Circa 1000 B.C.E. the archaeological bronze age Urnfield complex was becoming the historical Celtic or Keltic culture. (Pronunciation seems to have been "Selt" among the Romans and "Kelt" among the Greeks; either seems correct today, but for convenience, this narrative will use the latter, with matching spelling, thus distinguishing it from the celt "selt" which is a small axelike implement.) It was centered in eastern France and expanded to include most of Europe, with thrusts extending into England, Spain, Greece, and Italy. In the British Isles these peoples became known as the Scots, Picts, Irish, Welsh, and Bretons. There was a similar diversity throughout Europe. They were early ironworkers, and were fierce in war. Some went into battle naked except for helmets, horrifying their opponents, and some painted their bodies entirely in blue, with faces on abdomen and thighs, and wild decorations everywhere else. They were not politically unified, but consisted of a number of tribes looking for new lands to settle. Thus, in due course, the Kelts encountered the Romans in central Italy. This led to a perhaps surprising interaction in 390 B.C.E.
One might not think of arrogance as an art, but the Romans seem to have made it so throughout their history. They repeatedly got embroiled in what should have been unnecessary complications because of it. This is an early and forceful example. They thought of the Kelts as barbarians, and did not take them seriously. That was a mistake.
PUL spied the three oddly armed strangers and sounded the alarm. He lifted his spear and shield, signaling his men to fall in around him, and went to challenge the party. "Notify the Crow," he snapped to a slave. "The enemy party is here." That was not an insulting reference; "Crow" was the meaning of the name of their leader, and the brash bird was associated with the Keltic war goddess.
The three men came to a halt before Pul's troop. They were garbed in short metal skirts, helmets, breastplates, and greaves, and carried short swords. They were short; none of them came up beyond Pul's nose in height. Their hair was cropped short, and they had no mustaches, in contrast to Pul's own long, braided hair and huge mustache. Overall they did not look very impressive.
"Who are you?" Pul demanded, though of course he knew. They were the officials from the southern city of Rome, coming to sue for peace. They had been expected. Who else would be leaving the gate of the besieged city of Clusium and approaching the Keltic camp?
A translator spoke to the men. In a moment one of them responded, and the translator turned to face Pul. "We are Roman ambassadors. Conduct us to your leader."
Pul didn't like the tone, even translated, but since what they asked was exactly what he was supposed to do anyway, he complied. "Follow me." He shook his bracelets, turned briskly, and marched toward the main Senones camp.
Meanwhile the slave's message had been delivered, and the chief was coming out to meet the party. He wore a robe, as befitted a formal occasion, but warriors stood behind him with their hands on their swords. Beside him stood his own translator, a Kelt who had been enslaved by the Romans and learned their language before escaping.
Pul stood aside and let the ambassadors approach the chief. He assumed a position of attention with his own hand on his sword. One wasn't supposed to actually draw a weapon during negotiations, but to appear to be ready to do so instantly.
"Who are you?" Chief Brennos demanded. His words needed no translation, but the Roman translator nevertheless did so.
The Roman spoke. "Ambassador Quintus Fabius of Rome," the translator said. "Who are you, and what is your business here?"
There was a small stir among the Kelt warriors, for the question was insulting. Who else could it be but the chief? But the chief answered politely enough. "I am Chief Brennos of the Senones tribe, otherwise known as the Crow, here to conquer and plunder the city of Clusium and settle the lands around it with my people."
"Why do you leave your own land and try to settle elsewhere?" the Roman demanded, as if he had any right to know.
Brennos refrained from taking offense at this repeated affront. He replied by repeating the tale every Keltic child knew. The Romans were too dull to realize that he was talking down to them, as one would a child. "Our great King Ambicatos discovered that our people had done so well, and increased their populations so much, that he devised a way to deal with it. He sent each of his sister's sons, along with enough men to make their passage unstoppable, away to whatever country the gods should indicate with omens. Thus Sigoevesis was sent to the Hercynian Forests, while Bellovesos was set upon the road to Italy. We are of the latter people, and we have settled the fertile river valley in the north, and now seek to try suitable regions to the south. It is our destiny."
"There should be peace between the barbarians and the blameless people of Clusium," the Roman replied, seeming not to have heard this reasonable explanation. "Thus peace between the Kelts and the city of Rome. This is the will of the Senate. But if you attack Clusium, then Rome will retaliate in kind, and drive you out of Italy."
There was further restlessness among the Kelts, and Pul's hand tightened on his sword. What arrogance! This stupid Roman was begging for a whipping. But Brennos responded moderately. "We assume that the Romans must be courageous people, because it is to them that the Clusians have turned in their hour of need. Since the Romans have tried to help with an embassy rather than with arms, we Kelts can not reject this offer of peace." Then he came to the essence: "Provided the Clusians cede a part of their superfluous agricultural land for our use."
There was a pause for the translation. Pul would rather simply have fought the city, but realized that if the land the Kelts wanted could be had without a fight, that was easier. There were plenty of good fights to be had elsewhere, after all.
Then the Romans responded. "And what right do the barbarians have to ask such a condition?" the translator demanded. "And what are you doing in Etruria anyway? This is not your territory."
Pul's grip tightened again. Indeed, Brennos had clearly had enough of this attitude. "Our right is in our arms: to the brave belong all things."
"Then you have chosen war," the Romans said, and marched haughtily away. Pul would have liked to cut them down, but they were noncombatants and had to be spared. So he marched with them, through the Keltic forces, treating them like guests rather than enemies. It was the way of honor. Pul did not fully understand it, but knew the protocol. So he and other chiefs surrounded the ambassadors, pushing back the warriors.
The Kelts had formed their lines and prepared to attack the city. They were waiting only for the ambassadors to reach safety within it, before starting the action. But as the gate opened and a column of Etruscans emerged to escort the Romans inside, Quintus Fabius paused and turned back. He shouted at the Kelts, who were in the process of opening their small formation to let the Romans enter that of the Clusians. Evidently he didn't think the Romans were being given enough room. But it was hard to give them very much, because of the press of Kelt warriors who didn't want to be shoved back. In any event, the transfer was almost complete. After that, they could get down to the serious business of fighting.
Then, before they could accede to the ambassador's foolish demand, Quintus suddenly drew his short sword and thrust it at the nearest chieftain, who wasn't even facing him at the moment. The sword plunged into the chief's side, felling him. The Roman yanked it out and stepped into the Clusian formation before Pul or the others could react.
Then a roar of outrage went up from the Keltic ranks. Often disputes could be settled by individual combat, and it was an honorable way. But there had been no challenge, and in any event, ambassadors were not supposed to fight. This was a grievous breach of protocol, as well as a cowardly sneak attack. The warriors surged forward, but the Romans were already in the gate, and the gate was closing.
In a moment the recall horn sounded. What, they were calling off the attack on the city? Right when they should be laying it waste? But Pul and the others had to obey the summons. They retreated from the city and returned to form around the chief.
Brennos was grim. "Clusium did not breach its honor," he said. "The Etruscans did not breach theirs. It was those arrogant Romans. It is Rome we must lay waste."
Then a cheer went up. He was right: the Romans had to pay for this outrage. They would march south that very day.
But now an Elder interceded. "No. The Romans may be uncivilized, but we are not. We must send envoys there first to protest their ambassadors' conduct and demand that Quintus Fabius be surrendered to justice. This is the proper course."
Brennos grimaced, but could not oppose the will of the Elders. So he acted forthrightly. "We will send envoys." He glanced around. "You, Blaze. And you, Grout." He glanced again, his eye falling on Pul. "And you, Pul, to guard them. Go now." He looked at the Elder, in case the man should object, but the Elder simply nodded.
Thus, within the hour, they were on their way, marching south. Blaze was an old man of about fifty, with a huge burn on his forehead, but still spry enough; he had tended fires for the metalsmiths for years, and was known and trusted by all. Grout was younger, but not in as good health; he had suffered an illness years ago and never fully recovered. Still, he was able to move along well enough, so they made reasonable time. They also had an interpreter and guide.
In four days they reached Rome. It was a huge city; Pul had never imagined there could be such an expanse of dwellings in one place. It was across a broad river where there were many craft.
The guide spoke to the guards at the gate, and their party was admitted to the city. Pul tried not to gawk at the throngs of people in togas on the streets, or at the huge stone buildings. There was a constant babble in their weird language of Latin. Pul was glad he couldn't understand any of it; that kept things simple.
In due course they were given a building to stay in, and slaves brought halfway decent food. The guide explained that in two days the Roman Senate would consider their petition. There was nothing to do but wait.
"At least they could have provided a pretty female slave to make the time pass," Pul griped, and the others laughed.
They whiled away the time exchanging stories. It was understood that these would not be repeated to others; this was private man talk. Pul told of the night he had spent with a breathlessly lovely woman who had traveled with him for a while pretending to be his sister, then moved on. "But maybe sometime I'll meet her again," he concluded. "I still dream of her."
Blaze told of the night he had spent with a lovely girl of fourteen he had bought for his son to marry. "And she did marry him," he said. "But she wanted that one night with me, though I was twice her age. I could not resist her. Ever since, I remember the feel of her glorious body against mine, though I shouldn't; my wife is a good woman."
The others nodded. Who, indeed, married or not, could resist a lovely young woman? Then Grout told of his experience with the daughter of a chief he served. "She was just a girl of twelve, but already turning lovely. She was evidently curious about male matters, and no demure flower. She tended me in my bad illness, and when I was too weak to get off the bed, she held my penis so I could urinate into a jar. Then another day she held it tighter, and worked on it, until she made it spout again. I couldn't stop her."
"How hard did you try?" Pul asked.
"Not nearly as hard as my member was," Grout admitted, and they all laughed understandingly. "She surely became a beauty in the next year or two, and any man she fancied would have been lost."
After that they moved on to stories of other men and women, though some were too fantastic to believe. It was amazing how swiftly the time passed.
The time came. They were admitted to the enormous fancy building where the Senate was, and Blaze stated their case for translation: Quintus Fabius had broken international law, treacherously killed a Keltic chief, and should be delivered for justice.
There was some hemming and hawing, and then the translator explained that the Senate was passing the Kelts' appeal to the popular assembly for consideration. That meant more delay.
On another day the popular assembly made its decision: not only were the Fabians not punished for Quintus's action, they were appointed to military tribunes with consular powers for the following year. That was, it seemed, the highest honor that it was possible for Rome to grant to them.
Blaze and Grout were fairly easygoing men, but even they were outraged by this. It was apparent that the Romans cared nothing at all for justice. "This means war," Blaze said. But he counseled them to make no strong protest, but rather to seem to accept it. "Our first duty is to get home alive."
Then Pul understood. There were indeed times when discretion was the better part of valor. The dishonorable Romans might not hesitate to do some more treacherous killing, if they thought they could get away with it.
They departed the city and marched north. Their shared wrath was such that the return trip took only three days.
Brennos seemed not completely surprised. Indeed, he had been marshaling the tribe for the new campaign. Now that he had confirmation of the atrocious bad faith of the Romans, the Elders could no longer balk him. One old man's word they might have doubted, or one sick man's word, or one dull warrior's word, but the three of them, and the interpreter and guide, all unified in outrage—no one could question that. Indeed, as the news spread, the entire army became melded into righteous rage. It would be impossible to stop them from smiting Rome.
Still, the forms had to be honored. The Druids were summoned for a divination. Pul, Blaze, Grout, and the healer Heath were present for it, as well as other chiefs and of course the Elders. Heath was an apprentice Druid, quite knowledgeable, but not of sufficient rank to qualify for something important, like divination.
"Do you really believe that entrails can foretell the future?" Blaze asked Heath. "I mean, you have seen many wounds, so have experience."
Pul had wondered the same, but never dared to express his doubt openly. But both Blaze and Heath had important positions, so would not be required to become the subjects for such work. The Druids had the authority to expel any man from all religious ceremonies. Any man who defied a Druid's power, or refused to abide by a Druid's ruling, could be excommunicated. Thus he would be cut off from all contact with the gods. It would be for him as if the gods didn't exist. That thought terrified Pul. Almost as bad, other members of the community would shun that banned man, fearful of contamination. So questions could be dangerous. Still, it was possible to wonder. Pul kept his mouth shut and listened closely.
"While I am not in a position to say by what mechanisms the gods may choose to express themselves to mortal men," Heath replied in the cautious manner he had, "I admit to a certain sentiment that entrails serve best when they remain inside their hosts, enabling them to function. I should think that the gods would prefer more direct methods of communication, such as blasting a wrongdoing person with thunder. However, it is not my business to know such things. It is the business of the qualified Druids, who spend their lives perfecting their skills in such matters. I am a mere dilettante, beneath notice."
"Artfully answered," Blaze said.
Pul didn't see what was so artful about it. What Heath said made perfect sense to him. Who could doubt a Druid?
"What about spasm reading?" Grout asked.
Pul had wondered about that too. Such divinations were fascinating to watch, but how the Druids figured out their meanings was beyond him. They would put a bound, gagged man, the sacrificial victim, on an altar face down, and slowly drive the point of a knife into his spine. Of course he would twitch something awful, sometimes even managing to fall right off the altar before he fainted or died. Then they would study his position carefully, and consult among themselves, and announce the message of the gods.
"Again, it may be that the Druids have avenues of information that ordinary folk lack," Heath replied. "But it seems to me that a person who has no knowledge of a situation and could not clarify it if asked directly, could not be expected to do so when under the influence of the agony of death. The same goes for sacrificial burnings in man-shaped wicker frames. It is my theory that it is the agony of such deaths that appeals to the gods, who may then put their information directly into the minds of the Druids."
"The minds of the Druids," Blaze echoed. "There may be the key. Why bother with sacrifices, when it is the minds that count?"
Heath smiled. "But sacrifices are such a good show."
There seemed to be an undercurrent of grim humor, but Pul could not fathom its cause. Sacrifices were a good show; what was funny about that?
But now it was time. The Druids brought out a cow. They tied its legs, pushed it down, and cut open its belly so that its guts welled out while it screamed. They poked and prodded, making additional cuts.
"And they will announce that the omens favor marching on Rome," Blaze said.
How could he know that?
"The Druids know which way the wind blows," Heath agreed.
What did the wind have to do with it?
But sure enough, after due deliberation the chief Druid made the announcement: the gods said that the mission would be victorious.
Brennos nodded, vindicated. The Kelts were on the march to Rome, with forty thousand fighting men.
Of course this meant that their campaign was extended, because Rome was several days' march to the south. Pul missed his family's nice rectangular house with its peaked roof and the women who could be depended on to come to a warrior with adequate spoils of war.
He also missed his nice home village, for its double oval walls and ditch were permanent defenses, along with the fierce local pigs, who roamed the alleys between houses and attacked strangers. Here on the march they had to build their own rude temporary shelters, and assign guards throughout the nights. It was uncomfortable in many ways.
Of course they received word that the Romans were scrambling to muster a defense. It hardly mattered; the city folk were plainly not much for honest battle. What would happen, would happen. The Druids had pronounced victory, so there was no question of the outcome.
In due course the Keltic army approached the big river, which the Romans called the Tiber. Just north of there, by a small tributary river, the Romans made their stand.
The Kelts saw the enemy arrayed for battle, and lined up their own forces. But they did not attack immediately. Instead, Brennos summoned subchiefs from the ranks. Pul was among them. He left his troops in place and reported to the command tent. Was the chief going to try to negotiate again, even at this stage?
Pul arrived at the same time as other commanders from across the army formation. They went in to see the chief.
"Pul, what do you see?" Brennos asked.
Surprised, Pul answered somewhat haltingly. "Chief, I am on our left flank, at the base of a slight rise. Ahead of us is the enemy's right flank, awaiting our onslaught."
"And what is on the hill?"
"Just some trees."
"Are you sure?"
Nonplused, Pul admitted that he wasn't. "I suppose there could be a few Roman stragglers there. We can't check directly, because the hill is beyond the enemy line."
"And if there were more than a few stragglers, what effect would this have on your campaign?"
Pul was baffled. "Chief, I don't understand. We'll kill any Romans we find there; they won't affect the battle."
"Suppose there are ten thousand troops there?"
This was weird! "Why—why it could be bad, chief, if they came down on our flank. So we should be wary of those trees, and guard against possible surprise."
Brennos addressed the main group. "I have had experience with massed warfare, and I have heard of the tactics of these Romans. They don't fight fair. Here is how it works: they invite direct attack against their center, then they retreat somewhat. Then their flanks sweep in to enclose the enemy, routing it. Since I don't see extra Roman troops on our right flank, they must be on the left. They expect us to walk foolishly into their trap." There was surprise on the faces of the other subchiefs; suddenly the complexion of the battle had changed.
Brennos turned back to Pul. "But of course we shall not be deceived by such a simple ruse."
"No, sir," Pul agreed, abashed. Obviously he would have been deceived.
"We shall make a little surprise of our own. Grout—you will direct your forces to the left, to engage the Romans on the flank."
"But—" Grout protested.
"Ignore the center. Go left."
"Yes, sir," Grout agreed dubiously.
Brennos returned to Pul. "You attack the forest with your full strength. Circle left; come at it from their flank, swiftly. Do not try to slaughter them all, and do not pause for booty; drive them toward the center."
"But—" Pul started.
"Strike with all your strength. Crush them. Make them retreat toward their own main force, and keep the pressure on."
"Yes, sir," Pul agreed, much as Grout had.
Brennos gave instructions to the other subchiefs, and dismissed them. Pul returned to his formation, dazed. Now he understood far better than before why Brennos was chief. But what was the use in driving enemy troops into their main strength, instead of slaughtering them on the spot? Then there would be twice as many enemies to fight.
But he instructed his lieutenants as directed. "There may be massed troops hidden in the trees on that hill. Circle left and rout them into the main enemy force. Strike hard. Do not pause for booty. Drive them before you." They nodded.
The horns sounded. The Kelts attacked. Grout's troops moved left, engaging the Romans Pul would ordinarily have tackled. Pul's forces circled left and charged up the hill toward the trees, screaming villainously, as was their wont in battle.
And there were indeed enemy troops there—thousands of them. They weren't even looking outward; they were arrayed to charge down on the Keltic flank. Pul's men piled into them, screaming and flailing with their swords.
There wasn't even a decent battle. The Romans, completely surprised, broke and fled. Some jumped into the river; most ran down the hill into the position of their own center. Pul's men encouraged them, charging hard upon their rears. The ones in the river were in immediate trouble, because their armor weighed them down, encouraging them to drown, and those who tried to wade back out were easy targets for the Kelts on shore. But the ones who fled to the center were in just as much trouble.
And now the nature of Brennos's strategy became apparent. For instead of the enemy contingents supporting each other and turning to fight, the fear and disorder of the flank spread to the center, and all of them turned and fled the field, harried mercilessly by the Kelts. It was an utter rout.
Now the subchiefs sounded the cease-attack horns. They allowed the remaining Romans to flee back toward their city. It was time for the spoils. The Kelts set about collecting the heads of their fallen victims, according to their custom, and stripping the nice Roman armor. The head was the house of the soul, and any Keltic warrior attached much prestige to the skull of an honored enemy. Of course these Romans weren't much, but still, their heads were better than nothing. The skulls would be cleaned and preserved, and later displayed; the best ones would not be sold even for large sums. They worked into the evening, and all next day. What a haul!
And of course there were the prisoners, who would be duly ransomed back to their city or family, or sold as slaves if no ransom was forthcoming. So an enemy soldier was valuable either dead or alive. That was the beauty of war. There was a good business in slaves, and they were one of the main Kelt exports, along with mercenaries, amber, salt, and tin.
"We might have done even better, had we given them no respite," Grout remarked. "But the spoils are great."
"There's much more in the city," Pul reminded him.
"Yes, I saw. This is only the beginning."
On the third day after the battle, the Keltic army arrived at the gates of Rome, though it was less than one day's march south. Pul appreciated what Grout had said; the Roman walls were formidable, and it might have been better to give the enemy no chance to set up for defense.
But the favor of the gods was with them, for the Romans were not even defending the outer walls. The gates were left open. The Kelts passed without challenge and entered the city. It was deserted. All the people had retreated to the fortified center of the city, up on the main hill, or fled to the neighboring cities. It was strange, passing through this giant metropolis, with all its streets and buildings and temples, and seeing no people. The throngs Pul had seen before had vanished.
There was clearly enormous loot to be had for the taking. But Brennos did not allow it yet. He was wary of a surprise counterattack by the Romans, and wanted to be sure of the city before sacking it. After seeing how readily the prior battle could have gone the other way, Pul appreciated that caution. So they moved slowly through the empty streets, working toward the heart of the city.
Finally they reached the Forum, which was the political, religious, and commercial center, lying between the Palatine and Capitoline hills Pul had visited before. Here they found a group of gray-bearded senators sitting silently on ivory chairs, wearing purple-trimmed togas. Pul almost thought he recognized some of them, though he couldn't be sure, because all Romans looked alike to him. What were they doing out here?
"They look like Druid holy men," Grout murmured, awed. "Maybe they have divine powers."
"If they did, they would have used them to defend the city," Pul pointed out, though he too was amazed by this sight.
"I think they are simply too old to be of use in the defense of the inner city," Blaze said. "So they were put out here. The Romans don't want extra mouths to feed."
That was probably it. Pul approached one of the senators, who took no notice of him. The man certainly didn't seem as high-and-mighty now, as when the senators had refused to do justice for the envoys. So Pul reached out and tweaked the man's beard.
The senator reacted by lifting his long staff and hitting Pul over the head. Well, now. It didn't hurt, because of his stout helmet, but it was an affront. Pul drew his sword and struck off the old man's head.
Then the spell of awe was broken. The other Kelts slaughtered all the old Romans. The Roman arrogance, even in the face of overwhelming power, was simply too much to tolerate.
Now Brennos organized for the attack on the Capitoline Hill. But this was a more difficult target than the Roman army had been. The wall was higher and stronger than the city's outer ramparts, and the steepness of the hill made it hard to charge up. In addition, this wall was defended. The Roman archers had a downhill field of fire, and were well protected by battlements. They showed their heads only when firing, and were gone before return fire could be effective.
But the Kelts gave it a try. Pul was among those who led his troops in a frontal assault. They could not use their two-man chariots on the hill, so did it afoot. Pul wore a breastplate of iron rings, while his men were naked except for their weapons, shields, and body paint. But it turned out that bronze helmets and rectangular shields were not sufficient protection from bowmen who could take careful aim from cover.
Still, these were the same Romans who had been routed from the battlefield, and who had not even tried to defend their city. Now they were holed up like rats in their central fortress, and their nerve should break at any time. So Pul kept charging—until a stone struck one of the horns of his helmet, knocking it askew and making him see stars. He lowered his shield so as to use both hands to reset his helmet—and an arrow struck his side where the breastplate left off. He fell to the ground in agony, and found himself helplessly rolling down the hill, his side flashing new pain every time he passed over the wound.
He must have faded out, for then he found himself in a building with Heath the Healer tending to him. "It is not mortal," Heath said. "I have cut out the arrowhead and stanched the flow of blood. You will recover if you don't get the fever." Then he went on to the next patient.
"But my men!" Pul said, wincing as the effort of speaking brought another surge of pain. "I must lead them."
Talena appeared. Wherever the healer was, she was too, even in battle, and her presence was always welcome. She wasn't any great beauty, but her touch was gentle and competent, and she often gave verbal comfort, which counted for a lot. She helped prop him up so that he hurt less, and brought him beer to ease his thirst. But more important, she gave him information. "Your men are half wiped out. We are tending to the survivors. Brennos has called off the attack; that hill can't be taken by storm. We will have to lay siege to it."
"Besiege it!" Pul repeated, wincing again. "I hate that kind of war."
"We all do," she agreed. "But we have no choice, for the alternative is to let them go without punishment."
Pul nodded. "Brennos knows best," he agreed. "How fast will I recover?"
"Rest two days. Then if there is no fever, you can see to the sacking of the city."
That delightful prospect made him feel much better. As usual, she had known exactly what to say. He relaxed as Talena went on to the next patient.
He did have some fever, but Heath had done a good job with him, and it wasn't bad. In two days he was on his feet, unsteadily, and in three he was able to rejoin his less battered men and organize for sacking.
In the following month Pul and his companions gave themselves over to an orgy of sacking and burning. There was an amazing amount of loot in this giant city. The Romans might be uncivilized fools, and stupid in battle, but they had acquired many good things.
Meanwhile the siege of the central hill was established, and it continued. It wasn't very effective. Kelts were matchless on the battlefield, but sitting around and waiting for the other side to starve was no fun at all.
Then Brennos summoned Pul. "Something is going on," he said darkly. "The Romans managed to sneak a man out to summon help. We must stop that from happening again."
"Through my section?" Pul asked, alarmed.
Brennos smiled. "No, I am not blaming you. We don't know how they got out. We know only that one Roman soldier from their garrison at the Etruscan city of Veii up the Tiber River came down, swam the river, and passed through our lines to bring them a promise of aid once their general Camillus is recalled from his exile. Why they were so foolish as to exile a winning general I don't know; obviously they lack the wit of Kelts. We know about the soldier only because one of our Roman-speaking men listened close to a parapet at night and overheard their men talking about it." He focused his gaze on Pul. "And here is the key: those same soldiers said that the Roman commander, Marcus Manilius, planned to send the soldier back by his secret route to beg that the relief force come as quickly as possible. Do you know what that means?"
"It means that the Romans are hard up and we'll take them soon," Pul said promptly.
"Perhaps, were it not for their impenetrable wall. No, I am thinking of a useful action we might take."
"You want me to intercept that soldier and kill him so he can't deliver the message!"
Brennos shook his head in the way that hinted that Pul had said something foolish. "No, I want you to watch that man without disturbing him."
"But sir—!"
"And mark his secret route into the Roman ramparts, so that we can use it to gain entry."
Pul's jaw dropped. "Sir, you are a genius!"
"No, merely a warrior with some experience. It often helps to consider a thing more than one way. Once we spy the Roman spy, we will follow him and dispatch him safely away from the city, so his message will not get through. But meanwhile we will need a picked force to sneak into the Roman Capitol and secure it for our larger forces. With luck we can finish this siege within days. I remember how you turned the Roman flank in the battle, so I thought you would be a good man to tackle this dangerous chore."
"I'm your man!" Pul agreed proudly.
Brennos nodded. "Assemble your men, brief them, and be ready for action tonight. We are watching closely; if that Roman comes out, we will see him. A man will show you the route. Go in silently. Don't kill anyone unless you can do so silently. Get all the way in, then space your men out and kill all guards there. When we hear that commotion, we will charge the wall with a larger force, and funnel them in by your route. Can you handle that?"
"Yes, sir!"
"May the gods be with you."
Of course the gods would be with him. The Elders had said that the campaign would be victorious.
Pul returned to his men, and soon had them briefed and ready. They went to the rendezvous point at dusk, eager for action.
The word came about a third of the way through the night. A warrior woke Pul. "The spy came out. We traced his route. Follow me."
Pul rallied his picked men and they followed the warrior. They sneaked along a devious route up the hill. The Roman spy had taken advantage of cover, but also had known of certain covered cisterns and low ridges. There was a big drain hole some distance out from the wall that turned out to be large enough for a man to crawl through. Pul felt claustrophobic, going on hands and knees through this completely dark tight tunnel, splashing in waste water. But it had to be done. He followed the guide, and his men followed him, single file.
After what seemed like an interminable distance, the way opened out, and they were able to stand. They were inside the wall! They heard the stupid sentries snoring, and marked their places for slaughter, when the time came. Pul assigned his men, one to each snorer, awaiting the signal of destruction. They were able to distinguish the animal sounds of sleeping guard dogs. That was something, when even the Roman animals were criminally stupid!
"Temple of Juno," the guide whispered, taking Pul's hand in the darkness and pointing it to indicate the direction. "Secure that, and it is done." Good. Pul had four men remaining unassigned. He touched them, indicating the direction, then started forward. Their mission was on the verge of success.
But as they drew near to the temple, a horrible noise broke out. "The sacred geese!" the guide exclaimed, appalled. "No way to shut them up!"
So they had to act immediately. "Do it!" Pul cried to his men, and headed back. There was no chance to take the temple, because of those cursed birds.
His men struck, each his assigned target. But the geese had alerted the whole area, and the Romans and dogs were lighting lamps and fighting back. There were shouts from farther within the compound, and it was clear that overwhelming force would soon concentrate. "Get out!" Pul cried, setting the example by plunging into the drain channel. He scrambled through and emerged outside the wall, where the Keltic forces were already gathered. "Don't strike!" he cried. "We're Kelts! Their asinine geese woke them! They are alert and ready for us."
In the end, Pul lost five men, and the Romans plugged up the drain. The attempt to breach the wall by stealth had failed. The dreary siege continued.
No rebuke came to Pul for the failure of his mission, but neither was he in any favor. The suspicion circulated that a better commander could have prevented the geese from clamoring, and thus cut short the siege. All he could do was lay low and hope the notoriety wore off in time.
No relief column came to the rescue of the Romans; at least that detail had been covered. But neither could the Kelts storm the walls. It was an impasse. Word was that the Romans were suffering from hunger and disease—but so were the Kelts. Heath tried to say that they should at least bury their dead, and the Roman dead too (!) to abate illness, but since this made no sense at all, they ignored him. Who cared how ill the dead were? How about doing something about the disease the living folk were suffering?
Also, the Kelts were hungry too. They did not have secure lines of supply to their farms in the Po valley in the north, and the plunder they had taken was mostly things rather than food. They ranged out into the countryside, but the Roman farmers were no longer farming, having fled, and those fields that hadn't been burned were plundered out.
But mainly, it was that Kelts were warriors, not campers, and had better things to do than sit outside a wall counting their fleas. Only Brennos's strong leadership was holding the army together. Pul and the others were sick of this whole mess.
After half a year, the Romans sued for peace. Brennos was glad to accept their surrender. "We will depart," he said, "in exchange for one thousand pounds of gold." That would be enough to give every Kelt a nice bonus.
The Romans agreed to the terms, though they complained that they would have a difficult time trying to arise such a ransom. "Would you prefer us to continue the siege?" Brennos demanded. That silenced them.
Finally they had the gold ready. They met in the Forum to weigh out the amount. Pul was there to help keep order. The Romans didn't like the process. "You are using false weights!" one complained.
Brennos didn't bother to refute the notion. Instead he threw his sword onto the balance as well. "Woe to the conquered!" That shut them up again.
And so at last the Kelts headed back north, for home, leaving Rome to the Romans. It wasn't as if there was anything left worth having. Pul knew that this sprawling wreck of a city would never amount to anything. The Romans simply didn't know how to fight or how to negotiate. Their supreme arrogance was based on nothing.
Actually, the potential of Rome was greater than the Kelts judged, and in time that was to become apparent. This particular sequence did little to support the honor or valor of Rome. Unfortunately, the lesson did not accomplish the eradication of Rome's worst fault, arrogance. Had the Romans treated the Kelts with proper international courtesy at the outset, or granted the justice of their case, or even respected their prowess as warriors, considerable mischief and embarrassment could have been avoided. But the Romans went right on antagonizing others, and having to fight unnecessary battles because of it. It was the Roman Way.
The arrogance of Rome continued, and in the end sundered it. Beset by "barbarian" tribes, Rome was forced to negotiate and compromise, and even so was getting overrun. Goths, Franks, Vandals, and Burgundians occupied major segments of what had been the Roman Empire. The empire itself was in the process of dividing into eastern and western sections, each with its own emperor. But the greatest threat to both halves was the growing empire of the Huns, whose king Attila (properly accented on the first syllable) was a fearsomely effective warrior and leader. It had been established by his father, and the Huns were fairly settled; they were no longer the same slash-and-burn terrors of prior decades. But Attila had further ambitions.
Sometimes when a situation seems hopelessly confused and blocked in, it is possible to find a single move that transforms the entire picture. It is seen notably in chess, where a seemingly losing game can become a winning one with a brilliant move that the opposition never anticipated, but it applies elsewhere too. Such as in politics. Such a ploy by an ambitious young woman may have seriously affected the destiny of Rome, though it is possible that the device is a myth. The art of the ploy is something to be admired, regardless. The setting is the Eastern Roman Empire capital of Constantinople, A.D. 447.
MELEE woke to a terrible shaking. The whole world seemed to be moving under her bed. She heard the screams of her older sisters, and so knew that it wasn't just a bad dream. Something awful was happening.
She leaped out of bed, flinging on her wool tunic. She knew she had to get outside; the building was trying to collapse around her. But she paused to slide her bare feet into her sandals, because she was afraid of what her toes would encounter outside. She wished Dillon were here to help her, but she couldn't even cry his name. Their marriage was secret, on pain of terrible consequences. So he was a soldier and she was a favored damsel serving the emperor's sisters. If they ever learned of her marriage or her lost baby, she would be summarily cast out, if not killed.
In moments she was crowding out the door along with the other damsels, who were just as frightened as she was. In fact they were more frightened, being truly innocent damsels in a way she definitely was not. Melee herself was more like a prisoner here, locked in to the fasting and praying and supposed virginity dictated by the matron Pulcheria, the emperor's elder sister. It was almost impossible to sneak out.
Suddenly she realized that this was her chance. In the terrible confusion of the shaking of the building, it would be hours before things got settled back in. She would not be missed. So instead of joining the huddling group of maidens, she faded back behind a column, then fled the palace.
She ducked into an alley, going against the flow of folk who were streaming from the nether complex of kitchens, storerooms, stables, and servant's quarters. All of them were wild-eyed in the early morning chill, partially dressed, heedless of anything other than their need to get away. They had not yet noticed what she had: that the shaking had stopped.
She made her way quickly to the palace guard barracks, hoping that it remained disorganized. She was in luck; the men were milling about just as uncertainly as the servants. But she knew that Dillon was no man to panic in an emergency. Maybe he had the same idea she had.
He did. "Melee," he murmured, stepping into sight as she approached the rear of the barracks.
"Where's a private place?" she whispered, not looking at him. It was as if they were simply passing each other.
"There is a nook in the public bath that should be vacant this hour."
"Meet me there. Where is it?"
He described the section so she could find it. She brushed on, gratified to have arranged the liaison so readily. She made her way toward the Hippodrome, where the chariot races occurred. There would be no races there today! She circled it, going to the great bath house. Sure enough, its attendants had fled, though it wasn't much damaged. The warm water remained in the basins and pools, not having had time to chill.
She found the nook. It was indeed nicely sheltered, normally reserved for private parties by wealthy citizens. Dillon was already there, naked, pouring steaming water into the pool.
She stripped away her tunic and plunged in. The water was cool but not cold; the hot addition helped. Normally servants heated the bathing pools almost to body temperature, but that wasn't necessary for her purpose. She swam across, put her feet down, and opened her arms. "Come and get me!"
He did. He slipped into the water and came to embrace her nakedness. They kissed avidly. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and got herself up to facilitate his entry. It wasn't ideal, this fast, for water was actually "dry" on the tender surfaces, but she didn't care; she wanted him close and fast.
In a moment he was in her and jetting. Then, the edge off, he relaxed. "The gods know how I love you, Melee!" he breathed between kisses.
"Well, I worked hard enough to win you," she retorted. "If my father had lived, our marriage would have been recognized."
"I know. Pulcheria thought she was saving you from a fate worse than peonage."
"Actually, it's not a bad life in the palace. We are well treated and adequately fed. But all those prayers and fasts—"
"And all that virginity! How can you stand it?"
"Only because you are always in my mind, and sometimes in my body," she said, squeezing him. "When can we get away from this stifling city?"
"Where would we go? To Rome?"
"Can it be as bad as Constantinople?"
"It could be worse. The Goths have just about taken it over."
"I know. But are Goths so bad? I hear they are lusty folk."
"Who lack the sophistication of the civilized people. But if you really want to go there—"
She sighed. "Not yet, my love. When my inheritance is cleared, I'll be able to afford a villa of my own. Then, perhaps, we can have it all."
"I don't care about a villa. Only about you. I would go among the Huns, if you went with me."
"So would I, if that were the only choice. But I like the comforts of wealth, and would like to teach them to you. Have patience, love."
He laughed, somewhat bitterly. "When did you ever have patience?"
"Never! That's why you must have it all, to make up for me. I want everything: you and the villa."
"I suppose I could suffer through the rigors of wealth," he said. "Especially if you bought me a nice lovely slave girl."
"Dillon!" she exclaimed with mock affront. "I wouldn't do that!"
"Of course you wouldn't. You are never stingy. Make it two lovely slave girls."
"No. No."
"Well, then, three: morning, noon, and night."
"That is more like it," she agreed. "And you wouldn't be interested in any of them, as long as I was near."
"True. None of them could ever approach you in beauty or passion."
"None could," she agreed. "Now we must return to our stations, lest we be missed. Don't forget me in the interim."
"Never." They kissed once more, then separated and climbed out of the pool. Their pleasures had to be efficient, lest they be discovered and pay a hideous price.
She shook herself dry, satisfied that Dillon was watching, then donned her tunic and sandals and left the chamber. Just in time, for the bath servants were now returning, realizing that the immediate danger was over. They took her for one of them, and that was fine. She had learned to value safety beyond pride.
She got back in time to integrate with the other maidens, who had finally come to realize that the shaking was over. It hadn't been long, and no one realized that Melee had not been simply wandering the street in a confused state.
The matron Pulcheria arrived. She was forty-nine years old and severe of aspect, as was the case with her two younger sisters; only the damsels, being of lower status, had pleasant faces and bodies. Not that their dull woolen tunics let much of that show; none of them were supposed to be attractive to men. "It was an earthquake," Pulcheria said. "Very bad, but it is over. Surely a warning sent by benevolent Jesus that we are sinning and must reform."
Melee felt a flare of fear, but then realized that her sin had come after the quake, not before. So if Jesus was speaking to her, it was to encourage her to have a better life rather than to punish her for anything done before.
"It should be safe inside now," Pulcheria continued. "But there may be damage. Offer a prayer of thanks for being spared, and start cleaning up."
There was a joint murmuring as the damsels spoke their prayers of thanks. Then they grouped behind the matron, who led the way toward the main entrance.
They re-entered the palace. Some columns had fallen, but overall the structure remained solid. There was choking dust, but it was settling out. They got to work cleaning surfaces and floor, and checking for damage. It had been the worst shaking in living memory, and they learned later that other sections of the city had suffered worse, but they were all right. The gods had indeed spared the beloved of Jesus, Melee thought irreverently.
Melee overheard one of Pulcheria's sisters talking to the other as they worked. "Have we really been sinning? I have been trying so hard to be perfect for Jesus, but sometimes I do miss the life I had before."
"She meant the city, and the others in it," the other sister reassured her. "The common folk sin all the time. Look at the number of babies they produce!"
Melee wondered. If enjoying sex was sinful, then she was guilty. But how else did Jesus expect people to be fruitful and multiply?
Then the rain came. It was heavy and continuous. The streets flooded, driving people indoors and preventing supplies from arriving at the markets. Fortunately the palace storerooms had supplies, but it did cut down on fresh vegetables.
Another damsel came to stand beside Melee as she gazed out the window. "If the quake means a warning, is the rain another warning? It's pretty heavy."
Melee knew better than to betray her true thoughts. "It could be. But surely it is intended for those who have been sinning, rather than those who have been striving for perfection." She was borrowing from what Pulcheria's sister had said.
"Yes, it must be," the girl agreed, evidently relieved. She interpreted Melee's ambiguous statement in the way an innocent person would.
Suppose Jesus were to return to life, as it was said he would one day do, and visit this palace? Would he really prefer the company of austere virgins to that of full-bodied and willing women? Melee's own beauty was reserved for just one man, but if she ever met Jesus in person, she might almost be tempted to tempt him, just to find out whether he was truly man or eunuch. She suspected that he would prove to be a man. She could not recall anything in the scriptures that indicated that Jesus thought the enjoyment of sex was wrong. Hadn't he even welcomed a prostitute into his camp, and praised her above others? Melee would think better of him if he were fully human.
The rain kept coming. Water coursed in rivers through the city and washed out the foundations of a number of buildings, which had already been weakened by the shaking. They were all right in the palace, but the word was that many other people were getting driven from their homes and accumulating in makeshift shelters. This seemed to be proof that the sinful were being not merely warned but punished. Would they learn from the experience? Melee doubted it.
The deluge continued for four days and nights, and seemed to be doing more damage than the shaking had. Impromptu crews were routed out to shore up the major buildings, but the work was makeshift. At one point Melee saw Dillon on one of the crews around the palace, and didn't dare signal him, lest her interest be noted.
"Do you think it will continue for forty days?" a damsel asked Pulcheria.
"No!" the matron snapped. Then, realizing that she was hurting the damsel's feelings, she relented somewhat. "It is surely not God's purpose to destroy the good with the evil. It will pass when the time is proper. When enough of the evil has been washed from the city."
About all Melee could say for it was that it was a break in the deadly routine of prayer, psalmody, and embroidery that was the standard Pulcheria enforced. Pulcheria had taken over the palace early in her life, soon after her brother Theodosius became emperor. She was a devout Christian, a religion that happened to believe in just one god and resented the other gods. This Christian god evidently didn't like the pleasures of the flesh, for Pulcheria, her two sisters, and the favored damsels were supposed to be austere and virginal throughout. Their clothing was simple, for this god didn't like the vanity of dress, and their diet frugal. Worse, all men were scrupulously excluded from the palace, except for occasional saints who had no use for the distinction of genders. Seclusion was the order of the day—and the month and year.
Meanwhile, Pulcheria pretty much controlled the affairs of state, acting through her brother Theodosius, who even as an adult remained somewhat in awe of her. He was actually a rather decent man, learned and friendly to all, not given to violence. It was Pulcheria who had decided what woman he would marry. Fortunately for him, she had chosen a girl of exceptional beauty, Athenais, who was the daughter of a university professor and spoke perfect Greek. But in this perhaps Pulcheria made a mistake, for Theodosius fell in love with his lovely wife, and she slowly assumed greater power, at Pulcheria's expense. Still, Pulcheria ruled the palace, and was able to channel money to build many splendid Christian churches in different parts of the empire.
But that didn't help Melee, whose profession of Christianity was a matter of survival rather than conviction. All this austerity was foreign to her nature. So she welcomed this break in the regimen, and not just because it had given her the chance to snatch brief pleasure with Dillon.
The rain finally stopped. God had finished with washing the sin from the city. Only then did the full extent of the mischief become apparent. Not only had the city suffered severe structural damage, a siege of plague broke out, spreading rapidly through the crowded shelters. This must be the third stage of the warning to the sinners. Worse yet, more than half the towers of the city's defensive wall had been destroyed. There were gaping holes in the wall, through which an enemy could readily advance. Constantinople was virtually defenseless.
Suppose the Huns invaded? They were ferocious fighters, who could surely take the city, if they struck while the wall was down. Could that be the fourth part of the warning? If so, it would be a savage one, for little was left after the Huns sacked a city. No gold and no virgins. Already the common folk were gathering up their meager possessions and fleeing the city, though this might have been as much to escape the plague as from fear of the invader.
The fear of the Hun continued to build. Wild stories spread of the terrible things the Huns did to captives. "I have heard that they line up maidens against a wall, and rape them in public before they kill them," one of the maidens said. "We must flee before they come."
Melee had her doubts about whether the Huns were any more brutal than Roman soldiers, but she wasn't easy about the fate of the city if the Huns came. The hysteria was spreading.
"We can't have this," Pulcheria said firmly. She talked to her brother, and the emperor set out to repair the wall before anything else.
The effort was so desperate, and so important, that even some of the favorite damsels were allowed to help. Melee put aside her embroidery and went out to help bring food and comfort to the crews laboring diligently on the wall. The damsels were supposed not to soil their delicate hands with any physical labor, but in the throes of the effort Melee was able to escape observation and rendezvous with one of the construction supervisors: Dillon. So she did not soil her hands, and the part of her that might be considered soiled did not show. But she was doing her best to facilitate the work, in her fashion. Dillon agreed emphatically.
The crews were organized along the color lines. This derived from the supporters of different factions of the chariot races: Blues, Whites, Greens, and Reds. This followed the patterns of Rome. But the colors were not equal. The Blues and Greens had become dominant. The factions, called demes, were so powerful that they were organized along political lines, with a strict chain of command. The Blues and Greens had private boxes on the side of the Hippodrome closest to the palace, flanking the emperor's own box. So it was to this existing structure the city turned when something needed to be done in a hurry. The Blues competed against the Greens in repairing the wall. The Reds and Whites worked too, but their sections were comparatively small. The work went quickly, because each deme wanted to prove itself.
Dillon was a Blue. Melee helped make him be proud of it. Now if only the terrible Huns would delay their invasion until the wall and towers were repaired!
But Attila was not immediately threatening Constantinople. He normally raided the rich lands in the summer campaigning season, having other business in winter. The earthquake and heavy rain occurred in January 447; it wasn't until about three months later that Attila's campaign started, by which time the repairs to the wall had been completed. Actually Attila wasn't much interested in sacking Constantinople, because it was out of his way and there were far easier spoils to be had in the smaller cities whose defenses were less formidable. Also, he was still consolidating his control over a very large and somewhat sprawling empire in which some of the subject tribes, such as the Scythians, had certain notions of autonomy. His forces included a core of fine Hun cavalry, Gepids under their king Ardaric, Goths led by Valamer, and contingents of Sciri, Rugi, Suebi, and other subject tribes. The Romans fought bravely, but Attila won, and raided Greece freely, plundering as many as a hundred cities. This was the point of such campaigns: to gain plunder that sustained the Hun empire. Naturally Attila did not plunder his own domains, and in any event, the economy of the Huns had little to export other than horses, slaves, furs, and mercenary troops. So the influx of wealth from these routine campaigns was vital to the stability and growth of the kingdom. Finally the Romans had to sue for peace, and agreed to pay an annual tribute of 2,100 pounds of gold and evacuate significant territory south of the Danube River. So it was a successful campaign, for Attila, yielding plunder, tribute, and land. Who needed Constantinople?
In 448 Attila's attentions were taken to another area. A nomadic tribe known as the Acatziri, or Forest People, lived independently north of the Black Sea. Emperor Theodosius solicited them, hoping to gain an ally at Attila's rear. This provoked Attila's attention, and in a succession of battles he reduced most of these tribes to subject status. His eldest son, Ellac, was sent to govern them. Perhaps there would have been peace, then, for a while, except for continued Roman meddling. Relations between the empires were at best somewhat strained, but the Romans went beyond acceptable limits. Again. The time is A.D. 449.
Od arrived at Queen Kreka's quarters and stood silently, waiting for his presence to be recognized. There were several buildings, some fashioned of intricately meshed carved boards, others on round wooden blocks so that they were clear of the ground. All of them were for the use of the queen and her servants. As Attila's first wife and mother of his three eldest sons, she was an important figure, and no one questioned it. Attila had several lesser wives, and it was the younger, fresher ones who normally shared his bed, but Kreka had power. Attila listened to her, if she chose to make a point.
After a moment Avalanche came out, as beautiful as ever. She was a body servant to the queen, but often enough she came to spend an hour with Od, with the queen's blessing. The queen could have prevented any such liaisons, but preferred to maintain good relations with Od's employer, Orestes. This was one of the little ways: letting her servant keep his servant satisfied.
Avalanche stopped before him, assuming a formal pose. She wore a standard rough wool robe underlaid with precious silk to eliminate chafing, and looked lovely. "What is your business with the queen?" she inquired.
"Orestes has news to convey to her."
"And why does not Orestes come himself?"
"Orestes needs to make no accounting to you," he said with mock haughtiness. They both knew that they had to stall long enough to allow the queen to compose herself and her servants for a semi-formal reception.
"In that case I won't show you this." She put her hand on the lapel of her robe.
It was a game they played, but it had a real effect on him. If any woman had a finer body than she, he did not know of it. Od lowered his voice. "He's going to make a special journey to Constantinople."
"Thank you." She drew open her robe, and her silken undergarment, showing her full left breast. Then she stepped into him and kissed him. "I'll be free tonight."
He patted her firm bottom. He was a little surprised that she remained interested in him, as her attention normally was fleeting. But though she had affairs freely with others, she did not seem to want to let Od go. She was so beautiful that he was unable to deny her, though he knew that in time she would tire of whatever it was she saw in him. After all, he was nothing but a poor Roman servant serving a Roman noble, who in turn served a barbarian king, making himself useful in whatever ways were feasible. He understood the technology of Roman catapults and aqueducts, but such things were not to be found here in the hinterlands. "I will be ready."
Enough time had passed. "This way," she said, disengaging. She took his arm and guided him up the wooden steps and through the thick curtains of the entrance.
The floor inside was covered with woolen mats. Od paused to remove his leather shoes, and stepped barefooted on the nearest mat.
Queen Kreka reclined on a couch at the far side of the chamber. She was a woman of about forty, no longer pretty, but impressive in a splendid red gown. A number of female servants stood around her, some of them comely, and maids sat on the floor in front of her, embroidering linen cloths. These would be sewn onto the queen's dresses for ornament. It was a pretty scene, carefully crafted to be so.
He walked to the appropriate spot and stopped, bowing his head. "What brings the emissary of the Roman here?" Kreka inquired after a moment. "The Roman" was Orestes, who had been prominent in the Western Roman Empire before coming to offer his services to Attila. The Hun king had surrounded himself with prominent men from many lands, in this way elevating his court to a level beyond what was normal among the so-called barbarians. Attila did not pretend to be cultured or educated, and was personally frugal, but he was no fool. He commanded a loyalty among his supporters that went beyond his generosity to them; all of them respected his qualities of leadership.
Od lifted his head. "High Lady, the Roman wishes you to be the first to know that he must travel to Constantinople on business for the king. He inquires whether there is anything he might acquire there for you."
Kreka smiled, genuinely pleased. "How thoughtful of him! Yes, I would like fine silk for a dress, and a necklace of amber to wear with it. Would that be within his means?"
"I believe it would," Od said.?"
"Must you return to your master immediately?"
"We depart in two days. My only mission today is to bring this message to you, High Lady."
"Two days," she said thoughtfully. "Then Orestes must have a bit of time free, too. Do you suppose he could join us tonight for a banquet? We would like to talk to him about the gossip of Rome."
The gossip of Rome was a very popular subject for the wives of the nobles of Attila's court. Rome was the acme of dissolute wealth, and therefore endlessly fascinating to those who had to labor in the real world. It might seem frivolous, but the wish of the queen was something any lower person took extremely seriously. "I shall ask him, High Lady." That, in the code of courtly behavior, meant that Od would convey the queen's order for a command appearance to Orestes, who would adjust his schedule to oblige. It would not be a complete loss, for the queen could arrange an extremely nice table.
"Then the two of you must join us for a banquet. My maid Avalanche will make you comfortable."
Od saw a possible problem. "Is the Roman's wife to be included?"
Kreka laughed. "You don't trust your master near Avalanche? Of course his wife is invited. She knows more gossip than he does."
Od bowed. "Your courtesy and kindness are remarkable, High Lady." It was no less than the truth. The queen, despite being a native Hun, was a pleasant and generous person, and not stupid about the relationships of those around her. Like her husband, she liked to learn the ways of culture, choosing which aspects to adopt. She had a sharp eye for what was fashionable among the civilized upper classes.
Avalanche saw him out. "Od, about what she said: you know that if Orestes wanted me, I would have to oblige him."
"I know. And I know that he has no intention of being indiscreet with anyone. He is an honest man. But I also know that his wife does not like being left out of things. Especially royal events."
"Especially all-female events," she said. "Where some of the girls like to see how far they can make a man's pupils dilate, just by chance." She opened her robe again, demonstrating on Od's own pupils.
"That, too," he agreed.
She kissed him. "Od, I like you because you know my nature, yet still associate with me as an equal."
He shrugged. "You are the only beautiful woman who pays any attention to me."
"Because I know your nature. You are the smartest man I have encountered. You know everything about everything, though you pretend to be ignorant. One day you will be prominent."
Her faith in him was pleasant, if probably unrealistic. He could live with her flattery, especially when she followed it up with close contact with her body, as now. But he couldn't dally long. Od returned to Orestes and delivered the message.
The Roman sighed. "I will oblige. There is nothing as potent as a woman's thirst for news of scandal."
There followed a very nice meal, with Od seated at the table between Avalanche and Orestes, while the Roman was next to the queen. They were the only males present, and all the women treated them as if they were royal, though all knew Od was not. It was a charade he found pleasant enough. Once a mischievous Hun girl, encountering Orestes and Od together, had shown the highborn Roman a flash of her higher torso, and the lowborn Roman a similar flash of her lower torso, implying that each was entitled only to its own level. Orestes had laughed and remarked that it might be pleasant to exchange roles some day.
It seemed that the queen had heard of a prominent Roman lady, Galla Placidia, and wished to know more about her. Orestes, as a prominent former resident in the Western Roman Empire, had thorough background information on its most notorious figures. Placidia was certainly one of them.
"Is it true that she was a Goth?" Kreka asked. "And that she seduced kings?"
"Not exactly, High Lady," Orestes said cautiously. "But she is nevertheless a remarkable woman."
"Tell me all about her. Every detail."
So Orestes evidently dredged his memory for what he knew of that particular lady, and recounted her history for the benefit of the queen and her handmaidens. It was apparent that this fine banquet was his reward for this vital information, and he did not want to disappoint anyone.
Od glanced at Orestes' wife. She was happily eating. She had no doubt primed her husband, knowing what Roman ladies had made the foreign news recently. She knew that the favor of the queen had significant bearing on the favor of Attila, and that the queen really did not abuse her position. Galla Placidia was the sister of the rather weak former emperor of the Western Roman Empire, Honorius. While he was largely ineffective as a leader, his sister was in contrast strong-minded, imaginative, and determined. But of course she was a woman, so could not assume power on her own. Not directly.
The ladies of the court nodded understandingly. It was this way among the Huns, too. A proper lady exerted her influence on politics by affecting the men she was close to. Women could be quite adept at this subtle continuing process.
When Honorius' disastrous policies resulted in the siege of Rome by the forces of Alaric the Visigoth, most Roman nobles fled the city. But Galla Placidia, then aged twenty-two and beautiful, had been too proud to flee. Perhaps she had supposed that Rome would not fall. Alaric had needed reinforcements to take the city, and his wife's brother Athaulf brought a contingent of Gothic and Hun troops, and these prevailed. Thus when Rome fell, Placidia was taken prisoner by the Goths.
"Of course," Kreka agreed, and her women applauded. Naturally they favored the Huns, the most effective fighters in the world. Naturally they captured the prettiest royal women.
Then Alaric became ill, and died, leaving Athaulf as the leader of all the Goths in Italy. But he wanted legitimacy as well as power, so he decided to marry Placidia, whom he well knew was the emperor's sister. The fact that she was perhaps Rome's most beautiful woman might have had something to do with it.
There was laughter around the table. They all knew that men had little judgment of women, other than their appearance. A man's weapon was his sword; a woman's weapon was her beauty.
So Athaulf sent emissaries to Emperor Honorius with this proposal: unify their empires with a royal marriage. But Honorius, with the arrogance for which Rome had always been known, scornfully rejected it and demanded his sister back.
Athaulf would not let Placidia go. She was too valuable and too lovely. Instead he kept her with him, nominally as a hostage. The truth was that he had fallen in love with her, and treated her as well as any lady could wish. He even took her with him on his next campaign. This was in Gaul, two years later. He led a large army over the Alps. Then he formally demanded from the emperor a land where his people could settle.
Honorius, realizing that the Visigoths were going to take Gaul anyway, ceded a large region, and suggested that Placidia be sent back now. Athaulf agreed to the first and rejected the second. After he established the Gothic kingdom in Gaul, he married Placidia. She was by no means an unwilling bride. She had come to love Athaulf, and he was after all the king of a powerful people. It was a splendid occasion, and even the Romans realized that this was not after all a bad conclusion to the affair.
Kreka and her ladies nodded knowingly. Placidia had gone from hostage to queen, and was in control of the situation. She was even accepted by Athaulf's six children by a prior marriage.
A year later they celebrated their anniversary in a spectacular manner. Placidia was garbed as a Roman empress, seated on a throne. Athaulf had a subordinate position beside her. Fifty young men approached, each carrying a bowl filled with silver and another filled with precious stones, and presented them to Placidia. A noble named Attalus, who had once briefly been named as a puppet emperor of Rome, led the singing. Thus, symbolically, Placidia was the ruler of them all.
"Symbolically, my sore toe!" Kreka snorted, and the others laughed. Their sympathy for the bold woman was overriding their identification with the "barbarian" kingdom. Placidia was doing her gender proud.
Then disaster struck. Athaulf was murdered by a turncoat servant who was definitely not enamored of Placidia. He forced her and Athaulf's children to walk in a procession through the streets in front of his horse, for several hours. He didn't kill them, but was determined to humiliate them.
Fortunately a new ruler soon came into power. He realized that Placidia was a valuable property, so he ransomed her back to Rome for a substantial shipment of wheat. So, after five years among the Goths, Placidia finally came home to the Roman Empire. It might have seemed that her days of notorious glory were over.
The Hunnic women shook their heads. They knew better.
Emperor Honorius arranged for his sister's second marriage. She was still a beautiful woman, and still well connected. He married her to a former consul, by whom she had a son and a daughter. But in five years he died, leaving her a widow a second time.
Placidia decided that she and her children would be better off in the Eastern Roman Empire, which was by then more secure than the Western Roman Empire. So she traveled to Constantinople. But the ship in which she sailed was struck by a storm, and seemed about to founder in the high winds and heavy seas. Placidia was a devout Christian, so she prayed to her god: "If I survive this crossing, I will build a suitable church!" In due course the winds abated and the ship completed the crossing safely. So she arranged for a fine church to be built in the provisional Western Roman capital of Ravenna.
Placidia had satisfactory relationships with the Eastern Roman Emperor Theodosius and his sisters, notably Pulcheria, who was an even more devout Christian. But she kept in touch with the west, and her influence there was strengthening. Her brother Honorius died in two years, and she then arranged to have her six-year-old son proclaimed emperor in the west, as Valentinian III. She of course became his guardian and regent, the most powerful figure in the Western Empire. "From that time to this, some twenty-five years," Orestes concluded, "she has essentially run the empire. It has been a generally beneficial influence. In that period much of its deterioration has been reversed, and it has become a formidable power again."
The maidens smiled, pleased with the accomplishment of the bold woman.
Kreka nodded. "So when my husband invades the Western Roman Empire, it will be this woman who organizes the opposition."
"Indeed," Orestes agreed. "Of course she will defer to her son's military advisers in matters of strategy and tactics. Her power is not complete; no person's is. But as long as she lives, Rome will be formidable."
"But she is getting old," the queen remarked.
"Sixty or sixty-one," he agreed. "And not in the firmest health. She has built her mausoleum in Ravenna. It is an exquisite monument. The walls are partly faced with yellow marble. Light is filtered through paper-thin alabaster. Figures of St. Peter and St. Paul are in the mosaics, dressed in white togas like Roman senators, with doves. In the cupola there are concentric gold stars set against a dark blue background, like the night sky, and the figure of the cross dominates the whole. It suggests abiding faith and character. When one stands therein, as I have, one knows that it was designed by a person of rare artistic appreciation tempered with a clear understanding of the ways of the world."
"I would like to meet that woman," Kreka said. "Meanwhile, I will ask my husband to spare the Western Empire while Placidia is there."
He glanced at her in surprise. "But campaigning for spoils is the Hunnic way."
"Spoils can be had in Persia."
Od realized that his homeland might just have been spared a devastating invasion. Because a royal Roman had had the courtesy to satisfy a woman's curiosity about another woman.
Two days later they started on their embassy to Constantinople. Its purpose was to demand major territorial changes, so as to keep the peace. The mission was headed by Orestes and the Hun chief Edeco. Though Orestes was a noble Roman, Od suspected that he was the one Attila most trusted. That trust was not misplaced; Orestes was a thoroughly honorable man.
The Hun guards were armored in leather, and wore conical caps, with the captains possessing metal helmets with noseguards. They carried bows, lances, lassos, and straight-bladed swords, and bore shields of hide stretched over wicker frames. Edeco wore bone armor handed down from his father, and had a metal scale tunic. Od, who knew about metal-working, had helped craft such armor, though there was little raw metal to work with.
When they arrived at Constantinople, they met with the Bishop of Smyrna, a eunuch named Chrysaphius. Orestes could speak with him directly, for he spoke Greek, but Edeco needed an interpreter. The bishop provided one, a former Hun named Bigilas. After the official business had been discussed, Orestes took a walk in the gardens. Since he did not signal Od to accompany him, Od remained where he was, standing on the fringe.
"These royal apartments are splendid!" Edeco exclaimed, awed. As a Hun he had not before seen such affluence.
"You might also be the lord of a golden-roofed house, and of similar wealth," Chrysaphius replied, when the statement was interpreted. "If you care to disregard Scythian matters and take up Roman ways." Od knew that the term "Scythian" was a euphemism for "barbarian." He was saying that the Hun should renounce his people and join the Romans. It was interesting listening to both parts of the dialogue, understanding both. It was like watching a chariot race: first one chariot led, then another led. Od saw that the bishop did not realize that Od, in common Hun clothing, was a Roman.
Edeco was plainly intrigued. But he answered properly "But it is not right for the servant of another master to do such a thing without his lord's permission." And Edeco was not aware of Od's origin either; the matter had not come up. Thus he was listening in more directly than either man knew. Not that it mattered.
The bishop seemed to change the subject. "Do you have easy access to King Attila's presence?"
"Oh, yes. I am on intimate terms with him."
"How much influence do you wield at his court?"
"Much. I am entrusted with his bodyguard, along with other men chosen for this duty. Each of us in turn guards Attila with arms on specified days."
"This is very interesting," the bishop said. "You must come to dinner at my house, and we can talk more."
"I shall be glad to!"
"But do not bring Orestes or any of the other envoys with you," the bishop said. The interpreter then approached Edeco and spoke privately to him, so that others could not hear.
But Od had heard the Greek version. Why this privacy? But it wasn't his business, so he kept his face neutral.
However, later when he was alone with Orestes, he mentioned it. Orestes shrugged. "Perhaps it would be too expensive to entertain the whole embassy. "
Od dropped the matter, but he didn't forget it.
Orestes gave him time off to explore the city, knowing how fascinated Od was with the advanced architecture. Od walked along the huge defensive wall, staring up at its turrets and towers. It was three times his height, and the towers were taller. No wonder Attila wasn't eager to attack this city!
But actually he was looking for a person he had known years ago, who was said to live out by the wall. This might be his only chance to see her, as he might never see this great city again. He had only a crude description of her address, which was on a street near the south gate.
A guard walking from his post spied him. "Ho, stranger, you look lost."
"I am," Od agreed. "I am looking for a house on Mese Street."
The guard laughed. "The Mese runs through the entire city! In fact there are two Mese streets. You will be all year looking."
"By the Golden Gate," Od amended.
"That helps. That's the main gate to the south. Just keep walking. You can't miss it."
"My thanks," Od said, and headed south.
In due course he found it. The Hun party had entered by the Gate of Charisus in the northwest section; this was well to the southwest. It was massive, with a supplementary wall enclosing it so that any attackers would have to fight through a second barrier after breaching the first. Now where was the house? There were so many tightly squeezed little houses that he did not know where to begin.
Another guard hailed him. "What's your business, stranger?"
"I am looking for the house of the matron Bata."
"Wait an hour, and a man will take you there."
Od wasn't sure why he had to wait, but he had no choice. So he studied the gate complex, analyzing its structures. The builders had certainly known what they were doing.
"What is your business with Bata?" a man suddenly asked him. Od jumped. The hour had passed so quickly! Before him stood a tall and powerful-looking Roman man wearing a soldier's tunic and sword, and military boots. "I knew her, years ago, and wanted to remake her acquaintance."
"Oh, seeking more hot flesh?"
Od stared at him. "It must be a coincidence of names. The woman I seek is ancient and almost blind. I can not be sure she still lives."
The man smiled. "Just testing. I am Dillon, come from the palace to bring her food for the evening."
"I am Od. I learned much from her. She knows everything."
"That she does! She will surely be glad to meet you."
They went to a shack no better, and probably somewhat worse, than the others of the vicinity. Dillon knocked, in a set pattern, then pushed open the door. "Grandmother!" he called into the interior gloom. "I bring you a visitor named Od."
"Od!" she exclaimed from her chair. "We met at the time of the disaster."
"Two years ago, when the walls were felled?" Dillon asked as he set down his bundle of bread and fruit.
"Six, in another region," Od said. He went to the old woman and took her hand. "I met you, and your son, and granddaughters."
"Only the younger granddaughter lives," Bata said.
"I know. The aliens wiped out the city and slaughtered most of its people. We had to flee to another."
"I heard that a woman borrowed you."
"Yes. Avalanche. She is still borrowing me. She is a beautiful woman."
"But not as lovely as Melee."
"Melee is a child."
Dillon laughed. "Not any more."
Od caught himself. "Of course. Six years—she must be a woman now."
"Yes. A woman of eighteen."
"What is your business here?" Bata asked.
"I am with a Hunnic embassy, here to demand territory. I took the opportunity to see you, as there may not be another chance."
"With whom have you dealt?"
"The Bishop of Smyrna."
Bata frowned. "He is a mean man. They should have cut off his head instead of his testicles. Corrupt, power-hungry, and widely detested."
"That's strange. He invited one of our leaders to dinner at his house."
"He is surely up to no good. Maybe you should ask Melee; she keeps up with the current gossip."
"But I came to see you, Grandmother!"
Bata waved him away. "And see me you have. Now go with Dillon. There may be a mystery to fathom."
Od realized that the woman was probably tired, and this was her way of dismissing him. "Then I will go, Grandmother. I am glad to have seen you again."
"Kiss your Avalanche for me when you see her." The old woman smiled. "But don't tell her that you met one lovelier than she."
"I will see you tomorrow, Grandmother," Dillon said as they left.
"You are good to me, dear boy. If I were sixty years younger—"
"Fortunately for Melee, you are not."
They left the hut and walked down the street. "I see you have learned from her," Od said.
"Everything. Sometimes I think it is because Melee resembles what Bata must have been that I love her."
"I remember Melee's elder sister, Baya. She was a lovely, competent woman. I remember only that Melee was pretty."
"You will see how pretty. But the meeting must be private. I would not do it, if Bata had not said to."
"I really don't need to—"
"Bata said. That is enough."
Od nodded. "That is enough." The old woman had always had good reasons for her demands.
They were walking along the covered street. The Mese, it turned out, ran from the gate to the center of the city, and was covered by a stone roof supported by stone columns on either side. The porticos were decorated with classical statues, and the sidewalks were lined with shops. Some merchants had built small booths between the columns. At intervals, staircases led up to the roof of the colonnades. It was, taken as a whole, as impressive as the outer wall.
"Here is where the two Mese streets join," Dillon said as they came to a juncture. "The other fork goes to the Gate of Charisus."
"That is where we entered," Od said. "But we did not stay on the main street. I didn't realize that it was covered its whole length."
"Oh, that's standard in many larger Roman cities."
"I'm a small-town man," Od said, with a laugh.
"So am I. But when I married Melee, I came to know her life."
"You married her!"
Dillon looked abashed. "I didn't mean to say that. It is a secret marriage."
"I will keep your secret. It is no business of mine. But why marry secretly?"
"She is of royal descent. I am of common descent. Her father meant for us to marry, but he died before that was known, and her family, except for Bata, didn't know. So to protect us both—her from shame, me from death—we made it secret. Maybe one day we will be able to make it public."
"I understand. The woman I love will not marry me. She values her freedom to have sex with any man she chooses. I tolerate that, because otherwise I would lose her entirely."
"Melee is supposed to be virginal. But your situation and mine seem similar."
"Yes."
They followed the merged Mese streets to the palace complex. "I will try to signal her," Dillon said. "She will come out if she can."
They went to the rear of the palace, where there was an alley used for service personnel. Carts of food were being rolled in, and carts of garbage rolled out. Od saw that sometimes the two jostled each other in passing. They went to a section where the servants' quarters connected to the main palace, and Dillon looked around to be sure no one else was in sight, then tossed light gravel at an arched window.
In a moment a head appeared in the window, and a hand came up in a small wave. "She will come down," Dillon murmured. "Hide yourself, because she won't approach if she sees anyone besides me."
Od ducked down behind a parked garbage cart, and watched. Soon a cloaked figure appeared, evidently a young woman. She kissed Dillon, who murmured something in her ear. Then his hand came up, beckoning Od.
Od rose and approached them. "This is Od," Dillon said. "He knows Bata."
The woman turned to face him. Her face under the hood and scarf was a thing of rare beauty. "I—I met you when you were twelve," Od said. "With your sister Baya, Heath's first wife."
"I remember," she said. Her voice was soft. "You married Bevy."
That memory hurt. "She died in an enemy raid. She was a good woman."
"Why do you come here?"
"I am with the embassy of the Huns. I overheard something curious, and Bata said you might know more about it."
She smiled, briefly, and it was like a flash of sunshine. "We do survive on gossip in the palace. Tell me."
He told her of the meeting between Edeco and the Bishop of Smyrna. "Orestes says it is probably nothing," he concluded.
"The bishop has no use for anyone he can't squeeze for power or profit," Melee said. "I have heard nothing of this, but will be alert."
"He says his companion Avalanche is a beautiful woman," Dillon said.
Melee opened her cloak, showing them a flash of her almost naked body within. Then she turned and departed, knowing that she had made Dillon's point. Avalanche was solidly endowed and well proportioned, but Melee had a slender perfection that seemed matchless. She was indeed the most beautiful woman Od had seen. "You are the most fortunate of men," he said.
"I know it."
They moved away from the palace. "If she learns something, how will I know it?" Od asked.
"If you are still in the city, I will find you." Then Dillon reconsidered. "But I may not be free then. So do this: check with Bata. I will make sure she has the news."
"Thank you." Then they parted, their business together done.
The rest of the mission was uneventful. The Byzantines agreed to send an embassy to Attila with their answer, in due course. So the work of the Hun embassy was done, and they were free to relax. They would return with the Roman embassy, showing the way.
But Orestes wanted Attila kept current. So he sent Od back privately. "Tell the king where we stand, then return to me with his word."
There was no word from Melee. Od visited with Bata, but she could say only that though there was a smell in the air, there was nothing they had been able to identify. "But keep alert, Od," she concluded. "There may be something there."
Thus Od made his way alone back to the land of the Huns. Orestes had arranged for him to have a good gelding, and that helped considerably. The horses of the Huns had come with them from the east, and were short, skinny, long bodied, crooked nosed, and small hoofed. But they were renowned for their intelligence, trainability, spirit, endurance, and hardiness. This one had a wooden saddle and leather loop stirrups. The animal was well trained, so that Od did not need to use the reins or whip; the pressure of his legs alone guided it. As far as he was concerned, the Huns were superior to the Romans in animal training.
The return trip was uneventful. He was familiar with the route, and had silver to purchase food and feed along the way. He looked like a Hun, so was treated courteously by the villagers he encountered. He went directly to Attila's court, and petitioned to speak with the king.
Attila received him promptly. The king was short and square, with a large head, swarthy complexion, flat nose, deep-seated eyes, and a beard so sparse it shouldn't have bothered. In fact he reminded Od of a Hunnic horse, but he would never say that. Attila was of the Black Hun tribe; the White Huns, to the east, had lighter complexions and resembled Romans to a greater degree. But Od knew better than to judge by appearances, for that was the way others judged him. Attila lived a plain life, despite being surrounded by the wealth of his conquests. His clothing was simple, without jewelry. He was, everyone understood, faithful to his wives, to whom he was a loving husband, and he was a good father. And his mind was always there.
"What is your news?"
"The Romans will send an embassy with their response. Their city is rich beyond the imagination of Huns." Od hesitated.
"There is something else?"
"I do not wish to waste my lord's time in inconsequentials."
"Waste just a bit of it," Attila said with a smile.
So Od described the curious dialogue he had overheard. "It probably means nothing, yet I wonder."
Attila nodded. "It is in the little details that kingdoms can be made and unmade. Keep your ears open. Did they say anything about a bride for my secretary?"
"Lord, if they did, I was not privy to it."
Attila made a negligent wave. "The matter will be resolved in due course. Rest three days, then return to the embassy."
"Thank you, lord." Od knew that Attila would treat him well. Sure enough, as Od departed the palace, the chief of guards intercepted him and gave him a gold coin. No more was said; the king was satisfied with his performance.
Avalanche soon caught up to Od, and relieved him of his coin. "What's this I hear about you making out with the women of Byzantine?" she demanded as they lay together on his bed.
"I had dealings with only two women," he replied. "One was older than Rome. The other was sequestered in the palace, sworn to perpetual virginity."
"That one. She was beautiful?"
This could be awkward. "How can I answer, without making you angry, so that you never dilate my pupils again?"
She took him by the ears and hauled his head into her ample bosom. "Speak, or I smother you."
"I dare not."
She put her arms around his head, locking it in, and indeed her breasts covered his mouth. She could make him dizzy just by breathing. "Speak!"
He surrendered. "She was Melee, and I think she must be the most beautiful woman in Rome."
"She can't be. Honoria is."
"Who?"
"Galla Placidia's daughter, sister of the Emperor of the West. You do not know of her?" She gave another squeeze.
"Oh. That Honoria. I misspoke. I meant Constantinople. Melee is there."
"And she is lovelier than I?"
He hesitated, but she squeezed his head again, and he spoke. "Yes."
She pushed him away. "You never learned when to lie."
"True," he said, ashamed.
"Come into me." She was never annoyed when he told her the truth. He suspected it was because every other man lied to her, trying to win her favor. She preferred truth to flattery.
Later in the evening he remembered Attila's comment about a bride for his secretary, and asked her about it.
"You didn't know? That man was promised a rich and noble bride from the court of Constantinople. They selected a bride, but she was reluctant. They tried to encourage her, but she fled. So they confiscated her family's fortune, but she remained unreasonable. So they promised Attila's secretary a widow of exceptional beauty and wealth, but have not yet delivered. Attila is irked, because it makes it seem as if he has not been able to deliver for a loyal associate."
Od had a horrible thought. "Could it have been Melee? The one who refused?"
She laughed. "No. I misremember the name, but it was not that."
Od was relieved. He had seen Melee only very briefly, and remembered that he had told no one about her marital status, but that encounter had impressed him deeply. It wasn't just her beauty. There was a fond tension about her, a seeming capacity for wildness, that was fascinating. She loved Dillon, which spoke long scrolls about the potentials of that man.
He rode back to Constantinople on schedule, and rejoined the embassy. He did not seem to have been missed. "The king asked about his secretary's promised bride," he reported.
"That is high on the agenda," Orestes said. "Imagine a woman turning down the chance to marry a noble of Attila's court."
"The Romans don't really know the Huns," Od said. "They think them barbarians."
"And the Romans are fools. Attila may be uncultured by Roman court standards, but he is as worthy a king as any on the horizon, and his secretary is a good man, hardly a barbarian."
When Od visited old Bata, she had news: "Watch the interpreter, Bigilas. He has been given fifty pounds of gold, and it surely is not for incidentals. That is bribe money."
"Bribe money? To bribe whom? For what?"
But that was the extent of what she knew. He would have to find out for himself. But he made sure to tell Orestes about it.
"I agree," Orestes said. "There should be no need for that kind of money on a trip like this. So it could indeed be bribe money. But surely they don't expect to bribe Attila out of demanding a wife for his secretary."
Early in the summer, the Byzantine party assembled. It was headed by Maximus, a noble of proven integrity and distinction. He was known as a soldier and a diplomat, and had played an important part in negotiating a treaty with the Persians a quarter century before. He was also noted for his eloquence. He in turn invited a noted man of letters, Priscus, to accompany him on the mission. Priscus was not eager to journey for an extended period into the barbarian hinterland, but Maximus' entreaties moved him, and finally he agreed.
Orestes seemed mildly surprised by the quality of these people. "There is a smell, but it can not associate with men like these," he remarked privately to Od.
Attila sent word that he would be willing to come as far as the city of Sofia, north of Greece, to meet the mission, as its members were sufficiently high ranking to warrant this courtesy.
They set out in early summer, with Edeco and the translator Bigilas in the group. Under Edeco were a number of Hun warriors. There were also seventeen Hun fugitives being returned to Attila; he did not like deserters.
They moved slowly but well, for the Romans traveled in style. The trip to Sofia took thirteen days. The city was ruined and deserted, having been sacked by the Huns eight years before, and again more thoroughly two years before. But Maximus felt obliged to entertain Orestes and Edeco with a good dinner. They managed to get some cattle and sheep, which they duly slaughtered for the main entree. What the meal lacked in variety it made up for in wine, and it was going well—until certain disharmonies developed.
The Huns toasted the health of Attila, their leader. Maximus raised his cup in a toast: "To Theodosius, Emperor of the East!"
"But it is not proper to speak the name of a god such as Theodosius in the same breath as that of a mere man such as Attila," the translator Bigilas protested.
The Huns grew hot. "You, a Hun yourself, say this?" one demanded.
"By birth a Hun," Bigilas retorted. "By choice, a Roman."
"By choice a pig!" another said.
The man of letters, Priscus, quickly intervened. "It is a matter of interpretation, of no account among friends. Mere humor, in fact. No affront was intended to Attila, who is among the most prominent of leaders and perhaps of divine descent himself." Od was beginning to appreciate why he had been brought along; he was good at making peace.
"Without doubt," Maximus agreed quickly, with a warning glance to Bigilas. Bigilas, half drunk but clearly stung by the implied reproof, staggered out of the house.
Things settled down. However, the Huns were not as relaxed as they had been, and it was clear that the interpreter's intemperate words had not been forgotten. Od wondered just how loyal the man was to his employers. Bata had warned him to beware of the interpreter. And what did he propose to do with all that gold?
Then Maximus presented Orestes and Edeco with some fine pears from the far country of India, and some colorful silks. This was exactly the kind of thing that Orestes had bought for Kreka; now there would be some for Orestes' own wife. Orestes was plainly pleased.
At the end of the meal the others left. As Orestes was gathering up his things to go to his own quarters, he paused to speak in Greek. "Congratulations, Consul Maximus, on your cleverness in not following the example of some court officials by inviting Edeco to dine alone with you." Both Maximus and Priscus seemed puzzled, but Orestes did not elaborate.
"So you do suspect Edeco," Od murmured as they departed.
"Edeco is a good man," Orestes said. "And I think Maximus and Priscus are good men too. But perhaps we can stir up some hidden currents."
Od didn't argue, but he was in doubt about Edeco, and certainly about Bigilas. He wondered whether Orestes was too honest a man to be ready to believe in the treacherous nature of some others.
As it turned out, Attila did not come to Sofia, so they marched on northwest to Nish. This city, too, was a desolate scene. Its splendid buildings were broken hulks, and the able-bodied people had fled. Only those too sick or weak to travel remained, eking out their tortured livelihoods amid the ruins. Od realized that war was in the nature of things, but he hated to see its leavings.
They halted by a river, where white bones of those slain in the war were lying all around on the banks and in the flow. They needed water, and the water here was probably clean, but they elected to find another place from which to draw it.
At last they reached the great river Danube. There they were met by Hun ferrymen in homemade single-log boats. In these hollowed-out trees their party was ferried across.
But Attila still wasn't meeting them, though he was said to be in the vicinity. So Edeco with some of his followers went ahead to announce the mission's arrival. Orestes also went, but he told Od to remain with the Romans. "Help them out as you can, but keep your mouth shut," he said. "Let them forget your presence."
"Are you asking me to spy on them?"
"On someone, perhaps."
Oh. So Orestes wasn't satisfied with Bigilas. This must be his way of keeping an eye on Edeco without leaving Bigilas unwatched. "Eyes open, mouth shut," Od agreed.
A few hours later two Hun horsemen appeared. "Follow us to Attila," they called, and led the way to the king's camp.
When they reached the area, Maximus decided to pitch his tents on a hill. But one of the horsemen said that this would not be allowed, because Attila's tents were on lower ground. Maximus shrugged and directed his men to lower ground.
Then Edeco returned, with Orestes and another noble of Attila's court named Scotta. "I must speak with Maximus," he told the Roman sentinel. So they went to the general. "The king wishes to know what you intend to achieve by your embassy?"
The translator Bigilas looked uneasy, but Maximus had no hesitation. "I will speak only directly to Attila, as is proper for an embassy."
Scotta spoke. "The king already knows your mission."
"Perhaps so," Maximus said stiffly. "But he must also know that I am trying to implement it in the prescribed manner."
Scotta spoke to Edeco. Bigilas did not translate, but it was evidently some kind of directive.
Edeco and Orestes departed. But soon another party of Huns returned. One stood, and then recited what sounded like an official letter. Maximus' jaw dropped. "That is the exact contents of the letter I carry," he said.
Od was similarly surprised. How had they found that out?
Scotta nodded. "So you have no need to deliver it. Now break camp and leave."
Maximus was clearly annoyed, but like the good diplomat he was, he didn't argue. He gave orders to his men to prepare to depart.
"You shouldn't be doing that!" Bigalas told Maximus. "You came here as an embassy, a representative of Constantinople. You should have pressed your position."
Maximus didn't answer, though Od marveled at the temerity of a mere translator to berate the leader of an official delegation. Bigilas didn't know his place.
Scotta merely stood and watched. Apparently he was here to make sure that the Romans did depart.
As night fell, and they were ready to move, another group of Huns arrived. They spoke to Scotta, who then turned to Maximus. "The king bids you wait, because the hour is late."
Maximus, ever accommodating, reversed course again, and they pitched the camp they had just unpitched. The man was a marvel of patience.
Then more Huns arrived, bringing food for the evening. It was an ox, and river fish. "The king bids you eat," Scotta said. Then he departed.
So it was not a complete loss. They ate, and slept.
But in the morning Scotta returned. "Depart, unless you have something to say beyond what the king already knows."
Maximus was plainly nettled, but maintained his poise. "As you know, it is not proper for me to reveal my mission to anyone other than King Attila himself. I can't promise any new information beyond what he seems already to know."
"In that case, depart." Scotta folded his arms, his business completed.
"You idiot!" the translator Bigilas exclaimed to Maximus. "You should have promised him something new, to get the audience!"
Maximus had had enough. "Listen, you slimy slug! If the man does not desire an audience, it is not for the likes of you to second-guess those of us who seek a dialogue. He asks us to depart, so we shall depart."
Priscus quickly stepped between them. "I'm sure it will all work out." Then he turned to Scotta, beckoning another member of their party who spoke the Hun language. "General Maximus will give you considerable gifts if you can arrange an audience with Attila. So if you really have the influence with him that the stories claim—"
The translation got no farther before Scotta responded, angered by the implied slur. "No one has more influence with Attila than I! I will prove it." He stalked to his horse and rode away.
Maximus turned to Priscus. "He was looking for a bribe? That never occurred to me."
"You are painfully honest," Priscus said. "I wondered why he stood around after delivering his messages, and finally realized that he might be hoping for that which he would not ask."
Soon Scotta returned. "The king summons you to an audience."
Just like that, after all the delays! But Od was mystified too, for though Attila knew the ways of bribery, he had little but contempt for them. He preferred straight power. Scotta was loyal; it was unlike him to act in any way contrary to Attila's wish.
Maximus, Priscus, Bigilas, and their attendants followed him to the impressive royal tent. Od tagged along, unnoticed.
When they entered, they found Attila seated on a wooden stool, his nobles standing behind him. There was a brief exchange of courtesies. Maximus was about to make the official presentation of his mission, but Attila suddenly turned on Bigilas.
"How dare you come into my presence when you know that the Hun fugitives have not been returned!"
"But they have been," Bigilas protested, with some justice. "Some were turned over yesterday, and the others—"
Attila turned red with anger. "You filthy toad! I would have you impaled and given to the birds for food, were it not for the law of embassies. Now get out of my sight!" He made a gesture that included the whole party. "All of you!"
Disturbed, Maximus led his party out. Od hesitated, knowing that Attila recognized him, but received no signal, so he followed. The Hun king could throw a fit with the best of them, but this was strange. It would have been easier to listen to Maximus' formal presentation, then dismiss him politely. Attila was being deliberately difficult. Why?
When they were safely away from the tent, Bigilas spoke to Priscus. "I am amazed that Attila spoke to me like that." The man was clearly chastened.
"Maybe he learned of your injudicious comparison between Attila the man and Theodosius the god," Priscus replied.
But Od wondered. Attila professed no religion, though he was tolerant of the faiths of others, so long as they did not get in his way. He more likely would have laughed, seeing it as Attila the man and Theodosius the fool.
They returned to the Roman camp and waited, as they had not been ordered again to depart. That night, when the others were settling down to sleep, Edeco arrived, alone. Od, alert, in the next tent, listened closely. "It is time to bring the promised gold," Edeco said. Then he left, without speaking to the others.
Then Priscus approached Bigilas. "What was your discussion about?" he inquired.
"He said I need to return to check on the remaining fugitives."
"But they are in safe hands, and will soon be turned over anyway."
"Still, it seems I must check." Bigilas sounded evasive.
So Priscus was suspicious too! Something certainly seemed to be going on, and Edeco and Bigilas were at the heart of it. But it seemed that Priscus and Maximus knew nothing of it.
In the morning Bigilas announced that he had to go to see about the return of the remaining fugitives. He might have to use some of the gold he had brought.
But before the interpreter could leave, Scotta rode up. "The king decrees that the Romans are not to purchase anything in the Hun domains, except for food."
Maximus had no problem with that, but Bigilas looked stricken. Obviously his fifty pounds of gold was a far greater sum than any food purchases would require. What was that gold for? But he rode off on his expressed mission, carrying the gold with him.
Scotta spied Od. "It seems you must translate, now. The king has a special mission. He will meet with you in a few days. Proceed north, and he will rejoin you in due course."
Od repeated that to the Romans.
"Another mission?" Maximus said. "I had understood that we were the only one."
Scotta smiled. "This is not political. He is making a detour to marry the daughter of Eksam."
"That is surely worth a detour," Maximus agreed. "I trust she is lovely."
"Indeed. And well connected. He should be in a mellow mood in a week." He departed.
Maximus turned to Priscus. "Did you note how much mellower the Hun noble became after Bigilas left?"
"Yes. I have the feeling that the Huns don't like Bigilas any better than we do. And I don't understand what he means to do with all that gold."
They traveled north. The Huns traveled with them, and supplied them generously with food and mead, so that they did not need to spend any gold even for that. The representatives of Attila were uniformly polite, in contrast to the way they had been before. This was more like the Attila Od knew.
One night there was a heavy storm that blew over their tents. Soaking wet and disheveled, Maximus and Priscus were in a foul mood. But Scotta approached. "I see you are in difficulty. These things happen. Please come to the nearby village, where you will be suitably entertained."
"Entertained!" Priscus exclaimed.
"Hun hospitality is not to be derided," Od said privately to him. "They will treat you well."
Priscus looked at Maximus, who nodded. "Then we most gratefully accept," Priscus said.
They followed Scotta to the village. It was not impressive, consisting of huts. But the village was, it turned out, ruled by one of the former wives of Attila's deceased brother Bleda, and she was an excellent host. Not only were the huts well lighted by burning reeds, attractive young women soon arrived, bearing plates of good food and skins of mead.
The women did not leave after delivering their goods. "Why do they remain?" Priscus asked Od.
"The girls, too, are for your use," Od explained. "They are here to comfort you in your misfortune. It is called a Scythian complement."
Maximus and Priscus tried to mask their astonishment. "We have severely underestimated barbarian hospitality," Maximus said. "But we can't touch these women. We are married men." But his attitude suggested that the greater constraint might have been his distrust of the situation. Was this some kind of a test? Od couldn't blame him, having had similar doubts until Avalanche had educated him.
Od spoke to the women. "The Romans greatly appreciate your beauty and kindness, and hope you will not be affronted if they lack the fortitude, after the terrible storm, to take you to bed. They are afraid they will only embarrass themselves by the effort. They deeply regret their incapacity."
The girls were not at all affronted. They selected tidbits and fed them to the men, smiling, and when the food was gone, they departed with the remnants. Od suspected that though they had been quite prepared to indulge their guests to the fullest extent, they much preferred to spend the night in the arms of their regular lovers.
In the morning, refreshed, the men presented Bleda's widow, who had shown them such kindness, with three silver goblets, and with furs, dates, and pepper from India. The woman was thrilled, for these were things seldom seen in remote villages like this.
They repaired their tents and continued north for several more days. As they approached the village to which their Hun guide was directing them, Scotta appeared again. "King Attila will be arriving soon. You must wait for him to enter the village first. It is a matter of protocol."
"Of course," Maximus said graciously.
They waited outside the village, resting, as Attila's party came up along the trail they had used. It was an impressive entrance. A select band of women came out to meet the king, then marched ahead of him in separate files. The spaces between the files were traversed by long white linen veils. The women carried these above their heads, stretched out, and they formed a canopy for a group of young girls, who sang laudatory hymns in chorus.
Once Attila had been suitably ushered in, the Romans were allowed to enter the village and make their camp. They pitched their tents and waited for what came next. This surprised them, for they discovered that there were a number of West Romans there, some of them prominent. Among them was Romulus, who was Orestes' father-in-law, and the commander of the military forces in the Roman province of Noricum, north of Italy. There was also Promotus, the governor of Noricum. Maximus was amazed. Here in what he had thought was a backwater were people of known power and reputation in Rome.
Maximus and Priscus were sitting in their tent when an elder Roman man arrived. "I am Tatulus, Orestes' father," he said by way of introduction. "Attila invites you to a banquet at the ninth hour of the day." That was mid-afternoon.
It turned out to be several days of banquets, and they were as fancy as anything in Byzantium. The West Romans, who were part of an embassy from Rome, attended also. As they entered, cup-bearers gave them cups of wine, so that they might pray before sitting down. After they had done so, and tasted from the cups, they went to their seats. All the chairs were set along the walls of the house on either side. In the middle was a couch, and Attila sat on it. Behind that was a set of steps leading up to his bed, covered with white linens and embroideries. Beside Attila were some of his honored nobles, and two of his sons.
A servant brought in Attila's food first. Then other servants brought the provisions for the guests.
"Now that's interesting," Priscus murmured. "We are served sumptuous food on silver plates—but Attila himself has nothing but meat on a wooden platter. We have gold and silver goblets, but he has a mug of wood."
"Yes, he lives simply," Od explained. "He entertains well because it is expected, but he has no use for such things himself."
"And his clothing is plain," Priscus continued. "His boots, his sword—unadorned. There is no flash, no embellishment in the man at all."
"Well, he is a barbarian," Od said, smiling.
But Priscus did not smile. "No, he is not." He turned to Maximus. "That man is dangerous, because he is without personal vanity. Flattery is not going to move him."
"I haven't tried to flatter him!" Maximus said, irritated.
"Precisely. I think he likes you."
Priscus was catching on.
After the banquet there was entertainment. There was singing, which rehearsed Attila's victories in war. Some of the Hun nobles were moved to tears, but Attila himself looked politely bored. Then a dwarf appeared. He was a short humpback with distorted feet. His nose was so flat it was indicated only by the nostrils. He made jokes in a mixture of the languages of the Huns, Goths, and Latins, and soon had the entire company laughing uproariously.
Od glanced at Priscus, who was watching Attila. Attila was completely unmoved.
"There is no laughter in him," Priscus said.
But when Attila's youngest son went and stood before him, then Attila pinched the boy's cheeks and laughed.
"So he does have feelings, seldom as they may show," Priscus remarked. "But why does he view that boy with such favor?"
"It is because of a prophecy," Od said. "It says that Attila's race will fail, but be restored by this son."
"He believes in prophecy?"
"So it is said," Od said.
"Or does he merely profess to believe, because it is proper?"
Od shrugged. "Perhaps."
During the next few days the Romans were treated to several more banquets, and tours of the grounds. Priscus was especially interested in the palace, which was made of wood, but contained baths of marble like those of Rome. There were no quarries in this region, so the stone had been brought in from afar. The baths had been built by a captive Greek architect, who now had to keep them in running order.
Finally the Romans had their formal audience with Attila, and agreed that they would arrange for a wealthy, lovely, and noble Roman widow to marry Attila's secretary, to make up for the woman he had been treacherously denied. It was apparent that Attila was as loyal to his supporters as they were to him.
That done, they commenced their long journey back to Constantinople. They still needed translators, and Bigilas had not returned, so Od remained with them. "This matter is not yet done," Orestes told him. "If you learn anything, get back to us forthwith." Orestes himself was not going on this trip.
They traveled south without special event. Then, on the road between the Greek towns of Philippopolis and Adrianople, they encountered Bigilas, who was returning from points farther south. He had his son with him, and still had the gold. They briefed him on their meetings with Attila. "And have you made arrangements for the return of more Hun fugitives?" Maximus asked.
"I am still working on it, but it is complicated," Bigilas said evasively.?"
"That man is lying," Priscus muttered to Od. "I don't know what he is up to, but I think it doesn't concern us."
"Then who would it concern?" Od asked.
They exchanged a glance, and suddenly it came. "Attila!" Priscus whispered. "All that gold—it must be some kind of plot against his king!"
"Against Attila himself," Od echoed. "That must be what Edeco plotted with the evil Bishop of Smyrna.
"Who must have arranged for the gold," Priscus agreed. "And Attila suspects, but thought that we were part of it. No wonder he delayed meeting us."
After Bigilas went on northward, they talked with Maximus. "This is mere conjecture," the general said. "Where is the proof?"
"There is no proof," Priscus said. "But nevertheless, it seems best that Attila be warned about Edeco, a man he evidently trusts. Once he and Bigilas get together, who knows what could happen? It should not be risked."
"We can't be involved in anything like this, on mere suspicion," Maximus said.
"But suppose Od returns, to speak privately with his liege?" Priscus said. "Leaving us out of it?"
Maximus nodded. "I think we can proceed from here without an interpreter."
So it was that Od parted company with folk he had come to respect and like, and rode swiftly by a different route back to the Hun capital.
He arrived a day before Bigilas was due. "You must speak with the king," he said to Orestes. "We met Bigilas on the road, and think he is plotting against Attila himself. With Edeco."
"Do you have proof?"
"No proof. But if it is so, and we do not warn Attila—"
"I will take you there."
They went to the palace, where Orestes quickly obtained a private audience with the king. "Tell our liege what you believe," Orestes said.
"Lord, the Romans think Bigilas and Edeco are conspiring to do you some harm," Od said. "There is no proof, but we feared that you might be trusting someone unworthy of it."
Attila frowned. "You accuse Edeco? This is serious business. I trust this man."
"Lord, please, at least get him away from you until you can resolve this question."
"I think not." Attila lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.
In a moment Edeco stepped out from behind some curtains. Od's heart sank. He had heard everything!
"This is a clever man," Edeco said, looking at Od. "Without evidence, he has fathomed the essence of the plot."
"The plot?" Od asked numbly.
"When I met privately with the Bishop of Smyrna, he bribed me to assassinate Attila. Bigilas carries the money to pay the assassins. I agreed, in order to learn as much as possible, and to discover any other traitors in our midst. It is apparent that you and Orestes are not among them."
"Of course we aren't!" Orestes said. "We were under suspicion?"
"No. But we can not be too careful. If I could be suspected, why not you?"
"So you told Attila," Orestes said, clearly relieved.
"And I told him to keep his mouth shut, and learn all he could," Attila said. "Now I say the same to you. Stand by and watch me deal with Bigilas."
"Yes, Lord," Od said, weak kneed. For a moment he had feared for his own life.
"Thank you, Attila," Orestes said, in much the same tone.
"Bigilas arrives tomorrow," Edeco said. "I have primed him to be ready to act. I myself will be absent from this particular encounter, so as not to influence it, but the two of you will be present and silent."
Orestes nodded. He bowed to Attila, who nodded, and Orestes stepped back and away. Od followed.
"Attila is pleased with you," Orestes said. "I suspect that henceforth he will allow you to enter his presence armed."
That was a rare compliment. Orestes and Edeco had such a privilege, but Od and others had always been subject to a search for weapons before entering the presence. Should a surprise attack ever be launched against the king, his armed associates would immediately leap to his defense.
"Of course," Od agreed.
Next day he was indeed admitted armed, though his weapon, a dagger, did not show. He stood behind Orestes and other courtiers as the translator and his son, a quiet young man, were led into Attila's presence.
"Why do you carry so much gold?" Orestes asked, speaking for the king.
Bigilas assumed an air of righteous innocence. "It is for provisioning myself and those accompanying me, so that I may not stray from my zeal for the embassy because of lack of supplies or scarcity of horses or baggage animals."
Orestes nodded as if satisfied. "And is that all?"
"The gold is also to purchase fugitives, for many in the Roman territory have begged me to liberate their kinsmen." That had the ring of truth, because the Huns had captured many Romans, and commonly did ransom them back to their relatives when the price was enough.
Attila had had enough. "No longer, you worthless beast!" he cried. "No longer will you escape justice by deception. Nor will there be any excuse sufficient for you to avoid punishment. Now tell me all the details. Who else is in this plot with you?"
Bigilas realized that he had been found out. But he tried to maintain some secrecy. "No one, Lord. It is all my own doing."
"None of this lying!" Attila shouted. "Make a complete confession, or I will have your son struck down this instant!"
The boy's mouth dropped open in surprise and fright. Bigilas looked appalled. The king had certainly found the key to reducing all equivocation, in the classic Hun manner.
Scotta stepped forward, drawing his sword. He was plainly ready to implement the threat.
Bigilas lost all semblance of resistance. "Oh, my lord, spare my son, who knows nothing of this and has done no wrong. Kill me, the guilty one." He prostrated himself, tears flowing from his eyes. The man truly loved his son. "I beg of you, let my son go! Take the gold, take everything, only spare him."
Scotta paused, but did not step back. Now Orestes spoke. "Your accomplices. The details. Now. Who hired you? For exactly what purpose?"
"The eunuch who is Bishop of Smyrna arranged it," Bigilas babbled. "He bribed Edeco with promises of rich living in Constantinople. Please let my son go. The emperor Theodosius agreed and provided the gold to hire assassins. I agreed to handle it. Put me to death, but set my son free."
Orestes scowled. "You accuse a loyal Hun noble like Edeco of betrayal?"
"It is true! It is true! He is your traitor. He agreed to the bishop's proposal, and ordered me to use the gold to pay the hirelings for the assassination." Bigilas looked wildly around. "He must have fled! Capture him. Torture him. He will confirm. But let my innocent son go."
Attila nodded. Scotta finally stepped back, sheathing his sword. By this token he indicated that the son would be spared.
But not Bigilas. Men stepped forward with chains. They chained him and led him away, his frightened son following.
"What shall we do with this trash?" Attila inquired of his court.?"
"Slay him, of course," Scotta said. "But the son does seem to be innocent, and should be spared."
Attila glanced at Orestes. Orestes nodded. "Scotta is of course correct. But it occurs to me that more can be gained from this than the death of one traitorous Hun. It is the arrogance of the Eastern Roman Empire that needs to be curbed. An embarrassment and warning to it may be worth more than the gold."
Attila looked at Scotta, prompting his response. "Now I am just a simple barbarian," Scotta said, with a hint of a smile. "It seems to me that the best embarrassment and warning is to publicly execute the assassin. Do you have something more devious and effective in mind?" There was of course some rivalry between the chosen people of the court, though all were completely loyal to Attila and never questioned each other's loyalty. This was a challenge.
"I may have," Orestes said. "To a Roman, honor is not simply a matter of vindication or vengeance. He must not allow himself to be ridiculed or treated with open scorn. Now consider the case of Emperor Theodosius, heir to what the Romans believe is the greatest empire on earth. He has acted in a reprehensible manner, and deserves to be made the object of righteous scorn. But simply killing the lowly assassin will not accomplish that; the Romans will pretend it was his own idea entirely. Bigilas may be more important as a symbol that can't be ignored."
"What are you talking about?" Scotta demanded.
"Suppose we don't kill him," Orestes said. "Instead, we send him back with the bag of fifty pounds of gold hung around his neck? Make him be brought into the presence of the emperor, that nominal god whose name is not to be uttered in the same breath as real kings, with the evidence of his faithlessness weighting down his body. How will the Romans explain that away?"
Suddenly Scotta saw it. "Absolute scorn for the traitor and the money—and the one who hired him. Spit in the face of the treacherous god. Beautiful! But make it a hundred pounds."
Orestes nodded. "Send the son back for fifty more pounds of gold. The ransom of his father. Then send it all back, contemptuously."
"Done!" Scotta agreed.
Then both men looked at Attila. "Done," Attila agreed, satisfied.
It was done. The son went back to Constantinople for another fifty pounds of gold, brought it back, and then Orestes conducted Bigilas, burdened by that hundred pounds of gold, into the presence of Emperor Theodosius. As a gesture it was in one sense magnanimous, for it spared the life of the assassin and returned all of the tainted money. But it was also such a magnificent gesture of scorn that it became widely known. Possibly this dramatic ploy accounts in part for the fury with which Christian historians were to savage the reputation of the injured party, Attila, King of the Huns, for fifteen centuries thereafter. Far from being a scoundrel, he had demonstrated superior ethics, embarrassing the supposedly more civilized emperor. That could never be forgiven. Thus his name was to become almost a synonym for viciousness. Attila was no saint, but neither was he a devil; he was simply a king who showed up the faithlessness of Byzantium. Hell has no fury like that of a culture unmasked.
Yet this was not the end. There was to be an even more remarkable incident that was to shake up the other half of the fading Roman colossus, the Western Roman Empire. Like the assassination plot, this originated with the Romans, but finished with Attila. The setting is Constantinople, the spring of A.D. 450.
NOTE: the standard unit of measurement in this context was the cubit, approximately the length of a man's arm from elbow to fingertip. The Greek cubit was just over eighteen inches, and the Roman cubit just under eighteen inches. Perhaps the Romans had shorter arms.
"Melee." It was Pulcheria, as grim as usual.
Melee hurried to attend her. Had her latest tryst with Dillon been found out? "Yes, Lady."
"We are to have a new sister. I fear she will be somewhat wild, and in need of considerable guidance. You will attend to her."
Now this was interesting. Another woman was coming to join the devout sisters? "I am unworthy," Melee said with proper humility.
"No doubt." Pulcheria's lip almost twitched with a trace of humor. She surely knew of Melee's indecorous past. "She is young, about thirty, and has behaved injudiciously. She may not readily adjust, but it is important that she consider herself to be well treated here. You must be her friend."
Melee had to make at least a token protest. "Lady, my friendship is not given frivolously or falsely. And if she is royal, it would be presumptuous." Actually Melee was royal too, but that counted for next to nothing here.
"Then treat her as a friend would, advising her so that she seeks no mischief. But I believe you will like her. There may be a certain affinity."
"Yes, Lady." This was getting intriguing.
"She is Honoria, sister of Valentinian, Emperor of the West." Pulcheria paused, waiting for Melee's jaw to drop.
It did. "Galla Placidia's daughter? The one who—?"
"The same. It seems that her life is not secure in the West, so her mother is sending her here for a time. It is a matter of safety rather than devotion, but the forms must be followed. Do you suppose this will fall within your compass?"
This was a shrewd assignment. Melee had considerable sympathy and admiration for Honoria, who struck her as a woman of her own type. The descendants of Theodosius I were unusual in that the men were weak and vacillating, while the women were lovely, strong, and imperious. Galla Placidia was the most powerful woman in either empire, and her daughter favored her in spirit. Had women been allowed to become emperors, Honoria would have been in line to command the West. But as it was, her ambition had nearly gotten her killed. Melee would be delighted to make her acquaintance. "Yes, Lady."
"She is destined to arrive this afternoon. Take a coach and meet her at the Golden Gate."
"Yes, Lady." Melee tried to mask her thrill at this assignment, but it surely showed. Pulcheria was old and devout, but she was no fool.
A brightly painted wooden carriage was waiting when she went down to the stables, with its driver and guard. It was drawn by two mules in ornate harnesses. And the guard was Dillon! She knew by his expression that he was surprised to see her; he must have expected Pulcheria herself to be traveling.
Did Pulcheria know? Was this the reward for special service? If Melee kept Honoria in line, would she be granted tacit access to her love? For as long as she succeeded in making the West Emperor's sister behave? She rather suspected it was. Pulcheria could connive as well as any royal Roman, and she had considerable power.
"To the Golden Gate," Melee told the driver. "See that we are not delayed."
The driver started the horse, and the carriage moved out. It would stay on the main street, for it would not fit on the narrow smaller streets. Melee drew the curtain closed so that she could ride in privacy. Then she spoke to Dillon. "Guard, attend me."
Dillon silently entered the closed compartment. She beckoned him with a twitch of fingers, and touched her lips. He needed no other invitation. He embraced her and kissed her. Then she hoisted her skirt and sat on his lap, lifting her weight so that he could draw his tunic aside to bare his midsection with its erect spike. She let her bottom down on him, guiding his connection, delighting in their slow merging. When he was secure, she opened her upper tunic and gave her breasts to his hands. They made love, silently, with very little motion, so that there was no shaking of the carriage. Actually, the bumping of the carriage over the obstructions of the road did most of what was required; she had to hold on to him closely so that she did not on occasion bounce off. She kissed him, feeling his urgency within her as his fingers caressed her taut nipples.
"Oh, Melee, Melee," he murmured in her ear. "How did you arrange this?"
"Pulcheria arranged it. She must know."
"But then she should have me reassigned, or worse!" His alarm could be felt all the way from his mouth to his member.
"I have an assignment. I must succeed. I think this is my payment for being sure I succeed. If I fail, then it could be severe mischief for us both. She is letting me know, by this token."
"You must succeed," he agreed. "What is the assignment?"
She waited for his urgency to build to the climax, tightening her bottom to encourage it. Just as it occurred, she told him. "I must attend Honoria, the West Emperor's sister."
"You sow!" he swore, unable to halt his explosion despite his amazement. He knew she had timed it deliberately, to tease him.
"You boar," she said, kissing him again. She flexed her buttocks and tensed her abdomen, clenching around him, squeezing the last pulse from him.
"There will never be a woman as maddeningly desirable as you," he said.
"Well, Honoria may be."
"And if I ever look at her, you will cut off anything I have that has ever been inside you."
"True. What goes inside me is mine forever. I hope you can remember that when you see her."
"I shall make a valiant effort."
"I think you just made one." She kissed him again, feeling him diminish within her, his fuel spent.
They disengaged, carefully, used handkerchiefs for spot cleaning, and reassembled themselves. Then Melee explained as much as she knew about her assignment.
As the carriage drew near the Golden Gate, Dillon resumed his post riding beside the enclosed portion of the carriage. They entered the walled postern and came to a halt.
Melee drew the curtain aside and stepped down, quickly assisted by Dillon, who was now a mere guard again. She was always impressed by the great outer wall, and its massive guard towers. The postern was like the central court of a huge house, a virtual castle in itself. Its arches reached up into the facing of a building ten times as tall as a man, dwarfing the gateway itself. Woe betide any intruder who tried to storm this edifice! He would find himself in a rain of boiling pitch before he got halfway through. But she wasn't here to gawk. She walked to the postern commander. "We are here to meet an incoming party."
"Who?"
"A woman from Italy." Melee doubted that it was prudent to identify the person.
"Overland?" he demanded. "Why not by ship?"
That set Melee back. Of course Honoria would travel by ship! It would be a long, wearing, and dangerous ride by land. The harbor was close by the palace. So why had she been sent here?
Dillon spoke up. "It is not for the likes of you or us to say. The lady is traveling incognito, and would have no privacy at the crowded harbor. She will have debarked at Perinthus and ridden here."
The commander nodded. "She'll have to show her authorization, same as anyone else."
"We will check back in an hour." She glanced at the driver. "If anyone asks to go to the palace, she's the one." He nodded.
They walked to Grandma Bata's house, nearby. Melee seldom got to visit her, so grabbed the opportunity.
"Melee!" the old woman exclaimed when they got there. "And Dillon. But you two shouldn't be here, wasting your time with me. You should be making love."
"Already done, Grandma," Melee said.
The old woman laughed. She really appreciated any company she could get.
They told her of their mission to meet Honoria. "Oh, that one!" Bata chortled. "I knew she wasn't safe in Italy, with her jealous brother. He would have killed her, if it hadn't been for Galla Placidia."
"Why?" Dillon asked. He was not as current on such events as were the women of the palace.
"Because she conspired to have him replaced as Emperor of the West. He tortured and slaughtered everything connected. So Placidia had to get her daughter to where Valentinian couldn't reach her, which is here in the East."
"And now I am to be her companion in the palace," Melee said. "And keep her out of mischief."
Bata laughed again. "As if you have any expertise in that, you wild honeybee!"
"Am I to blame if the gods stuffed me with wildness?"
"They just wanted me to be happy," Dillon said.
But there was a serious side. "Do you think Pulcheria knows? About me and Dillon?"
"Of course she knows, child! And now she's using that information. She has a perfect hold on you. She can reward you or punish you in ways you can't resist, and she knows you know it. Mind you prevent Honoria from embarrassing her."
"I'll try, Grandma."
But soon they had to return to the postern, lest they miss Honoria.
As it turned out, they needn't have rushed. They waited for another hour. Melee was glad just to be with Dillon, however unacknowledged as her husband. So much of their marriage had been apart, even if nearby.
Then a carriage was admitted to the postern. A swathed woman stepped down.
Melee went forth to meet her. "Let me see your face," the woman said in Latin.
Melee spoke Latin, as she had lived in Rome before coming east. "As you wish, Lady." She drew aside her hood and showed her face. She knew she was beautiful, even to a woman.
"We shall get along," the other said, and walked on to Melee's carriage.
Melee realized that Honoria, whose life was in danger, wanted to be sure she was not stepping into the hands of an assassin. Here in Constantinople few spoke Latin, but the royal figures were bilingual. So she had tested by speaking in that language, and Melee had thus vindicated her origin. A Latin-speaking woman was unlikely to be a hired assassin.
They entered the carriage, and it started moving. Melee started to close the curtain, but Honoria stayed her hand. "Let me see the city. My mother was here, and spoke often of it, but I have never been here before." She drew down her hood, so that her face showed. She was indeed an attractive woman, whose age hardly showed.
"You want a tour?" Melee asked. "I will be glad to show you everything." She gestured outward. "This is the Mese, or Middle Street, or at least one fork of it. It leads directly in to the palace. It is really the main shopping mart, because of all the merchant stalls along it."
Honoria seemed less than excited. "First show me yourself. Why were you assigned to me?"
Melee had expected to like this woman, and did. "I suspect it is because I was the daughter of a lesser Latin noble. Then my father died, and I was guilty of an indiscretion. So I was sent to be sequestered as a Chosen Damsel. I think Pulcheria saw points of similarity between us. I am supposed to keep you out of mischief."
"Indiscretion? What happened to the baby?"
"Stillborn. But the pregnancy was enough to damn me."
"And your man?"
"I would rather not say."
Honoria turned a direct gaze on her. "What you tell me in confidence, I will maintain in confidence. What I learn on my own has no such restriction."
That was a threat, and by no means an empty one. "It could mean his death."
"Of course it could! I loved Eugenius, who was the chamberlain managing my establishment in the palace precincts in Ravenna. But when I became with child by him, the secret was no more. So I tried to have him made Emperor in the West, so I could marry him and have power in the manner of my mother. But my jealous brother had him promptly put to death. They took my baby away, for adoption they said. I do not even know whether it was male or female."
Thus Honoria had told Melee of her humiliation, making it confidential material, though Melee had already known it. Honoria certainly knew the way of such things, by savage experience. It was surely safer to trust her. "We were married, secretly. He took work as a guard in order to be near me. We get together when we can."
"Who?"
"His name is Dillon. He is this guard." Melee flicked her eyes in the direction of Dillon, who rode just out of earshot.
"And Pulcheria knows?"
"I think she does. If you embarrass her, she will make me hurt. Terribly."
"Even as my brother made me hurt," Honoria agreed grimly. "Then if I should need to be guarded, he is the one I can trust. For you are hostage for his behavior, even as he is hostage for yours."
"Yes." This woman had wasted no time establishing her dominance.
"I will be discreet. More than discreet. If you wish to bring him inside, I will protect you from intrusions."
Melee stared at her. "Why would you do this?"
"When I have secrets, you will protect them similarly."
So it was a quid pro quo. Honoria would not cause mischief for Melee, but Melee would have to work hard to support Honoria's projects. The reward matched the danger. "You will want to—to bring in a man?"
"Not necessarily. But I want no adverse reports on my activities to be bruited about."
"No reports," Melee agreed. "But if there is trouble, what am I to do?"
"I know what trouble means. I will do my best to see that there is none, if no one tells. I think we understand each other."
"Yes, Lady." Evidently the gods had had wildness enough for more than one woman.
"They tried to force me into a betrothal to a rich senator, Flavius Bassus Herculanus, who has no imperial ambitions. But the man is fat and dull, and has little respect for women. I promised to make him rue the day. He lost interest in the match, though I believe he found me physically appealing." She opened her cloak to show a well-formed breast, in much the way Melee herself had done on occasion. A good body was a thing to be savored and appreciated, in the proper setting. "Mother concluded that the only place where I could be kept safe without disturbing the peace was Constantinople. So here I am, and I can't say I am pleased."
"I understand."
"And so does Pulcheria. What is she like? I have heard she is a determined virgin and religious zealot."
"Definitely. I will have to acquaint you with her daily regimen of prayers and fasting."
"Prayers and fasting! How can you stand it?"
"I sneak out to be with my man."
"Tell him to find one for me."
"There are none here we can trust."
"Then import one! He doesn't have to be noble, just handsome, virile, and discreet."
"It's that final requirement that sticks. The last discreet man I met was a Roman who was an emissary of the Huns, and he is small and smart rather than handsome."
"Virile?"
Melee considered Od, the man she had known peripherally when she was twelve. "Probably. I knew his wife, once, and she didn't complain, and now he has a beautiful mistress. But he is far away, at the court of Attila. I saw him last year, briefly, when he was part of the barbarian embassy."
"Barbarians are not necessarily bad folk. My mother married a Visigoth, and he treated her well. They are more straightforward than civilized folk are, and often more lusty."
They were approaching a wall that was visible on either side beyond the stone roof of the Mese. "This is the Wall of Constantine," Melee said. "The second of the city's three walls. The first is the Wall of Byzantium, enclosing the original city when it was small. The palace is there. But we depend mainly on the Theodosian Wall, where I met you."
They passed through the gate and continued into the central city. "And here is the Forum of Arcadius," Melee said as the street widened into a plaza with a monument in the center.
Now Honoria paid attention. "This is impressive," she said.
Indeed it was. It was perhaps the most impressive monumental column in the city. It towered more than ninety cubits high, crowned with a statue of Emperor Arcadius, who had ruled fifty years before. It was striking against the skyline of hills and valleys that was the city.
"The interior has a spiral staircase of two hundred and thirty-three steps," Melee said. "They lead up to an observation platform just below the statue. From there is the best view of the city and the sea."
"I don't think even Rome has an edifice like this," Honoria said. "We had better visit it."
"Now?" Melee asked, surprised.
"When there are men to be had. We will arrange a coach, perhaps in the evening. Then who knows what sights we will see."
Melee doubted that any such thing could be arranged. But Honoria was royal and bold, so might be able to wangle it.
They passed on northward, and soon came to the Forum of the Ox. Then they reached the intersection of the two Mese streets, at the Amastrianum Forum, and turned east.
"This is the Forum of Theodosius," Melee said. In its center was a statue of Theodosius on a forty-cubit column. "Near it you can see the Capitolium, designed after the one in Rome. This holds the University of Constantinople. Theodosius founded it a quarter century ago, and it teaches Greek and Latin grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, and jurisprudence."
"Maybe I can take a class," Honoria said, grimacing.
They rode on. "And here is the Forum of Constantine." Within this oval plaza was a column of porphyry, the reddish purple stone from Egypt, reserved for the use of emperors. Above an eighty-cubit column was a statue of Apollo, with the head of Constantine substituted for that of the pagan god. "There are Christian relics in the base, as well as an ancient image of Pallas Athena that was supposed to insure the safety of Rome."
Honoria laughed. "Tell that to my mother, when the Visigoths took Rome. Do you believe in any of this religious nonsense?"
Melee felt a surge of alarm. "Don't speak that way before Pulcheria!"
"Don't be concerned. I will try to be suitably devout in her presence. My mother is devout, and officially so am I. But it's all a pack of superstition that no sensible person could credit." She paused, smiling. "Now you have one of my secrets, and you know its danger. If I had been inclined to believe before, that belief suffered when Merciful Jesus allowed my lover to be murdered and me to be shamed for being a natural woman."
Melee looked at her, nodding. There was savage emotion under the lovely surface of this highborn creature. They were indeed two of a kind.
They passed through the Wall of Byzantium. They were now in the oldest section of the city. They passed the Praetorium, which was the office of the governor of the city. Then they reached the Augustaeum, the heart of the city, where the Mese originated.
"This is the heart of the heart of the Empire of the East," Melee said. "Here is the Hippodrome, and here is the Church of St. Sophia, the Shrine of Christ the Holy Wisdom of God. This is the strength of this God-Guarded City."
"I think I'm going to vomit," Honoria muttered.
"And at last the palace," Melee said, keeping a straight face. "The core of it was built by Constantine along the lines of Diocletian's palace at Spalato, which was in turn based on the square plan of a Roman army camp. But subsequent emperors added onto the base structure, building south and east toward the sea. They had to build brick substructures out from the hillside to provide enough new space. Today it is a vast and complicated compound of gardens, leveled terraces, detached summer pavilions, churches, reception halls, and now they are working on an indoor riding school."
"That I will visit."
"And beneath it all are the servants' quarters and other necessary functions," Melee concluded.
"So it should be possible to get lost in the labyrinth," Honoria said, perking up.
"If one is careful," Melee agreed. "I have done it."
"You will find me a quick learner."
They stepped out of the coach. Dillon came forward to assist them, while the driver took the coach away. Honoria made an appraising look at the guard. "You're a handsome one," she remarked. "Suppose I asked you for a kiss?"
Dillon looked surprised. "I do not understand, Lady."
"She knows," Melee told him. "She may want to go outside the palace, in secret."
He nodded. "Secrecy, yes; kiss no."
Then they entered the palace, ready to be welcomed by Pulcheria and the other devout Sisters. Melee hoped Honoria was as good an actress as she claimed.
"I can't stand it!" Honoria cried, literally tearing at her hair. "I don't know which is worse, the prayers or the fasting or the virginity. At least the old gods have human feelings and failings. I've got to get out of here."
Melee well understood. The saintly regimen was deadly for red-blooded women. She was almost ready to ask Dillon to take the woman to bed, just to stave off the disastrous explosion that was building. It wasn't that she was open-minded about sex; it was that she was afraid that Honoria would throw a fit that brought an investigation of all of them, and possible death to Dillon. It would be better to free him to ease the problem, than to suffer the alternative.
The situation was serious. Honoria had already let slip some remarks that had caused some Damsels to blush and made Pulcheria stare thoughtfully at Melee. It was up to Melee to curb the trend, lest she pay the price of failure.
When she got out to meet Dillon, while Honoria covered for her, she brought the matter up before they made love. "That woman is going to be the death of us. I love her like a sister, but she is going to bring Pulcheria down on our heads. I can't abate the prayers, but I have been sneaking food in during the fasting. But it isn't enough. She needs a man—and the only one we can trust isn't a man, it's that eunuch Hyacinth. He'd do anything for Honoria, but he can't do that."
"There just isn't any man she might like who can be trusted," he agreed.
"Isn't there?"
"You know of one?"
She set herself and said it. "How about you?"
He laughed. "I'm taken. You ought to know."
"I'm serious. She likes you. She gives no sign, because she is honoring her pact with me. But she would enjoy sex with you. Would you like it with her?"
"Melee, you don't need to test me! I never desired anyone but you, since I met you."
"You are evading the question."
"Are you determined to pick a quarrel with me? I love you, Melee!"
"You are still not answering."
He sighed. "She is a beautiful woman. Not as lovely or young as you, but a fine piece of flesh withal. Yes, I could enjoy her. But you know I would never—"
"I know you are faithful, Dillon. But I fear for your life. If I don't settle Honoria down somehow, Pulcheria may have you arrested and killed, just to punish me. I can't stand the thought. I would rather share you than lose you." There, she had said it all. There were tears in her eyes.
He stared at her. "You're serious."
"I am serious. Let me take you in to her, and I will stand guard while you do it."
"Let me have you first."
"No! You're trying to get out of it. You know you couldn't do it with her right after me. Not so you would satisfy her. She's not naive about sex."
"I know," he confessed. "Melee, there must be some other way!"
"I wish there were. But there isn't. You can have me after her."
"No, you'll be angry with me then. You know you will. Even though it's your idea."
"I'll be furious," she agreed. "But it is my idea. So I'll understand. Tomorrow I will thank you for saving your life."
"It's a man's dream," he said. "Two beautiful women. Why does it feel like doom?"
She kissed him. "Wait for my signal, then climb in the window." She hurried back into the palace.
When she was safely back in the chamber she shared with Honoria, she spied the woman on her knees, facing the entrance, her hands uplifted in the position of prayer, her eyes closed.
"You are praying voluntarily?" she asked, amazed.
Honoria cracked open an eye. "Praying for relief from this virgin hell." She smiled. "And it is an excellent guard position, in case a Sister enters unexpectedly. She will not seek to pass me or question me. It would be sacrilege."
"This is very clever," Melee agreed. "I will do the same. But your prayer has been answered. Dillon will come in, for you."
Honoria did not pretend to misunderstand. "I never asked this of you."
"You must be eased, or you will burst. Then we all are lost. I love him. So I make this sacrifice. He finds you attractive; he will do it."
"Melee, I would turn this down. But you are right. You survive because you have him. I could survive with a share of him. But only till we find a better way."
"Till we find a better way," Melee agreed, feeling the tears flowing again. Then she went to the window and summoned Dillon.
In a moment he was inside. Melee set a cushion on the floor and went to her knees, facing the door. An intruder would take her tears for special religious devotion.
"You know what we are about?" Honoria asked him softly.
"I know."
"I have a passion that will not be denied."
"I know."
"Do you mind if we kiss?"
"May I close my eyes?" He sounded plaintive, and Melee loved him for that. He wanted to pretend that Honoria was Melee.
"Yes, for that. And for the rest, if you wish. But you must touch."
"I will touch."
"Then come to the alcove, and I will show you my secrets, in darkness, and learn yours." There was the rustle of clothing.
"I feel like Attila the Hun," he said.
"He has several lovely wives," Honoria agreed. "But the first one reigns supreme, and will never be displaced."
"Never," he agreed.
They were playing it out for her benefit, Melee knew. To abate her natural jealousy. But it just made her feel worse. She knew that Dillon would know it was Honoria he embraced, and secretly delight in the possession of two women, whatever he told her. It was the nature of his gender. If only her prayer for a better solution could be answered!
Then it was as if a blinding flash of lightning struck down without hurting her. Suddenly she had the answer. "Attila!" she cried.
The other two paused. "You are saying no?" Honoria asked her. "It is your right."
"I have the answer," Melee said, turning. "It is Attila. He has many wives. He could take one more. For a political union. If you cared to do it. And it would free you in more than one sense." She was thinking of the attempt to marry Honoria against her will to a Roman senator, as well as of the power of such an association with the Hun king.
"Great gods!" Honoria whispered. "I believe you're right. We must consider this." She gathered together her robe, which had fallen open rather far by no coincidence. Dillon had evidently been trying to look away, and not succeeding; his eyes were locked onto the woman's lush torso, until the robe closed. "My mother married a barbarian, and she was happiest then, as far as men went. My father was a good man, but he was old. Had Placidia not been beautiful and apt, my brother and I would have had a hard time getting started."
"He would marry you," Melee said. "Because of your lineage. It would give him a claim to the empire. You wouldn't even have to bed him, probably, after the first night."
"But I'd love to bed him! He's a small, knobby, old man, but consider his power. And our son would have a claim to the empire of the Huns."
"Does this mean I can go?" Dillon asked, sounding both relieved and disappointed.
The two women exchanged a glance. Then they turned as one and leaped on him. Honoria grabbed his head and thrust her bosom at his face, while Melee grabbed his waist and thrust her nether section at his crotch. He was surprised, but did not resist. In fact, after an instant, he cooperated. In hardly more than a moment they had their mutual will of him, top and bottom.
Then they disengaged. "Yes, you have come; now you may go," Melee said, patting him on the thigh.
Bemused, he went. Honoria looked after him. "I almost wish you had had your bright notion a short time later," she said.
Melee was taken aback. "I didn't think of it to—I wasn't trying to deny you.
The woman laughed. "I know it. But he is a good man."
"He is a good man," Melee agreed.
They settled back down to their dialogue. "I'll send Attila my gold ring," Honoria said, twisting it off her finger. "That will constitute a proposal of marriage between us."
"But we must arrange to get it to him, with identification as to whose ring it is," Melee said. "Maybe Hyacinth can carry it. He would do anything for you."
"Almost anything," Honoria agreed with half a smile. "Yes, I will give him money, a message, and the ring. Attila will know how to get in touch." Then she leaned forward and kissed Melee on the mouth. "You have found the answer. I will be free, and I can exploit the marriage to great advantage."
They spent much of the night working out the details. Not the least of it, by Melee's reckoning, was that when Honoria married the king of the Huns, she would arrange for Melee and Dillon to assume honored places in Attila's court. They would all be free.