Rusticius can keep his. I’ve not seen him with his back up.”
“Yes, he has a stubborn bravery, but it’s risky to insult a Hun. You are wise enough to listen before you speak, I sense. Never assume barbarians are the same, young man. The Franks and Burgundians, once arrogant, are now our allies in the Western Empire. The fearsome Celts have become the peaceful citizens of Gaul. Huns have proved courageous mercenaries as well as implacable enemies. The secret is not to antagonize potential enemies but to court potential friends. The Empire can win only by using barbarian against barbarian. Do you understand what I’m saying, my scribe?” Yes, I understood. We were trying to placate jackals.
VIII
THE HOSPITALITY
OF THE HUNS
T he next morning, as we proceeded down the Margus valley, Skilla rode his pony next to mine. There was no challenge this time. Everyone’s head was fogged from the evening’s drinking and quarreling, and conversation had been quiet. Now the Hun warrior simply had a question. “Tell me, Roman, what god do you believe in?”
I shook my head to clear it, thinking it entirely too early for theological discussion. “The Christ, of course. You’ve heard of Jesus? He’s the God of the Roman world.”
“But before him the Romans had other gods.”
“True. And some Romans are still pagans, passionately so. There is always great debate about religion. If you ask three Constantinople shopkeepers you will get eight opinions. Put a priest in the mix and the arguments are endless.”
“So Bigilas is a pagan?”
“I don’t think so. He wears a crucifix.”
“Yes, I have seen his tree that your god was killed on. Attila learned to use the cross from Romans. But this Christ allows no other gods—is this not true?”
I saw where this was headed. “Yes.”
“Yet Bigilas calls his emperor a god—is this not true?”
“Yes. It’s . . . complicated.”
“It’s not complicated at all. He claims to believe first one thing, then another.”
“No . . .” How to explain? “Many Christians consider our emperor divine. It is a tradition of many centuries: believing gods are manifest on earth. But not in the way that Jesus is divine. The emperor is . . . well, simply more than a mere man. He represents the divine nature of life. That’s all Bigilas meant. He didn’t mean to insult Attila.”
“Attila has no need to claim to be a god. Men fear and respect him without it.”
“He’s lucky, then.”
“Rome’s emperors must be little gods, if they fear a mere man like Attila.”
“Rome’s emperors aren’t just soldiers, Skilla. They symbolize civilization itself. Law and order, prosperity, morality, marriage, service, sanctity, continuity . . . all are bound up in them. That’s why they represent the divine.”
“Attila is no different.”
“But your empire doesn’t build, it destroys. It doesn’t give order, it takes it away. It is different.”
“In my empire, the word of Attila is law for a thousand miles. He has given order to a hundred different tribes. It is the same, whatever you say.”
I sighed. How to reason with a man who hadn’t even entered Constantinople, instead sleeping outside like an animal? “What gods do Huns worship, then?”
“We have nature gods, and shamans and soothsayers, and know good signs from bad ones. But we’re not obsessed with gods like Romans. We’ve overrun hundreds of gods and none helped their believers prevail against us. So what good are gods?”
“Three generations ago, the armies of the Christian Romans and the pagan Romans fought a battle on the Frigidus River that the whole world saw as a contest of faith. The Christians won.”
“They have not won against us.” Skilla galloped ahead.
It was later that day that we encountered a task even more disagreeable than camping near a boneyard. Maximinus had sent word of our progress ahead to what shaky Roman authority survived here, and we were duly met by
“Yes, he has a stubborn bravery, but it’s risky to insult a Hun. You are wise enough to listen before you speak, I sense. Never assume barbarians are the same, young man. The Franks and Burgundians, once arrogant, are now our allies in the Western Empire. The fearsome Celts have become the peaceful citizens of Gaul. Huns have proved courageous mercenaries as well as implacable enemies. The secret is not to antagonize potential enemies but to court potential friends. The Empire can win only by using barbarian against barbarian. Do you understand what I’m saying, my scribe?” Yes, I understood. We were trying to placate jackals.
VIII
THE HOSPITALITY
OF THE HUNS
T he next morning, as we proceeded down the Margus valley, Skilla rode his pony next to mine. There was no challenge this time. Everyone’s head was fogged from the evening’s drinking and quarreling, and conversation had been quiet. Now the Hun warrior simply had a question. “Tell me, Roman, what god do you believe in?”
I shook my head to clear it, thinking it entirely too early for theological discussion. “The Christ, of course. You’ve heard of Jesus? He’s the God of the Roman world.”
“But before him the Romans had other gods.”
“True. And some Romans are still pagans, passionately so. There is always great debate about religion. If you ask three Constantinople shopkeepers you will get eight opinions. Put a priest in the mix and the arguments are endless.”
“So Bigilas is a pagan?”
“I don’t think so. He wears a crucifix.”
“Yes, I have seen his tree that your god was killed on. Attila learned to use the cross from Romans. But this Christ allows no other gods—is this not true?”
I saw where this was headed. “Yes.”
“Yet Bigilas calls his emperor a god—is this not true?”
“Yes. It’s . . . complicated.”
“It’s not complicated at all. He claims to believe first one thing, then another.”
“No . . .” How to explain? “Many Christians consider our emperor divine. It is a tradition of many centuries: believing gods are manifest on earth. But not in the way that Jesus is divine. The emperor is . . . well, simply more than a mere man. He represents the divine nature of life. That’s all Bigilas meant. He didn’t mean to insult Attila.”
“Attila has no need to claim to be a god. Men fear and respect him without it.”
“He’s lucky, then.”
“Rome’s emperors must be little gods, if they fear a mere man like Attila.”
“Rome’s emperors aren’t just soldiers, Skilla. They symbolize civilization itself. Law and order, prosperity, morality, marriage, service, sanctity, continuity . . . all are bound up in them. That’s why they represent the divine.”
“Attila is no different.”
“But your empire doesn’t build, it destroys. It doesn’t give order, it takes it away. It is different.”
“In my empire, the word of Attila is law for a thousand miles. He has given order to a hundred different tribes. It is the same, whatever you say.”
I sighed. How to reason with a man who hadn’t even entered Constantinople, instead sleeping outside like an animal? “What gods do Huns worship, then?”
“We have nature gods, and shamans and soothsayers, and know good signs from bad ones. But we’re not obsessed with gods like Romans. We’ve overrun hundreds of gods and none helped their believers prevail against us. So what good are gods?”
“Three generations ago, the armies of the Christian Romans and the pagan Romans fought a battle on the Frigidus River that the whole world saw as a contest of faith. The Christians won.”
“They have not won against us.” Skilla galloped ahead.
It was later that day that we encountered a task even more disagreeable than camping near a boneyard. Maximinus had sent word of our progress ahead to what shaky Roman authority survived here, and we were duly met by
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