The Damned

by Barry Sadler

  The decurion wrinkled his nose at the sour odor coming from the centurion. He didn't like it, but the man did outrank him. He answered stiffly, "we are the emissaries going to meet with the King of the Huns."

  Casca whistled again between his teeth. "If that don't beat all, sending a Christian pope to try and deal with Attila. This I've got to see." Casca pulled into a place near the rear of the escort, keeping to himself. He had the feeling that if Leo was going to meet with Attila, then Aetius wouldn't be far away.

  They traveled that day and part of the next until they came to the place agreed upon, in the Ambuleian district of the Veneti at the ford over the Mincius River.

  He was wrong; there were no other Romans there, but across the river were nearly ten thousand Hun warriors camped and waiting.

  At the approach of the Papal party, the Huns sent out one of their chieftains to wait on horseback in the center of the ford. The little faggot with the olive branch went to meet Harmatta. They were not by any stretch of the imagination a matched pair. At any rate, they had their talk and then went back to their own sides to speak to their principles.

  There was a rustle in the crowd of Huns on the opposite bank and three men rode out. Casca recognized two of them right off. One was Attila; the other looked like the one who rode beside the Hun chieftain at the walls of Orleans.

  Attila stood in the center of the ford on horseback. He wasn't going to give an inch. If the Pope wanted to talk to him, then he would have to come halfway.

  Ch'ing had been whispering in his ear, "Remember about knowing when to leave. If we can break off this engagement and keep what we have taken, then it will still be a victory. There is always next year and treaties are made to be broken. We can always find an excuse to cry foul on the part of the Romans."

  When the Pope came forward on his horse drawn litter, he was still seated on his throne, holding up staffs topped with jeweled globes mounted with crucifixes. Pope Leo crossed himself as the brothers swung their censers back and forth, keeping up their monotonous droning chants.

  Casca moved his horse closer to the Pope, who gave him a questioning look, but seeing that he wore the rank of centurion, he didn't say anything.

  Together, the horse drawn litter and he on horseback, they entered the ford. The two leaders, one of a religion that preached peace and love, forgiveness of the enemy and mercy, faced the man who lived by taking what he wanted over the bodies of those in his way.

  Attila was not displeased that the most powerful priest of Rome had been sent to parley with him. He hated Christians but knew the power Pope Leo would have over the politicians of the Senate. Whatever deal he could make with Leo would stick and he hoped to stick it to them properly.

  Casca stayed to the rear on the right side of the Papal wagon. He listened to them bicker back and forth. From the concessions Attila made, he knew the Huns were in trouble and it was probably as Aetius had predicted.

  The Huns were caught between the armies of Aetius and Marcian. They'd had their lines of communication severed and were short on food. From where he was, he could see that several of the Huns didn't look like they were feeling very well. He wondered if the plague had hit them, too.

  Pope Leo and Attila were reaching some agreements when they came to an impasse. Leo lost his temper, stood up in his wagon, and began to preach at Attila, promising him eternal damnation. Then he got on to the power of Jesus and the resurrection, how only God could give man eternal life. Unintentionally, he pointed at Casca with his staff when he said this and drew the eyes of both Attila and Ch'ing to him.

  They stared open mouthed, their faces pale with fear. They had recognized him as the dead man they had left lying on the streets of the plague village. There had been no doubt that the scar faced centurion had been absolutely and completely dead. Attila had put enough men into that state to recognize it.

  Leo kept on about immortal souls and life after death. Casca just grinned at the man from Chin and his master. Casca didn't know why, but he was making Attila and his advisor very nervous.

  Ch'ing tried to tell Attila that it was a mistake, that the man they were looking at wasn't the same one. But Attila knew better, and if the Pope could bring this man back to life, then who could tell what other magic he might bring down on him.

  At this point, they came to a rapid agreement. Attila would release his captives and leave Italy immediately, never to return. Pope Leo was delighted that he had made Attila see the light. He wanted to spend more time with the King of the Huns, but Attila wasn't about to hang around any longer than necessary. He made a polite farewell and returned to his camp.

  Within minutes, a stream of captives began to cross over the ford and the Huns were already pulling out, heading back north. Leo sent messengers to find Aetius and the commander of the forces sent by Marcian to tell them not to interfere with the passage of the Huns.

  Aetius was furious with the deal made by Leo, but he was helpless to do anything about it. He had to stand by and watch Attila take his men out of what should have been a death trap had he been given a few more weeks.

  Casca just wondered why the Hun and the man from Chin had been so startled at seeing him.

  The hordes of the Huns retreated. They swarmed back through the passes under the eyes of their enemies who were helpless to do anything against them. It was frustrating to watch their hated foes leave, taking with them their plunder. The watchers also knew that in the masses of warriors were hundreds of citizens, mostly women, who would never be given back. Hardened soldiers wept at their inability to do anything to free their women; but the Pope had spoken and to disobey his word was to invite excommunication and the loss of their immortal souls.

  In the lead was Attila, accompanied by his heir apparent, Arnak, and Ch'ing. The latter was anxious to put as much distance between them and Italy as possible, and for much the same reasons as Attila. The scar faced man who was dead, yet lived, was a sign that they must turn their faces elsewhere. Every day on the trail leading to the vast plains of the Hunnish domains, he continued to pound at Attila the need to turn east, away from Rome and her gods.

  Attila's temper grew shorter in direct proportion to the amount of wine and kvass he consumed. He did start to regain some of his confidence the farther they went into his lands. By the time they had reached the valley where he gave orders to pitch his tents, he was full of both renewed courage and alcohol. He managed to convince himself that the Romans had pulled some kind of trick on him that the man with the scar was not the dead man in the village. After all he had taken only a quick look at the corpse, and surely there must be hundreds if not thousands of men with scars on their faces and light eyes. No! It was not fear of the scar faced Roman or their ruling Pope that made him stop his attack; it was the plague, and when the plague ran its course he would move once more against Rome. He would have the city and nothing that Ch'ing, that spineless coward, said would divert him from what he desired.

  Ch'ing Li knew he was right, and if he was to save the Hum from themselves, he had to make Attila listen or all his work of the last years would be for nothing. He kept after Attila to change his mind at every meeting. Even when he knew that discretion would have been better, he kept on and on, like a gnat buzzing around a man's face, constantly annoying and irritating him, until finally Attila slapped his gnat down.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ch'ing Li was in a rage, his face pale, jaws clenched to hold back the pain. His torn silk robes were slashed nearly to ribbons and the edges were stuck in the cuts on his back. Never had he been treated in such a manner and by a savage! Once in his tent, he fell onto his couch, screaming at his slave to bring clean water and cloths to cleanse the wounds he had received for being honest with Attila. This was too much to endure. Who did that beast think he was to treat him this way? Had Attila forgotten that it was his brains that had led them to the brink of total victory and Attila's that had nearly destroyed them?

  His slave treated his injuries as
he fumed and plotted. Perhaps it was time there was a new master of the Huns, one who would be more pliable and willing to follow his advice to the letter. For the next three months he made a point of being very friendly to the sons of Attila. If there was to be a successor, it would have to be one of them. He waited until the propitious moment arrived.

  Attila spent most of his time in his cups drinking the sour, potent kvass with his chieftains. Ch'ing Li knew he was reverting back to the pure barbarian, seeking the company and council of others of like mind men who only knew how to kill, but would never understand the art of ruling.

  The moment he had been awaiting came when Attila, in a drunken stupor, had taken the whip to Arnak. In front of the chieftains, he beat his son until the blood ran in streams from his face. Attila mocked him for being a woman and not fit to have the title and rank he, his father, had given him.

  Arnak had offended his father by suggesting that perhaps it was time to draw back for a season or two and let the Romans alone. Give the Romans time to think they were safe so they would fall back into their normal custom of fighting among themselves and at the same time letting their armies deteriorate again. Once this happened, then they could go for the grand prize again.

  Attila snapped open his brown eyes, red filmed from drink and swollen nearly shut. His body began to tremble. He rose from his couch and beat Arnak, cursing him for being a coward, screaming that no one would stand between him and Rome, that he would have won if he had not listened to those who filled his thoughts with doubts. Well, there would be no more of that. Any who even spoke of letting the Romans off the hook would find their heads between their legs. Any one, and that included those of his own blood, for he had more than enough time to sire and raise new sons that would not disappoint him!

  Arnak had stood silent during his beating. He showed no sign that he even felt the blows of his father. He stood still until Attila finally dropped back to his couch, exhausted and drunk, to mumble about his new sons. He would sire new sons. Arnak turned his back on his father, but before he did, he took note of the faces there and which ones showed any sign of pleasure at his humiliation.

  The next week, Attila announced that he would take a new bride, one young enough to bear him new sons.

  Ch'ing Li was there. He saw the steel in Arnak's eye when Attila said he would sire new sons. And now Attila was taking a bride, some slut named Ildico, another cow for his herd. She was the daughter of some obscure chieftain of a nondescript tribe who wished an alliance with the house of Attila. A goat herder could have an alliance with Attila if he had a pretty enough daughter.

  He knew that Arnak was the one, for if his father disowned him, he would have nothing, and the lust for the throne of the Hun nation was one he had been brought up with. It was always known that he was the one who would inherit the power upon his father's death. Now that was threatened.

  Ch'ing Li sought him out. In the quiet of Arnak's tent, he spoke of the tragedy that was about to befall the prince. It was such an unfair thing to have happen to one that had always been loyal. When Ch'ing Li left Arnak, it was with an unspoken understanding that if Ch'ing could help him in this matter, so that the succession of Arnak would be secure, the prince would be grateful, very grateful.

  Ch'ing Li had been careful not to make any mention of what he had in mind, but there had been no need. Both of them understood what was meant by the disguised innuendos used in their conversation.

  Ildico was brought to Attila in a caravan escorted by his own guard; and without further delay, they were married according to the rites of the steppes. She knelt before her master under the stars and swore to him that she was untouched and pure. She licked salt from his palm, then placed his right foot on top of her head to signify his mastery over her and her unquestioning obedience to his will.

  Ch'ing Li even thought the girl had some merits. She was a very beautiful woman. One who would not be out of place in the collection of a King of Chin. Her eyes were almond shaped pools of deep brown. She wore the wealth of her tribe on her person. Coins of gold hung in ripples from her neck. In a band on her forehead were precious stones and gems. A belt of gold set with amber was cinched in over her hips wide, ripe hips that, as Attila had said, were fit for the bearing of sons.

  During the feast that followed the ceremony, Ch'ing Li mingled with the guests, making polite conversation about the beauty of his master's new bride, wishing Attila long life and health. The party soon deteriorated into one of their normal drunken brawls with the noble leaders of the Huns vomiting on themselves or dragging slave girls to their couches to copulate with to the cheers of their compatriots.

  Ch'ing Li observed them all with contempt and wondered how he had ever thought they were worth his efforts. But he had spent too many years with them now to throw all his work away. He made his way to Attila lying on his couch playing with Ildico's breasts. There he bowed low, kneeling before his master to offer him a gift from Chin. Attila was pleased when he unwrapped the small package. Inside was a ring of massive gold with a carved emerald the size of a thumbnail bearing the relief of a dragon cut with exquisite detail.

  Ch'ing Li told Attila, "Here, my Lord and Master, is a gift of luck, for the dragon is the emblem of good fortune and fertility. It would be an honor if you would wear my gift on this your wedding night that the power of the dragon may aid you in siring a new son."

  Attila put the ring on his finger, admiring the stone in its raised setting. He smiled at Ch'ing Li. "Thank you, scholar. This is a fine gift. I am pleased to see that you still have my interests at heart. I will wear your gift as a sign of my favor."

  Ch'ing had accomplished his mission. He bowed his way out of Attila's presence, pleased and contented that his task had been accomplished so easily.

  Arnak cornered him by the fires on which were roasting a full grown oxen. "When will you do the deed?"

  Ch'ing Li smiled smugly. "It is already done, young Lord. It is already done...."

  Attila left the crowd for his bed, dragging Ildico behind him. His chieftains and guests cried out for him to prove the mastery of his race, for her and him to ride well and long this night.

  In his tent, Attila stripped as Ildico lay nude before him on his couch covered with cloths of gold and silk. Attila admired the beauty of his new bride, the firmness of her breasts and the warm feel of her flesh. Looking down at her, he touched the dragon ring with his other hand, smoothing it over the stone. As his finger ran over the carving, he thought of the night before him. Even with his head swimming in alcohol fumes, he knew that he had a prize to take.

  The stone on its raised setting turned under his fingers as he played with it. He felt a sting on his finger and cursed. The ring obviously had a spot that needed to be buffed down. But right now he had more important things on his mind to consider than a scratch.

  He lowered himself onto the waiting body of Ildico...

  Ch'ing was in his tent when he heard the scream. He smiled and rolled over to go back to sleep. The ring had done its work. Ch'ing knew that in time Attila would play with the setting, and when he did, death would strike and he would be far from the scene of the crime.

  It was Harmatta and Amak who first entered the tent and found Attila lying on his back, mouth filled with blood. Harmatta quickly examined the corpse for any sign of a wound. There was none. Arnak looked down at the body of his father; gone was the power that had struck fear into all that met him. Now he was nothing but a piece of dead meat awaiting the worms.

  "Well," he demanded. "What killed him? Was it the slut?" He pointed at a terrified Ildico covering her naked body with a blue silk coverlet.

  Harmatta smelled the blood at Attila's gaping mouth; there was no odor. "No, she did nothing. His heart has burst." Harmatta had seen more than one death like this where an older man had died while in the saddle mounting a young filly.

  Arnak said nothing, though he knew that it was more than coincidence his father had died this night. He grabbed Ildi
co by the hair. Twisting her face back, he hissed at her, "Did he spill his seed into you?"

  She shook her head no. He had just thrown his head back, clutched his chest and fallen on her dead in the middle of the mating act.

  Arnak whispered in her ear. "That had better be true, slut. For now I am the master here. You will leave this place at first light and return to the pigsty from which you came. If you are not gone by then, I will bury you with my father to serve him in the afterlife." Arnak had already thought of the reward he would give to Ch'ing Li for this service. He grinned at the idea.

  For three days there was a period of mourning for Attila. His warriors slashed deep cuts in their faces and chests that the master should be mourned, not only with the wailing of women, but also with the blood of warriors. This mourning for his father was to be the greatest in the living memory of man.

  The body of Attila was placed in the center of a nearby plain in his silk tent for all to see. Around him were put the spoils of his wars. Gold and silver in amounts too great to count. Bolts of precious silk and cloths of gold. The wealth of nations filled the tent. His body had been prepared by Harmatta who had cleansed his master, then oiled the remains with a mixture of precious herbs and rare spices. In his hand on his chest, Attila held his sword. Around the tent in a circle, twenty thousand warriors rode for two days until they dropped from exhaustion.

  The shamans of the tribes gathered in groups to make sacrifices so that the spirits of the elements would protect their master and welcome him as another god. Animals by the hundreds were sacrificed. Their blood gathered and spilled on the dirt around his funeral tent.

  Once the mourning was over, his personal bodyguard, under the watchful eye of Arnak and a few of Attila's closest friends and advisors, escorted the remains away from the plain to a small valley, a day's ride away, where a crypt had been prepared to receive him. It was built of massive stones and contained all the wealth of Attila. His sarcophagus was threefold in construction. First a coffin of iron, then one of silver, and the last, in which the Master of the Huns would sleep, was made of gold.