The boy departed without a word, and Theodore remained with Attila, who proceeded to fix the time within which he bound Theodore to limit his absence. "The full moon will see thy departure," he said, "and she shall once fill up her crescent during thine absence; but ere the second time of her fulness thou shalt return, or thou art false to Attila. Wert thou to stay longer, the snows would impede thy return; and in the long evenings of the winter I would have thee here, for I might seek to hold discourse with thee upon the state and changes of thy native land. Thou art one who, having guarded his honesty in dishonest times and amid dishonest people, deserve that thy words should find attention."
Almost as he spoke, his son Ernac returned, saying, "Bleda is gone, my father, and all his followers, except his household slaves, who follow by daybreak in the morning, with Zercon his black jester. I saw the foul slave myself; and he said his master had gone away so quickly, because, having taken so much plunder from those who were weaker than himself, he feared to be left with those who were stronger, lest they should begin the game again."
"Thou saidst nothing of this youth's journey, I trust," said Attila.
"Nothing," replied the boy. "But when Zercon asked me if the Roman youth were still here, I answered yes, but that he would not be here long."
"Unwisely answered, my son," said Attila; "but it matters not; I will send those with him who can protect him. Thou shalt lead back a troop of the Alani to their own land," he continued, turning to Theodore; "and in the meanwhile keep near my person. Take thy place beside Edicon as we march to-morrow, and now sleep you well. Ernac, where is thine eldest brother? Has he left the camp already, after having so lately joined it?"
Theodore was departing as the monarch spoke; but, ere he had left the tent, he had heard the boy's reply. "No, my father," answered Ernac; "he has gone a short way on the road with my uncle Bleda."
A slight shade came over Attila's brow; but Theodore was not sorry to hear that two men, who were certainly his enemies, were absent for a time from the camp; and rejoining his own followers, he lay down to sleep in peace, followed by the happy hope of soon seeing again those whom he loved best on earth.
[CHAPTER XXI.]
THE BITTER WRONG.
In the audience hall of the rustic palace of Attila, towards the middle of the subsequent day, were assembled the chiefs of all the different nations he commanded; and at once strange and brilliant was the display of wild, but rich and picturesque attire which there presented itself. The gold and silver of conquered nations, the trinkets and precious stones of many a plundered palace, were mingled with the shining steel and rich furs of the conquerors; and scarcely could the luxurious courts of those famed Eastern monarchs, whose effeminate splendour had become a by-word in the world, exceed in the blaze of gems and gold the hall of the dark monarch of the Huns. But in the midst of all, and distinguished from all by the perfect simplicity of his garb, sat Attila himself, with his large hand resting on the iron hilt of his broad heavy sword. Kings of a hundred different nations stood around, gazing with awe and veneration upon that dark plain man, and acknowledging in every look and gesture the mighty influence of superior intellect. Beside these, on either hand, were placed the many sons and the favourite friends of the monarch; among the last appeared Onegisus, Edicon, and Theodore; and a number of slaves and attendants, covered with barbarian ornaments, filled up the rest of the wide space.