The Darkness and the Dawn

A Novel

Thomas B. Costain

• Publisher: Muriwai Books
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9781789120639
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Ancient History
• Index: History

The Darkness and the Dawn is filled with suspense from beginning to end. It includes an international horse race, a spectacular trial in the most unusual of courts, and one of the decisive battles of all time. This new Costain novel will be compared to his surprise best seller, The Black Rose, which swept the book lists for many months in the 1940s, although this latest work is, in all important respects, much superior. Portraying the days when the might of Attila the Hun hung over the civilized world like a black cloud, the author brings into sharp focus the loves and hates, ambitions and schemes of all the main characters. Here they are in full perspective: Attila, the Scourge of God, his powerful barbarian army, his many wives, his sons, his generals, and his fantastic court; Aetius, the dictator of Rome, the most controversial figure of his time; Honoria, the love-minded princess of the imperial line; Leo, the strong and courageous pope; Nicolan, the hero of the story, and the girl with golden hair who rides the black horse.
It is the opinion of the publishers that this amazing story, drawn on the broadest of canvases, is the best historical novel that has come from the pen of Thomas B. Costain.

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

1

THE LADY EUGENIA had found this particular day one of great satisfaction. She had gone to the royal palace by express command, she had walked through the entrance hall, called the Chalky where the golden shields and red aigrettes of a thousand scholarians had formed a picture not soon to be forgotten, she had reached the Consistorium where the Empress Pulcheria and her elderly husband Marcian sat together under a golden dome, she had received bows and smiles from each of them. Like everyone else, she had worn the stiff brocade gown provided for visitors before they were allowed to enter. It had been altogether a memorable experience; and as she made her way out to the disrobing room, she thought how foolish Ildico had been not to come with her. The empress had asked about “the girl who rides the black horse” and had seemed displeased at her non-appearance.

The day was made complete when a young man in a spotless white robe, and with red cloth bound many times around his head, approached her. She knew who he was because he had stood close to the imperial throne: a king from a corner of the desert called Davieda. He had come on a visit to Constantinople and had brought with him a string of fine-blooded Arabian horses.

He had a thin passionate face and eyes which glittered like the opulent stones in his headdress.

“Gracious lady,” said the king, in perfect Latin, “I know you live close at hand. You may perhaps allow me to walk beside your litter. I have things to speak of.”

The awe which the widow had felt when he presented himself faded. He was going to speak of horses, of his own string and, of course, of Harthager. Perhaps he would suggest a race. She was now completely at ease.

“It will be an honor, my lord king,” she said.

It developed that Yussuff of Davieda was accompanied by a score or more of attendants. They were tall men in white, with long whiskers and long noses and smoldering eyes set in dark-skinned faces. They arranged themselves silently about the litter in two lines.

“Are you always accompanied, O King, by so many of your men?” asked the widow.

The young ruler nodded, it is our custom. They hear and see everything, but tell nothing. And they keep assassins away.”

“But aren’t there times when you don’t want them? Suppose you were going to see a lady and did not desire it known? Could you get away from them?”

“No, my lady. I would not try. If I see a woman under any circumstances, I am always ready to have it known. I have no interest in women. My interest,” he added, “is confined to horses. I even leave affairs of state to my ministers.”

It was a matter of a few minutes only to reach the widow’s palace. The ruler’s attendants followed him through the gate and lined up on each side of the entrance. Two of them, who had longer beards and more facial wrinkles than the rest, accompanied him through the hall with its high columns into a large square room facing the east. The king began then to discuss the matters which had brought him to see her.

“I have with me a few good horses,” he said. “I brought, in fact, my favorite. Sulieman. You have heard of him?”

“Of course. Everyone has heard of Sulieman.”

The man from the East adopted a more cautious tone. “He is—he is quite fast. It was an astonishment to me that the objections of two bands of the populace, composed of the lowest, poorest, and most vulgar, made it impossible for me to have my horses stabled in the Hippodrome. They are called the Greens and the Blues. You have heard of them?”

“Yes, my lord king.”

“They believe the Hippodrome belongs to them and they will not allow anything but chariot racing. We would know how to deal with such loud clamor and foolish pretensions in my country. Here the rulers are afraid of them. What follows? My horses are at a breeding farm many miles beyond the gates. It is most inconvenient and I resent it bitterly. You must feel the same, for I am told you have a horse there also. A black stallion.”

Eugenia nodded her head indifferently. “He is called Harthager.”

“There have been only two horse races since you came and he has won them both.”

“You will believe me, I am sure, when I tell you he ran in weak fields. Many of the Greens and Blues went to the first race. They laughed and scoffed. But there were more of them at the second. The attendance had doubled.”

The Eastern king gave his head a patronizing shake. “They have been sound asleep here. About matters of state and the maintenance of armies and, it seems, about horses as well.”

“It would be a great pleasure to see your Arabians in action.”

“They are slender and trim and very sensitive. I am fond of them. They have good hearts and they are fast. I think well of Sulieman. Quite well.”

“Perhaps it is in your mind that a match might be arranged.”

The Easterner frowned. The servants had placed wine and fruit beside him and he was enjoying the coolness of the drink in his gold flagon. The wine at the Augusteon, where economies were being introduced by Marcian, had been most indifferently iced.

“The thought occurred to me. But I must explain that I am against matched races. I prefer a number of entries. It is always more exciting.”

The lady from Tergeste thought this over. “It may be so,” she said, with some reluctance. “I see no particular objection.” She paused and studied his handsome dark face cautiously. “Is it your custom to lay wagers on your horses?”

The king gestured indifferently. “The race is what counts. To match my fine fellows against horses as fast, or faster. To see a close and hard finish. That is what provides the thrill. But when there is a desire on the part of others to make wagers, I am ready to meet them.”

“I have little doubt that your Sulieman is fast enough to show his heels to Harthager but I would be disposed in spite of that to back the black. What odds would you give me?”

The king put down his flagon and turned to face her. “Odds!” he cried. “When Sargon, King of Kings, went to war with little Samaria, did he expect odds? You have a great black stallion who has never been beaten and is the talk of all Constantinople. Yet you ask odds for him. Gentle lady, gracious lady, you demand not only the impossible but the absurd!”

The widow did not answer at once. “Well,” she said, finally, we can settle that later. I think you will come to see that the scales should be tipped in my favor. May I ask what you are prepared to wager, my lord king?”

Yussuff again displayed indifference in a gesture. “I leave that to you. I am prepared to match you evenly for any sum you care to mention.”

Harthager’s winnings had been colossal. Eugenia totaled them in her mind and then named the amount. It represented a fortune, even for an absolute monarch from a rich corner of the desert country. Watching her visitor closely, she observed that his color changed slightly and that his hand seemed to tremble; but in eagerness, not fear. She knew that he was pleased and excited.

“A large wager, my lady,” declared the young monarch. “You must think very well indeed of your great black. Perhaps I should reconsider and ask for odds myself.”

“Harthager is fast enough. And he belongs to the family of my little Ildico. I would rather lose heavily than hurt his fine reputation with a cowardly wager.”

“I saw your black—at a distance. I cannot believe you will let this slender child whose name you mention take him into a race of this magnitude.”

“Oh, yes.” The widow spoke lightly. “Harthager was raised by her father. They get along together. Ildico will ride him as usual.”

“I confess,” said the king, “to a curiosity about this child who can manage such a huge and strong animal.”

The widow clapped her palms together and ordered a servant to request the girl’s presence in the room. Up to this point the desert ruler had been lounging in his chair while his hostess stood beside him. He sat very straight when Ildico entered in a few minutes, wearing a light green tunic and with her hair wound into braids on the top of her head. He did not rise but his eyes opened wide and from that first moment never left her face. There was a feeling of tensity, of drama, in the room.

“My lord king, I desire to present to you my ward, Ildico, daughter of Macio of the Roymarcks,” said Eugenia. “Ildico, you have the honor of standing in the presence of the King of Davieda.”

The girl bowed, keeping her eyes lowered in a proper manner. For several moments there was silence in the room. There was the look on the face of the imperious king of one who has unexpectedly encountered something of unimaginable beauty. He had boasted of his lack of interest in women but now his head was filled, quite obviously, with thoughts and speculations about this slender girl in green, standing so quietly before him.

“His August Majesty,” said the widow, addressing Ildico, “has spoken of a match between his great Sulieman and our Harthager but he has doubts about the advisability of having you ride in such a race.”

Yussuff was not listening. His mind had gone far away from the world of horses and racing. His eyes were on the face of the girl and, when he spoke finally, it was to display the intensity of the interest she had aroused in him.

There is a brief moment each spring in my country,” he began, when the desert lands are covered with flowers of a beautiful and elusive shade of blue. Overnight the bare sands are transformed. For a few days we live with beauty all about us—and then the sun becomes so strong that the flowers fade and die. All year we live in the memory and in the expectation of more springs.

...Your eyes, my lovely child, remind me of those moments on the desert. How perfectly they set off the gold in your hair!” He dragged his gaze away from Ildico and turned to his hostess. “My lady, you will understand now my reluctance about allowing her to race. The black is so huge and so strong! As the maker of the match, I would feel responsible if this delicate child sustained any injury.”

“Harthager and I are friends,” said Ildico, taking it on herself to answer. “From the moment he was foaled, he belonged to me. As a colt, he followed me everywhere. He would come and rub his ears against my arm. Anything I wanted him to do, he would understand; and off he would gallop in a hurry to obey me. Now that he has reached his top in strength and speed, he still knows what I want him to do and he is always quick to respond.”

“You are planting the first doubts in my mind about the outcome of this race.”

“My august lord,” said Eugenia, “there will be no race if my ward does not ride him. Harthager will allow no one else on his back.”

The Easterner nodded his head reluctantly. “Then we must accept the condition. But my zest in the race will be lacking. My anxiety will rob me of all pleasure in the contest.”

2

The widow of Tergeste had little liking for her home in Constantinople. It stood almost in the shadow of the Column of Claudius and so was among the finest houses in the city, even being tall enough to yield over the sea wall a view of the blue surface of Marmora. But she found the grounds cramped and the fine mosaics and frescoes on the walls too minute. She had a preference for bold and solid colors.

“No purple bath!” she complained to Ildico, twisting back on her forehead a curling strand of hair. “You must have one if you are going to become a queen or an empress. Suppose that rich young king from the desert notices that we lack one? He’ll be sure you were not born in the purple and that it’s fated y...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• ACKNOWLEDGMENT
• BOOK I
• BOOK II
• BOOK III
• IN CONCLUSION
• REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER