by Jeff Guinn
“You could be spies for the Romans,” he said. “You look too fat to be a priest,” he added, pointing at me. Layla giggled. “We’ll take you to the leader and let him decide what to do with you.”
The Hun camp was close by. We hadn’t noticed it because Attila had ordered his men not to light many fires, thinking the smoke might give their presence away to the enemies. Our captors marched us up to the largest tent in the camp; it was made from stitched-together animal skins. When the leader came out, I knew he must be Attila. Though he was very short, his eyes were ice blue, and when he spoke it was obvious he was used to being obeyed.
“You say you’re Christians on the way to Britain?” he asked harshly. “I don’t believe it. The Romans sent you to spy on me.”
“I don’t think there are any Romans within a hundred miles,” I said truthfully. “If there are, we haven’t seen them, although you shouldn’t take our word for it since we didn’t see your army either. Look at how easily your men captured us. Could they have done this if we were really spies?”
Attila stuck a dirty finger in his mouth and began to pick his teeth with a long, cracked fingernail. Flies buzzed around him. I’m sorry to say he had a rather foul body odor.
Attila
“Well,” he finally said, “I guess I have to either kill you or let you go. We’ve been marching fast and don’t have any food to spare, so we can’t keep you as prisoners.”
“You really don’t want to kill us,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “We’ve done you no harm, and besides, aren’t you tired of killing? Don’t you often look at your sword and wish you never had to use it again?” I didn’t know why I said this. The words just came hurrying out of my mouth.
Felix groaned, thinking I’d just said too much, and even Layla looked pale. Attila thought about killing us. I know I saw his fingers twitch near the hilt of his sword. But that tense moment passed. He looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Come into my tent. I guess I can feed one of you. The other two will stay out here. I won’t waste guards on them. If they try to run, they’ll regret it.”
“Oh, we’ll stay right here,” Felix promised. Layla looked both relieved we hadn’t been killed and angry that I was the only one invited into Attila’s tent. She and Felix really didn’t miss anything. It was dark in there, and smoke from the small fire hung in stinging clouds around our heads even after we seated ourselves on mats.
“How did you know I was tired of the killing?” Attila asked.
“Who wouldn’t be tired of it?” I replied. “Hating wears a person down to nothing. Kindness is what brings true pleasure in life.”
Attila leaned forward. “Tell me more,” he begged, and I did. My whole story flowed out of me. My tale went back to the beginning at Patara, and all the way up to our capture by his scouts. Attila interrupted me once to call in one of his men and order food prepared for Felix and Layla, and that they be given a warm place to sleep. Then he and I talked until dawn, and when the sun rose there were four in our party, because Attila had decided to give up his life of war and join us.
“There’s no sense in fighting, anyway,” he admitted. “No matter how many battles we win, there is always another army ready to fight me. Oh, the Romans are weakening, but the Gauls are gaining strength, and the Franks and the Vandals prefer war to peace. I think I’ll come with you to Britain and help you give your gifts there.”
It didn’t occur to Attila to ask if that was all right with me, and, anyway, it was. He was a scarred old warrior, but he had plenty of common sense. I knew he’d be especially useful in helping us locate and avoid other armies.
We left the next night. Attila picked a trusted captain to tell the rest of the Huns that their leader had died and would be buried in a secret place. They were to return to their homes and not fight any more if they could help it.
As a special favor, Attila asked if his wife could come, too. Dorothea turned out to be a very gentle woman who could sew beautifully, She soon patched all our ragged robes so well that they looked like new. Layla was worried Attila would get in fights with strangers we met—he never did, having fought as much as anyone could ever want already—but she was very pleased to have another woman to talk to. As for Felix, he developed a bad habit of teasing Attila, who would get angry and threaten him with terrible things, but never laid a hand on him.
So we were five when we finally reached the banks of the wide channel that separated our side of civilization from Britain. It was exciting to get that far, but we had no idea how to proceed.
“Maybe we could ask some Saxons for a ride on one of their warships,” Felix suggested.
Attila fixed him with a fierce glare. “Saxons are terrible people,” he snorted. “They’d rather kill someone like you, Felix, than give you a ride. Why don’t you just throw yourself into this water and drown? If nothing else, that would give all our ears a rest.”
Dorothea frowned at her husband. “Leave Felix alone. At least he’s trying to think of something. Can we perhaps rent a small boat and sail across?”
“I considered that,” I said, “but I don’t think any of us are good enough sailors to handle a small boat. We’d be as likely to get swept away as we would be to land on the British shore.”
As usual, Layla had the best suggestion. “Everything always happens to us for a reason,” she said. “We’re here because we’re meant to be. So let’s simply wait until someone comes to help us. There’s time for a meal, and to rest our feet after this long journey. We have bread and cheese and a few olives. Who’s hungry?” Of course, we all were, though Felix later accused me of eating more than my share.
After eating, we spread out our blankets and slept. I stayed awake longer than the others, although Layla kept me company for several hours before she finally fell asleep. I lay there in the darkness looking up at the stars, wondering how far away they were and what was going to happen to get all five of us across the water to Britain. My answer arrived with the first pink streaks of sunrise against the black night sky. There was the sound of water slapping against the prow of a boat, and sure enough a small vessel came into view, hugging the shoreline near us and piloted by a tall, slender man of middle age dressed in the rough brown robes of a priest.
“Come ashore and join us for breakfast,” I called out to him, the sound of my voice waking the others. The priest in the boat waved and steered his craft to the shore in front of us.
“Christians?” he asked carefully, eyeing Attila with particular suspicion. Though we’d convinced Attila to exchange his animal furs for more common robes, and although he washed more regularly than he once had, the Hun chief still looked too fierce to be an ordinary missionary.
“We are,” I said hurriedly. “This is my wife, Layla, and this is Felix, and these two fine people are Attila and his wife, Dorothea. They’re from the Hun tribe.”
The priest raised one eyebrow. “Attila” was hardly a common name. “Not too many Christians yet among the Huns,” he said carefully.
“Let’s eat,” grunted Attila, who was never much for polite conversation. We got out more bread and some dried figs. The priest ate heartily, with the appetite of a man who’d missed many meals. I waited until he had satisfied his hunger before asking who he was and where he was going.
“My name is Patrick,” he replied. “I spent much of my boyhood as a slave on an island far to the west of Britain. Ireland, it’s called. I escaped from my captors and made my way to Rome, where I became a Christian priest. Since then I’ve often returned to Britain and Ireland. There aren’t many priests there. Sometimes I’m given credit for doing miracles when I’ve really done nothing at all.”
“Tell me about it,” I urged, remembering all the miracles I was supposed to have worked in Myra, but hadn’t.
“The story of the snakes is the most common,” Patrick said. “A few years ago in Ireland, a village was infested with snakes, or so it was said. I’d never seen any there myself. But the p
eople in the village told me that if I was really a priest I could make the snakes go away. Well, I raised my hands to the sky and cried, ‘Snakes, be gone!’ And none of the people in the village ever saw any snakes again, not that I believe they were around to be seen in the first place. Those people probably had looked in the grass and seen some crooked sticks. Still, it’s rather handy to have a reputation for working miracles. I go around the country, identify myself, and people are usually willing to do whatever I ask, including not fighting with each other.”
“We have hopes of seeing Britain, and from your story, I think we’d like to see Ireland, too,” I suggested. “Perhaps you’d give us a ride across this wide channel of water in your boat. Do you have enough room?”
“I’m sure I do,” Patrick said agreeably, “although I could only take such a large load for a short voyage to the other side. I mean no insult about your weight, friend,” he hastily added, though not before Felix started guffawing. “Let me take you and your companions across to Britain, and if you ever get far enough west I’ll try to find you on that coast and bring you the rest of the way to Ireland.”
So we gathered our things, got in the boat, and were whisked across the channel to Britain. It wasn’t an entirely calm passage. Poor Attila got seasick and made quite a mess at Felix’s feet. He apologized to Patrick, who told the Hun chief not to worry about it. I noticed Attila didn’t apologize to Felix, who made a point of washing his feet over and over when we’d safely disembarked on the British shore.
As soon as we saw the man, we knew he must be Arthur. There was a grandness about him, even as he lay in a bloody heap on the barn’s dirt floor. With Attila’s help, Dorothea raised him to a sitting position, and Layla got water from the old woman’s tiny well.
TEN
Arthur of Britain
He found Britain to be a wild and beautiful country, with more lush forests and hills than any of us had ever seen. Although we’d arrived in early fall, the weather was still warm and delightful. In most ways, we felt we were in paradise.
But war was as much a part of Britain as the land’s lovely green fields. Its native people were a primitive, proud race ready to fight foreign invaders for every inch of earth. When we got there, the Britons were involved in a long battle with Saxon war parties for control of the island’s south and east regions. For forty years, the Saxons had been winning, never decisively but always ending each year by extending their control a few miles nearer to the fertile British midlands.
As usual, we spent our first few months in a new place exploring the countryside, visiting villages, and learning as much as possible about the new place and its customs. Above all, we soon learned that, along the southeast coast, life for ordinary British peasants was hard. Villages often were raided by the Saxons, who stole what they wanted, killed any men they could catch, and took away women and children as slaves. Villages spared from the Saxons fell prey to Britain’s own war parties—which also needed food, at the expense of the country-men they were trying to save from the invading enemy.
So there were plenty of families in need, and plenty of children who could use a nighttime gift of food or clothing. But for the first time we were in a place where such goods were hard to buy. We had a fair amount of money with us, coins small enough not to attract too much attention, but easily worth the purchase price of such things as we needed. We did the best we could. It was so rare for any charity to be shown on this island that right after our first few gift-givings, the story of the gifts began to circulate quickly from village to village.
Attila was quickest to fall in love with Britain. Although he’d wearied of participating in battles, he still was a student of warfare.
“The Saxons will eventually crush the Britons completely,” he predicted, “but they’ll pay for every inch of land with blood. These Britons are good fighters, ones who know when to stand and do battle and when to retreat.”
Attila was especially impressed with a tribal war chief named Arthur. This fellow was a special torment to the Saxons, moving his small band of fighters quickly from one place to another and attacking where and when he was least expected.
“I think this Arthur must be interesting,” Attila said. “Could we try to find him, Nicholas? I’d like to talk battle strategy with him. Perhaps I could give him some useful advice. I once outfought the Romans, you know.”
“We’d best stay away from Arthur, because where he is, the fighting is likely to be the bloodiest,” I replied. “Put warfare behind you, Attila. Our business is giving gifts, not giving battle.”
Layla noticed the strained tone of my voice. That night when the others slept she quietly said to me, “Being near battles weakens your special powers, doesn’t it? That’s why we can move so quickly when no armies are nearby, and why we creep along close to battlefields. Attila’s scouts would never have captured us if we’d been going at our usual speed, and now here in the south of Britain we don’t seem able to get ourselves from village to village as quickly.”
“In a way, I’m glad you noticed,” I told her. “I’d hoped it was my imagination, but now I’m convinced of it. Where war is, we can’t be, or at least we can’t be as effective as we are in other places. What a waste war is! Look at this beautiful country, with plenty of room for everyone. But the Britons want to rule themselves or die, and these Saxons are driven to conquer rather than come in friendship. Will the world always be like this? Surely someday people will know better.”
“Perhaps,” Layla said doubtfully. “Why not get some rest if you can? Tomorrow we’ll find a village, and in that village will be children in need, and tomorrow night we’ll visit them with presents. Think about that, instead.”
We spent the next year going from village to village, giving our gifts and trying our best not to be discouraged by the fighting all around us. Twice we were taken captive by Briton war parties, who’d mistaken us for Saxons, and once by Saxons who’d mistaken us for Britons. On all three occasions we were able to convince them otherwise. Luckily the Christian religion had, to an extent, reached both sides, for when we identified ourselves as missionaries we were quickly set free.
“Thank goodness these people have been converted,” Felix said with relief after the Saxons let us go. “They’re devout enough to send missionaries safely on their way.”
“It’s too bad they’re not devout enough to remember the phrase ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ ” I said sadly. “Yes, they let us live, but how many innocent people will die at their hands tomorrow?”
Twice during the year we sent messages to Timothy, who now was a very old man. His children ran his businesses for him. Along with our requests for money, we shipped him more wonderfully carved book covers and, for the first time, intricate wood figures shaped like soldiers. Attila had a knack for carving these, and Timothy was able to sell them in faraway marketplaces for almost as much as the book covers. We’d more or less told him our secrets as the years passed and we learned he could be trusted. He always gave us fair prices, and once we saw the lack of goods in England he began to pay us in shipments of wool cloaks and stout shoes. We stored these in barns of Briton farmers we befriended. A few times we lost barnfuls of goods to Saxon raiders, but for the most part we were lucky.
Food for gift-giving was much harder to come by. There was very little for sale, and what there was to buy was frankly horrible stuff—wormy meat and old, tough vegetables. Anything worth eating was gobbled up by whichever Britons were fortunate enough to get their mouths to it first. So there were no marketplaces full of food for sale like we’d been accustomed to frequenting in Constantinople, Rome, and other major cities during our travels.
Sometimes a few of us—Felix or me, most often—would complain out loud that we did little good in leaving shoes for a child who was in danger of starving. But Layla, sensible as always, offered a constant reminder: “What we’re really giving these children is hope, and the knowledge that there are people in this world who care about them
. That’s a gift even greater than food, so stop complaining.” And we’d stop.
Although we were across the channel from Europe, word of events there would often reach us. The most important news was that the Romans had been driven from Gaul, the country that later would be called France. Clovis, the war chief of the Franks, not only defeated the Romans but the Visigoths, too. It seemed he might be the powerful leader who could eventually bring peace to the land, even if he had to accomplish this by killing off everyone else. I felt somewhat better when I learned that he chose Christmas Day 496 A.D. to be baptized, along with thousands of his followers. The Christian Church was delighted, of course, and Clovis proved himself to be more than a mere warrior by spending much of the rest of his life inventing laws to govern daily conduct.
There was no such clear-cut leader on the island of Britain. The Saxons continued their bloody invasion and the Britons persisted in defending themselves. Arthur became the unofficial leader of the Britons, who were divided into too many squabbling tribes to put up a united defense against the Saxons. Arthur tried to talk other tribal chieftains into joining together, and for a while it appeared he might be successful. In the year 500 A.D., Arthur even led a number of tribes against the Saxons in Dorset, a region of southeast Britain, and beat the invaders back toward the sea. Bards or storytellers of the Celtic tribes began traveling around singing songs and telling stories about the great and bold Arthur, the war chief who’d saved the Britons, but they sang too soon. The Saxons returned more determined than ever to conquer the island, and Arthur’s tribal alliance was smashed apart by the invaders’ new attacks.
It became clear with Arthur’s defeat that the Saxons would now rule Britain. Thousands of Britons sneaked to the coast and sailed across the channel, hoping life in Europe would be kinder than Saxon law. Most natives of the island, though, simply withdrew farther inland, up north to the wilderness they called Scotland, or into the rocky western plains of Wales.