smiled.
The priest’s shoulders sagged and he hung his head.
The warlord released him.
‘Now listen to me,’ he said. ‘As your god redeemed you, so you can redeem your family. You will go to your emperor in Constantinople, the Calligrapher. I will give you a horse.’
The bishop was looking out at his family again. The warlord signalled and his warrior dropped the tentflap.
‘You must attend,’ he said.
The bishop raised his eyes and looked at him.
‘It is no great task, but you will remember my words. This is a job for a bishop, smooth-tongued and proficient in diplomacy as you are.’
The bishop shivered at his tone.
‘You will ride south down the imperial trunk road for Naissus.’
‘My lord,’ he stammered, ‘do not send me, I implore you. The hills are full of savages.’ The warlord showed his teeth. ‘Of… of bandits, of brigands. I might be killed by Roman detachments, even, reinforcements, uncertain, bewildered-’
‘There are no reinforcements coming.’
‘Or by common cutpurses, bears, wolves-’
‘Life is uncertain,’ admitted the warlord genially.
‘Then why me? Why not send your own?’
‘Because life is uncertain.’ His yellowish eyes glittered with amusement. ‘They might be killed by common cutpurses, bears, wolves.’ More harshly he added, ‘Besides, my warriors are fit for better things than running mere errands.
‘Now, this is your task. You will wear a cloak I give you. My men in the hills about will not molest you: the word has gone out. You will have a good horse – good enough for a Christian bishop, anyway. In Naissus you will report directly to the city prefect. His name is Eustachius. Of course you know him well; he is your cousin.’ The warlord enjoyed his captive’s amazement. ‘You will tell him that Margus is laid waste, but nothing more, and demand immediate escort to Constantinople. There you will demand audience with the emperor.
‘You will speak to him directly, and none other.
‘You will tell him that he has insulted the Hun people. You will tell him that his armies have assaulted and slaughtered our innocents. They have trampled on the grave-mounds of our ancient kings, they have looted our burial grounds.’ The warlord’s voice grated with cold anger. ‘And you will say to the emperor these words from me:
‘“If you ignore me, oppose me or attempt to deceive me, I will destroy you. If you do not admit your guilt in regard to the descration of our burial mounds and the massacre of our people, I will destroy you.”’
‘My lord,’ stammered the messenger, ‘I cannot say these words in person to His Divine Majesty. His anger will be terrible.’
‘His anger will be nothing to mine. Say them. Say them just as I said them to you, word for word. The emperor in his perfumed palace will hear you. He will not destroy you, but if you fail me I will destroy you and your seed for ever. Just as I will destroy him and his empire: every wall, every stone, every man, woman and child left within. Understand me. Look into my eyes. Do I look to you like a liar?’
The priest could not speak.
‘Say to the emperor that if he does not render to me half his empire by way of recompense, I will destroy him.’
‘Half… the empire?’
‘Your ears work well. Of course, I will destroy him anyway, but he need not know that yet. And you can add for him the old Roman motto “ Nemo me impune lacessit – no man insults me with impunity.” Suitable, no?’
The bishop said nothing.
‘I will know if and when you have delivered this message in full, and correctly. If you do, you may return here and be reunited with your family. And then, if you have any sense, you will flee far from this empire doomed to fall. If you do not return – in twenty days – your family will be crucified, the whore and the children both.’
The bishop groaned.
The warlord struck him. He reeled backwards. With his hands tied behind his back he could not wipe his mouth so he licked and leaned aside and spat the blood that welled from his split lip.
The warlord’s voice grew fiercer. ‘How often in your life have you had a chance to redeem your entire family from death by a single act of great bravery? Never. Am I right? Of course I am. You are a provincial priest of a mean frontier diocese. Your family were mere yeoman farmers, slow sons of the soil with clay for blood.’
He looked away.
‘You should go now. Naissus is two days distant, and the capital another ten. So you will need to hurry to be back here in twenty days and collect your prize.’ He laid his hand on the man’s shaking shoulder, almost gentle again. ‘You will need to ride fast. Understand?’
The bishop controlled himself and nodded.
The warlord turned to his warriors. ‘Find him a horse.’
As he departed, the priest looked back. ‘My lord, I still do not know what name I should give.’
‘Attila. My name is Attila.’
Orestes watched him at the doorway to the tent. Great Tanjou. He remembered the day when the two of them had come back to the camp of the Huns, a small and humbled people, before Attila took them in his fists and remade them. And when Attila dug into the grave-mound, grubbing into the very bones of his father, Mundzuk, with a common spade. Now he preached the desecration of the Hun grave-mounds as a pretext for war. Yet Attila was no hypocrite. That was not the word.
One law for the lion and the ox is oppression. That was Attila’s creed, or something like it.
Attila said, ‘Let them use their own to pass on messages of disaster, to issue threats to their emperor.’ He took his place cross-legged at the fireside. ‘Let them use their own cursus to pass on my words.’
Orestes murmured, ‘Like the time we let those Turcoman bandits steal our gold. Heavy wagons of Chinese gold.’
An old warrior with long, greying hair regarded him. It was Chanat. ‘Tell the tale.’
Orestes smiled thinly. ‘We let them drag it over mountain passes, across fast-flowing rivers on rafts, across parched gravel deserts. A terrible journey back to their steppeland home. We trailed them all the way. They never knew. And when they had kindly transported all that Chinese gold for us, safely back to the northern steppes, we fell on them by night and slew them all.’
‘And took back your gold?’
Orestes nodded. ‘And took back our gold.’
Chanat munched happily on his leg of mutton. He liked this story. ‘Will this emperor indeed render up to us half his empire? Is he such a woman? They say he wears perfume, and boots studded with pearls.’
‘I don’t doubt he does,’ said Attila. ‘But as for handing over half his empire, if he does not, I will destroy him. And if he does,’ he smiled, ‘well, I will destroy him anyway. And then… Rome.’
‘And then…?’
‘Ah. Then.’
They fell silent. Chanat drank. Memories of China.
‘Whatever else he does, Theodosius will call on the West for aid,’ said Attila. ‘But no aid will come.’
Orestes frowned. ‘The Roman boy, this Master-General, Aetius.. .’
‘I remember him. He would ride to the rescue of any fallen damsel, even Theodosius. But he will not come. I have other plans. Constantinople has strong walls, but the strongest legions remain in the West. Aetius’ own legions are the finest. We could take on both empires at once, but it is easier to divide and rule, as the Romans used to say when they colonised new lands. Divide and destroy, I say.
‘We concentrate first on the East. Soon enough, Theodosius will send out a message by sea to Ravenna. Also to his field army at Marcianopolis, and perhaps to the legionary forts at Sirmium and Singidunum to attack our flank. Such messages will be… disrupted.’
‘At sea?’
