THE PARTING.
A silent pause of several minutes ensued, while the terrible monarch
of the Huns thus suffered to burst forth so clear an indication of his
hopes and purposes; and as he stood in the midst, still gazing up to
the sky, with each firm and powerful limb in statue-like repose, his
feet planted on the earth as if rooted to it, his broad chest thrown
open, and his wide square forehead lifted to the morning sun, there
was an air of might and majesty in his whole appearance which
impressed those who beheld him with a belief in his power to
accomplish fully that which he so boldly planned. Though far less in
height than the chief of Gepid[ae], yet Ardaric gazed upon him with
reverence and awe; and Theodore, as he beheld him, and traced the
light of potent intellect flashing from those dark eyes, while his lip
pronounced his vast designs, could not but feel that there stood the
most dangerous enemy that Rome had ever known.
At length Attila recalled his thoughts from those dreams of conquest,
and, waving his hand towards the spot where the standards of his
nation were gathered together, he exclaimed, in a voice which, though
not apparently loud, came deep and distinct to every ear around,
"Edicon! Edicon, come hither!"
A tall, dark man, with the shrewd face of a Greek, but the air and
expression of a barbarian, sprang from his horse and advanced a pace
or two into the open space around the king; but, as he came forward,
Attila bade him bring the principal captives with him; and, pale,
faint, and sick at heart, Flavia and her family, uncertain either of
their own fate or of his, so closely, so dearly linked with them,
approached the spot where the dark monarch stood with his naked sword
still clasped in his sinewy hand. As they came near, the joy of having
saved them burst all restraint; and Theodore, though the blood was
still dropping from his garments, clasped them one by one in a brief
but joyful embrace.
"You are safe, my mother!" he cried, "you are safe, my Ildica! Ammian,
Eudochia, you are safe! you are safe, and at liberty! The king will
send you securely to the land of the Alani."
"And you, my son, are a slave!" said Flavia. "You are a slave, and we
shall never see you more!"
"Not so!" said Attila, gazing upon the group, and somewhat moved by
their meeting. "He is no slave, but has bound himself to dwell with
Attila not less than seven years. Neither do I ask him to war against
his country, it would be doing wrong unto his nature; but I ask him to
be a faithful and true friend to him who has saved his life, in every
other thing. Edicon, thou art a scribe: write down this compact
between Attila the King and Theodore the son of Paulinus, in order
that no one may ever doubt that he did not betray his native land, or
that Attila could not be generous to his enemy."
He spoke in the Latin tongue; and though he used not that language
with ease, yet his meaning was distinct, and Flavia replied--"Act ever
thus, oh monarch! and thou shalt conquer more by thy generosity than
by the sword!" A hope might, perhaps, have crossed her mind, even
while she spoke, that in so free and kindly a mood the monarch of the
Huns might be induced to suffer her and her children to take up their
abode in the same land with Theodore; but she thought of Ildica, of
her young blossoming beauty, of her tender nurture, and her graceful
mind, and she repressed the wish ere it was spoken; all she added was,
"Oh, keep him not from us for ever!"
"I have pledged and plighted my word," replied the king, "that in
seven years he shall be free to leave me if he will. More: if he show
himself as faithful to me as he has been to his country, he shall,
from time to time, have leave and opportunity to visit those he loves.
But I have mightier things to think of now," he continued: "wait ye
here till I provide for your safety. Ardaric, come thou with me; I go
to tread upon the necks of the Romans." Thus saying, he sprang upon
his horse, and issued a few brief commands in the Hunnic tongue. The
dark masses of the barbarian horse began to move on by the river-side
as if towards Idimum; and while they swept along, like the shadow of a
cloud over a field of green corn, the monarch continued conversing
with his attendant Edicon, without further notice of the captives. At
length, when Theodore saw him about to depart, he ventured to ask,
"Go you to Margus, oh king?"
Attila looked upon him with a smile so slight that it scarcely curled
his lip, and replied, "Margus was mine ere I came hither! My people
are skilful in dressing wounds," he added; "let them tend thine, for
thou art bleeding still."
As he spoke, he raised his hand slightly on the bridle of his horse;
the beast sprang forward across the meadow, and, followed by a troop
of Huns who had remained upon the left, Attila galloped on in the same
direction which his host had taken before him.
Only two bodies of barbarians continued upon the field; one,
consisting of perhaps a hundred men, remained with Edicon, near the
spot where Theodore and his companions stood; the other, fewer in
number, were gathered farther down in the meadow, near which the
struggle between Theodore and the Huns for the deliverance of the
captives had first commenced. A glance showed the young Roman that
they were in the act of removing or burying the dead; but objects of
deeper interest called his attention elsewhere, for Flavia, Eudochia,
Ammian, Ildica, gathered round him, gazing in his face, pale as it was
with loss of blood, and looking upon him with the thankful eyes of
beings whom he had delivered from bondage worse than death. How he had
delivered them, by what means, or by what motives in the breast of the
Hun that deliverance had been accomplished, was strange and
incomprehensible to them all, even to Theodore himself; but that it
was by his agency, on account of his valour, constancy, and
faithfulness, none of them for a moment doubted; and as Ildica raised
her large dark eyes to his face, they were full at once of love, of
admiration, and of gratitude.
Oh, who can tell the mingled feelings of that hour, when sitting round
him they loved--while one of the rude Huns, with the peculiar
appliances of his nation, stanched the trickling blood and dressed his
many wounds--those who had lately given way to despair, now spoke to
each other the few glad words of reviving hope! Oh, who can tell the
deep and fervid yearnings of the heart towards God in thankfulness for
the mighty mercy just vouchsafed! Oh, who can tell the thrilling, the
ecstatic sense of security, of peace, and of happy expectation which
succeeded, after having been plunged in such a depth of grief, of
care, and agony!
What though their thoughts might wander on into the vague future, and
sad experience might cause a fear to cast its shadow over the
prospect! What though Flavia's heart might feel a chilliness at the
idea of strange lands, strange habits, and strange nations! What
though Ildica and Theodore might look upon a probable separation of
seven long years with grief and regret; yet oh, how such pitiful alloy
sunk into nothing when mingled with the golden happiness of knowing
that safety, liberty, and peace had been obtained after so fearful a
struggle! Could Theodore gaze upon the lovely and beloved form of the
sweet Dalmatian girl, and know how dreadful a fate might have befallen
her, without feeling that life itself would have been a poor sacrifice
to save her from such a doom? Could Ildica behold her lover, and
recall the moments when last she saw him surrounded by fierce foes,
and determined to die, that he might give her a chance of liberty,
without feeling that a seven years' absence was but a cheap price for
the life and safety of so noble, so devoted a being?
To part--to part, perhaps, for seven long, solitary years--would, in
happier days, have seemed a fate too bitter for endurance; but now,
the dark and fearful images from which that lot stood forth made it
look bright and smiling. The hour of horror and danger had passed by;
despair had given way: and though fear still lived, yet hope, hope was
the victor for the time.
Their words were few but sweet, and they were uninterrupted; for the
Huns, after the youth's wounds were dressed, pointed out to them some
shady trees as a place to repose, and left them unrestrained, and
almost unwatched. The barbarians knew well that the whole land around
was in their king's possession, and feared not that any one could
escape. The words of the captives, I have said, were few, but still
those words were not unimportant, for they went to regulate the future
fate of all. Each promised, when occasion served, to give tidings of
their health and prospects, hopes and wishes, to a mutual relation in
Rome, the noble Julius Lentulus, and each unloaded the mind to the
other of every feeling which, in a moment such as that, the heart
could experience, of every thought which the memory could recall.
As they thus sat and conversed, the slaves and attendants who had been
captured with them crept gradually nearer and nearer, not yet
comprehending fully the situation in which they were placed; feeling
themselves to be prisoners, and yet marvelling that their limbs
remained untied, after such a bold effort to escape, when they had
been bound with leathern thongs before. Nearly one half, however, of
the freedmen were absent; and painful sensations passed through the
hearts of Theodore and Flavia when they looked around, and missed some
old familiar face; but neither spoke their feelings on this point to
the other. As the sun passed the meridian, however, two or three Huns
from time to time came riding down the road, driving before them, with
their short spears, several of the absent attendants; and while the
day went on, a considerable part of the baggage, whereof Flavia's
company had been pillaged on their first capture, was brought back
without a word of explanation, and piled up round the trees underneath
which she sat. Strange is it and unaccountable how the heart of man,
which despises many a mighty warning, draws auguries for its hopes and
fears from the pettiest occurrences that befall us in our course
through life. When Flavia, and Ildica, and Theodore saw the litters,
and chairs, and chariots, and bales of goods restored, and laid down
in silence, a well-pleased smile beamed upon the face of each; not
that either thought at that moment of comfort or convenience, or of
all the little luxuries which the glass of civilization magnifies into
necessaries; but that each one thence drew a renewed assurance that
the barbarian monarch, into whose hands they had fallen, however
fierce and bloodthirsty he might have shown himself to others, at all
events meant well and kindly towards them.
Towards the third hour after noon, food rudely cooked, and a beverage
peculiar to the people of Dacia, were set before them; and Edicon,
sitting down to meat with them, pressed them to their meal, using the
Latin tongue as purely as if it had been his own. He spoke of the
empire of the Huns, of their might, their conquests, and their
innumerable hordes; he spoke even of Bleda, the brother of the king,
and monarch of one part of the nation: but the name of Attila he
pronounced not; and, when it was mentioned by Theodore, he turned
quickly to some other theme.
The sun had lost much of its heat by the time the meal was concluded;
and, shortly after, a Hunnish horseman came down the road with fiery
speed, and addressed a few quick words to Edicon.
That chief instantly turned and addressed Flavia. "Tricornium and
Singidunum have fallen," he said, "and the way is clear before you. It
is the will of the king that you commence your journey."
Flavia gazed upon Theodore, and Theodore upon those he loved; and the
bright drops clustered in the dark eyes of Ildica like dew in the
half-closed leaves of the morning. Eudochia, too, hung upon her
brother's neck, and Ammian grasped his hand; but still the son of
Flavia, with wilder and less regulated feelings than the rest, could
not yet understand or appreciate the grief of Theodore at that moment
of parting. "Would I were you, Theodore!" he exclaimed. "Gladly would
I see the country and manners of these wild Huns; and oh, if I had a
father's murder to avenge as you have, I would march on with that
brave and mighty Attila, and smite the tyrant, Theodosius, on his
throne."
"Could it be without the ruin of my country," replied Theodore; "but,
alas, Ammian, that cannot be. Weep not, dear Ildica! Sorrow not, my
mother, that for a time you must leave me here. Let us remember our
condition a few hours ago, and be thankful to God that it is as it is
even now. Far safer, too, are you under the guidance and protection of
these powerful barbarians, than if, unaided and unguarded, we had
attempted to penetrate into Noricum: far safer am I left here, with
those who have spared me even when my sword was drawn against them,
than if I were attempting to guide you through strange lands that I
know not, and barbarian people who hate us for our very civilization.
I trust implicitly to the word of Attila. He has promised us his
favour and protection, and I fear not."
"Thou judgest rightly, Roman," joined in Edicon, who still stood by.
"The word of Attila, whether for good or bad, has never yet been
broken. His sentence is irreversible; his mind unchangeable. Fear
nothing for the safety of your friends. Two hundred of our bravest
warriors guard them to Singidunum, whence a tribe of the Heruli, with
a messenger from the king, convey them onward to their destination.
They are safe wherever they go, for Attila has promised them
protection; and is not Attila lord of the earth?"
Still Ildica clung to him; still Flavia gazed upon him with wistful
affection; and the heart of Theodore, while they prepared once more
for their journey, swelled with feelings too painful for utterance.
Weakened with loss of blood, wearied with terrible exertion, and
forced to part for long, dim, uncertain years from those whom alone he
loved on earth, his manly fortitude wavered; but the presence of the
Huns and the pride of a Roman sustained him. He could not bear that
barbarians should see him weep; and though he held them one by one to
his bosom in the warm embrace of passionate affection--though he spoke
to the very slaves and freedmen with the tenderness of old and fond
regard--though he looked upon each familiar face and long-remembered
feature with the clinging earnestness of love--yet he mastered the
emotions of his bosom, and saw them prepared to go without a tear
moistening his eye. One last kiss, one long, dear embrace, and
Theodore turned away. Then came the sound of many feet, the neighing
of horses, the cries of barbarian voices in the tone of command, the
rustling and the rush of a moving crowd. Gradually the noise became
less, the tongues sounded more faintly, the tramp of feet subsided
into a lower and a lower murmur, and Theodore, looking round, found
himself left alone, amid a small party of the Huns, with a feeling of
deep desolation at his heart, such as he had never known before.