Attila took the cup, and gazed upon it, repeating thoughtfully, "From Eugenius, bishop of Margus!--the boy's uncle! I will use it some other night."
"Nay, oh mighty king!" said Zercon, "no night like this; for in it you may pledge yourself to avenge the wrongs of him who sent it."
"What wrongs?" cried Attila, turning upon him fiercely. "I know of no wrongs that he has suffered."
"It comes," replied Zercon, in a deep tone, "from the dead to the living! from the impotent to the mighty! Eugenius has been put to death, by command of Marcian, for admitting the Huns to the Roman territory; and thy messengers have but escaped with life and this cup, which he had just given them for thee, as a pledge of his friendship."
Attila's countenance grew as dark as night. "Take the cup," he cried, to one of his officers; "take the cup and let it be purified with fire. Then bring it to me."
The attendant took the cup, and held it over a lighted torch in the midst of the hall. Then, after passing it through water, he brought it to the monarch, who filled it to the brim: and, rising from his seat, exclaimed, "Pledge me, kings and mighty leaders! Pledge me, in our last cup this night, death to the slave Marcian, who has dared to slay the friend of Attila!" and he drank off the wine at once.
He had not spared the cup throughout the night; and now that deep draught had a visible effect. He felt it himself; and, setting down the cup, leaned his head upon his hand for a moment; then suddenly rose, and, bending slightly to his guests, quitted the hall with an unsteady step. Several of his chief attendants followed, but they returned the moment after; and many of the leaders rose and left the hall, conversing in low voices on the varied events lately passed. Others remained, and protracted the debauch; but by the first hour after midnight the pavilion of the king was void of its guests, and all had returned to silence.
Among the first that left the hall were Ardaric and Valamir; and, as they passed through the camp of the sleeping Huns, they paused for a moment beside one of the tents in which a light was burning, and from which might be heard the voice of lamentation.
"Hark! Her slaves weeping over her unhappy fate!" said Ardaric.
"What! did she not take them with her?" demanded Valamir.