"I will also go, oh king," said Theodore, "and will proceed upon the way towards thy royal dwelling."
"Do so," said Attila: "go not too fast, and I will overtake you soon."
Theodore craved a blessing of the hermit, and then departed. The road still mounted for some way; but by this time the rain was over, and, as a drying wind rose up, the horses could better keep their feet upon the steep and rocky ground. Passing over the ridge of the mountain, the road, in about half an hour, began to descend through woody glens and wild rocky ravines, similar to those which they had passed in ascending; and as Theodore slowly pursued his way, he revolved in his own mind that part of the conversation between the hermit and the mighty monarch of the Huns which referred more particularly to himself. It was not difficult to discover that, actuated by superstitious feeling, Attila had, in consequence of some vague warning of the hermit, spared the young Roman, not from any prepossession in his favour, but solely because he thought it the command of Heaven, and a condition on which the success of his enterprise depended. Since those first events, however, the monarch had shown him kindness of an extraordinary character; and either from some vague notion of their fate being linked together by some unexplained and mysterious tie, or from natural feeling of favour towards him, had evinced an interest in his fate and happiness which demanded gratitude. Theodore was not one to reason very nicely as to how far the motives of a benefactor lessen the obligation imposed by his kindness; and he only remembered that Attila had twice saved his life, as well as spared him where any other Roman would have fallen, when he intruded uncalled into the Dacian territory; that he had rescued from worse than death those he most loved, and had shown a kindly sympathy with feelings that few supposed him to possess. Thus, though he revolved the means of learning more of what were the first motives of the king in giving him such protection, he determined, as he rode on with his followers, to seek every opportunity of showing his just gratitude towards Attila.
They had not gone far, however, ere the sound of horses' feet was heard echoing among the crags; and in a moment after Attila was by the young Roman's side. A slight shade of triumphant pleasure--enough upon the countenance of Attila to tell that he was moved internally by no slight feelings of satisfaction--met the eye of Theodore as he turned to answer the monarch's greeting.
"Art thou quite recovered, my son?" demanded the king. "We heard thou hadst been ill, and likely to die; but the gods protect those whom they love."
"I am now quite recovered," replied Theodore; "but I was very ill, and should have died, had it not been for the care and tenderness of thy brother's wife and children."
"Let the good acts of the wife," replied Attila, "counterpoise the bad acts of the husband. But Bleda will not seek thy death now, I trust. We have made war in company; we have conquered together; and he has had a plentiful, a more than plentiful share of the spoil. It was me he sought to injure more than thee; and now that his appetite for prey and power seems satisfied, he may heed the suggestion of prudence, and forget the ambition for which he has neither talent nor energy sufficient."
Though the words of the king might have led to a fuller explanation of the mysterious tie by which he seemed to feel himself bound to Theodore, yet the young Roman was more strongly excited by the mention of barbarian triumphs in his native land than by anything which could personally affect himself; and he replied with an inquiring tone, "I have heard nothing, oh Attila! of thy progress since I left thee. I have received no tidings even of how the war has gone."
"War!" said Attila, proudly; "I call that war where brave men encounter one another, and fight till one surrenders or dies: but such is not that which the Romans have offered to Attila. Wouldst thou know, youth, how my march through M[oe]sia and Thrace has gone? Thus has it happened; but call it not a warfare, for warfare there has been none. I have marched upon the necks of conquered enemies to the Ægean Sea. H[oe]mus and Rhodope have not stayed me; seventy fortified cities have fallen before me; and the last Roman army which dared to look me in the face lies rotting in the Thracian Chersonese, as thou dost call it, or feeds the vultures from Mount Ada. I found the land a garden, and I left it a desert, even as I promised to do; but I say unto the weak thing that sits upon the Eastern throne, 'Why hast thou made me do this? Why hast thou called me to slay thy subjects and lay waste thy cities? I slept in peace till I was wakened by thine injustice. My sword grew unto its scabbard; my people kept their flocks, and were turning tillers of the ground: the Danube flowed between calm and peaceful banks, and my people held out the hand of amity unto thine. I gave thee leave to trade within my land, and at the first mart where thy subjects appeared they plundered mine, and scoffed at the claims of justice. I demanded that he who, as I was told, had concerted the deed with others, Eugenius, the bishop of Margus, should be given up to me; or some one, proved to be the robber, in his stead. Thou wouldst give me no justice, and I have taken vengeance; but the deed is thine, oh weak man, for thou wert the aggressor. Thou hast lighted the fire that has consumed thy land, and the punishment is not yet complete.'"
"And did none resist thee?" demanded Theodore, sorrowfully. "Did none show that the spirit of our fathers still lives at least in some of the children?"