Attila: A Romance. Vol. I.

by G. P. R. James

Theodore sprang to the ground. "My mother," he said, "I will deliver them or die;" and making the freedmen dismount, he chose four to follow him, leaving the Arab Cremera to remain with Flavia. His orders were few, but they were distinct. "When Eudochia, Ammian, Ildica, are here," he said, addressing the freedman, "mount them and the Lady Flavia on the horses: speed back to Margus, and bid the bishop save them at any price. Should you find the city in the hands of the Huns, pronounce the name of Onegisus; and when you have found him, tell him that the youth Theodore, to whom he made a promise, claims his protection for those who are most dear to him on earth. Mother," he continued, embracing Flavia, "mother, I go!"

Flavia gazed mournfully in that sad, firm countenance. "Theodore," she said, pressing him in her arms, "Theodore, thou goest to destruction!"

He made no reply, but wrung her hand; and, waving to the slaves he had chosen to follow, burst from her embrace and hurried over the hill.

In another moment the resting-place of the Huns was before his eyes, though the branches of the trees still waved between him and them, affording concealment while he observed them. He paused but for an instant, but that instant sufficed to show him the barbarians scattered on both sides of the stream, gathered in groups of eight or ten, with their small rugged horses feeding beside them, and their weapons cast upon the turf whereon they sat. The heart of Theodore rose to see that they were so few, for not more than two hundred were there; and the number of the captives, who sat apart, with bending heads, and the self-neglecting look of utter despair, had their arms been free, might have offered no slight support in the bold attempt he was about to make. "Our object," he said, turning to those who followed him, "is to free Ildica, Eudochia, and Ammian. Let whoever reaches them first cut their bonds, and bid them fly up the road over the hill. Then free your fellows, and oppose the pursuit of the barbarians! Thou art pale," he added, addressing one of the freedmen; "thy lips are bloodless; if thy heart be faint, turn back."

"Thou goest to death," replied the man, firmly, "and I will go with thee. I feel that death is horrible; but it must be borne once, and I can bear it now."

"Follow, then!" said Theodore, "but cautiously, under the covering of the trees, till we are close upon them."

It was a great, a mighty, a sublime thing, that determined resolution unto death, which possessed the young enthusiastic Roman; which did away boyhood, and made him at once a strong and valiant man, in vigour, in powers, in intellect, in energy. To die for her he loved; to ransom her from the barbarians at the price of his own blood; to see her for the last time as her deliverer, and to know, in dying, that his hand had freed her, was the last aspiration, the only remaining hope that rested with Theodore, of all the many sweet and probable dreams of happiness which haunted his fancy but one short month before.

Calmly and deliberately he led the way through the trees to a spot where, with irregular sweeps, the forest met the meadow. Within fifty yards sat Ildica and her companions, mourning, like the enslaved Hebrews, their captivity, by the banks of the strange waters. Beside them, as a sort of guard--though the bonds by which they were tied rendered their unassisted escape impossible--lay spread upon the grass some ten or twelve of the dark and filthy barbarians, with their rude and frightful countenances, scarred with ancient gashes and sallow with long-accustomed dirt, distorted by wild merriment, as they feasted near the first captives whom they had taken in their invasion of the Roman state. At the feet of one who sat closest to the prisoners lay a gory human head, the short cut hair and beard of which showed that it had belonged to no barbarian form; and--while Theodore, pausing behind the trees, let his eye run over the other groups of Huns, as they were scattered about at a greater distance, some eating and drinking, some playing with their unbridled horses, some erecting tents of skins, as if their numbers were soon to be greatly increased--the fierce barbarian ended some speech in his own tongue by a wild and ringing laugh, and, with a stroke of his foot, kicked the trunkless head into the river.

It was the signal for his own destruction. "On!" cried Theodore, "on!" and, with the sudden stoop of the eagle on its prey, he bounded forward upon the barbarian. The Hun started on his feet, but that instant the sword of the young Roman cleft him to the eyes; and rolling back in the convulsive agonies of death, he plunged into the river, where he had so lately cast the head of his adversary.

Scarcely was the blow struck when it was followed by another, which laid a second Hun prostrate and disabled at his feet: two more fell before the spears of the freedmen; and the rest, conceiving that much greater numbers of enemies must be approaching, fled to their comrades farther down the stream. There was a thirst in Theodore's heart to pursue and smite them still, but he remembered Ildica, and turned to where she sat. A moment freed her from her bonds: Eudochia and Ammian were set at liberty.