All was then told to Ammian of Eudochia's danger and her rescue, and deep and sad seemed to grow his feelings as he listened. "Fool that I was to leave her! Fool that I was to suffer myself to be seduced to behold that idiot sacrifice! for seduced thereunto I was, doubtless, by the agents of that imperial villain. Why did you not slay him, Theodore? I would have slain him where he stood."
"And so would I," replied Theodore, "if he had committed the crime he intended. He should have died that moment had my own death followed the next; but Eudochia was saved; and I had still hopes of being able to remain in Rome. When I returned to the Aventine, however, I heard enough to make me resolve on flying. I found, too, that the Huns who had accompanied me from Dacia bore the commands of Attila to all their fellow-countrymen in the service of Valentinian to return instantly to their native land. I had nearly a hundred with me, several thousands more are at Rome and Ravenna; and I found that I could retreat from the wrath of the tyrant without his power being sufficient to prevent me. As we came hither, we saw a small body of horse go out from the gates towards Pincianus, where we had heard you were; and, fearing some danger, instead of merely sending a messenger to bid you join us, I sent a sufficient body of my followers to defend you in case of need. Their leader, who has been faithful to me for four long years, pledged his own life to bring you to me in safety; and here at length you are, though I hear with pain that Roman blood has been shed. Doubtless we shall be pursued; but every hour fresh parties of the Huns are coming hither to accompany us, and ere to-morrow morning we shall be too strong for Valentinian to effect aught against us. However, Heaven forbid that the time should come when I may have to draw the sword against my fellow-countrymen even in my own defence; and to avoid it, we will cross the lake an hour before daylight to-morrow morning, then on through the mountains to rejoin Attila, who has ever befriended me, and will, I doubt not, befriend me still."
[CHAPTER XI.]
THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.
In a mountain pass a little to the westward of the spot where now stands the small town of Bassano, among the first shoots of the Rhætian Alps, travelled onward the family of wanderers, whose various course we have traced from the beginning of this tale, as, compelled by circumstances, and dogged by misfortune, they were driven from land to land.
They were no longer, however, alone and undefended amid all the strife and danger of those perilous times: for the small body of Huns which had guarded Theodore in his journey to the imperial city had formed a nucleus, round which the Hunnish auxiliaries in the neighbourhood of Rome had gathered, as he retrod his steps towards Pannonia; and a little army of barbarians now accompanied him on the way. Those who had been attached to him from his first arrival in the Hunnish territory had not failed to magnify his deeds and reputation to every detached troop who joined them. The favour in which he stood with Attila was told and commented on; and his power and influence, as well as his courage, skill, and conduct, were so highly represented, that each party tacitly submitted to his authority; and in all great things, such as the direction and general regulation of their march, suffered the young Roman to retain the command of the whole force, as well as of his own particular followers.
He was thus enabled to save the country through which he passed from pillage; and though two or three times reports reached him of bodies of the imperial troops following his path, and even rumours of Ætius having returned, and being on his march across the fertile plains of Lombardy with a powerful army met his ear, he was happily enabled to reach the foot of the Alps without having recourse to one act of violence against any Roman citizen whatsoever.
The spot where they now halted for the day was by the banks of one of those small lakes, whereof so many fertilize and beautify the lower passes of the Alps. On every side around rose up the mighty mountains; and over their wooded sides the clear masses of light and shade flew swift as the soft large clouds were borne by the quick wind through the lustrous summer's sky. It was evening time; and in all the thickets round about the nightingales--sweet untaught choristers, in whose tuneful art no time nor cultivation can improve a tone or sweeten a single note--were chanting their thrilling anthem to the God of nature. In the clear mirror of the lake, deep down appeared the inverted mountains, with the softened sky beyond, and every quick change of light and shade.
It was a lovely scene; and though the hearts of Theodore and Ildica had now become sadly learned in the lessons of frequent disappointment, yet that spot recalled their sweet refuge on the other side of those dark Alps, where, amid the friendly Alans, they had enjoyed some brief, but never to be forgotten, hours of unalloyed delight. It recalled that place of refuge, and the hopes which they there had felt; and though those hopes had again been disappointed, they blossomed anew, different, yet the same; changed a little in form and arrangement, but not less beautiful, not less sweet--flowers of another spring, but of the same kind, from the same stem, from the same earth.
They had pitched their tents in a situation which recalled their former resting-place the more strongly, as it was upon a projecting point a short way up the hill. Below them lay the encampment of their Hunnish followers, and around them the domestic servants of their house; and as they sat there, and wisely encouraged once more the happy feelings that were willing to return, Theodore urged that, as they were now once more in safety, Ildica might give him her hand, whenever they could meet with a minister of religion to sanctify their union. Ildica said not one word against it; and as, with a slight blush and downcast eye she gave no unwilling consent, Theodore thought her far more lovely than ever, although a shade of melancholy, gathered from frequent disappointment, anxiety, and grief, hung over her as if it had been a veil, seldom, if ever, raised entirely, even in her happiest moments. That shade of melancholy also was somewhat darker now, inasmuch as her fair and beloved mother had shown signs of failing strength under the long and weary journey which they had just been compelled to take. Theodore hoped that the day's repose which they were now enjoying in that calm scene might sufficiently restore Flavia to proceed with comfort; but Ildica clearly saw that her mother could bear no great fatigue; and from some casual words which had fallen from her parent's lips, she had gathered that it was her intention, as soon as the double union of her children with those of Paulinus had taken place, to retire for ever from the busy world, and pass her remaining days in one of those places of seclusion which were at that time to be found in almost every part of the world. Ildica could not contemplate such a separation without pain; and though she shrunk not from her union with one whom she loved so deeply and intensely, yet she feared the parting with her mother, whom she had loved so long, and who loved her so tenderly.