I went closer and knelt down on the mat in front of the old woman so that my words would not be overhead. “Aye, I found it, thanks to you. But now I have another favor to ask, and I pray you will grant it to me without question.”
Eara’s smile vanished and she searched my eyes, one, then the other. “Come in,” she whispered at length, and I had the feeling that she knew already what I had come for.
Her hut was no larger than mine, but so cramped with straw baskets and piles of skins that I wondered how she found room to lie down at night. “Speak,” Eara said.
“I need a cure—” I began.
“Aye,” Eara said, nodding.
“Were I familiar with the plants that grow here in the City of Attila, I would have made one myself, but—”
“This cure is not for you,” Eara interrupted.
I stared at her. “No. A friend. She has the fever…from a gash that does not heal.”
Eara searched my face again. Then she whispered, “Describe it to me.”
I did as she bade, and all the time Eara stood with her face close, nodding. When I finished with my description, she turned slowly and looked over her several baskets. Then she went to one of them and rummaged through it. When she turned again, she was holding a swatch of sheepskin in her hand, rolled up and tucked in at the ends. She unrolled it carefully and showed me the black glob at the center. I bent to smell it. The scent was strong and unfamiliar.
Anxious to find Sagaria, I thanked the old woman hastily and turned, but before I could retreat, she grabbed my shoulder. Again, her eyes swept back and forth across my face. Then she turned and went to another of the baskets. She had to dig deeply to find what she wanted. She pressed a second swatch and into my hand. “Poison,” she whispered, her dark eyes flashing. “It promotes a quick death. Painless. If her leg does not heal, and the pain is too much, give her this.”
I dropped the second swatch into the neck of my robe and ran out in a state of confusion. I could not remember having told Eara that Sagaria’s wound was on her leg. I took this to mean that she knew about Sagaria—or that she had the Sight. And for all that the old woman had given me what I wanted and more, I wondered whether I had made a grave error in going to one of Attila’s two most trusted servants. But there was no time to think of it now.
We had not set a time for our meeting, but as I had assumed that Sagaria would be as anxious for it as I was, I was disappointed when I arrived and did not find her. Too excited to eat, I paced between the wagons for a long time, and when the sun was well past the place where it had been when we had met the day before, I decided to go to her hut. I knew she would be upset to find me there, and that my going might bring about dire results, but I did not know what else to do. I wandered among the huts near hers casually, as other women were wandering, and when I reached hers, I darted in without looking back.
She was lying on a bed of skins, and she looked even more radiant than she had the day before. I called out to her, but it seemed a long time passed before she became aware of my presence. And then she only looked at me. I took the salve from my robe. “I worried so when you did not come to the wagons,” I said getting to my knees. “I have a cure. I will apply it now. And then I will get food and bring it to you, for it is clear you are not well enough to go yourself.”
“You should not be here,” she whispered. Her voice was very weak. I pulled up her skirt and as gently as I could, began to apply the salve. The wound was raw and painful looking, and yet she did not as much as wince. My eyes filled with tears. “Sagaria, please do not die. I have a plan. You must live, and when we make our escape from the City of Attila, you must come back with me to my lands.”
She smiled. “I would like to hear your plan, but it is not wise for you to be here.”
“Please do not die,” I repeated. And then I began to tell her my vision, which of course required that I tell her of my daughter and her nurse and much more. On and on I talked, for I felt that as long as she smiled, as long as I had her attention, she would not die. “I love you like a sister,” I said in conclusion. “My brothers will love you, too, as will all the Franks and the Burgundians. You have only to wait for the salve to work.”
“And you have only to wait for Attila’s death,” she whispered.
“But what is this?” I cried. “You must listen to what I am telling you. You must think of the future I have planned for you. You must cling to that.”
“I love you too, sister,” she said, or so I thought, for in truth her voice was weaker yet and her lips hardly moved.
I was losing her. I did not know what to do. When she turned her gaze away from me, I got to my feet and rushed from her hut. Outdoors, I tried to move slowly, so as not to attract attention. I rushed to the food tent, my thought now being that if I could feed her, I could keep her alive. But the line was long, and I stood impatiently for as long as I could. When I could stand it no longer, I left the line and rushed back to her hut.
To my surprise, a young Hun girl of perhaps ten years jumped up in front of me as if she had been caught in some devious activity. “I heard her moaning,” the girl cried. “But now the moaning has ceased.”
I pushed the girl aside. Sagaria’s beautiful, almond-shaped eyes were open but lifeless. There was a faint smile on her lips. I fell to my knees and bent over her. I could hear the girl babbling behind me. I grabbed Sagaria’s wrist. It was, as I knew it must be, cold and pulseless. The girl was still carrying on behind me, and as I could think of nothing but that I must be alone with my friend, I cried, “Go for help. This woman is dying.”
The girl was gone in an instant, before I saw my error. Now I should have to leave before others arrived. My heart was pounding wildly. I ran my fingers over Sagaria’s flawless face and closed her eyes. It occurred to me all at once that I should search for her letters, that she would want me to have them. I tore my gaze from her face and scanned the hut, but I could make no sense of any of the objects my eye fell on. I got up on one knee, prepared to run, but my fingers found her face again and I could stir myself no further. I touched her cheek, her smile, her long white neck. Then my fingers found her chain and ceased their frantic motion. Thinking of nothing and of many things at once, I seized the chain and jerked it once. It broke in two and fell into my hand. Then I ran.
* * *
In the days that followed I went to the food tent only once a day, when it was nearly dark and the Thuets were preparing to leave. As a result, there were many times when there was not enough left for me to fill myself, but I preferred that than to risk being seen by the Hun child and pointed out as the woman who had run away like a thief with the chain of a dead woman. And, too, I avoided passing Eara’s hut. Now my imprisonment was self-imposed, and for the first time since my coming to the City of Attila, I was glad there was no one to care what had become of me, for I wanted only to dream of Sagaria and of what might have been.
I was on my way back from the food tent one evening when I heard thunder, and as the sky was clear and full of stars, I knew the Huns were returning. I stopped where I was, up on a knoll not far from my hut, and listened. In the distance, I could see the villagers who were still about, running for the safety of their huts. But I was mesmerized and could not move. In no time the Huns were entering the village, shouting frantically and carrying their torches high over their heads, heading for Attila’s gates. I saw a horseman break off from the throng and ride in my direction, and thinking that it must be Edeco, I fell to my knees involuntarily, weeping with joy. But when the rider came closer, I saw that he was too thick and low on his horse to be Edeco, that he was, in fact, one of the men whom I had often found posted outside my hut. He approached shouting and with his whip flying threateningly over his head. I found my feet and ran for shelter.
The next afternoon, I prepared to leave for Attila’s hall, but when the guard who was without saw me at the curtain, he orde
red me back inside. The Huns’ wild ride into the city had assured me that the campaign had not gone well, and now I took the guard’s charge as further proof that Attila was dead. Satisfied to think that our plot—mine and Edeco’s—had worked, I blew out the taper and sat on a skin in the center of the hut and tried not to think of Edeco and what might have become of him. Instead, I attempted to imagine the scene going on in Attila’s hall, the surviving officers and Attila’s sons, free to argue at last, fighting amongst themselves as to what to do now and when to inform the villagers that their leader was gone. When the blood began to flow in the chaos that I believed would follow, I would, I promised myself, find a way to leave, to learn about Edeco and to locate his sons.
A day passed, and my wild speculations, which had kept me up all the night before, were interrupted by the guard’s voice shouting into my doorway, “Woman, should not you have left by now for the palace?” The bolt that ran through my body could not have been greater if someone had plunged a blade into it. I responded with a profound groan, and then I gasped for air, for there seemed to be none of it left in the hut. With my mind a blank now, I combed my hair and readied myself to serve Attila. And as I reached for Sagaria’s chain, which I had managed to repair and which I had filled with Eara’s poison, I vowed to see to it that Attila should not live another day.
I carried myself toward Attila’s palisade as if on legs made of wood and with no thought save the one—that I was on my way to slay Attila. I passed villagers and horsemen as I neared the gates, but I saw them only peripherally. The only image I saw clearly was that of my fingers on the green stone—concealed now in my robe—twisting the green stone over Attila’s cup or bowl of meat—only that and nothing more—until my blind eye fell on Edeco and regained its sight.
He was sitting on his horse conversing with some others but glancing about so that I knew he had been keeping an eye out for me. As soon as he saw me, he pulled up his horse and detached himself from the group. As he approached, he yelled, “You had better hurry along, woman.” But when he reached me, he bent low over his horse and whispered hastily, “Attila has set a trap for you. In a moment you will see a sight which would otherwise bring you to your knees. You must not yield. He will be watching.” Then he turned and rode back to the others.
As I passed the group, I heard one of the men say, “I wonder that you should be so stern with one of Attila’s wives.”
“They are not married yet,” Edeco countered.
Then another said, “Perhaps Edeco is jealous.”
Edeco responded, “Bah! Me, jealous?” and all the others laughed.
It surprised me that I should have taken this in, for my legs, once wooden, were stone now, and my mind was equally insipid. I felt myself trembling, but when I looked down, I saw that my hands were dangling motionlessly at my sides. I turned into the courtyard and went slowly past the men who had gathered near the gate. There was no jubilation among them. I approached the line of tents which belonged to Attila’s wives but saw none of the women themselves sitting outside them drinking from their golden goblets. I glanced up and saw, beyond the tents and the riders left between myself and the hall, that Attila was standing on the threshold, watching me. I lowered my head and kept walking, one absurdly heavy foot after the other. I was breathing through my mouth, panting really, and I concentrated on breathing more regularly. My father’s words came to me from nowhere: We shall have music. And we shall sing of events that tear our hearts asunder. I glanced to my right in time to see Hereca, Ellac’s mother, closing the silk curtain from behind which she had been looking out. We shall have music, I said to myself.
I glanced at the hall and saw that poles had been erected again at either side of Attila’s door. And as before, there was one head atop of each of them. I looked at my feet and was pleased to note that they were still moving. I stole a quick breath and looked up again, at the faces of Attila’s victims, and among them, the faces of my brothers. We shall have music, I repeated to myself. I forced my eye to travel to each head in turn and to linger on none of them. And we shall sing of events that tear our hearts asunder. I was so intent on my father’s words, on the motion of my feet and the regularity of my breathing that I forgot about Attila, and when I stepped up into the hall, I collided with him. I gasped, and muttering an apology, stepped back down and prostrated myself. When I got to my feet again, he was still there, still blocking my entrance. Our eyes met. He smiled his sneer-like smile. I smiled back. Then he moved aside, and smiling still—smiling madly, smiling stone and flint and granite, smiling so hard that I thought I should never be able to cast off the absurd and hideous thing that had taken hold of my face—I joined the other servants.
If Attila made a speech that night, I did not hear it. If he knocked Ellac over a table or shouted at his officers, I had no sense of it. When I went to fetch Attila’s cup, Eara stepped forward and snatched it from me. And later, Eara brought him his tray as well. Other than that, I had no knowledge of events.
* * *
I had rid myself of my grotesque grin, but Father’s words were still pounding in my head, corresponding now to the rhythm of the guard’s horse trotting outside my hut. Now I wished to drive the words away—for they seemed to be steering me toward madness—but they played on in spite of my efforts, senselessly. I did not realize that someone had come with my tray until I saw it in the place where nothing had been before. Then my eye fell on my taper, and preferring darkness to light, I blew it out. There was an interruption in the rhythm outside, so that I knew that one guard had come to replace the other. Then the rhythm began again, but as the new guard was riding slower and covering a greater distance, I had to adjust the words that tramped through my head accordingly.
“Gudrun,” a voice called out.
I crawled to the doorway and pulled the curtain aside. I did not have the wits to wonder how Edeco had managed to acquire a shift at my hut. “You betrayed me,” I whispered. Had I more strength, had my accusation come during a lapse in Father’s words rather than right on top of them, I would have screamed it so that it touched the sky and bounded back again, so that even Attila, living still when he should have been long dead, might have heard. Edeco rode past me and turned. When he passed a second time, I sprang to my feet, leapt out of the doorway and struck at him frantically.
He passed and turned. “Gudrun,” he said, “go back in. We have come too far to take a chance on spoiling things now.”
His words made no sense, but the calmness in his delivery infuriated me. When he passed again, I flew out at him once more, striking his horse inadvertently as well as him. Neither had any reaction. Feeling defeated by Edeco’s refusal to strike me back, to cut me down, to end my life and the absurd parade of senseless words dancing in my head, I went back in and closed the curtain behind me. Then I began to cry.
The tears brought some relief, for the sound of my own sobs engaged me and at length I grew calm. There was a narrow gap between the closed curtain and the frame around it, and, putting my eye to it, I said, “It could only have been you.”
Edeco answered, “It is true that I told Attila that you had a brother called Gunner. My orders back then were to tell him everything you said, no matter how seemingly trivial. It is true that I was playing you back then, showing you some affection so that you might forget yourself and provide just that sort of information. But I told him, too, that you had said that this Gunner was not a brother in blood and that personally I did not make much of it. But Attila was unsettled over it for a time, and as my affection for you became genuine, which was not long after, I made it a point to undo the wrong I had done…on the off chance that you did have such a brother and thus had lied about everything.
“Oh, Gudrun, you cannot know the things I invented, the traps I swore I set for you after that. And as I swore, too, that you averted each and every one of them, Attila finally came to believe that your motive in coming to the City
of Attila was neither more nor less than what you had stated. Still, when you first went into his service, all the other servants had strict orders to watch your every move, to report your every transgression. That was why I was so adamant about your behavior in the hall. I risked much, having him take you on. But the others gave him only good reports. And he was pleased, and I was—”
“Tell me about my brothers,” I demanded.
Edeco’s head jerked up, as if he were surprised to hear me, as if, having been interrupted in the midst of his speech, he had lost his drift of thought entirely. He sighed and rode past once more. When he turned, he began again, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, so that I was reminded of Attila’s speeches. “Some few days before we departed, Attila called a meeting between ourselves and the Franks, whom, you will recall, he had decided to aid once he had marched on the Romans. And in the midst of the discussion that followed, Attila said to the leader, ‘Did you ever hear of a Thuet called Gunner who is known for his songs?’ The leader replied immediately, saying there was a Burgundian called Gunner who was known for such. Then Attila asked whether this Gunner had a sister, and the leader said he did and that her name was Gudrun. My heart stopped beating in that instant, Gudrun, for you had told me your real name only the night before. And I saw then all at once how you had used the Burgundians in the tale that you told when you first arrived—not because they had stolen the war sword from your Sigurd as you said, but because you thought by doing so to steer me farthest from the truth. And then I remembered that we had laid waste to the Burgundians some years ago. And it all came so clear to me that I could not think how Attila could fail to realize as well. And though I was relieved when he turned our discussion back to the campaign, I was startled too.
“Later I realized that your name was the crucial thing. Without knowing your name, the Franks’ disclosure confirmed your story rather than contradicting it. Still, I was thankful that Attila had a good many other things on his mind, and when our meeting ended, I felt certain that the matter was forgotten. But later yet, when Attila and I were alone, he asked me whether I thought there might be any connection between you and the Burgundian Gunner. And I told him, as I saw no harm in it now, that he was likely the brother of the woman whom your Sigurd had married—a man you had never met—and that the Gunner you referred to, the one whose songs stirred you so, was likely from a different tribe altogether. I told him, too, that I had heard it said that Gunner was a common enough name among Thuets. Again, he seemed satisfied.
The Last Wife of Attila the Hun Page 29