Aries Fire (28 page)

“Goat,” he said.

Bleda, filled with wine, slammed his cup onto the table and swiped his arm across his face. The Emperor recoiled slightly. Two guards, positioned several strides from the Emperor, stepped forward. Attila immediately placed his left hand on his boot with stealth.  At seeing Bleda’s brusqueness, Eudocia suspected a knife contained within Attila’s boot. Bleda showed his impertinence. He was impatient to proceed with the negotiations. Ruga stopped chewing for a moment and stared at him.

“Yeterll,” Ruga said gruffly.

With one word, Ruga told Bleda he had enough of his impatience. Bleda lowered his eyes and grunted loudly in defiance. The Emperor lifted two fingers on his left hand to motion for his guards to retreat.

“My Dearest, I would so care to escort Seira to the library so that the men may conduct the business at hand,” Eudocia said to her husband.

The Emperor looked at his wife, grateful for her presence and smiled then lifted a small bell and rang it.  Two servants entered the dining area.  The Emperor turned to speak to them privately. 

“I have called for the Deacon so that we might begin our talks,” he said to Ruga.

Ruga nodded and stared at Bleda with a scowl to keep him from making any further comments.

“We will retire to the great hall and await the arrival of the Deacon Leo and the Bishop Cyril,” he continued.

Seira expelled a sudden gasp.  She covered her mouth by quickly bringing a cup of water to her lips.  She sipped nervously. The Empress felt the tension in the room thicken.  Seira threw Attila an uneasy look. He returned it with one of stoic assertion as he stood with the other men.

“To the library. Attila accompanies Rhetman,” he said to the Empress.

“Why, yes, of course,” she said, puzzled with his statement.

The Emperor moved toward the great hall with Ruga and Bleda in attendance. Seira followed the Empress and Attila from the dining hall and through an archway that led to the library.  Seira turned for a moment to see two men enter the great hall.  She slipped behind a statue of some unknown Roman god and peered through the doorway.  The tall, pale man stood profile.  Seira’s heart leapt.  A strong arm grabbed her wrist. She jumped.  Attila looked at her. Seira immediately smacked his hand.

“Stop that! You frightened me,” she blurted.

Attila grabbed Seira’s hand; he held it tightly for a moment, probing her eyes.  Seira knew he held something back. 

“Come,” he said.

They reached the library and Attila shut the wooden door adorned with hammered brass.  The Empress remained silent, although profoundly intrigued.

“You will stay safe in this place,” Attila said and looked ardently at the Empress.

“It will be so,” Eudocia said.

“Evet, sampa,” he said to Seira.

His eyes commanded her to obey.  Seira saw his love for her.  Then she watched Attila as his thoughts formulated a tactic that had more to do with something far beyond her reach.  Seira could not begin to fathom his strategy.  She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it warmly.

“The warrior has left mistakes in the past, has he not?” she said to him, warning him not to act rashly.

For the first time in weeks she felt their kinship.  He smiled at her in familiar fashion.  Attila wanted to kiss Seira passionately.  Eudocia expected him to as well. She was transfixed by their spectacle and felt their intensity.

Attila bowed his head quickly and politely toward the Empress.  He turned and left without speaking further.  Seira turned with an unassuming air.  Eudocia looked upon Seira as if she were Scheherazade come to life.

“I am vexed, woman,” Eudocia began.

Eudocia placed her hand to her chest and heaved a dignified sigh.

“I cannot begin to imagine what circumstances brought you from your world into mine.  Please,” she said as she motioned for Seira to sit on the divan, neatly arranged with silk, beaded pillows.  Seira politely complied.

“Please tell me who you are.  I can no loner contain myself in this mystery!”

The Empress leaned one arm across the top of the sofa and held her head in her hand, fixed on Seira.  Behind the Empress sat a wall of neatly stacked scrolls.  Seira looked at the books in Eudocia’s library and felt quite at home.

In the great hall, Deacon Leo, Bishop Cyril, General Aetius, and Emperor Theodosius ll sat at a long, rectangular marble table used for conclaves.  Across from them sat Ruga and Bleda.  The men were already engaged in discussion when Attila entered the room.

Deacon Leo held up his hand as Bishop Cyril spoke.  All eyes turned toward Attila.

He bowed perfunctorily to the group of Roman men and looked at Leo.

“It has been many years, Attila,” Leo said.

“Time moves whether or not we move with it,” Attila replied, nodding to Leo.

“You remember Aetius? He lived with your father so long ago,” Leo added.

Attila looked at Aetius.  In him he saw a comrade, a man ready to fight for his beliefs.  He did not trust any man who held allegiance with the Romans, least of all a General, but he respected Aetius as a warrior respects his enemy.

“Attila greets Aetius as a brother,” he said, bowing slightly.

Aetius smiled politely for the sake of etiquette. 

“Your father’s death is a terrible loss to the Huns. I admired and esteemed his greatness,” Aetius said honestly.

Attila appreciated Aetius’ sentiments. He then turned toward Bishop Cyril who was already glaring at him. Their mutual stare locked in tension.

“If skill would be gained by watching, every dog would become a butcher,” Attila said, sitting opposite Cyril.

Ruga burst into an intoxicated laughter, wine spilled from his cup. Cyril was offended by the mere presence of the Huns.

“Do you dare insult me?” Cyril questioned Attila.

“Dearest Bishop, apologies for my nephew. He does not insult. No.  He speaks many proverbs that are not translated with accuracy,” Ruga said, smearing wine from his robe, laughing.

Ruga lifted his cup. A servant swiftly ran to him and filled it. Ruga held up a hand at the servant gesturing that he stay and pour more wine.  As he gulped to inebriation, the Deacon tapped several fingers on the marble table and glanced at Cyril.  Cyril met Leo’s look and Leo nodded encouragingly.

“Bishop Cyril, may we?  You were speaking of an exchange of Roman captives for reduced tribute.  Pray, continue,” he said and all eyes fell on Cyril.

“Yes,” Cyril began and glanced at Attila.  “We would find it a fair trade, as I said previously, to remand the nine Hun…” Bishop Cyril paused. He wanted to call the Hun men, violators, but decided against it, “…Prisoners,” he emphasized,  “apprehended in Carthage, in exchange for a reduction of the current annual tribute of 300 gold libra to 200 gold libra.”

Bleda bolted to his feet and slammed his fists on the table.  The Emperor recoiled in alarm, sweat formed on his skin.  Attila assessed the Emperor closely.  Where Emperor Theodosius II once held great power in the East, it seemed to Attila that the Roman papacy was now in control. He needed to calculate who his adversaries were in order to best deal with the entire situation. Attila turned his attention to Bishop Cyril and Deacon Leo, with ever a watchful eye on General Aetius.

Cyril and the Leo were unimpressed with Bleda.  They were not intimidated by his animal outbursts.

“Bedduaet!” Bleda cursed and pointed his finger, aimed at each Roman delegate as if it were a viable weapon. “Romans yelp as dogs!”

Bleda finally spoke Latin.  His thick accent made him sound even more like a brute.  

Ruga had had enough.

“YETERLL!” he bellowed at Bleda as he commanded him to refrain from speaking. Bleda was taking great liberties with his uncle present.

The Emperor cringed at the sound of the Hun’s tones.

“Bleda!”

Bleda lowered his head to his uncle, who summoned him; a harsh guttural breath deep in his throat, his fists clenched as he slid a threatening stare at the Emperor.

Ruga spoke briefly with him and ordered him out, then nodded to Leo, Cyril and The Emperor in apologies.

Leo regarded Bleda as an annoying thorn in the crown of Christ.  Cyril did not place his thoughts in any way near holy figures.  To him, Bleda was a minion.  He saw Attila as the real threat. 

Aetius kept his attention on Ruga.  There, Aetius believed, was the source of Bleda’s tenacity. 

Bleda left the great hall accompanied by two Roman Legionnaires. Bleda knew he walked a fragile line with his uncle.  For the present, he restrained himself from further outbursts.

Ruga smiled numerous times.  He meant to have his way no matter what the Roman’s did or said.  His way entailed dishonest solidarity.

“He is with emotion.  He will return calmed,” Ruga said as he shook his head. He patted his palms together and shrugged his shoulders and finally nodded. 

His teeth, white from potato bleachings, shone brightly.  He cared more for his appearance than the conduct of his kin.  He smoothed his silk garments and refitted one of his rings.

“Evet, let us proceed,” he said, belching.

Attila sat quietly.  Leo looked often upon his face and wondered what strategies lay behind the infamous Hun’s silence.  The Emperor, about to offer Ruga more wine, reconsidered.  He leaned over the table and gently pushed a tray across the table.

“Khan, we have excellent honey cakes made this day.  May I entice you?” he said.

Ruga accepted and filled his belly once again.

“Mm, exquisite,” he remarked and licked his fingers. “More wine, Emperor.”

Ruga finished chewing and drinking.  Cyril’s need to have his demands met grew. The Emperor needed to conclude the negotiations. He became impatient and fidgeted in his seat. Ruga knew the way to increase his bargaining power was to show a lack of need.  Ruga wiped his hands on a towel and dislodged honey cake stuck in his teeth.

“Emperor, I must learn the recipe, excellent,” he said.

Aetius and Leo saw a half drunken Ruga toy with the Emperor.  Ruga drank the remainder of his wine.

“If we are to formulate peace between our nations we must be shown respect,” Ruga said to the Emperor.

“Of course, Khan Ruga. My sentiments as well,” said the Emperor, nodding.

“Evet.  Then we will raise the 300 gold pounds, or libra as you say, that you now pay, to 500 pounds.”

“Five hundred! But this is scandalous,” the Emperor burst.

Bleda entered the great hall with the wounded prisoner from the ship.  The older man looked worn and injured.  He was weak and fell when Bleda pushed him, his hands tied behind his back.  Leo, Cyril, and the Emperor saw that the man was Bishop Margus of Gaul.

“This is an outrage!” Cyril yelled and stood.

Leo kept his emotions private while Cyril immediately went to Bishop Margus to help him to his feet.

“We do not bargain underhanded.  What is the cause of this?” Leo asked.

Leo leaned forward toward Ruga. His patience wore thinner than Ruga’s friendly façade.  Aetius looked at Attila.  Attila returned the look with a bland stare, giving away nothing.

“Please let us calm, all,” the Emperor said as he clapped his hands to call a servant.

“A seat for the Bishop,” he ordered to the servant.  “Food and water, as well,” he added.

The servant scurried away as quickly as he entered the room.  The men faced one another.

“Your Bishop was found desecrating the holy tombs of our ancestors in search of treasures,” Ruga said nonchalantly.

Leo and Cyril frowned and looked at Margus.

“Is this true, what he speaks?” The Emperor asked Margus.

Margus bowed his head in shame.  His thinning grey hair mussed, brow wrinkled with worry. Bishop Margus didn’t need to say anything. His crimes and guilt were evident in his conduct.

“Oh, this is shameful,” said the Emperor.

Leo shot the Emperor a concerned look.  He spoke with unstable words, which could easily undermine the negotiations.

“What are your terms?” Leo asked abruptly.

Ruga poured more wine and looked at Bleda. He leaned forward asking only Attila’s counsel, mainly to humiliate Bleda.  Ruga’s obvious power motive threatened Bleda’s position as Ulus, second in command to the Hun army. Ruga wanted the chamber of men to witness his own power with his nephews.

Attila and Ruga murmured in Hunnish briefly. Ruga pulled away and gave Attila a nod of approval.  Ruga seemed impressed with Attila.

“Evet.  We are agreed.  We shall release your Bishop,” Ruga paused then added, “alive,” he smiled. The khan gave the men a moment to realize he still had the power to harm them all. “We will keep the treasures he attempted to steal, and raise yearly tribute to 660 gold pounds. For this we will not war on your villages and expect to have ALL of our captured Huns returned to us, not merely the nine you mentioned.  We will also require revised conduct regarding military alliances. This we can discuss in detail once we have your word.  We await your decision in our accommodations you have generously provided.”

“We shall convene our negotiations, midday,” said the Emperor.

Ruga stood and bowed slightly.

“The Sublime Khan Ruga is finished with words,” Attila said and stood.

Ruga and Attila turned to leave the hall, with Bleda following close behind.

Leo looked at Aetius, the Emperor at Cyril.  Leo was visibly agitated and stared at the Emperor.  The Roman delegates would need to confer further, with one less of its members present.

While the men negotiated, bartered, coerced, and withheld information in the great hall, Eudocia and Seira communed in the library.

Eudocia sat, intently listening to Seira, deeply absorbed in Seira’s every word.

“I have been with Attila and the Huns for so long I scarcely remember who I truly am, Empress,” Seira said calmly.

“The lover of a Hun prince is no small identity,” she said bluntly.

Seira, momentarily surprised, laughed aloud.  That was the first time anyone had mentioned aloud what most of the Huns likely assumed…that Seira and Attila were lovers.

“He is a friend who has taught me how to face fear. Nothing more,” Seira said.