65

For a moment I thought I could stand the fight, the fight against a superior numbers of Huns. After two seconds I was forced to return to reality again. In the wink of an eye the Huns had reloaded and fired another volley while my horse was still standing. I bowed, trying to give them a small target. However, they did not shoot at me, they targeted my horse and several arrows clapped into its breast.
The next things happened very slow. My horse bowed low until its head finally touched the ground. I tried desperatly to cling to it. However, I finally slipped forward, very slow but inevitable. I tumbled over the head of the dying creature and sat on the ground.

When I raised my head again. I was surrounded by the Huns and their horses. Of course the had reloaded and were ready to shoot. I gave up. Nothing would save me, not any of my Gods could rescue me. I was at the mercy of the Hun's, a word - that I was sure of - they had never heard in their lifes and that they were not able to understand. Tears were in my eyes, not tears of pain or fear. It was anger that wettened my eyes, anger that this was the end, the end after all this struggling from the steppe of the east until the plains of Italy.

Just when I thought my life was over something happaned. Something odd and strange. I had closed my eyes, so that I had not to face the Huns when I was dying. I waited for the impact of the arrows. Nothing! I waited longer. Still nothing. I opened my eyes and looked at the huns. They were still where they had been before. However, they did not care about me, they looked at something that was behind my back. Obviously something that confused them and distracted them from killing me.

Slowly, not to attract their attantion, I turned around. I had expected to something like a Roman legion, or a bear or even Thor brandishing his hammer. Something so strong that it could impress even Huns. What I saw was nothing like that. It was so weak, so meek and so modest that it looked unreal and in a strange sense - scaring.

A man had left the coach. A single man, small, skinny - obviously no a warrior. He wore an artless robe. He looked so poor. And yet there was something special about that man, something that caused the Huns to surcease their victim. There was a kind of aura - I say aura because I do not know any word that would descibe it better - an aura that surrounded him. He slowly stepped forward. The Huns did not moove. They just stared at the phantom.

Five steps in front of me the man stopped and raised his arms.