CHAPTER XIII
THE NIGHT

"I must be quick, my lord, I have come out of the midst of the fight. A troop of Kurdish raiders came to Banfy-Hunyad yesterday. Your Grace's captain, Gregory Sötar, suspecting that they had come to plunder, marched against them with the hussars of the castle, engaged in conflict with them and after a short struggle drove them from the walls. Not content with that, however, he gave the signal for an attack and pursued the retreating troops in the direction of Zeutelke. While the Kurds were fleeing before us we saw ourselves suddenly attacked on the flank. In a trice the entire open space was covered with Turkish riders, who crowded upon us like a heap of ants. I cannot give their number definitely but this much I know;—three horse tails were visible in their midst, and that means that there is a Pasha in the army. Sötar could no longer make his retreat to Hunyad."

"The Devil!" interrupted Banfy.

"Every one of us had to encounter two or three. Sötar himself took his spiked club in one hand and his sword in the other and shouted to me as I came near: 'My son, leave the battlefield, force your way through, hurry to Bonczida and tell the news.' What more he said I did not hear, for the struggling masses separated us. With that I threw my shield over my back, laid my head on my horse's neck, used my spurs and galloped off the battlefield. A hundred horsemen hurried after to catch me; the arrows fell like hailstones on my shield; but my clever horse took in the danger, doubled his speed and so the pursuers lost me."

"You come straight from Bonczida?"

"I could not resist, gracious lord, making a détour to Banfy-Hunyad to inform the people there of their peril so they might flee to the mountains in time."

"That was wise on your part. So the inhabitants have taken to flight."

"Far from it. Directly in front of Madame Vizaknai's gate I told the people the frightful news. Their faces turned pale, then suddenly the lady of the house came out with drawn sword and stood in the midst of the people with flashing eyes, as if she had the spirit of a hundred men, and she said to them: 'Are you men! If you are, seize your weapons. Go upon the walls and know how to defend the place where your children live and your fathers are buried. But if you are cowards, then take to flight. The women will stay behind with me and show the furious foe that when it is a matter of fighting for hearth and home nobody is too weak.'"

Banfy called out to his squire in a hoarse voice to bring him his shield, lance and helmet, and motioned to the panting messenger to go on with his story.

"At these words, there was a cry of rage among the people. The women ran for arms like so many furies and by the side of their husbands who were changed into heroes by the decision of their wives, they mounted the walls. Everybody took what he could find, scythes, shovels or flails. Madame Vizaknai was everywhere at once; gave orders, encouraged the fighters, had the church barricaded, oil and brimstone boiled and the bridges torn down, so that when I rode out of the town it was already in a state of defence. I swam the Körös, to avoid that long way, and came through the forests and bypaths."

By the end of this story, Banfy seemed to be beside himself. He did not wait for armor or helmet, shouted for a horse and as he mounted, called back to Veer;—"Follow me to Banfy-Hunyad. Let the foot soldiers ascend Mount Gyalu by a détour; the horsemen may follow me to Klausenburg. When you are near, light fires on the mountains that I may make an attack on the enemy at once with the van of the cavalry."

"Would it not be better for your Excellency to stay with the main army?" said Veer, anxiously.

"Do as I bid you," said Banfy, and giving spur to his horse he bounded off. Ten to twenty horsemen joined him.

"What does he mean," said Veer, "that he neither waits for us, nor tells his wife nor the Princess, who is a guest here?"

"When I informed him that Madame Vizaknai was defending Banfy-Hunyad he was dismayed," said Burkö, by way of explanation. "She is a youthful love of his whom he forgot in later life, but now that he hears of her bravery the old love seems to have sprung up again."

George Veer was quite content with this explanation, ordered his troops to mount at once and rode off, first giving orders to inform Madame Banfy of a trifling engagement with the troops at Klausenburg. The command of the infantry he intrusted to Captain Michael Angyal, who did not set out until evening, for the way to the snow mountains was a shorter one.

When George Veer reached Klausenburg he did not find Banfy there; the general had gone on an hour before with two hundred horse. Veer ordered his troops not to halt long and followed after Banfy, but could not overtake him. He kept ahead all the way, sometimes several hours' march. It was already late at night when Banfy with his two hundred riders reached the point where the Körös cuts its way through the wooded valley. At the bridge the Turks had encamped. The Bedouins lay there with their long weapons, on the watch. It was not possible to take them by surprise. In the direction of Banfy-Hunyad there was a glow on the heavens, sometimes sinking, sometimes mounting high again. Banfy left his men in concealment on the further bank, while he himself, attended by only four men went down to the river to find a ford. The Körös is here so furious that it sweeps the horseman from his horse; but fortunately, on account of the drought of the hot summer, it had so fallen that Banfy soon found a place where it flowed quietly, and waded through with his comrades. Then he sent one of them back to bring the rest, but he himself remained gazing fixedly in the direction where the fire was in sight.

Meantime, one of the six Bedouin horsemen on guard noticed the three riders, and the leader called out to them to stand. Banfy tried to retreat, but three Bedouins sprang on him from behind and three more rushed toward him, lances in rest.

"Bend down on your horses' necks and seize your spear in your left hand," Banfy shouted to his men, and drew his sword against the assailants; so in the darkness of the night they fell upon one another silently. Banfy was in the middle. The lances of the three Bedouins whizzed through the air at the same time. Banfy's comrades fell on both sides from their horses, while he with his left hand skilfully wrested the lance from one of the guards and with the right hand dealt him a blow that cleft his skull. When Banfy saw that he was alone he turned at once on his two foes and struck one down with his lance and the other with his sword. Three more horsemen came furiously toward him from the bank. "Come on," growled Banfy, with that grim humor so characteristic of certain warriors in the moment of danger. "I'll teach you how to handle the spear," he added, with a smile; shielded on the rear by a group of trees, he thrust his sword into its sheath, grasped his spear with both hands and within two minutes all three lay stretched on the ground. Then he looked round and saw with joy that the enemy at the bridge were too far away to notice the fight, and his two hundred horsemen were already at the bank and now crossed noiselessly. Some of the Bedouins on the ground still groaned and sighed.

"Knock their skulls in, so they will not betray us by their noise."

"Shall we not wait for Veer's troops?" asked the standard-bearer.

"We cannot, we have no time," said Banfy, directing his glance toward the reddened horizon, and the little band moved quietly across fields and thickets. Soon there was the sound of a distant roar and when they had reached the top of a height before them Banfy-Hunyad came in sight. The leader breathed more easily. It was not the town that was on fire but only some hay-ricks. The roofs of the houses had been taken off by the inhabitants in advance, so that the enemy could not set fire to them. Church and bell-tower too were stripped of their roofs, and one could see by the glare of the fire that they were surrounded by the Turkish army, while from the top of the tower brimstone and pitch with heavy beams fell like a rain of fire on the assailants and crowded them from the walls.

Ali Pasha had not waited for his artillery which had been detained by the bad roads, because he thought he could take by storm in a single attack a place defended only by peasants and women; but it is well known that despair makes soldiers of everybody and axes and scythes are good weapons in the hands of the resolute.

At this spectacle Banfy's face suddenly glowed; he thought he saw a woman's figure on the battlement of the tower. At once he put spurs to his horse and rushed forward like a whirlwind, calling back to his men:

"Do not count the foe now; time enough for that when he is down."

And within a quarter of an hour the small band reached the camp before the town. There everybody was asleep. While one part of the army made the attack there was time for the other to rest. Even the guards had let their heads droop in sleep; there they lay by their staked horses, and were only roused from their dreams when Banfy had already ridden wildly through their ranks in every direction. The Baron, who intended to hasten on alone to the relief of the besieged, in a trice ran down the confused troops who, startled from their sleep, seized horse and lance and mistaking one another the enemy crowded together and cut down their own troops. In vain did the Turkish leaders strive to control the frantic men.

Meanwhile, Banfy appeared boldly and unexpectedly in the midst of the Turkish army storming the church. The front ranks gave way in terror at his unexpected onset but at once an advancing brigade made up of Ali Pasha's chosen Mamelukes, brought the fugitives to a stand. A giant Moor stood at the head of the troops. His horse too was an unusually tall one, sixteen hands high. He himself was seven feet tall; his great swollen muscles shone like steel in the fiendish light of the burning hay-ricks; his broad mouth bled from the blow of a stone and the whites of his eyes shone in a ghastly fashion from his black face.

"Halt, Giaour!" roared the Moor, with a voice that sounded above the thunder of battle, and made his way toward Banfy. In his clenched fist shone a broad scimitar that seemed too heavy even for him.

Two hussars riding before Banfy fell at one blow from the monster; one to the right, the other to the left of his horse. As he raised his arm for the third blow the Moor rose in his saddle and shouted: "I am Kariassar, the Invincible! Thank God that you fall by my hand." And with that he threw his sword backward and dealt a frightful blow in the direction of Banfy's head. The Baron drew his sword coolly in front of his face and when Kariassar struck, made a very skilful movement at the hand of the Moor and struck off four fingers at once from Kariassar's hand, so that they fell noiselessly to the ground. An expression of terror and rage overspread the dark features. He threw himself quickly with a frightful roar at Banfy, and paying no heed to the wounds received on face and shoulders, with his left hand grasped the Hungarian's right and gave him such a push that, had not Banfy been firm in his saddle, he must have fallen from his horse. It seemed as if the Moor were still able with one hand to crush him. As Banfy was a good rider he used his spurs, and while the giant struggled with the master, pulling at his lacerated arm with lion strength, the battle-horse turned himself suddenly against the Moor, dealt him a blow in the thigh with his hoof, bit his breast with his foaming mouth and pushed against him with his teeth. Kariassar cried out with the maddening pain and letting go the Baron suddenly, reached for his dagger with his left hand and drew it from its sheath. Just at this moment Banfy struck at the giant's neck and the monstrous head rolled to the ground. While the blood gushed out in a threefold stream, the headless figure remained seated upon his unguided horse,—a terrible spectacle! At sight of him the frightened Mamelukes scattered, dashing over hedges and fences on their horses, riding one another down.

At the same time the people who were defending the church broke down the barricades and made a sally on the assailants. At their head was Madame Vizaknai with drawn sword—behind the clergy as standard-bearers, with the church banners.

The great army of besiegers, now fallen between two fires, parted and opened a free course for the scythes of the peasants, and for the tschakany. This last is a mighty weapon; in the hands of the expert its blow is almost unfailing. The long pointed blade strikes with such weight as it falls that there is neither helmet nor shield it cannot go through, and the sword offers no defence against its crooked steel.

Soon the two armies met. The janissaries who, though half dead still struck with their hangers at the feet of the horses riding over them, scattered like chaff.

Madame Vizaknai sprang toward Dionysius Banfy and seized his horse by the bridle.

"The danger is great, gracious lord. The Turks are twenty times our number. Come behind the church wall."

"I'll not go a step further," replied Banfy, coldly. "Save yourself behind the barricades."

"Neither will I," replied Madame Vizaknai.

"I can defend myself," said Banfy, fiercely.

"So can I," replied the woman, proudly.

New forces streamed out from every direction as if they had come down from the clouds or up from the ground. Foot soldiers and horse, with long weapons, bows and lances arose from every side with a shout that reached the heavens:—"Ali, Ali, Allah Akbar!"

The Hungarian force, with backs to the church drew themselves up in line of battle and waited the attack. From the end of the street a gleaming troop of horsemen appeared to be advancing. It was a picked company of spahis on stately Arab horses; the housings gleaming with emeralds in the firelight. In the middle rode Ali on a slender snow-white barb; in his hand a crooked sword with diamond-set hilt and on his head a turbaned helmet. His long beard fell over his silver armor. When he was within range of Banfy he called a halt and drew up his men. Until then Banfy had not touched his pistols, the wonderfully carved ivory handles of which were just in sight above the saddlebags. Now he drew them and handed them both to Madame Vizaknai.

"Take them," he said, "you ought to have something for self-defence."

Just then Ali Pasha sent a herald who brought this message to the Hungarians:

"My lord, Ali Pasha, commands you unbelieving giaours to surrender. Every way of escape is closed; spare yourself further useless efforts, lay down your weapons at his feet and surrender yourselves to his mercy."

The herald had hardly uttered the last words when two shots were heard and he fell dead from his horse. Madame Vizaknai, instead of any reply had fired off both pistols at him.

Ali Pasha, infuriated, gave a signal to the troops around him and there was a shower of darts and balls from every side upon the little Hungarian band.

Madame Vizaknai stepped up to Banfy's stirrups and resting against him one hand and swinging her sword with the other, said:

"Fear nothing, my friend."

Her words were followed by a sound as of thunder and a whizzing of darts. Madame Vizaknai's body came between Banfy and danger. When the noise of the firing passed over he felt her hold on his arm grow weaker;—an arrow had struck the lady just above the heart.

"The arrow was meant for you," said Madame Vizaknai, with feeble voice, and sank down dead on the ground.

"Poor soul!" said Banfy, looking down at her. "She always loved me and never showed it."

And then blood flowed instead of tears.

The Hungarians were surrounded by the Turks and could not force their way through at any point. Already Banfy was fighting with the eighth spahi who, like all the rest, gave way before his extraordinary dexterity. Ali Pasha was beside himself with rage.

"So then, you cannot kill this detestable dog," he roared, in his anger, and striking the people before him with the flat of his sword, he galloped toward Banfy.

"I stand before you, you miserable hog, son of a dog," he said, gnashing his teeth.

"Keep your names for yourself," said Banfy; rode up to the Pasha, and let fall on his helmet so mighty a blow that it was shivered, and Banfy's sword too, and both men drew back stunned. Ali took a round shield from one of his armor-bearers and a steel tschakany was handed Banfy. The tschakany fell with frightful force on the shield, making a hole. Ali Pasha drew his sword and this time Banfy saved his life only by a skilful spring to one side.

"I'll play ball with your head," said Ali, scornfully.

"And I will make a broom out of your beard," replied Banfy.

"I will have your coat of arms nailed up in my stable."

"And I will have your hide stuffed with sawdust and use it for a scarecrow."

"You rebel of a slave!"

"You barber's apprentice made into a general!"

Every taunt was accompanied with a fresh thrust.

"You shameless kidnapper!" shouted the pasha. "You carry off Turkish girls, do you? I will carry off your wife and make her the lowest slave of my harem."

Everything swam before Banfy's eyes; he had received three wounds that took from him all humanity.

"Cursed devil!" he roared, and gnashing his teeth, grasped his tschakany in the middle, bounded nearer to Ali and whirled his weapon with lightning swiftness about his head so that it flew about in his hand like the arms of a windmill, now driving at the opposing shield with the handle and now with the ball-like end of the weapon, serving alike for attack and defence. Ali Pasha, overwhelmed by this unwonted mode of attack tried to withdraw, but the two war-horses shared their masters' struggle by biting each other in the neck and chest and could not be separated. The spahis, who saw their master reel, threw themselves between the two and drove off the hussars surrounding Banfy. When he saw that all his men were fleeing toward the church he quickly let fall one last blow on Ali's shield, which struck through, and as he surmised from Ali's roar, just at the point where the shield fits on the arm. Banfy had no time for a second blow for he was surrounded on all sides. Just then there was heard in the rear of the combatants a familiar braying of trumpets, and a fresh war cry sounding from all sides mingled with the confusion.

"God! Michael Angyal!" George Veer had arrived with his troops.

"God! Michael Angyal!" shouted the leader, towering above the rest in his coat of mail with a bearskin thrown over one shoulder; with a notched club he forced his way through the midst of the surprised Turks.

The attack was skilfully made. The knights crowded forward from all sides and threw the army of the Turks into confusion at every point at once so that no division could bring help to another, and the outer ranks were constantly trampled down by this superior foe.

Ali Pasha had received a bad wound on his arm from Banfy's last thrust, that took away his courage; he put spurs to his horse and gave the signal for retreat. The army of the Turks was driven headlong out of the town. The leaders strove to bring the troops to the mountains of Gyerto, where they thought they could gather their forces again in the passes.

Outside the town the battle went on in spite of the order to retreat. The Hungarians scattered the burning hay and in the darkness of the night became so mixed with their foes that they could only be distinguished by the war cry. The retreating army of the Turks in the darkness and confusion now fled toward the enemy, now cut down their own comrades, and in their effort to imitate the war cry of the Hungarians met with still greater misfortune, for since they could not pronounce Michael Angyal but shouted Michael Andschal instead, they were the more easily recognized by the Hungarians. The Turkish army was utterly defeated. They left more than a thousand dead in the streets and vicinity of the church; and had it not been for the mountain ravines where it was not advisable for the Hungarians to follow, they would have been completely annihilated.

George Veer ordered the trumpet to sound for the rally of the scattered troops, while Banfy in his restless rage sought to pursue the fleeing foe. In vain! Every way was closed by the hastily felled trees.

"We are forced to let them escape," said Veer, sheathing his sword.

"Maybe not," said Banfy, excited, and rode up a hill where he appeared to see something. Suddenly he shouted joyfully:—"Look there! The signal fires are just being lighted." And it was a fact! The signal bonfires were seen blazing in a long line along the Gyalu mountains.

"There are our men!" shouted Banfy, with fresh enthusiasm. "The Turk is in a snare!"

And he collected his forces again and galloped toward the barricaded streets, giving no heed to the warning of the more cautious Veer.

Ali Pasha had meantime sent ahead his tents, camels and the booty-laden wagons, with Dschem-Haman to open up the road over the mountain. While Dschem-Haman went forward in the darkness, leveling a road, he suddenly heard a conversation on the steep rocks towering above his head and saw a troop of armed men come in sight. Both troops spoke at once,—"Who are you? What are you doing?"

"We are carrying stones," replied Dschem-Haman. "We too are carrying stones," shouted those above.

"We are Dschem-Haman's men, who are clearing the stones out of the way for Ali Pasha,—and you, are you not Csaki's men?"

"We are gathering stones to throw at the head of Ali Pasha, and are Michael Angyal's men," was the reply from above; and at the same moment there fell on the head of the Turk a rain of stones, as if by way of confirmation.

"Is Angyal here too?" growled the Turks, starting back in terror and alarming those in the rear, who feared they were about to be surrounded. At this information the army of the Turks formed in a solid mass, rear and van alike harassed by the fear that the Hungarian forces in possession of the mountain-heights would begin at daybreak to roll down huge rocks.

Ali Pasha tried to force his way through, now in one place and now in another, but was beaten back every time with frightful loss, by masses of rock and trunks of trees rolled down from above. The boldest rangers, who had fought hand to hand in hundreds of battles, fled terror-stricken before these thundering rocks which so crushed everything in their path that horse and rider could not be distinguished from each other. Ali, seeing that he and his entire host were all but caught, tore his beard with rage that he must lay down his arms before an army to which his own was even now superior in numbers.

"There is nowhere either help or defence except with Almighty God!" he cried, broke his sword in two in his despair, drew his pistol and aimed it at his own breast. At that instant a hand tore his weapon from him and Ali Pasha saw Zulfikar before him.

"What do you want, you madman?" he shouted at him. "You surely would not have me fall into the hands of these unbelievers alive!"

"I will set you and your army free," said Zulfikar.

"By the soul of Allah, you make great promises, and if you should be able to fulfil them I would make you second in command."

"That is not necessary. Promise me a thousand ducats and send me to Banfy as messenger."

"So you can betray my position to him, you dog!"

"I do not need to do that, he can see for himself from the mountain height, and in any case you are as well done for as if you were dead already, so you have no choice whether you will believe me or not. Within ten days you and I and your noblest knights will die of hunger; in this one respect all are alike and have no advantage over one another."

"And what will you attempt, miserable slave?"

"Influence Banfy to withdraw his troops from the road leading toward Kalota and so leave us a way of escape."

"And you think that is possible?"

"Either it is possible, or it is not possible. Where death is certain, a man is not risking his life. If I can speak with Banfy this evening, you can think of escape by night. If it succeeds, good; if it does not, you can come back here again."

"The boy speaks boldly. Well, act according to your judgment. I trust it to you. God sees all. Go."

Zulfikar laid down his arms and followed the defile leading toward Kalota. As he came to the Hungarian outpost he saw the length of the street, long rows of trees with Turks hung to the branches; but this sight did not disturb the composure of the deserter. He walked boldly into the midst of the enemy and when they stopped him said quietly in Hungarian, "Take me to Dionysius Banfy, I am his spy!"

"You lie!" they shouted. "Hang him to a tree!"

"I can prove it," continued Zulfikar, firmly, took a folded letter out of his turban and gave it to the captain.

In the letter were these words. "I, Gregory Sötar, inform the captains that the bearer of this letter, Zulfikar, is my faithful war spy. He is to be allowed free pass everywhere." The captain gave back the letter sullenly and motioned to two soldiers to lead him to Banfy, and in case the latter did not recognize him, strike him down at once. Banfy recognized him at the first glance as Pongracz, once servant of Balassa, and motioned to his servant to leave him alone with him.

"So you have turned Turk?" Banfy asked.

"Do not ask, my lord, I have a great deal to say beside that. Let me tell my story quietly to the end and I will be brief. Emerich Balassa turned me out of his house when he learned that I had assisted you in carrying off Azraele."

"Good," said Banfy, contracting his eyebrows. "The girl has fled from me too and I do not know where she has gone."

"I do, my lord. But the worst of it is that there are others who know too. Near Gregyina-Drakuluj there is a hidden dwelling among the rocks that is her property."

"Still," cried Banfy, frightened. "How do you know that?"

"Balassa entered a complaint to the Prince that his wife had been stolen. The affair is not so trifling as you think. Azraele is the Sultan's daughter, who was betrothed to Ali and carried off by Corsar. Balassa's poison alone saved Corsar from a silken rope, while Balassa has given up his native land for the sake of the girl. This woman has brought misfortune to everybody who has rejoiced in the possession of her. Now it is your turn. After the Prince had promised the disgraced Ladislaus Csaki everything in his power if he would discover the place where you had concealed the girl, Csaki craftily commissioned the Lieutenant of the circuit to make inquiries among the people whether a panther had not been seen in the forest, for he felt quite sure that this tamed beast would wander widely. In this way they got trace of the hiding place among the rocks, saw the girl,—and all is betrayed."

"Hell and the devil!" said Banfy, turning white.

"Hear the rest. Csaki communicated his plan to Ali Pasha, who was the one concerned; according to this plan, when Ali fell upon Banfy-Hunyad, Csaki with his thousand Wallachians was to go up into the mountain under pretext of a hunt and storm Gregyina-Drakuluj."

"Unheard of knavery!" cried Banfy, with his hand on his sword.

"It is possible, my lord, that you may yet get there in time," added the deserter, cunningly,—"if you do not delay too long."

"Let us start at once," said Banfy, pale with rage. "I'll teach these sycophants to touch the possession of a free nobleman while he himself is fighting against the foe of his fatherland. A few hundred men will be enough to hold Ali Pasha in check here; with the rest I'll wager that I can make it uncomfortable for Ladislaus Csaki if he crosses my borders."

And at once Banfy sent orders to his men to start for Marisel in perfect silence; he ordered the few troops remaining to light a great many fires in the forest to make the enemy believe that the entire force was still there, and he himself hurried on to Azraele's hiding place. For Zulfikar he counted out five hundred gold pieces for his information.

Ali Pasha, according to agreement, had attacked by night with his entire force the line of military posts left by Banfy and held by a few hundred men; had driven them back after a short resistance and leaving behind two thousand dead and all his baggage, and swallowing down his vexation at a great defeat, had hurried away to ward Gross Nagy Varad. From him too Zulfikar received the thousand gold pieces stipulated; he had done a service alike to the Hungarian and to the Turk, and had allowed himself to receive pay from both parties.

CHAPTER XIV
THE COURT OF JUSTICE IN THE BANQUET HALL

"Quite right," replied Banfy, with an offended laugh. "You are on my territory and that is comparatively lawful. I really do not know how I can express my pleasure at this honor. Doubtless you are weary; I invite you to my house at Bonczida to a friendly meal."

"Thank you," replied Csaki, angrily, "but at present we cannot accept."

"That is my affair. I am not accustomed to allow those to go away hungry and thirsty who have come to me as guests. I cannot treat you as poachers so I must look upon you as my guests, I suppose."

"There is still a third condition possible."

"I recognize none."

"Your Excellency shall learn it at once from me."

"Very good, but there will be time for that over the midday meal. Let us turn our horses toward Bonczida, my lords."

"I have already said that we would not accept the invitation."

"What do you say? have you then so poor an opinion of my hospitality as to think that I will not myself drag you away by force? You must not overlook Bonczida: since you already know my game, you must now make acquaintance with my domestic animals. At all events, I shall take you with me, even by force."

"Have done with jesting, Banfy; it is not in place here."

"I think that it is you who are jesting, for I am perfectly serious when I say that I intend to take you with me even against your will."

"We will see."

"You may be assured that you will," said Banfy; he blew his horn and from all sides appeared armed men out of the forest. Csaki's men were surrounded.

"This is certainly treason!" cried Csaki, infuriated.

"Oh no, only a little Carnival fun," replied Banfy, laughing. "This once the game catches the hunter. Forward, my men, take the horses of these gentlemen by the bridle and follow me with them to Bonczida. If any one of them does not go willingly, fasten his legs firmly to the stirrups."

"I protest against this violence," said Csaki, raging. "I call upon you to bear witness that I have entered a protest against this law of violence."

"And I, on my part, call on everybody to witness," said Banfy, laughing as he imitated him; "that I have invited these gentlemen in the most friendly fashion to a banquet."

"I protest it is violence!"

"It is diversion—Hungarian hospitality."

Some of the gentlemen laughed and the rest cursed. Finally, since Banfy had the power, Csaki's men sullenly yielded to the act of violence and allowed themselves to be led away to Bonczida.

Along the road Csaki called out to all who met them. He called on them to bear witness that Banfy was doing them an act of violence, while Banfy in turn laughingly strove to make it clear to them that the noble gentleman was a little befogged and that they were playing him a joke befitting nobility.

"You will be sorry for this yet," snarled Csaki, beside himself with rage.

As they were passing through a village one of Csaki's suite, a young nobleman called Szantho by his comrades, made his way out of the throng and before they could pursue him, was out of sight.

"The Devil take him!" said Banfy. "However we can sport merrily without him can we not, my Lord Ladislaus Csaki?"

Gradually Csaki regained his composure and laid aside his anger. As they came to Bonczida he wore a smiling countenance for he saw that it would be unbecoming and ridiculous in the presence of ladies to wear an angry expression, so without annoyance he allowed himself to be presented to Madame Banfy and Madame Apafi as a guest picked up by the way.

Banfy crowned his insult by pointing Csaki to the seat of honor at the upper end of the table near his wife, placed himself opposite and bestowed on him constantly the highest expressions of honor, at the same time allowing the most biting scorn to show through. Csaki did not dare have it seen to what extent he felt this. The merrier their spirits grew toward the close of the meal, the more exasperated Csaki became. He sat on burning coals and had to smile. At last Banfy thought of one more vexation for him. Taking up his glass he drank to his health. Csaki had to accept the civility and empty his glass and so face Banfy's laugh. Every drop of the liquor turned to poison under this scornful laughter; and the torture was so subtly veiled that the two ladies did not notice any of it. As the guests were at their merriest, the middle door flew open and without any announcement there entered Michael Apafi, the Prince, to whom the escaped Szantho had carried the news of Csaki's capture.

The two ladies hurried toward the unexpected guest with cries of joy and surprise, while the gentlemen at once discerned the threatening storm on the countenance of the Prince and became serious. Banfy alone knew how to maintain his customary distinguished serenity, which was wont to express even anger with smiles. He sprang hastily from his seat and met the Prince with a joyful face.

"Your Highness has come in the very moment that we had emptied our glasses to your health. I call that an unexpected but most opportune appearance."

Apafi received his greeting with a slight nod and leading the ladies back to their places took Banfy's chair at the table.

Several of the guests hastened to offer their seats to Banfy, but the Prince motioned to him:

"You may remain standing, Banfy. We wish to make a friendly trial of your case."

"If we may be permitted to be the judges, your Excellency,"—interrupted the learned Csehfalusi, "the necessary inquiries have already been made."

"I alone will pass judgment," said Apafi, "although I do not know whether the master in Bonczida is Dionysius Banfy or I."

"The law of the land is master of us both, your Highness," replied Banfy.

"Well answered. Then you certainly mean to remind us that a Hungarian nobleman in his own house does not allow any one to sit in judgment on him. It is only a little 'Carnival fun' that is under discussion. You began it, you gave it this name, and we continue it."

Tense expectancy was on the faces of those present for they did not know whether all this was to end as a joke or as something serious.

"You seized by violence our messenger Ladislaus Csaki and brought him to your house."

"Indeed!" said Banfy, with feigned astonishment. "Is that his office? why did not the Count say at once that your Highness had sent him to hunt on my estate? And then when your Highness has a desire to hunt within my preserves, why do you not inform me instead? I could have far better deer shot for your Highness than Ladislaus Csaki can."

"This is not a question of deer, my lord baron. You know perfectly well what the affair turns on. Do not oblige me to speak more plainly in the presence of the ladies."

At these words Madame Banfy would have risen but the Princess held her back.

"You must stay," she whispered in her ear.

"Thus far I do not understand a word of all that has been said," Banfy remarked in an aggrieved tone.

"You do not? then we will recall to your memory a few circumstances. In your forests a panther has been seen by the peasants."

"That is possible," replied Banfy, with a laugh. (For a Hungarian noble may be permitted to jest with his guests but never to be rude, no matter how much he may be annoyed.) "It is quite possible that the panther is a descendant of the one which came into the country with Arpad, and so might be called an ancestral panther."

"It is no joke, my lord. That beast of prey has torn to pieces in the sight of several persons a Wallachian, on whose account I sent out the lord, Ladislaus Csaki, to hunt down the beast and kill him. And Csaki had seen the creature and given chase when you met him in the forest."

"My lord, Ladislaus Csaki has merely mistaken his own tiger skin for a panther."

"Do not sneer. The lair of that monster has been discovered. Do you understand now?"

"I understand, your Highness. For that reason it was a pity to put my lord Csaki to so much trouble. So it was he who discovered the building which I had hewn in the rocks in my love for a hot spring. This will hardly earn him the title of a Christopher Columbus."

"We still mock, do we? So you do not wish to bend your proud head to the dust? What if I knew the secret which caused you to have that lair made so quietly?"

Banfy began to change color. He answered in a low tone of voice like a man who found it hard not to speak the truth.

"The cause of this, my lord, is quite simple. Borvölgy too I had discovered, and hardly had the news of it spread abroad when the public took possession of this spring: again near Gregyina-Drakuluj I found a spring of mineral waters, and to prevent everybody from going there I had a little pleasure house made in secret among the rocks." By these last words, Banfy intended to signify to the Prince that he would like to spare his wife, but he accomplished quite the opposite effect.

"Ah, my lord, that is base hypocrisy!" cried out the Prince, passionately, and struck his clenched fist on the table. "You wish to use your wife as a cloak and yet you are keeping in that place a Turkish girl, on whose account the Sultan is now preparing war against our country."

Madame Banfy uttered a piercing cry. Her sister whispered in her ear, "Be strong. Show your resolution now."

Banfy bit his lips in anger but he knew how to control his feelings and answered quietly:

"That is not true. I dispute it."

"What! Is it not true? there are people who have seen her."

"Who has seen her?"

"Clement, the Lieutenant of the Circuit."

"Clement, the poet? lying is the poet's trade."

"Good, my lord baron! Since you deny everything I shall convince myself personally of all these matters. I shall myself go to the place in question and if I find proof of the accusation brought against you, be assured that a threefold punishment awaits you; for the abduction of the Turkish girl, for the violence done a messenger of the Prince and for your infidelity. But one of these charges is alone sufficient to bring you down from your fancied height. Csaki, conduct us to the place mentioned. My lord, Dionysius Banfy, will remain here in the meantime."

Banfy stood colorless and as if rooted to the ground. His wife had risen, and summoning all her strength with a mighty effort, advanced to the Prince and said:

"My lord,—pardon my husband,—he knows of nothing—the guilt is mine; that woman whom you are looking for found herself pursued and turned to me for protection and I hid her in that place without the knowledge of my husband."

Each word that she spoke seemed to cost the pale, weak woman more than human strength.

Banfy blushed and dropped his eyes before her. Madame Apafi looked at her sister triumphantly and pressed her hand.

"Good! that is noble. You were strong."

Apafi saw through the generous deceit and turned angrily toward Banfy, determined that he should not escape him in this way.

"And you permit your wife to take risks which might easily plunge your family—yes, your country—into peril! for this you deserve punishment. It is my wish that here in the presence of your guests, to my satisfaction, you set her right." Madame Banfy sank down on her knees before the guests, with an air of resignation, and dropped her head like a criminal who awaits her punishment.

"That is not my custom," replied Banfy, hoarsely.

"Then I will do it," said Apafi, and stepped up to the lady.

"This deed of yours deserves to be punished by imprisonment."

"That I will not permit, my lord," muttered Banfy, between his teeth.

He was already white as a corpse. All the blood seemed to have settled in his eyes as at a focal point. All his muscles quivered with rage and shame.

"My lords,"—rang out a bell-like voice, the sound of which was grateful in this rude contest of men. It was Madame Apafi who had stepped between the prostrate lady and the men.—"Formerly noble men were wont to honor noble women."

"You are on hand again, to defend those whom I bring to justice," said the Prince, with annoyance.

"I am on hand to save your Highness from an injustice; to defend my sister is always my right; when everybody fails her then it certainly is my duty."

With these words the Princess put her arms around Margaret who, feeling herself supported by the stronger nature suddenly sank down in a faint in her sister's arms, her overtaxed physical and mental strength failing her. Banfy would have hastened to his wife's aid but Madame Apafi held him back.

"Go," she said, "I will assume the care of her."

"So you intend to remain here?" said the Prince to his wife, in a tone wavering between anger and sympathy.

"My sister needs me—and you, I see, do not."

Since Apafi had heard his wife speak his voice had become noticeably dejected, and fearing that she would utterly rout him he left the battlefield in great haste with only half a triumph.

The Prince was naturally very much dissatisfied with this result. He felt that Banfy had been struck in a weak spot and at the same time that the blow was not deadly. The great lord had been affronted but not humbled. So much the worse for him!

What will not bend must break!

CHAPTER XV
THE DIET OF KARLSBURG

The crowd gathered in the galleries and behind the balustrades formed a gay picture. Here and there one or another familiar figure was pointed out and sometimes a threatening fist was shaken at some offender. Finally a blare of trumpets announced that the Prince had come. The seneschals threw wide the doors: the crowd cried huzza! and the Prince entered attended by his courtiers. At their head marched Dionysius Banfy as first marshal, with the national standard in his right hand. By his side Paul Beldi of Uzoni with the princely mace, as general of the Szeklers. Behind them came solemnly the prime minister, Michael Teleki, carrying wrapped in silk the official seal.

All these lords were in splendid court costume. In the middle came the Prince himself in long, princely caftan with ermine bordered cap,—the sceptre in his hand. Around and behind him crowded the ambassadors from foreign courts. In the first row was the Sultan's representative, in jeweled costume; then followed the ambassadors of Louis XIV., Forval, a courtly, good-looking man in a silk-trimmed dolman, with gold lace on his hat and an embroidered sword-knot, and an abbé with smiling face, wearing a lilac robe and purple girdle. Then came Sobieski's representative in cloak with slashed sleeves, so like the Hungarian dress. All these lords took their places on the right and left. The ambassadors of the foreign courts remained behind the Prince's seat and several of them carried on a lively conversation with the Hungarian nobles while the tedious protocol of the last Diet was being read.

Among the last was Nicholas Bethlen, whose features became familiar to us in Zrinyi's hunting-party. He was a lively, sensible man who in his youth had traveled through all the civilized countries of Europe and had made the acquaintance of the most important men, even of princes; yet his national character had not been impaired although he had adopted the most advanced ideas of his time. The French say that it was he who first acquainted them with the hussar costume, and by the pattern of the cloak which excited admiration on his figure, Louis XIV. had several regiments equipped.

When Bethlen caught sight of Forval, whom he had known in France, he hastened to him and greeted him cordially. Forval, hearing that something was being read aloud, said to the young nobleman:

"Will you not lose the thread of the deliberation?"

"The present business can go on without me; the measures which are now being carried turn on the question how many dishes a man should set before his servant; or at the most how the poor can be made to grow rich so they can pay their taxes. As soon as they come to important matters I will be in my place."

"Come then and tell me meantime, which are worthy men here and which are not. In Transylvania everybody is known, of course."

"This classification is not at all easy. Before I had ever been out of Transylvania, and while I belonged either to one party or the other, I was convinced that all the adherents of my party were worthy men but those on the opposite side were worth nothing. But since I have lived in foreign lands and been somewhat withdrawn from the sight of political machinery I begin to see that one may really be as good a patriot, as brave a fighter and as honest a man in one party as in the other. It all depends on which is managing affairs more intelligently. However, if you wish I will share with you my party views; you can then form your own opinions. This man of proud bearing at the Prince's right is Dionysius Banfy, the one at his left is Paul Beldi; both are among the most distinguished lords of the country and both are decidedly opposed to the impending war. At the same time they are opposed to each other. On one point only do they stand together. Banfy is evidently in league with the Roman Emperor and the other with the Turk. According to their opinion Transylvania is quite strong enough to drive out any foe which forces its way into the territory, and sensible enough not to strive after the possessions of others. Now turn your eyes toward that man with thin hair at the Prince's left. It is this man's clearness that holds the two in check. He is a near kinsman of the Prince's, and when the Hungarian National party has been overthrown he will again take up the unsuccessful campaign. The contest between the strength and cunning of these three men is going to offer an interesting spectacle."

"What if the peace party should prevail?"

"Then the nation will have closed its career."

"And the king cannot oppose this?"

"Here, my friend, we are not at the court of Versailles where the king may be allowed to say 'L'État c'est moi.' These men here are, each one of them, as mighty as the Prince himself. Their strength acts in union with the Prince; but let him try to act in opposition to the will of the nation and he will soon discover that he stands alone. In the same way these lords would be isolated if they should undertake anything against the decision of the nation."

"Tell the truth. Do you hope the war-party will carry off the victory?"

"Hardly, this time. I do not yet see the man who could accomplish it. In the entire Hungarian nation there is no man who could serve as ideal to this war-loving people. The leaders have gone to ruin. Rakoczi has changed parties. Teleki knows how to overthrow parties but not how to create any. Besides he is no soldier and in such a position a warrior is needed; he represents cold reason and here a soul of fire is needed. He does not feel a mission within him, he has only an interest in having Hungary go to war. One of the great Hungarian lords, that smooth-faced youth there, has sued for the hand of his daughter in order to interest him in his party. You can be assured he will not end where he has begun. One idea leads him on,—power. Fate is changeful and he avails himself of every means."

This cold consolation was not agreeable to Forval; meanwhile the tedious reading had come to an end and Bethlen returned to his seat.

The Prince explained to the lords, with great depression of spirits, that the affair which had occasioned their coming together would be explained by Teleki; he then wrapped himself more closely in his caftan and settled down into a corner of the throne.

Teleki rose, waited until the murmur of the people had gradually subsided, then cast a tranquil glance at Banfy and began as follows:

"Noble Knights and States, you are acquainted with the events which have recently taken place in Hungary; even if you were not acquainted with them, you would need only to cast a glance about you and you would see the sad faces worn with despair which swell our assembly; these are our Hungarian brothers, once the flower of our nation, now withered leaves which the storm has driven. You have not refused to share with your brothers in their misfortunes your hearth and your bread, and you have mingled your tears with theirs; but they have turned to us, not for the bread of charity, nor for woman's tears—you, Bocskai, and you, Bethlen, whose portraits look down upon us in silent reproach, whose victorious banners covered with dust wave above the princely throne, why could you not rise in hero form to seize these banners and to thunder out to this irresolute modern generation: 'The exiles demand of you their home, you must win back for the homeless their fatherland by war!'" . . . .

Here Teleki paused, as if he awaited objections. Everybody was wrapped in silence, feeling that thus far it was only a matter of rhetorical figures. This silence constrained Teleki to avoid the bombastic in his speech.

"You meet my speech with silence. This is the same as, 'Qui tacet, negat.' I will not believe that your heart is cold and that it is for that reason you do not become excited. You waver because you are taking counsel with your strength, but you must know that not alone shall we move to the field of battle; the confiscated churches, the fate of the clergy dragged away to the galleys, has forced weapons into the hands of all the Protestant princes of Europe. Even the King of Belgium, who has least concern for our fate, has by force rescued the clergy of our faith from Neapolitan galleys. The sword of Gustavus Adolphus too has not yet rusted in its scabbard. Yes, even the Catholic princes and those who acknowledge Mohammed are ready to grant their assistance in our affairs. See, the King of France, at present the mightiest ruler of Europe, not only in his own land but also in Poland recruits armies for us. If it should be necessary the Sultan will not hesitate to break the enforced peace; or if he should not do this, still it will be an easy matter to assure ourselves of his border troops for pay. And now when the noise of battle roars about us on all sides, when everybody has seized his sword, ought we alone to leave ours in the sheath? We, who have the most duties to fulfil toward our brothers and even toward ourselves? What happened to them yesterday, may happen to us to-day. What country shall then give us refuge? therefore, sons of my fatherland, listen to the entreaties of the exiled as if you were in the same position; for I tell you the time may come when you will be in the position of your brothers, and as you treat them Fate will treat you."

With these words Teleki came to an end; he fixed his eyes on Dionysius Banfy as if he knew in advance that he would be the first to oppose him. Banfy arose; it was evident from his countenance that he had done violence to his feelings in order to keep cool.

"Noble comrades,"—he began in an unusually calm voice,—"sympathy for the unfortunate and hatred for old enemies are both passions befitting men. The life of states however offers no room for passions. Here we are not kinsmen nor friends, nor even enemies. Here we are only patriots who reckon coolly; for the decision will determine the fate of the whole country, quite apart from the question of how many will weep or lament in consequence of the decision. This is the real question,—'Shall we stake the existence of Transylvania for Hungary, that it may arise again by our blood?' Let us not follow the voice of our hearts; this would lead us to feel only, the head must think. At present, Transylvania lives in peace. The people begin to feel prosperous. The towns are building up. The garb of mourning is gradually disappearing and on the bloody battlefields the blade shoots into the ear. Now the Hungarian within Transylvania is his own master; no stranger forces tribute from him; he has neither foe nor patron; nobody dares mix in his councils: the neighboring powers are under obligation to protect him, and he has no homage to pay them. Consider this well before you hazard everything for one chance. Do you wish to see Transylvania once more turned into a great battlefield and your subjects into armies? and there is still the question whether these armies would be victorious. Even if our fighting force were sufficient another important question arises:—Who is to be our leader? Not one of us has inherited the spirit of Bethlen or Bocskai. Neither I, nor my lord Teleki. On whom can we count outside ourselves? on the mood of Louis XIV.? his policy is easily made to waver by a pair of beautiful eyes; and when we should be in the deepest distress it is possible that a little intrigue at Versailles might be the cause of our being left alone on the battlefield."

A slight cough of vexation was heard from Forval.

"However," went on Banfy, "Sobieski will not pick a quarrel with the Emperor his present ally, for our beautiful eyes, unless there is every other cause. Nor will the Sultan so easily break his oath as my lord, Michael Bethlen, imagines. What course is there left us? To call into Hungary the Tartar Nomads? The poor Hungarian people would certainly return most hearty thanks for such assistance! The brave Nicholas Zrinyi, who stands as the ideal to every Hungarian, once related a fable bearing on this which deserves to be handed down. The devil was dragging a Szekler along on his back. A neighbor of his met him and said: 'Which way are you going, my good friend?' 'I am being dragged to hell,' replied the other. 'Indeed, that is truly unfortunate,' said the other. 'It would be still more unfortunate,' replied the rogue, 'if the Devil should seat himself on my back, drive his spurs into me and make me carry him.' I leave you to make the application. For my part I should not know how to decide aright which I ought to fear more, the enmity of the one, or the friendship of the other. And what is to be the result of this war? If we conquer with the aid of the Sultan Transylvania becomes a Turkish pashalic. If we are conquered we sink into the condition of an Austrian province, while now we are, by God's grace, an independent country. Hungary's fate anticipates improvement in every case, and it lies just as heavily on my heart as on the hearts of those who think that the sick man can be healed by the sword. But nothing is to be attained in this way. How much blood has already flowed without the slightest result! Let us try at once another way. Ought not the Hungarian to possess so much strength of soul that he can overthrow, by intellectual superiority, the foe whom he cannot conquer by force of arms? Subdue your conqueror. You who in understanding, activity, wealth and manly beauty are the first of the kingdom, why do you not take the high position which is becoming you? Were you there where the Pazmans and Esterhazys spread themselves no empty place would then remain for a Lobkowitz. If, instead of fighting these small battles without result, you would fight it out with your intelligences and your influence you might make your land prosperous and that without the cost of a drop of blood. It rests with you to conjure up again the period of Louis the Great. At that time when the foreign prince was so enamored of his chosen people he understood how to become a Hungarian and so, with the help of the nations, became strong and powerful. If in your eyes the prosperity of the nations is of the first importance, change your rôle: let the states of Transylvania undertake to promote peace between the Emperor and the nation, to get back for you your property and your rank and I will be the first to offer a helping hand for that purpose, and Michael Teleki surely will be the second. If you do not accept this proposition then consider what you can do. So far as that prophecy goes of first one and then another, you need not be concerned about Transylvania. I will wager that everybody who crosses Transylvania by force of arms, let him be who he may, will find a force to match him. I also wager that this Transylvanian fighting force will never for the love of anybody rashly cross the borders of a foreign country."

"So then you think Hungary is a foreign country!" rang out a mocking voice from the crowd.

This interruption disturbed Banfy's composure. He turned angrily toward the corner from which the remark had come, and when he met the cold, disdainful glances of the Hungarians grouped together, he forgot himself; everything swam before him, and throwing his kalpac on the ground he cried out:

"As you say, quite right. You have always been strangers to us; nay more, stepchildren! You have always done wrong and we have always suffered for it. We have fought and you have trifled away the results of our conquests. Three times have your dissensions plunged your country into the grave, and three times has Transylvania brought it to resurrection. We have furnished you heroes and you have furnished us traitors." These last words Banfy had fairly to shout to make himself heard above the increasing din. Soon all were shouting confusedly. The Hungarian lords sprang up from their places and broke out in anathemas against Banfy. The more serious of the peace-party shook their heads thoughtfully when they saw that this inconsiderate expression of Banfy's was the occasion of stirring up so much violence of feeling.

Beldi rose; and the rest who would gladly see peace restored, shouted: "Let us listen to Beldi."

At this moment a young man suddenly made his way forward and stood in front of Banfy with glowing face and his hand resting on Teleki's seat. It was Emerich Tököli.

"I too ask for a word," he shouted, with a voice that drowned all else. "By law and justice, speech is mine at this bar. If you in Hungary deny your mother and would make boundaries between her and you, then I too will speak. I am just as strong a landed nobleman in Transylvania as you, proud little god, whose father was one of those heroes in whose name you are heaping up insults on the mother-country."

Beldi tried to get to Tököli to restrain him from speaking, but just then he was seized from behind by the hand, and when he looked around he saw to his surprise his son-in-law, Paul Wesselenyi, who called him out into the entrance hall "just for a word." Beldi went into the hall while Tököli's thundering words sounded through the entire room, drowning out the ceaseless noise. In this entrance hall a veiled lady waited for Beldi. When she uncovered her face it was only with the greatest difficulty that he recognized his own daughter Sophie, the wife of Paul Wesselenyi, so much had sorrow changed and broken her. She had wept her beautiful eyes out.

"We are fugitives from our country," sobbed Sophie, falling on her father's breast. "Our estates in Hungary have been taken from us. My husband has been driven from his castle and is fleeing for his life."

Beldi grew serious. This unexpected Job's messenger brought war to his soul. Within thundered Tököli's voice summoning them to an uprising and Beldi no longer was in a hurry to check it.

"Stay with me," he said, sorrowfully. "Here you can live in peace until the fate of the country meets with a change."

"Too late," replied Wesselenyi. "I have already enlisted as common soldier under the standard of the French general, Count Bohan."

"You, a common soldier! You, a descendant of the Palatine Wesselenyi! And what is to become of my daughter meantime?"

"She is to remain with you and to be widowed until the struggle for Hungary is over."

When he had finished speaking he placed his young wife Sophie in Beldi's arms, kissed her brow and went away with dry eyes.

Within the people were clamoring. Beldi saw his daughter sob and a bitter feeling began to blaze in his breast, not unlike revenge. He began to feel almost content that within there was a cry for war and he stood ready to draw his sword—he, the leader of the peace party!—to rush into the hall of the Diet and cry aloud, "War and retaliation!"

At this moment the pages conducted to the door of the entrance hall an old man, pale as death who, recognizing Beldi, hastened to him and addressed him with trembling voice:

"My lord, surely you are the general of the Szeklers, Paul Beldi, of Uzoni?"

"Yes, what do you wish of me?"

"I am," stammered, in dying voice, the sick old man, "Benfalva's last inhabitant. The rest have all been carried off by war—famine—pestilence. I alone am left; after I came away the place was entirely deserted; I too feel my release near and so I have brought with me to give over to you, the public seal, and the—village bell—give them over to the nation—let them be kept in the archives—and let it be written above: 'This was the bell and the seal of Benfalva, in which village everybody to the last man is dead'!" At this Beldi let his hand fall from his sword hilt in dismay and freed himself from the embrace of his daughter who was still clinging to him.

"Go home to your mother at Bodola, and learn to bear your fate nobly."

He then took the seal out of the hand of the death-stricken old man and hurried back into the hall just as Tököli had finished his speech, causing a terrible effect on the entire assembly. The French ambassador pressed his hand. Beldi took his place at the Szeklers' table and laid down the seal. He was universally respected and when they saw that he was ready to speak there was perfect silence.