The Scourge of God

advanced.

Our horses jumped one of the wagon yokes and we went on, encountering a second line of wagons inside it, like the second wall of Constantinople. I wondered if Edeco had recommended this from his memories of my home city. We jumped that as well and came to the tents and the awful, carefully prepared funeral pyre of Attila. The pyre towered twenty feet high, a riotous jumble of saddles both fine and plain, silks, tapestries, carved furniture, furs, robes, jewelry, perfumes, staffs, and standards. Much had been looted in just the past few months. Clearly the kagan intended to not only take his own life if the Romans broke through but also prevent them from capturing his possessions.

I recognized Ilana, huddled against the heap of saddles, and my heart was wrenched. She was asleep, or at least slumped, with her eyes closed. I had expected a beaten and emaciated slave, but instead she was dressed in a spectacu-lar silken gown and dotted with jewelry. What did this mean? Had Attila taken her as a wife or concubine? Was this last journey for nothing?

I touched Skilla’s arm, stopping him and his horse. “Listen. I want you to promise to care for Ilana and take her far away from this place, far from all these armies.”

“What?” He looked at me in confusion.

“Attila is not going to let us go. You know that. But he may let you go, with Ilana, if I offer myself as konoss. My life and the sword in recompense for the fire at his palace, in return for yours and Ilana’s.”

He looked at me in disbelief. “I did not bring you here to die, Roman. If I wanted that, I’d kill you myself.”

“It’s not what you want but what Attila wants. Think!

This is Ilana’s only chance—to be given to you. Attila will expect you to marry her and serve him. But give me your word you’ll slip away from this madness so she can live a normal life. You’ve seen the Empire, Skilla. Live with her within it.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You never understand a thing, Roman! I’ve seen your Empire and I don’t like it! Too many people, too many possessions, too many laws!”

“But it’s her world. She’ll never be happy in yours. You know this, and you must accept it. This is what you must promise, if I give myself as konoss.”

“And if I don’t?”

I reached behind my back to loosen the big sword, lifting it clear and laying it across the front of my saddle. “Then I will die trying to kill Attila, Ilana will probably perish, and you yourself will be crucified for bringing me to his tent.”

He shook his head in disgust, troubled by my proposal, and it occurred to me that perhaps he felt fellowship for me as I felt for him: that perhaps he had sought me out on the battlefield not just from calculation but from loneliness. It’s also unlikely he fully trusted me. But finally he shrugged.

“Very well, sacrifice yourself. I will go wherever Ilana asks me to take her.”

“Thank you.” I gave a slight bow, strangely content. All my diplomacy had led to catastrophic slaughter, and all my efforts to free Ilana had led to her being imprisoned more hopelessly than ever. Bargaining my own life, after the sacrifice of so many others, felt oddly liberating.

I’d expected, however, some degree of surprise and gratitude. Instead, he seemed to regard me with irritated impatience. “Just don’t kill yourself until we get Ilana.”

We rode the last few yards and dismounted. How bizarre this reunion with Attila seemed! Here I was, a lone Roman amid thousands of Huns after the worst battle on Earth. Men clustered around us like sniffing dogs. One, with a bloody bandage, looked particularly familiar and I peered closer. It was Eudoxius, the Greek doctor! Here he was, in the army he’d dreamed of, and his old nemesis Aetius might crush him at any moment. He recognized me, too, and his look was one of loathing.

Not just Ilana but a dozen beautifully dressed women were linked with light chains to the pyre, awake now and looking frightened. Attila’s lust for conquest had led his people to disaster, and if he must die he wanted to bring those closest to him down with him.

Ilana herself was looking at Skilla and me with wonder.

She’d come groggily awake at the noise of our approach, and then her eyes had widened with recognition in the growing morning light. She seemed bewildered by our apparent partnership: We stood together as allies, both of us spattered with dried blood and grimed with the filth of combat. Then she saw the sword and her eyes clouded. I knew she wanted Roman victory, and revenge on Attila, more than her own life.

The kagan erupted from his tent.

If the Scourge of God had slept at all, it was in the battle mail and animal skins of yesterday, spotted with the gore of his enemies. His hair was wild and stringy, his thin beard grizzled, and his piercing eyes rimmed and red from worry, or lack of sleep. I was shocked and I think Skilla was, too: Attila seemed to have aged a decade since I’d seen him, and perhaps a decade in a day.

“You!” he cried, and I confess I jumped. I’d seen him wield power too often. But now he looked as if the shock of this battle had thrown him from the mount of reason. Never had so many Huns died so quickly. Never had Attila retired from a battlefield, victory not in his grasp. Now he was hunched behind his wagons, waiting for Aetius to finish destroying him. I hadn’t realized until this moment how decisively the Romans had won. The kagan’s spirit had been broken.

I lifted the sword for him to see. “I come from Aetius, kagan.”

He looked at me suspiciously, but instantly native crafti-ness replaced surprise. “He wants to parley?”

“No, I do.” I pointed at Ilana. “That woman is blameless for what happened in Hunuguri; I stole her from your compound, took your sword, and set the fire. Her only sin was to be kidnapped by me. I’ve come to offer konoss. I’ve brought you back the sword and for her life I offer myself. Kill me, but let the woman go.”

Attila’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Skilla. “What is your role in this?”

“I pledged I would bring back the sword. I have.”

The king grunted. “And do you still want what I promised in return?”

He nodded. “Ilana is to go with me.”

She cried out. “Jonas! This makes no—”

I interrupted. “I’ve come unarmed to save the woman I love. My life is a small price to pay for hers. Give her to Skilla, and let their blessing be on the sword of Mars.”

He looked from one of us to the other, a trio about to become two. “You care this much for a druugh? It was a Hunnish nickname for her genitals.

I swallowed. “Put me in the flames instead.”

Still Attila hesitated.

“It’s konoss, kagan,” a chieftain spoke up. “You must accept it.” I started in recognition at the voice and realized Edeco had come up. He wasn’t looking at me but at his nephew Skilla with curiosity.

The king scowled. Was this a trick? “I have to accept nothing.” His look became narrow and greedy. “Give me the sword.” His warlords were nodding, eager to have this talisman back to rally their men.

“Let her go to Skilla first.”

“Give me the sword first. Or should I just kill you now?”

I hesitated, but what choice did I have? I walked to him, and he grasped the iron haft, resting its heavy tip in the grass. We were inches apart.

His look was a half smile. “Now it will not be so easy.”

I put my own hand back on the sword. “I made a bargain.”

“Which I am going to change.” He turned his head and ordered. “Unchain the girl.”

I was sweating, despite the cool of the morning. They un-locked Ilana and she rose stiffly, perplexed and wary.

Attila raised his voice so others could hear. “She can leave, konoss will be paid, but no Roman assassin will dictate the payment.” He grinned at her. “She will choose who goes with her . . . Skilla or the Roman.”

“What?” she exclaimed.