though it sprang back in a degree, it never became straight and powerful as before. Then came all the horrid visions of the barbarian's love; but under all those trials I struggled, as my Theodore might have seen and approved. Amid them all there is not one memory that lies heavy at my heart. I bore up with fortitude: I resisted with courage: I pleaded, as I fancied, with success. But then at length, as hope, bright hope was rising up, and telling me that a week, a day, an hour might bring thee to me, suddenly, and without preparation, they told me that thou wert dead. They left me to believe that thou hadst been murdered by command of him who sought my love. Oh God! I can scarcely think of it even now," she continued, clasping her hand upon her forehead.
But, after a moment, she went on, with a deep sigh--"Well, there fell upon me a cloud; I walked amid those around me as one walking in a mist. I saw little, I knew little, of all that surrounded me. Brief snatches of what was said I understood. People came and disappeared like figures in a thick fog, and voices sounded in mine ear as of distant persons, that one sees not, heard talking in a dark night. But among those voices was one," and her voice rose, "which taught me a lesson of high daring, which showed me holy authority for a deed of blood, which called upon me night and day to deliver the earth from her scourge, the nations from their destroyer, the people of God from their oppressor and their enemy. Night and day that voice told me that I was the appointed, the chosen of the Lord, to do his will upon his adversary. It told me that for this I had been made hopeless and rendered desolate: for this I had been cast into the hands of the barbarians: for this had the infidel king been made to cast the eyes of passion upon me. Oh Theodore! that voice but strengthened ideas which I had already conceived; it but nerved my heart to deeds that I had already contemplated. I had promised my mother that, in the time of trial, I would act as one of my ancestors would have acted: I had promised my own heart that I would die sooner than suffer the love of any but thyself. There was, as thou hast said, no escape; there was no resistance. I was called to the sacrifice of the bridal by a command, not an invitation; and I went in the strength of madness and despair to slay the slayer of my father, my husband, and my people; to cut short deeds of blood by one as dark and terrible; and to prevent the accomplishment of that fearful vow which he had made, to lay the Eastern world in ashes, and to leave not a blade of grass or a living soul between the Danube and the Hellespont. Three fearful lots were laid before me, to choose which I would. They were--to abhor myself for ever as the slave of Attila's foul passions--to slay myself to escape him--or to slay him, and, though my certain death should follow, thus free the Christian world, and deliver the nations from the sword of the destroyer. I chose, oh Theodore, the bolder and the mightier deed: I chose that which I believed was justified in self-defence, which was beneficial to the human race, which I had been told was pleasing unto God. I chose it with an unshrinking heart, a keen eye, and a steady hand. But remember, oh remember, that I vowed no vow; that I promised no promise unto him; that I stood passive, while they muttered, and they sacrificed, and never, never gave the hand he took. Remember, that at that very altar where he sealed his own fate, when solemnly adjured to tell the truth, he swore to me that thou wert dead, and lost to me for ever. I had no choice, I had no hope, I had no safety! But when he fell and lay before me, the dark blood spouting from his stricken side, and the quivering heel smiting the ground in the agonies of death, the justification passed away; the terrible thing that I had done absorbed all thought, and feeling, and sensation. Then immediately you rushed in. No, it could not be immediately, though it seemed so unto me; but what passed I know not, till your voice called me for a moment to recollection; and joy, and horror, and despair cast me senseless again."
Theodore pressed her tenderly to his bosom. "And does not this show," he said--"does not all this show that thou shouldst be dearer than ever to my heart? Does not this show that thou, whose every feeling through life has been given to me, should, through my future days, be the object of all my love, and care, and tenderness? Yes, yes, my Ildica; my bosom shall be thy resting-place, my arms thy shield, my heart thy sanctuary, my ear the willing listener to every sorrow and to every care, my voice the soother of thy griefs, the consolation for all that is painful in memory. Theodore will devote his life unto thee; his every thought, his every hope, his every wish--"
"Forbear, forbear, Theodore," she cried; "for Ildica's life must be given up to God. From this day forth no hour shall fly--but those in which He sends his blessed sleep to allay the fiery memories of the past--without some prayer for pardon, without some petition for light in this world of darkness, without some act of penitence, of adoration, of thanksgiving. What I have told thee, Theodore, should make thee know that in this I can never change; that I have thought deeply over all that is past; and with restored reason and a clear intellect, there is but one place for me on earth--the calm and tranquil cell in some solitary sisterhood, where I may devote, as far as love for thee will let me, all my thoughts to God. Oh, Theodore, be contented! In those thoughts thou wilt share enough. Thou, thou alone art my object upon earth, round which still cling the garlands of sweet flowers that fond hope and young affection twined in the days gone by. Oh, Theodore! those flowers are all immortals: the dew of memory shall preserve them still, as bright as when first we wreathed them in the golden past. Their sweet odour shall still endure to perfume the very latest hours of life; and let us hope--ay, let us hope, that, with a garland in our hand, a garland of those same immortal flowers of love, we may meet ere long in heaven! Oh, Theodore! that life may have been terrible, painful, disastrous, but never can be useless, that makes us look forward with hope and joy to a better being and a nobler state." She gazed upward for a moment, then cast herself upon his bosom and wept.
He held her to his heart in silence, for there was a sacredness in her sorrow, an elevation in her purpose, which he dared not combat at that moment, though the hope of changing it was not extinct. Gladly, however, did he hear her, after a long pause given to the bursting forth of that deep emotion--gladly did he hear her revert to a less painful, a less agitating theme. "Eudochia," she said--"Eudochia and Ammian; tell me, Theodore, are they well and happy?"
"I left them so, beloved," he replied, "and trust they are so still; but that is long ago, for I have been delayed by every disaster that can befall the traveller on his way. Tempest and shipwreck, storm and enemies, the darkness of sixteen days upon the wide sea, a host of insidious foes lining the shore, obstacles which the might of man could not overcome, tortured, impeded, delayed me; and I am here with scarce ten of all my followers left alive, and with my own life a miracle even unto myself. When I left my sister and thy brother, however, they were well and happy; she full of smiles and hopes; and he, though graver--calmer I should say, than he was, yet, looking thoughtful happiness whenever he gazed on his own dear bride. They are both happy--most happy; and we may be so too. Yes, yes, my Ildica, brighter thoughts will come: I will see thee this night depart towards our own land with joy and thankfulness; and will follow thee with a more rapid pace ere two days be over. We have none but each other left, my Ildica, to cling to in the world; and our prayers, our thanksgiving, our adoration, will rise as gratefully to the heavenly throne, from two united hearts, thankful for mutual love and mutual happiness, as from two separate beings, torn asunder when they loved the most, and ending in solitary misery a life that has already known some sorrows."
She shook her head and murmured, "It cannot be!"
But Theodore would not believe aught but the voice of hope; and he pressed her closer to his heart. "Hark!" he said, after a moment; "there is the litter and the train of horsemen that accompany thee! Ardaric has fully provided for our safety till we reach the borders of our own land."
There was the sound of a step in the outer tent, and the curtain which divided it was raised. So often had misfortune stricken her, so continually had the wave of evil tidings been poured upon her ear, that, even at that slight sound, Ildica started, crept closer to the breast of her lover, and gazed forward with a frightened glance upon the moving curtain. The form that appeared, however, was not one to inspire fear; it was that of Neva, now pale as Ildica herself, but scarcely less lovely. She was covered with a mantle of furs, and a hood of fine sable was drawn partly over her head.
On seeing Theodore with Ildica, she paused and hesitated; and either the lamp, flickering with the wind of the moving curtain, cast for a moment a red light upon her countenance, or else the blood mounted up into her cheek, and then, rushing back again, left it as pale as before.
"Ildica, dear Ildica," she said, again advancing, "all is ready!"
Ildica's fortitude returned. It was only in anticipation she was timid. "And must I part with thee, too, dear Neva?" she said; "with thee, to whom all my consolation during the last sad month is owing? Must I part with thee, too--and for ever?"
"No, Ildica, no," answered Neva. "I go with thee, wherever thou goest. Whatever be thy fate, dear sister of my heart, sister in misfortune and disappointed hopes, with thee will I go, if it be to the uttermost parts of the earth. Thy lot I will share, thy sorrows I will sooth, till I see thee at length rewarded with happiness; and then, as a distant gazer upon a beautiful scene, I will look on from afar, and thank God for the brightness of the evening."
Ildica cast her arms around her and melted into tears; and then, suddenly raising her head, she gazed upon the lovely countenance of Bleda's daughter, and turned, as if with the inspiration of sudden hope, towards Theodore. "Oh, Theodore, Theodore!" she exclaimed; "thou mayst be happy yet."
He seemed to gather her meaning in a moment. "Hush!" he exclaimed, in a tone almost rendered stern by the very vehemence of his feelings. "Hush, hush, Ildica--by the sacred purity of thine own heart--hush!"
He cast his arms around her, and pressed her to his bosom; and then, knowing how valuable every moment of that night might be, he gently drew her onward towards the litter which stood without, surrounded by a large body of the barbarian horsemen. Ardaric was there, but he gazed on Theodore and Ildica in silence; and the young Roman, raising her in his arms, placed her himself in the double litter. He assisted Neva to follow and seat herself by Ildica's side. "Farewell, Neva!" he said; "gentle, excellent girl, farewell!--Theodore will ever love you as a brother. Ildica, my bride, my promised, my beloved, farewell! Ere two days be over, I will follow thee on thy way."
She suffered him to embrace her again as she lay on the litter, and she returned the embrace. But, as her cheek lay on his shoulders, she murmured, "Farewell, beloved of my youth! beloved shalt thou still be, even unto death; but hope no vain hopes, Theodore; Ildica is vowed unto prayer and unto repentance. Farewell for ever!"
The litter moved on; the dull sound of the horses' feet was heard upon the grass; the last horsemen filed away over the hills; the sounds of the departing force grew fainter and more faint; the noises of the several camps around rose louder on the ear; and Ardaric laid his hand upon Theodore's arm, saying, "They are gone! Let us to counsel, my friend."
It was a fair autumn day, and the mighty clouds which swept from time to time over the deep blue sky served not to lessen, but rather to increase the brightness of the face of nature. In the centre of the plain which lay between two wide sloping hills was erected a tent of crimson silk, the awnings of which, festooned on high, exposed to view, raised on a low platform, a coffin of burnished gold.[6]
The space around, for the distance of two bowshots on every side, was kept clear; but beyond the limits of that open ground, in one wide-spreading ring, extended the dusky line of barbarian warriors, whose hands had carried desolation into the heart of so many sunshiny and prosperous lands. Deep was the phalanx of those dark warriors, as, each mounted on his battle-steed, they sat in grim array around the body of their king. The whole plain was occupied by their multitude; and while the soldiers and chiefs themselves thus formed in regular order a living amphitheatre below, the women, the children, and the slaves swept up the hills around and gazed upon the awful spectacle.
After the first confusion incident to giving form and array to such a vast body of men had subsided, the sad and solemn occasion of their meeting, the important and terrible events that were likely to ensue, kept even the rude barbarians hushed around; and though the dull stamping of the horses, unconscious of the cause of halt, raised a murmuring sound, the human voice was not heard throughout that mighty host, or, at most, a low whisper rustled through the ranks.
At length two groups separated themselves from either side, and, advancing for a short space into the arena, dismounted from their horses, and approached the tent on foot. On the one side appeared Ellac, the son of the dead king, and three of his brethren, of whom Ernac, the youngest, was one; while Onegisus and Orestes, a favourite officer of Attila's, accompanied them towards the tent. On the other hand appeared Ardaric and Valamir, Theodore and Edicon, with two inferior chiefs of tributary nations.
All were unarmed, as had been before agreed; and with branches of oak in their hands, they one by one entered the tent, and laid the leafy offering on the bier of Attila. His children and the two Hunnish chieftains stood on the one side of the coffin, and the two kings with their companions on the other; and, after gazing for a time on the gold that covered the ashes of the mighty king, they raised their eyes to each other, and it was evident that but little love existed between those who were there face to face.
There came an uneasy pause; and then Ardaric, breaking silence, said, "Are we not here, oh Ellac! to celebrate the funeral of that mighty king who for so many years has led us on to battle and to victory? If so, let us plight our hands unto each other, that, for two days, all subjects of debate which may arise, either between me and thee, or between the nation of the Huns and the confederate nations which for so long have borne them company in war, shall be laid aside, and that we shall live together for those two days as friends and brethren united in common love and reverence for the mighty dead."
Ellac gazed at him with a fierceness that he could scarce subdue; and, after a violent struggle with himself, replied, "So shall it be, oh Ardaric! when thou hast satisfied me of one thing. Ere I clasp the hand of any man in amity, even if that amity be to last but for two days, I will know whether the hand offered to me be pure from my father's blood. Of late thou hast been heard to murmur at the will of the king--to condemn his actions--to say that he was changed--to declare the executions that his will ordained, unjust: ay, and, meddling even in his domestic life, to oppose, till his own wrath was excited, his taking to his bed a pitiful Dalmatian girl."
Theodore's hand grasped for the hilt of his sword; but, fortunately, the weapon was away.
"On the day of my father's death," continued Ellac, "comes back yonder Roman, the affianced husband of this slight womanly toy, wherewith Attila chose to solace his hours of idleness. Thou and some few others are together in the antechamber of the king when the viper he has nourished in his bosom returns. The king is found drowned in his blood. All this is strange, oh Ardaric!"
"Ellac," replied Ardaric, sternly and solemnly, "darest thou to accuse me of the murder of thy father, or of sharing in any way in his death? Ardaric was the friend of Attila, but the enemy of those faults which, alas! were growing but too thick upon him. But I tell thee, Ellac, that perchance the thought of slaying Attila might be more familiar to the heart of his own son than to the breast of Ardaric! Silence! and hear me," he continued, in a voice of thunder, seeing that Ellac was about to interrupt him--"silence! and hear me to an end; then answer! I know thine inmost thoughts, oh Ellac! But here I swear," and he laid his broad hand upon the coffin, "by the immortal gods, and by the blood of Attila! that neither I nor mine, nor one here present with me, is guilty of the death of the mighty king--contrived, or aided, or executed his murder. Now, oh Ellac, if thou art still unsatisfied, let this triple coffin be opened, and thou and I will separately place our hands upon the heart of Attila, calling on him to show who most conspired, longed for, thought of, planned the death of that great king. Then shall we see at whose touch his blood will soonest flow!"
Ellac turned away his head--"It is enough," he said; "thine oath will satisfy me!"
A bitter and indignant smile curled the lip of Valamir at his reply. "Since thou art satisfied, Ellac," he said, "pledge us thine hand that here, meeting in peace, at the funeral of thy father, we his friends, the companions of his toils, the sharers in his successes, may in peace also offer to his ashes the honours due to the mightiest monarch, the greatest conqueror, the most heroic warrior that earth has ever seen or shall see! Pledge us thy hand, that for this day and the next, peace, and amity, and good faith shall reign between the Huns and the nations we command, and let every question which may cause dispute or division be postponed till those days have passed."
Ellac hesitated: "Yonder is the grave," he said at length, pointing to a deep pit and a high mound of earth which had been cast up to form it. "Yonder is the grave. Thou knowest, Ardaric, that the blood of slaves and captives must be shed, as a sacrifice, on the spot where rest the bones of Attila. Thou wouldst not send the spirit of the mighty king upon its long journey through the realms of night with no attendant shades around it. I claim a sacrifice; and as the first who follows the great monarch to the pastures of the dead, I claim the bride that he had wedded on his night of death; I claim her he had made his own in the sight of heaven and earth, to follow him whithersoever the gods shall appoint him to go!"
"Out on thee, fiend!" cried Theodore; "out on thee, unjust and barbarous man! Lover of blood, faithless, false, and insolent; no bride of Attila's was she; no sacrifice shall she be to the demon of thy mighty father--to the manes of him who, had he been as pitiful and as contemptible as his son, would never--"
"Hush, hush!" cried Ardaric, laying his hand upon his arm--"hush, hush, Theodore! Provoke not quarrel now! Ellac, what thou demandest is impossible. Were she even here in the camp, my honour, and the glorious name of Attila himself, would demand that she whose hand had lain in his should be held sacred, so long as Ardaric had a sword to wield in her defence. But she is far hence. Long, long miles separate us from her; and ere thou or thine could reach her, she would be safe in her own land. If thou wilt swear peace, why well! but seek not to delay us longer with vain and idle pretexts!"
"Pretexts!" exclaimed Ellac, furiously; "proud leader, who art thou, to talk to me of pretexts? Who is king here on the Pannonian soil, that thou shouldst beard me thus?"
"Beard thee!" cried Ardaric, with a scornful laugh. "Who is king here! why, beardless boy, Ardaric is king as well as thou art! Thy father's friend, but not his servant; his ally, not his subject, serving him well and truly from love and admiration; but owing him nothing, no, not an ounce of gold! Speakest thou to me as if thou wert Attila? Poor worm! know thyself better; and if thou wouldst know who is king, three days hence I will give thee an answer--ay, such an answer as the world shall never forget--written with steel, in characters of blood. But let us now have peace! If thou wilt now swear to deal faithfully with us, say so at once. If not, lo, we mount our horses, and we draw our swords. But upon thee and thine be the shame and the disgrace of dishonouring thy father's ashes. We offer thee peace to perform the rites due to the ashes of the mighty king--take it or refuse it, now, and at a word."
Onegisus caught the arm of Ellac as he was about to reply, and whispered with him eagerly for several minutes. Ellac looked down sullenly on the ground for a moment, and then, raising his eyes, replied, "Peace! let it be peace for those two days! I swear to keep it inviolate by the ashes of my father, and by the eternal gods. But after that, oh Ardaric, will come the trial between thee and me. The hosts that have conquered under Attila shall not be divided under his son. Let our strength be tried, and if thou canst break the chain that I will put about thy neck, thou shalt drag Ellac after thee. Three days hence, at the third hour after sunrise, I will wait for thee in the plains beside the river Netad, where late I pitched my tents on the day of my father's death. There shalt thou find me, and if thou comest not to me I will seek thee, and I will bow thy proud head to the dust. As for yon paltry Roman, if he come with thee, he shall find the fate that he deserves. Perhaps he may not die--his blood is too like water to be worth the spilling. Shorn, mutilated, cropped, and his flesh marked with the burning steel, he shall stand among the slaves of Ellac, and wash the vessels from his master's table."
"Ellac," answered Theodore, calmly, "Ellac, I will come! and if the god of battles abandon me not now, I will give unto thee a better fate than that which thou wouldst grant to me. On the third day hence look thou well unto the dawning sun, for if I live thou never shalt see it rise again. For these two days, however, let us all swear peace!"
"We swear! we swear!" they cried, and laid their hands upon the bier of Attila.
* * * * * *
The dark squadrons began to move, a thousand horsemen at a time; and with a slow and solemn pace they approached the tent where lay the body of the mighty king, wheeling round it once, with still decreasing speed, as if reluctant to pass for the last time before him who had so often led them on to victory. Ever as they went, with downcast looks, they sung to a wild and melancholy air the song of the departed great.
When each squadron had performed its round, it took its place once more in the vast circle, and another succeeded and performed the same sad rite, till at length, when the sun's course had waned to less than an hour of light, the whole had completed the task. Then ten of the greatest chieftains lifted the golden coffin, and, placing it on their crossed spears, bore it towards the grave.
As they advanced, the circle of the Huns, rendered skilful in such an evolution by their practice in hunting, grew smaller and smaller, pressing into a narrower ring; and forth from among them were driven a crowd of pale and ghastly wretches, who knew the fatal hour of their immolation nigh, and yet, with vain and fruitless hopes, looked round for impossible escape. That iron ring was at length narrowed to less than a bowshot in diameter; and some hundred or more of the chief warriors pushing their horses forward, drove the trembling slaves on to the brink of the pit.
The golden coffin was slowly lowered down into the grave. Those who were behind pressed onward to behold. The swords of the nearest warriors leaped from their sheaths, waved above the heads of the victims, and a loud and fearful shriek rang up to the offended sky. Jewels, and gold, and precious stones were showered in from all hands among the blood and writhing bodies that half filled up that horrible tomb. Then piled they in the cold gray soil, till it rose in a mount high above the rest of the land. They covered it with the turf they had removed. Night fell, and all was done.
* * * * * *
An old man stood upon a hill and gazed, and though arrows fell at his feet, still he looked forth upon a widespread grassy plain, where two mighty hosts had been contending, from the third hour after the dawn of day till the fourth hour following noon. They had met, myriads upon myriads; but now thin and scanty was the field, and few and weary were the combatants; but still that old man gazed, and still his voice murmured forth, "Lord God Almighty, thou dealest righteously! The slayers of all men are slain by their own swords!"
At length, where flowed a rivulet on to the neighbouring river, those two dark armies seemed separated for a space, and rolled, like two thunder-clouds ready to meet, at a little distance from either bank: then, like lightning from those clouds, sprang forth two gallant men, borne on towards each other by their fiery chargers, as swiftly and unwearied as if throughout that day there had neither been fatigue nor strife. The one was habited as a Roman, and his steed, plunging in the stream, bore him to the other bank ere his adversary could reach it. They met; their swords waved in the air; the eyes of the beholders were dazzled; but, in a moment after, the barbarian was seen bending to his saddle-bow. A second deep stroke descended on his neck, and, falling headlong, he rolled, a corpse, upon the plain!
The Gepidæ poured across the stream: the Huns fled in disarray; slaughter and destruction hung upon their rear, and the mighty fabric of Attila's empire was at an end for ever.
* * * * * *
Nearly thirty years after, when the empire of the West was at an end, and the empire of the East revived for a time with a show of false prosperity, a powerful man, clothed in the splendid arms of a pretorian prefect, wandered up one of the low hills which border the Illyrian shore. He was led by a woman, on whose fair countenance remained the traces of splendid beauty; and whose deep blue eyes still retained an expression of deep, devoted tenderness, though that tenderness was now given to the highest object of human feelings. She was clothed in the habit of a recluse, such as was then common, and the way they took was towards the cemetery of a solitary nunnery. The guards of the prefect remained below, but he himself was admitted by a special favour; and, passing through the little wicket gate into the calm and silent spot where reposed the ashes of the holy and the pure, they came, after a few steps, to a grave covered with fresh turf.
"She lies there!" said Neva--and Theodore cast himself down upon the grave of Ildica, and wept!