I was very calm now. I felt foolish for having attempted to conjure up the gods out of my last frivolous impulse for life. They were too far away to have heard me, and, in the end, I had bared my soul to no one.
The hall filled up quickly. Except for Edeco, all Attila’s officers were there. Except for Ernac, all Attila’s sons were present too. I smiled. My strategy, which had evaded me earlier in favor of my folly, returned now, and I remembered that I had embellished it by adding a scheme so evil that even the self-possessed Attila would likely become unhinged in whatever time would be left him between his drinking of the poison and his succumbing to it.
Attila received his plain wooden cup from Eara’s hand and made a toast to victory and to his new bride. I lowered my head humbly then, but I could not help but smile, and I was smiling still when the cup came round to me. I sipped and carried it back to Attila—not awkwardly, as I had carried him his cup on my first day in his service, but with confidence and pleasure. And when I pressed it into his hand, I lifted my face so as to show him my conviction and let him make of it what he would. His eyes became slits then, and he looked at me with loathing. But he said nothing. When I returned to my seat, I found that his gaze, which was still on me, had changed to one of intrigue. In all the time that I had served him, he had never looked at me that way before, and I determined to use his new posture to my advantage.
“You are bold,” Hereca whispered. I ignored her and raised my head so that Attila could see my smile over the heads of all the others who sat at the tables between us. Eara brought Attila his tray and conversations from the various tables ensued. Attila’s three wives spoke in whispers amongst themselves, mostly about the wives who were not present. Zerco was brought in, and in no time the hall was filled with laughter. Eara came over to my table with a wine jug, and when she saw that my goblet was still untouched, she cried merrily, “Drink up. A bride should always drink a good deal on her wedding night, as should her husband.” But when I caught her eye, her smile vanished and she nodded once, solemnly. I lifted my goblet and drained it, and then I held it up to be filled again. And when Eara came around again later, I was quick to lift my goblet once more.
Several times during the course of the meal did I look up and find Attila staring at me, and I thought I saw some desire in the steady, black gleam of his gaze. Each time I answered his look with a smile, and once I even lifted my goblet to salute him. He brought his own cup to his lips then, and we sipped simultaneously. How ugly he is, I thought. Even his smile is a fierce, hideous thing.
I heard Hereca whisper to the others, “Do you see how bold she is?” And later she whispered to me, “Attila is drunk now, but later he will make you pay for your boldness.”
I kept my eyes on Attila and made no response.
At length Attila raised his hand and said to his men, “Tomorrow, then. Prepare yourselves,” and the conversation and laughter were instantly replaced with the sound of chairs being scraped along the wooden floor boards.
I turned to one of Attila’s wives—not Hereca—and whispered, “But when will we have the wedding ceremony?”
The woman whispered back, “You have had it.” And she got up and hurried out with the others.
I waited to be gripped by the fear of the events that would follow, but still I felt only calm and conviction—and a little drunk. It was as if my frantic prayers had somehow liberated me from that part of myself that was linked to life. So, I am to go out like this, I mused, with a smile on my face and a demeanor that has long been foreign to me to mark my demise. And I was satisfied.
I looked up from my musings to find Attila stretching his neck to see me beyond the servants who were clearing away the tables between us, his wooden cup still in his hand. I felt confident that he would take it into the bower, that my confidence itself would ensure it. My table was removed, and with it my goblet. In a moment most of the servants were leaving and only Eara and the other old woman were left, busy at the long table emptying the scraps into a barrel. A short time after that, they were leaving too.
Now there was nothing but space between Attila and me. Keeping his eyes on me, he lifted his wine cup and drained it. I got to my feet slowly, saying, “Husband, let me get us more to drink.” I took his cup from his extended hand as I passed him and went with it to the long table. I could feel him watching me. The goblets, all wiped clean now, were set out in a row in front of the wine jugs. I reached for one, but then changed my mind and took a wooden cup like Attila’s for myself. Tonight, I mused, we will be equals—in simplicity and cunning alike. I set the two cups down side by side and filled them. I was about to reach for the venomous gem when I felt Attila’s breath on my neck. I turned with the two full cups and smiled at him, charmingly, I hoped. He smiled back, and then he went to the door.
This took a moment, for of course he had his sword in hand, and he had to balance it between his knees while he lowered and bolted the door. His back was to me, and had I been holding one cup instead of two, I might have done my work then. But my confidence persisted, and I was satisfied to wait.
When he had finished at the door, Attila went to the bower and held the curtain back to allow me entrance. I saw his bed, a thick mattress up on a frame of gold, and a table on which there were several tapers and a bowl of dates. He went past me and laid his sword down on the table. I placed the two cups in front of it. As I was turning from them, he grabbed me and began to kiss me roughly. In spite of the promise that I had made to myself to feign affection for him, my reaction was to push him away. He stepped back and stared at me incredulously.
To countermand my mindless display, I whispered, “We have all night.”
But he only continued to glare at me with his lips stretched and his teeth exposed and his small dark eyes darting from my eyes to my mouth.
Suddenly I was afraid. I touched my lips and found my fingertips bloodied. While I was still staring at my fingers, unsure what to do next, he grabbed my hand and stuck my fingers into his mouth and sucked away the blood. And all the time he watched me, so that I could see that he was defying me, daring me to confirm my reluctance.
I forced myself to smile, to seem pleased and aroused, and when I saw his defiance quit his eyes, I began to grow calm again. When I had my fingers back from his mouth, I put them to my lips and bloodied them again. Then I turned from him and smeared my blood along the blade of the war sword. I found it brought me pleasure to touch the evil thing after so long, and, too, some of the reckless spirit I’d had when it was mine. I turned back to Attila. His little black eyes were glowing; my bold act had caught hold of his imagination. “When the gods led me to the war sword,” I whispered, “they instructed me in this manner. You shall have victory, Attila. You shall soon be ruler over all the world.”
His hideous smile throbbed on his face. He put his hands on my shoulders and began to move me toward the bed. But I removed his hands gently and said, “In good time, my husband. We have yet to drink our wedding toast. I am a Thuet, after all, and on Thuet lands, the bride and groom drink a toast together before the marriage is consummated. Go lie down and let me wait on you, as I have learned to do so well. Let me bring you your wine, and then the knowledge of other Thuet ways of which you may not know. I promise you, you will not be disappointed.”
“Would you dare to order Attila about?” he cried, but his tone was playful, and I could see that he was delighted with this game. Still, he stood in place for a moment with his head cocked as if he were questioning himself on some matter. Then he reached past me and retrieved the war sword. Chuckling to himself, he moved off toward the bed with it. I turned immediately to the table and brought the gem around to the front of my robe. I was about to lift it out when Attila cried, “Bring me the dates, wife.”
He was lying on his back on the bed. Since I could not see the sword, I assumed that he had put it down on the floor on the far side. Hoping that he would not not
ice the bulge now at the front of my robe, I carried the bowl of dates over and lowered it onto his chest. He grabbed my hand as it was retreating, and I smiled down on him until he released it. Then I went back to the table and began to blow out the tapers one by one.
“No,” he said.
I hesitated and then blew out one more so that now only one was left burning. “One will suffice, husband,” I said. I glanced at him again. He was eating his dates, watching me contentedly. I undid my broaches and let my robe fall to the floor. I slid the chain off my head and stepped out of my robe and in front of the two cups. Then, very quickly, as I had done it in my mind a hundred times, a thousand times, I emptied the contents of the gem into one of them. As I was turning, I noticed that in my haste I had spilled some of the white powder, but there was nothing to be done for it. I handed Attila his cup. With his eyes locked on mine, he drained it. I took it from him and set in down on the floor, along with my own cup. It was over. I could hardly believe it. Now I had only to wait for him to die—and, as I had resolved earlier, to make certain that his death would be as vexatious as my life in the City of Attila had been.
I climbed onto the bed laughing.
He laughed too, heartily, and I realized that I had only heard him laugh once or twice before. His laughter was gruff and vulgar, and it made me want to laugh more. He popped a date into his mouth and tore the meat from the pit profanely, with his mouth opened and his teeth exposed and his jaw working exaggeratedly. Then he turned his head aside and spit the pit across the room.
I laughed, for how could I do otherwise?
And thinking that I found his profanity amusing, he popped another date into his mouth and began the process again.
But now I began to be concerned that the poison might have its impact while he was still laughing—and worse, thinking that I enjoyed his bawdy display. “Where was Ernac tonight?” I asked all at once.
Still sucking on the pit, he answered, “I am waiting to become knowledgeable in the ways of Thuets. If you disappoint me, I will kill you. Let us speak of my sons later.”
“I know where he was,” I whispered. His eyes grew large in response to my sudden change of expression, and the movement of his mouth slowed some. I leaned over him. I had planned to drag out my fabrication, but now I was afraid to take the time. “Edeco said he would take him with him to the Hun camps, did he not?”
Now his mouth ceased its vulgar rotation entirely, but it stayed open, the date pit held between his teeth.
I removed the bowl of dates from his chest and began to massage him there. “Edeco tells me everything,” I went on. “And he follows my orders as well.”
Attila’s hands came up around my neck, but it was no matter to me. I was ready to die, and I would rather it be by Attila than by his guards in the morning.
“Tonight, for instance, I ordered him to take Ernac out on the plain and cut out his heart.” I shivered to hear myself say the words.
Attila bolted up. His hands began working harder around my neck, and surely they would have succeeded at their task, but he gagged just then, and I used his easing off to catch my breath and say more. “I am a Burgundian, Attila,” I cried. “My brothers were Gunner and Hagen, the men whose heads you bade Edeco to sever from their bodies.”
I stopped and stared at him, for it seemed he was already past making sense of my words. He had let go of me entirely now and was holding his own neck. He was gasping for breath, coughing and choking and gasping for air. I made to slip off the bed and watch him die at a distance, but his hand shot out and grabbed hold of my hair. He forced my head down onto his heaving chest and croaked, “You lie!”
“You are poisoned, Attila. And Ernac is dead. The Empire is finished. Bring me down with you if you have the strength for it, or leave me for the guards. I do not care which. I have done the thing I came to do.”
He gasped and choked and tried to reach my neck, but his hand kept slipping from its target. Then he fell back on the bed and gasped and choked some more. I jumped off the bed. Attila’s eyes grew so large that I thought they would fly out of his head, and as he struggled to take in one last breath, he lunged at me. There was a thump as his body hit the floor—and nothing more.
I knelt beside him and listened to the silence for a long time. Then I fancied I heard a ringing in my ears. I was weak, and it took a great effort for me to stand again. I dressed slowly. There was a basket in one corner, and without bothering to examine its contents, I dropped Sagaria’s chain into it. Then I dusted the powder I had spilled on the table onto the floor.
I felt I must keep moving, for Attila was dead and there was nothing left to consider but my own demise at the hands of the guards in the morning. The courage had all gone out of me, and I wondered how I had managed to accomplish such a thing. I said to myself, I should be happy; now is a time to rejoice. But I felt only the need to be active and to quell the ringing in my ears.
I went to the corpse and turned it over. As if he were hankering yet after that one last breath, his eyes still bulged. His skin was pale now, and there was a stream of blood running out of one side of his mouth. I wiped it off with the hem of my robe, and remembering the blood on the war sword, wiped that too. I returned the war sword to the table, but then I thought better about it and replaced in on the floor at the side of the bed. I tried to lift Attila onto the bed, but he was too heavy. There was an ornate bench at the foot of the bed, and this I dragged around to the side and maneuvered it between the bed and the corpse. I managed to get his legs up on it, and then, by lifting him under the arms and using my foot to slide the bench, his rump. Then I heaved his upper body onto the bed, and after that, the rest of him. I pushed and pulled until he was centered, lying on his back just as he had been. I closed his eyes and wiped at his mouth once more. I removed his shoes and set them down in front of the two wine cups. I blew out the taper and stood in the middle of the room wondering whether there was anything I had overlooked. There was nothing. I stretched out on the floor and, all at once exhausted, slept.
* * *
I awoke to the sound of banging and voices shouting for Attila. Even so, it was some moments before I knew where I was and what had happened. I got to my knees and studied Attila’s corpse. The banging persisted, and I wondered whether it would benefit me to go to the door and unbolt it. Before I could decide, there was a crash, and then the sound of rushing feet.
I lowered my head to Attila’s chest and began to weep.
“Father!” a voice cried. I turned in time to see Ernac swooning to the floor. The others rushed in behind him, gasping and shouting with disbelief. Someone grabbed me and jerked me to my feet.
“What happened here?” Edeco shouted.
“Attila is dead,” I whispered. But I saw by the glint in his eye that Edeco would have me say more. “We were talking, discussing the campaign, and all at once he began to cry out as if he were in pain.” I burst into fresh tears.
“Could you not save him?” someone shouted.
I saw through my tears that it was Onegesius. His face was drained of color. “I tried,” I cried. “I pounded on his chest, for I thought it was his heart that had given out, but it did no good.”
Ellac stepped forward from the throng and grabbed my hair. Then, pushing me toward a guard, he cried, “Seize her! She has killed Attila!”
The guard, who was moaning uncontrollably, reached for me, but Edeco shot an arm out between them and shouted, “She could not have done it. There are no wounds.”
“She did it, I say,” Ellac shouted back. “There were guards outside all night. Had she not, she would have called for help.”
“There was nothing to be done,” I cried. “He died in my arms, and I held him to my breast all night and wept—”
“You lie!” Ellac barked. “You killed him! You smothered him! Guard!”
“Wait,” Edeco shouted. “Look at h
er. Look how she weeps.” He took my chin in his hand roughly and jerked my head toward the crowd. “I know this woman well. She had no reason to kill Attila. When I told her he planned to marry her, she fell to her knees and cried for joy.” Ellac opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, Edeco drew his short sword and held it over his head. “Look at you,” he shouted. “All of you, weeping like women. Forget the Thuet. Now is not the time for us to concern ourselves with her. Our leader is gone from us. Gone forever. The man who was born to rule the world is dead. Let no man mourn him womanishly.”
Tears sprang to Edeco’s eyes so suddenly that I thought they must be genuine. Then, with his lips pressed tightly together, he lowered his sword and drew its blade across his cheek, from his ear to his chin, nearly along the same scar that had marked him as a Hun subject from birth. He held his bloodied sword over Attila and whooped and howled so loudly that it drowned out the sobbing and moaning of the others. In an instant, others set about following his example, and when their faces were bloodied, they fought one another to hold their own reddened blades over Attila’s corpse. Then the greater number of wildly howling men went running out of the bower shouting, “Attila is dead! Our leader is gone from us!”
Edeco grabbed the wrist of one of the guards before he could follow and said, “Take her back to her hut. Let no man enter until after we have buried Attila. Then we will decide her fate.”
“I have already decided it,” Ellac growled.
“Perhaps it is not your decision to make,” Edeco responded.
The two stared at each other while the guard who had taken hold of me waited to see what would happen. Then Ellac, whose face was the only one yet unbloodied, said to the guard, “Take her out of my sight.”
* * *
The Last Wife of Attila the Hun Page 35