"Most beautiful and best beloved!" exclaimed Attila, taking her hand with a look of eager passion. "Let the rites proceed."
They did proceed; and the strange and fanciful ceremonies of the pagan nuptials were begun and ended between Attila and Ildica!
Still, during the whole of that ceremony, the fair unhappy girl uttered not one word; but, passive before the heathen altar, she stood like the victim so often brought there to be sacrificed. Her lips moved not; her voice was heard not; and, without either consent or denial, she became the bride of that dark and mighty king.
The priests ceased; the ceremony was over; and she still stood silent before the altar, with her hand lying in that of Attila. And those who stood by and saw, never forgot the sight of those small, white, taper fingers resting in that broad powerful hand. At length she lifted up her eyes, as if seeking for the heaven; and then her lips moved for a moment, as if in prayer.
As was the custom, the women of the highest note there present surrounded her, and led her away to a banquet prepared for her alone. Ildica ate one cake of bread, and drank one cup of wine, and then sought the chamber reserved for her. They would have led her in, and stayed with her to adorn her; but she paused at the door, and bade them leave her. They hesitated, and urged the custom of the land. But she raised her head proudly, saying, "I am a Roman even here! But what to you is more, I am the bride of Attila, and I command you, leave me! I must spend the intervening time in prayer," she added, in a milder tone; and, ceasing to urge her further, the women left her to her own thoughts; and every one betook them to their homes again.
In the mean while Attila lead his chiefs to the banquet; but, as they went, Ardaric and Valamir walked side by side, and spoke together in a low tone over the scene just past.
"I comprehend it not," said Ardaric; "I understand it not. The memory of old affection is clearly strong in her heart; neither do I think that she forgets her country, nor believe that she is one to wed either for fear or for ambition! If there should be some higher purpose in her bosom, Valamir? If she should meditate some mighty deed?--a deed which, since Attila is no longer Attila, many a brave man in the camp has pondered on as the last hope of many here--a deed which, since safety has been banished from our tents, and the swords of our friends have been drawn at midnight against ourselves, may even have crossed my mind and thine?"
"Hush!" said Valamir; "Onegisus watches us. Let us sit at separate tables; but humour him to the full; and, as he has now forgot his ancient temperance, let him drink deep. It matters not to us whether drunkenness disgrace him on this night of pageantry or not. Cross him not, I beseech thee, Ardaric! Thou hast had warning enough this day that Attila hears counsel no longer, even when given for the protection of his own honour."
Seated at the banquet, the same scenes, or very similar ones, took place, which we have dwelt upon before. The same, in all respects, except in the conduct of the chief actor therein. The rude poet sang the glowing tale of mighty deeds and great warriors in the long-gone past; the jester excited the roar of ribald laughter; the wine flowed plenteously; the chiefs drank deep; but Attila, no longer calm and grave, followed each impulse of the moment--now gave way to some hasty wrath, now joined in the peal of merriment; and still, in the deep wine-cup, provoked the emulation of his warriors.
It was when the night waxed late, and the banquet was nearly over, that Zercon, the negro jester, who had already played his part in the hall for the amusement of the guests, entered again, bearing in his hands an enormous cup of gold, richly gemmed at the rim and on the handles. The shape was beautiful; the workmanship splendid; the jewels of inestimable value; and, as he approached the seat of Attila, the eyes of the monarch, already inflamed with wine, gazed on the magnificent vessel with eyes of wonder and admiration. Kneeling before him, Zercon placed the cup in his hand, saying, "Behold, oh mighty king, a present just arrived from a dear friend and well-wisher of Attila. Thy messengers have just returned from the M[oe]sian frontier, and bear thee this jewelled cantharus from Eugenius, bishop of Margus. Happily has it come to grace thy bridal night."