sneered Skilla.
“I am trying to save this embassy.”
There was a long silence as the Huns weighed whether to accept this dubious excuse. If they slew us, both Attila and Chrysaphius would want to know why. “Is this so?” Edeco asked Bigilas.
He looked confused and nervous, glancing from me to the chieftain.
“Answer him, you idiot,” Maximinus muttered.
“Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, please, I meant no harm. All know how powerful Attila is.”
“And no Roman could detract from that,” Maximinus added. “Your lord is the most powerful monarch in Europe, Edeco. Come, come, Onegesh, Skilla. Sheathe your weapons and sit. I apologize for the confusion. We have more presents for you, pearls from India and silks from China. I was going to wait until we reached Hunuguri, but perhaps I will fetch them now. As a sign of our good faith.”
“You will drink to Attila first.” Edeco pointed. “Him.”
Bigilas nodded and hastily hoisted his cup, gulping. Then he lowered it and wiped his mouth. “To Attila,” he croaked.
“And you,” he said, pointing to Rusticius. He sheathed his sword and stood with his hands open, ready at his side.
“You think I am afraid to deal with you like this?”
Rusticius’s voice came from a mouth that was a line. “I think all of us should treat each other like men, not animals.”
It was not the abject apology the Hun was looking for, and from that moment he would react to Rusticius with a coldness he never showed the foolish Bigilas: Rusticius’s courage had made him an enemy. But the Hun provided an exit.
“Then drink to my king.”
Rusticius shrugged. “Indeed.”
So the rest of us drank as well. “To Attila!”
With that we all finally sat again, and slaves fetched the gifts Maximinus directed. The senator tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but the tension of this night lingered.
As soon as was seemly, our gathering broke up.
“Your quickness may have saved our lives, Alabanda,”
Maximinus murmured to me as we groped in the dark for our tents. “Just as that fool Bigilas might have ended them.
You may have the wit to be an ambassador yourself someday.”
I was still shaken, believing I had seen the true nature of our barbarian companions for the first time. When crossed, they turned into vipers. “I think I’ll be happy just to keep my head attached. I hope Rusticius can keep his. I’ve not seen him with his back up.”
“Yes, he has a stubborn bravery, but it’s risky to insult a Hun. You are wise enough to listen before you speak, I sense. Never assume barbarians are the same, young man.
The Franks and Burgundians, once arrogant, are now our allies in the Western Empire. The fearsome Celts have become the peaceful citizens of Gaul. Huns have proved courageous mercenaries as well as implacable enemies. The secret is not to antagonize potential enemies but to court potential friends. The Empire can win only by using barbarian against barbarian. Do you understand what I’m saying, my scribe?”
Yes, I understood. We were trying to placate jackals.
VIII
I
THE HOSPITALITY
OF THE HUNS
The next morning, as we proceeded down the Margus valley, Skilla rode his pony next to mine. There was no challenge this time. Everyone’s head was fogged from the evening’s drinking and quarreling, and conversation had been quiet. Now the Hun warrior simply had a question.
“Tell me, Roman, what god do
I shook my head to clear it, thinking it entirely too early for theological discussion. “The Christ, of course. You’ve heard of Jesus? He’s the God of the Roman world.”
“But before him the Romans had other gods.”
“True. And some Romans are still pagans, passionately so. There is always great debate about religion. If you ask three Constantinople shopkeepers you will get eight opin-ions. Put a priest in the mix and the arguments are endless.”
“So Bigilas is a pagan?”
“I don’t think so. He wears a crucifix.”
“Yes, I have seen his tree that your god was killed on. Attila learned to use the cross from Romans. But this Christ allows no other gods—is this not true?”
I saw where this was headed. “Yes.”
“Yet Bigilas calls his emperor a god—is this not true?”
“Yes. It’s . . . complicated.”
“It’s not complicated at all. He claims to believe first one thing, then another.”
“No . . .” How to explain? “Many Christians consider our emperor divine. It is a tradition of many centuries: believing gods are manifest on earth. But not in the way that Jesus is divine. The emperor is . . . well, simply more than a mere man. He represents the divine nature of life. That’s all Bigilas meant. He didn’t mean to insult Attila.”
“Attila has no need to claim to be a god. Men fear and respect him without it.”
“He’s lucky, then.”
“Rome’s emperors must be little gods, if they fear a mere man like Attila.”
“Rome’s emperors aren’t just soldiers, Skilla. They sym-bolize civilization itself. Law and order, prosperity, morality, marriage, service, sanctity, continuity . . . all are bound up in them. That’s why they represent the divine.”
“Attila is no different.”
“But your empire doesn’t build, it destroys. It doesn’t give order, it takes it away. It
“In my empire, the word of Attila is law for a thousand miles. He has given order to a hundred different tribes. It
I sighed. How to reason with a man who hadn’t even entered Constantinople, instead sleeping outside like an animal? “What gods do Huns worship, then?”
“We have nature gods, and shamans and soothsayers, and know good signs from bad ones. But we’re not obsessed with gods like Romans. We’ve overrun hundreds of gods and none helped their believers prevail against us. So what good are gods?”
“Three generations ago, the armies of the Christian Romans and the pagan Romans fought a battle on the Frigidus River that the whole world saw as a contest of faith. The Christians won.”
“They have not won against us.” Skilla galloped ahead.
It was later that day that we encountered a task even more disagreeable than camping near a boneyard. Maximinus had sent word of our progress ahead to what shaky Roman authority survived here, and we were duly met by Agintheus, commander of the Illyrian soldiers who had tentatively re-occupied the ravaged valley. While not pretending to be able to stand before another Hun invasion, this rough militia kept the region from anarchy. Now we carried embarrassing orders from the emperor that Agintheus was to give up five of the men who had joined him after deserting Attila. We were to take them back to the Hun king for judgment.
The five had been prepared for this. They rode without weapons, their hands tied to their saddles, and had the look of the doomed. Agintheus looked ashamed. By their appearance the five seemed to be Germans, tall and fair-haired. The smaller, darker Huns mocked them, galloping around like circling dogs. “Now you must explain yourselves to Attila!”
Edeco cried in triumph.
