Attila and His Conquerors: A Story of the Days of St. Patrick and St. Leo the Great

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

For Baithene it was a commission to conquer circumstances and so reign over them, king of himself, if of nothing else, like the Stoics, with the inspiring addition of the patience being the patience of hope, and the conviction that in ruling himself he served the King Who ruled the nations and the ages.

For Ethne it was a talisman to redeem and save, to save by loving, to redeem by forgiving, like Patrick; a link with every human creature she met, not of thought merely but of life, of kindred, through the Divine Christ Who had redeemed all mankind and is Himself man. Whatever untruth men thought, she felt the truth they did not think remained; whatever evil men did, the evil could be turned into good for the sufferers by love and faith, and for the wrong-doers by the forgiving patience which might win them to repent.

Therefore, sad and dark as their life might be, it could never be empty or unmeaning, because of the quenchless hope of this Christian faith, because of the life-giving power of the living Christ. Life was not a mere tangle of twisted lines, decorative or chaotic; it was a sacred inscription which God could read if they could not, for He was writing it; which one day, when they had learned His language, they also would be able to read.

They needed all the comfort they could find, for their lives were dark enough, smitten down from such a height to such a depth, driven out from such a warmth of love into such an icy cold of cruelty and injustice, driven out into an unloving world at one of its darkest moments. Happily for them they had all the gaiety and pleasantness of youth and of their race, enabling them to find amusement in incongruities even when most uncomfortable, and to make things pleasant and easy to others by word and deed whenever this was possible. Moreover, they had the birthright and training of their rank in their own little world. Being quick-witted, they learned soon enough that it had been a little world; and that it was quite useless, and would bring them nothing but ridicule, to insist on their dignities. Nevertheless the natural dignity and grace of their station remained, and, not being asserted, made itself felt: a kind of royal way of recognizing little services, of avoiding neglects or hasty words, which they had been used to feel might give pain; a kind of princely indifference as to slights or rudenesses, which they had been used to think could only spring from ignorance or want of breeding; an innate sense of something within themselves that could not be changed by outward changes, which made any menial thing they had to do seem not so much a degradation as a condescension; a royal consideration for others which fitted well into the high humility of their Christian calling. There is a good deal of education in the fact of being royal, if the lesson is learnt the right way.

So it happened, that by the time the rough voyage from Cornwall to Armorican Brittany was over, the young captives had won the hearts of many of the crew, who tried to lighten their bondage; and not a few were sorry to part with the brave, bright boy and the fair, sweet maiden; and were moved to a tender, reverent pity when they had once more to be fettered and guarded, and led away among the file of slaves to the market at the port at the mouth of the Loire, where the ship was to end her voyage and unlade her living merchandise.

But these two had still each other, and also Bran, the great deer-hound, who had established his claim to be with them by making it plain he would be the death of any one who tried to part them, whilst he was obedient to the slightest touch or softest word from them, especially from Ethne, whose guardianship he assumed as the representative of the whole clan O’Neill.

It was some solace to the brother and sister to hear around them, when they landed, a language resembling their own. But it was a motley company which gathered round the little captive band, no strange or unwonted sight then in any European seaport. “Prisoners and captives” came into the petitions of every Litany during those tumultuous times. Their ransoms were among the perpetual claims of the alms-giving of every church. “I was in prison, and ye came unto Me,” meant much in days when the prisoners were often no dangerous criminals or idle vagabonds, but innocent children, or high-born youths and maidens such as Baithene and Ethne.

As they stood there, a gazing-stock for the idle crowd always loafing about quays and unloading vessels, Ethne felt their rude jests and insolent staring the worst things they had yet experienced; and there was a wonderful comfort for her in the loyal worship in Bran the dog’s eyes, as he nestled his great shaggy head against her knee and looked wistfully up into her face. It brought into her eyes healing tears, which to his surprise fell on his head, and made him lay his paw on her arm with grave, sympathetic remonstrance.

Baithene, on the contrary, faced the crowd, feeling every inch a king, in lofty indifference to anything the low rabble could look or say; he had never felt so princely, at least as regarded himself.