"I have questioned them already," said Attila--"I have done more: I rose instantly--for my limbs and my mind seemed freed as if from a heavy weight--and drawing back the curtains that divide the tent, I found that no one living could have entered without treading on the sleeping bodies of those of my warriors who lay without. It was but a vision, an idle vision of the night!"
"I put no faith in visions," said Ardaric: "they never visit me. If I dream, 'tis of some empty thing, taking fanciful shapes without regularity or continuance, forgotten as soon as passed. I put no faith in visions."
Attila's brow contracted slightly, but he made no reply; and Valamir, his Gothic tributary, who had hitherto remained thoughtful and silent, now raised his eyes. "Thy vision is a strange one, oh king," he said, "and worthy of some consideration. More, perhaps, than thou thyself art willing to bestow upon it. Yet would I not ask the interpretation of this eloquent man, whose voice was heard so powerfully yesterday; for he of course will see therein a confirmation of his own warnings. There is another in the camp who may be better trusted. Dost thou remember, oh mighty Attila, a holy hermit, who dwelt in the mountains two or three days' journey from Margus, and who--"
"But he is dead," interrupted Attila; "he has been dead two years."
"True," replied Valamir; "but near him there dwelt another hermit, less shrewd and wise, perhaps, but, even more than he was, touched with the fire of the gods. Wild, rash, and fearless, he speaks whatever the spirit prompts, and in such a man's interpretation one may trust his confidence. Among the train who followed hither this high-priest of Rome was the very man, and well acquainted with the manners and the languages of us people of the North. He was wandering yesterday evening through the camp; and I myself saw him preaching boldly strange doctrines of other gods to a large crowd of Huns and Gepidæ. Let him be sent for, and to him let the vision be told. On his interpretation we can better rely."
All voices applauded the proposal, and instantly was it executed. Messengers went forth to find the enthusiast Mizetus, and in a few minutes he stood before Attila and his counsellors. He was silent as the grave while the vision was being told to him; but then--stretching forth his hands, and turning his eyes full upon the countenance of Attila, though not with a fixed and steadfast gaze, but with a wild and rolling glance--he exclaimed, "Is it not simple as the light of day? Is it not open as the summer's sky? Is it not clear as the waters from the rock? What need of interpretation? What need of any one to explain? There is but one God, oh Attila! though thou and these, as slaves of Satan, worship stone, and wood, and iron. That God has been merciful to thee, oh king! and has sent unto thee the apostles of his son, Peter the prince of the apostles, and Paul the chosen by the voice of God! To thee, from another world, he has sent those, through the midst of thy sleeping guards, who, when they lived in this world, passed through the hands of jailers, cast from them the fetters of iron, and walked free through the prison doors of the Roman governor. To thee has he sent them in mercy, to turn thee back from the way of destruction. Listen to their words, tread back thy steps, sheath the sword, open thy heart to the word of God, and thou shalt be safe. If thou doest not this, if thou goest on in rapine and injustice, shedding the blood of the faithful and smiting the people of Christ, lo! I tell thee, when thine errand is accomplished, and the judgments of God wrought out, thou shalt die by some despised death; thine armies shall melt away like snow, the bodies of thy warriors slain shall rot under the summer's sky, and a pestilence shall go forth from their bones to root out those whom the sword has spared. Wo unto you! wo unto your mighty men, for the sword of the Lord is out against you, and he shall scatter you to the uttermost parts of the earth, and shall grind your mouths in the dirt of the earth ye have trodden so proudly, and shall cast ye forth as dead dogs, to be an abomination to the passer-by!"
More than one sword leaped from its sheath at those bold words, but the deep, thunder-like voice of Attila stayed them from smiting the rash enthusiast. "Harm him not, harm him not!" cried the monarch. "By the soul of Attila, he dies who strikes him! Did we not bid him speak? Did we not call for his words? and shall we slay him because they are such as please us not? Stranger," he continued, "thou hast spoken rashly among rash men, nevertheless thou art safe, and mayst depart!"
Mizetus turned to leave the tent; but, ere he went, he raised his hand, and said, in a solemn tone, "I grieve for thee, oh Attila! for thy fate is near!"
"Let it come!" replied Attila--and the enthusiast departed.
"We have spent too much time on this thing," continued the monarch, "let us now turn our thoughts to more substantial warnings. Ardaric, my friend, as thou hast said, this vision was indeed but an empty dream, and but matter for a moment's speculation; but I have tidings for thee which thou knowest not of, for thy Gepidæ lie high up upon the hill. There are those here, however, who know that between sunset last night and sunrise this morning, the sword of the pestilence smote among the warriors who lie by the side of the river nearly ten thousand men!"