"Ha!" cried Attila: "he had better set his naked foot upon an asp than cross my path of victory. Ha! what sayest thou? will he dare to raise himself up against Attila?"
"Perchance not, oh great king," replied Theodore, "perchance not; but it will depend upon Attila's demeanour towards him. Marcian is no Theodosius. Bred in arms from his youth upward, his birthplace was the battle-field; the camp his cradle; war and strife the sport of his youth; command the employment of his manhood. He is no silken reposer on soft couches, but a hardy soldier, for whom the palace will scarcely afford a pillow hard enough to prop his head. If Attila entreat him fairly, Marcian is one to reverence and to love the high qualities of that mighty monarch, and to grant him the friendship that one great man is fond to feel towards another; but if Attila declares himself the enemy, and seeks to become the master of the emperor, Marcian will draw the sword, and it will never be sheathed till one or the other lie in the cold grave. Oh Attila, you have never yet met with Marcian. Better, oh king, better far to have him for your friend than for your enemy!"
Attila rolled his dark eyes fiercely as Theodore spoke; but for some minutes he answered not, and then, gradually resuming his stern calmness, he said, "We shall see! We shall see! I seek not to wrong him--but we shall see! So this Macian was your father's friend; and you know and love him yourself?"
"I do, oh Attila!" answered Theodore, "and I have cause. After my father's death, Marcian sought out, protected, befriended me; enabled me and mine to pursue our flight in safety, and risked even the emperor's wrath in order to favour our escape. I love him dearly, and he, for my father's sake, loves me. He is one of those men who, like thyself, oh king, are hard and firm as some fine gem, which nothing but a gem will cut; but upon which, the lines once engraved no power will afterward remove; and there they last, as clear and definite under the wearing power of time as if nothing but a soft stream passed over them. My father's love will never be forgot."
"The tribune might remember," said Attila, "what the emperor may forget."
"Not so, oh king!" answered Theodore: "Marcian changes not. The same was he as a common soldier in the Roman ranks, as when a tribune, possessed of vast power. When in the lowest military station in the state, his conduct, his manners, his mind, showed him worthy of the highest; and when midway to power and dignity, unlike the changeful herd of ordinary men, authority sat as lightly on him as obedience. What he was as a soldier he was as a tribune, and will be as an emperor. Though not born in that high station, he was born for it; and not only his virtues and his talents, but many another more marvellous indication showed that one day God would place in his hand the destinies of the Roman people."
"Indeed!" cried Attila, fixing his eye upon the young Roman with a greater expression of surprise than he ever manifested on any ordinary occasion. "Indeed! What were these portents?"
"They have been many, as I have heard," replied Theodore. "Escapes from danger almost miraculous; and twice, when sleeping in the open field, an eagle has been seen to hover over his head, and shade him from the scorching sun. These I report but on hearsay. Once, however, I can speak myself to an event of the same kind. After a great earthquake, some four years ago, he was coming from Salona to Aspalathos, and was met by us upon the road. He pitched his tent where we encountered him; and while we were still with him, an eagle, which had followed his troop all day, came down and rested on the tent-pole."
Attila started up and seemed troubled. "This is very strange," he said: "you were present yourself?"
"I was," answered Theodore. "There is no more doubt of it than that I stand here."