THE DEATH OF THE MIGHTY.
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 Gepid[ae] 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 Gepid[ae],
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 Gepid[ae] 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 Gepid[ae] 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!