Attila: A Romance. Vol. I.

by G. P. R. James

"Were Rome now," thought Theodore, "what Rome once was, while this barbarian monarch invades and ravages the East, the legions of the West would pour across Pannonia, and, sweeping the whole land, take as hostages the women and children here left unprotected. But alas! I fear me that neither the legions of the East will have power to withstand the myriads of Attila, nor the West have energy to hasten his return, by invading his territories, and taking hostages for his future tranquillity. 'Tis true they may not know that the land is left in such a state; but, alas! I must not point out its weakness. Even to save my country, I must not return the mercy shown me, and the kind hospitality received, by base ingratitude. Doubtless, when strength returns, I could escape; doubtless I could bear to Valentinian, or, better still, to Ætius, tidings of the condition in which this land is left, and thereby, perchance, deliver the empire itself. But it must not be! No, no! such a task must not be mine."

The situation, however, was a painful one; and the knowledge, too, that he was dwelling in the house of Bleda, of the man who had striven to take his life, and whose enmity--though he knew not why--was evidently fiercely raised against him, added to the gloom he felt, and made him anxious to proceed farther into the country.

Ruga, the wife of Bleda, however, was herself one of the Alani, from a tribe which had remained amid their original valleys on the Georgian side of Caucasus. She had by this time learned that the mother of the young stranger had been a daughter of the same nation, though sprung from a different tribe; and, little aware of the enmity of her husband towards him, she now pressed Theodore anxiously to stay with them till the armies of the Huns returned. Her daughter, too, urged the same request with all the native simplicity of a guileless heart; and Theodore himself, as innocent in thought and purpose, believed that he could there remain happily, without risk or danger to the peace of any one, were it not for the enmity of Neva's father. He made inquiries, however, and he found that no chance existed of any of the Huns returning for several months; and he determined to remain for a time, hoping that, if he could win the regard of the chieftain's family, the causeless animosity of Bleda himself might by their report be done away.

There, then, he stayed, increasing in the love of all, and habituating himself to the language, the sports, and the manners of the people. He had found, on his recovery, that the purse of gold pieces which he had borne with him from Dalmatia, and which had been but little diminished on the journey, had been carefully preserved during his sickness; and, though the amount was not very large, yet the difference in the value of everything among the Huns and among the Romans was so great, that his small store seemed grown into an inexhaustible treasure. The attendants whom Attila had given him would receive no recompense for their services; and the sports of the chase, which he pursued in company with them and Cremera, afforded more than sufficient provision for his followers and for himself. Ruga declared that her house had never been so bountifully supplied, even when Bleda himself was present; and the simpler food, to which the women of the Huns were accustomed, received no slight additions from the hunter skill and bold activity of their guest.

For several weeks Theodore pursued this course in peace, proceeding to the woods or plains, or to the mountains, early in the morning with his followers, and retuning ere nightfall to the village. To those followers, indeed, the young Roman endeared himself every day more and more. His courage, and the dexterity with which he acquired all their wild art in the chase and in the management of the horse, won their reverence; while his kindness, his gentleness, and his easy suavity, touched another chord, and gained their hearts. If stag, or wolf, or bear turned upon him, every one was ready to defend him; and Theodore soon found that on any enterprise which he chose to undertake, except, indeed, where some higher duty forbade, he might lead those men to danger, or to death itself. Nor did he make less progress in the regard of the villagers. The old men took a pleasure in teaching him their language, and in telling him wild tales of other days, and other lands; the children clung to him, and gathered round his knee; the shepherds brought him whatever they found in their wanderings, which seemed to their rude eyes either rare or valuable. To, his cultivated opinion all questions were referred; and when they found that, ere two months were over, he could wield their arms, and speak their language, with as much facility as they could themselves, adding to their barbarian dexterity all the arts and knowledge of a civilised nation, they seemed to think him something more than mortal.

The wife of the chieftain forgot her matronly state, so far as to hold long conversations with him on the nation whose blood flowed in both their veins; and her fair daughter sprang forth with eager gladness to welcome him back from the chase, or if he went not thither, wandered with him in the mornings to show him fair paths through the wood, and teach him what fruits were hurtful, what beneficial to man, in those wild solitudes; or sat near him in the evenings, and, with her long lashes veiling her cast down blue eyes, sang all the songs which she knew he loved to hear.

It was those deep blue eyes, and their look of devoted tenderness, which first woke Theodore from his dream of peace. Neva was lovely, gentle, kind, noble in all her feelings, graceful in all her movements, frank, simple, and sincere. Pure in heart and mind, the elegancies of polished life seemed scarcely needful to her native grace. In whatever task employed, she looked, she acted, as--and no one could doubt she was--the daughter of a king: and yet Theodore's thoughts were seldom upon her. Sometimes, indeed, when he saw a flower of peculiar beauty, or when his arrows struck some bird of rare plumage, or some beast of a finer fur, he thought, "I will take this home for Neva;" but his fancy never strayed amiss to warmer feelings or more dangerous themes than those.

Oh, no! his thoughts were far away! The one deep-rooted passion, strong and intense as life itself--that one bright passion, as pure, when it is noble, in man as in woman, as incapable of falsehood either by thought or act--left not one fond fancy free for any other than her, his first, young, early, only love. When the sun in floods of glory went down beyond the western hills, he thought of her lonely in that distant land, and willingly believed that with her, too, memory turned to him. When the bright moon wandered through the sky, and poured her silver flood of light over those wide plains, he would gaze forth, and call to mind that first peculiar night when he heard the dear lips he loved breathe answering vows to his beneath the palace portico on the Dalmatian shore; he would call up again before his eyes the scene in all its loveliness; he would fancy he could feel that soft, dear form pressed gently to his bosom; he would seem to taste the breath of those sweet lips as they met his in the kiss of first acknowledged love; and he would imagine--justly, truly imagine--that at that hour the same treasured remembrances might fill the bosom of Ildica with visions as entrancing, and that memory might with her, too, give to hope a basis whereon to raise her brightest architecture. When the morning woke in the skies, and when, ere he went forth to taste the joys of renewed existence, he knelt down to offer to the God of his pure faith adoration, and thanks, and prayer, the name of Ildica would first rise with his petitions to Heaven, and her happiness would be the subject of his first aspirations.

Could he think, then, of any other I could he dream that it was possible to love any one but her? No! he did not, he could not; but, as time wore on, and summer sunk glowing into the arms of autumn, there came a deep light into the eyes of Neva, which pained, which alarmed him. He would sometimes, when he suddenly turned towards her, find her gazing upon him with a look of intense, thoughtful affection, which was followed by a warm and rapid blush; and, without one feeling of empty vanity, Theodore began to see that his stay might produce evil to her who had so kindly tended him.

Still, however, Neva's regard assumed that air of simple, unrestrained frankness, which is less frequently the token of love than of friendship. In her pure mind, and in her uncultivated land, all seemed clear and open before her. She felt no shame in the sensations which she knew and encouraged towards the young stranger. She saw no obstacle to prevent her from becoming his bride. She was the daughter of a king, but she knew him to be worthy of her love; and as that love became apparent to her own eyes also, she only felt proud of her choice. The sole difference which that knowledge of her own heart's feelings wrought in Neva was, that with her bright brown hair she now began to mingle gold and gems, and that, from time to time, a bright but transient glow would tinge her cheek when her eyes and Theodore's met. Far from shrinking from his society, far from trembling at his approach, she gave way at once to all the feelings of her heart as they arose; greeted him with glad smiles in the morning; sprang forth to meet him when he returned from the chase; sat by him in the lengthening evenings; and, feeling the deep earnest love of first affection burning at her heart, she took no means to hide or to conceal it from others or herself.