The Death of Attila, page 17
“Ayya. Come in.” Tacs scrambled down the ladder to the ground. “Did you bring it? Ah!”
Dietric rode in, leading a horse packed with two great kegs of beer. “I think my father guessed, he locked up the brewhouse. Have they started?”
Tacs shook his head. He took the leadrope from Dietric; they went off across the stockade. “I don’t think so. If they have, we shall start it all over again. We can’t be the only ones sober.” They passed under the windows of Kreka Khatun’s suite, on their way to the guards’ bonfire at the back of the stockade; through the windows, the whirling figures of the women were visible, but Tacs turned his eyes away, because it was taboo to look on dancing women.
“Dietric,” he said. “You have to keep watch on me and Monidiak—don’t let us get too drunk.”
“Is that possible?” Dietric asked, smiling. They rounded the corner of the Court of Women and started across the little field toward the fires the others had made.
Tacs laughed. “I hope so. He and I have to stand watch on the Kagan’s chamber, and it won’t be good if we’re drunk.”
FIFTEEN
CONSTANTIUS STOOD UP again, the white cloth of his gown bunched in his fists. “You must waken him. They are all waiting.”
“Let them wait,” Monidiak said. He had rested his spear up against the wall beside the door; he leaned himself up beside it, his arms folded over his chest. Tacs, who was sitting on the floor on the other side of the door, looked up at him and over at Edeco, obviously struggling to make up his mind. Edeco’s frown had brought his eyebrows down over his nose, and his mouth worked in and out; his eyes turned constantly toward the Kagan’s door.
Constantius gave Monidiak a black stare and sat down again. In the narrow antechamber there was only one bench. Edeco and Constantius were squeezed together on it like two lovers.
“What do you think?” Edeco said.
“I?” Tacs asked, startled. “Nothing. She is a pretty girl.”
Monidiak smiled. “I like women with more fat on them to roll around on.”
“You, cousin,” Edeco said, “have all the fat you need, between your ears.”
Monidiak put his head back and laughed. One corner of Edeco’s mouth pulled down, as if he had thought of something unpleasant, and he turned his eyes toward Constantius.
“I think you are right. We should go in. He never sleeps so late, and he always calls out if someone knocks.”
Constantius bounced up onto his feet and started toward the door. Tacs stood up. The Kagan would probably be angry and he wanted to get out of the way. Edeco knocked again on the door, pounding on it with the end of his fist. All of them stood with their eyes on the door, their breath caught in their lungs, listening. There was no answer. Edeco took hold of the iron latch and pulled it, but the door was bolted, and he stood back and kicked the door open.
With Constantius in his footsteps Edeco went inside, saying, “Attila, we all ask your pardon.”
Tacs settled down again beside the door, holding the haft of his spear between his knees. Cheerfully Monidiak said, “I hope he doesn’t hurt them.”
“Tacs!” Edeco shouted, from inside the chamber. “Tacs, come here. Monidiak, shut the outer door and guard it.”
Tacs jumped to his feet. The ragged edge in Edeco’s voice raised the hair along his spine. He thought, The Kagan is dead. He darted through the door and into the chamber. Behind him the outer door slammed with a thud. He saw Edeco’s face green-white behind his tan and Constantius kneeling on the floor with his hands clasped before him. An instant later Tacs saw the blood.
The girl was sitting huddled in one corner of the Kagan’s draped couch. The curtains were drawn together enough to throw the Kagan himself into shadow. He lay on his back in the dimness, his mouth open, and his face was covered with blood. Under the couch blood lay in a pool, half-dried; the bedcovers were caked with it.
Edeco was talking to him, but Tacs could not hear. He could not look away from the Kagan. Finally Edeco took him by the shoulders and shook him until his head hurt. Tacs gave a little whimper, and when Edeco let him go he raised his eyes up to the taller man’s.
“Edeco, what will happen to us now?”
“Be quiet,” Edeco said. “We will think of that later. You must stay here and stand guard over the Kagan’s body. Can you do it? Monidiak will do it, if you—”
“I will,” Tacs said. “I can do it, let me.”
“Don’t leave him,” Edeco said. “Constantius, come with me.”
Constantius sobbed. His trembling hands, ridged with rings, hung in the air before him, and he spoke pleadingly in Latin to the dead Attila. Tacs with his spear went to stand beside the Kagan’s couch. The broken, foreign sound of Constantius’ prayer made his skin crawl. He looked at the girl.
“Did she kill him?”
“No,” Edeco said, his voice rasping. “No, she did nothing. See how it is with her.” He went to the couch and lifted the girl up with one arm around her waist. Her body flopped against his side. Her eyes opened wide but no sense appeared in them. Edeco pulled her arm up over his shoulder. She laid her head down against his chest and her eyes slowly closed.
“Come with me, Constantius,” Edeco said, and with his free hand pulled the fat little man toward the door. “Monidiak, open this door.”
The door opened, and the three of them went out, Edeco’s head in the middle between the girl’s on one hand and Constantius’ bald freckled scalp on the other. When they had gone, Monidiak looked in. He saw the Kagan and his face turned the color of milk. His eyes met Tacs’; neither of them could speak, and Monidiak went out and shut the door.
Tacs sat down on the floor beside the Kagan’s head. The smell of drying blood filled his nose. At first he could not look at the dead man but bit by bit he turned his eyes toward him and saw how he lay, with his knees pulled up toward his chest and his body bent forward in agony. The blood had poured out of his mouth and nose. His hair was matted with it, his mustaches solid with it. Tacs’ heart filled with pity, and he began to cry. Every word the Kagan had ever said to him flooded back into his mind. He could not bear that Attila should have died in such pain, with only a girl nearby, too frightened to call for help. Putting his head down on the couch beside the Kagan’s, he wept and decided that he would never be happy again.
After a little while he heard footsteps outside the door and jumped to his feet, grabbing up his spear. Over a dozen of the Kagan’s children filed into the chamber and stood looking at the man on the couch. Tacs passed his spear nervously from his right hand to his left.
Ellac said, “The girl must have poisoned him.” He said it twice, in a voice without expression. Behind him little Ernach burst into tears.
“No,” Dengazich said. He came up beside Ellac and rested one hand on his shoulder. “The Kagan was sick. Once when I was with him he was seized with pain in his stomach.” He came up to the couch, heedless of Tacs, as if to touch the body, and Tacs stepped between him and the Kagan.
“Let me by,” Dengazich said impatiently. “He was my father.”
Tacs could not speak. But when after a moment Dengazich moved to one side and tried to get past him, Tacs came between him and the couch again, and Dengazich shrugged and went back with the others.
All the little boys were crying. The older ones took them by the hand and led them out. Only Ellac and Dengazich remained behind. Ellac’s eyes were shining. He said, “If you will support me as the Kagan I shall make you second only to me.”
Dengazich laughed.
The door opened again and Edeco came in, with Scottas, Orestes, and two Hiung chiefs. They stood behind the two sons of Attila and looked at the body and spoke in murmurs. Orestes and Scottas went out, and a dozen other Hiung chiefs and subchiefs came in, two and three at a time, looked at the dead man, and went out without speaking.
Kreka Khatun, with Ernach beside her, appeared in the doorway, took one look at Attila, and went away with her hand over her eyes. Ernach lingered, his reddened eyes sharp on Ellac’s face. Tacs sat down on the floor, holding his spear upright. Edeco stayed in the chamber, leaning against the wall opposite him; whispering to each other, Ellac and Dengazich stood off to one side. Tacs could hear them; by the expression on Ernach’s face, he could, too. Ellac was trying to convince Dengazich to support him and Dengazich was putting him off. Now and again, Dengazich’s eyes rested on Tacs and at last he poked Ellac and told him to be quiet. Ellac looked over at Tacs and clamped his lips shut. Before they noticed him, Ernach slid back from the door and disappeared.
Now Ardaric came in, alone, first of all the Germans. When he saw the Kagan dead, he blanched. He opened his mouth but said nothing; after a moment he shook his head. Turning to Edeco, he said, “You know I suffer this as deeply as you do.”
“Yes,” Edeco said.
Ardaric shook his head again and left. Tacs said, “Why did he say that?”
Edeco looked away.
The Ostrogoths’ three kings came single file through the door, their jaws locked and their faces full of strain. Ellac and Dengazich left while they were there. The three spoke to each other softly in their own dialect; Tacs could hardly understand it but all they talked about was the blood. Before they went out again, the shamans came.
There were five of them, The Fluteplayer among them but not their chief: that was Megiddo, old and stooped and mute. He wore a tunic made all of raven’s feathers, because he was of the Shai clan that had the raven as one of its totems. While the other shamans watched, Megiddo leaned over and sniffed at the Kagan’s face and put out his thin hands to touch the Kagan’s body. The shamans moved around Tacs on the floor without speaking to him or looking at him. Each of them smelled different, although each one also smelled of the same crushed herbs. When they all had looked at the body, they stood in a little circle and made speech with their hands, the only language that Megiddo understood. Whatever they said was spoken quickly, and all but The Fluteplayer left.
The Fluteplayer said, “Edeco, the Kagan had a sickness that we had given him some charms against, and we believe that he died of the sickness. So there is no reason for revenge.”
Edeco glanced at the Ostrogoths, who were watching from the back of the room. His eyes went to the Kagan’s body. “What sickness was it that makes a man bleed so much?”
“Who knows?” The Fluteplayer put his head to one side, and his gaze slid toward the Ostrogoths. “There is a kind of truth in it, when he caused so much blood to flow.” Taking a step backward, he looked down at Tacs and said softly, “Be easy, little frog. Every man dies.” With his snakeskin coat draped over one shoulder, he walked out the door.
“He drank so much blood that it killed him,” one of the Ostrogoths murmured, and the other two nodded and pressed closer together. “If he had known Jesus Christ—” They went swiftly out after The Fluteplayer.
Tacs looked back over his shoulder at the Kagan. He felt like a man whose father had died.
WHERE THE RING OF torches had stood for the Kagan’s wedding, men were raising a platform of wood high as the head of a mounted man. Ardaric had mentioned something about that place being sacred to the Huns, but when Dietric pressed him, he did not know why.
“They go there to see their rites performed,” Ardaric said. “When Bleda was—died, they brought his body there to be … whatever is done to dead Huns. The Kagan proclaimed his mission here.”
Now the curly summer grass was trampled down and stained with soot from the wedding ceremony. Dietric took a step toward the ring, but before he had gone more than a few strides, Ardaric called him sharply back.
“I told you,” Ardaric said, when Dietric had come back to his side. “Leave them alone. This time you must obey me. If you don’t, I’ll have you bound and kept in the sleeping loft.”
“Why?” Dietric asked, but Ardaric had already turned back to his conversation with the Ostrogoth Widimir. They had come out to see how the work went on the Kagan’s pyre, but now they were paying no attention to it. Dietric fretted. At first, when he heard of the death of Attila, he had been frightened, like a child afraid of something unnamed in the dark, but now he was filled with exhilaration. All his life Attila had ruled over them. Under the Kagan everything had been laid out precisely, with no room for surprise. Now there would be changes, new things, new men rising to importance. Ardaric and Widimir were discussing that—Ellac and Dengazich, the Kagan’s only sons old enough to assume the Kaganate. Dietric thought, I will support Dengazich, he is part Goth. He wondered if the new Kagan would lead them against Rome; this time he would be old enough to fight. His horse lowered its head and cropped the crisp grass.
Brown in the late summer sun, the plain stretched off around them, gently rolling toward the horizon. Down at the pyre, a new wagonload of wood was being carried up. The pyre, half-finished, crawled with men working on it. Dietric’s horse took another step toward that place, cropping the grass, and Dietric strained to kick it into a gallop and race down there. But he had heard a new tone in Ardaric’s voice he was afraid to ignore.
He had not seen Tacs since the night before the Kagan’s death, but he had met Monidiak down by the river, who said that Tacs was guarding the body of the Kagan. “He and Yaya,” Monidiak said. “It is an honor, but I would not have it.”
“Why not?” Dietric asked.
Monidiak’s thin eyebrows rose. “So close to a dead man, for two days in a row? And the Kagan’s spirit is stronger than an ordinary man’s.”
Dietric imagined the Kagan’s soul crawling out the mouth of the corpse and seizing Tacs by the throat. He hunched his shoulders, uncomfortable at his own vision. The Kagan’s soul was in Hell, beyond doubt—he had defied Christ. Another wagon was rumbling down toward the pyre; Huns on horseback galloped around it. The Kagan’s soul was surely safe in Hell.
“Dietric,” Ardaric snapped.
“Yes, Father.”
TACS COULD SMELL THE PERFUME and spices and herbs heaped up on the wagon behind him. He was exhausted; in the two days since the Kagan’s death he had hardly slept. His coat weighed on his shoulders and his eyes felt gritty and burned in their sockets. The darkness around him was full of horsemen, crowded together, moving and bumping together in a river of bodies. In front of him, Ellac rode under the Kagan’s horsetail standard. Ernach beside him carried the War God’s Sword that the Kagan had found on this plain. Dengazich rode among the other sons of the Kagan, carrying nothing.
Edeco said, “See how the fire blows in the wind.” His voice was hoarse and weak. He had spent the days since the Kagan’s death talking and giving orders and he had lost his voice from it.
Before the sons of the Kagan went men with torches, and other men with torches rode in two long files down either side of the funeral train. On each corner of the wagon that bore the Kagan’s body was a torch. The air stank of the burning. In the windblown light, faces looked hollow and wild. The horsetails swinging from the crossbar of the Kagan’s standard caught the light in streaks. Tacs gathered the spittle in his mouth and spat it to one side. Ellac might carry the horsetails but Ellac would be no Kagan. No true Kagan would have left Edeco to do all the work. None of the Kagan’s sons had shown reverence enough even to sit by the body. Now they pretended to mourn. Tacs thought, I will follow none of them.
Off in the dark the Germans rode in a mass, in a course parallel with the wagon’s, but they had no place in this. It was for the Hiung to mourn a Hiung Kagan. Tacs wondered where Dietric was. Monidiak had seen him since the Kagan’s death; Dietric was pleased with the honor done Tacs. Unaccountably, Tacs’ eyes filled up with tears. That had happened often in the past two days.
Before them on the wide plain stood the hallowed ground where Rua was buried, where Beguz was buried, and Tinnuma, the great chiefs who had led the Hiung through the swamps after the white stag. There every Hiung chief for four generations had been brought to his body’s last sleep, even though he died on the far side of the world. The Kagan would not be lonely there. His pyre was a dark spot on the plain, unlit as yet by any fire.
Before Tacs, in the mass of the Kagan’s sons, Dengazich began to chant. Tacs bit his lip. After only a few words he remembered the song, although he had not heard it in many years. It was the old song of a son for a dead father.
On all sides, men picked up the chant. Tacs had almost forgotten it; the old words returned to him and filled him with wild dreams and memories. Beside him, Edeco said softly, “Dengazich spent a day with the shamans learning it. The Kagan would be pleased.” Softly, nurturing his sick voice, he joined the chanting. Tacs licked his lips and the words came into his mouth and he sang them, although his voice broke and wavered, and tears ran down his cheeks. He felt both an unbearable sorrow and a strange uplifting joy.
Singing, the procession rode slowly down to the pyre. The horsemen spread out and surrounded it, holding their horses shoulder to shoulder. Their voices welled up in the darkness like the beating of a drum. Ellac and Dengazich and the rest of the Kagan’s older sons dismounted beside the wagon and lifted up their father’s body. They carried it up onto the pyre and laid it on its back on top of the wooden platform. Bringing up the urns of perfumes, the sacks of spices and herbs, they massed them around the body, tipping the urns so that the rich stinking oils flooded down and soaked the wood. One by one the young men climbed down and mounted and drew back into the crowd. The last to go was Ellac. He came on foot to Edeco and without a word took the torch from him and lit all the torches around the pyre.
Where before it had been dark, now it blazed all over with light. Tacs could see the Kagan’s face, yellow in the light, the eyes sealed and the mouth firmly shut, all the blood washed away. In his chest his heart trembled. The reek of burning stung his nose and hurt his throat. The black pony squealed and pressed its shoulder against Edeco’s horse, and Edeco’s big chestnut whirled and broke into a trot. The horses around them began to move. The black pony, thrusting its nose out, stretched its legs.
