Casca 7: The Damned (18 page)

Ch'ing Li was in a rage, his face pale, jaws clenched to hold back the pain. His torn silk robes were slashed nearly to ribbons and the edges were stuck in the cuts on his back. Never had he been treated in such a manner and by a savage! Once in his tent, he fell onto his couch, screaming at his slave to bring clean water and cloths to cleanse the wounds he had received for being honest with Attila. This was too much to endure. Who did that beast think he was to treat him this way? Had Attila forgotten that it was his brains that had led them to the brink of total victory and Attila's that had nearly destroyed them?

His slave treated his injuries as he fumed and plotted. Perhaps it was time there was a new master of the Huns, one who would be more pliable and willing to follow his advice to the letter. For the next three months he made a point of being very friendly to the sons of Attila. If there was to be a successor, it would have to be one of them. He waited until the propitious moment arrived.

Attila spent most of his time in his cups drinking the sour, potent kvass with his chieftains. Ch'ing Li knew he was reverting back to the pure barbarian, seeking the company and council of others of like mind men who only knew how to kill, but would never understand the art of ruling.

The moment he had been awaiting came when Attila, in a drunken stupor, had taken the whip to Arnak. In front of the chieftains, he beat his son until the blood ran in streams from his face. Attila mocked him for being a woman and not fit to have the title and rank he, his father, had given him.

Arnak had offended his father by suggesting that perhaps it was time to draw back for a season or two and let the Romans alone. Give the Romans time to think they were safe so they would fall back into their normal custom of fighting among themselves and at the same time letting their armies deteriorate again. Once this happened, then they could go for the grand prize again.

Attila snapped open his brown eyes, red filmed from drink and swollen nearly shut. His body began to tremble. He rose from his couch and beat Arnak, cursing him for being a coward, screaming that no one would stand between him and
Rome, that he would have won if he had not listened to those who filled his thoughts with doubts. Well, there would be no more of that. Any who even spoke of letting the Romans off the hook would find their heads between their legs. Any one, and that included those of his own blood, for he had more than enough time to sire and raise new sons that would not disappoint him!

Arnak had stood silent during his beating. He showed no sign that he even felt the blows of his father. He stood still until Attila finally dropped back to his couch, exhausted and drunk, to mumble about his new sons. He would sire new sons. Arnak turned his back on his father, but before he did, he took note of the faces there and which ones showed any sign of pleasure at his humiliation.

The next week, Attila announced that he would take a new bride, one young enough to bear him new sons.

Ch'ing Li was there. He saw the steel in Arnak's eye when Attila said he would sire new sons. And now Attila was taking a bride, some slut named
Ildico, another cow for his herd. She was the daughter of some obscure chieftain of a nondescript tribe who wished an alliance with the house of Attila. A goat herder could have an alliance with Attila if he had a pretty enough daughter.

He knew that Arnak was the one, for if his father disowned him, he would have nothing, and the lust for the throne of the Hun nation was one he had been brought up with. It was always known that he was the one who would inherit the power upon his father's death. Now that was threatened.

Ch'ing Li sought him out. In the quiet of Arnak's tent, he spoke of the tragedy that was about to befall the prince. It was such an unfair thing to have happen to one that had always been loyal. When Ch'ing Li left Arnak, it was with an unspoken understanding that if Ch'ing could help him in this matter, so that the succession of Arnak would be secure, the prince would be grateful, very grateful.

Ch'ing Li had been careful not to make any mention of what he had in mind, but there had been no need. Both of them understood what was meant by the disguised innuendos used in their conversation.

Ildico was brought to Attila in a caravan escorted by his own guard; and without further delay, they were married according to the rites of the steppes. She knelt before her master under the stars and swore to him that she was untouched and pure. She licked salt from his palm, then placed his right foot on top of her head to signify his mastery over her and her unquestioning obedience to his will.

Ch'ing Li even thought the girl had some merits. She was a very beautiful woman. One who would not be out of place in the collection of a King of
Chin. Her eyes were almond shaped pools of deep brown. She wore the wealth of her tribe on her person. Coins of gold hung in ripples from her neck. In a band on her forehead were precious stones and gems. A belt of gold set with amber was cinched in over her hips wide, ripe hips that, as Attila had said, were fit for the bearing of sons.

During the feast that followed the ceremony, Ch'ing Li mingled with the guests, making polite conversation about the beauty of his master's new bride, wishing Attila long life and health. The party soon deteriorated into one of their normal drunken brawls with the noble leaders of the Huns vomiting on themselves or dragging slave girls to their couches to copulate with to the cheers of their compatriots.

Ch'ing Li observed them all with contempt and wondered how he had ever thought they were worth his efforts. But he had spent too many years with them now to throw all his work away. He made his way to Attila lying on his couch playing with Ildico's breasts. There he bowed low, kneeling before his master to offer him a gift from Chin. Attila was pleased when he unwrapped the small package. Inside was a ring of massive gold with a carved emerald the size of a thumbnail bearing the relief of a dragon cut with exquisite detail.

Ch'ing Li told Attila, "Here, my Lord and Master, is a gift of luck, for the dragon is the emblem of good fortune and fertility. It would be an honor if you would wear my gift on this
your wedding night that the power of the dragon may aid you in siring a new son."

Attila put the ring on his finger, admiring the stone in its raised setting. He smiled at Ch'ing Li. "Thank you, scholar. This is a fine gift. I am pleased to see that you still have my interests at heart. I will wear your gift as a sign of my favor."

Ch'ing had accomplished his mission. He bowed his way out of Attila's presence, pleased and contented that his task had been accomplished so easily.

Arnak cornered him by the fires on which were roasting
a full grown oxen. "When will you do the deed?"

Ch'ing Li smiled smugly. "It is already done, young Lord. It is already done...."

Attila left the crowd for his bed, dragging Ildico behind him. His chieftains and guests cried out for him to prove the mastery of his race, for her and him to ride well and long this night.

In his tent, Attila stripped as Ildico lay nude before him on his couch covered with cloths of gold and silk. Attila admired the beauty of his new bride, the firmness of her breasts and the warm feel of her flesh. Looking down at her, he touched the dragon ring with his other hand, smoothing it over the stone. As his finger ran over the carving, he thought of the night before him. Even with his head swimming in alcohol fumes, he knew that he had a prize to take.

The stone on its raised setting turned under his fingers as he played with it. He felt a sting on his finger and cursed. The ring obviously had a spot that needed to be buffed down. But right now he had more important things on his mind to consider than a scratch.

He lowered himself onto the waiting body of Ildico...

Ch'ing was in his tent when he heard the scream. He smiled and rolled over to go back to sleep. The ring had done its work. Ch'ing knew that in time Attila would play with the setting, and when he did, death would strike and he would be far from the scene of the crime.

It was Harmatta and Amak who first entered the tent and found Attila lying on his back, mouth filled with blood. Harmatta quickly examined the corpse for any sign of a wound. There was none. Arnak looked down at the body of his father; gone was the power that had struck fear into all that met him. Now he was nothing but a piece of dead meat awaiting the worms.

"Well," he demanded. "What killed him? Was it the slut?" He pointed at a terrified Ildico covering her naked body with a blue silk coverlet.

Harmatta smelled the blood at Attila's gaping mouth; there was no odor. "No, she did nothing. His heart has burst." Harmatta had seen more than one death like this where an older man had died while in the saddle mounting a young filly.

Arnak said nothing, though he knew that it was more than coincidence his father had died this night. He grabbed Ildico by the hair. Twisting her face back, he hissed at her, "Did he spill his seed into you?"

She shook her head no. He had just thrown his head back, clutched his chest and fallen on her dead in the middle of the mating act.

Arnak whispered in her ear. "That had better be true, slut. For now I am the master here. You will leave this place at first light and return to the pigsty from which you came. If you are not gone by then, I will bury you with my father to serve him in the afterlife." Arnak had already thought of the reward he would give to Ch'ing Li for this service. He grinned at the idea.

For three days there was a period of mourning for Attila. His warriors slashed deep cuts in their faces and chests that the master should be mourned, not only with the wailing of women, but also with the blood of warriors. This mourning for his father was to be the greatest in the living memory of man.

The body of Attila was placed in the center of a nearby plain in his silk tent for all to see. Around him were put the spoils of his wars. Gold and silver in amounts too great to count. Bolts of precious silk and cloths of gold. The wealth of nations filled the tent. His body had been prepared by Harmatta who had cleansed his master, then oiled the remains with a mixture of precious herbs and rare spices. In his hand on his chest, Attila held his sword. Around the tent in a circle, twenty thousand warriors rode for two days until they dropped from exhaustion.

The shamans of the tribes gathered in groups to make sacrifices so that the spirits of the elements would protect their master and welcome him as another god. Animals by the hundreds were sacrificed. Their blood gathered and spilled on the dirt around his funeral tent.

Once the mourning was over, his personal bodyguard, under the watchful eye of Arnak and a few of Attila's closest friends and advisors, escorted the remains away from the plain to a small valley, a day's ride away, where a crypt had been prepared to receive him. It was built of massive stones and contained all the wealth of Attila. His sarcophagus was threefold in construction. First a coffin of iron, then one of silver, and the last, in which the Master of the Huns would sleep, was made of gold.

A dozen female slaves were ritually raped by the warriors of the escort, each woman taking at least ten men into her. They spilled their seed into the slaves' bodies, then strangled them with silken cords and set them around the corpse. In the afterlife they would bring forth out of their spirits, by benefit of the seeds placed in them, warriors to serve him. His favorite horses were likewise killed and placed in the tomb along with all the trappings and harnesses, saddles and the articles of war which he would need.

Ch'ing Li stood by Arnak observing the barbaric funeral practices. Arnak stood on top of the tomb and cried out to the men of his father's tribes gathered there: "Lords and nobles, warriors and priests. In my father's tomb are those things he will need to serve him in the afterlife as a great king. He has his women, his weapons, horses and gold. There are the seeds of warriors waiting to be born in the bodies of his women. But he needs one thing more." The audience was silent. Arnak grinned at Ch'ing. "He will need the one whose advice he always valued more than anyone else's. He needs the sage from the land of Chin to go with him and serve him for eternity."

Ch'ing Li felt his heart drop. Arnak pointed to him with a sword crying out to the guards: "Let it be done."

Willing hands grabbed him, jerking him to his knees. His protests were cut off, when his breath was stopped by the silk cord around his neck. For a moment he felt the blood pounding in his temples. He tried to cry out, but the swelling heaviness in his head drove everything out of him. Spots whirled before his eyes, then the dark redness telescoped in and he died.

Arnak smiled in a manner resembling that of the now deceased sire as Ch'ing struggled under the twisting cord.
How could I have ever trusted you, little man? What you would do to my father, you would also have done to me
. As Attila always said, do the deed first.

Arnak had Ch'ing Li's body placed at the foot of his father, along with his ever present set of scrolls. Then he had the slaves, who had dug the pit for the tomb
three hundred of them killed by the guards, and they were placed around the outside of the crypt.

The guard and nobles that had gathered filled in the grave. The nobles and escort rode away, leaving only Arnak with his personal troops behind. Once they had left, he took his men and rode to the end of the valley four miles to the north.