The Eighth Tribe, 1981 (8. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1981-05-01 / 5. szám
Paire 6 THE EiGHTH TRIBE May, 1981 “My Son, in times to come, one of your issue shall stand before one of my successors, asking a crown for himself and a blessing for his people. Should this holy city look upon him as the descendant of Atilla, the terrible, who destroyed Rome?” For a few seconds, Atilla looked down silently at the venerable white head of the man of God. Then he said, “Go back into thine city, holy man, and give thanks to thy God, for thou hast found mercy in the eye of Atilla, the Hun.” This was the last great venture of the Huns. On their way home, they took the beautiful city of Venice, swimming on horseback across the waters. They loaded their horses with gold, silver and beautiful women. From that time on, the Sword of God rested in its scabbard. The Scourge of God had fulfilled the words of the prophets, and the world lay humbly at his feet. * * * THE DEATH OF ATILLA The royal camp at Fehérvár prepared for a great festival. Huge bonfires were built in front of the ceremonial tents. Slaves of many tongues cleaned and watered the roads. Boys groomed horses and polished gear. Women opened the trunks in which they kept their most treasured clothing, and dressed themselves in embroidered skirts, fur-trimmed jackets and shiny red boots. Fehérvár made ready for the wedding of Atilla. Everyone was joyous, and filled with excitement. Atilla’s hundred wives, somewhat apprehensive, shared these feelings of joy and excitement. Their own weddings had been much simpler and less pompous. However, Atilla had been only chief of the Huns at that time, not ruler of the world. REKA, the first Lady, laughingly joked about the fact that they had been given to Atilla as hostages, to serve Atilla and to assure the peace between the tribes and the Huns. The new bride, MIKOLT, was different. She was a beautiful princess from the distant East, who had been raised especially for Atilla. She deserved a reception befitting her rank. Smoke signals in the blue morning sky announced the news: — “The royal bride shall arrive at noon!” Everyone rushed to finish decorating the camp. The tents were covered with white lace. White sheets of linen were spread on the road, leading to Atilla’s tent. The entire camp was glittering in white. Out of the tents came the women, dressed in festive attire. Their hair was twisted and twined with pearls, and long veils hung from the back of their heads almost to the ground. Pearl crowns adorned the heads of the girls, and the embroidered ribbons in their braided hair touched their heels. The men wore soft leather suits, with jackets of sable or marten. They wore shiny boots and glittering spurs made of silver or brass. The crane and egret feathers on their caps fluttered in the breeze. White plumes adorned the horses’ heads, too, while on their gear, rubies and emeralds sparkled embedded in the finest artwork of the empire’s silversmiths. As the hour of arrival drew near, the priesthood prepared to welcome the bride. Drums heating, every TÁLTOS, RÓNA AND SAMAN took their positions in the middle of the field, wearing their long white robes, their caps decorated with deer antlers, and studded with silver bells which jingled with every move. The sun was high, when the royal cart appeared at the head of the Tisza River, pulled by six beautiful white oxen. Their long horns were painted red. Veriegated tassels hung from them and swayed gently with every slow, majestic step of the huge beasts. The yokes of the oxen were carved by master craftsmen, and painted with colorful designs. One hundred maidens, clad in white, approached the oncoming bride. High above their heads, they were holding a long white veil, thereby building a canopy of veiling from Atilla’s tent to the cart. Beneath this canopy walked REKA, Atilla’s first Lady, her head high and proud, to greet the bride. “Welcome, Princess Mikolt, to the royal camp of the Huns, and to the tent of Atilla, our king,” she said, and reached out her hand to help the bride down. A beautiful, slender young girl jumped off the cart. Her skin had a golden, warm glow. Her eyes were brown and sparkling. “Look at her!” the crowd murmured, “you can tell she is a descendant of Magor!” To the sound of the drums, Reka led the new bride by the hand under the white canopy of veiling, held up by a hundred maidens in white, from the cart to Atilla’s tent. A joyful cheer broke out from the crowd when Atila stepped out of his tent, to stand at the other end of the canopy, where he accepted his new bride from the hand of his First Wife. Now the sons of Atilla came forward, leading their father’s black stal-
