The Scourge of God

The Huns were dangerous but greedy, Chrysaphius believed. They were little more than horse-borne pirates, who had no use for cities and yet had an insatiable hunger for their products. They hated the Romans because they envied them, and they were as corruptible as children lured by a bowl of sweets. For more than a decade the chief minister had avoided a final showdown with Attila by buying the madman off, wincing as the demand for annual tribute had risen from the three hundred and fifty pounds of gold demanded by Attila’s father to the seven hundred insisted on by Attila’s brother to the more than two thousand demanded by Attila himself. It was more than one hundred and fifty thousand solidi per year! To pay the six thousand pounds demanded to end the war of 447, the city’s merchants and senators had had to melt their wives’ jewelry. There had been suicides amid the despair. More important, there was barely enough money left to pay for Chrysaphius’s luxuries!

It was Attila who had turned the Huns from a confederation of annoying raiders to a rapacious empire, and it was Attila who had changed reasonable tribute to outrageous extortion.

Eliminate Attila, and their cohesion would collapse. A single knife thrust or draft of poison, and the Eastern Empire’s most intractable problem would be solved.

The eunuch smiled benevolently at the Hun and spoke, using Bigilas to translate. “Do you enjoy our epicurean del-icacies, Edeco?”

“The what?” The man’s mouth was disgustingly full.

“The food, my friend.”

“It’s good.” He took another handful.

“The finest cooks in the world come to Constantinople.

They compete with one another in the inventiveness of their recipes. They continuously astonish the palate.”

“You are a good host, Chrysaphius,” the Hun said agreeably. “I will tell this to Attila.”

“How flattering.” The minister sipped from his cup. “Do you know, Edeco, that a man of your standing and talents could eat like this every day?”

Here the barbarian finally paused. “Every day?”

“If you lived here with us.”

“But I live with Attila.”

“Yes, I know, but have you ever thought of living in Constantinople?”

The Hun snorted. “Where would I keep my horses?” Chrysaphius smiled. “What need have we of horses? We have nowhere we need to go. The entire world comes to us, and brings the best of its goods with it. The brightest wits and best artists and the holiest priests all come to Nova Roma. The Empire’s most beautiful women are here, as you can see from my own slaves and bath girls. Why do you need a horse?” Edeco, realizing that some kind of offer was being prepared, shifted more upright on his dining couch as if to focus his half-drunken attention. “I’m not a Roman.”

“But you could be.”

The barbarian glanced around warily, as if everything might be taken away from him in an instant. “I have no house here.”

“But you could have, general. A man of your military experience would be invaluable to our armies. A man of your station could have a palace exactly like this one. A man like you who gave his services to the emperor could be first among our nobles. Our palaces, our games, our goods, and our women could all be yours.”

The Hun’s eyes narrowed. “You mean if I leave my people and join you.”

“I mean if you are willing to save your people as well as ours, Edeco. If you take your rightful place in history.”

“My place is by Attila.”

“So far. But must we next meet across the battlefield? We both know that is what Attila wants. Your ruler is insatiable.

No victory satisfies him. No amount of tribute is ever enough. No loyalist is above his suspicion. While he is alive, no Hun and no Roman is safe. If he’s not stopped, he will destroy us all.”

Edeco had stopped eating, looking dubious. “What is it you want?”

Chrysaphius put his slim, soft hand over the Hun’s hard one, grasping it warmly. “I want you to kill Attila, my friend.”

“Kill him! I would be flayed alive.”

“Not if it was done in secret, away from his guards, in quiet parley with Roman ambassadors with you as the key Hun negotiator. He would die, you would leave the discussion chamber, and chaos would erupt only later when his death was discovered. By the time the Huns decide who among them is in charge and who might be guilty, you could be back here, a hero to the world. You could have a house like this one and women like these and gold enough to strain your back.”

He made no effort to hide his look of avarice. “How much gold?”

The minister smiled. “Fifty pounds.” The Hun sucked in his breath.

“That is simply an initial payment. We will give you enough gold to make you one of this city’s richest men, Edeco. Enough honor to let you live in peace and luxury the rest of your days. You are one of the few trusted enough by Attila to be alone with him. You can do what no other man dares.”

The Hun wet his lips. “Fifty pounds? And more?”

“Would not Attila kill you for the same prize?” Edeco shrugged, as if to concede the point. “Where is this gold?”