“This is what Sing Po answered Gen Hsin, the skeptic:

Outside the tumult increased. Kotikokura gripped my arm. “Do not fear, Kotikokura, Ca-ta-pha shall protect you.”

He grinned.

Mung Ling placed his hands upon my shoulders. “Farewell, Cartaphilus.”

I looked at him astonished.

“It is time for us to separate, alas! You must go, dear friend.”

“Always Cartaphilus must go, Mung Ling…always.”

“Man is like the wind, Cartaphilus.”

“Like the wind…it is true, Mung Ling.” I remained silent for a few moments, pressing his hands. “But the wind, Mung Ling, at times blows through a garden and is impregnated with a rare perfume.”

Mung Ling turned his face away.

“Can a man hide himself, Sing Po? Can a man hide himself?” I asked.

“That is exactly what Kong-Fu-tze asked, Cartaphilus. He, too, was a wanderer…”

“What do we seek always, Mung Ling?”

“Ourselves. We cannot hide, and yet we cannot find ourselves, Cartaphilus.”

I twirled the tips of my long mustaches. Kotikokura pulled at the few sparse threads that dotted his upper lip. “It is not well to look too different from the others, particularly in times of revolution, Kotikokura.”

We came upon smoking villages and weary women. The steeds of war were stamping through the land. Our guide, a servant of Mung Ling, deserted us to save his wife and his children.

He kissed my hands, and weeping, galloped back.

“Kotikokura, we are destined to remain alone, always.”

Kotikokura pulling at his mustache had the appearance of a gigantic yellow tomcat.

“There is room for everything save for logic, Kotikokura. There has been much kindness and much cruelty upon the earth…but very little intelligence.”

Kotikokura wrinkled his brow like a puzzled dog.

We found ourselves in the midst of a camp of soldiers. We were immediately surrounded, and ordered to dismount. Our hands were tied behind our backs by heavy ropes. Kotikokura’s legs were restless. He bent, ready to run away.

“Do not budge! Ca-ta-pha is with you!”

We were ordered to wait. Two soldiers stood guard. The others went away, to report to their superior. Kotikokura grumbled. “Silence!” I commanded. I wished to know in what camp I found myself, who was the leader, and whom they were fighting. With this information, I could easily extricate myself.

I smiled to one of the soldiers. “It is strange that you treat as enemy the friend of your master.”

“What! Are you the friend of King Attila?”

“Of course, valiant soldier.”

“Are you not the Emperor’s spy?”

I laughed. “Would a spy ride as leisurely into the enemy’s camp as I did? Would a spy travel unarmed?”

The soldiers seemed uncertain, but more kindly disposed. One of them said: “But if you are the Emperor’s spy, you will learn the meaning of torture.” The other grinned.

ATTILA was sitting at a long table, making drawings upon white silk. He placed his chin upon the hilt of his sword, and looked at me. His mustaches, uniting with his beard, hung heavy and low on either side of his face, and his long teeth shone like the ivory tusks of an elephant in the sun. I was determined to employ hypnotism, if necessary, to safeguard myself, but it amused me to try my skill without relying upon occult psychic forces.

“What is your name?”

“Cartaphilus, Your Majesty.”

“Where do you come from?”

“I come from many lands.”

“On the other side of the Wall?”

“Countries in which the people do not even dream of the existence of the Wall, Your Majesty.”

He sighed, and raised his head. “What sort of countries are they, Cartaphilus?”

“They are countries with noble and heroic histories…but on the verge of ruin.”

“Why?”

“Corruption, vice and a false religion called Christianity.”

Attila rose, and walked up and down the room. He was tall and rather heavy. The skin of his face was a few shades lighter than that of his soldiers and his cheek-bones were somewhat less protruding.

“Sit down, Cartaphilus.” He offered me a gigantic pipe.

We smoked in silence for some time.

“You come from many lands, Cartaphilus; which one is yours?”

“I have none, Your Majesty. My country was destroyed and my people dispersed.”

He looked at me not unkindly.

“I, too, have no country, Cartaphilus. I am not absolutely certain who my people are. Perhaps I am a descendant of the kings of your people…”

“Then, Sire, my people are indeed fortunate.”

“Cartaphilus, he who does not possess a country must make one: for himself– —”

“Or else,” I interjected, “wander…always a stranger in every land.”

Attila pulled at his beards.

“Conquer Rome, Sire! Destroy her false, pale-faced god. The Mistress of the World is too old, and Christianity too young to withstand a determined blow.”

The King drew circles upon the silk in front of him. “China is at my feet. I could proclaim myself Emperor…but I hate walls!”

“For a great general, it must be exasperating to find a nation too easily conquered!”

“Cartaphilus, you fathom my feelings… I love valor and glory and hard combat.” He stamped his sword.

“The Romans still love glory, and Christianity is ambitious.”

“These people send messengers at my approach and beg me to be their ruler. I cannot fight open doors…”

“The doors of the Romans are still locked. Your sword shall rattle against them like a thunderclap.”

At dawn, I was ordered to appear again before the King.

“Cartaphilus, Heaven has sent me a sign…this golden chain shall bind at my feet…the world beyond the Wall.”

I bowed reverently.

“Stay with me, Cartaphilus. Teach me the roads. Draw the maps for me. Attila is not the leader of wild hordes, but the ruler of a disciplined army.”

‘Jesus of Nazareth,’ I thought, ‘You have vanquished Julian the Apostate. Attila shall conquer you!’

For three days three Ambassadors of the Emperor begged in vain to be admitted to the presence of Attila. The King had not yet finished his plans: my map was not yet completed.

“Is it not sufficient that I do not order their heads chopped off? Let them wait! Attila is busy.”

Finally, at my intervention, he consented to see them and concluded a truce with the Son of Heaven. The Ambassadors were on the point of leaving when I begged them to remain a while longer.

“Attila, magnanimous monarch, may I speak?”

“Speak!”

“Attila must march forward from conquest to conquest. This is the meaning of his life, is it not?”

He nodded.

“Cartaphilus, lacking the passion and might that are in the blood of the great King, must wander from knowledge to knowledge… He too may not remain still.”

Attila nodded.

“If Cartaphilus has helped to save the Celestial Empire, may he travel unmolested from province to province?”

One of the mandarins extended his arm, the rim of the sleeve touching his large ring, whose soft glittering harmonized with the sheen of the silk. “Cartaphilus shall be our honored guest.”

“May he enter the Capital?”

“The gates will swing wide open.”

“In the company of the Ambassadors of the Perfect Emperor?”

“Carried upon the shoulders of His Majesty’s slaves.”

Attila’s voice was as gentle as a woman’s. “Cartaphilus, you must go, even as I must go, that is true. In you, my unrest has a brother. Three days, however, you must spend with me. Three days we shall spend in revelry. Then I shall go forth to conquer the world.”

The Mandarin bowed very deeply before me, his hand heavy with jewels, upon his chest.