“Where did Edeco go?” I asked, trying to conceal my emotion.
“Away.”
The word was unfamiliar to me, but the Hun girl waved her hand in the air as if to designate something far beyond the doorway. “Away, away,” she repeated. And then she retreated herself.
Although I sorely needed the water after all this time, I was too distracted to make use of it now. I paced and bit my fingernails and wondered whether it was possible that Attila had somehow learned that Edeco had shown me the parchment, and to punish him, sent him into exile. I waited impatiently for the girl’s return, but more days passed, and then I began to worry that the girl had mentioned our conversation to one of the others and had thus been relieved of her duties concerning me. Desperate now, I began to observe the other women who came and went, hoping one of them might give me some signal, some gesture of kindness which would indicate that she too might be approached. But none did, and I felt on the verge of yielding to madness once more, when one afternoon the Hun girl came again with a bucket of water.
This time when she had set the bucket down, she giggled and held out her robe so that I could see that she had not spilled anything. I praised her as best I could, and while the girl was still smiling, I asked casually, “Attila? Is he gone too?”
“Away, too. Like Edeco and the others,” she whispered furtively before leaving.
Now I felt a great sense of relief. If Edeco and Attila were gone off together, with others, then certainly they were about some campaign. I washed my body thoroughly, and then I lowered my head into the bucket and washed my matted hair. Clean again after days of having had to endure my own filth, I felt I could be patient, that whether I should have to wait a day or a year, the time would come when I would hear that the sword had worked its havoc on Attila. I resolved to keep myself in good spirits and to avoid having any more risky conversations with my new friend.
One day I heard a roar go up, and as the weather was hot and dry again, I thought at first of fire and rushed to peek out from behind my curtain. The guard, who had stopped riding to look off toward the village, noticed me and raised his riding whip threateningly. I hurried away from the doorway and to the back of the hut, where I pressed my ear against the wall. Now I thought the roar was more the sort that horses make when many men are riding swiftly together. Beyond it were cries and shouts, but I could not determine whether these expressed joy or horror. It occurred to me that the Romans might have learned of Attila’s absence and were marching to lay siege on the City of Attila. But when I heard my guard’s horse resume its trot, I decided it must be the Huns returning. “I am free,” I cried aloud, and I let my tears run down my face. And when they ceased, I set about praying words of thanksgiving—though it seemed an impiety to pray now when I had given so little thought to Wodan and the others for so long.
That evening, when the Hun woman came with my meal, I searched her face for some confirmation that Attila was dead, but I saw nothing beyond the usual indifference. And the expression on the face of the woman who came in the morning told me nothing more. I noted, in my taper’s light, that a rash had formed all along my arms. And it seemed to me that my heart was beating all too rapidly. I feared I would die before the good news ever reached my ears. Another woman came in the evening and replaced my untouched breakfast tray with my supper one. I opened my mouth to speak to her, but before I could form an inquiry, she was gone again. A while later, as I was spreading out my skins for sleep, the curtain opened once more. I turned, ready now to interrogate whomever it might be. But my mouth snapped closed when I saw that it was Edeco.
“Ildico, how do you fare?” he asked, his expression officious.
For a moment I could only stare at him. Then I answered, “Well enough, considering. And you?”
His smile came slowly, but the tenderness that I had seen in his eye each time I had envisioned him was not present. “We were victorious. I am very well and much richer than before.”
My heart plunged. “Then you marched again on the Eastern Empire?” I managed to ask.
“Yes.”
I turned from him. “Did you know when I saw you last that you would be marching?”
“We left the very next morning. Did I fail to mention it? Attila had word last winter that the earth beneath the Eastern Empire had begun to turn in on itself. Entire villages were swallowed up. The wall of Constantinople crumbled. He took this as a sign that we should march. I wonder that you do not bother to ask about him.”
I shrugged. “I assume he is well. You would not have counted yourself victorious otherwise.”
Edeco beamed. “He fought like a god. The war sword brings him luck.”
I turned back to him slowly, and to hide my anguish, I asked, “Did you take many villages?”
“Whole provinces—Illyrium, Trace, Dacia, Moesia, Scythia—“
“The names mean nothing to me,” I snapped. Then, more gently, I added, “I know little about the Eastern Empire.”
Edeco’s smile broadened into something akin to a sneer. “Then let me choose words that are compatible with your ignorance, Ildico. Much blood was spilt. Many Romans died. We tore down their churches. The booty was great. I do not think they will cross us again.”
“And how did they cross you?” I asked, repulsed by his arrogance.
“They failed to live up to the terms of our treaty.”
“What terms were those?”
His boastful smile vanished. He straightened. “None that concern you.” Then he added, “You are changed, Ildico.”
I studied him a moment. “I might say the same of you.”
He looked surprised. “I would have thought that our victory would have had some meaning for you.”
“Indeed it does.”
He went on as if he had failed to discern the sarcasm that had crept unbidden into my tone, saying, “I have something to say to you on Attila’s behalf. This, at least, should stir you some.” He hesitated, but seeing that I had no response, he continued. “In his deep gratitude for your gift, Attila has come to agree with me that you might now be initiated into the village life. You are to join the women who serve him his evening meal, a position of much esteem, I assure you. A guard will come for you each evening to escort you to Attila’s gate. A girl will meet you there and bring you into the palace. She will show you what to do. You must watch carefully and keep your mouth shut. And you must be careful never to lift your eyes to Attila or any of his guests, myself included, while you are serving. So you see, Ildico, as long as you do not make some blunder, your solitary life is behind you. Attila is kindhearted, is he not?”
I bowed. “Tell him I am most grateful.”
“I shall. He is still outside the city gates, but he returns tomorrow. You will begin your first night of service then. Do you have any questions?”
I had many, but none that I could ask of Edeco. I shook my head.
* * *
The prospect of my new position brought some new hope to counter my disappointment, but whether it was connected to my purpose or the desire for distraction, I could not be certain. I no longer knew the difference between the two. Edeco was right; I had changed. But then Edeco had changed too. Before his departure, it had seemed that he was very close to becoming, if not my ally, then at least my confidant. Now he seemed as much Attila’s man as when I had first come to Pannonia.
As Edeco had promised, a guard came late the next afternoon, and for the second time since my arrival, I found myself enroute to Attila’s hall. But this time, when the gates were opened to admit us, it was not the silken tents of Attila’s numerous wives that my eyes beheld. They were there, of course, not far off in the distance, but the great swarm of men who sat on their horses in Attila’s courtyard kept me from seeing all but flashes of their bright colors. My guard, a stern-looking Hun on a squat Hunnish horse, indicated that I was to wait by his sid
e just inside the gates until further instruction. He kept his riding whip on my shoulder, and when the Hun who would take me to the hall approached through the crowd, he informed me by bringing it down hard. I flinched against the pain and turned to see the familiar face of the young Hun girl who had obliged me by answering my questions. After all my time alone, the boisterous horsemen frightened me, and I was glad that I should not have to go among them with a stranger. The Hun girl bowed expressionlessly, but as soon as the guard turned, she smiled and touched my hand.
Most of the crowd was made up of Huns, though there were Thuets scattered among them, and all were drinking from gold or silver goblets while they laughed and shouted and toasted one another. They were, I discovered as I followed my companion, divided into two groups, those who sat between the gates and the silk tents, and those who sat between the tents and the hall. Hun women carrying wine jugs wove their way among them, stopping to pour for whoever required it. Attila’s wives, who were sitting outside their tents, looked very much as if they would like to be going among the jovial men themselves.
When we got past the tents and through the second swarm of horsemen, I saw a sight which nearly brought me to my knees. On either side of Attila’s door, a great many poles had been erected, and atop of each was the black, bloated, bloodied head of one of Attila’s victims, men and women and children alike. I gasped, not realizing that I had stopped walking until I noted that the Hun girl had stopped to wait for me. Her expression indicated that she was amused to find me so startled by the sight. It had been a long time since I had seen so many severed heads, and then it had been at Worms and the heads had been those of my own folk. Except for the few Hunnish faces among them—deserters, I supposed—these faces were Roman. But the terror I felt moving through me was just the same as if it were the Burgundians all over again.
The girl was still watching me, but now she looked impatient. I commanded my legs to move, but they had gone slack, and my eyes still lingered on the wild eyes and black, protruding tongues of Attila’s victims. The sound of my bogus name in my ear made me jump. I turned to see Edeco, his face ruddy and full of laughter. “Had we been able to procure more poles,” he said leaning over his horse, “the dead among us would far exceed the confines of Attila’s courtyard.” I could think of no response. His slurred words indicated that he had already had more to drink than he had ever had in my company. “And of course,” he went on, “we took them alive when we could. The Romans will pay a handsome price to buy back their citizens.”
Edeco brought his horse up and rode away laughing. The Hun girl grabbed my wrist and got me moving again. In a moment we were in Attila’s hall, which was empty except for the women who had come in to fetch wine jugs from the long table against the south wall. The Hun girl placed a jug in my hands and indicated that I should go outside with it.
I wandered through the crowds dazed, remembering that I was carrying a wine jug only when I felt a riding whip or a hand come down on my shoulder. I did not even realize when the jug was empty until the Hun for whom I thought I was pouring exclaimed. I ran back into the hall for more wine, and then out again, praying all the time that I would not encounter Edeco again, for it seemed to me that he had a purpose in saying what he had to me, and that it was linked to something vile.
I had gone out for a fourth time when a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Beyond it I could hear the voices of singers. The horsemen began to separate, leaving a path from Attila’s gate through the tents and to the hall. I found myself close to the gate and at the edge of this path, and thus, when the gates were opened, I had a clear view. In the distance I could see Attila riding on his Hunnish horse—or rather, I saw a rider holding a shaft of fire over his head, for Attila was too far off to be otherwise recognized. Behind him rode rows of men for as far as the eye could see. On either side of Attila, young Hunnish girls walked, scattering flower petals and singing what could only have been their song of praise for their master. Their voices made my heart swell with sorrow and longing. Walking behind the girls and holding white cloth canopies over their heads were women, who were also singing. The villagers who were not part of the ceremony were lying prostrate on either side of the procession. When Attila came closer, the men within his courtyard dismounted and prostrated themselves too. I quickly joined them on the ground. The girls and the women who were walking with Attila stopped just outside the gates, and as soon as Attila had entered, the gates were closed behind him so that the greater number of his troops likewise remained without.
I glanced up as Attila was going by and saw that he looked somber, almost bored, his eye falling on nothing and no one. The girls and the women continued to sing, louder now, as if to make up for the fact that the gates were between their song and their master’s indifferent hearing of it. When Attila had dismounted and gone into his hall, everyone got to their feet again. Through the crowd, I saw the Hun girl hurrying toward me. Waving for me to follow, she turned quickly and began running toward the hall. I ran behind her, looking straight ahead so as to avoid the anguished faces of Attila’s victims. As we reached the door, I glimpsed Attila, already settled on his red silk couch, and, to my horror, staring right at me. The Hun girl entered and prostrated herself before him. As soon as she got up, I followed her example. Then I hurried behind her to the long table. The jugs of wine had been moved back, and now the table was laid out with great quantities of food—breads and fruits and cakes and meats such as I had never seen before. Some of the other serving women were taking these foods and dividing them up into bowls. Others were carrying the bowls to the several small nearby tables. I took up two bowls and set to following their example. A group of boys of various ages came in together, each prostrating himself in turn before Attila. As Ernac was among them, I surmised that these were Attila’s sons. Unlike his brothers, Ernac went down on the floor beside his father rather than at his feet, and Attila, who was looking at the next group coming in, reached out his hand and patted Ernac’s head. The second group contained Edeco and several other bejeweled men. They, too, took turns prostrating themselves. The third group to enter was Attila’s wives. We went among the three groups carrying over the small food-laden tables. As we set them down, Attila’s guests found chairs for themselves. Then Attila got up, taking the war sword with him, and lowered the door.
Now the hall went dead quiet. As Attila was settling himself again, the young Hun girl came forward and handed me a wooden cup filled with wine. Since all of the tables had already been provided with gold and silver goblets—and perhaps because of my distracted state—I assumed that this ordinary wooden cup was meant for me and made to lift it to my lips. The girl’s gasp stopped me short. And as if to conceal my blunder from the others, she went up on her toes before me. Then she whispered, “For Attila, fool!” and nudged me into motion.
I began what seemed the longest journey of my life. Though I kept my eyes on the wine, I had the sense that everyone else in the hall was watching me. Indeed, the only sound was that of my feet dragging across the floor. I felt myself bent over, hunched, but I had no power to straighten. My legs seemed to be buckling beneath me. I was delirious with fear and confusion.
When I finally reached Attila’s couch, I saw that his hand was already extended. I pressed the wooden cup into it and stood to watch my own hand, which was quaking violently, retreat. Now I seemed to hear an enormous sigh, as if all the onlookers had been as anxious as I that I should hand the cup over without incident. I turned at once and hurried back to the other serving women, some of whom were eyeing me sternly. Then I stood like them with my back to the long table and watched as Attila raised the cup to his lips. When he had had his sip, he passed the cup to one of his sons, and this boy took a sip and passed it along to the one beside him. When the cup had gone all around, from table to table and guest to guest, the last to drink from it, one of Attila’s wives, got up and carried it back to Attila. Like me, she moved slowly and kept her eye on wh
atever was left of the wine.
Next Attila made a long speech, hesitating often so as to choose his words carefully. He looked at no one while he spoke, and his voice was so low that he seemed to be talking to himself. I understood enough of his words to know that his subject was his recent victory, though his demeanor reflected none of the jubilation one would have expected after such an event. I was horrified, when he finished, to see the Hun girl coming at me with a wooden tray. I tried to push it back on her, but the girl shook her head and stepped away.
Unlike the small tables which I had helped to carry and which contained every sort of exotic food, Attila’s tray held nothing but a single bowl of meat. I could see with the corner of my eye that he was already straightening himself on his couch to accept it. Again it seemed as if my every step took me no closer to him until I was actually there. As I bent to lower the tray, my eye fell on the war sword at his side. It glared like the sun in the torch-lit hall, and I fancied it was mocking me, daring me to lift it and drive it into his heart. Since Attila made no move to take the tray from my hands, I had no choice but to lower it onto his lap. I was just about to release it when all at once he seized my wrist. Repulsed by his touch, I forgot myself and glanced up at him. I saw his indignation and quickly looked away. He released me and I hurried back to the other servants.
As soon as he began to eat, conversations at the various tables rushed in to fill what had been a prolonged silence. The Hun girl handed me a wine jug and pointed to Attila’s door, which one of his sons was in the process of lifting. Gladly, I went out with the other serving women to go again among the troops. They were less rowdy now, and some of them sat staring solemnly at the doorway as if in envy of the few who had been admitted. Conversely, when I went back into the hall later for more wine, I found that the guests inside had become clamorous. As I was turning to go out again with a full jug, my eye fell on the source of their merriment, a dwarf who was dancing among the tables. I was startled to see such a creature in Attila’s hall, and for a moment I could only stare. The dwarf was twisted in such a way that his head seemed to protrude from one shoulder. His complexion was dark, darker even than that of the Huns, but otherwise he had none of their features. In fact, he looked like no one I had ever seen before. As he fluttered from table to table, he stammered in the Hunnish tongue, rolling his eyes and contorting his face in every possible manner. I glanced at Attila and saw that while he was watching the dwarf just as intently as the others, he seemed to take no pleasure in his antics. Then I remembered the wine jug in my hand and hurried out.
The Last Wife of Attila the Hun Page 16