Aries Fire (19 page)

“The Foederati?” Seira asked.

“Yes,” he glanced at Attila who lay quiet listening to their conversation.

“Attila, getir Bleda,” Mundzuk ordered.

Attila immediately complied and left the tent, bowing as he exited.

They watched Attila leave. Aymelek finished with Seira’s hair and knelt before her khan. He stroked her hair gently and whispered to her. Seira heard true kindness in his voice. Mundzuk loved Aymelek.

Aymelek retreated to another part of the tent, hidden by roughly hand-woven cloth. Before she left, she glanced at Seira and smiled her warm smile to put Seira at ease.

“Sublime Khan,” Seira said. “May I ask what Roman official desires to have the girl and for what reason?”

“You may,” he said.

Mundzuk perused the deerskin for something that wasn’t there.

“Kiral, getir daha et yiyen. Domuz.” He turned to face Seira again.

Seira scrutinized Kiral.  She wanted to hate him, but understood his position and loyalty.  Seira sucked a small bit of salty, tangy blood from her teeth and swallowed.

I wish I knew their accursed language, she huffed to herself.

“There is a Roman holy man who trades land for an Egyptian girl who keeps company with the Rabbi and the old woman.” Mundzuk diverted his gaze to see what Kiral brought.

“Evet. Do you abstain from pig meat?” the Khan asked.

Seira stared at the cooked meat on the floor and digested the King’s words. 

“Holy man?” she mumbled then looked at Mundzuk who pointed to the food.

“Abstain? Oh, no, Sir, not when I am hungry,” she said.

Mundzuk laughed aloud. He motioned for Seira to partake in his meal. She did. Seira knew why this man was well respected. 

“Thank you, you are most generous,” she said.

“Evet,” he said then added, “A man without generosity is like a lake without water.”

Mundzuk kept a sober eye on Seira.

“Who is the holy man?” she asked nervously while fingering her pig meat.

Seira chewed slowly, wondering, waiting.  The main flap to the tent flung open.  Seira’s shoulders jumped slightly. She suddenly felt an ominous force and turned to see a large Hun march into the tent. Her stomach knotted and turned sour. 

The brute towered over her and glared at her offensively.  His face was covered with sprigs of coarse, black hair.  A braid dangled in his beard. A thick neck resembled the one she had stabbed.  He smelled of rancid meat.  Swarthy, curly hair hung lifelessly across his broad shoulder. He tossed it aside and seated himself next to Mundzuk.

“Here is Bleda, my eldest son,” Mundzuk said.

She needed to run but couldn’t move.  Fear paralyzed her body.  Her worst fears for Quinn came to life.

Steady, calm.

Seira’s anger kept her from fainting. Fueled with anger, but no outlet, forced her to remain contained.  She sat, petrified, without aid.  Instead of speaking she nodded at Bleda and began to pray silently.

He grunted in the same way Attila did when they first met, although this time she was even more intimidated. Seira glanced around the tent but Quinn did not appear. She lowered her eyes. Her hunger vanished.  Mundzuk leaned back onto his elbow and pulled a henna dyed cushion to rest on. He folded his hands, fingers entwined.  Almond shaped eyes studied Seira.  Seira’s heart pounded like a ritual drum as invisible tension built between her and Bleda. His eyes grazed her body like a drunken man on his newly wed bride.  Seira was repulsed. Rage looked for a release. She fought off an emotional outburst.

A whooshing sound.  Seira jerked.  Eyes darted. She saw Attila and relaxed.  He came in and resumed his position on the floor. He leaned over to his father and they briefly conferred.

There existed a tremendous polarity of personality between Attila and Bleda. Seira wondered if Mundzuk knew to be wary of his eldest son. She was terrified.

“Cyril, bishop of Alexandria bargains for the Egyptian girl,” Mundzuk said, breaking the silent hostility in the tent.

Seira threw her head back somewhat and gasped just loud enough.  The entire world shrieked through her body. Her ultimate wrath for Cyril surpassed her terror of Bleda. Seira’s chest felt a crushing force, slowly pressing the life from her body.

“He who conceals his grief finds no remedy for it,” Mundzuk said and raised an eyebrow at Seira.

Attila tilted his head to one side and seemed momentarily concerned for her. Tears rolled down Seira’s cheeks. She stayed quiet and stared at Mundzuk’s feet.

Breathe! she commanded herself.

“It’s not that girl he wants,” she whispered and gulped some air.

Seira finally looked at them, quieting herself. She hoped to think of a plan to help Quinn and one presented itself to her.

“Mundzuk, Khan of the Huns,” she said with renewed strength. “Will you release the girl to me?”

“Fahise!” Bleda cried.

“No, she is no whore,” Attila said.

Attila put greasy pig meat into his mouth and licked his fingers one at a time.  Mundzuk observed the situation before him. He raised his hand to command silence.

“What is your proposal?”

“That I be taken to the bishop instead of the girl.  And that she be returned safely to the rabbi.   Cyril is a murderer.  He is not holy.   He…” she paused.  “The girl is not Egyptian. I am. She is unknown to the Bishop.”

Seira held her words for a moment. 

“It is me he hunts, not her,” she said, looking at Mundzuk.

Attila showed surprise before he burst into laughter.

“Bleda captures the wrong one. Aya!  There is no fame here!” Attila fell backwards in hysteria.

Bleda stood with a raised fist aimed at Attila.

“Tika!” Mundzuk shouted.

Kiral burst into the tent, sword drawn.  Mundzuk held his hand high for all to see. Bleda sat in protest and threw Seira a look of death.  Attila bowed to his father and sat on a cushion and smiled at Seira. Kiral halted and remained nearby, sword ready for action.

Mundzuk considered Seira.

“Tell us of this holy murderer.”

Seira suddenly saw a plot develop in Mundzuk’s eyes.

He is cunning, she thought.

“My mother was a great mathematician and philosopher.  She prayed to the one God but by no rules other than faith. Cyril murdered my mother for those beliefs…” she paused to quell her emotions.  “… because of her beliefs. My grandfather placed me in hiding lo these five years.  Although I do not know why, it is me Cyril hunts, not the girl.”

Attila sat up straight while listening to Seira. Seira knew he was her ally; she felt it.

“Who was your mother?” Mundzuk asked.

“Hypatia of Alexandria,” Seira said.

“Tanri, Allah!” Attila exclaimed and looked at his father.

Mundzuk thought for a moment. Bleda grunted and mumbled something to his father.

“Sustur!” he commanded and scowled at Bleda.

Mundzuk cared not to hear from his eldest son who placed his tribe in a weakened predicament.  Bleda bowed his head and refrained from speaking. Seira did not know much about politics, but by mentioning her mother’s name, she perceived an altered fate. Mundzuk stood and walked to a table with a pitcher.  He poured wine for himself and drank heartily.

“The world has lived around you without your knowledge it seems, daughter of Hypatia.”

Seira appeared confused. 

“Your mother was a great woman.”

Seira suddenly burst into tears and covered her mouth with her hands. Attila leaned forward to do something but was obviously helpless. He sat back and sulked.  Bleda stared at her with hatred.

“Evet. There is no finer sweetheart than one’s mother,” he paused. “Aymelek,” he called then turned to Seira, “We speak a proverb that says, ‘if anyone weeps for you it will be your mother; others will only pretend to weep.’ To hear you now I say at the least, you will not weep alone.”

Aymelek appeared like a breeze through a rose garden. She knelt before her Khan. He spoke to her and she immediately went to Seira to comfort her. Seira welcomed the strange gift of kindness and sympathy. She didn’t know if she cried more for her mother or the public recognition of her situation. Thinking about it stopped her tears.

By the stars! Does everyone know my mother?

“Thank you,” she nodded.

“You have presented us with a situation of graveness,” Mundzuk said.

He threw a disparaging look at Bleda. Bleda attempted to hold his father’s stare, but couldn’t.  The veins in Bleda’s neck bulged.

“I don’t understand,” Seira replied.

The Hun khan showed signs of concern.

“We are agreed to deliver an Egyptian girl in return for land. If we do not deliver, we war,” he shrugged with acceptance.   “I am studied with some of your mother’s teachings.  Attila as well has begun his studies of thoughts, stars, and numbers. Bleda has no use for these things.”

Once again, Mundzuk stared at Bleda in an attempt to humiliate him.

Seira was shocked by Mundzuk’s words.  She could only contend that these Huns needed knowledge of stars to map out their territories.  For whatever reason they had, Mundzuk and Attila’s respect for Hypatia was evident.

Bleda’s wicked attention was fixed on Seira.  She was not sure how much Latin Bleda understood, but his stares unsettled her every breath. 

“You are brave to come. We will not sacrifice the child,” Mundzuk decreed as he sat once again on his large, silk cushioned throne.  He folded his hands, examining his knuckles.

“To sacrifice the daughter of greatness, however, is to tempt fate.”

Mundzuk looked solemnly at Seira and it alerted her. Seira realized the complexity of their circumstances.  More revealing was a glimpse at the Hun’s spiritual belief system.

“I must finish my business with Cyril,” she blurted.  “You can keep your contract and attain your land and avoid war.”

“The woman tells Mundzuk the way,” he mused to Attila.

Attila grinned.  Seira noticed the similarities between he and Mundzuk.  They were both ready for battle, ready to die, but maintained a civility about them. She refused to look in Bleda’s direction.

“Enough talking. We sleep tonight.” And with that, Mundzuk arose.

Everyone around him bowed. Seira lowered her head as well.

This is it? This is how we end it?

Seira felt unresolved and impatient.

Aymelek slid past Seira toward her khan.  Attila stood and quickly blocked the space between Seira and Bleda. Bleda left the tent, aggravated.

“Come. You sleep in my tent tonight.  Bleda, I think, does not sleep,” Attila said to Seira.

“But,” she began.

Attila faced her within inches.

“The bear knows many roads as the hunter knows tricks,” he said and walked out of the tent. 

What does that mean? Seira thought. 

Feeling safe for the moment, she followed him, relying upon trust.

Sampa, she thought as she falsely reassured herself that she was safe.

Attila led Seira outside to his tent. The sky had grown dark faster than she wanted it to and her shoulders stiffened with the raw chill in the air.  She had only just arrived but she couldn’t wait to leave.  Seira followed Attila as she watched a group of Hun men talking gruffly to each other. They stopped to stare at her and she couldn’t help but feel a great emptiness in this place. 

Attila’s tent was not as elaborate as the great khan’s canopy, but it looked much larger than the other tents in the camp.  She passed through the flap and thought Attila’s tent seemed modest and dark, like the Hun people she had seen so far.  Two furry animal skins sewn together made the blanket. An arm’s length plank of wood lay on the dirt floor; upon it were Attila’s bow and arrows. Some of the arrows were yet unfinished.  They intrigued Seira as she touched them lightly.

“See,” Attila said.

He grabbed one piece of sapling wood, approximately two feet long and one or so inches in thickness.  He stripped the bark from it. His finger pointed to each end of the stick. Attila pulled a knife from his hilt and tapered the ends of the stick while Seira watched with amazement. She had little knowledge of weaponry, let alone the crafting of an arrow.

Attila bent over his wooden plank and carefully selected a pointed shaped object. He held out the bone to Seira. She reached for it but stopped when she realized it was the point of the arrow. The same type she extracted from Kiki’s breast.

He tilted his head to the right in curiosity then shrugged. He linked the point to the stick with a reed collar, wrapping them tightly together. When he finished, he held it up to Seira again. She stared at him.

Attila suddenly grasped her reluctance to hold the arrow.

“Aya,” he said with detection.  “The Rhetman’s old mother, shot by Bleda.”

“The woman who was shot by Bleda is also a Rhetman! Like my mother,” she exclaimed.

Seira’s rage suddenly fueled even more by the revelation that Bleda shot Kiki.

He turned and quietly placed the arrow near the bow. Seira sensed his discomfort.  Feelings were mixed. She formed a new alliance, yet she didn’t know how to feel about his family.

“Ah!” she blurted and rubbed her forehead in annoyance; her head pounded.

She inhaled and calmly exhaled and paced about the small tent.

“Brothers are not the same,” Attila said.

Seira fingered the arrows. She hoped Quinn was safe.

“True, you are not like Bleda,” she said.

“My father rules many Huns with his brother, Ruga.  Ruga rules in Persia now,” Attila said.

And is he as wicked as Bleda? she wondered.

“It is a fine arrow.   I would like to learn how to make one,” she said, picking up the one Attila laid down. 

He gently placed his hand over hers and lightly pushed the arrow back down to the plank.

“You sleep now. Rest is good.”

He pointed to the blanket on the floor.

“No proverbs for sleeping?” she asked.

Attila did not understand her sarcasm.

“When will I see Quinn?”

Attila cocked his head. Seira thought he looked like the bird in the underbrush. 

“Quinn? The girl I’ve come for?” she said.

“Aya, Evet. When Mundzuk decides,” he replied.