The Scourge of God

“I pledged I would bring back the sword. I have.” The king grunted. “And do you still want what I promised in return?”

He nodded. “Ilana is to go with me.” She cried out. “Jonas! This makes no-” I interrupted. “I’ve come unarmed to save the woman I love. My life is a small price to pay for hers. Give her to Skilla, and let their blessing be on the sword of Mars.” He looked from one of us to the other, a trio about to become two. “You care this much for a druugh? It was a Hunnish nickname for her genitals.

I swallowed. “Put me in the flames instead.” Still Attila hesitated.

“It’s konoss, kagan,” a chieftain spoke up. “You must accept it.” I started in recognition at the voice and realized Edeco had come up. He wasn’t looking at me but at his nephew Skilla with curiosity.

The king scowled. Was this a trick? “I have to accept nothing.” His look became narrow and greedy. “Give me the sword.” His warlords were nodding, eager to have this talisman back to rally their men.

“Let her go to Skilla first.”

“Give me the sword first. Or should I just kill you now?” I hesitated, but what choice did I have? I walked to him, and he grasped the iron haft, resting its heavy tip in the grass. We were inches apart.

His look was a half smile. “Now it will not be so easy.” I put my own hand back on the sword. “I made a bargain.”

“Which I am going to change.” He turned his head and ordered. “Unchain the girl.”

I was sweating, despite the cool of the morning. They un-locked Ilana and she rose stiffly, perplexed and wary.

Attila raised his voice so others could hear. “She can leave, konoss will be paid, but no Roman assassin will dictate the payment.” He grinned at her. “She will choose who goes with her . . . Skilla or the Roman.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

“The other will take her place on the pyre.”

“No!”

“What madness is this, kagan?” Edeco demanded. Skilla had blanched, looking at his king in bewilderment.

“She refused a better bargain when I offered it two nights ago. So let her make one now. Which of her suitors does she choose to kill?”

“I cannot make that choice. It’s monstrous!”

“Then I will lock you back to that pyre with the other women and set fire to it now! Which one!” I felt sick, things spiraling out of control. Where were my allies? Would Attila really kill Skilla instead of me? What kind of unjust game was this, to play with people’s lives, to threaten the three of us with the arbitrary fate he had given poor Rusticius? How many innocents must this tyrant condemn? As I watched Ilana stand there, stricken, horrified, confused, my rage boiled over. Maybe it was Chrysaphius who was right, not Aetius. Eliminate Attila and our greatest problem was solved!

I shoved, butting him; and because of the surprise, I, Attila, and the sword went sprawling on the ground. Before the surprised older man could gather himself I’d wrestled myself behind him with the blunt but still-lethal sword at his neck, dragging both of us toward the pyre so I could use it as a shield for my back. The sword was so long it was like holding a pike pole against his throat.

“This sword has become his curse!” I cried. “Harm us and I take off his head!”

“Roman trick!” Edeco roared. His hand was at his sword.

Other Huns raised weapons. But all hesitated because Attila was my shield. Eudoxius, I noticed from the corner of my eye, was slipping sideways out of sight. Now what?

“No trick, warlord!” another voice cried out. “Beware its curse, Attila!”

At last! Two figures on horseback were pushing through the small mob of Huns that was gathering around us, ignoring their angry muttering like men ignoring the growl of dogs. They were on a single horse, the smaller one looking at my desperate stance with wonder.

“So you have found a lover, Alabanda,” Zerco called.

Hun attention swung momentarily from me to the newcomers.

“Think what has happened to your people since you found that sword!” the tall one was shouting. “Think where it has been, with the Romans!”

“What is this?” Attila gasped in frustration against my hold. “Can any man in the world walk into my camp?” A chieftain in escort fell to his knees and looked in stu-pefaction at the tableau we presented: Attila and I locked like wrestlers, Ilana and Skilla white-faced in shock, Edeco looking murderous. “He said he had an urgent message from Aetius,” the Hun pleaded. “He said if I didn’t let them through it would doom us all. I remember the dwarf. He’s a demon, lord. But most of all I remember this holy man.”

“Holy man?” Attila squinted harder. “By the gods! The hermit!”

Edeco started, too. He seemed to recognize a man I knew as Bishop Anianus.

“The halfling I loathe,” Attila said. “And you, I remember you. . . .”

“As I remember you, Scourge of God,” said Bishop Anianus. I was baffled. Had these two met? “You have scourged the West of its sins as intended. Now it is time to go back to where you crawled from. Leave the sword. The thing you lusted for has been corrupted for your kind.”

“Corrupted?”