“In the morning,” Orestes called behind him.
“Aye, in the morning,” Edeco hollered back.
With Edeco leading his horse and me dragging the foot I had feigned to injure, we began to move across the field toward my hut. We could hear the others dispersing behind us, but neither of us dared to turn and look. Nor did we speak a word until we were close enough to the hut to see the shadow of the guard who rode before it in the moonlight. Then Edeco said, “We do not have much time. Listen closely. We have had our two embassies back from Constantinople and Ravenna. Marcian continues to refuse to pay tributes. Attila feels certain, therefore, that he is expecting an attack, and thus preparing for it. So naturally we will not be marching on the Eastern Empire at this time. Valentinian, meanwhile, has refused to give Honoria over to Attila. He says she is already betrothed to another man. We leave to march on them within the space of three days. But as Attila would not have them prepare for our attack, he is sending a letter to Ravenna to say that he deeply regrets the loss of Honoria but, due to his great love for Aetius, he will not stand in the way of the marriage Valentinian has arranged for her. The letter also says that he is planning a campaign against the Visigoths, who, as you know, abide within the boundaries of the Western Empire. Attila asks that Valentinian, in consideration of Attila’s compliance concerning Honoria, not interfere in this campaign. Likewise, he is sending a letter to Theodoric, the Visigoth King, to say that he is marching on Ravenna, and that he had best not interfere. In truth, there is little reason to think he will. Aetius and Theodoric have been at odds for some time. But as Attila cannot take the chance that the two forces will unite… Oh, yes, and I should tell you about the Franks, though how you will use any of this information for anything other than to stir your mind up—”
“To the point,” I cried, my eye set on the guard whom we were fast approaching.
“After we have laid waste to the Western Empire, we will march to Frankish lands to install—”
“The letters must be switched!” I interrupted. Edeco looked at me bewilderedly. “The letters!” I cried again, impatiently. “The one to the Visigoths and the one to Ravenna. Theodoric and Valentinian will both realize that they have received the letter meant for the other and—”
“And join forces…”
“Aye. Can you see to it?”
“I?”
“You must.”
“But the letters have already been given out to their respective messengers.”
“Were both in attendance tonight?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then both are surely fast asleep.”
“The one sleeps alone, but the other has a wife.”
“Then you must plan the speech that you will make in the event that you awaken her.”
“And later, if she should say to Attila—”
“Would the messenger’s wife seek out the ear of a corpse?”
“Ildico—”
“Do your sons ride with you?” We were close enough now for me to hear the guard saying something to his horse.
“No. They are not yet fully trained for such a march. But our army will be great. Few will be left behind. If ever there was a chance for you to escape…”
“I will stay until I hear how the campaign goes, and whether or not you survive it—and I pray to Wodan you do, for I have grown to care for you much more than I thought possible.”
“Ildico,” Edeco whispered, and he tightened his grip on my arm.
I fought off the urge to exchange more endearments. “If you do not survive, I will find your sons and acquaint them with all that has passed between us…”
“The elder one knows of your vision. He is for it.”
“If Attila is brought down, perhaps they will see fit to leave with me before one of Attila’s sons declares himself ruler.”
“If we are cut down, you will have that chance, for the brothers will be at one another’s throats for a good long time. There is none among them to take Attila’s place. Our empire will cease to exist.” Having said this, Edeco stopped suddenly and stared at me with wide eyes.
“Leave me now,” I ordered.
“But Ildico, what if—”
“My name is not Ildico. It is Gudrun,” I said hastily. “And I am more than a valkyria, much more. I am a Burgundian.” And I hurried away from him.
* * *
The following evening, as I was limping toward the hall, I heard Edeco’s voice behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him walking with Orestes and Ellac. In a moment the three caught up with me. And as they were overtaking me, Edeco brushed up against my shoulder and breathed, “Done.”
Sapaudia
12
BRUNHILD CAME IN through the open door with a brisk step and her mouth set as if she had something on her mind. I made to get up and fetch her the washing bowl, but I sat down again when I saw that she was heading for it herself. She submerged her hands hastily and wiped them on her tunic. But as she passed Gunner to take her seat beside him at the table, she remembered to take the time to bend over him and brush her cheek against his. He responded by grabbing her fingers and sweeping them across his lips, though he kept his eyes on Sigurd—as did Mother and Hagen and I. And Sigurd kept his own eyes fastened on his bowl, as if this would stop Brunhild from repeating her performance each evening or the rest of us from probing for his reaction to it. We were all sentinels now, stirred to our outposts by Brunhild’s actions.
As Brunhild’s new esteem for my brother had begun on the second day after Sigurd’s return from the Franks, I felt certain that something had occurred between Brunhild and Sigurd on the first. But I had kept my eye on them all that day, and at no time did I see Sigurd stealing away to look for Brunhild or she to look for him. Whatever new turn their relationship had taken, it had taken it discreetly, through looks exchanged in passing, perhaps, or a word or two that I had failed to overhear. Now each time she passed Gunner, Brunhild made it a point to touch his face or his hand, and each evening when our meal was done, she petitioned him to come sit by her side. And Gunner, who one would have thought would have been delighted to receive these new attentions from the valkyria, seemed, instead, as puzzled as the rest of us. Though he responded quickly enough to her touch, trembling visibly with desire, when she implored him to join her on the long bench, he would hesitate a moment. His gaze, which was narrow and pensive then, would fall briefly on Sigurd, so that I knew that he knew that Sigurd’s return was somehow connected to Brunhild’s transformation. Perhaps he suspected, as I did, that they had decided in order to avoid suspicion on the matter of their love, that Brunhild had better feign indifference to Sigurd and devotion to Gunner. Apparently they failed to note that their behavior had the opposite effect.
“Whatever is coming is coming tomorrow,” Brunhild announced as she reached for her drinking horn. She was referring to her prediction that the warm weather, which was still upon us even though the growing season was well behind, portended some misfortune on the way. Its nature had been the focus of our conversations for the last few days. But Brunhild had not been able to define it for us. The Sight was like that, my one-time sister had explained. Sometimes one stared into the fire or at one’s shadow and saw clearly what lay ahead; other times one could only see the shape of the thing, but none of its features.
Now Sigurd dared to look up at her. “Can you say what it is yet?” he asked.
“No, but I have written a rune on all four walls of the hall. We will be safe enough here.”
Gunner looked up abruptly, his mouth ready to express his delight, but when he saw that Brunhild’s eye still lingered on Sigurd, he looked away again.
Sigurd’s face reddened. Then he looked away too.
“What of the rest of us?” I asked. It was the first time I had spoken to Brunhild since the day we had gone down to the river together. “Did
you write runes on our freemen’s halls as well?”
Brunhild answered with her face averted. “I plan to do so in the morning.” She pushed her drinking horn across the table so that Mother could refill it.
“I will ride with you,” Gunner offered. “It will give me great pleasure to see you do the thing you were born to do.”
“That would please me,” she answered.
“Perhaps you should ride tonight,” I persisted. “If it is the Huns or—”
Her glance was fierce. “Not the Huns. Nor the Romans.”
“But you said you did not know—”
“I said I did not know what it is. I do know what it is not.”
“Leave these matters to Brunhild,” Gunner said firmly.
Hagen got up and went to the door to check the sky. He had been checking it periodically ever since he had come in from his chores. The clouds had been gathering all afternoon. There had been thunder in the distance. Now the clouds were close and low and dark, and tinged with an eerie greenish color. They looked like thick, turbulent bubbles. Hagen came back to the table smiling. “The weather will break very soon,” he declared. “Whatever we face tomorrow, we will face it in cool weather at least, praise the gods.” Of all of us, Hagen had taken Brunhild’s prediction the least seriously.
Just then Gunner pushed his bowl away viciously.
“You are not finishing?” Mother cried out. As if it would ease the tensions that had arisen with Sigurd’s return, Mother now made meals and housekeeping her greatest concerns.
“It is only the heat,” Gunner complained. He got up from the table and began to pace, his fleshy face curled into a scowl. His tunic was drenched with sweat. “The gods have singled us out for this…this thing that is coming,” he added. “I feel it to be true.”
“Why should they?” Mother cried shrilly. “We have done nothing to offend them.”
“Perhaps we have. Or perhaps one of us has.” Gunner shot a glance at the back of Sigurd’s head.
Sigurd, who could not have seen him, stiffened all the same.
Brunhild’s laughter broke through the silence that followed. “It is the heat that makes you say such things, my love,” she said. “Come back to the table and eat with the rest of us.”
Sighing, Gunner returned to the table, but he did not reach for his bowl. “The gods despise only those who are weak,” Brunhild added softly with a glance in my direction. “They love those who are brave and unafraid to take what they want in life.”
Gunner looked into her eyes and smiled gratefully, thinking, perhaps, that she was referring to him. “I wonder,” he said. “Sometimes it seems to me that the gods take no interest at all anymore in the ways of men. Certainly they have no concern for the Burgundians.”
“Say no more!” Mother cried. “You will bring their wrath down on all of us!”
“It will come whether I say so or not,” Gunner shouted.
Brunhild laughed. “You contradict yourself, my sweet, every time you open your mouth.”
Gunner turned back to her and studied her face curiously. Then he inclined his head toward Guthorm. Guthorm, sensing his stare, looked up immediately from his bowl. In a low deliberate voice, Gunner said, “When the survivors of a crushed race seek to replenish their kingdom, they look to the firstborn for guidance. This is our firstborn since the siege. Look at him.”
Mother’s eyes flooded with tears. “I never thought to hear you say such a thing,” she whispered. “Are you not content to cross the gods? Must you cross your father too?”
“Guthorm, the firstborn after the siege?” Brunhild exclaimed delightedly. “Why, you never mentioned it before.”
“I feared you would leave us if you knew we were doomed from the start,” Gunner replied.
Mother got up from the table with a start. Shaking her head, she swept Guthorm out of his seat. Guthorm managed to grab the last of his bread and pack it into his mouth before Mother turned to whisk him away toward the bower.
But before she could reach it, a blast of cold air came in through the doorway so powerful that it blew over Hagen’s drinking horn and carried Brunhild’s bowl, the only one that was empty, across the table. Mother froze in her place. Then she lowered Guthorm to the floor, and, eyeing the mess on the table, went for the cleaning cloth. “Do you see what you have done!” she shouted at Gunner. He barked a laugh. The rain began all at once then, and with it the lightning. “Lower the door,” Mother demanded.
Hagen got up and moved to the door, but he stood looking out for a moment before lowering it. Turning, he said, “This storm will be fierce. Perhaps this is the terror Brunhild foresaw.”
“She said the thing would come tomorrow,” Gunner declared angrily.
Brunhild shrugged and waited for the thunder to abate. “Today, tomorrow. Terror knows no time. Hagen may be right. What of it? Our walls are safe in any case.”
Gunner rubbed his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “My head is full of storms of late.”
The rain fell harder, and the thunder, almost constant now and very close, kept us silent for some time. Mother, who had finished cleaning up Hagen’s mead, poured him more and then began to clean up the crumbs at Guthorm’s end of the table. She stopped when the pounding began and looked up, as we all did.
This was a noise such as I had never heard before, far too loud to be rain. It was a terrifying sound that made me think that the gods themselves were banging their fists on the roof, and, after the things that Gunner had said, the notion seemed entirely possible. Hagen ran back to the door and began to lift it again in spite of Mother’s pleas to leave it be. He lifted it high at first, and for a moment I could see that the evening had turned to night and that the night was full of fire. The wind rushed in and drove Hagen back a pace. He went forward against it and lowered the door, but before bringing it down completely, he got on his knees and extended his arm. When he turned, his eyes were wild in their sockets. He came to the table slowly, and reaching between Gunner and Brunhild, opened his hand. Sitting on his palm was a chunk of ice, as big as an apple. “The roof will not hold against this,” he shouted over the pounding and the thunder.
Mother’s cloth slipped from her hands and she began to beat her breasts. “What is happening?” she screamed. “Is it the end? Surely the end is at hand when Thunor throws rocks down from Valhalla!” She ran to where she had left Guthorm, and grabbing him to her, she fell to her knees and began to wail.
The drumming went on. My heart kept pace with it. I was praying intensely to Wodan and Thunor when Sigurd turned to me and said, “Do not be frightened.”
Brunhild’s laughter crackled from across the table. “Is Gudrun afraid?” she asked, her eyes flashing.
I marveled that she had heard, for Sigurd’s words had seemed like a whisper to me. “Why should I be afraid?” I responded. “I have utter confidence in the power of your runes.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
Hagen, who had been watching her, laughed nervously. “The weather has made us all bold tonight,” he said.
A new roll of thunder began. We sat in silence waiting for it to peak. Strange to say, it did not. On and on it went, getting louder and coming closer. It was so loud that it drowned out the sound of the pounding on the roof, a low rumbling, growing louder still. Sigurd inclined his head toward mine and whispered, “I must speak to you alone.” I glanced at Brunhild to see whether she had heard. She had cocked her head to listen to the rumbling. I turned to look at the wall on which I had been leaning. It had begun to quake, and there were vibrations underfoot too, as if the earth itself were heaving and turning in. My ears ached, and I could not seem to catch my breath. I could think of nothing but slipping under the table, and I would have, I think, had I not seen Brunhild’s eye fall on me just then.
The impossible roaring went on, louder and closer than before. I pr
ayed harder. Guthorm appeared at my side and climbed onto my lap. I looked at Mother. She was still on her knees, crying now with her head thrown back, rocking, her arms wrapped about herself as if she did not realize that Guthorm had escaped from her. In spite of my fright, I remembered Sigurd’s petition and turned toward him, but now he was sitting stiffly with his eyes wide open. The combination of the terror in his eyes and his natural grin made him look comical, and for an instant, I felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. I looked at Gunner. His gaze swept from wall to wall, as if he were waiting to see which would be the first to collapse in on us. He was holding Brunhild’s hand so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Hagen was standing behind him with his head cocked, oblivious to the ice-rock melting in his red palm. His eyes were wide and sightless like Sigurd’s. He moved his lips, and though I could not hear his words over the terrible clamor, I made them out: “We are doomed.” Aye, I, too, was sure we were doomed, and I regretted, as I glanced at Brunhild, that I should have to go to my death with the sight of her evil smile fading in my mind’s eye.
I covered Guthorm’s ears with my hands and tried to concentrate on my prayers again, but the only words in my head were the ones that Hagen had said. I closed my eyes and waited to die. And then, all at once, when it seemed that the roaring could get no louder or closer, it began to abate, and behind it, the awful pounding let up too. How strange it was to hear only the rain again. As if we were all waiting to see whether the roaring would start up again, no one moved for a time. Then Gunner laughed and let go of Brunhild’s hand. He turned to Hagen. “The next time Brunhild tells us we will be safe, you will believe her,” he said.
Hagen smiled sheepishly. Mother, still on her knees, looked at each of us in turn and then at each of the walls. Her face was as white as new snow. She got to her feet slowly and stood motionlessly with her arms at her sides. Gunner called to her, “Bring us more mead. We have cause to celebrate tonight.”
As if she had failed to comprehend his order, she blinked at him. Then she mumbled, hoarsely, “Let us hope our freemen have fared as well.”
The Last Wife of Attila the Hun Page 21