Attila (20 page)

Soon after our river crossing, encountered a band of nomads travelling with their wagons, the men riding, the women and children in the wagons, together with their flocks and herds. Found them courteous and hospitable, as are all steppe peoples who, though very warlike among themselves, are invariably kind to strangers. Invited by them to share a meal, a pottage of onions, beans, and garlic, with horse-meat, lamb, and goat, cooked in a great bronze cauldron. Tunny and sturgeon (dried) also offered as side dishes, but declined. To drink, wine and the ubiquitous
kumiss
, or fermented mare's milk. Men's garments – close-fitting tunic and trousers (convenient for riding and therefore universal in the steppes, and even copied by the imperial cavalry of China). Their women wear long dresses and a tall headdress covered with a veil. Clothing of both sexes ornamented with colourful designs, cut out separately then sewn on to the garment, much jewellery displayed, especially gold. Clear skies. Weather very hot.

In this one band alone is displayed a wide variety of tints: hair red, fair, and black; skins white to olive; eyes blue, green, brown, black. Regarding these differences, which show clear intermingling of races and may in part be explained by polygamy being general among the nomads, they seem quite indifferent. (A lesson here, perhaps, for Romans, for whom intermarriage with Germans is forbidden.) Indeed, though diverse in blood, the peoples of the steppes show a remarkable uniformity of culture and, though all have their separate tribal languages, can communicate with each other easily enough in a bastard Persian, which serves as a common tongue. On their departing, presented them with some beads of amber from the shores of the Mare Suevicum
¹³
(from our store of trade goods for just such occasions), which pleased them greatly.

Post Scriptum.

Everywhere we've passed, Attila spoken of with interest and respect, proof that his reputation as a leader is already
to be reckoned with. (We travelling incognito as traders, Attila not recognized for who he is, though his presence and gravity of demeanour never fail to impress all we meet, that here is a man of consequence.) Have heard reported many supposed ‘sayings' of Attila, which amuse him greatly (the only times I've observed him to smile), some of which I here set down:

A wise chieftain never kills the Hun bearing bad news, only the Hun who fails to deliver bad news.

Great chieftains never take themselves too seriously.

Every decision involves some risk.

Huns only make enemies on purpose.

Never appoint acting chieftains.

Some have solutions for which there are no problems.

Every Hun has value – even if only to serve as a bad example.

Suffer long for mediocre but loyal Huns; suffer not for competent but disloyal Huns.

IV Nones Junii.
¹⁴
Made camp on the shores of the Cham lake, halfway between the Irtish and Bantisus rivers. Though hot by day, the nights now very cold. (The reason I think may be this: as we approach the centre of this vast continent of Asia, so the land, becoming ever further from Ocean, is no longer warmed by its winds; also, as we progress, our direction being north of east we trend away from the temperate lands, towards the Boreal. If Ptolemy is correct, we should now be near the latitude of Ultima Thule.
¹⁵
) Rivers here have gravelly bottoms, and from constant changing of their beds have formed strange abandoned banks and islands, marooned in the midst of dry land! We now encounter fewer parties of nomads (some for the first time displaying the Mongol cast of feature) and, though always from a distance, more wild animals than formerly – elks, bears, wolves, bison, wild horses. Stands of timber, mainly pines, birch, and larch, more and more commonly seen. The steppe in places carpeted with sanfoin and wild thyme
which, with the increasing frequency of trees, helps to break the monotony of the endless sea of grass. (I've heard that these vast steppes can, in some travellers, induce a weariness or sickness of the spirit.) Abundance of francolin and pheasant, a number of which Attila (like all Huns a superb marksman with the bow) shot – a welcome change to our usual fare of dried flesh. These delicious seasoned with salt, which the nomads obtain from the many salt lakes hereabouts, and which they're willing to trade for trinkets – mirrors, needles, and the like.

Attila much given to contemplation. As we ride, he observes everything around him with a hunter's eye, distinguishing an eagle from a buzzard when to me both are mere dots in the sky, yet all the time thinking deeply, as evidenced from the penetrating questions he continually shoots. Why, think you, Callisthenes, does the sun appear to move round the earth? What makes objects fall? Why do things appear smaller with distance? Why does a stone acquire more force the further it drops? Which shows that, in addition to possessing a supreme gift of leadership, Attila has a deep and penetrating mind.

That notwithstanding, I remind myself he is still a savage – an unlettered barbarian without recourse to written store of knowledge, and so limited by memory and observation to everything he can know or recall. Can a barbarian, however noble his vision, ever transcend such limitations? Ever react to, or plan against, what is not in the present? Construct a water-clock or understand Pythagoras? I venture to think that Attila might indeed discover the power to snap the bonds of barbarism, and escape the tyrrany of the immediate. For he seems
aware
of such restrictions, and that surely must be half the battle to free himself of them. A man who cannot read, provided he has the will and can command the influence, may at least surround himself with those who can, and thus provide himself with access to learning.

XII Kalends Julii.
¹⁶
Arrived today at the shores of that great inland sea, the Lake of Baikal or Bai-Kul (which the Mongols
call Dalai Nor or ‘Holy Sea') enclosed by high, fir-covered hills. Since crossing the Yenisei river ten days ago, the country much changed – a chain of tall mountains always on our right hand,
¹⁷
and the grassy plains much interrupted with hills and forests. Several days of heavy rain (from the proximity of mountains?); plagued by mosquitoes. Since the Yenisei, all the natives of Mongol race – Calmucks, Buryats, Ostyaks – in appearance so resembling the Huns that they take Attila for one of themselves, and seem surprised he does not comprehend when they address him in their own tongue. Which is surely proof that the belief of some natural philosophers, that the Huns originated from a region to the north of China, is correct. These people all herders of reindeer, which they also ride sitting on their necks or shoulders, the animals' backs being not strong enough to bear a man's weight. They introduced us to a drink called
chai
; this comes in the form of a cake a little of which, broken off and infused with boiling water, is drunk with a lump of butter. Somewhat bitter, but refreshing and much to be preferred to
kumiss
.

A curious incident occurred as we pitched camp on the banks of the Lena, not long before we reached the lake. We were struck by hearing a low, pleasing, musical note, repeated time after time and issuing from beyond a nearby rise. Investigating, we observed a great bear standing on his hind legs and, with his forepaw, bending then releasing a broken-off bough projecting from a tree, whose vibrations caused the sound. (Which proves that the myth of Orpheus charming the beasts with his lyre was based on true observation – namely, that animals are not indifferent to music.) Seeing us, the bear made off; Attila and I then tried in turn to bend the branch, but could not move it.

For many days have observed quantities of huge bones littering the ground: rhinoceros and elephant, but from animals of a size far exceeding that of any members of those species known today. Which leads me to speculate: did the Creator fashion such creatures (which in respect to size are so different from their modern counterparts)
on the Fifth Day, along with the other beasts? Or could they be the ancestors (as Empedocles – who held that forms are constantly changing from an inferior to a more perfect state – seems to imply) of today's rhinoceroses and elephants, grown smaller through the ages? And is it heresy (by challenging Holy Writ) to raise such questions? I trust not; after all, the Schools of Athens are still permitted to discuss all matters freely, whether or not they touch on the Divine Logos.

Tomorrow, Attila sets out for the abode of the sage Wu Tze, to ask (myself interpreting) what the Fates portend – as the Greeks of old, before embarking on any great enterprise, sought out the Delphic Oracle.

Excursus:
¹⁸
Terra Nova?

The nomads here tell of a land beyond Ocean to the east, not further than a four moons' journey north-eastwards to its nearest point, where it's separated from the end of Asia by a narrow strait of only ten leagues' width, in which are three islands. This, the local people, who are called Inuit, cross with ease in their canoes, paddling from island to island, as we would cross a river using stepping-stones; also, when the sea's frozen, on sleds drawn by dogs, but then with more difficulty on account of the ice being hummocky, not smooth. Could this be that lost island of Atlantis of which Plato wrote in the
Timaeus
and the
Kritias
, and which was spoken of (although I think on hearsay) by Pliny, Diodorus, and Arnobius? Lucian, in his
True History
, speaks of an island eighty days' sail westwards of the Pillars of Hercules, but this has generally been dismissed as imagined. The Celts believe in a Land of the Dead beyond the Western Sea, which they call Glasinnis or Avalon (the Hesperides or Isles of the Blessed, of our Greek forebears?); these things however pertain rather to Legend than to Geography.

Atlantis, then: substance or mere shadow? And, if more than fabled, could it be related to the land visited by the
Inuit? Had but the modern Hellenes the same spirit of enquiry and adventure as that Greek of old, Pytheas,
¹⁹
then might we know the answer ere too long.

And now, for the moment, Callisthenes must lay aside this his chronicle, as translating for both Attila and Wu Tze will take precedence over other matters.

With anticipation not unmixed with doubt, Attila drew near to the abode of the holy man Wu Tze. Reputedly over a hundred years old, the famed seer was a native of China, whence, so ran the story, he had travelled as a child with his father as part of a mission to the court of the great Constantine, when Rome was still the mightiest power in the world. On the journey home, the party had been captured and enslaved by Alans. The young Wu Tze, however, had impressed his masters by exhibiting a rare gift: an apparent ability to contact the world of spirits and dead ancestors. Released from bondage, he developed this talent through following a regime of contemplation and rigorous disciplines, gradually acquiring a status of pre-eminence among the shamans consulted by the nomads of the plains.

After dismounting, and hobbling their horses and remounts, Attila and Callisthenes approached the shaman's felt tent, or yurt. Attila had made the pilgrimage with the intention of gaining from the sage a prediction of what the future held regarding his Great Plan. Although totally cynical about the supposed magical properties of the Sacred Scimitar, he shared with all his race a belief in the existence of the spirit world, and reverence towards individuals who professed to be able to make contact with it. He had had some doubts about the wisdom of leaving Bleda behind as sole ruler during his absence, but, with no great enterprise afoot involving the Huns, Bleda could do little damage. And the cachet that he, Attila, hoped to gain as a result of receiving favourable omens from Wu Tze, and of making contact with the spirits of his dead father and uncle – Mundiuch and the mighty Rua – must surely far outweigh the effects of any spiteful slander his jealous brother might spread.

Before he reached the entrance to the yurt, a high-pitched, bell-like voice from inside called, ‘Enter Attila. You are welcome.'
Attila started; how could his presence have been known in advance? Travelling incognito, he and his Greek guide had encountered on the journey only the occasional band of nomads, who could scarcely have had time or opportunity to spread word of his coming, even if they had discovered his identity.

Callisthenes following, Attila entered the yurt. The interior, heated by glowing charcoal in a bronze brazier of Chinese design, was pleasantly warm, in contrast to the keenness of the air outside. To Attila's surprise, there was none of the usual shamanistic clutter – skulls, bones, dried animal parts, and so on. The tent was furnished, richly if simply, with nomad rugs, Chinese calligraphic scrolls, and a small square altar of dark wood. Wu Tze himself was a tiny figure, encased in a long tunic of soft deerskin, and high felt boots. Abundant white hair hung to his waist, framing a face whose skin was smooth and semi-transparent, like parchment, and of much the same colour and texture. It was as though the long passage of the years had refined and condensed his body, instead of inflicting on it the normal ravages of age.

‘You both have journeyed far and must be tired,' said the shaman (the Greek translating) in those strange musical tones, after Attila had presented him with a bale of fine furs and expertly cured skins. ‘Tomorrow, Attila, you will tell me the purpose of your visit. But now, when you have seen to your horses and your gear, you and your companion must sleep; first, some refreshment.' And he pressed on both a simple but sustaining meal of dried reindeer flesh and barley cakes, washed down with
kumiss
.

Next morning, after a sound sleep on a bed of furs, Attila, the Greek beside him to translate, accompanied Wu Tze on foot on a search for a species of mushroom which would, the shaman explained, help to induce the state of heightened perception essential for making contact with the spirits. Attila felt filled with energy and confidence. On this bright, tingling day, it was joy just to be alive. Impatient enthusiasm to begin to implement the grand scheme for his people swept through him. He had no illusions about the magnitude of the task. He was, he knew, essentially the unlettered leader of a shepherd people – in Roman eyes, a savage, a barbarian. But he had the vision, the strength of purpose, and the will to learn, to make his plan succeed. After all, Philip of Macedon had been little more than the tribal chieftain of an obscure barbarian nation; yet his son Alexander had created an empire to rival
that of Rome. As they tramped uphill towards the treeline through meadows of coarse grass, the vast expanse of Lake Baikal unrolled itself beneath them, reflected light from its surface seeming to fill the air with limpid radiance.