The Last Wife of Attila the Hun Read online

  When I’d had my fill, I climbed out and allowed the women to dry and dress me. My new garment was coarse, somewhat too short and far too wide, but it was clean. Two of the women affixed my broaches and other trinkets to it while another stood behind me and set about untangling my hair. The woman with the comb was not gentle, but even her roughness brought me pleasure. I bent my head back and let my attendant jerk it about as she liked.

  When they were done with me, the women filed out, the last one taking my badly soiled garments along with her. Only then did Edeco look up. He seemed surprised to see that I was smiling. I had not realized it myself until I saw his expression. Had my hatred, I wondered, dissolved along with my stench? I examined my feelings and found that it had, though it confused me to think such a thing possible.

  Now we set off for Attila’s palisade, still at the slow pace made necessary by my weakness. When the gates were opened, I saw beyond them colorful tents fashioned from skins and some beautiful fabric I had never seen before. It looked as soft as baby’s skin, as fluid as water. I knew that it must be silk, which I had heard about, from my brothers and others.

  At the entrances to these tents, women sat on colorful rugs, chatting and drinking from gold goblets not unlike the ones that Sigurd had brought back from the dragon’s cave. The women were also draped in the wondrous fabric, the silk, and they were far more comely than any of the other women I had seen. They had to be Attila’s wives. I had heard he had many. As we passed them, they ceased their conversations and bowed their heads to Edeco.

  Beyond the tents was Attila’s hall, a long wooden structure still at some distance in the great courtyard. Several groups of guards sat on their horses near its entrance. At our approach, one of them slid to the ground and lifted Attila’s door to shout some Hunnish exclamation inside.

  Edeco pushed me in so roughly that the guards outside laughed. Startled by his sudden change in attitude, I turned to look at him before facing Attila, but he was already standing at attention, his back straight and his eyes staring straight ahead. And thus I was surprised when I turned back and saw no one.

  I took the opportunity to let my eyes wander over the fine furnishings, the beautiful planked floor, the tapestries that hung along the walls, and the gold—gold goblets, gold serving trays, gold swords hanging beside gold shields between the tapestries. I had never seen so much gold before. I glanced at Edeco. Although his eyes were still staring ahead, his lips were curled into a self-satisfied smile. I studied the pieces again. The war sword, which would have made the others seem common by comparison, was not among them. I studied the tapestries, thick colorful things depicting life-sized men hunting, warring, marching, thieving. Not all of the figures were Hunnish. Most were clearly Roman, probably stolen from the palaces Attila had ravished each time he marched on the Eastern Empire. The furnishings consisted of tables, a very long one along the south wall and several smaller ones grouped close together along the west wall, and chairs. All of the chairs were made of wood except one, and this one was a long couch covered entirely with red fabric, silk, and positioned at the center of the hall facing the doorway. The north wall was curtained in a pale-colored silk, and I supposed there was a bower beyond it. If Attila was within, he would have to be there. And sure enough, there was some movement in the curtain, and, a moment later, one corner was drawn aside.

  The first thing I saw was the war sword. And as if I were seeing it for the first time, I gasped. Then I gasped again when I managed to tear my eyes from it and look at the man who carried it, for Attila’s face was somehow familiar to me.

  With his broad chest, thick neck, large shapeless head and scanty beard, in most ways Attila looked no different from any of the other Huns. He was, perhaps, even shorter than many. What distinguished him were his eyes. They were more deeply set, and darker, the pupil and the color around it being so nearly the same shade that it was hard to say for certain what he looked at as he approached. They were ominous eyes, as motionless and irresistible as the eyes of the dead.

  He moved forward slowly, then stopped and spread his arms. Stiffly, Edeco stepped into his embrace. His face still expressionless, Attila clapped his hands on Edeco’s back once and then dropped them. Edeco stepped back immediately and said some words in the Hunnish tongue. Attila’s eyes swept over me and away. Then he turned and moved toward the red silk couch, where he made quite a ceremony about settling himself, lifting his legs and stretching them out along its expanse, and then, after laying the war sword across his lap, stretching his arms out along the couch’s arms. When he had positioned his head just as he wanted it against the back of the couch, Edeco began to speak again. Attila responded without looking at either of us. His voice was deep, and his words, it seemed, carefully chosen. I noticed that he wore no jewelry, and his garments, though not made of marmot skins, were very plain.

  “Lower yourself now,” Edeco said.

  I bowed, but apparently not low enough, for all at once Edeco’s arm shot out and struck the small of my back, sending me to my knees. I peeked up to see Attila’s reaction, but there was none. His head was turned slightly aside, and he seemed to be staring at nothing, his posture so relaxed that he might have been asleep with his eyes opened. He looked older in profile, forty years, perhaps. A moment passed. Then he said something more to Edeco in his low voice. Edeco said, “Go closer now so that he can see you.”

  I went on my knees across the floor to the foot of the couch. I felt weak and very much in need of nourishment. In my mind’s eye, I could see again the scrap of bread covered over with flies. It seemed nearly desirable now. I began to sit back on my heels so as to not to lose my balance, but Edeco shouted, “Stay on your knees,” and I forced myself to stay as I was, tottering from side to side.

  The two men spoke at length while I bent my head and concentrated on staying upright. Finally, Edeco said to me, “Attila wishes you to know that your gift is most welcome. He heard my account of how you acquired it some thirty days ago when you first arrived, and he would have you know that he thinks you a woman of great courage. Now, if you wish, you may speak to Attila.”

  Thirty days ago? Not sixty? Not one hundred? For all that I’d had time to practice my speech, I could think of nothing now but the impossibility of a mere thirty days having passed. “I am grateful to Attila for permitting me this audience,” I stammered. I bent my head lower and tried to remember why I was there. “It is indeed an honor to find myself in the company of so renowned a man. I would be further honored, now that I am no longer a prisoner, to be permitted an audience with him on occasion, so that I might hear for myself what feats my gift enables him to accomplish. And I pray they will be many.”

  I was satisfied with my little speech, but not with the quaking voice that had delivered it. Attila had listened without looking at me, without the slightest indication that he was at all interested. Nor did he look at Edeco while he translated. Afterward, Attila remained silent for so long that I began to think our meeting would conclude without any response from him at all. Then his black eyes darted toward Edeco. He said some words, hesitated, and added some more. He moved his head farther aside so that now I found myself looking at his ear and the scar that began its descent just near it. Edeco said, “Attila regrets to inform you that you are to remain a prisoner, but—”

  “You cannot mean it! I will not go back!” I shouted mindlessly.

  “But,” Edeco continued, “as a token of his appreciation for your gift, you will be given all that you want or need from our people in the way of food and clothing.”

  I shot him a look. “Our people?”

  Edeco took a quick breath and continued. “Furthermore, you will be permitted to bathe regularly. You will be given wine as you desire it. I myself will come to you at intervals to make sure you are not wanting for any convenience. And, on occasion, Attila will send for you. This is how it will be until Attila decides what to do with you.” />
  I got to my feet. Edeco’s hand came down on my shoulder, but now I refused to succumb to its pressure. “What to do with me?” I cried, looking at Attila, desperate to catch his eye. “Is this how I am to be treated? Like an animal?”

  Attila remained motionless. Edeco laughed. “You professed to have grown up in caves. You should be used to living like an animal.”

  It took a moment for me to make sense of the reference. “I slept in caves,” I cried bitterly. “I did not spend my days in them. I was free to come and go. We Thuets love our freedom.”

  The amused smile fell from Edeco’s face. “There is no such thing as freedom, woman,” he sneered. “We are free only to choose our limitations.”

  “Then let me choose mine. Let me leave the City of Attila.”

  “You will never leave.”

  I glanced at Attila, who had still not moved a muscle. “Then let Attila take my life. Tell him it would please me if he would let his fine gift sate itself first with the blood of the woman who bequeathed it.”

  Edeco laughed, then translated. With his face still turned aside, Attila grunted. Their amusement inflamed me. My hand struck out toward the hilt of the war sword, prepared, in that instant, to do the job itself, but Attila found it first. His fingers fell over it idly, as if he had only meant to alter its position. At the same moment, Edeco grabbed my shoulders and dragged me back a pace. Attila yawned. He said something to Edeco and Edeco said to me, “Attila appreciates your dilemma, but he is loathe to let any harm come to the woman who brought him the gift of the gods. He will call for you again at some later date. Your conduct today makes it necessary for us to conclude this interview.” As Edeco turned me toward the door, I stole one last glance at the great Attila. He had crossed his feet and closed his eyes. A slight smile was at play on his lips.

  Outside, Edeco took my elbow, but I twisted away from him and we walked along in silence. When we reached the isolated hut, I stepped in saying, “Perhaps I could be moved into the village. I would speak to no one. I give you my word. Ask the women who come each day to feed me whether I have tried to speak to them. They will tell you I have not. Not a word have I said to anyone.”

  To my relief, Edeco came in behind me. Beyond him, the guard began to ride. “That is impossible,” Edeco said.

  His tone was gentle again, as his hand had been when he had tried to take my elbow. In an unanticipated burst of supplication, I took hold of his hand and clung to it, though I could feel his reluctance to have it held. “What have I done?” I cried. “What crime have I committed? You must not leave me here alone.” My eyes swept over the floor. A meal had been laid out for me in my absence, a real meal, with plenty of meat and bread and cheese and fruit and a jug of wine. Now I was torn between my desire to detain Edeco—for all that I hated him I did not think I could suffer another day or night alone with nothing but my own company—and my hunger. I loosened my hold on his hand and it slipped away quickly. “I cannot live this way,” I murmured, looking still on the meal. Once again I wondered whether Edeco had been at Worms when the kingdom of the Burgundians was destroyed. He had to be at least thirty; he would have been just old enough to have participated. I sank to my knees saying, “I must eat.” When I looked up again, I saw that he had gone.

  3

  “ONE DAY A HERDSMAN living outside the city came to the gates begging to speak to Attila. Attila granted the herdsman an audience, and the herdsman told him how, earlier that same day, he had noticed that one of his heifers was lame.”

  I was sitting cross-legged in the center of the dark hut the night that Edeco pulled aside the curtain and said these words. At first I thought them to be some new excursion of my imagination, but Edeco was carrying a taper, and for all that his words made no sense to me, I recognized the light at least as being genuine. He set the taper down and seated himself.

  “Upon closer examination,” he continued, “the herdsman saw that the beast had cut its forepaw, and that there was a long trail of blood leading off into the higher plains. The herdsman followed this trail half a day, and it brought him to a stretch of deep grasses not far from the city gates. Therein he found a sword, protruding from the earth so that only its hilt and a part of its blade were visible. He marveled that such a thing could go undetected so near the gates, and he marveled again when he went to pull it forth and burned his hand on the fire that shot out from it at that very instant. And then he knew that it was an enchanted thing and meant for the man whose palace the gates enclosed.

  “Attila rode at once, taking the herdsman and one of his officers along with him. When the three reached the place where the sword grew out of the earth, Attila commanded his officer to retrieve it for him. But as with the herdsman, just as the officer reached for it, a fire shot out and scorched his palm. Then Attila got off his horse and went to retrieve the thing himself while the herdsman and the officer looked on anxiously, lest the master should scorch his own precious palm. But though the thing began to blaze anew when Attila went to touch it, the flames eased as his fingers grew nearer, and at the moment of impact, they abated altogether. Then Attila knew that the gods loved him well and had sent him the thing to urge him on toward the destiny he had heretofore only imagined.”

  Edeco folded his arms and smiled. Although my mind was weak, sometime during his tale I had come to comprehend it. I was deeply pained, but I knew better than to let it show. I reached for Edeco’s hand, and he was happy enough to give it to me. I held it near the taper flame and turned it palm up so that I could see the scars. “And the guard who peered in the night I arrived and you learned the true story of the sword’s origin?” I asked.

  “The unfortunate man met with an accident,” Edeco said smugly.

  I gave him back his hand.

  “I would have burned my entire body if Attila had so required it,” he whispered. His eyes searched mine, as if for some reaction to his declaration. When I failed to provide one, he took it upon himself to imagine one for me. “You are appalled,” he said loudly. “It is clear that the Frank meant everything to you. But consider this, Ildico. The important details are true. The sword was fashioned by the gods. You said so yourself. And it did find its way to Attila for precisely the reason I stated.”

  “True enough,” I managed. “But the god who fashioned it was a Thuet, not a Hun.”

  Edeco’s features relaxed now that he had gotten something of a challenge out of me. “Thuet god, Hun god, Roman god, what difference does it make?”

  “Have the Huns gods? I would not have thought so.”

  Edeco leaned forward. “The Huns had no gods before the war sword. Now they have one, and his Earthly manifestation is Attila.”

  “Earthly manifestation? Do you mean to say that Attila claims to be a god in man-shape?”

  “Yes, in a manner.” Edeco considered. “Or perhaps it is more like the Roman god, the Christian one who is said to have sent his son to Earth to preach his word.”

  “What god is that?” I asked.

  Edeco laughed and glanced at the doorway as if to see whether anyone was listening there. “I know little about him myself, other than that his son was weak while he walked the Earth and did not resist when the masses set about ending his life.” He laughed again. “I see now that I erred when I compared Attila to him. In any case, it is fortunate for you that Attila believes that the war sword was fashioned by the gods and sent to him.”

  “How so?”

  “Why, Attila would have had you killed by now if he did not believe that. He believes the gods chose you to deliver the sword for a reason. And until he decides what that reason is, your safety is assured. You may not realize it, but you are a favored prisoner here. The others, and there are many, share lodgings to the east of the City of Attila. They are starved and beaten regularly by the guards who attend them. In fact, Ildico, had you not made the blunder that you did in telling me the story of t
he war sword, you should be living now in one of the silk tents that grace Attila’s courtyard, another of his wives.”

  “What blunder did I make?” I asked.

  Edeco laughed heartily. “Did you think for a moment that Attila would repeat your story to his armies when they asked how he came by the sword? It is a thing to marvel at, for certain. And all those who have seen it have marveled well enough. But do you think Attila tells them that he got it from a tribeless Thuet who stole it from a Burgundian who stole it from a Frank who stole it from a dragon who stole it from the gods? He might as well say it was a gift from the Romans, woman.”

  “But the Romans give him gifts regularly. You told me that.”

  “Not gifts with the power to defeat them.”

  “I see,” I said, though I was still perplexed.

  “You see, Ildico,” Edeco continued, “when you told me your story, you made it all too clear that you would never stand to see the Frank’s glory diminished. We cannot have two versions of the sword’s origins going around, now can we?”

  I shook my head. “Then tell Attila that I am prepared to deal with him on this matter. He can say what he likes about the war sword, if only he will set me free.”

  “Attila cannot take that risk. He has great plans for the sword that the gods gave—”

  “I gave it to him.”

  Edeco laughed and pointed a finger. “You see, you still persist.”

  “I only meant to say—”

  Edeco’s face became stern suddenly. “I know what you meant to say.”