THE BITTER WRONG.
In the audience hall of the rustic palace of Attila, towards the
middle of the subsequent day, were assembled the chiefs of all the
different nations he commanded; and at once strange and brilliant was
the display of wild, but rich and picturesque attire which there
presented itself. The gold and silver of conquered nations, the
trinkets and precious stones of many a plundered palace, were mingled
with the shining steel and rich furs of the conquerors; and scarcely
could the luxurious courts of those famed Eastern monarchs, whose
effeminate splendour had become a by-word in the world, exceed in the
blaze of gems and gold the hall of the dark monarch of the Huns. But
in the midst of all, and distinguished from all by the perfect
simplicity of his garb, sat Attila himself, with his large hand
resting on the iron hilt of his broad heavy sword. Kings of a hundred
different nations stood around, gazing with awe and veneration upon
that dark plain man, and acknowledging in every look and gesture the
mighty influence of superior intellect. Beside these, on either hand,
were placed the many sons and the favourite friends of the monarch;
among the last appeared Onegisus, Edicon, and Theodore; and a number
of slaves and attendants, covered with barbarian ornaments, filled up
the rest of the wide space.
What had passed before needs not description; but at the moment we now
speak of a messenger from the weak Theodosius was brought into the
presence of the king, with the aspect of a trembling slave approaching
an offended master. Attila gazed upon him sternly as he came near; and
Theodore felt the indignant blood rush up into his cheeks as he beheld
the degradation of his country.
"Art thou of what thy nation calls of patrician rank?" demanded
Attila, when the ambassador, with his forehead almost bending to the
ground, had approached within two steps of the monarch.
"Alas, no," he answered; "lam but the humblest slave of Attila the
King."
"If thou art my slave, thou art happier than I believed thee to be,"
replied Attila; "for to be the slave of a slave is a humbler rank than
any that we know on this side of the Danube. Yet such thou art, if
thou art the servant of Theodosius. How dares he," continued the king,
fixing his keen black eyes fiercely upon him, "how dares he to send
any but the noblest in his land to treat with him who sets his foot
upon his neck? 'Tis well for thee that thou art but a servant, and
that therefore we pardon thee, otherwise hadst thou died the death for
daring to present thyself before me. But now get thee gone! Yet stay!
Edicon, we will that thou shouldst accompany him back to the vicious
city of Theodosius, the womanly king of an effeminate nation. Thou
shalt go into his presence and say unto him, 'How is it that thou hast
been so insolent as to send any of blood less noble than thine own,
even to lick the dust beneath the feet of Attila? As thou hast so
done, thou shalt be exiled again by the same hand that has smitten
thee; for Attila the King, thy master and mine, bids thee prepare a
place for him.' Thus shalt thou speak--in these words and no others?"
"Oh king! I will obey thee to a word," replied Edicon. "When wilt thou
that I set out?"
"Ere the earth be three days older," answered Attila: "take that Roman
slave from my presence; to see him offends mine eye. Now, what tidings
from my brother Bleda?" he continued, turning to a warrior who stood
near, dressed in glittering apparel.
"He greets thee well, oh king! and bids me tell thee that, after
resting in his own dwelling for a space, he will lead his warriors
towards the banks of the Aluta, if thou dost not need his services
against thine enemies."
Attila turned his eyes towards Ardaric, who cast his down, and
smoothed back the beard from his upper lip.
"Fortune attend him," said the monarch; "and thou mayst tell him, my
friend, that as he will be in the neighbourhood of the revolted
Get[ae], he had better, if his time permit, reduce them to a wise and
bloodless submission, otherwise Attila must march against them
himself, and this hand strikes but once. Bid good fortune attend him,
and wisdom guide him in all his actions!"
Attila placed a peculiar emphasis on his words, but his countenance
underwent no variation. Such, however, was not the case with the
chiefs who stood around, on the brows of many of whom Theodore had
remarked a cloud gather at the announcement of Bleda's purposes; and
they now heard the reply of their great leader with a grim but not
insignificant smile. The young Roman could not, it is true, divine the
secret causes of all that he saw; but the conversation of Ardaric on
the preceding evening led him to believe that Bleda was hurrying on
his hopeless schemes of ambition, and that he would soon be plunged
into open contention with his far more powerful brother. With all the
feelings of a Roman yet strong within him, Theodore could hardly
regret the prospect of a struggle which might divide and occupy the
enemies of his native country; but still he felt a degree of sorrowful
regret that all the high and noble qualities of the barbarian king
should not have been enough to win the love or overawe the ambition of
his inferior brother.
When the messenger of Bleda had departed, Theodore himself was called
before the king. The object of Attila was but to give him permission
to begin his journey on the following morning; but as this was the
first time that the young Roman, whose undaunted bearing had busied
the tongue of rumour in the camp, had appeared before the monarch in
the presence of the Hunnish chiefs, many an eye was turned to watch
his demeanour, some of the leaders looking upon him with jealousy, as
having suddenly started into a place in Attila's favour, some gazing
with ready admiration upon one who had so early obtained that renown
which is dear to every noble heart.
Whatever might be the feelings with which Theodore approached the
powerful chief on whom his fate so entirely depended, he would not for
an empire have shown before the eyes of the barbarians the slightest
sign of fear or awe. Grave and respectful his demeanour certainly was;
but when he had advanced before the seat of Attila, and bowed his head
as a token of reverence due to his power and station, he raised his
eyes full to the dusky countenance of him who spoke, and endured the
gaze of those eyes before which so many mighty quailed, without
withdrawing his own. When the monarch had concluded his commands,
Theodore again bowed his head and withdrew; and though, as he passed,
he heard Ellac, the eldest son of Attila, who had by this time
returned, say something concerning "_the crafty Roman_," he suffered
not the insulting word to disturb the joy which his approaching
journey already bestowed.
Hope, like a kind parent, reaches up the cliff and gathers for us the
flowers long ere our own slow childish efforts can attain them; and
Theodore was already revelling in joys which were yet afar in that
vague uncertain future. He spent the day in happiness; and after a
night given up to waking dreams, far brighter than even the fair
magician, Fancy, could have called up in the phantasmagoria of sleep,
he rose with the first gray streak of dawn, and set out to realize the
visions.
It was a dull and heavy morning, with the white veil of clouds rolled
round the summits of the distant mountains, and flying showers passing
frequently over the plains; but as the young Roman proceeded at the
head of near two hundred of the Alan horsemen, whom Attila, on the
pretence of sending them to their own homes, had given him in fact as
a guard, his heart was too light and joyful to feel or know that the
brow of nature was overcast. His eye might roll over the mountains
plunged in mists; or over the forests, where the pattering rain was
seen falling amid the autumnal leaves; or over the plain and along the
meadows, where a hazy whiteness rested a few feet above the general
level: but the mind's eye was in other lands and on other scenes; and,
for the time, even his corporeal faculties seemed to correspond with
the mental vision alone. It is scarcely too much to say that he knew
not the morning was not fine.
Following on the banks of the Tibiscus for a long way, Theodore and
his companions sought in vain for fords; for the heavy rain which had
fallen during the preceding night had swelled the river which rushed
on in haste, a brown, discoloured mass of hurried waters, towards the
Danube. Night fell ere they had succeeded, and the early moon burst
out and swept the clouds away. Choosing some sandy soil for their
night's encampment, Theodore and his own immediate attendants sat
round one fire, while the Alans, following the practice of the Huns,
lighted several others; and, though the young Roman was again long ere
he slept, yet at length pleasant dreams blessed his eyes, and daylight
was already pouring on the world when he awoke. It was the bustle of
preparation which aroused him, and he found all nearly ready to
depart.
Looking round as he was about to spring upon his horse, he missed a
face that was seldom absent from his side. "Where is Cremera!" he
demanded of those who stood near.
"He went at daybreak," they replied, "to see if he could find a ford
farther down the river. He said that he would not be long, but he has
not yet returned."
"Then we must trace down the river till we find him," replied
Theodore; and, mounting his horse, he led the way slowly along the
banks of the Tibiscus. An hour went by, and then another, but Cremera
did not appear. The woods which swept over the neighbouring country,
and which every here and there approached within a few hundred yards
of the river, though not thick, afforded quite sufficient covering
to have concealed the Arab, if he had taken his way back to the
sleeping-place by some of the forest paths; and such, Theodore became
convinced, had been the case, as the third hour went by, and the
freedman had not rejoined them. Towards the end of that period,
however, they found a ford, and halted on the margin in expectation of
his coming; for his young master could not help feeling it
extraordinary, that one so quick and rapid in all his decisions as the
Arab was should not long before have discovered that the whole troop
had gone on, and overtaken them as they rode.
As more time passed and he appeared not, Theodore became uneasy, and
the memory of the faithful African's zeal, and affection, and services
came in full stream upon his heart. At length, bidding the Alani cross
the ford and wait for him at the other side, he turned back with his
little troop of Huns, and rode swiftly along, spreading out his men
through the woods on the right, and, as was customary among them,
keeping up his communication with them by cries of various
conventional import.
Thus they had proceeded for more than an hour and a half, though they
rode much more quickly than before, and they had nearly reached the
spot whence they set forth in the morning, when Theodore heard one of
his followers in the wood give the peculiar shout which was understood
to express a desire for all the companions of him who uttered it to
halt. The next instant the man appeared at the verge of the wood,
beckoning eagerly to the young Roman.
Riding up with a sinking heart, Theodore eagerly asked what he had
found. The man made no other reply than, "Come hither! come hither!"
with an expression of countenance which did not serve to allay the
Roman's apprehensions. Ten steps brought him into a little gap in the
wood; and what was his horror to behold the gigantic form of the
faithful African stretched out between two trees, with one hand nailed
to each, so as to keep him in an erect position.[11] His head, fallen
forward on his chest, showed that life was quite extinct, and a number
of arrows left in the body spoke the cruel and painful death which he
must have died.
---------------
[Footnote 11: Crucifixion, which we have reason to believe one of the
most agonizing kinds of death, was one of the common punishments among
the Huns.]
---------------
With a heart full of grief and indignation, Theodore approached the
body with his companion; but while they gazed upon it, wondering who
could have committed so horrible a deed, another of the young Roman's
followers came up, galloping through the trees at full speed. Ere he
could speak distinctly, however, the cause of his quick approach
became evident. Other Hunnish horsemen appeared whose faces were
unknown to the young Roman; men on foot came gliding through the wood,
and Theodore, with his two followers, found themselves surrounded by
at least a hundred fierce-looking strangers, whose purpose was
scarcely doubtful.
They rushed in upon him suddenly and without speaking; and as he drew
his sword to take some vengeance at least before he died the same
death as the unhappy freedman, one of those on foot sprang upon his
horse's back behind, and embarrassed his arm by clinging closely to
him. He was then overpowered in a moment. His two Hunnish followers
made no resistance to the overwhelming force which surrounded them,
but only remonstrated loudly and rapidly, threatening the vengeance of
Attila. Their captors, however, answered only by a scoff: and Theodore
could hear the name of Bleda pronounced as authority sufficient for
the act they had committed.
At that name, the prospect of immediate death presented itself more
strongly than ever; and though he nerved his mind to bear with
unshrinking fortitude the same dreadful lot which had fallen to the
unfortunate Cremera, yet even then, in the dark moment of approaching
fate, the memory of those he loved--whom he might never see again, and
whom he left all alone and unprotected in the wide and perilous
world--came thrilling through his heart, inflicting, by anticipation,
the worst of all death's pangs. When once he found that he could not
resist effectually, he suffered his captors to do with him whatsoever
they pleased; but he found to his surprise that they did not take him
from his horse, contenting themselves with tying his hands and arms
tightly behind his back with thick thongs of leather; and it soon
became evident, that, if their intention still was to put him to
death, they would choose another hour.
Hitherto the young Roman had not spoken; but when at length they took
the bridle of his horse, and were about to lead him away, he turned
his eyes upon the body of Cremera, saying to one who seemed the leader
of the troop, "Will ye not give him burial at least?"
"No!" replied the Hun, fiercely. "No! Did he not dare to raise his
hand against our lord and king? No! There shall he stay, till from his
bones the vultures and the crows have picked away his flesh: the toad,
and the lizard, and the snail shall crawl over his feet, while the
carrion-eater comes down from the heavens, and takes its daily meal
upon his carcass. Such, too, shall be thy fate; but it is first
needful that Bleda the King should see thee, that he may devise how to
punish thee as thou meritest."
"I fear not death," replied Theodore, "and can bear pain; but of this
I am sure, I shall not die unavenged. Attila will avenge me even of
his brother."
"If he can," replied the Hun; "but perchance the day of Attila's power
is gone by."
Theodore replied not, but suffered them to lead him whithersoever they
pleased. At first they proceeded slowly, looking to the young Roman
from time to time; but seeing that he sat his horse as well as before,
although his hands were tied, they soon got into a quicker pace, which
increased to a gallop when they reached the open plains. After
crossing one of these, they again came to a large tract of wood; and
when they issued forth once more, the sun, in setting, was pouring a
flood of light upon the blue eastern mountains, towards which their
course seemed bent. Theodore thought the features of the scene were
familiar to his eye; and, as they rode on, he felt sure that a distant
wood which he saw stretching out into the plain was that on the verge
of which was situated the dwelling of Bleda. Night, however, came on
rapidly; and, ere they came near the wood, the whole world was
involved in darkness.
At length they began to pass among the houses, and Theodore became
convinced that he had not been mistaken. All was quiet as they rode
on, for the early Huns had betaken themselves to their dwellings; and
it was only as he passed along before the wide rambling building which
formed the dwelling of Bleda, that Theodore heard the sounds of mirth
and rude revelry proceeding from that apartment which he knew to be
the hall of the banquet. He was led along to the farther extremity of
the building, and thrust into a chamber which had evidently been
destined for a place of confinement. It, like the house, was all of
wood, but no windows, except a row of small apertures near the roof,
appeared to admit air or light; and across the outside of the door
through which the prisoner had entered was cast, as his captors
departed, a huge beam of wood, which would have defied the strength of
a Hercules to shake it from within.
Theodore was left alone; for the two Huns who had been captured with
him, and had been brought there at the same time, were placed in some
other chamber, perhaps from a fear that they might assist him in
escaping. All was darkness, for neither food nor lamp was given to the
prisoner; and, seating himself upon the rude bench which he found at
one side of the room, Theodore spent the succeeding hours in momentary
anticipation of death, and in thoughts and regrets which added fresh
gall to the cup of bitterness.
Few were the sounds which disturbed his painful reveries; for though
from time to time the roar of barbarian merriment echoed through the
long passages, and found its way even to the lonely chamber in which
he was immersed, yet it came faint and softened to his ear, and at
length, after rising to a louder pitch than before, suddenly ceased,
and all was still. Theodore listened to hear if those sounds would be
renewed; but deep silence seemed to reign over all the household, and
for two hours everything remained perfectly quiet.
At length a streak of light appeared above and below the door, and a
low murmuring sound reached the sharpened ear of the prisoner. "It is
a fit hour for death," he thought; and the next moment he heard the
heavy beam grate slowly and gently against the walls as it was removed
from across the door. The door itself was opened cautiously, and the
deformed head and shoulders of the negro jester, Zercon, were thrust
into the room. In one hand he held a lamp, and with the forefinger of
the other, raised to his lips, seemed to enjoin perfect silence.
He held up the lamp ere he entered fully, and looked round the room
with careful attention, as if he expected to see some other tenant
besides Theodore. Then, advancing rapidly, he whispered in Greek, "The
Lady Neva knows of your being here; I heard that you were taken while
I was in the hall, where her fierce father was drinking; and as I had
found out by her face, when he talked of waylaying you yesterday, how
it went with her young heart, I told her all directly, and she is
coming to save you: but she sent me first to see if any of the guards
remained with you, for the poor buffoon can venture, in his folly,
upon things that the clumsy wise man would spoil if he touched--Hush!
I hear her in the passage, or somebody else;" and he advanced and
looked out at the door, which he had closed behind him as he had
entered.
The next moment he made a sign with his hand--there was a light
footfall--the door was pushed farther open, and with an eager step the
beautiful daughter of Bleda entered the room, and stood before him she
loved. She was very pale, but that might proceed from apprehension;
and yet there was a devoted determination in those tender eyes which
told that death itself would have no terrors if it lay in the path to
save the young Roman. She also carried a lamp in one hand, but in the
other she bore a naked dagger. Ere she spoke a word, she set down the
lamp upon the ground, and cut with a rapid hand the thongs which bound
the prisoner's arms.
"I knew," she said at length, "I knew that the time would come when I
should save you. Oh, Theodore! how I have prayed for this hour! But I
must not waste it now it has arrived. Zercon! quick! see why that
tardy slave, Ahac, has not brought a horse. He would not betray me,
surely. But sooner than that he should deliver the Roman again to
death, drive thy dagger into his heart. I bid thee do it, and I will
abide what comes!"
The negro hastened to obey; and Neva gazed upon the countenance of him
whom she was risking so much to save with one of those looks of deep,
unutterable affection, which the very hopelessness of the passion from
which it sprung purified, dignified, sanctified even in its strong
intensity. The next moment, as Theodore was pouring forth his thanks
to an ear that seemed scarcely to hear them--so deeply was she
occupied with the emotions of her own bosom--the sound of a horse's
feet was heard, led gently forward; and a smile of triumphant pleasure
played upon Neva's lip.
In another instant, however, it changed, as she thought that horse was
to bear him away, perhaps for ever. The tears rose in her blue eyes,
ran shining through the black lashes that fringed them, and fell upon
her cheek; and for one moment she hid her face upon the young Roman's
bosom, and he pressed her gently, gratefully in his arms, whispering
words of comfort and of thanks. But, suddenly raising her head, she
turned it away, while her hand still lingered in his, saying, "Go! go!
Tarry not longer. I have saved you--that is enough--I am happy. To
know that I have saved you is enough happiness for me through life.
Go! go! every moment is precious!"
Theodore raised the hand he held to his lips, pressed upon it one kiss
of deep gratitude, dropped it, and left the chamber which had been his
prison. At the door stood Zercon, who led him quickly forth to a spot
where, among the grass, so that his feet might not be heard, stood a
horse, held by one of the slaves whom Theodore had seen when he was
there before.
"I could have wished it had been my own horse," he said, speaking to
Zercon.
"Your own horse will never bear any one more," replied the negro:
"they slew him within an hour after they had brought him hither."
Theodore could have wept; but, without reply, he sprang upon the
horse, and shook his hand towards the dwelling of Bleda.
"Follow yon star," continued Zercon, pointing to one near the pole,
"and ere morning thou shalt be among the mountains that overhang the
dwelling of Attila."
"I thank thee," replied Theodore, speaking to the negro--"I thank
thee, my friend: the time may come when I can show thee my gratitude."
Thus saying, he shook the bridle, and urged the horse on at full
speed, following exactly the course which had been pointed out to him.
Ere morning, he beheld the waters of the Mariscus stretching out
before him; but knowing that the horses of the Huns possessed, either
by natural instinct, or had acquired by constant habit, the power of
distinguishing what rivers and what places they could swim across, he
rode the beast rapidly to the bank, and then left the bridle upon his
neck, in order that he might take to the stream or not, as he pleased.
The horse, however, without any sign of disinclination, ran down the
bank and waded into the water. After pausing for a moment to drink, he
advanced still farther, and then, with a sudden plunge, began to swim,
though the stream was running somewhat rapidly. The deep water was of
no great extent, and the horse's hoofs soon struck the ground. The
bank was soon gained, and, apparently refreshed with the cool wave,
the swift horse bore the young Roman rapidly on his way.
The dawn was just breaking when he arrived at the foot of the hills,
and by the time he had reached the top the broad light of day was
shining over all the world. He saw, by one of the peaks to the south,
that he was several miles farther up in the chain than the spot where
he had before passed in the neighbourhood of the two hermits. Pausing
to breathe his horse, he looked over the plain behind him, and could
see, at the distance of several leagues, what appeared to be a strong
body of horsemen following rapidly on the very track he had taken.
There was no time to be lost; and, hurrying on, he reached the plains
at the foot of the hill, nor paused again till the flagging powers of
his horse obliged him to stop in order to give the animal food and
repose.
He could well afford to rest, however; for even if the horsemen he had
seen were really in pursuit of him, yet the distance at which they had
appeared from the foot of the mountains, and the difficulty of
climbing those mountains themselves, promised to afford him at least
four hours of open time. His horse fed, and then lay down to rest
among the long grass; and Theodore, in the latter respect at least,
followed its example; knowing how small an object might be discerned
from the tops of the mountains in that wide uncovered plain, and
trusting that, while hidden by the grass, his enemies, if they came
sooner than he expected, might miss his track, and perhaps turn back
disappointed. He kept his eye fixed, however, upon the ridge of the
hills; and well it was he did so, for, having taken, perhaps, an
easier path than he had done, his enemies did begin to appear upon the
summits in less than two hours after he had reached the base.
At first they could scarcely be distinguished from the rocks amid
which they came forth on the top of the hills; but soon the number of
moving objects which he beheld at one particular point showed the
young Roman that as yet they had followed but too successfully. For a
time the pursuers seemed to hesitate whether they should proceed any
farther, and he could see them lingering during several minutes,
hanging like a dark cloud upon the ridge of the mountain. At length
they began evidently to descend, and that moment. Theodore sprang upon
his feet, roused his horse, which seemed to have fallen asleep, and,
leaping into the saddle, galloped on towards a wood that lay at the
distance of three or four miles before him.
As he came near, he beheld several small huts gathered together; and,
approaching them, he resolved to see if he could procure a fresh horse
in exchange for the weary one which bore him. The name of Attila
obtained what no bribe could have gained. The head of the little
tribe, leading out his own horse, placed the rude bridle in Theodore's
hand; and, once more hurrying on his way, the young Roman, ere night
fell, saw the mountains and the woods that swept round the dwelling of
the king, and heard the rushing sound of the near Tibiscus.
It was night when he arrived at the widespread village; but all was
peaceful within, and no guard or sentinel impeded his way, even to the
porticoes of the monarch's lowly abode. As he alighted and approached
the inner gates of the building, he was met by one of Attila's slaves,
whom he had seen more than once before, and who now told him that the
king had gone to rest.
"He feared that you were slain," continued the man; "for many of those
who went hence with you but a few days ago returned with speed this
day, and declared that you had been put to death. They are now at the
dwelling where you were lodged before, and will gladly see you living,
for they thought you dead."
The young Roman took his way to the house he had formerly inhabited;
and the unaffected joy displayed by the rude Huns who had been given
him as attendants, on seeing him again in life, compensated for some
bitter pangs. Attila's slaves brought him provisions and wine, but he
was too weary to enjoy food, and, after a short and slight repast, he
cast himself down to rest.
The image of his faithful Cremera, however, rose up before his eyes,
and for some time banished sleep. His noble horse, too, though less in
the scale of regret, was not without its share of painful
recollection. "The two last friends," he thought, "who accompanied me
from my native home to this barbarian land, have in one day been taken
from me, and I am alone--without one being near me who has any
memories in common with mine own." Fatigue at length prevailed, and he
slept. Early on the following morning he was roused by a summons to
the presence of the king, and at the gate of the palace he beheld a
numerous train of horsemen, waiting as if prepared for a journey.
Attila himself was seated beneath the porch, and beside him stood
Ardaric and another kingly leader, whom Theodore afterward learned to
be Valamir, king of the Ostrogoths, with several other chiefs of
inferior power. The brows of all were clouded, with the exception of
that of Attila, which wore the same stern, calm aspect that so seldom
left it.
"Thou hast been impeded on thy way, my son," said the monarch, slowly;
"one of thy faithful followers slain, and thou thyself carried away to
the dwelling of my unwise brother Bleda; so some who returned hither
reported to me yesterday. Did he set thee free, after having, as he
thought, sufficiently insulted his brother? Or didst thou escape?"
"I escaped, oh king! during the night," replied Theodore; but not
knowing what might be the conduct of Attila, he refrained from telling
how his escape had been accomplished, lest the share which Neva and
Zercon had had therein might reach the ears of Bleda. "I escaped
during the night, and have been keenly pursued, even across the
mountains."
Attila rolled his dark eyes round to the faces of all the different
leaders near, with a slight compression of the lips, which marked that
he was moved more than usual.
"And thy faithful Arab is dead, then; is it not so?" demanded the
king.
"Alas! so it is, oh king!" replied Theodore: "nailed by the two hands
to two separate trees, I found him pierced with arrows by the banks of
the river, some two hours' journey on this side of the first ford.
There any one may see him, for they have denied him even the shelter
of the grave."
Attila folded his arms upon his wide chest, and gazed for a moment
upon Theodore in silence. "Wouldst thou still pursue thy journey," he
asked at length, "after such misfortunes on the way?"
"If it may be pursued at all with life, I would fain pursue it,"
answered Theodore.
"It may be pursued with safety," said the monarch. "In thy case,
Attila's protection has been twice insulted--it shall not be so a
third time: None but a brother dared do what has been done; but even a
brother has gone too far. If thou wouldst go on thy way, join with thy
followers, in less than an hour, those warriors who stand around the
gate. They will conduct thee by the higher country to the land of thy
kindred; and I swear by mine own heart that those who stay you, going
or returning, were it even by a willow wand across thy path, I will
smite from the face of the earth, and lay their dwellings level with
the sand, and sell their wives and children unto slavery. Now make
ready quickly, and proceed!"
Theodore failed not to obey; and in as short a space of time as
possible he was once more upon horseback, and on his way towards the
west.