me. At the end, he said I was free to talk to anyone in the camp, for he trusted his people’s discretion; then he gave me a small gold coin and dismissed me. He never even asked my name. The coin was beaded round the rim, and bore a crudely stamped eagle. It was an authentic and very rare Hunnic solidus.
At dinner that night we were offered koumiss, the Hunnish drink made from fermented mare’s milk and very strong. The wolf-lords drank deeply as always, and yet even after their eighth or ninth goblet seemed barely affected. I, on the other hand, could feel a foolish smile spreading across my face after only the second goblet, and my loins beginning to stir and warm again at the thought of my flaxen-haired Burgundian girl. I wondered if it might be possible.. . again… tonight…
Then suddenly I was very sober indeed.
Attila had taken the floor in the middle of the tent. We paused in our eating. Everyone fell silent. It was time for his address to us; but not, alas, the address we had hoped for.
‘We came together in peace and friendship,’ he began.
We all applauded, our collective dishonesty breathtaking. Our applause soon died away.
‘But alas, our guests had other plans. For tonight,’ – and he took some bread and broke it, in dumbshow blasphemy – ‘I am to be betrayed, and handed over to my enemies. Except that’ – he popped a morsel of the bread in his mouth, though he reviled the stuff as fit only for farmers, and chewed as he spoke, his eyes glimmering, for he was enjoying this – ‘except that, unlike your god Christ’ – he spat the bread out – ‘I have an exceptional spy network.’
He was joined by his warlords, the clever Geukchu and the wary Greek, Orestes.
Aetius beside me laid down his knife and said softly, ‘What is this?’
The weapons of the wolf-lords were outside the tent, far away. Within the tent, Huns had already unsheathed their swords.
‘He would not dare,’ I said.
‘Oh, he would dare,’ said Aetius, clearly unafraid. ‘But it would serve little purpose.’ He looked on, curious rather than afraid. Myself, I was already wondering how I might slip away to the privy.
Attila strode around the tent, his voice strong and commanding, his whole figure with the bearing of absolute power. Never have I seen such bearing – except in Aetius. They were like brothers in that.
‘Our guests, you see, these noble Byzantines, planned that I should be assassinated tonight. As if my death alone would save them. Ha!’
He was the only one in the tent, among a hundred, who laughed, albeit with a laugh as harsh and excoriating as sharkskin. Everyone else remained frozen.
‘These two loyal servants of mine, the Lord Geukchu of the Hun People, and the Lord Orestes, born in the somewhat decayed city of Thessalonika, but now also, and honourably, of the Huns – these two loyal servants, I say, remain as loyal as ever. We do not have traitors among our people.’ His smile and his roving, burning eyes were equally terrible. ‘But in embassy to the fetid and benighted city of Constantinople, ruled by women thinly disguised as men’ – at this, his warriors began to laugh, and relax – ‘they were inveigled into a plot to assassinate me, their divinely appointed King, in exchange for – what was it, my beloved Geukchu?’ He was playing with us, with the whole situation.
Geuckchu smiled broadly, too. ‘Gold, Great Tanjou.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. Gold.’ He roved around. ‘My beloved Geukchu, one of the closest and most trusted among my Chosen Men, who has ridden by my side for nearly a decade, ever since the day I returned from exile to claim my rightful crown. My beloved Geukchu, who rode with me east into hardships and battles unimaginable, who stood by my side in the foulest blizzards and the fiercest arrow-storms – this Geukchu, noble Geukchu, the Byzantines and their clottish emperor, Theodosius, the Calligrapher, and his barren sister, Pulcheria, believed could be bought off, and turned against me, after all this, with… gold.’
His warriors laughed and cheered, then fell silent again for their infallible King to continue. By my side, Aetius was very still. Only once did he glance along the couches, to Chrysaphius and Vigilas. They, too, were very still. Vigilas’ right hand was on his fruit knife.
‘You fools!’ roared the king suddenly, smashing his mighty fist down on a near table and setting the dishes sliding to the floor. His fury seemed to make the felt walls of the tent bat in the blast. ‘You Roman fools! As if any of my people would envy the trappings and tinsel that festoon your brothel of a palace! As if any of them would exchange gold for glory!’ His voice dropped again. ‘It would not have been the first attempt on my life by the forces of Rome, a eunuch empire which prefers to slay its enemies by deceit rather than by bravery in battle. But you may be sure that, in consequence of this fresh attempt – the clumsiness of which would have shamed a child – our vengeance upon your heads will be only the greater.’
He turned to Geukchu and held out his hand. Geukchu passed him a sword.
‘Chrysaphius,’ he said, ‘beloved of the Emperor Theodosius, step forward.’
The saturnine ambassador looked very pale. His eyes darted desperately around, and he stammered, hoping for support from his fellows, but there was none. At last he stood and walked uncertainly into the centre of the circle, looking like he might faint.
‘So,’ said Attila regarding him with lacerating scorn. ‘You offered gold to my lords Geukchu and Orestes, limitless gold, so that they would lead you and the assassin Vigilas into my chamber at some opportune hour, and murder me as I slept.’
‘My lord, I must protest, you have been grievously mis-’
The backhand blow Attila dealt him sent him reeling back three or four yards, before he crashed into a wooden trestle table amid a welter of sliding plates and food. Not one of our party or the wolf-lords stepped forward to help him. Deceit and assassination were no part of the Visigothic armoury, and, if the accusation were true, they despised him for bringing deep shame upon them.
‘I did not ask you for your commentary,’ said Attila gratingly. ‘I am not questioning you, I am telling you, and your disgraced comrades here.’
Two Hun warriors hauled Chrysaphius back and and dropped him at the feet of Attila. He lay there struggling for breath, blood flowing freely from nose and mouth after that colossal blow.
I glanced along at Vigilas. He had removed his hand from his fruit knife. It was hopeless. Across the tent, a dozen Hun arrows were trained on his heart.
‘To resume,’ said Attila. ‘Geukchu and Orestes, for amusement, agreed to your stinking Byzantine bribe. They led you back here, where they promptly reported your contemptible plot to me. How we laughed together, my loyal men and I. And now… here we stand.’ He looked at the rest of us. Another man had got to his feet. It was Aetius.
‘Ah, Master-General. You are about to tell me that you had no part in this plan. You knew nothing of it, and would not have approved it if you had.’
‘Correct.’
‘I already know that. Please be seated again.’ He looked down at the bloody-faced ambassador at his feet. ‘Tell me how much you would have paid your assassin Vigilas for killing me.’
Chrysaphius breathed heavily and scarlet bubbles came from his nose. ‘Five pounds was mentioned, my Lord.’
‘I don’t know whether you are brave or stupid,’ said Attila, ‘but you are still lying to me.’ He raised his foot and brought it down on the ambassador’s bare ankle. Chrysaphius howled and tried to crawl away but could not. I winced and averted my gaze. The Hun King was pressing his whole weight down on that ankle, and I thought I could hear bones cracking. Cruelty like this demeans everyone: the torturer, the tortured and the spectators alike. Aetius, too, was looking away. I quickly surveyed the Hun warriors around the tent. They were stone-faced, expressionless.
‘Vigilas was to be paid fifty pounds of gold,’ grated Attila. ‘A deal of gold, though’ – he smiled around at his own little joke – ‘I still feel undervalued.’
His warriors laughed.
He raised his foot and let Chrysaphius crawl free. The broken man, trembling all over, reached down to his shattered ankle, but it was too painful to touch. I thought I glimpsed shards of white bone showing through flesh. He wept. He would never walk without a crutch again.
Attila murmured something to Orestes, who went out, then said, ‘Step forward, Vigilas.’
The little assassin did as he was instructed. He did not look afraid. A man of deceit and violence himself, he
