Attila:The Scourge of God

Tze will take precedence over other matters.

With anticipation not unmixed with doubt, Attila drew near to the abode of the holy man Wu Tze. Reputedly over a hundred years old, the famed seer was a native of China, whence, so ran the story, he had travelled as a child with his father as part of a mission to the court of the great Constantine, when Rome was still the mightiest power in the world. On the journey home, the party had been captured and enslaved by Alans. The young Wu Tze, however, had impressed his masters by exhibiting a rare gift: an apparent ability to contact the world of spirits and dead ancestors. Released from bondage, he developed this talent through following a regime of contemplation and rigorous disciplines, gradually acquiring a status of pre-eminence among the shamans consulted by the nomads of the plains.

After dismounting, and hobbling their horses and remounts, Attila and Callisthenes approached the shaman’s felt tent, or yurt. Attila had made the pilgrimage with the intention of gaining from the sage a prediction of what the future held regarding his Great Plan. Although totally cynical about the supposed magical properties of the Sacred Scimitar, he shared with all his race a belief in the existence of the spirit world, and reverence towards individuals who professed to be able to make contact with it. He had had some doubts about the wisdom of leaving Bleda behind as sole ruler during his absence, but, with no great enterprise afoot involving the Huns, Bleda could do little damage. And the cachet that he, Attila, hoped to gain as a result of receiving favourable omens from Wu Tze, and of making contact with the spirits of his dead father and uncle — Mundiuch and the mighty Rua — must surely far outweigh the effects of any spiteful slander his jealous brother might spread.

Before he reached the entrance to the yurt, a high-pitched, bell-like voice from inside called, ‘Enter Attila. You are welcome.’ Attila started; how could his presence have been known in advance? Travelling incognito, he and his Greek guide had encountered on the journey only the occasional band of nomads, who could scarcely have had time or opportunity to spread word of his coming, even if they had discovered his identity.

Callisthenes following, Attila entered the yurt. The interior, heated by glowing charcoal in a bronze brazier of Chinese design, was pleasantly warm, in contrast to the keenness of the air outside. To Attila’s surprise, there was none of the usual shamanistic clutter — skulls, bones, dried animal parts, and so on. The tent was furnished, richly if simply, with nomad rugs, Chinese calligraphic scrolls, and a small square altar of dark wood. Wu Tze himself was a tiny figure, encased in a long tunic of soft deerskin, and high felt boots. Abundant white hair hung to his waist, framing a face whose skin was smooth and semi-transparent, like parchment, and of much the same colour and texture. It was as though the long passage of the years had refined and condensed his body, instead of inflicting on it the normal ravages of age.

‘You both have journeyed far and must be tired,’ said the shaman (the Greek translating) in those strange musical tones, after Attila had presented him with a bale of fine furs and expertly cured skins. ‘Tomorrow, Attila, you will tell me the purpose of your visit. But now, when you have seen to your horses and your gear, you and your companion must sleep; first, some refreshment.’ And he pressed on both a simple but sustaining meal of dried reindeer flesh and barley cakes, washed down with kumiss.

Next morning, after a sound sleep on a bed of furs, Attila, the Greek beside him to translate, accompanied Wu Tze on foot on a search for a species of mushroom which would, the shaman explained, help to induce the state of heightened perception essential for making contact with the spirits. Attila felt filled with energy and confidence. On this bright, tingling day, it was joy just to be alive. Impatient enthusiasm to begin to implement the grand scheme for his people swept through him. He had no illusions about the magnitude of the task. He was, he knew, essentially the unlettered leader of a shepherd people — in Roman eyes, a savage, a barbarian. But he had the vision, the strength of purpose, and the will to learn, to make his plan succeed. After all, Philip of Macedon had been little more than the tribal chieftain of an obscure barbarian nation; yet his son Alexander had created an empire to rival that of Rome. As they tramped uphill towards the treeline through meadows of coarse grass, the vast expanse of Lake Baikal unrolled itself beneath them, reflected light from its surface seeming to fill the air with limpid radiance.

Attila asked the shaman if he could foretell what the future might hold for him as co-ruler of the Huns.

‘Understand that I cannot of myself foretell anything,’ replied the sage, who, despite his great age, set a pace Attila found hard to match. ‘I am a mere vessel, to be filled by whatever messages come to me from the spirit world. Nor can I explain their meaning. That is for the recipient to discern for himself, or, if he cannot, to wait for their fulfilment, when their meaning will surely become clear.’

They entered a stand of timber, outrider of the taiga, the great forest belt bounding the steppes, to the north. Here, they located the mushrooms, large red discs with white warts, thus easily visible. Soon, they had filled a small basket, after which they returned to the yurt. The shaman proceeded to burn a sweet- smelling substance on a bronze dish placed on the altar. Then, after preparing and consuming some of the mushrooms, he began to gyrate slowly round the inside of the tent, all the while beating a circular drum made of deerskin stretched on a wooden frame. The fumes from the altar and the insistent rhythmic drumbeat combined to make Attila feel drowsy. .

He started awake. Several hours must have passed, for no sunlight filtered into the tent, which was dimly illuminated by glowing coals in the brazier. Wu Tze had put aside his drum (the cessation of its thumping must have been what had aroused Attila), and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his shiny black pebbles of eyes seemingly focused on some distant object. Suddenly, in a flat sing-song, he began to speak: ‘I see a wild ass running over the plains, and an eagle flying above it. Together, they attack and put to flight a wild boar. Now the ass pursues another eagle, wounding it before it can fly away. But the wounded eagle turns on the ass, which leaves it to attack the first eagle. This eagle is now joined by the boar, and together they put the ass to flight.’ He paused for a few seconds, then went on, ‘The vision fades. There is no more.’

Wu Tze stirred and, shaking his head, appeared to come out of his trance. He turned to face Attila. ‘Whatever I have related is for you alone to interpret,’ he said in his normal voice. ‘I have no memory of it, and even if you were to describe it to me I would be unable to explain its meaning.’ He looked at Attila intently, and said gently, ‘But this much I can tell you. I feel you have a great heart and a powerful mind, Attila. But I sense also there are violent passions — anger, will, ambition. These things are not in themselves necessarily harmful; directed properly, they can work towards the good. All things turn on the struggle between two opposing forces, the dark, negative Yin, and the bright positive Yang. Let your Yang rule your Yin, and you will achieve great things. But should it be the other way round, I fear for the consequences. We have a saying in my country: “Happy the people who are governed by a strong ruler and a kindly sage.” You will be a strong ruler Attila; of that I have no doubt. But will you also be a kindly sage?’

When Attila and Callisthenes reached the Hun camp, Attila was accosted on the outskirts by Balamir, the young Hun he had rescued from the Danube. He seemed agitated. ‘Sire, you are back none too soon!’ he said urgently. ‘Things have been happening which you should know about.’ He hesitated, as if unsure how to proceed. ‘Forgive me, Sire, but they concern your brother. I–I fear it may not be my place to inform you.’

Bleda. He might have known his brother would cause trouble the moment his back was turned, Attila thought furiously. Temporarily dismissing Callisthenes with grave courtesy, Attila turned to the boy. ‘You may speak freely, Balamir. A loyal friend has nothing to fear from telling Attila the truth — however unwelcome it may be.’ He had formed a liking for this youth who, in gratitude to Attila for saving his life, had appointed himself an unofficial guard and page.

‘The day after your departure, Sire, Lord Bleda called a full meeting of the Council,’ Balamir began. ‘He proposed that the peace treaty with the Eastern Empire, which was interrupted by the death of King Rua, be immediately resumed.’

A slow-burning rage began to build in Attila. How dare Bleda summon the Council in Attila’s absence, and without his agreement? It was a calculated insult — worse, a naked bid to undermine him. The proposed resumption of the treaty was, Attila suspected, a mere pretext for extortion.

The background to the treaty was complex. The Boii,²⁰ with some lesser German tribes who had recently submitted to Hun suzerainty, had revolted and asked the Eastern Emperor for protection. Theodosius, exhibiting the folly of a weak man trying to appear strong, had agreed, and the rebel tribes had entered into a formal alliance with the East Romans — who quickly discovered that they had roused a tiger. Outraged by this provocative act, Rua had demanded in the most forceful terms that the East retract its agreement with the rebels. Realizing that their attempt to play off one set of barbarians against another had badly miscarried, Theodosius and