The leaves are falling from the old tree of time in
layer on layer on the land below. I walked the fallen
leaves and paused in thought. I found this written
on an ancient leaf.

Bendeguz was buried in Keveház, and also Rof, the
brother of Buda. And now Buda, middle son of three,
ruled over all his father's realm.

On the lowland between the Tisza and the Danube by
the Zagyva river, Buda's tent darts from a low hill
to the azure sky. This was the city, this was Buda's
royal house, his palace tent of wooden art.

This city is not confined by massive walls, or put
together of motionless stones. It serves not as a
haven of the weak but a nest from where power swoops.

You would believe it an elfin palace that a breeze
might puff away. The tent-poles sprout from the
ground, as it were, high like a tower and showy -
the flower of the Puszta.

From there, Buda guards his flock in peace and mildly
rules the strong nation of Huns. Like a father, he
provides honest laws for all. He shares in the happy
feasts and makes his offerings to God.

One day he summoned his chieftains all, to counsel
and sacrifice called them. The great, the wise ones
sat row on row in the tent with walls of embroidered
gold.

Prince Attila his younger brother came, and the aging
warriors of their father Bendeguz - old Szilárd,
Bulcsu, Torda the ancient táltos, the cooper Szömöre,
and Álmos the judge.

The alien Detre lurks in the rear, and does not sit
on a high divan as a villein. He has presence but
is submissive, and a smile of deference masks his
face.

When all were gathered and many more, fathers of
Hunnish tribes and heads of legions, each shining
forehead fixed itself on Buda, who greeted the
chieftains with these words -

"Give homage to our ancient God, who rides on his
war chariot above the clouds. He visits arrows of
fire on the wicked; but the good he rewards with
two full hands.

"Where can a man turn for counsel, above all if he
sits by himself on the throne?... Cares and troubles
lash his soul, he bends in the wind like a tree on
the mountain top.

"Who dares say, 'I shall do this, and it will be good,
bring repute to my land and myself? We let fly our
arrow - a lesson from everyday life -, the wind blows
and it never hits the mark.

"Action is a vicious horse, lets the master mount and
his mouth be guided by the bit. But he shies at every
trifle, rushes into fire and flood, and pitches his
rider off at last.

"One rule I know in man's affairs which may lead most
likely to success - wise and sober moderation. This
is the river bank which checks the torrent of our
deeds.

"When a merchant's wares are swinging on the scale,
truth sits at the rod's middle. A judge calms the
parties with moderation, softens the blow as he
confides.

"Rightness is there and peace rests there between the
hovering balance of weight and counterweight. When
rivers meet, they roar in mingling - and then flow
silently on.

"My kind of man, as guest, does not exceed moderation
in food and drink. Whatever does no harm, he does;
whatever is excess, he avoids. In respectable old age,
he will be the father of his nation.

"I have long been under such commandment - the word
of God - not only now but ever and before, to divide
my kingly realm in two. And now this charge of old
has fallen due.

"Why partake of the bountiful feast with single mouth?
Why deny one who is of my blood? Judging as a judge
and measuring as a merchant, I would fear to give a
judgment like that.

"The Empire of the Huns will not be reduced if power
is split at the summit. A forked tree is a spreading
tree, though one trunk may grow to greater height.

"I shall pour out the fullness of my power today and
greet my brother as a king. Like this, the kindred
waters of two streams flow equal. Two weights are
enough to hold the balance true.

"I do not think glory will fade if I light one torch
with another. In a partition by kinsmen, flame
does not die from flame. In truth, they shine with
a fuller light.

"I can lead the multitude in peace. You, like a
leashed war horse, will spring at the call to arms.
You, my brother, be the sword, and I the scepter,
May God now crown good deeds with good."

So saying, Buda rose and from his waist handed the
heroic sword to Attila. All approved his wise words,
his deed because they loved his younger brother more.

Buda, Attila, and the council orders went to the
sacrifice and the swearing with blood. A high altar
stood heaped up in the courtyard, the sacred sword
fixed at the very top.

With solemn words, the gray-headed Torda took down
the sword and opened a vein in Buda's arm. Then he
turned the bright blade on Attila, whose blood too
poured into the judge's basin.

Then they led out a pure white stallion - spotless,
unbroken by a bridle and untouched by a rein - led
him on a halter from the stall where the sacred
animals of the altar were fed.

The old priest held the sword awkwardly like a knife
and stabbed where the breast swells. As he pulled out
the blade, the blood spurted. A purple ribbon stained
the white breast.

The horse collapsed. The garabonc priests - like a
crowd of vultures hacking up a new carcass - strip
off the hide, cut out the entrails and place them on
the altar for the seers.

But neither táltos nor other watchers of the signs
foresaw God's truth - foresaw this day would sire
the days of blood for generations to weep and mourn.

The judge joyfully lighted the pyre, and the flame
stretched its tongue flickering into the heavens.
A high song of praise sounded from the circling
hosts, and mighty horns replied with a volley.

Szömöre filled his vessel with pure wine, and gave
first to Buda. Silence held the tongues of all the
heroes, and then with cup raised high spoke he -

"Hear my prayer, Lord of War, whose name is ISHTEN.
Be true to me as this my oath is true, never to
denounce this solemn oath, never make war on my
brother Attila."

He poured wine from the full vessel on the altar,
and waving the cup a bit saluted his fellow king.
He sipped a little. His brother took the great
eternal oath like this -

"Hear, too, my prayer, Lord of War, O Ishten, Do
not help me ever if I reject this solemn oath and
make war on good Buda my brother."

He drank to this, and then he rose up and dashed
all the wine remaining on the altar. The hissing
embers smoked, terribly angry flames snaked out.

Old Torda was startled. But the others turned their
minds elsewhere, to the merry toasts. They drank and
feasted until midnight, happy that Buda and his
brother made this partition.

Next day, the spring morning of the season awoke
reeling on the good Hun warriors. Outside, the
radiance and happiness of earth and heaven shone.
Inside, the light of the mind struggled with fog.

Outside, the golden sun is splashing like a
peacock proudly fanning his tail. Wavy white
clouds, the swans of the sky, float on a mirror
of heavenly blue.

The horizon is pure as glass, and nowhere blocks
the eye. A tiny breeze laves it with cool currents,
here and there a silvery insect flitters.

Buda sees all this from the eaves of his tent,
sees it as through a cloud or billowing dust -
the golden day a faded yellow and God's glorious
world absurd.

Inside, a new worry flogs and plagues his mind, a
grim soberness slithers coldly across it. What he
did afflicts him, and what he left undone regrets.
Whatever he does, it seems, is misdone.

And now comes the warrior Detre of Bern, as was his
morning custom, to greet his lord. Detre saw the heavy
mood, the ashen face, and aptly inquired about his
health.

And after that he begins, weaving phrase to phrase -
"Wisdom grows on an old man's tongue, but who matches
this with deeds for all his days, him shall I call
a great wise man.

"Yesterday you counseled moderation in food and drink,
and without complaint. But today your brain regrets.
You gnash your teeth, knowing if you told anyone,
he would pity you with a smile.

"I beg your royal person take not my frank words
ill. Your faithful vassal I am, as I was your
father's. Three generations of Huns have seen me
now.

"At the great battle of Keveház by the waters of the
Tárnok, and later at Cezumor, we were overwhelmed
with a flood of arrows and spears, and I became a
prisoner of war by Bendeguz your father.

"Since then I have served you. I confess I once
hated to hear the name of Hun. Fire and water are
not such sworn enemies as were Hun and Goth.

"At first, we carried the main battle at Tárnok,
flinging many dark Hun faces into the valley. Good
Keve was no more, or Kadosa, or Béla; but the Saxon
Detre's blade still flashed.

"At Cezumor, we battled anew. Bendeguz swooped down
from the misty heights of Hunbérc. His arrow is still
in my brow implanted - and ever since my name's
Detre the Iron Brow.

"I fought your father until my strength faded, my
blood ebbed, and my muscles snapped. At last he held
out his hand, he of the iron grip, and I was well
pleased by the honorable offer.

"He did not send me into slavery as a prisoner of war
or undersell my people among the Huns - in his court
he took me with a princely rank to serve him well
with counsel and sword.

"And the homeless people, the free and ancient Goths,
still survive, and are happy. They live and multiply
in peace under your wing. They are not broken under
the yoke and they are all right, poor people.

"Shall I not repay so many good deeds with good
as long as I can, with strength; as I breathe,
with words? Bendeguz often, and also Rof, would
seek old Detre's counsel and were never sorry.

"Now I tell you (do not take it ill) that your new
wisdom made a foolish start; for sober as your
words appeared, your yesterday's deed was mad.

"The rod of your speech swung on balance, but what
you did was foolish and rash. You shot your arrow
in haste and blindness. You mounted your charge -
take care now it does not throw you off.

"What manner of counsel is this? Whoever heard of
such a thing! One empire with two heads? Can you
let one rein drop from your hand? Never such counsel
from sober mind!

"Do we put two saddles on a single horse? Can two
riders sit astride one saddle? One sheath is not
enough for two knives, is it! What manner of brain
ever thought this up?

"God gave man limbs by pairs, but only one head to
rule the body. One crane leads the flock at the tip
of the wedge. The hive swarms with one queen bee.

"This is the way of the world. But you who are wiser
twisted the regular order of things - for you, books
are a lie, and the annals of time are vain.

"Hunor, your ancestor, did not divide his power. Did
Bor, his son, ever make a partition like this? After
him, Keve, Kajár, Béla, wise Keled, and Dána all sat
on One throne.

"Thus Apos, Zombor, and all your stock, are praised
in song on your people's lips. Thus Bendeguz and Rof,
whom you followed, ruled alone the Empire of the Huns.

"But you, more wise than they (think of it backwards),
yesterday divided your royal person in two. Unlucky
man! Great harm will come of this - your brother is
flesh and blood - you the shadow.

"I do not blame your brother; he loves you, but is
fierce and restless like a wild steed - he can be
mastered if you hold the halter bravely. But if your
hand is weak, he will plunge - and you had it.

"You rejoice this partition comes from brotherly love.
No! it springs from silly weakness. This is what the
sailor does (they say) in a foul storm calming with
his esteemed cattle the waves.

"You weakened the fullness of your might, to redeem
a half at half the price. Unhappy man! There is no
place for a half-and-half partition here. When the
powerful sun rises, the moon fades.

"May God deny me to see the end, for blood will be
this bargain's price, a great deal of blood. I hope
you do not learn at your expense; but if a sacrifice
is needed, you will be the lamb.

"My old age keeps me for sorrow alone, my powers
are loosely stretched like a wet string on the bow.
Like a cricket on the puszta, my thin voice trembles.
I cannot save what is doomed to die."

This is how the princely Detre closed his speech.
Buda could not find a proper reply for long. As when
an eagle swoops into another's eyrie, the wings of
fright flapped wildly in his heart.

At last he spoke in a hollow voice, faltering in two
directions - "What shall I do?... Your counsel - he
said - is late, too much for grief, too little for
action." Now wise Detre of Bern bent nearer.

"Guard against Attila's fame," he said. "Buda falls
as Attila builds. And the song which spreads his
name on flying wings will be your dirge.

"Guard against his seeing your heart's weakness.
Fear is the fountain where arrogance drinks, whips
up its thirst, and nurses a grudge until dauntless
cunning breaks its horns.

"Both of you rule - he as much as you. Make sure
from the start that he does not become more. The
banks contain the river to a level, but let it rise
a finger's breadth and the floods burst.

"Two may fight equally at first; but when one goes
under, he will hardly come out on top again. If a
stone starts to roll downhill, it will not stop until
it hits the bottom.

"Right off be watchful he does not crowd you off
the common throne. It will be bitter slipping from
the narrow edge, grasping to keep from falling
to the ground.

"Out of brotherly love and softness, do not yield
what is yours. When one horn of the bow is loose,
the other, though stubborn, kicks to the side.

"I do not say your brother means evil, but he will be
too much for you if he finds you weak. He is carried
by his own will and a running tide - like a galley
catching the wind.

"I have said enough. Accept my counsel. I go lest
Attila see me here. I love him, too, but I fear
for Buda because I have lived the life of far-
seeing age."

With these words the old hero turned to his tasks,
leaving Buda's soul to toss alone, and toss it did
like a bark on the waves as he revolved Detre's words
from beginning to end.

Attila fleets the time at Buda's camp, where pastimes
and true affection hold him. He lives in one of Buda's
finest palaces, hardly preparing to depart for home.

He takes his pointed dagger, a golden dirk, and indites
a letter, an appealing one, on a soft rosewood slip.
He writes with love and sends with love. Love's desire
gives it birth.

He writes to Ildikó, mother of Aladár and first among
his women, bidding his consort in courtly raiment to
come quickly and pass the time in pleasure at Buda's
court.

Buda's wife, Gyöngyvér, urges her, he adds, to come
and show Aladár, her first-born son. His own heart
languishes for his absent child and the flames of
love deprived.

Spring is reborn in garments of green and greets a
world that is all happiness. Attila's season is
revolving too - his spring a-flowering, his blood
and milk overflowing.

To a joyous toast he is summoning, writes he, the
Hun nation, first to the hunt and then the feast,
where he awaits his dear wife with love's desire.

Attila now appears before the open door of the tent,
and the hero Detre's glad to find him in this humor;
bent and gaunt himself, his body hardly bears a sword,
but his words he spins with a subtle mind.

"How happy is the man," he said, "who is well served
by health and the dark red ripeness of the male, and
who knows he will father many sons. A good outlook on
life never leaves a man like him.

"But an old man is only a thorn on the branch, seeing
he is not wanted on this earth. He grumbles here and
there, rustling like a dry weed. I am a guest, he
feels, no one detains.

"They are tired here of me, too. I feel they are
waving me on. I would gladly become a guest at Odin's,
eat the meat of his game, help drink his mead, and
joust rejuvenated before his house.

"But the Norns may have forgotten me, no one else of
my age is alive. My sons have died before me in
battle, and my dear grandsons, who fell in the wars
with Bendeguz.

"They are gone, strewn here and there, and I myself
have passed to childhood's second round. Like an
infant in his cradle, I helplessly watch the world
above flow by.

"My arms are old; but see I can and well enough -
the many things that were and the little of change,
for nothing in my eyes is ever new in this world,
nothing I cannot show a model for.

"I have seen the sun, moon and tent of the eternal
sky are the same as yesterday, and also the hazy
Mátra. But man's works never endure, his artifacts
perish, and he himself is mortal.

"I have seen the vanity of human things, the quick
ascent and rapid fall of many, the death of kings,
the doom of empires conceived in glory and ended
in cruel defeat.

"I have seen the troubled unraveling of a golden
peace as we raised our cups in a toast. And then
out sword! Fix lance!... The people's right hand
which gives the pledge is running with blood.

"I have seen truth transformed to lies and noble
pearls to pebbles, mead to vinegar, felicity to
sadness, and fearless faith to crying mistrust.

"The blood of brothers as it changes into water
or poisonous bile, I see forever. The hush-hush
message betrays - guard against whoever squeals
in the ear.

"Such words break unity up, pry into fissures,
stealthily work an edge into hairlines until
it splits and crumbles. Beware, I say, against
that sort of talk.

"To Buda I have also said the same, for he is
older and not as sincere. Like an oldish man,
he grows weak and is always trembling - shakes
to his soles at any little wind.

"A weak man secretly fears the strong, conscious
of the coward he is. He keeps a wild vigil on his
more venturesome comrade. Whoever can do harm will,
he believes.

"To praise you in his presence is an offense, he
weighs his shortcomings in secret. He frets and
dwells on nothing else. The wind of your fame fans
his smoke in a downward draft.

"Does your mind misgive a change in Buda since you
share his light as king? He looks askance, withdraws,
and drinks his glad wine in lonely silence.

"He has for long feared the shadow of your name. You
have become a problem for Buda your brother, ever
since the people took you as a boy on their lips and
their songs of glory on the wing.

"He is hurt by the spreading sapling of your fame.
Old and young often name you with fondness, many
name you with fondness, love you who are the pride
of the whole nation's eye.

"The pride of others, a speck in his. You are become
unwittingly the cause of his blindness. He himself
plucked his wing and divided his power. The fearful
one was hurt by his fear itself.

"Who can divide equally the tide, or mark with a
ruler the boundaries of air? Who decides where and
for how long the sun will shed light? Him let share
his empire and throne!

"Neither love nor loyalty begot the deed, only a
smallness of spirit. If he does it, he fears; if he
doesn't he still fears. He cuts one finger off,
as a start, and wants it back.

"A finger? he could put up with that. But who can
undo what has been done? Therefore his heart is full
of grief and suspicion, and he trembles like an aspen
without the faintest breeze.

"I know you love him well, your generous soul is a
proverb among the Huns. Your word is an oath - not
to speak of your trust! Your mind will not shift with
a change of Buda's mind.

"But rub long enough and dry wood bursts into fire,
human passions flame more quickly. And were you God,
your ears would tire listening forever to 'Buda this,
Buda that...'

"Therefore I warn you beware of the snake; beware,
I say of whoever squeals in the ear. He will carry
Buda's word, and add to it. With a smooth hand he
will untie the knot the two of you tied.

"If you would remain at your brother's side as king,
a parting word of counsel I give. All Attila will
never fit beside him. From now on, be half the man
you were.

"Share the glorious and good, but bear the ills
yourself. This way, you may fit on his throne
though a great heart ill suffers the shackles of
patience."

He spoke. But for all his cunning, he blundered. He
looked terrified at Attila whose eyes flashed with
pitiless lightning; and choking on his own voice he
threatened him -

"I do not know whether he will sit at Odin's table
who today hangs high on the gallows before my tent,
without sentence, foul flesh for the flying ones.

"But this one thing I tell you, old man. If you try
to drive a wedge between us again, I will see you
before my palace dying a gruesome death. Be it as
I say, by Ishten."

The old man fell groveling on his knees and begged
his lord for pardon, kissing his garments, the hem
of his ample robe, and wetting its fringes with tears.

He swore he did not mean it, nor did he think like
that - the heedless words poured from his mouth one
after the other; an old man chatters and is quick
with advice, talks and does not know when to stop.

Bendeguz and Rof are living witnesses, that is, if
living they would quickly bear witness whether in
word or deed he ever plotted against the Huns.

Such excuses faltered from the old man's lips, and
the generous soul of Attila yielded. His anger
subsided, died away; his generous heart could not
bear him wallowing below.

"Stand up, old man," he said, helping him to his feet.
"I punished you, didn't I, with infernal words? No more
I'll dispraise you. Pass unafraid. You are not banished
from my tent hereafter.

"What you brought out about Buda my brother, there
may be good in it too. A partition like this is vexed.
But if self-ruled, the stronger yields... I say old man,
you need not fear for us."

With this Attila let the Saxon go. Now he remembered
the letter to Ildikó. He ties the fancy silken box
with a Hunnish puzzle, which only he and his lady know
how to undo.

He ties it with a wish. - Detre walks away, shame
burning on his pale waxen cheeks. "Haughty Attila,
good, good! Even though it was hard," he muttered to
himself, "the wedge is in!"

Hear the younger king of the Huns command the bloody
sword go up and down the land, summoning all who bear
arms mount and assemble in battle order at Buda's
camp.

The fierce sword sallies like fiery lightning; on
widening waves the summons spread; and the signal
is passed to distant posts; horsemen advance the
word at breakneck speed.

Like a thunder crack in the wilderness, dying and
swelling from forest to mountain and hollow, the
news spreads from tanya to tanya.

One day is enough, or two - but surely three for
the sword to reach the farthest bounds. And round-
about the neighboring people tremble - O whom do
the ogres arm against!

But joy is bubbling in the land of the Huns. Long
indolent, life clamors again. Like a slap of fresh
water on the sleepy face of the sloven, the call -
to battle - refreshes the soul.

Old men remember dim adventures long discovered,
and the songs. Dead scars tingle in changing weather,
and memories revive at the news of war.

The seasoned warrior tends calmly to his tasks,
speaking seriously and seldom, thereby doing more;
he curries his shining steed, sharpens his saber,
and gives his weapons a terrible mien.

But the young men, unused to battle and reared in
peaceable Buda's years, dash, break, run, jump
here and there like proud young stallions from
the feeding trough.

The women are all busy with their tasks in camp,
unspinning the party-colored yarn and embroidering
a husband's cloak, his clean and lovely suit.
But secretly they weep and sigh for their lord.

The children mimic war, shooting arrows and fighting
with spears from their hobbyhorses of reed. Sword and
shield is the game; they play awake and asleep -
this is how Attila goads the nation on.

The host is gathering at Buda's camp, covering the
plain puszta far and near. Tent tops multiply on
the grass outnumbering molehills on green meadows.

The hero Buda looked all around, and as far as his
eye could see and more, this was the scene. Turning
his head slowly right and left, he speaks to the
old Saxon at his side -

"I do not know why this people are gathering now, or
how to judge my brother's orders. We are at blessed
peace all around, and nowhere do the Huns have
enemies of whom I know.

"Nor did I counsel war, to tell the truth, because
when peace reigns the scepter is mine. It is wrong
to harry my people from their flocks, diluting with
war my cup of peace.

"But what kind of war is this rushing up so blindly?
I think it is a game, a sort of hunt; you still hear
old men tell stories that sometimes our fathers used
wiles like these.

"Yet I fear he will regret what he does. A second
time the army will ignore his call, although really
in need, and Attila himself be put to shame."

At this the gray-headed Detre gently admonishes -
"Well, well, your brother knows what he does. This
is something new for the people, and having gathered
for war they will feast and hunt with greater zest.

"No wonder this game is not to your liking. You
will see in the end what a man he is. And you will
say to yourself - 'Where is King Buda? I only
trample his vacant shadow in the dust!'"

This was their exchange. But what cares Attila for
such, or what people say. He sits on his steed from
dawn to dark; the first to rise and the last to
sleep.

He exercises his troops, trains them on the fields
in sunshine or storm. More than anyone else, he
endures the rain, the hunger, the fatigue; his
thirsty palate is parched for fasting.

He orders his men under colors by clans, regroups
them by arms. Seven clans he orders, as old custom
requires, and then divides all seven again.

Army grows out of army, troop by troop. He sets the
lancers and archers apart, the simitared chariots
and the mounted knights, the batteries of assault
and the other machines.

He signals his commands by bugle all day long -
arrow swift they leave their post, return on sign,
out of chaos making order again.

The bugle blows - to clans! then the men divide into
seven great tribes by clans. The bugle blows - to
battle! now they proceed according to arms.

Oil and water, though mixed, will part; everyone
returns to his kind again. No matter how Attila
mingles his troops, they reassemble as quickly as
he desires.

And like a magician playing tricks with a wondrous
stroke of the wand, Attila revolves the troops and
makes his magic with a motion of the hand.

Sometimes a warrior - like a bleating lamb between
two flocks - will lose his place. Too bad for him
if Attila detects!

Sometimes the warriors flee in a rout, running across
the meadow this way and that, only to rally like a
huge patch of birds before they alight.

Sometimes he swings the whole army like a gate, each
unit fanning out on the oblique; like children playing
on a whirligig - one end on a hinge, the other free.

And again like a good herdsman with whip in hand,
the long line coils, looping at the middle and
snapping at the end - pity on whomever it comes
lashing down.

The king breaks his army in day by day and sometimes
rouses the men from sleep at night. Or else, at supper
the bugle may blow with the very first bite.

But having driven them long enough, he grants relief,
receives them as his guests, refreshed with ample
meat and drinks. Who thinks at times like that of
bodily strife!

They drive great herds along the plains; if one head
is slaughtered, another takes its place. Thus the huge
army lives on beef and praises well fed their lord's
abundance.

They do not mention any name but his - Attila, the
only sovereign king of the Huns. The least feels
superior, thinks himself greater for Attila's might.

Once a drop of water, the selfsame Hun's now proud
of being the sea. Often they speak his name, I say.
King Buda's dead, and buried belike.

It is up to him - Attila the people's one king, or no?
But his faith's no breeze or arrow on the wing. His love
for good Buda stays proper as ever.

When the army's trained and works like heaven's command,
he marshals the troops before Buda's palace, and entering
alone he addresses his brother like this -

"Brother, do not resent this strategem of war! I had
worthy cause for keeping it concealed. You gave me
a sword, and I looked it over. I brandished it -
is it suited for battle?

"It cuts well. But come out now, review the troops,
show your royal person to the host. Tell them it
is not a season for war, but the hunt and peace,
and the Mátra is teeming with game."

He spoke warmly and clasped Buda's right hand. But
Buda's mind was lashed by waves, uncertain until
Detre sent him a secret wink.

Then he embraced his younger brother in faith, his
eyes filled with tears, his soul leaping for joy.
They led his best steed to the tent, and he presented
his royal person before the host.

Once they wheeled at Buda's word, and twice (his
brother whispering one signal after the other). He
beheld with wonder how the troops unwound as he gave
the signs with his own right hand.

He would have gazed on perhaps but when a troop of
horsemen charged him with loosened bridles and
pointed pikes, he gave it up in disgraceful fright.

Four paces away the horses stopped stock-still. But
the lightning of mistrust flashed in Buda's soul, and
he would have fled if Attila, who was at his side,
had not detained him with a smile.

But Buda had no more liking for the game, ashamed of
his weakness a moment ago. He proclaimed aloud the
joys of peace, as the mighty Attila supplied the
words.

Hearing the sudden news of peace and a chase on the
Mátra, the people began to laugh in joy, cheering for
Attila loud and long.

The whole camp rose up with one terrible cry, and
the deaf earth reverberated at its new lord's name
- Attila, Attila, Attila the King.

He sat with his army at the feast and sent them out
at the break of day where the Bükk and Mátra loom -
but that is still another story.

Ildikó rode up like the dawn, her face a full-blown
rose and her hair the sheen of gold. She came from
the East, where the dawn is born, the light and happy
love of Attila her lord.

Her luxurious litter sways between two gentle steeds
as she lolls on the round and silken pillows. Aladár
capers beside her, his face and eyes aflame for a
glimpse of his father.

On the two sides and two rows behind, a hundred ladies-
in-waiting ride. Their canopied veils are sweeping the
ground, their faces flushed with the pleasure of the mount.

As the Way of the Hosts is studded with stars and cuts
through heaven's vault with a pearly light, so their
floating trains half reveal the earth, and the starry-
eyed girls sparkle between.

But precious too the glitter of gold and jewels,
the sifting scruples of light from harness to steed;
it shines into shadows everywhere like fire, and
proudly looks back when the sun looks down.

Behind, grotesque camels waddle along like giant geese
stretching their necks. They are laden with treasures
and a treasure's worth - tent-cloth, carpets, dear
fabrics, and stuff.

Then the servants come, mixed rows of brown, dragging
like shadows in the dust. And from her tent, Gyöngyvér,
Buda's wife, watches the parade as I described.

She watched in secret through the narrowed slit,
standing in the shadows of her cascading drapes.
She clapped her soft little hands, and these words
skipped from her involuntary lips -

"Who does this woman think she is? What sort of queen?
As if she were the only one, and there were no other
- as if she were a born queen of her line, and not
yesterday's moth of Buda's kindness."

Meanwhile, Attila hugged his son and led his dear
wife inside with an embrace; he sent the maidens to
their quarters in the palace, and spoke to his wife
as he sat before her -

"How lovely you are, my joy, my pride! More beautiful
today than when you first entered my palace and,
peerless woman, you were mine!

"A host of suitors had gathered for your hand, pale
though you were for mourning your first husband.
Gallant princes and champions sent you treasures
tendering proposals of their love.

"But you, young widow, wept for Siegfried, and would
not bloom to another's wooing like a bud that repines
at the scattering of an early sunshine day.

"You remained like that with the early passing of
your sun, withering at the untimely loss of your
love. Before you knew, really learned, you had
to mourn it like something passed.

"But since you are my wife, I find you more beautiful
with every embrace. A woman is lovely when her
face is misted, her eyes full of tears, but loveliest
of all is the flush of love.

"Bloom then, be fulfilled, my beloved rose! Strew me
with your petals, my tender joy. Let your lips suck,
long suck my lips, I would be glad to die in your
embrace today."

She did not reply but gave her flaming face to the
kiss, her half-opened eyes, her tiny dimpled chin,
her two round arms, and smooth white shoulders.

They enjoyed each other until the hot noon sun
rode the skies. And then they fetched Aladár
from the horses and almost divided him in two
with love.

The father tossed the little bundle in the air, the
boy laughing and panting, "Do it again!" The mother
watched, anxious but proud because her son was not
afraid.

Then his father raised him on the shield of his
hand. "Grow big," he began, "great king of the Huns.
Like leaves that chequer the parent trunk, your
glory will gild my own with shade!"

He spoke. She wept tears of joy, and then chose for
herself a more splendorous dress, time now to call
on Gyöngyvér, and proper to greet her elder lord.

She sent gifts to smooth the way - three camel-loads
and the wonderful beasts not long ago brought from
southern sands; soft Persian wool and woven Hindu
silk.

Then the two went to the hero Buda's where the
palace glitters behind a carved palisade. Buda and
Gyöngyvér hastened forward to greet them, waiting
at the entrance for the royal pair.

Quickly the eyes of the women clashed, but only as
long as a first glance may last; and coolly they took
each other in - dress, shape, body and soul.

Then Buda's wife, arms spread, received her guest
with a shower of kisses. And Ilda was beaming at
her elder sister's side, shedding the honeyed morsels
of her words.

Gyöngyvér takes Aladár in her lap (he hides from her
kisses and wipes them off). She praised him for being
so big and good-looking. "Happy mother," she said,
"with so handsome a son.

"I fear my eye may cast a spell on him. But come in
my palace, and let's be sisters." So saying, she
led her in. The two men followed in an amiable calm.

Then Attila, who saw the kindness of Buda's wife and
how they loved the wife he loved, grew glad in his
great heart, and with a smile said -

"Why did I think of this game of war! To grant our
women merry sport beneath rippling tents in the cool
Mátra while the summer sun's ablaze.

"Well, let us set out in the dew of dawn with all our
retinue and all our women. Let them see the commotion
of the hunt, and feast upon the proud wild prey."

Buda's wife clapped her hands in joy, and Buda himself
could think of nothing against. They ordered the court
to pack for breaking camp in the cool of dawn.

A bustle and flurry everywhere - they furl up the
tents on posts and stakes, they collect the carpets
and costly treasures, they kneel on the packs and tie
them with skill.

The gold and silver vessels they pile in a heap. The
old steward runs to and fro. What shall he do with
all this stuff? a radiant flood of glasses, bowls,
and plates, the banquet dishes of landed kings.

The women fret, large clouds wrinkling their brows
for many a trifle. Many things will be remembered on
the way. What is needed will be left, what is not will
be packed.

The servants open the winter pits filled with golden
millet from loamy fields. They raise the boza and kám
in skins, and ample wine, soul of the feast.

Harnesses lie around, polished to a shine; coaches
are ready for hitching to their mettled steeds.
Beasts of burden are tethered, horses groomed, and
the camp has sprouted numberless hands and feet.

Buda's camp is like a depot. Who thinks now of food
or drink or sleep? Flickering torches scurry all
night, and elbow darkling the shadows.

Next day as they reached the foot of the green
Mátra, they pitched their tents hard by - Buda
on a round hill, his brother a little lower; a
large stream refreshes the site.

Down in the flat land, in a shady stand of oak, the
army swarmed as though laying an ambush. Here and
there camp-smoke clings to the forest like mountains
puffing their pipe before a rain.

That day and night they rested. Then Attila gave
orders for the hunt - and on a swift steed he
scoured the hollows of the valley or sighted from
on high the slopes of the Mátra.

As when reapers take parcels of billowing grain and
windrow the fallen crops - here the pieces stand,
there it is bare - the sickle advances, stroke by
stroke devouring the fields;

So Attila parcels the Mátra, preparing to drive the
game from hill to hill, ringing the great wilderness
with bands of men who will lay the quarry low inside.

Let no quarry slip away, he orders from the foothill,
but forbidden now to hunt beyond the ring - the first
is always "King Buda's game". Attila himself to Buda
yields this prey.

These are the orders he gave for morning, and then
his army dispersed, each man to his post. He mounts
up beside his elder brother, and they go a-hawking
with their women.

Next day a cry of beaters resounds in the valley.
On earth or sky the game are imperiled - here
harried by arrows and there by falcons. Their wings,
their nimble feet grow leaden.

A sally of sound takes the silence eternal, the air
is close with the rumbling noise. Shouts, a clatter
of shields, and the infernal war cry huj! huj! -
this strange new word terrifying the prey.

Attila calls then on his brother Buda, the great king
of the Huns, to take the first game. Next is Attila,
and then all the chiefs. The others follow, making
a frightful kill.

Ay, what animals fell that day! bear, buffalo, wolf,
and a mountain of fox. They move the forest dead
on spears, feasting long into the old night.

The people are busy around the blazing pyres,
roasting whole cattle on the spit, big-headed
buffalo and antlered stag. The casks are sprung.
Story and song are chanted, gurgling sweetly.

Buda makes glad with Attila in his tent, and Lady
Hilda serves him wine as Gyöngyvér waits on her
younger lord, a gracious Hun lady in word and heart.

Meanwhile, minstrels pluck the lute, rekindling the
memory of an ancient legend. The song sings of
Hunor and Magyar, from whom the Huns and Magyars
sprang.

How they set out from ancient Asia, through Ishten's
miracle, from the home of their forbears; how they
followed the hind to Scythia and became the fathers
of two nations.

Mirth pulses through the whole camp until the sky
wagon turns its shaft earthward. The fires wink,
and only a hum is heard from the slumbering host.

But the lovely song of the lute awakens Hunor, who
comes with generations and generations of his sons.
The leaves stir wherever they step. Holy is the
night of manó - grass, tree, flower, hush, hush!

Each brother culls out fifty men,
a hundred warriors follow them.
And as in war's pursuit and gain,
they draw the bow on nimble game.

And Hunor said - let us alight,
water our steeds, and pass the night.
And Magyar said - then with the morn
let sound again the homeward horn.

A warrior said - it seems to me,
it sank upon the southern lea.
But no - another warrior speaks -
it's reddening on the northern peaks.

There's the hind - a misty breath,
with fog behind and fog ahead.
And if they glance to plains or skies,
she vanishes before their eyes.

The test is hard - you kill a man,
bewitch nine youths with magic hand,
entice them into coils of love
and stay yourselves the game above.

And Magyar spake - this magic fife
tingles, o brother, my marrow and life.
And Hunor spake - my blood, it stirs
with shadows of those virgin girls!

The Eastern Emperor sent an envoy, meanwhile, to
pay his respects to King Attila. Mounted on a swift
steed he rode with his lord's greetings, seeking
Attila with his escort.

Up the Mátra they came with their guides, pitching
a tent in the valley apart - then on to render
Attila honor, but not a word or sign toward Buda.

Shining presents they brought, weapons ornate in
gold and gems, and a fardel of coins in purses
stamped and weighed by the pound.

They entered the tent, permission granted. The
ambassador spoke in his elegant tongue. Though
Attila understands with ease, he commands an
interpreter to serve between.

"My lord, the Emperor," the envoy said, "sends his
gifts and greetings. He offers his true friendship
and loyalty, and calls for an alliance with the
nation of Huns.

"He has heard the far-flung glory of your name and
your lordship over all this nation. He commanded
his servants to tell of his delight in your deeds,
and he wishes you good fortune.

"He does not want to live at war, but in good
neighborly state. He will open markets, as many
as you desire, in his cities along the Danube.

"He offers his brotherly good will in still another
way - the King of the Huns shall be the Emperor's
brother. He will often discover ways to give gifts;
or, if you request perhaps, yearly payments.

"He would waive his tax (he shifts his line as Attila
pierces him with the gimlet of his eyes). If you would
take up arms to guard his empire, you too will increase
in fame and wealth.

"He has heard reports of your mustered army's might
with which you filled your neighbors' ears. He does
not know whom your great army prepares against, but
hear the message he sends with our mission -

"A country runs by yours beyond the right bank of the
downward flowing Sava; the people are the Illyrians,
and these inhabitants have rebelled against their
lord and mine.

"He could crush them with a stamp of his foot, but
his armies are elsewhere needed. And in matters of
faith he knows only travail by day and night for
many are the heretics to burn at the stake.

"If then - and this is his message - you make his
rebels obey once more, you as well as he would profit.
We come empowered to make this offer."

Attila understood the envoy's words. "Have you seen
King Buda?" he asked. And when he replied with a "no",
Attila delivered a stern rebuke, knitting his eyebrows
into a frown.

"It would be seemly for the Emperor and his envoy
to know the days of our kings. No one has heard as
yet of King Buda's death. He governs supreme the
affairs of the Huns.

"Go right now and make there, too, your request with
gifts. I shall be present, as befits his colleague,
the loyal sword by his side."

The envoys bowed, the leader asking for leave to
speak. When the king relented in his anger and
gave permission, the envoy spoke thus softly -

"With King Buda we have naught to do in this matter.
Our Emperor commanded we see Attila. Through him
only can we finish, said he, our mission. Or else,
we rather depart for home.

"Who would cling," quoth he, "to an uprooted tree?
Or to sparse tendrils on a crumbling stone? Buda
has been, but Attila shall be. Forgive me, my lord,
for speaking this plain."

Attila appeared annoyed with this talk, and yet he
could not be angry in his heart. His emotions battle
a moment. "Return," he ordered, "when I summon again."

He proceeded himself to mighty Buda. When he
entered, his brother turned his back. And as
Attila prepared to speak, Buda stared aslant
into space, and burst out saying -

"Why do you rush here boasting of this! Arrogant
Attila, I see what you are aiming for. What can
I do in emissary affairs? I am no colleague of
yours, I am a nothing!

"Oh, would that I no longer walked on earth to
see myself decline like the morning shadow. Now
let him swallow, lap up everything to whom the
world's power is only a slurp!

"Here I look on - in patience, apathy, peace.
And startled awake I ask - Am I still me? Ha!
Or did that other one sit in my place? Am I a
soul who haunts my very own throne?

"But all the more no I say! I say all the more no!
I shall cry out and make everyone know. I claim
my right by oath. Or else - or else!... the string
snaps, and you are what you were."

Attila's blood boiled and surged in his head like
a torrent. His ears ground like a mill - his lips
shook a bit, and the words.

"Shut up, you imbecile with water on the brain,
weakling, coward, suspicious wretch. As if I had
reason to walk a crooked path! As if I would cross
my word with a guileful mind!

"And what are you? A thistle on the roadside, and
my slightest whim the wind! If I but will it -
it was, it isn't... now!" With that, Attila strode
off like a blast of lightning in the sky.

He sends the mission forthwith to his camp, where
he keeps his court and royal palace; a guide rides
on a speeding stallion ahead. In camp, they prepare
to welcome their guests for the talks.

He sulks himself like a sullen cloud, swirling all
day in the fog of his wrath. By nightfall it lifts,
and he goes composed at dawn to Buda's tent -

"Brother, I was angry because you were ill-tempered
and made terrible charges. I come to give you my
hand and ask you to forget. But first listen to what
I have to say.

"You judged me wrongly with plotting against you.
I rebuked the envoys for their offense. But they
refused to come, and I myself have hastened here.

"To you the Emperor did not send them, it is true,
and at his command they came straight to me, perhaps
because I am in charge of martial affairs. Whatever
the reason, I am not to blame.

"They brought many gifts. I divided them justly and
keep them in my tent in separate heaps. Since I was
the one to divide, come now and you be the first to
choose.

"Or you divide and let me choose. The value of
this mission, brother, lies not in gold and gems,
but in an alliance worth more by far than gems and
gold.

"We have treasures enough, or can always win them
in war. But a pact like this is priceless. Better
to support a crumbling empire with our men than
fight a sound one until we are spent.

"Whoever is reduced to accept my help becomes my
servant; his actions thereafter are by my wish.
Whoever is used to walking with my help walks not
on his own legs, or soon falls alone.

"You charge me with greed for power! Right, but not
for vain and vulgar praise. I want the Empire of the
Huns to grow, strike roots of power in other lands.

"Power overflows or subsides like water and never
stands still at middle level. If a nation is weak
and does not grow, it declines and topples on your
neck, prop it no matter how you may.

"I hear through spies what the Emperor does and
therefore propose to accept the pact. I shall...
but, brother, not against you! Give me your hand,
brother, as a well-thought reply!

"Why if nothing else, the gain is there. I will squeeze
the Emperor for a yearly tax, and now our young men
by training for war will make themselves rich with
booty, too.

"Yield then, to my sensible plan, and let my will be
your consent. Let no one say - blood contends with
blood, Attila and Buda will not agree."

He spoke with force, but calmly. Buda silently gave
his hand, not as though from understanding but over-
shadowed, he sensed, by Attila's presence.

This he sees - his brother offers half a share; he
thinks of what they will gain from war. Yesterday,
indeed, Attila hurt him, but now he entreats - it
is easier to leave off, be angry no more.

Someone has reported in his ear how grimly his
brother rebuked the envoys. And so he awakens
slowly to the warmth of trust like dead coal
at the touch of living embers.

Then Attila clasped Buda's hand tightly, sought to
hold Buda's eyes in his own. Buda looks into their
open mirror, and straight toward Attila's tent
they go.

From her tent Gyöngyvér saw the brothers walk by two
in amiable love; she opened wide her big brown eyes
and stood there gazing like a far-seeing idol.

Buda turned for a backward look, saying to his wife
- "Come with us, my dear. Yesterday you did not
visit your little sister Hilda. Lazy! and you need
go lightly a scant three steps.

"You miss little Aladár, I know that too. If we had
such a son, you would not give him up at any price,
for gold and silver, or for all the world. But we
pray in vain for a happiness like that.

"Come then, enjoy him, and dispel Ilda's boredom day
to day. You could always well spend your time with her,
you the hostess, she the well-loved guest."

The queen started at these words, smiling on her
younger lord as she went. But she was stunned,
such the day's miracle, for Buda had complained
of all that happened the day before.

Ilda knew nothing of all this, only that yesterday
her lord was depressed. Now lowering her rosy cheeks
to her son's she showed his father coming far down
the way.

Like a fledgling bird flushed from a rosebush,
Aladár runs and runs from his lovely mother's lap.
The bush remains waiting - bosom open for the
tiny fugitive's return to the faithful nest.

He runs faster and faster on his little feet like
a quail in the grass. Straight to his father the
comely child darts, intending to leap right in his
arms.

But like a net that hovers over a butterfly's
flight, Gyöngyvér seeks to intercept him with a
kiss. He suspects a trick, twisting and dodging
aside on the run.

His aunt pursues him with passion and desire, a
thirst for kisses in her large dark eyes. As she
watches from far, Ilda cries for laughter until
it hurts.

When Gyöngyvér catches up, the child is smiling
from the haven of his father's embrace. Mischievously
he smiles aside at his aunt, who shows embarrassment
on her serious face.

"Get down quickly," Ilda chides her son. "Bad boy!
Is that nice? to do such a thing? Go right now to
your loving auntie!" And the child readily obeys.

He gained his goal, and now no longer cares. He
gives himself up like a patient doll, lets Gyöngyvér
kiss him where she will and lead him homeward gently
by the hand.

At home they entertained all night, celebrating
the happiness of this day, these two heroes and
their wives - this is how peace was made between
Buda and Attila.

Amid their cups, Attila says to Buda - "Two days
of rest the Mátra game enjoyed. Tomorrow let us
start, for the weather is fine; and then we need
prepare for war.

"I shall recall the envoys from my camp that you
may pursue the talks and to what end I lead them.
Every day I shall lay it all before you.

"Now we shall climb the mountain wilds and scour
the slopes of the cool valleys - for two weeks or
three, but not the whole long summer as I wished."

"So be it, but come on and drink!" said Buda with a
light heart. "Leave tomorrow's cares. Come, my sister;
come, my wife, and pour another drop. Never have I
seen such, such two beautiful women!

"Smile, you two golden apples of the puszta! An old
man's breast is full of desire, too... But brother,
do you mark this wine? it tastes better and better
- like milk, a little does no harm."

So Buda empties his breast of care, raising the
bowl-like goblet in his hands. He does not put it
down but holds it encircled, always smiling now
this way, now that.

To him Hilda and Gyöngyvér do not respond; they fawn
on Attila, begging to join the morrow's chase with
the women of the court and falcons fleet.

All four sat at one table together, Buda at the
head, his brother, then the two women. Many other
small tables are set in rows around the tent.

Dressed in white, the Hun chieftains drink - the
táltos, the judge, and the rest. Detre, too, makes
glad - four at a table with the soul of wine and
heart of song.

Only Bulcsu, the chief, sits by a cup of misery
scorning the newfangled wine. "My father and grand-
father drank only brood-mare's milk. I'll not give
it up for the juice of weeds."

"Let common soldiers drink it!" Szömöre whoops. "Let
him milk the mare who grooms her himself. King
Attila has wine aplenty. A true hero's mettle is born
in wine.

"Gold is a rare, precious matter; wine is a rare
spirit. Attila has aplenty of both wine and gold,
the mare's whey - huj, to hell with it."

As evening hastened on into night, Attila arose
with goblet in hand - "A toast now to the guests.
With me let everyone drink, and then each and all
return home to sleep.

"We have reveled enough. Tomorrow we'll need our
strength for the morning chase." So saying, he
emptied his goblet to the bottom. This example
pleased and pleased them not.

And still they left, Buda the last of all, turning
back for a word here and another there as he went
shedding one by one the cares of his heart, and
at last Gyöngyvér pulled her lord gently away.

Wake, O graceful dawn who sheds a rosy light! A cool
morning breeze is stirring your breast. Wake, O
skylark from the warmth of your nest! The first glow
of dawn is lovely in the sky.

Rise up, crowned sun! a song is greeting you. Blare
out, bugle of war, wake the host with your blast.
Soft wind, dawn, bugle, lark, host, and sun! Rise,
all of you, all! Attila is already up.

Attila arms himself swiftly as though for battle,
thirsting for the work at hand. No task's too small
for him, and thus no task's too big.

He walks in the vanguard and directs the ranks; he
commands by name, scolds, and prompts. He knows all
his warriors. His eyes are discipline and his voice
a spirit.

Like a ball of string the army unwinds tying a human
loop at the foot of the mountain. The multitude makes
a noose for miles around like this - without a rustle
or horse's whinny.

Buda, too, rose up at the bugle's blare. He could
use a bit of yesterday's humor. The two women, Ilda
and the other, more manly than he, mock him from the
saddle as he yawns away.

A woman is beautiful at morning - her calm face
like gentle dawn, a fresh morning wind, a light
dew, or the bloom on a fruit; her voice huskier
than the song of a thrush.

She is more beautiful at morning on a steed, in a
girdled gown, a falcon on her cupped shoulder. She
trills like a nightingale, full of desire and joy,
her martial movements cleverly inept.

But Buda sees all this like the blind man a rose.
He does not enjoy the color but feels the thorn.
He grumbles at the teasing of the women. But they
all proceed; and beyond, the mountains rise.

Then Attila gives his army of beaters a sign, a
silent signal running all along the open valley.
A shout bursts like flame and spreads. Row on row
they stand on guard, no game escapes from here.

The young men burst up the slanting hill on foot,
and the cavalry guards the outer rim - upward a
wide and grassy plateau, here and there bushes,
low and full of berries.

First of all, hear of the bear's boldness and how
the wives he entertained of Attila and Buda. Grizzly
and huge, he rose ponderously on his two hind feet,
dealing out blows as the beaters approached.

He shatters the first dense rows shaking the arrows
off like tow. The lances fail to pierce, the cudgels
glance off and he never reels. But the beaters reel
apart at a swipe of his paw.

Opening holes row on row, he shambles downhill,
unheedful of pikes or shouts. They try a hundred
times to bring him down, but he only ambles on
bumbling his boisterous song as he goes.

He flings himself into the cavalry, and the women
scream. Then Attila said - "Phew! Don't be afraid!
Come on, Bruin! If you want to sing, then dance
to the tune."

His strong horsehair lasso from the saddle he throws
over the bear's neck; he draws it taut and tugs him
along behind the horse. The bear would rather not
- but what if Attila says so!

Where the hollow of the valley is broad and open,
he spurs his steed and rides the bear helplessly
around and around. The wildness, it now seems, ebbs
from the beast. It is sheerest fun for all to watch.

This is how Attila fags the captive beast until
an ugly tongue rolls out from his panting mouth.
Attila narrows the circle on the run and commands
the beaters at last to truss him up.

Their pleasure done, Ilda and Gyöngyvér remained
in the valley with their favorite falcons. Buda
rode up the mountain, Attila in the lead seeking
an easier ascent for his brother.

As when the fertile Tisza flows over the brim of
heaven and earth, the skies and waters mingle in
a terrifying ball, and only an island tip appears
in all this tide;

So the peak fills with lumbering beasts of the wild,
bellowing bulls, a hundred different kinds of herds,
here sheep, there horses as though Noah chose this
place to build his ark.

Such is the island on the Mátra, I imagine. The poor
wild things seek refuge there as a flood of arrows
and shining spears drive them on, and the shields
create a terrible din.

You could see the haggard wolves in anger hunched,
gnashing their fangs at the iron ring. Tuskt boars
splinter the white birch in helpless rage.

You could see bull buffaloes - with the whole
herd - rushing from one end to the other, lovely
trembling heifers in the center hiding from the
uproar a bit.

Now Attila says, "My brother, don't forget - you
can slay some easy game there among the stags."
Then Buda bethought himself and spurred his steed,
Attila following a distance behind.

And all the tárogatós resound. A skin drum booms
with the beat of a club. The air is rent by a
hundred blasts of the horn, signaling the royal
hunt has begun.

Buda could easily slay a fallow deer or stag, but
how embarrassing in Attila's sight! He felt the
sting of his brother's words, and turns his fire
at the buffalo herd.

He aims his spear against an enormous bull -
galloping out front with bristling mane. But his
eyes are dazzled, his right arm trembles, and the
weapon glances from the shielding horns.

The wild beast rages - straight at Buda! ripping
the hot guts from his spike-brown horse. Sideways
it plunges with a shudder and pins King Buda's thigh
underneath.

Oh, if I only had one word to picture one moment
like this! - all too well Attila saw Buda's dire
danger and was nearest by also to lend a hand.

But horrible vision, the fiendish Ármány rises
between the king and his younger brother standing.
He looms like a tower above the hero, horrendous
that form for him to behold.

His tusk is swinging low, his eyes bloodshot; and
lightning forks from his tongue. His mane hurls
a flame, every serpent of his beard, hanging to the
waist, is crested with blood.

His shield's a crag, a sheer mountain side. His
terrible broadsword he holds in one hand, jerks with
the other Buda's head, yanking it with a hideous
grin at Attila.

Then like a raven speeding across the sun, a shadow
flies over Attila's true soul - better to abandon
his brother to death rather than his own patience
be tried forever.

But seizing forthwith his dogwood spear, he attacks
God's evil foe. "Ármány," the hero cries, "cannibal
Ármány! Be not overweening when you count on Attila.

"Slaying, I shall not slay you; - your mother gave
you no birth for a carcass. With a wound and pain
I'll maim you forever!" He drove speaking. The awful
one vanished, and the weapon struck a blank.

To his brother's side he came as the beast was
finishing him off with his knees and, bellowing at
the smell of blood to the skies, brought to a head
the vengeance he desired.

A thrust of the lance, the bull collapsed, and his
blood poured out black; the rest stampede at the kill,
white crests up the shoreline running shoulder over
shoulder.

Now like a beater wielding a stout stick, Attila
twirls his murderous war club - and with a sudden
hole in the ranks, the herd turns around and shows
its heels.

The others do not look idly on from the distance,
but hasten to the rescue; they all hurry to lay
a hand on the horse and draw the king to his feet.

Not badly hurt but freed like this, Buda embraced
his brother and fell on his neck - "Never, Attila,
never!" he could only mumble, and still Attila knew
what the heart meant to say.

And then he clasped his brother's hand gently. "For
us," he said, "let this be enough today. Let us now
leave the game for others to slay. Come, we will see
how our women go a-hawking."

But behold, something has arisen between Gyöngyvér
and Ildikó, an astounding brawl, all for no cause.
Both had sent their falcons up for a single dove
at once.

The falcon of Buda's queen rose straight like an
arrow from the sinew. But the other - he scarcely
opens a gap when down he swoops on Gyöngyvér's
bird.

He attacks, claws, and scatters the warm feathers
dripping with fresh blood. They hear a screeching,
but the fight's unseen - a freckle only in the shiny
air.

Suddenly a rent falcon drops in the lap almost of
Buda's queen. She picks it up - looks, caresses,
and moans as her tears burst forth.

"Ilda, guileful Hilda, ruthless Krimhilda! Look,
your hawk has killed mine off. Now look." She
held it up. But with a laugh her sister struck the
bird from her hand, and trampling on it said -

"Bird for bird, I can give a hundred. What a shame
to bawl over such a trifle! Fie! Anyone with a bit
of sense would not." This does not serve to calm
the queen.

"What do I want," she said, "with your bird if you
cannot revive my precious Turul hawk! I have neither
son nor darling daughter. Only this bird had I in
all the world, and now it's gone."

Ildiko's face flamed, her beautiful brow shone like
blood on snow. "Don't scream, you crazy fool!" her
sharp voice rang. "You are not a baby or a sprig of
a girl."

"Don't ever call me old!" Buda's queen retorted.
"Speak softly in my presence, you queen by someone's
favor! I do not know which of us is older by a day!
Or who is nastier in speech than you!"

This is how they wrangled, both speaking at once.
Attila and Buda arrived amid such strife. With
difficulty, they drew out the queen's complaint, and
Buda in anger said -

"Woman! leave off, do you hear me, or else you'll
suffer bitter rue. While Attila was now saving your
husband's life, what are the two of you up to!"

"Oh, the bitter rue I already know of black sorrow,"
cries Buda's wife. "I shall never reach a good end,
I know that - never, because of this woman and her
lord."

And Attila soothes his own ruffled, angry dove
with a gentle voice meanwhile. "Give your falcon
to Gyöngyvér," he urges. "A pet for a pet - and
the feud will end."

She seemed to yield to the soft words. Her falcon
arrives to a golden leash, and she takes it in
her dewy hands. Toward her aunt she steps, wrings
the neck and flings it murdered at her feet.

With great trouble the two heroes toiled to keep
the trifle from exploding at least. The quarrel
came to a halt as they brought at last their women
to embrace.

And yet like hurt children who leave off crying,
although they feel the heartache throbbing on inside,
their eyes smile and lips chatter, but the hurt
within they do not want to stop.

The hunting though comes to an end this day, and
revels follow like the day before. Attila hosted
his warriors at the feast, and then lay to rest
by his reposing wife.

The stars ceased to flicker on earth - all eyes
were closed, the campfires died. But the great
tent of heaven, deepening above, shone everywhere
- the eternal being awake all night.

Behold, the old Ishten, eye and sun of the earth,
lord of hosts and father of earth, water, and eternal
fire, trainer of men in a fleeting life, sat in his
tent on a golden armchair.

The hanging carpets of the sky were drawn, and he
listens to the panting of mortals everywhere. He
looks with steel-mirrored eyes into the deep of things,
and keeping a calm watch put his thoughts to graze.

With shield leaning idly against his throne, he rests
his left elbow on the arm; he lowers his brow on a
finger-tip, the whiteness of his beard overflows
the deep.

His right hand, the sinews a bit swollen, rests on
the sword's hilt, studded with rubies; at his foot,
a quiver on the steps of the throne with the terrible
burning arrows of heaven.

As his eyes examined the round earth, they came to
rest at last on Attila's dream. His grave old face
brightened creating a rosy hue on the sky - and
gave birth to the northern lights.

"My servant, Attila the hero, is sleeping soundly.
Now I must change his useless dream; and from the
wretched fogs of the mind, plunge him into a purer
dream of his destiny," he said.

"The time is come for, see, he conquers himself and
fights with zeal. Today he triumphed over Ármány
and saved the life his brother Buda wearies of.

"The time is come to possess his empire as is written
from time eternal in secret wedges on the Tree of the
World - Lord of all if Lord of his Flaw.

"Let be fulfilled what must be! Good or evil, let the
future come! Today I pledge Attila for the great deeds
- and gird his waist with the Sword of God."

He spoke - the great majestic person rose up and
solemnly entered his gala storehouse of weapons.
He chooses a sword engraved with secret writing
no living mortal might ever decipher.

His servants harness two steeds of wind that graze
on fire; he grasps the glittering reins, and Ishten
himself drives his shining war chariot as he descends
in the thunder of the sky.

He stops his horses at Attila's tent and quietly
enters where the lord of earth is asleep. He girds
the dreamer with the sword and gallops away on the
chariot as he came.

The soft air clatters but speeds him on like waters
skimmed, grating and howling under the violence of
wheels, so great the force so swift the speed.

Many awake from their sleep on far-off fields, pull
the covers up to their ears, and sleep a deeper sleep
at awakening dawn - no earthling may ever see the
Lord of Hosts.

In the morning Buda's wife flew to her husband,
screaming like a gull that smells the storm. "Old
man, don't sleep," she cried. "They're thick as
hand and glove over there.

"Táltos, wise men, seers, and altar-tender assemble
with their magic songs. Soothsayer, wizard, whoever
is adept, says his incantations; priests, spellers
of dreams, and a whole army of such.

"I always told you so, but what was the use - I have
been watching since dawn! Great things are happening
in your brother's tent - And you, O king, they are
letting you sleep!"

Buda rose at once, rubbing his eyes. "What's that,
what did you say?" he asks with trembling lips.
And then he reels away to find out from the good
hero Detre what is going on (who if he knows).

It is true the soothsayers are gathering in Attila's
tent, seers who tell the future by signs. Attila
summoned all, old Torda first, and presented them
his miraculous dream.

"Wise old men," he said, "the gates of knowledge!
On earth guardians of God's portals! Listen to my
dream, venerable seers. Was it good? Was it bad?
You unravel the meaning of it.

"I dreamt last night (as I often do!) I was a child
playing with my toy soldiers, in my long-haired
youth, within the bustling courtyard of my father,
the hero Bendeguz.

"My playmate, the boy Aetius was there, princely
son of a Roman family. Two armies were marshalled
from the sons of the Huns, and the two of us led
the opposing hosts.

"We played for a while with instruments that inflict
no wounds, blunt and innocent weapons. In craft and
cunning we competed, fighting now in Roman and now
in Hunnish style.

"But of a sudden all the swords turn keen, soaking
the grass with blood in serious war. A battle cry
resounds. The skies darken, and the blue arrows of
the War God blaze in thunder.

"And behold! An old gray man in pure white radiance
descends straight at me. He girdles my waist with a
mighty sword. I felt the weight, the pressure of
the belt.

"For a moment, as if wide awake, I touched the sword
- it was still there. The gray man stood before my
bed in a light from where I saw the roof of the tent.

"But the dream darkened - I trod the air like one who
swims the sea alone and far away. High overhead, without
wings, I sailed on the air, the sword naked in my
right hand.

"A crown of forests roared below me. The West poured
out great flowing rivers. Men grubbed the earth like
ants, and the ungrazed mounds of earth were black.

"Great cities rose of stone - and I swooped down
again and again and destroyed them to the foundations.
At once I cut down city after city with the sword.
Now, wise old men, what does this dream foretell?"

A long silence followed as they sank into their
beards. Attila turned his eyes from one to the
other, and Torda at last raised his voice -

"So it is! since time, since the beginning of time
according to the numbers three times seven, the
prophecy has passed from generation to generation
and every old táltos has left it for his sons.

"While keeping silent, I turned in my mind the circles
of long revolving years. And behold, the three times
seven is fulfilled this year! The táltos' true tongue
is no longer tied.

"Seven hundred, seven tens, and seven are the years
after which the Sword of God will come to light. And
the hero to whom God gives it, through a miracle,
may possess the world.

"Rejoice! happy signs are swimming in the sky. You
are the hero, you son of Bendeguz! I do not know
where this sword, and how - but it shall be yours
before this holy year has fully passed."

No sooner did the old priest close his lips, the
tent of Attila flapped at the door. Chief Bulcsu
entered with a servant boy whose face bespoke great
things to tell.

A sword was in his right hand, naked and curved.
"That's it! That's it!" Attila cried. Like a wind
shaking a grove of trees, a roar arose, and then
Bulcsu told his story.

"King! a little while ago this boy came - see he
is a lowborn herdsman - bowing down to my stirrup
he greeted me as I rode over his field.

"Then he told of unbelievable things - this morning
as his herd wandered over the tract, he saw his
favorite heifer was lame, the blood in her hoofmarks
staining the grass.

"He went right off to learn the cause and thought
to find some thorn or rock or bone - but behold,
he came on a piece of iron at last, sticking up like
the tip of an instrument of war.

"At first he leaves it there, goes off (to pick iron
from dust is poverty's mark), but regretting he
hastens back lest his cattle come to harm once more.

"Now behold, the sword's tip has risen twice as tall!
He reaches out, it bursts into flame. He is terrified
and runs away. When his fears are stilled, he returns
a third time to look again.

"He tiptoes nearer, his heart pounding terribly
hard. He pauses again and again - should he
go on? or not? He stands on tiptoe and peers ahead -
I tell it as me he told.

"From a distance he sees, like sedge from the lake,
the shimmering sword above the grass. As though it
came fresh from the burnisher's hands, the gold was
untarnished, the steel unstained.

"No longer daring now to approach the sword, he runs
recognizing my horse from far. He tells me. I warn
him to speak the truth. He beckons and leads me, I
go along.

"Oh, what a miraculous sight for a human eye! Only
the hilt was buried still in the ground. No flame
smote my right hand - it yielded lightly. Here it is,
wear it, you my king, as beseems your glory!"

He spoke and the young herdsman earnestly confirmed
it, shaking his long hair bleached blond by the sun.
His palm, too, shook with a great reward. And now
the soothsayers scattered round about.

Attila, though, enters the armory to vest the sword;
miraculously it fits into the most beautiful sheath.
He puts it on, draws it out, whirls it in his hand.

He strikes three times to the four mother winds -
the east, the west, the north, the south. The iron
winged through the air like a buzzing top, and the
towering soul of Attila spoke -

"Stars fall, earth shakes - it is come, the year of
wonders. Behold me, behold me, hammer of the world! I
shall drive the nations under my heels - the earth
has no other lord but me!"

He spoke, and hung his lovely treasure on a nail. Then
the Hun leader left to inspect his troops. The whole
army has learned the wonders of heaven, and they kneel
as before the divine.

The great tidings make everyone drunk with joy, but
Buda's heart is full of sorrow; and Gyöngyvér, troubled
with cares that swell her grief, repeats incessantly,
"Didn't I tell you so!"

But Ilda, seated at her work on the other side, heard
every word through the carpet wall. She laid down the
needle from her soft little hand; and when her husband
left, she took down the sword.

And she said to her son - "Come here, my little one,
my hope so tiny but waxing tall. My green tree, my
golden light - here is your inheritance, look at it,
my little son.

"Oh, a husband is a mother's strong support - from
day to day. But she knows he may fall. She puts her
hope in her own male child. Her faith lives on and
grows in her child's growth.

"On fortune's lap my need to fear I learned - my
husbands are riven early from my side. Quickly my
first husband I lost; his male embrace I learned
in a cry of woe.

"Once bitten by a snake, you shun the lowly lizard;
a heart dark with mourning fears a shadow. Me they
bit, my kinsmen, and hooded my bridal head with
black.

"Oh, what they did to my heroic husband! I loved him
with a girl's love while he lived. I love him dead,
and I love him now; when they bury me, I shall go
on loving in the grave.

"They lured him on a chase and cut him down. They
flung his mangled body at my door; while I was
weeping the death of my beloved lord, they sank
his hoard in the whirling Rhine.

"Then in my mourning with suitors they plagued me,
whom they brought all hours of the day. The prince
of the Huns was the very last, and this gave birth
to the thought of my revenge.

"I saw him as a dragon in human form, a howling wild
beast on an alien desert. This is the kind of man
I wanted, and gave my hand on it - he would take
revenge upon my brothers.

"But I found Attila noble and great, the one after
Siegfried I could really adore. With him this woman's
heart would be happy if it were not the old coffin
of my perished love.

"I know he can take vengeance in an honorable war.
But I don't want it that way! I want treachery and
ambush, the bloody corpses disfigured in death.

"Or should Gunther, the false, fall in fair battle?
Should Gernot's wicked soul be despatched to Odin?
Should Hagen, who fouly stabbed my lord, die in
honor at Attila's arm?

"No, my two dear brothers, kings of the Rhine! No,
Hagen. I weigh fairly the price. Let it be detestable
as the crime, and all the Nibelungs die betrayed!

"Let their beakers be filled with blood, the guest
bed their coffin; and the secure hostel aflame at
night bury in ashes the assassins of my lord.

"Come, come, my little boy, this you still cannot
understand. You only play with the sword, trying to
gird it. When you are the king... may vengeance grow
tall like you in the shadow of long forgetting.

"For that is why I gave you birth in an anguished love;
it was on my mind when he conceived you. When I carried
you, I always bore this burden. I planted it from my
heart into yours forever.

"You are closer to me than Attila, my husband - flesh
of my flesh and blood of my blood. A terrible vengeance
though you take for your mother, no deed were more
glorious, none more true."

He really did not understand what his mother said; he
dragged the heavy sword by the belt like children will
a little wagon in the tent, and he smiled now and then
at Krimhilda's words.

Then his mother, with fondness to please, bore a hole
in the belt at the middle. She buckled it on his tiny
waist, Aladár was happy when the sword clanked behind.

Up and down the tent and out in the field, down the
breast of the valley and up the hilltop, happily he
sailed the sword on the waving grass. His mother
watched from under the eaves.

He was not far from Buda's tent when the weapon tripped
him from behind. He fell headlong and gashed his face
upon a rock. It happened Buda's wife was passing by.

As she saw him, her heart gave a bound, pity wells in
her soul mingled with anger. She quickly runs and lifts
him from the ground, these the words that rage on her
tongue -

"The damn mother watches - the damn mother stands by.
Damn the woman who spoils her child like this, even
puts it in his hands and lets him sport. That kind has
no feelings really.

"She whelps her child like a wild animal, and
then what does she care if the little soul's lost,
let her sex be fulfilled, her couch, and she no
longer worries about the dangers to her son."

She screamed like this as she wiped the blood clean
in her veil. But Hilda came running when he fell and
snatched him angrily from her arms.

"Don't touch my son!" she snipped her words in two.
"Don't you teach me how to raise a child, barren you!
If you were any good at it, you could have one yourself.
A barren woman's odious in my eyes!"

"Barren I am not! Don't you call me that! I have
let my servant girls go in to my husband," screamed
Buda's wife as she hid her face. The rest of her
words were choked by sobs.

Ilda laughs proudly like a victor. Hearing the uproar,
Buda must come. His wife he sees weeping, the other
one laughing. Before he arrives, he begins like this -

"What's going on, sister? Today like yesterday? Like
this forever? Like this every day? I am a kind man,
but when I am angered... Now woman, leave
in peace what is mine.

"For your sake I scolded her yesterday. But I shall
put up with it no more, never. Understand? I am still
a king and master of my own house..."he said, and
threatening he shook his pudgy fist.

Hilda the Queen snapped back at him too, and then in
her rage she burst into tears. And in the heat of
quarreling they did not see that Attila himself is
drawing near.

He comes like a sudden thunderstorm, looming behind
them like a dark cloud. He puts his hands on Hilda's
lovely shoulders - she falls back on her husband's
heroic breast.

Standing a while without word or gesture, he stared
a long deep stare from Gyöngyvér to Buda and back.
At last, he spoke with a calm voice like this -

"Home, my good Ilda, we shall go today, this day, this
hour to our royal home. There you are the first of
royal women, and who would dare to make you weep!"

"We'll still bear this. She is to blame, not we. From
now on, I will have nothing to do with King Buda. At
home I shall be the lord of my good troops. Let Buda
command whomever he can."

Saying this, he lifted up his son. Without even a nod
he simply went away with Hilda. Buda stood there
long gazing like an idol at the empty place.

That day, that hour, the brightly woven rows, the
towering tents of Attila, flapped in the wind. But
by evening, his court having left, that great hill
and valley were standing bare.

Attila did not leave Buda without thanking his good
Scythian troops, and on his way that day he guided
his mount where the army gathered for games of war.

He stood, as a king, before the mustered troops.
His voice was strong, but without shouting he
spoke. The very least soldier heard, as though
near, great Attila's voice from his rounded chest.

He came to bid farewell, he said, and send them
home with love. He praised them as a whole and
praised them as one. He reproached no one for any
event in the past.

He called them fathers, called them sons; he called
them brothers, young and old. And everyone he
addressed took pleasure in the name, felt himself
in person honored.

The hunt is now ended and all are free, he said,
to return to their loved ones and their homes. At
this the men rejoice, embracing in fond fancy their
waiting wives.

But Attila returns to the course of his speech,
makes known his mind's made up for war. He relies
on chosen men, he says, to remain at his side of
their own free will.

As when a big stone splashes into a lake, there
follows withal a momentary noise, and silence. A
moment the multitudinous army foamed, and then
"let's go" the cry that charged a thousand ways.

They are no longer lured by a widowed love, or
dreams of gentle family ties. They want to fight
by Attila's side, come home with glory and with
gain.

But they quiet down at the king's calming words.
The whole army, he promises, will assemble in time,
but now - a game to train and practice the young
in arms.

"Noble young blood of the proud Hun clans! I shall
shape you now in the mold of my hand. Let your
fathers marvel - 'One empire ruled we, but they
all the world!"

Next day the young troops - he commands - shall
follow him, a veteran with every ten by arrow lot
shall ride. To Bulcsu Attila entrusts this task,
then wheels his fallow horse and rejoins his wife.

But King Buda sat in his loneliness within a corner
of the palace like a spider, weaving a web of grief
in a dark nook day to day.

One morning his wife Gyöngyvér says to him as she
put down her needlework amid a plop of tears; she
deftly lines her materials up, but turns her back
as she starts to speak -

"What's a man worth who yawns all day sitting on the
addled eggs of his thoughts! He wastes his time, and
hatches nothing. Such a man is dead before he dies.

"The blind can see and the deaf can hear King Buda's
works are come a cropper. But he goes on trusting
from day to day, slouches in sorrow, eating, sleeping
and putting on weight.

"Are you a man? You'd only like to be. Are you a king?
Shame! Where's that one man of yours who rises to defend
you? All, down to the last, have gone over. To him
Bulcsu gives the miraculous sword!

"Him too you raised, a serf, and gave your sister to
wife. Now he too puts the sword - this is gratitude!
- as if you didn't exist, into another's hand.

"Or do you too take sides, Ishten, God of War? Are you
smiling and applauding at Buda's shame? Do you look
on the King of Huns as an empty puppet? Do you present
the gift to the feet, not the head?...

"He did not give it as a gift to one man, or as a toy
to a crazy woman's child. He gave it for the good
and glory of all the nation - and you are the first
in the land, the King.

"First! Then strike out and stand at the very front.
King, do not let yourself be trampled in the dust.
Rally an army, make ready - or are you unconscious
waiting for it to crash on your head?

"Bitter regret is on the wing and claps you from
behind. I always see it in my terrible dreams -
always feel the horror of it when I wake! I feel
it now in my blood, and a chill envelops me.

"Man, move somewhere while there's time. The chariot
of destiny, do you hear, is screeching - begone.
Stand aside! or it will run you down dozing and
feasting amid fat cares."

Good Buda was slowly angered by these words. He
opened his mouth more than once to reply. Then like
a man enraged, he jumps up and stabs the ground with
his staff.

"That's enough," he howls, "no more of that! Don't
keep prodding me, you wyf of the Fiend! If you go
on railing at me like this, I'll show you on yourself
which of us is the man.

"You are to blame for this, your evil tongue. Two
women can never make it side by side. And you now
chide me as though I were not plagued without that
by fangs of grief.

"Short of brains, a woman easily provokes a fight,
but has no counsel when the harm is done, and
lays aside the knot she tangled. Leave that up
to the man's brain!"

Gyöngyvér fell silent at her husband's words. She
never heard the likes of it in the days of their
happiness when he always spoke in a kind and gentle
tone. Now she wept at the rudeness of his speech.

Buda called his chieftains to counsel and prepared
his soul darkly for a grave decision. But only a few
came scraping their feet, the others had left to call
on Attila.

Torda was not there, nor Szalárd, nor Bulcsu; even
Detre, the foxy adviser, was gone. Szömöre, the cooper,
was on the way with four or five hesitant serfs.

They assemble toward noon and sit down in silence,
one here, another there. And the eloquent vacancy
is filled with the void of old remembered crowds.

Buda bursts out in an unseemly rage, blames the
innocent for the guilty. With harsh words he rebukes
the present for those who are not.

"Did you make it? How about that! Hard, wasn't it
now! You'd sooner be, I know, over there with Chief
Bulcsu and the old táltos, and all the other traitors.

"I know your minds are on betraying me, you have a
foot in the stirrup. For you, King Buda and his word
are worth this much! You are anxious to join the rebel
Attila.

"But Buda will still flourish, by God he will. He
will command, not complain like an old crone. He will
sound out, his voice will be heard far off, and many
proud necks will break or bow.

"Who's that powerful one? What's his right? I made
Attila whatever he is. I spat him out - and if I
stomp on his head... What do you say, you haughty
lords, to this?"

Not a soul replied; they looked at one another and
shrugged. But Buda puffed himself up a bit more
and wretchedly stoked his anger again -

"You're silent? Are your voices stuck? Your rules
and good counsel in shreds? Well then, I'll talk,
but not to the empty winds - let those hear who
live and the still unborn.

"Buda shall no longer be a laughing-stock, by
Heaven. My envoys will set out to Attila at once.
Szömöre, as the senior, you shall be spokesman.
This I command you say to that rebel -

"He is tied to me by blood-oath, a vow by Ishten.
No mortal wit deceives the God of War - no craft,
no courage, no headstrong force. Far as God allows,
no farther may he go.

"I drank of his blood, and he a drop of mine -
to reign with me in peace, the younger brother
whom I lifted with a kinsman's goodness from a
low branch to my side.

"But he thanks me with this perfidious plot. He
crams my pillow with cares, and I wake unrefreshed
at morning grappling with yesterday's troubles.

"Not a week, not a day was he faithful to me since
I truly share my rule with him. He raised an army
straight away and kept me in alarm. The sword I
gave he turned against me.

"War and peace, the office of power, he arranged
behind my back. He deals with envoys and prepares
for war. My share in all this - gall and wormwood.

"Give him then, cooper, my message - he dare not
move with my fine young troops. I do not care
whatever else he has done - otherwise, what I gave,
I can take back.

"Also tell him boldly, I want it so, that the proper
place for the Sword of God is my tent. He is not to
swagger and keep it for himself - it belongs to the
head and not the feet.

"He did not give it as a gift to one man, or as a toy
to a silly woman's child. He gave it for the good and
glory of all the nation, and I am the first in the land,
the King.

"Therefore he must disband my warriors to their homes;
gird not the Sword of God on his waist. Otherwise our
pact I shall undo, strand for strand, and undrink my
vow that was sworn with blood."

With this, Buda dismissed his council, first naming
Szömöre's mate for the mission. The orders walked out
of the tent, one by one, in silence, and departed with
a dead murmur.

All day Buda's soul drives itself like a pendulum, a
swing set in motion by someone's hand. Like froth,
his anger lathers until his strength gives out.

But when his blood calmed at eventide, a great fear
displaced his anger. Fear and distress gouged his
heart like a wound that often hurts not when but
after it was gashed.

He slows his steps as he paces the palace, stopping
now and then while he muses. At night like a child
cuddling to his mother, he speaks discouraged to his
wedded wife like this -

"I tremble, Gyöngyvér, I tremble and shiver with
cold for today's step may hasten my loss. My envoys
bear a grave message to Attila, I fear the weight
will fall back on myself."

On hearing these words, Queen Buda opened wide her
lovely brown eyes, raised calmly her mournful mien,
and spoke with sympathy like this -

"Come, my dear husband, come! Sit down beside me.
Put your sad head on mine - like that. I once
shared with you the joys of youth, let me now be
a helpmeet in your troubles.

"You erred; anger advised to your own distress.
Don't fear, Buda, it's not too late to alter.
Post at once a rider on your steed and recall
the messengers from their course.

"It is rash to provoke Attila with words alone, for he
is joined, you see, by stubborn, deceitful warriors.
Build an army, I say, while he's off to war, and you'll
not be alone when he returns.

"Your caves are cached with silver and gold. Why hoard
dead chattel? Your forbears passed it on to you. But
what do you intend it for? When you die, it will be his,
you have neither daughter nor son.

"Or do you save that in the end he may despoil me?
Give it away! some to this man and the rest to that.
Who does not freely give of his love will become
a faithful dog for money.

"Give plenty, and promise still more to the chieftains;
they will come to your side, you'll see. Now summon
those envoys home. Then do not grieve, dear husband,
do not worry at all!"

So spoke the queen with shrewd and affectionate words,
awarding in the end her old one a kiss. Buda returned
it grateful and aglow, and then hurried off to order
the couriers recalled.

But Szömöre and his companion were flying well on
their way. They forded the Tisza on their horses
at night and continued on the misty, on the endless
plain eastward.

Quietly they covered the great distances, listening
to the clatter of hooves on the emptiness of silence.
At last Kadarcs (it was he) could endure no more the
hollow stillness.

"My friend!" he addresses the judge. "Why wordless
save perhaps with the horse? In council it is you
who always opens with the word, tells droll stories
at the feast, makes us double up with laughter."

The cooper replies - "What about that!... Would I
were dumb born, or a dwarf fool rather than have to
tell Attila this whatsoever, draw down on myself
his wrathful eyes."

Seldom talking, they pass that night into the next
day along the marshy mazes of the Tisza. It was
noon before they rode a ridge from where Attila's
camp they see, and his own huge tent.

As from the distance one approaches a hive of bees,
he sees a few insects flitting here and there - a
thickening swarm, a darting dance, and then a buzz
and zoom.

The hive booms; in and out the door a thousand
shining bees are crawling back on back. So teem
the swarms of busy men as Attila's town looms up
ahead.

Buda's camp, I think, is nothing compared to these
crowds that come and go and these palaces of Attila
that stretch for miles into the fields, towering
into the heavens.

This is a great range where unbroken stallions run;
a vast field betwixt where warriors train; palace on
corral and palace on corral - it would be hard, indeed,
indeed, to count them all.

At the camp's outer edge stood the servants' tents
with poles of plain fir notched. Farther in, the
tents were finer, the joints fitted smoothly with
a plane.

The palaces of the chieftains are clustered here and
there - so many proud, so many royal homes. Town
within town passes into fields, with green stretches
of distance between.

Women dwell in their secluded towns and rule over
their courts. Krimhilda passes swiftly, if she desires,
over a hanging corridor to her lord Attila's tent.

All this is work of marvellous craft. The awl argues
dead trees into blossoms and new leaves, unlike before,
painted in oil and unfamiliar colors.

The leaves are blood-red, the blossoms gold; branches
twist into hissing dragons where green birds perch
silently, birdlike bells tinkling in their stead.

In the center on a high hill is Attila's tent, the
topmost point shaded by the ancient Turul, tremendous
wings spreading for a flight, and wrought of solid
gold by its maker.

The columns flow to the ceiling, coiling like tendrils
now this way now that, the wood plated with gleaming
gold, and velvet tapestries swelling between.

Describe it, but there is no such quill, and the eye
too would dazzle at the scene; it all shines like a
fabled world - so miraculous the forms and so curious
the colors.

People are moving in and out wherever they can; the
crowds are teeming, and that noble animal, the horse.
All turns on the will of a single man, the pleasure
of Attila and the thoughts of his mind.

Now there is a festival, solemn holidays for a week
- in the morning, an offering to God with the new
Sword; then a tournament of heroes, ending in a
feast; at night, a bout with the champions' wine.

Here are the joys of three holidays at once - a parting
cup for Attila's war; the dedication of the Sword of
God; and a glittering reception for foreign envoys.

They came from Asia's farthest ends, in great numbers
the kindred people who hold together with the Huns
under one head and live between the ocean and the
shore of the Etel river.

The Bessenyő, Bolgár, Jász, and Kazar, the fortress
Kun who guard their camps with moats nine deep, and
the flat-tongued Palóc - all send their tokens of
friendship, showing homage to the empire of Attila.

They came with presents, none with empty hand, but
with the land's most precious jewels; sable and
ermine from northern skies; dear woven fabrics,
on camels, from the south.

And Magyar came also, the Hungarian chief who rules
a great country beyond the Etel river, sends a gift
like no other - fitting to sing its praise in song.

Numberless wild stallions born of wild dams roam the
plains by the waters of Etel. The mares are served
of stallion fiends, the flaming winds, and fleeting
lightning.

The Magyars capture the mounts they need, flinging
the flying noose - a dangerous game in which the
angry herd may overthrow often rider and horse.

With a company of men, Magyar wrangles a whole herd
(unheard of thing!) and sends them on to King Attila
as a present. The fame of this great drive will long
resound.

Longhair young men crack their whips rounding up
the stallions on a stormy run. Their tame mounts
outdo the wild, whirling around like a vortex or
heading them off.

Snorting and whinnying, the animals herd together.
They stamp and bite and rage - but never a gap.
They huddle their small fine heads like hillocks,
but the whip soon stings them forward again.

And like a bleak whirlwind on the puszta a cloud
of dust pursuing, spinning and advancing both
at once, the stallions run, the guards hurtle on.

Driven headlong, they cross many lands, often
swimming over swollen rivers. They are sometimes
permitted a chance to graze, but if they do not
pause, the drive begins all over again.

This is how they reach the plain near Attila's
camp. Many were watching all along the way. "The
Hungarian stallions," everyone calls them, and songs
still sing their fame.

Attila accepted the gift with pleasure and received
the kindred nation with all his heart. He praised
the chief and people, receiving them as one in body,
receiving as one in blood.

Before departing for war, they held great festivals
every day, this one the last; Attila feasts with the
envoys and makes decisions in between - he never
dreams of passing these on to Buda.

As Buda's men arrived, the heroes were drinking of
the old cups at the feast's ending - not with song
but entertained by wretched Cerkó's wit.

Cerkó was a dwarf, humped and ugly. Among the tall
warriors this stunted slave was a laugh. Aetius sent
him as a gift to Attila, and often he turned a camp
song from melancholy to merry.

Now too, Zángó was plucking a melancholy lay on his
lyre recalling the death of Keve, Béla, and Kados.
All the heroes wept, but laughed at once at Cerkó,
the dwarf, who spoke these hodge-podge words -

"I chased, my lords, the whinny of a calf, I killed
a cough in the dream of a hare. I shot a straw at a
sparrow's shadow, I crammed my bag with an old
tree's squeak..."

He began and drew peals of laughter. But the king's
mouth broke into no smile. He sits on a high dais
ripening his thoughts and lets his winey men make
merry with the dwarf.

That moment Szömöre entered, a stamp of anguish on
his brow - Shall he or shall he not deliver Buda's
message?... No, he won't! and with that he puts an
end to his troubles.

He could have ended them sooner, but lost his way,
the rascal - wading in the mazes of the Tisza, a
messenger idling with the message.

When Szömöre's old comrades saw him, there was a
burst of laughter and shrill cries from the Hun
chiefs. They took it as a joke seeing him stand
confused - "O cooper, tell us what news you bring."

But anxiously he cast his eyes aside, turning them
where the somber Attila sat. They laughed at this
and all his other moves - "Wise cooper, come drink
and tell us something funny!"

"Respectful greetings to Attila the King! Does my lord
give me leave to drink and jest?" Szömöre began. Attila
nodded, and Szömöre spoke after a sip of wine like this

"Envoys of the great King Buda we come..." At this a
hearty laugh arose again (only Detre sharpened his foxy
ears), but someone growled - "You're missing, my lords,
missing something!"

Loudly the cooper and with a serious face he spoke,
but only aroused their merriment more. Sternly he
relayed the command of Buda - and they laughed at
the manners he mimiced.

When he came to the part where Attila dare not wage
war with the troops or the Sword of God, they roared
with laughter, and Attila retired to his adjoining
tent.

Szömöre had to keep on drinking now to wash down his
big joke. But he only sobered up all the more, worried
at what the king would do.

And true enough, Attila summoned the cooper that very
day before the last drink of the feast. He shrinks from
looking the king in the eye, but feels their anger
through his eyelids burning.

"You fox! it was smart of you - your tail's not
snipped. You knew how to gild Buda's folly. But
I would not recommend," King Attila speaks, "that
you or anyone try it again!"

In supplication, the vassal bent over Attila's hand
disclaiming any purpose of ill; no more, he said,
would he return to Buda, remaining as long as he
lived Attila's servant.

"No," Attila speaks, "you must reverse your tracks!
Tell Buda to send no more messages like this, for
I will put him down, in disgrace, like my old clothes.
Lucky if he escapes disaster and grief.

"As for the Sword of God... It's mine! Who else's?
It's time will come to harvest the world! Until then
sheathed it stays in my tent. Bear this reply to
Buda from his Lord."

The cooper was happy at an outcome like this; next
morning he lightly mounted his horse. And Attila moved
his youthful army on, rejoicing at the open bridge
to glory.

Girls on his great path strew flowers, and women
float an arch of fluttering veils. Away, away
they go, off to war with music as on a nuptial
ride.

King Buda now opens up his cache working by night,
an old and faithful servant by his side. They dig
to the tunnelled bottom of the tent, where gold and
silver shine into view.

The buried treasures tumble from the tomb. Whoever
once saw them is no more; and the workmen they slew,
sealing up the secret of their lord.

Homeward from Attila, meanwhile, Detre the old
Saxon espies the light of a burning torch. He
is surprised the king is about so late, suspicious
of what is going on inside.

Reining his horse in the midnight dark, the old pile
of bones gingerly dismounts. He leaves his steed
with the reins thrown back. At Buda's he is free
to come and go as he will.

Now, too, raising the tent-latch, he says, "Good
evening, good luck in your work." Startled on his
knee, Buda glances up and seeks to cover the hoard
with his hands.

But quickly he sees and recognizes Detre; from him
he has no cause to hide. It is too late anyway, nor
does he really mind - he would like to begin by
trying the old Saxon out.

"Gold!" he says. "Treasure! I have some too, you see
no beggar rendezvous is old King Buda's yet! And
still his friends are wary, waiting on crumbs that
fall from alien boards.

"O Detre! if everything - I never would have believed
it - you too a traitor to Buda? Howling with his
enemies in one den and drinking Attila's wine, you crow
'Perish Buda! Perish Buda!'

"What do you wish? Feasting? Enjoy yourself in my
palace day or night like the god Odin. Do you want
gold and gems? Take them! Whatever pleases your eye,
wink! and they will fly to your beckoning.

"Only remain faithful with your counsel of old. Protect
my person with the iron-clad host of Goths. For see, I
perish, such his arrogance, if we postpone in rallying
our friends to arms."

At this, the gray-headed champion gloats over the king,
"Do you really think I would sell myself at a price?
Yours the treasure, mine the soul! I shall do, it says,
what I judge the best.

"I look with sadness on the rift between you. I warned
you from the start with heartfelt words. But you would
not listen, or Attila. And now the sword will hardly
stay in the sheath.

"It were better I go than choose sides. Why should
I meddle in a brothers' war? What are the feuds of
the Huns to a Goth? We bow to him, yes, who proves
the stronger.

"I was always faithful, and still am. No one can deny
it - as long as Buda ruled, and Rof, and his father;
one king at a time I always served; but with two kings
ay, ay, that is something else.

"Attila is powerful, he can ruin me; you, too, can if
I join him. For no one knows how the dice of war may
fall when you rouse to vengeance the Norns.

"The Huns now side with Attila, but once the brand of
war flares up... for envy and revenge have long lain
suppressed... I dare not join Attila either.

"He is now the strong one, you the weak; but you may
grow strong as well. Victory belongs with the Sword
of God. Who knows what you are secretly thinking of?

"Neither with counsel nor even less with arm poised
will I help you or the other. Home to the camps of
the gentle Goths I go, and wait there in peace for
the outcome of it all."

The champion Buda was not prepared for this reply -
"O Detre," he shouted, "you hypocrite Detre! I
expected a defender of my just cause, but you only
care for your own skin, I see.

"Whom can I win with silver and gold if an old friend
ends up like this! How shall I rally the people back
to my flag if the first to run are my old friends!"

"There's a way," replies Detre, "to these things. You
don't catch a bird with drums or shouts. No use looking
for a traitor with gold, saying 'Here! be loyal.'
Who's that stupid?

"No one is so cheap that you may say - 'I bought you,
didn't I, with my treasures.' Gold like that would be
despised - no one will even sit by you. He will not
look back in his haste to make off.

"But if you give with a hidden design and for free,
you need not fear your gift will be lost. He will
pay without suspicion the presents are guiding him on.

"If you want his heart to rage with pity, he feels
more compassion weighted down by gold. Or if you
want to prove his sense of wrong, the weight of
your silver will count for more.

"Treasure revives dead gratitude, or an old hate. It
scores a new wound where the scar has healed. It crooks
the straight and rights the crooked - but you must
cleverly use a cover."

Good Buda's mouth gaped, his eyes widened. "O Detre!
I do not understand. What shall I do? Teach the untaught.
But in plainer language - I'll reward you for this, if
never before."

That whole night until the break of dawn, Detre talked
and the other listened. He left at daybreak, scarcely
sooner - never again to be seen in Buda's tent.

He went and aroused from their morning sleep all his
followers at the, court. With his troops he set out
homeward, to his own people where they are settled
in colonies ringed by iron.

Scattered like islands, this foreign nation can never
stir against the powerful Huns. But they live by their
own laws, not in bondage. They have their own chiefs,
Detre is one.

On his way or on arriving home, the old Saxon runs his
secret couriers to these chieftains. He alerts them -
be on guard with your armies, for now great times are
in the offing.

Day to day, this alien people go on with their life,
innocent as before. But a bold look in the eye tells
a lot, and shines with a hope of liberation.

This is how they prepare. Meanwhile, the hero Buda
secretly calls the Huns, summons the chieftains one
by one, steals on them like this with his precious
gifts -

"Brother, you never come my way, you stay away too,
too much. I could die, for all my kinsmen care, since
I made Attila a king; while he contrives to make us
one king less.

"It is best, oh, to dispose what I have before my
death. We never know what fate will bring tomorrow.
Why should he down it all - look, this one's for you.
May it lend you kindly memories of myself."

To others - "How are you, my old crony? We are left
behind, isn't it so? You and I both, no? The times
are new, and people; the whole world is new. If an
old man does not yield, they push him out.

"It was not like this in the days of Bendeguz and
Rof, under whom you served - but that was then! What
does Attila care about blood once shed!... But take it
- this is Bendeguz's, what's left of his treasure."

Some he addresses - "I no longer dare invite you
to a feast, old boy; the cup is flat. Attila is
suspicious - of you as well as me. You do right!
Be wise and avoid me in the future as well.

"What use are goblets and bowls, gold and silver, for
a Buda who is not the king? Believe me, Attila would
like to get his hands on them. Take these, my friend,
as souveniers of happy days!"

To some he says - "This is a secret I'm telling...
Don't be afraid! It can't cause you trouble with
Attila, even though he wants me out of the way which
is not just - but if it has to be!

"Man dies only once! I don't care about myself. But
I do pity my wife, he may plunder her portion. All
I have is here. Put it away for her, I ask you, and
be the guardian of poor Gyöngyvér, my wife."

So he spoke with others who, Detre had slyly learned,
were inclined to revolt. (He had long weaved his own
secret plot) and he turned in their names, knowing the
Huns.

Some Huns (but when is a great tree without a shadow!)
envied King Attila. Some feared the swift rise of his
power; others thought him prouder than before.

He follows only his own mind, some say, and acts on
will. He disregards old customs and encourages the
new. Others find the discipline an oppressive burden
although they applauded at first.

Those who grew lazy by the peaceable Buda see for
Attila they must fight forever. They would rather
give their heads for once and all in battle than do
without a life of ease again.

Others remember Attila may once have wounded them
either by some word or deed. Or even if not wounded,
they might still be offended. Never do the mighty
know what offends the weak.

A few feel Buda is right, secretly tormented by the
justice of his cause. Many fear the confidence of the
common man - how tall this may help Attila grow!

One gold incites; the new another. One is a born
plotter, another driven by envy steeped in gall;
still another is hot of blood and always rebels.

For man is a man, then too like now - he was
delighted and shocked at Attila's stature. Buda
finishes with everyone under fine colors, using
the words the hero Detre put in his mouth.

When a breeze is born in the blind heat of noon,
a fine dust first flutters on the road, and then
the silvery aspens slide in a silent belly dance.

...Where did you come from, roamer of the sky? Or
were you born of a sudden at my feet? My face hardly
feels your breath, but there I see you laving in
the dust.

Now the forest rustles, the pool ripples. A willow
waves the long shadow of her hair, tosses leaves;
swings her arms, and soon her whole slim body sways.

Here and there a grove roars sweeping to the ground
and the sky vault is littered with scudding clouds.
Lightning leaps from the scabbard. I hear, it seems,
its distant rattle.

So the news spreads in the camps of the Huns - in
muted talks, wine cups, the toasts of the great. How
does it rise? travel? who adds to it? who starts it?
The air itself may scatter it about.

First the praise of Buda sounded, the good old times,
and the long leisurely wedding feasts, - free food,
no work, and merry wine; and more than that, the soul
of Buda, good and gentle.

Those who dared not mention Buda for months, now
go with him wherever. He rejoices that his words
find an open ear, or they speak up if he starts
to say a word.

When two whisper together, neither knows that Buda
crossed the other's palm. And both are emboldened,
believing many others are now on his side.

Courage it gave, and increased their daring, confidence
their cause was just - "I took his gold," they secretly
say, "but only of course for the common good."

"Yes indeed... (the stubborn Scythians yearn for Buda's
reign with words like these) yes indeed, our word was
honored when we the high vassals were the king's own
peers.

"We could go there like home, uninvited; stand up when
we wished, sit down unbidden; when we made a request,
our tone was a command. Buda asked us when he gave
an order.

"Because he was humble, unproud, and meek - gentle,
kind, amiable and human. He was compliant, yielding,
faithful; but just too, and wise. He was not wilful
in the very least."

Another feigns anger and plucks a meaner tone -
"He had no right, he didn't know what he was about
raising his brother to the throne and giving away
what was his not to give.

"Buda cannot give us a partner king without asking
- 'Do you want this, my nation?' Let an assembly
be called which will not leave it there. Get back
his powers whether he agrees or not!"

Thereon, they heap abuse and curses on the chiefs

- Torda, Szalárd, Bulcsu, the judge, and the cooper.
They sound the names with fists clenched, blaming
them for Buda's partition of the throne.

Many are stricken aghast at their own words, at
Buda's disgrace, his jeopardy as he abjectly tells
in naked terms the stark distress of his body and
soul.

Most are horrified Attila does not keep the eternal
oath he swore with his heart's blood. Now is the time
for all to guard against the fall of the Huns as
a nation.

Now talk like this won't remain at the top. Clan by
clan, it runs wild among lesser men, sets out like a
snowslide and gathers, story giving birth to story -
the people bewildered at the madness of their chiefs.

They are like a large stud of horses under a
gathering storm and lightning in early summer;
forgetful of their contented grazing, they
suddenly skitter nervously about.

Some stretch their long necks, sniff the storm
with flaring nostrils; others kick up their
flying tail, take alarm at their own hoofbeats,
scud away and return.

There are no wattles, or protecting eaves. Two,
three horses cross their necks and wait with
trembling flanks for the great time when the
heavens will burst asunder with stone and flood.

Such is the commotion among lesser Huns; their
minds confused, order breaks down. Knots of men
huddle together, smell blood, and wonder what
dreadful times are coming.

The War God Ishten proclaims the death of Buda
with miraculous signs; a comet plows the darkness
of heaven. The northern flares lift up dripping
swords in blood.

Ghastly events must befall, the sun is eclipsed
by day and the moon by night. The children of
the Huns are in darkness. May it not be a sign
the whole host is lost!

Many horrible monsters are born of women and beasts.
Blood-hideous the springs and foul. Blood milks from
the veins of Kabala's udder. The pale dead walk abroad
at night.

The War God Ishten gave simple men these signs of
Buda's death, warned Attila to protect the people -
but they, poor mortals, do not understand.

To ward off disaster, the Sky's prophecy foretold
the calamity that sped Buda to his ruin - this the
wretchedness of human fate!

Buda's camp is now less forsaken and stark, people
tramp the tall grass once more. First under cover of
night they come, and then by day. First one at a
time, then several at once.

Stirred to life, Buda's steeds tune to a neighing
stream of callers. The hungry find cheer at the camp-
fires in the court. All crowds are crowded, all
brilliance bright.

When ants go a-raiding, a few scouts are sent from
the nest until at last the entire hill. Teeming they
surge this way and that.

So was the road to Buda's camp busy with people
speeding up and down. They hasten spokewise into
the realm, arriving at the hub or leaving for
the rim.

Troops guard the royal person of the king within
the palace, the supporters of Buda's party provide
their share of men; and night to night the clan
fathers take their turn in sleeping there.

Hope deludes King Buda himself; his legs and arms
are drowsy no more, he feels, with age. Conceit
froths him up like empty winds the foam; he moves
lightly and gads about - a young man again.

This is how a reed-born bubble floats here and
there a while, brighter at every turn and bursting
at last, a nothing drop of water.

Seeing the big crowds that gather as if paying him
tribute, giving of their strength and adding to his

- like that Buda feels a power in his body.

"Look, Gyöngyvér, my wife," he smiles, "I am not
ancient, is was only melancholy and haggard care.
My muscles are rippling with the strength of iron
- really I could fight Attila himself."

"Ah," she replies, "you stab at my heart. No more
of such senseless talk, do you hear, or else this
first fruit of fortune will turn away, much less
save your lonely head from Attila."

But even then Buda could not refrain from mouthing
his unfortunate speech, sitting among the lords and
panting from wine - "You shall see me, all of you,
take on Attila!"

He brings up his deeds as a youth again and again -
how he fought against the savage Gepids. He relives
his war days, judges victory over Attila no more than
a nothing.

But the warriors ponder well, Buda present or without,
in the palace, on the gallery outside or on the road
as they come and go.

It was easy until now to jump the ditch and boldly
take Buda's side with words. But how will it end?
And what of the beginning? There was a great deal
to confer on this.

At first the words come loud and fast, the ring-
leaders proudly flinging boasts - they would rather
hurl their defiance to heaven than curbing their
spirit acknowledge Attila.

But many are scandalized, the wiser recoiling at
talk so fiercely steep. They measure where the
disastered fell and say - "I'm not leaping after
them!"

Their speech turns cautious, doubt misgives and
fear stirs. A hundred counsels and a hundred various
minds - Buda's cause washes away like a wave-worn
cove.

And wherever they lay their heads together, one head
more is always present. Not many see, but those who do
are savage-stricken - it is the face of Attila,
the avenging monster!

Like yellow leaves slipping silently away on an
autumn wind - pale of visage they turn, and one
by one pass the horrible vision wordless by.

A lost cause, they say, they long have known. Their
words turn back those still arriving. Only the far
committed must stand their ground at Buda's side.

Wouldn't Attila know of Buda's deeds? He does, his
partisans report. But he waves his hand, belittling
the tales like brushing little flies away.

Men there were enough on Buda's side to call their
position hard and strong - with leadership and
counsel, or were Attila not so vastly superior.

They fall apart though with different counsels;
and their fire, one might fear, would die in smoke.
At last the counsel which reason denies is given
by their common fear.

"This is a camp on the open field," they say. "We'll
never have a brave existence here - let us build a
city, stone on stone like many others in the land of
the Setting Sun."

Everyone welcomed these words. Buda and the others
proposed they build the city, complete if they could,
before Attila returned.

There was an ancient city on the right bank of the
Danube which had fallen to the swords of Keve and
Béla. Its towers, bastions, earthworks are now in
ruin, humbled by the Huns who invaded there.

The roof was burned to ash though the walls still
stand mouldering slowly away. A rude and simple
people live in the halls where the winds prowl from
the north and south.

It leaps to the mind of everyone who saw it ever,
and right off imagination rebuilds the ruins. The
breaches repaired and the ditches cleared, let us
move Buda's camp over there!

Everyone bustles at Buda's word to put the whole
town on the road. Buckles are loosened, joints
undone - no trace remains of Buda's old court.

Skilled hands undo the hinges, sturdy shoulders
bear the weight of rafters, tent-poles fall, stakes
are dug up. And only ditches remind one of Buda's
old camp.

The town is quickly on axletrees, huge wheels, and
rolling cylinders. A herd of oxen draws and the camp
sets out. Now only the winds of the Mátra wander there.

Arriving slowly to the Danube, they fashioned numerous
rafts of beams. Floating from one bank, they reach the
other - men on horses' tails, cattle on rafts.

With whips they drive the wretched of the earth, the
alien horde, to raise the city, the workers in stone
and lifters of blocks.

They haul boulders for a hill, they labor day and
night, they stuff up the hungry gaps in the walls,
and push the towers, at the four corners, to the
sky.

Faster than you think, they rebuild the fort, they
carpenter the gates of enormous logs. They set the
drawbridge with pulleys and hoist, and gird the
bottom with a terribly deep moat.

After walking over the grounds, King Buda builds his
wooden tent on the great stone palace. The Huns
draw a cope over the top once ravished roofless
by fire.

Buda's camp which was, is no more. Who wants may
look on high erected pavilions pranking in the sky,
this is how they built of a sudden Buda's new town.

My song is now hovering over its nest, and Buda's
revolving sun is swiftly setting. It is dusk,
dusk... late for the bird - don't you see how long
the shadows are?

Buda's dark night is funnelling up. A resting place
only on the road to fate? New songs, new deeds are
waiting to be sung if only God grants the poor
minstrel power.

To Attila I turn where he keeps putting off the war,
cooling his passion. He ransacks his soul for delays -
and dreads the furious outburst of his wrath.

Perhaps Buda will come to his proper senses; his party
perhaps will crumble (it is already split); his soul
perhaps he will conquer with patience and distill his
resentment drop by drop.

Attila subdued the rebellious Illyrians quickly, by
fear alone and little pouring of blood. He waged an
unseen war of terror - his fame overrunning armies,
conquering fortress walls and gates.

Affrighted, the people laid keys before his feet;
he took hordes of captives and high hills of ransom.
All paid him homage sending him hostages; his power
trampled through the streets of cities.

The Emperor, though, withholds the promised wages,
frightened by awful reports on Attila's conquests
of the imperial lands, of Huns who deal with people
as their lords.

He demanded Attila deliver the hostages, captives;
vacate the empire at once; take his army back to
the dwelling places of the Huns, and only then would
he give what he earlier promised.

Attila flared up in proud anger - real or feigned,
he best knows himself. Feigned and real perhaps, for
the demand was offensive to deliver first and wait
for a payment.

But he delays, I say, because of Buda also. His
spirit tosses in care and anger. He still needs
to train the youthful army - he sees the pleasure
they would take in battle.

Blaze off! he attacks without declaring war, replies
to the Emperor like a terrible guest. Deep into the
Empire he strikes with seven prongs - the army surges
like a tide, whirls like a vortex.

He scorches, robs and burns wherever turning. He
draws whole regions behind in billows of smoke.
He plunders their wealth, drives their people off,
leaves only the foraged surface of an empty earth.

They collect taxes ten and twentyfold. They cannot
manage the vast flood of booty. Purple is traded off
as never before with six-foot halberds for measure,
or piled up and burnt if there are no takers.

True, the Emperor sends envoy on envoy offering to
swell the payment of tax. But Attila turns a stone-
deaf ear, refusing the ambassadors before his face.

He waits for winter when rivers beat their own
bridges of ice, and he will pound on proud Byzantium's
gates - but I must follow the course of events
in turn.

King Buda prowls about at home, still moody and unsure
behind his walls. He gazes out on the eastern steppes
- his realm how vast, his lair how small.

A wild beast when first encaged finds neither room
to stretch nor rest. He paces up and down a few steps
this way and back, and with a prod he vainly butts
the bars.

This is how the Hun sovereign walks among his walls,
writhing in the torment of mind more than body. Sitting
or standing or lying or sleeping, that will not rest -
it storms in his dreams.

From the battlement he looks out one day brooding
over the plain unhappy and alone, where Buda's camp
once stood and Attila's in the distant mist.

He suddenly strikes his brow, his eyes narrow and
fix upon one point - in his soul not the air. And
throwing back his head, he cries aloud -

"O God of War, Ishten, you sent this idea from
heaven pitying my ruin. Or did someone tell it
me waking - in an unremembered dream? No, God of
War, you did now this very moment!

"Huns all would rally round me at once, and I too
would be invincible with this sword, if ever I put
my hand on it - I, King Buda, as God willed!

"But who will dare?..." As he spoke, Kanyaró and his
people flashed before his eyes; though camping as a
party of Buda, they were not allowed in, only outside
the moat.

Kanyaró was not the head or father of a clan; he
leads the dregs of the Huns and alien peoples, who
rob and burn the fields of friend and foe, kill
fathers, mothers, and sleeping guests.

This band never dwells under tented shacks. They are
swarthy from the rain, cold, and heat; their skin is
hardly skin but a tawny bark. The saddle is their bed,
and hearth too for steaming meat.

In times of peace (this army though is never at peace)
it hides out on the fringes plundering and plaguing
aliens and Huns alike. In war they gallop out front
sowing terror for miles.

Now to Buda's side they came like vultures, naming
their price as gallows and gold - the one to gull,
the other to gain. Though reluctant to grant it, Buda
sorely needed help.

Buda now summons the army's head, most horrid chief
of an ugly people. Among the handsome Huns, never was
one so odious as to resemble whom I describe.

Nature distorted him with a flask head and pug nose,
but he made himself still more hideous - disfiguring
the flesh on his face to fill his foes in battle
with greater dread.

Bristles grew awry and sparse on his scarred cheeks
and lips; his tiny eyes gleamed from their deep
socket like piercing daggers; his voice was a dog's
- a raw, rough yap.

With such, King Buda enters into talks, calling him
on the field apart - "I shall see, Kanyaró, whether
you have the hero's heart to enter Attila's premises
by night.

"A sword hangs there - you will know it (the sheath
was his father's, he told him the signs). If secretly
...bring it to me, you will earn its worth in silver
and gold."

Kanyaró was taken unawares, pondered for a long time,
but at last he brightened up with daring for a deed
that was evil and great. His mouth was more horrible
than ever as he grinned and uncouthly uttered -

"You'll get it. But give me gold, plenty of it. I'll
risk it, but then pfh, pfh! I'm not hanging around
for Attila. If he snaps me up, a hundred Hadurs,
whoreson dog, cannot save me, not he or his sword!"

"Go, go, Evil One! Ármány!" Buda spoke in fright.
"I fear him you dared blaspheme will smite you dead,
here, or on your way, with his burning shaft; -
or you payment for the sword I reject."

That very day Kanyaró ranges his men, and they thread
through the night on the way without a road. By day
they sleep in marshy holes, dreading the revenge of
every true Hun.

And as the third night turned on that day, they met
by Attila's towering camp. Their leader posts them
here and there, and he alone stalks his way inside
where they sleep the first sleep of night.

But Krimhilda, Attila's beautiful wife, was sweetly
thinking of her absent husband. She was still awake,
and sleep teased her as she sent the turtles of her
sighs after her lord.

Her swan white body tossed on a bed of foam, her
soul afloat on a sea of desire. She was weary of
Aladár's little panting breath, round about her
the carpeted night was close with clinging shadows.

Suddenly she hears the snort of a steed below. She
cries in joy - a messenger! she leaps up, looks
around. Someone hitched a stallion at Attila's
door. "Oh, who else, but my dear lord himself!"

She throws a haphazard veil over her slender body,
ants of love firecrawling in every vein. She starts
across the hanging corridor, but half way over
stops in fright.

Strange the man, uncouth of form, who comes from the
palace and leaps on the horse. "Who's there at this
hour?" This does not stop him, and her shriek pursues
him like a hawk's.

Immediately all the sleeping guards rise up. Kanyaró
whistles thrice on his two fingers; the famished
wolves break forth at the signal, and many who sleep
awake to eternal night.

And so the fighting in blood is crowned with success.
But Kanyaró does not dare rifle the tents for booty.
He orders his men to scatter - be off, to the borders!
Alone he delivers the sword to Buda.

Next day King Buda shows it off with joy and pride
to all the council. He boasts of receiving it the
night before by a miracle. But they hear credible
news from Attila's camp.

From there the news spread everywhere, meeting with
Buda's different report that he won the sword in a
miraculous way. Not a man in all the land believes.

Buda's party would desert him if they could only
escape Attila. Their new confidence dies in a pale
despair. What help in a sword that is sneaked away!

Hilda sends a courier to Attila reporting when the
sword disappeared, and where - at Buda's. O - ai!
...it was the first time ever they saw (he said not
one word) that red face pale.

He turned white withering to a ghostly green; and
then his blood raced. He leaped from his seat, ready
to act, and thundered in his deep voice - "We are
departing for home."

He summoned the Emperor's envoys and let them lay
their tribute at his feet. He released as proper the
captives and hostages, setting the day and hour
to return.

And like the wind of a flaming storm, the report
of the angry Hun's coming roars ahead; everywhere
people shudder and imagine the terrible disaster
about to fall on Buda.

As though mountains split and heavens cracked, as
though the axletree of the world collapsed, this
they imagine, or some greater disaster Attila's
wrath may bring, and Buda's wrongdoing.

Many Hun chiefs, heads of tribes, are already on
the way to meet their lord. But no one dares speak
up for Buda, or steal in Attila's heart a word of
pity.

Detre, too, is there preening his loyalty (silently
cursing at Buda's nothingness while his soul wanders
darkly in the future). With him are all the other
foreign kings.

Up to Keveház, Attila leads his troops; there he
sacrifices. He reaches Érd, turns toward the river
and Buda's new city; his army appears on the heights
of Tétény opposing the town.

Hearing this, Buda quickly orders shut the gates.
With a huge crossbeam the lock is reinforced; above
the dizzy height they raise the bridge. The parapets
bristle with arrows and spears.

"Swimming as a fish or flying as a bird," the king
says, "the son of man only enters with a miracle
here. Come from anywhere, the earth will end. Go
wherever, the ground will gape."

But Attila was now near, and with his army occupied
the whole mountain range. He immediately sent an
envoy to the gate proclaiming loudly from below -

"Where is King Buda? Let him listen himself. Attila
sends me, lord of all the Huns. With his armed host
he is camped on every peak; he counts this nest as
a heap of down.

"He will hurl mountains into your moat, trample
highways up the walls of your ramparts. Whoever
lives inside, consider dead. Father and son he shall
put to the sword.

"But if you hail him, bringing the Sword of God, hurl
your gates from their hardware into the dust, and
once through your city his people march, this last time
he will accept you with a kinsman's heart."

"No gates, no sword!" Buda cried with passion. "Only
across my body he and his people enter! But if he
comes entreating, I shall receive him in my former
grace, the rebel."

Attila understands, with a laugh, the reply -
Ha ha! He chooses a good sword from his armory,
sets out girding it as he goes. All the lords
follow him, beseeching in his wake.

Do not go, this is a plot. By Hadúr, where are you
going! They are a whole camp. You are a hero, but
still one man. The Huns touch the hem of his robe,
but the sparks from his eyes wildly warn them away.

Coming down to the fort (this is Old Buda now) Attila
sharply commands - open up the gate. They lower the
bridge, they open up; behind, the bar falls home.

Buda waits for his brother on the wall. Even far off
the blood red cloak terrified him. His hair stiffened
beneath the helmet. The mortal net was closing about
his eyes.

He wants to say it, but he cannot speak - do not let
him near, cut down this man who comes alone. But no
one would dare obey the king - they stand still like
statues of stone.

As Attila comes nearer, his eyes shoot lightning, his
body swells until it almost bursts; his eyes are
wrath, his walk is wrath, the very air between them
compressed.

Attila's hand is empty, but poor Buda's blood runs
cold. The Sword of God - involuntary weapon - he
quickly bares in his defense from fierce Attila's,
misgiving though his final hour is come.

Attila too draws a sword, without a word, but with
a deathly cry. They struggle. The two camps watch
from above and below; and from far, the clangor of
combat trails behind.

Buda is duelling not with the Sword of God (for
in his hand the steel is merely steel). As a man
in his name's defense he fights, a warrior in his
youth and the somber close of his life.

As they pounced again, for the third time, Attila
sent Buda's sword flying. That was it. Buda left
his back unguarded as he shunned death's stark face.

Screeching once more, Attila darts forward, thrusts
his sword through the shoulders to the breast. The
Buda who was sinks with his face in the dust, and
a terrible silence crystallizes in the air.

Ishten, God of War, seeing from on high, weeps for
the Huns a great tear, saying - "Ay it is numbered,
they are already numbered - the generations of his
people from Attila onward.

"God he could have been on earth below, but too
great for a mortal such a temptation," he said.
And wiping a tear, he resigned himself to that
law which is hard and everlasting.

Meanwhile, from the tower of the high palace the
widow hah! of Buda rushes down. Tearing the serpents
of her red brown hair, she runs with mouth afoam
screaming before she reaches there -

"Ilda, haughty Hilda! ruthless Krimhilda! A curse on
you! You shall not escape it. Never live to know the
joys of your son. Let your murderous husband's line
die out with him!

"Give up the son in anguish you bore in anguish. But
do not rejoice as then you did. Let him you bore to
life die a ghastly death!..." She wailed and sank
as though dead upon her lord.

Attila came to himself at the woman's throes of pain,
and shuddered hearing the name of his wife. He stared
at a little point before his feet in blood and spoke
in a voice of hollow dark -

"Do not curse, you monster! no guilt has she in this.
The child's innocent of his father's deed. Your curse
will not retrieve him from Keveház... his funeral and
burial there will be royal."

With a moan, the woman buried her tearless eyes and
her face into the wound; all her ladies wept. Now a
Hun chief who sided with Buda raises the miraculous
sword.

He carried it, handed it over to King Attila; the
others stood silently behind. The hero shudders as
he touches the hilt, but speaks right out as he looks
around the circle -

"Hun lords, why stare! This is my deed alone. It is
done. I dealt severely but justly. The door is wide
open now to mercy - and I blame no one for the past.

"Huns! I raise God's Sword and invoke that while the
world endures it stand by the nation's empire, name
and glory!... and eternity to eternity it will never
                            end."

I

Buda Shares the Throne with His Brother: in the Greek sources Bledas, Blidas, and in the Latin sources Bleda, the older brother of Attila. The Hungarian Chronicles use simply "frater" without distinguishing seniority.

Bendeguz: father of Buda, Attila (and Rof); son of Torda.

Keveház: house of Keve, burial ground of Hun rulers.

Zagyva: right-hand tributary of the Tisza river.

palace tent of wooden art: reported by legend and described by Priscus Rhetor, envoy sent by the Byzantine Emperor Theodosius II to the Huns in 448 A.D.

Szilárd (Szalárd, Szoárd), and Bulcsu: of apparently Altaic origin, still preserved in Hungarian as place and personal names.

Torda the ancient táltos: chief priest or wizard. The táltos was an extraordinary person, born with distinguishing marks. In addition to being a wizard, the táltos was also a fighter for justice.

the cooper Szömöre: the cooper (kádár) was the priest-judge authorized to preach the judgment of God and deal with all matters of dissension and punishment for offenders.

Álmos: man's name meaning interpreter of dreams.

Detre: Dietrich - historically Theodoric, king of the Eastern Goths, who after the battles of Tárnok (near Potentia in the Tárnok valley) and Cezumor (Cetium or Cetii Murus) became, according to legend, a hostage at the court of Attila and continually prompted the Huns to war
against the western peoples. After the death of Attila, he stirred dissension between Attila's two sons Aladár and Csaba, and prepared the collapse of the Hun Empire.

field the sword awkwardly: the priest traditionally held the sword like a knife with the end of the hilt next to the little finger.

garabonc: sorcerer (cf. ne-cromanc-er).

Ishten: Isten, Hungarian for God.

II

Detre of Bern: Bern, i.e., Verona.

Tárnok: the Battle of Tárnok took place on the right bank of the Danube. The Roman/Goth legions led by Matrinus (Makrin), governor of Pannonia, were taken by surprise because they believed the Huns could not cross the river. Keve, the Hun chieftain, however, had wine-bags emptied and inflated, and used these for the crossing under cover of night. Keve fell, and the Romans/Goths managed to win. But it was a Pyrrhic victory. Led by Bendeguz, the Huns pursued them to Cezumor in Austria and shattered their remnants in a decisive battle. Theodoric was taken prisoner, and his people become taxpayers of the Huns. This story is told
by Arany in Keveház.

Hunbérc: bérc, Hungarian for "peak". Located near Cezumor.

Hunor, Bor, Keve, Kajár, Béla, Keled, Dána, Apos, Zombor, Bendeguz, and Rof: an enumeration of Hun chieftains.

Detre the Iron Brow: when an arrow pierced his brow at Cezumor, he did not take it out but simply broke it off and fought on.

III

He... writes a letter: The Germans in Attila's empire wrote in runes. The Huns apparently had no script. Attila's scribes were Roman.

Ildikó: Attila's wife, Siegfried's widow. She reared her son Aladár to exact vengeance for the murder of her husband Siegfried by her brothers.

Gyöngyvér: "pearl sister", a pre-Christian Hungarian name.

Odin: supreme god, lord of the Valkyries in German mythology.

Norns: Germanic equivalent of the Roman Parcae, or Fates.

I do not know whether he will sit at Odin's table: One who has lost his life by hanging could not be seated with Odin after death and would be left to the kites.

IV

tanya: a small camp, later an isolated farmhouse.

Four paces away they stopped stock-still: the act was a custom among nomadic horsemen designed to display skill and test the leader.

V

But you... wept for Siegfried: see note on Ildikó above, Third Canto.

boza and kám: beverages mentioned in the Chronicles.

huj! huj!: ancient war cry as reported in the Chronicles.

manó: a pre-Christian word of unknown origin describing the supernatural.

VI

Legend of the Miraculous Hind: see Introduction.

Enéh: wife of Ménrót (Nimrod) and mother of Hunor and Magyar.

Kur: river in Transcaucasia.

Meot: Maeotis, or the Sea of Azov.

tanya: here, a temporary abode for one who lives a wandering life.

Belár: a name linked to the Bulgarians of the Volga region.

Dúl: ancestor of first Bulgarian dynasty.

Scythia: the steppes of southern Russia inhabited by nomad warriors.

VII

Eastern Emperor: Byzantine Emperor.

Illyrians: Southern Slavs.

VIII

brood-mare's milk: when fermented, a strong alcoholic drink.

tárogató: ancient Hungarian woodwind instrument.

Ármány: speculatively, from pre-Christian mythology.

Turul: totemistic bird; see Introduction.

Sword of God: see Introduction.

IX

Aetius: the last great Roman commander; worthy adversary of Attila.

Stars fall...: Arany notes that the Hungarian Chronicles write: "Stella cadit, tellus tremit; en ego malleus orbis!"

X

The awl argues dead trees into blossoms...: "The use of tree-trunks as columns supporting a light roof, especially of a portico, survives still in parts of Persia, especially around the Caspian coast." The Legacy of Persia ed. A. J. Arberry, Oxford, 1953 (1963) p. 17.

Turul: see Introduction.

the death of Keve, Béla, and Kados: Hun chieftains who fell in the Battle of Tárnok; see note on Tárnok, Second Canto.

Gepids: a Germanic people conquered by Attila along with the Goths; Arany credits Buda with the conquest. After the collapse of Attila's Empire, the Gepids occupied most of Hungary east of the Danube.

XII

Hadúr: War God.

Érd, Tétény: places near the Danube.