The Scourge of God

“I will show you equality!” cried an angry Skilla, hurling his wine cup into a corner where it clanged, and standing to unsheathe his sword. “The equality of the grave!” The other Huns sprang up and drew their weapons as well. We Romans stood awkwardly, armed with nothing but the daggers we had been using to eat with. The barbarians looked murderous and could slay us in an instant, as casually as they had slain the people of Naissus. Bigilas stumbled backward. His drink-benumbed brain had finally caught up with his mouth and he realized he had risked us all.

“You fool,” Maximinus hissed.

“I only said the truth,” he mumbled truculently.

“A truth that could get us stabbed or crucified.”

“When Attila speaks, the earth trembles,” Edeco growled ominously. “Perhaps it is time you trembled yourselves, Romans, and joined your brethren on the riverbank there.” Any pretense of genial debate was gone. I realized that our complaints about the slaughter on the riverbank had gnawed at the Huns. Was there guilt there after all? Now the tension had become manifest.

Bigilas looked uncertain whether to beg or flee. His mouth opened and shut uselessly.

Rusticius decided to come to the defense of his fellow translator, even though I knew he could hardly stand the man’s pretensions. “No true Roman trembles, any more than any true Hun,” Rusticius tried. “You are brave, Edeco, with your head full of drink and your sword at hand, while Bigilas and the rest of us are defenseless.” The Hun grinned evilly. “Then fill your hands.”

“I’ll fill them when we have a chance, not to give you another excuse for slaughter like your massacre on the riverbank.” Rusticius looked stubborn, and I was taken aback by his courage. I hadn’t seen this side of him before.

“Don’t test me, boy.”

“I’m no boy, and no true man threatens murder and pretends it is combat.”

“For God’s sake,” Maximinus groaned, fearful his mission was about to end before it had properly started. Edeco’s knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. Something had to be done.

“You misunderstood our companions.” I spoke up, my voice sounding even to my own ears as barely more than a pathetic squeak. As the youngest and least-threatening traveler, perhaps I could smooth things over. Gulping, I found my normal voice. “Our translator Bigilas doesn’t assemble his words well when he’s had too much to drink, as all know.

He meant to honor Attila, because your king has achieved as much as a mortal as our emperor has with divine powers. He meant a compliment, not an insult, Edeco.”

“Nonsense. The young Roman is trying to save himself,” sneered Skilla.

“I am trying to save this embassy.” There was a long silence as the Huns weighed whether to accept this dubious excuse. If they slew us, both Attila and Chrysaphius would want to know why. “Is this so?” Edeco asked Bigilas.

He looked confused and nervous, glancing from me to the chieftain.

“Answer him, you idiot,” Maximinus muttered.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, please, I meant no harm. All know how powerful Attila is.”

“And no Roman could detract from that,” Maximinus added. “Your lord is the most powerful monarch in Europe, Edeco. Come, come, Onegesh, Skilla. Sheathe your weapons and sit. I apologize for the confusion. We have more presents for you, pearls from India and silks from China. I was going to wait until we reached Hunuguri, but perhaps I will fetch them now. As a sign of our good faith.”

“You will drink to Attila first.” Edeco pointed. “Him.” Bigilas nodded and hastily hoisted his cup, gulping. Then he lowered it and wiped his mouth. “To Attila,” he croaked.

“And you,” he said, pointing to Rusticius. He sheathed his sword and stood with his hands open, ready at his side.

“You think I am afraid to deal with you like this?” Rusticius’s voice came from a mouth that was a line. “I think all of us should treat each other like men, not animals.” It was not the abject apology the Hun was looking for, and from that moment he would react to Rusticius with a coldness he never showed the foolish Bigilas: Rusticius’s courage had made him an enemy. But the Hun provided an exit.

“Then drink to my king.”

Rusticius shrugged. “Indeed.”

So the rest of us drank as well. “To Attila!” With that we all finally sat again, and slaves fetched the gifts Maximinus directed. The senator tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but the tension of this night lingered.

As soon as was seemly, our gathering broke up.

“Your quickness may have saved our lives, Alabanda,” Maximinus murmured to me as we groped in the dark for our tents. “Just as that fool Bigilas might have ended them.

You may have the wit to be an ambassador yourself someday.”

I was still shaken, believing I had seen the true nature of our barbarian companions for the first time. When crossed, they turned into vipers. “I think I’ll be happy just to keep my head attached. I hope Rusticius can keep his. I’ve not seen him with his back up.”