The Death of Attila, page 24
Bryak cleared his throat and got up. “I will get something for us to eat.” He went away. Tacs looked over at Monidiak.
“What’s happened? Why have the elders and the shamans stayed away? They should be here. When we elect a new Kagan—”
“They say there will be no Kagan,” Monidiak said. “Let’s have something to eat. I’m hungry.” He got up and walked away.
Tacs looked at him, alarmed. Monidiak was Edeco’s cousin—perhaps Edeco had been talking to him. Edeco was a devious man sometimes and afraid of things that did not exist.
All that day, they sat by their fire and ate and got drunk and exchanged lies about their deeds and adventures. Tacs had meant to go looking for his brother Ras, but from what Monidiak had said, he suspected that Ras had not come here. He remembered that Ras had been unenthusiastic about the Kagan even before Attila died.
By sundown, they were all too drunk to stand. The roar and traffic of the camp seethed around them. After the sun set, a freezing gusty wind blew up, but the people built huge fires that lit up the whole camp; reflected like copper in the river, the fires blazed in a narrow band up and down the river bank. The uproar and the comings and goings of people never faltered. The women and children went into the auls, but the men in groups wandered from fire to fire, talking and drinking. Most of them wore the paint of a blood feud, and Tacs went to another campsite, begged two pots of color, and with his friends painted his face as well.
All night, other Hiung walked or rode up to them, talked a moment, and traveled on. Most of them were around Tacs’ age or a little older or younger. Each had his own story of a German massacre, or of Germans massacred. After a while, all the stories sounded the same, and Tacs and Monidiak and Bryak offered the same expressions of anger and revenge and mourning. Tacs was so drunk that the camp looked like one long fire, with shadows moving back and forth across the flames. The words of the men talking to him became only a trickle of clear noise against the dull general roar. Dimly, he saw Ellac, surrounded by torchbearers, parade with his followers through the camp. He thought that Edeco himself came by and spoke to him. When he could not see anymore, he dragged himself into the shelter of the lean-to and curled up out of the wind and fell asleep, to dream of all-consuming fires.
“THEY ARE CAMPED UP ahead,” Ardaric said. “All up and down the river on the north bank.” With his right hand, he gestured crisply toward the water at the edge of their camp. Dietric, sitting on the tailgate of his father’s wagon, folded his arms over his chest. The thought of the Huns so close tightened his back muscles. He wondered where Tacs was, if he was not dead.
Ardaric was walking in slow circles around the wagon, looking out over his warriors. He had camped them in a horseshoe bend of the river and stationed his wagon on a little hill near the center that commanded it all. Even Dietric was impressed with his father. Perhaps because of the Romans, or perhaps just for Ardaric’s sake, every German nation east of the mountains had sent fighting men, and somehow Ardaric had managed to call them together at a defensible place within two days’ ride of the gathering Huns. Dietric was glad at least that the Roman ambassador had left. Ardaric was walking towards him, and he drew his face impassive.
“Shall I trust you?” Ardaric said truculently. He slacked his weight against the side of the wagon, bracing himself on his hip.
“For what?”
“If you meet your pig-nosed little Hun friend, will you go off with him?”
Dietric could not help but smile. “Maybe.”
“Unh.” Ardaric struck him in the side, hard. But they had stopped even trying to talk to each other about some things, and after a moment Ardaric went on.
“Take as many warriors as you can find to follow you and go look over their camp. I will send others, there is no use in lying.”
Meeting his father’s eyes, Dietric tried to think of a nasty reply, but when Ardaric’s eyes widened, he realized that he was staring and turned his back and walked away. He felt oddly out of breath, as if he had been running. The strain between him and Ardaric wore on his nerves. He walked up to the nearest group of Gepid fighting men. They turned to face him, and he picked three at random, hardly knowing their names. “Get horses, we will go out to scout the Huns’ camp. Meet me by my father’s wagon.”
They went off quickly to get ready. Dietric walked around to the lines of horses tethered beside the river. Before they had left his father’s new stockade, he had taken a young cousin on his mother’s side to carry his arms for him. This boy was sitting on the river bank daydreaming, and Dietric sent him to ready his horse. Sitting down where the boy had been, he changed his boots.
He had never fought in a war, and it was only good sense for Ardaric to use him as lightly as he could. He doubted that Ardaric really thought he would betray his own people to the Huns. Sometimes he suspected that Ardaric was as tired of the trouble between them as he was.
The more he saw of Ardaric’s ordering of the growing mass of German warriors, the more he appreciated why the Romans had chosen Ardaric to flatter and cajole and bribe into turning on the Huns. But it made him angry that Ardaric would let himself be the Romans’ tool. He had said that once to his father and Ardaric had knocked him off his horse into a river.
His horse-boy brought over the chestnut gelding and held him while Dietric mounted. “Get me my coat,” Dietric said. “The one with the fur hood, I’ll be gone all night.”
“And your sword,” the boy said.
“No, just the coat. Bring it to my father’s wagon.” Dietric booted his horse up the slope, away from the river.
The horseshoe bend was half full of German camps; Ardaric had said when they needed more room they would have enough men to make a more open campsite secure. Riding up to Ardaric’s wagon, Dietric could see along the river to the south, in the direction of the Huns, but of course they were far out of sight downstream, beyond the leafless trees. He reined in his horse at the wagon’s tailgate, next to Ardaric, who was making charcoal marks on one of his charts. Two men held the chart before him, one at each end.
“Three men only would follow you?” Ardaric asked, without lifting his head. “You have no sword.”
Dietric dismounted and hooked his reins over the tailgate. Going around to the other side of the wagon, he saw the three men waiting, and beckoned to them to come forward. They were all burdened down with weapons; one even carried a hammer.
“Get rid of all that,” Dietric said. “Leave it here. It will only slow us down. If we meet Huns, we will have to run.”
“He loves Huns,” Ardaric said. He snapped his fingers, and the men holding the chart ran around in front of Dietric. Startled, Dietric’s three men gave him wide-eyed looks and backed hastily out of the way. Ardaric pointed to a scribble on the chart.
“Here is the river. Here is our camp. Do you make it all out?”
Dietric could not decipher any of the lines and marks on the chart. He knew if he said so Ardaric would shout at him, so he nodded.
“A day’s ride south of here on the far bank is a shattered tree, lightning-struck, the first scoutings say three turnings of the river from here. Just beyond that is the Hun camp. Remember everything you see, especially the lay of the land beyond them and across the river from them. They say the river is much wider there than here. Tell me how much wider and where the nearest ford is. I never have enough information.”
Ardaric slapped the man with the chart on the shoulder, and he and his fellow carried the map hurriedly off. Ardaric glared at Dietric and his men. “You know what the Huns will do to you if you are caught. These things—” he striped the head of the hammer with his bit of charcoal— “will do you no good. He is right. Leave them. If you are not back in three days, I will claim your horses.” He made a charcoal cross on the front of Dietric’s shirt and went away, shouting.
Dietric’s horse-boy ran up, carrying his coat. The three men looked around them uncertainly, whispering to one another, and at length put their weapons under Ardaric’s wagon. Dietric strapped his coat behind his saddle. Abruptly he realized that it was the Hun coat that Tacs had given him. He stood running the tip of one forefinger over the faded embroidery on the sleeve; finally he undid the straps that held it to the cantle of his saddle.
“This coat will not do. Get me one from my father’s wagon.”
The boy sprang off to do his bidding. Dietric pulled himself up into his saddle. It was midday. If they moved quickly, they would come upon the Huns just after moonset. The boy returned with a sheepskin coat; when he had lashed it in place, Dietric reined his horse around and threw the Hun coat in the nearest fire.
TACS LEANED FORWARD AND quietly took the jug from Monidiak. Even so, Edeco saw him and looked in his direction. Smiling, Tacs nodded to him. Edeco jerked his eyes away, back to Dengazich, who was ranting on, milling his arms around his head. Tacs drank from the jug, stoppered it, and set it down in his lap.
Dengazich said, “The Germans are gathering half a day’s ride up the river to the north. I went there myself with my little brother Ernach to see what was happening. We came within bowshot of the German camp.”
He raised his arms over his head, and all the men watching him grunted. Tacs leaned forward and whispered to Monidiak, “Probably from across the river. That isn’t so brave.”
Monidiak laughed, and Edeco gave them both a hard look. Dengazich went on talking about how vile the Germans were and how he and his little brother had defied them. Ernach was sitting beside Edeco, behind Dengazich; he sat on a bearskin and wore a bearskin cloak. The Kagan had worn a bearskin cloak. Ernach was paring his fingernails. He looked even younger than he was.
Dengazich said, “Ellac hasn’t even gone to see the Germans. How does he know where they are?”
“You just told him,” Bryak said, and everyone around him laughed. It was big, noisy laughter, too; no one was much afraid of Dengazich. Dengazich made himself laugh.
Edeco stood up. “Bryak. Take yourself elsewhere.”
Bryak started to get up, but Tacs and Monidiak put their hands on his shoulders and forced him down again. Around them, the men called, “No—no—he stays.” Someone shouted, “He is a better Hiung than this half-Goth!” and there was a howl of agreement.
Monidiak leaned back on one elbow to speak into Tacs’ ear. “You see how much support Dengazich has. It’s too bad that Ernach is so young. See how angry Edeco is.”
At that moment, Ernach lifted his head to look at his half-brother, railing on before him. Tacs said, “He reminds me of the Kagan—see, about his head and his shoulders?”
Edeco started to his feet again, and Monidiak quickly straightened up. Dengazich was describing the German camp. They had of course buried themselves in a horseshoe bend in the river.
“It will surprise no one to hear who leads this slave army,” Dengazich said. “Perhaps it will surprise Ellac, who gives no thought to such things. But it will startle only fools to be told that King Ardaric leads this army against us.”
Tacs started. Monidiak leaned back toward him again. “Ardaric!” Tacs stretched out his arms, and hauling him up to his feet, Monidiak and Bryak half-carried him out of the pack of listeners, toward the back of Dengazich’s campsite. When he glanced over his shoulder, Tacs saw Edeco looking after them, and Dengazich had stopped talking and was pacing up and down before the audience.
“We shall have our revenge,” Monidiak said. “For everything, even Marag.”
Tacs had to struggle to remember why Ardaric might be guilty of the death of Marag, more than a year before. They reached their horses, standing in the shade of a tree, and mounted up. Bryak swung his tall bay horse in a tight circle. “What are we going to do?”
Monidiak laughed. “We will show Ardaric that he isn’t safe from us. Remember the last time we raided him?”
Tacs said, “Let’s go somewhere and plan this. We aren’t going just the other side of our camp.” He tightened his legs around the pony’s barrel. “Stop yelling, do you want to get something thrown at us?”
They rode down a short slope toward the river. Bryak and Monidiak were giggling and suggesting painful tortures for Ardaric should they chance on him. Tacs could not make himself happy. He could see no way to take revenge on Ardaric without getting himself killed. He was unsure what he wanted to do, but he did not want to die. It made him morose to think how little control he had over that.
EVEN IN THE DARK, THE HUN camp was easy to find: they were making no effort to hide it, and Dietric suspected they didn’t even have sentries out. The whole upper bank of the river was brilliant with fires for half a mile of its length. With his men behind him, he rode along in the darkness on the opposite bank, in the quiet, trying to see what was happening around the fires. Behind him the three men swore and guessed at what they saw. Finally Dietric snapped at them to be quiet.
“We will split up here,” he said. “You two—Edric, Rotar—go back to that ford we passed. Stay there until tomorrow night. Hide—keep the trail in sight so that no one will sneak up on you. Count the number of Huns that cross the ford. I—we will join you tomorrow after sundown. If we aren’t there by midnight, go back without us. Edric, you are chief. Don’t get caught.” He turned to the third man. “Otho, come with me.”
Otho had no chance to protest; Dietric kicked his horse into a canter, going south to circle around the Hun camp. He could hear the other man’s horse lumbering after him in the dark. Dietric swung east to reach the river below the camp.
Like a puddle of light, the camp shone on his left hand until the dawn came and the rising of the sun blotted out the color of the fires. In the blue early morning light, Dietric reined in under a tree and dismounted. He had been riding almost one full day, and his legs were so stiff he could barely walk. Behind him he heard the soft explosion of Otho’s breath as the big man sat down.
The rolling plain, scattered with trees, ran off to the river in the distance. Dietric could not hear the Hun camp, but only because the wind was dead wrong. He could see almost to its far side; he could see the people coming from their auls and stretching their arms and yawning. He even recognized one man, who had ridden to Sirmium with him and Tacs.
It still bewildered him that they had put out no sentries. He supposed they were so sure that the Germans would never dare attack them that they did not bother. Of course they could also be too disorganized. Watching the camp, he saw how haphazardly it was set up, how little space there was, how many of the auls held only men.
There were far fewer of them, too, than in the village at Hungvar. He had expected twice as many, after they summoned the entire nation. Perhaps they were early and the bulk of the Huns would arrive in the next few days. He lay down on his stomach on the ground and began to memorize the terrain around the camp.
“My lord,” Otho whispered.
Dietric looked up over his shoulder. Otho held out a waterskin. “Are you thirsty?”
“Ah. Yes.” Dietric rolled over onto his back, sat up, and reached for the waterskin. The ground tilted down here, as if swooping back into the wood, and he hoped that and the underbrush would hide them. He drank from the waterskin, lifting his head between each small sip to look around.
“Good. Take the horses back into the wood and tie them. Stay there.”
“Are we going to stay here awhile, my lord?”
“Until dark. But keep a watch. They don’t have any guard out but they are coming and leaving in all directions.” A group of Huns had just ridden from the camp, going up-river. He strained his eyes to count them.
“Tell me what to do,” Otho said.
Dietric handed him back the waterskin. He wished he knew what was happening in the Hun camp. The more he considered it the less he believed that they would make another man the Kagan. It would insult the dead Attila.
“Excuse me, my lord,” Otho said.
“I’ve already told you what to do,” Dietric said. Another band of Huns was riding up to the camp, herding half a dozen sheep before them.
“Do you think that we can beat them?”
“What?” Dietric said, startled. “Beat whom? The Huns? I don’t know. I can’t count very well, but I don’t think there are very many of them here. If we can catch them like this, maybe we can beat them. My father—” He stood up to watch the camp. “My father will decide what we should do, he is a capable general, even the Kagan listened to his advice.”
“But he doesn’t know them as well as you do,” Otho said.
“Yes,” Dietric said hastily. “Now we have to get out of here.” He could see the black pony jogging out of the camp to the open meadow; if the wind changed and the pony caught the scent of Germans, it would bring the Huns down on them. He dragged Otho by the arm back toward their horses.
TWENTY-TWO
DENGAZICH AND ERNACH had refused even to stay for Ellac’s kurultai and left the camp, taking with them a hundred warriors. When he heard it, Monidiak snorted and clapped his hands together. “Now we see their cast of thought.” He sat down beside their fire and dug into the glowing coals angrily with a stick.
Edeco had brought that news; he dismounted from his horse and followed Monidiak over to the fire. Tacs looked up at him, surprised. Edeco stood punching one hand against his thigh. As usual he was frowning, but now he actually seemed upset. “What’s wrong now?” Tacs said.
Squatting, Edeco tugged off his gloves to warm his hands. Around his neck he wore a chain of gold studded with blue jewels. Tacs wondered if he had gotten it from the Emperor.
“We may as well all leave now,” Edeco said, but he spoke to his cousin Monidiak rather than to Tacs. “Nothing will happen here. There are no important men here.”
“You are important,” Monidiak said.
Edeco looked at Tacs. “Where is your brother Ras?”
“Ras is not important,” Tacs said. He hunched closer to the fire. Dark was coming; the hot red glow of the innumerable campfires lit up the sky.
