"What! I prepare the way for the robbers, who have driven us from the graves of our ancestors! who have slain our people by the thousand and made miserable slaves of others! We in league with the Tartars, our hateful foes! It is a cowardly lie! The King is too noble-hearted ever to believe such a thing! It is the talk of madmen!"

"And the King does not believe it; quite the contrary, for he spoke warmly in defence of you and——"

"Ah! that is like himself," interposed Kuthen.

"Yes; but, my good King, you have many enemies, and they have taken it into their stupid heads that, as I said before, the Kunok are the forerunners of the Tartars. They are saying, shouting, that half the danger would be done away if we had not enemies in our midst, who would turn upon us at the first signal from the Mongols."

"That is what is said by Magyars? That those whom they have received as guests, with whom they have shared their bread and their wine, will betray them! Have I spent my days among lions and tigers, that anyone dares to say such a thing of Kuthen? Oh! the cowards! Let Batu Khan come, and the King shall soon see what our arrows will do."

"I believe you!" said Akos warmly, "and so does the King, but he cannot do all that he would, and so it is for your own safety's sake, in your own interest, as he said, and to prevent greater danger—he is going to station a guard outside."

"Put me and my family under guard! imprison me! in return for my trust, and because I have brought hither through countless dangers, 40,000 families to do and die for the king, and the nation who have received me——"

Kuthen broke off suddenly here to bid his sons go and see to the horses. Late as it was, he and they would go at once to the King, unarmed, and unprotected, to learn how much a sovereign's word was worth.

In a few moments they were all three on horseback, and in court dress, for Kuthen had already adopted the Hungarian usage in this respect, as he had also learnt the language, and done all else he could to accommodate himself to the manners and customs of his new home, by way of making himself more acceptable to his hosts.

But no sooner was the drawbridge lowered than Kuthen saw himself face to face with a party of Hungarian soldiers on horseback, under the command of one of his most bitter enemies, Jonas Agha, who told the King, in curt and not the most respectful terms, that he could not be allowed to leave his dwelling.

"Then I am a prisoner! and without so much as a hearing!" exclaimed Kuthen. "Be it so then. I am the King's guest, and my friend will explain things to me. Back now, my sons! Let us set an example of submission!"

As he uttered the words, he found Akos at his side, Akos, who, though he had heard from one of the courtiers that such an order was in contemplation, had never suspected that it was already an accomplished fact. And indeed, knowing that both the King and Queen, as well as Duke Kálmán, the King's brother, were doing all in their power to defeat the intentions of the hostile party, he suspected that the present action had been taken by some over-zealous official in a subordinate position, and he now hastened forward to set right any misunderstanding.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, standing erect in his stirrups and looking like a statue.

"The King's orders," replied Agha haughtily.

Akos was about to make some fiery reply, but Kuthen interrupted him, saying quietly, "Let it be as the King wills!" and with that he turned his horse's head from the gate.

CHAPTER VI.
MISTAKE THE SECOND.

Others accused the King, the Kunok, and other foreign guests who had lately arrived at the Court of Pest.

Some of these, the most timorous, actually wanted to force the King to send an embassy to the Great Khan, offering him an annual tribute and other shameful conditions.

Béla was a courageous man, and a true Magyar and king in the best sense of the words. He was calm, brave, and energetic. He saw through the cowards and despised their accusations; for it is the poltroon who is ever the first to accuse others of cowardice, and there is, moreover, one thing which he can never pardon—the being discovered trembling by men braver than himself.

King Béla paid no heed to the wagging of these many tongues, and himself went all round the eastern frontiers of the kingdom, to see personally to the defences. His plans were well considered and well adapted to the object in view. They failed in one point only, but that a fatal one—they were never carried out!

On the King's return to Pest, he found the capital given up to festivity. Nearly every noble in the place must be giving entertainments. If there was a banquet at one house to-day, there was one at another to-morrow. There was no trace of any preparations for war or defence, though there was plenty of nervous alarm.

Shortly after his arrival, the King called a Council, and the heads of Church and State met in a spacious hall often used for Court balls and assemblies, now presenting a very different appearance, and with its walls draped in sober green cloth.

The King was seated in a canopied armchair raised above the rest, and he wore a white silk mantle, with a clasp something like the ancient Roman fibula, but set with precious stones. On his head was a crown, simple but brilliant, in his hand he held a golden war-club, and from the plain leather belt which confined his white dolmány at the waist, there hung a long, straight sword, with a hilt in the form of a large cross.

The Council consisted of about sixty members, some wearing their ecclesiastical vestments, and others the long Hungarian dolmány. Of all those present no one looked so entirely calm as the King, and those who knew him best could read firm resolve in his face.

Béla knew Hungary and the strength of its various races, and he was never afraid of dangers from without. What he did fear was the spirit of obstinacy and envy, and at last of blindness, which has so often shown itself, just when clear sight and absolute unity were especially needed to enable the country to confront the most serious difficulties.

He knew that he must prove the existence of danger by facts, if he wanted to silence the contentious tongues of those who did not wish to believe; and he had determined to lay convincing proofs before them on this particular day.

When all were assembled and in their places, the King made a sign to Paul Héderváry, who at once left the hall, the door of which was shortly after again thrown open for the entrance of two gloomy-looking men, with swords and daggers at their belts, whom Paul ushered up to the King's throne. Their robes, trimmed with costly furs, showed that they were persons of importance; and what with the richness of their attire, and their manly deportment, they did not fail to make an impression upon the assembly, though one of the younger members muttered to his neighbour, "Hem! Flat noses and glittering eyes! Who may these be?"

The two bowed low before the king, and then one of them, Románovics by name, said: "Your Majesty, we are both Russian dukes, and have been driven from the broad lands of our ancestors, by Batu Khan, one of Oktai's chiefs. We have now come to your footstool, to entreat your hospitality, and to offer you our services."

"More guests!" whispered the same young man who had spoken before. "Kunok, Russians, and next, of course, the Tartars, not a doubt of it!" The broad smile on his face showed that he was highly pleased with his own wit.

"Honourable guests will always find the door open in Hungary," said the King, when the short speech had been interpreted to him; "and all who are oppressed shall have whatever protection we are able to afford them."

"More too! Oh, what generous fellows we are!" muttered another still younger man at the table.

The King went on to say that he had heard of the Russian disasters, but that as the news which had reached him might have lost or gained something on the way, he should be glad if they would tell him and the Council just what had really happened.

Whereupon, the Duke who had spoken before gave a short account of all that had taken place since the death of Dschingis, and the partition of his vast dominions. And then the younger Duke, Wsewolodovics, took up the tale.

"Lord King!" he began, "these Mongols don't carry on warfare in an honourable, chivalrous way. They fight only to destroy, they are bloodthirsty, merciless; their only object is to plunder, slay, murder, and burn, not even to make any use of what lands they conquer. They are like a swarm of locusts. They stay till everything is eaten up, till all are plundered, and what they can't carry off, that they kill, or reduce to ashes. They are utterly faithless; their words and promises are not in the least to be trusted, and those who do make friends with them are the first upon whom they wreak their vengeance if anything goes wrong. We are telling you no fairy tales! We know to our own cost what they are, we tell you what we have seen with our own eyes. And let me tell you this, my lord king, their lust of conquest and devastation knows no bounds! If it is our turn to-day, it will be yours to-morrow! And, therefore, while we seek a refuge in your land, we at the same time warn you to be prepared! for the storm is coming, and may sweep across your frontiers sooner than you think for."

"We will meet it, if it comes," said the King coolly. "But I bid you both heartily welcome as our guests for the present, and as our companions in arms, if the enemy ventures to come hither."

The Dukes found nothing to complain of in the King's reception of them. He had been cordial and encouraging, and he had heard them out; though, what with their own long speeches, and the interpreting of them, the interview had lasted a considerable time.

But if the King had listened attentively and courteously, so had not the Council; and the contrast was marked. Some listened coldly and without interest, some even wore a contemptuous smile, and there was a restless shrugging of shoulders, a making of signs one to the other, and at times an interchange of whispers among the members, which showed plainly enough that they thought the greater part of what the Russians said ridiculously exaggerated.

Councils, even those held in the King's presence, were by no means orderly in those days. Everyone present wanted to put in his word, and that, too, just as and when he pleased, so the Duke had hardly finished speaking, when up rose one of the elder and more important-looking nobles, exclaiming impatiently, "Your Majesty! These foreign lords have told us very fully to what we owe their present kind visit; and they have told us, too, that our country is threatened by ruffianly, contemptible brigands and incendiaries. There is but one thing they have forgotten. I should like to know whether this horde of would-be conquerors have any courage, discipline, or knowledge of war among them. It seems to me important that they should tell us this in their own interests, for it needs no great preparation to scatter a disorderly rabble, but valiant warriors are, of course, another thing."

"Very true, Master Tibörcs," said the King calmly, patiently.

But when the matter was explained to the Russian Duke, he exclaimed, with an expression of the utmost horror and contempt, "Valiant! disciplined! military knowledge! Why, my lord king, who could expect anything of the sort from such thieves and robbers! But, despicable as they are as soldiers, they are dangerous for all that! They are cowards! They are as wild as cattle, as senseless as stones, but—they have numbers, countless numbers, on their side. They fall in thousands, and they use the dead and wounded to bridge the rivers! And they are swift as the very wind."

Several at the table here exclaimed that the Duke must be magnifying, or at least that he had heard exaggerated reports; and one of the most timorous added that to a man who was terrified danger always looked greater than it did to anyone else in the world. That man, at all events, knew what he was talking about!

"We are not afraid, gentlemen," said Románovics, turning at once towards those seated at the table. "We are exhausted with fighting ourselves, and their blood, too, has flowed in torrents; ten of them have fallen to every one of our men, but then their numbers are ten times ours."

"Afraid of them?" continued the other, "No! who would be afraid of such cowardly robbers? Why, ten will run before one man, if he meets them face to face! We don't say they are invincible, quite the contrary. We come here in the belief that the heroic nation from whom we seek assistance is quite strong enough to be a match even for such a torrent as this! Nevertheless, there is one thing which must not be forgotten. Though there is no military knowledge among them, though they are not trained soldiers, they are extremely clever with their war-machines. Nothing can stand against them! And there is another thing. Those who are conquered are forced into their army; what is more, they are put in the forefront of the battle, in the place of greatest danger, and they are driven forward, or murdered if they attempt to escape! So, with danger before and behind, the miserable wretches fight with all the strength of despair; the victors share the spoil, and those who are defeated have nothing to expect but death any way, and sometimes a death of fearful torture too. This, together with their extraordinary rapidity of movement, their cunning, and powers of endurance, is the secret of their strength."

So spoke the Russian Dukes, and their words made a certain impression, though even now some of the Council were hardly convinced of the importance of the danger. Many were scornful of the new-comers, and various contrary opinions were being expressed, when all at once there was a roar outside as if a battle were already going on in the streets, and some of the palace guards rushed into the Council chamber.

All leapt to their feet. Swords all flashed simultaneously from their scabbards, and in a moment, Béla was surrounded, and over his head there was a canopy of iron blades. To do them justice, their first thought was for the safety of the King.

"What has happened?" he asked of the guards, when the hubbub around him had subsided.

"The people have risen! They are asking for the head of Kuthen," was the answer.

There was a shout of "Treachery, treachery, treachery!" without, and the next instant the mob burst into the hall.

"Gentlemen! to your places! put up your swords," said the King, in such a peremptory tone that his command was at once obeyed. Then rising from his chair and turning to the intruders with perfect calm and dignity, he bade them come forward.

"The King is always ready to hear the complaints of his people! What is it you want, children? But let one speak at a time, that will be the wiser way, for if you all clamour together, my sons, I shall not be able to understand any one of you. Ah! you are there, I see Barkó deák; come here, you are a sensible man, I know; you tell me what is the matter."

Barkó was a notable man in his own set, and his sobriquet of deák showed that he possessed some learning, at least to the extent of being able to write, and having some knowledge of the Scriptures, as well as of the laws, called "customs."

He was a man whose judgment was respected, and when first suspicion fell upon the Kunok, he was besieged by those who wanted his advice as to how they ought to act in these dangerous circumstances.

Now, on the days when Barkó got out of bed right foot foremost, he would calm his inquirers by saying wisely enough that until Kuthen himself was detected in some suspicious act, the time had not come for accusing him. But, unfortunately, Barkó was not without his domestic troubles in the shape of a wife, who would always have the last word, and so sometimes it happened that he got up left foot foremost.

It was on one of these unlucky days that the people of Pest and the neighbourhood, having somehow heard, as people always do hear, that the King was holding a Council for the purpose of taking measures of defence against the Mongols, "Tartars," as they called them, came with one consent to Barkó's house, and swarmed into it in such numbers that he leapt out of the window to escape them. But no sooner had his feet touched the ground than they were at once taken off it again, and he was caught up and raised on high, amid loud shouts from the crowd that he must be their leader and spokesman.

"What am I to do? What do you want?" he cried.

"Let's go to the King! Treachery! The Kunok are bringing the Tartars upon us! We want the head of Kuthen!"

Such were the cries which assailed him on all sides, and Barkó let them shout till they were tired.

"Very well, children," he said, as soon as there was a chance of making himself heard. "Very well, we will go to his Majesty. He will listen to his faithful people and find some way of putting an end to the mischief."

"We will go now!" they shouted.

"No! let's wait!" roared a grey-beard, with a shake of his shaggy head, using his broad shoulders and sharp elbows to force a way through the crowd.

"We won't go to the King! We'll go straight to the other King, the vagabond and traitor Kuthen. We will take his treacherous head to our own good King!"

"Good! good!" cried the mob.

"It is not good!" shouted Barkó. "It is for the King to command, it is for us to ask. If I am to be your leader, trust the matter to me."

"Let us trust it to Mr. Barkó," cried some voices again.

"So then, I am the leader, and if we want to go before the King's Majesty, let us do it respectfully, not as if we were a rabble going to a tavern. Here! make room for me! put me down!"

And Barkó puffed and panted, and shook himself, as if he had swum across the Danube.

Then he called three or four of the crowd to him to help in forming up some sort of procession.

"There! I go in the middle, as the leader, and you, the army, will march in two files after me."

"But we are here, too, Mr. Barkó!" cried some shriller voices.

"The petticoats will bring up the rear!" said Mr. Barkó authoritatively.

And in this order the crowd proceeded on its way; but, notwithstanding all Barkó's precautions, it was a very tumultuous crowd which burst into the King's presence.

Barkó had made the journey bare-headed; and now, being called upon to speak, he bowed low before the King, saying: "Your Majesty! Grace be upon my head. Since the devil is bringing the Tartars upon us, the people humbly beg the head of the traitor Kuthen! And we will bring it to you, if you will only give us the command, your Majesty!"

"It shall be here directly, and the heads of all his brood, too!" cried Barkó's followers.

Barkó, seeing that the King did not speak, turned to them, saying in a tone of command, "Silence! I will speak, asking the King's grace upon my head."

And turning again to the King he added, "If we don't root them out, my lord King, the Tartars will find the banquet all made ready for them when they come. The vagabonds in the country-districts are already laying hands on property not their own, and behaving just as if they were at home."

One or two voices from among the crowd echoed these complaints, and added others as to the disrespect shown to the Magyar women.

"Silence," interrupted Barkó. "Let us hear his Majesty, our lord the King. What he commands that we will do, and we must not do anything else," he added, by way of showing that he could read writing, and was acquainted with the style in which the royal commands were expressed.

The King heard all without appearing in the least disturbed, while those at the table kept their hands all the time on their swords, and it was by no means without emotion that the two Russian Dukes looked on at this, to them, very novel kind of Council, and at this unconventional way of approaching the King's presence.

At last there was silence. Barkó had said his say, and the cries and exclamations of his followers having subsided, the King addressed them and him.

First he praised him for his discretion in coming to seek counsel of the King, and then he reminded him that a good king was also a just judge. But a just judge always heard both sides of a question before he gave judgment. If, therefore, he were now to give his consent to what his faithful children wished, and were to deliver King Kuthen, who was both his guest and theirs, into their hands, and that without hearing him as he had heard them, why, then he would be a bad judge, and therefore not a good king. Moreover, if he were unjust in one case he might be so in another.

"If, for instance," said he, "Paul came to me with a complaint against Peter, we might have Mr. Peter's head cut off; and if Peter accused Paul, we might have Paul beheaded. For, my children, others have as much right to justice as ourselves; therefore, hear our commands, and as my faithful servant, the honourable Mr. Barkó has said, observe them and do nothing else."

All eyes were fixed upon the King, and they listened with wrapt attention and in perfect silence as he proceeded:

"Strict inquiry shall be made as to whether there be any real ground of suspicion against King Kuthen; and if there is, he and his people shall be punished! But we must let the law take its course, and my dear citizens of Pest may wait quietly and confidently while it does. From this day forth the Kun King will not leave his residence, a guard shall be placed at his gate, and we will have the matter regularly investigated without delay."

There was a burst of "Eljens" (vivas) as the King concluded. The people appeared to be thoroughly satisfied, and when Barkó, after a low reverence, turned to leave the hall, his followers made a way for him through their midst, and cleared out after him, quickly at all events, if not with much dignity.

History tells us that the King's Council was satisfied also, no less than the people, who had, indeed, been purposely excited by some of the nobles, and used more or less as a cat's paw. The order that Kuthen should be guarded was, as we have seen, given and executed forthwith. Béla had given it most unwillingly, only, in fact, to appease the excitement, and in the hope of avoiding still worse evils; and though some were still dissatisfied, this was the case with but few of the cooler heads.

And the Russian Dukes, when they were able to speak to the King in private, admitted that numbers of Kunok had indeed been forced by Batu Khan to serve in his army; but they added that these recruits were only waiting the first favourable opportunity to desert and join with their kinsmen, and with the Hungarians, in exterminating the common enemy. And what they feared was that, if the Kunok heard that their King, whom they worshipped, was being kept under restraint, they would actually do what the majority and so many of the chief nobles now without reason suspected them of.

Béla understood human nature, and to him it seemed that to throw some sort of sop to Cerberus was wiser than to risk the exciting of greater discontent.

But again the King made a mistake!

CHAPTER VII.
AT THE VERY DOORS.

András, always in need of money, had given and pawned Crown property, until there was little left. Béla, succeeding to an almost empty treasury, had recalled some of those donations which never ought to have been made; and also, by way of instilling respect for the King's majesty, had withdrawn from the great nobles certain privileges, which they bitterly resented, for some of them had attained such a pitch of might and wealth as rendered them independent of the King and the law. There were two classes of nobles, the magnates and the lesser nobility, the latter being more and more oppressed by the former. All who owned a piece of land were "noble," but as their possessions differed greatly in amount, so some were rich and others very much the reverse.

The nobles of both classes, and the clergy attended the Diets; but the mass of the people were as yet unrepresented.

Standing army there was hardly any, and when the King wanted troops he had to raise them, and pay them as he could. Those who held crown-fiefs were bound to obey the King's call to arms, but at his cost, and not their own, and all nobles of whatever degree were bound to join his standard if the country was attacked, not otherwise. If the King wanted them to cross the frontier, he must bear the expense; and if they did not choose to go, he was helpless and could not punish them.

But, to be first in the field is often half the battle. To wait until the enemy is actually in the country may spell disaster and even ruin.

Béla was well aware of the danger which threatened. He had heard much from Kuthen, and he had other sources of information as well, men who kept him well posted in all that was going on. Troops he must have if the country was to be saved; and as the Kunok were always ready for war he felt obliged to favour them; and, to raise money for the pay of others, he was obliged to pledge the Crown revenues and to debase the coinage.

If Hungary had been of one mind in those days, if all had been ready to rise in her defence as once they would have done, she would have had little difficulty in driving back the Mongols; but some of the magnates secretly hoped for a reverse, if so be the King might be thereby humbled. They little knew!

Rumours as to the advance of the Mongols were rife throughout the winter; but the month of March, 1241, had arrived, and still there was nothing to be called an army, in spite of the sending round of the bloody sword, and in spite of the King's most urgent commands, entreaties, and personal exertions.

On the 11th of the month came the first note of actual alarm in a despatch from Héderváry the Palatine, who was guarding the north-eastern frontier. He announced that the Mongols had reached the pass of Versecz (almost in a straight line with Kaschau), and that it was impossible for him to hold them back unless large reinforcements were sent to him at once.

The King, meanwhile, had despatched ambassadors to his old enemy Friedrich, of Austria, urging him in his own interest to come to the help of Hungary. To the Kunok in their new settlements he had also sent orders to mount at once, and they required no second bidding, but set out immediately for the camp.

The Queen and Court had left Pest for Pressburg, whither all who took the coming danger in the least seriously, and many even who professed to think little of it, had sent their womankind. The few who dared run the risk of leaving them in country houses, with moats and walls as their sole defence, were nobles whose castles were believed to be inaccessible, or so far from the frontier and so buried in the woods, that they had every reason to hope that they would remain undiscovered. The Hédervárys and the Szirmays were not of this number, always excepting Master Peter; for, such was their reputation for wealth, that it seemed only too likely that, to save their own skins and perhaps share the spoil, some of their servants and dependants might turn traitors and betray them to the Mongols. They, therefore, were among the first to send their wives and children to Pressburg, lavishly provided with all that they might need, and accompanied by brilliant trains of men-at-arms.

Pressburg was full to overflowing, and to every man there were at least ten women. Jolánta, of course, was there, and was daily looking forward to the pleasure of seeing Dora; not doubting for a moment that her uncle would send her with all speed as soon as he himself left home to join the army.

But the days had passed, and not only had Dora not come, but no one knew where she was, or anything about her. There was no little wonderment at this among those whose minds were sufficiently at leisure to wonder about anything not immediately concerning themselves or their families. It was odd that Master Peter should have stayed so long in Pest without her, a thing he had never done before; it was odder still that he should not have sent her to Pressburg, out of harm's way. Surely he must have placed her somewhere to be taken care of! He could never think of leaving her at home, and alone, when the time of his absence was likely to be so uncertain. They knew, indeed, that his ancient hall was so buried in dense woods, and so surrounded by ravine-like valleys, that no one would be likely to find it unless they knew of its existence and went there for the purpose; yet at the same time, as he and Stephen had been busy collecting their troops, and seemed to consider preparations of some sort necessary, he would surely never be satisfied to leave Dora alone in a place which, though strong enough to resist any ordinary foe, would certainly not be safe from the thieving, burning Tartars, if they should discover it.

And yet, in spite of all these conjectures, that was precisely what Master Peter had done. We have already mentioned his reasons for not taking his daughter to Pest. The same reasons prevented his sending her to Pressburg. He would not have her exposed to sneers, perhaps insults, when he was not at hand to protect her.

Dora herself was quite against going to swell the Queen's train; and her father was more than a little hurt that, whereas her Majesty (so Paul's mother told him with satisfaction) had especially summoned Jolánta to join her with all speed, she had not said a word to show that she even remembered Dora.

What Dora wished was to follow her father and share all his dangers, labours, and hardships—no such very uncommon thing in those days, when women were often safer with their fathers, husbands, and brothers, than they could be anywhere else. Her father was Dora's first thought, as she was his; but at first he would not give her any decided answer. The Mongols were not yet in the country; and he and his brother, though they loyally obeyed the King's orders, were among those who thought him far too anxious, and his preparations more than were necessary.

At all events, he would not take her with him when he set out with his troop for the camp at Pest, but he promised, if he could not find any better way of ensuring her safety, that he would come later on, put her in a coat of armour, and take her with him. The only question was where she had better stay meantime, and he decided that on the whole home would be best.

The seneschal, or governor, was a gloomy and rather lazy man, but thoroughly honourable. Peter knew what a bold, brave man he was when it was a question of bears, wolves, and wild boars, and in his simplicity he argued with himself that courage was courage and that a man courageous in one way must needs be courageous in all!

Peter would have liked much to take with him Talabor, of whom he had lately grown quite fond, but it suddenly flashed across him that in any case of unexpected danger, the younger man, full of life and energy, would not be less courageous than the portly seneschal, while he would certainly be more active and resourceful. Talabor, who was burning to accompany his good master, was therefore told that for the present he was to remain at home. Master Peter had a long conversation with him before his own departure, and gave him full instructions, so far as that was possible, as to what he was to do in case of accidents, which Peter himself never in the least expected to occur.

And then he rode away at the head of a very respectable troop, or "banderium," consisting of the lesser nobility of the neighbourhood, and of such recruits as he had been able to enlist; and on reaching Pest he found that the Szirmay contingent, furnished by himself and his brother, was first in the field. Soon after arrived the King with the troops which he had been raising himself in the two home-counties.

Pest was becoming daily more like a camp. The streets, the open spaces, were turned into bivouacs, the officers slept in tents; and, as most of the men were mounted, on all sides was to be heard the neighing of horses, tethered by long ropes in the open air. Earthworks were being hastily thrown up at a considerable distance beyond the walls of the town, these walls themselves being low and hardly capable of defence, as they were not everywhere provided even with moats.

Impossible to describe the state of bustle and excitement in which everyone in Pest was living just then, and at first sight no one would have discovered anything like fear in the animated and hilarious crowd which filled the thoroughfares. The Mongols were spoken of in terms of the utmost contempt as a wild, undisciplined, unorganized rabble, who would fly at the mere sight of "real troops," properly armed!

Everywhere was to be heard the sound of music and boisterous mirth on the part of the younger nobles, who made great display of gaudy apparel, fashionable armour from Germany, huge plumes, and high-spirited horses.

Like peacocks in their pride, they loved in those days to make a show of magnificence. And if this was true more or less of all the higher and wealthier nobility, particularly of the younger members, it cannot be said that the lower classes, or the less wealthy, were at all behind-hand in following the example of their betters.

The King himself hated display, though he did not despise a becoming state and magnificence when occasion required; but those who were attached to his Court, or to the retinue of the great lords, spiritual and temporal, delighted to imitate the young magnates as far as they could. Foremost among these was now Libor the clerk, Héderváry's well-known governor, whom his young master found so prompt and ready, so helpful in carrying out, and so quick to approve all his whims, that it became more and more impossible to him to dispense with his services, and he kept him constantly about him.

Libor sported a gigantic plume in his cap, and his sword made such a clanking as he walked, that people knew him by it afar off. Whenever he had the chance, he might be heard declaiming in praise of the heroic King, and affirming that everyone who did not support him was a scoundrel. All who were in favour of active measures highly approved of Libor; even the King knew him, at least by name, for there was not such another fire-eating Magyar in the whole of Pest, and all were agreed that the King had no more devoted subject than this exemplary young clerk.

Bishops, abbots, magnates, and the King's brother, Duke Kálmán, were arriving now with their expected troops; but on March 14th arrived one who was not expected, and at whom people looked in terror and amazement.

He rode up slowly, wearily, at the head of a few hundred men, as worn and weary as himself; and as he came nearer, people whispered under their breath, "Héderváry the Palatine!" Héderváry, who was supposed to be defending the passes of the Carpathians!

His armour was battered, his helmet crushed, and a sabre cut across the face had made him hardly recognisable. He rode straight up to the King's tent, before which the Diet was assembled, no one, not even his old friend Peter, daring to speak to him, though he gazed on him hardly able to believe his eyes, and with a sudden chill of alarm as he thought of Dora.

For a few moments no one spoke, but after more than one attempt, the Palatine got out the broken words, "God and the Holy Virgin protect your Majesty!"

Then, turning to the assembled Diet, he added, "Comrades! the enemy is in our land! Our small force held the pass seven days; on the eighth the flood burst through and flowed over dead bodies. You see before you all who escaped! God and the Holy Virgin protect our country!"

Héderváry bowed his head upon his horse's neck to hide his face.

The sensation was immense, the news flew quickly from mouth to mouth, and before long all Pest knew of the disaster, and knew, too, that in the Palatine's opinion the enemy might reach Pest itself within a day or two—a day or two! with such awful speed did the torrent rush forward.

If Peter had been incredulous before, he was anxious enough now, when he heard of the lightning-like rapidity with which the Mongols were advancing, of the 40,000 pioneers who went before them, cutting a straight road through the thickest forests, of the catapults for throwing stones and masses of rock, against which nothing, not even the strongest walls, could stand. He could not leave his post, it was even questionable whether he could reach Dora now if he made the attempt; for, when the scouts came in they more than confirmed all that the Palatine had said, with the additional information that five counties had been already devastated, and that Batu's army was within half a day's journey of Pest itself.

That same night the red glare in the sky told of burning towns and villages only a few miles off; and the day after Héderváry's return small bodies of Mongols actually appeared on the very confines of Pest, laying hands on all that they could find, and then vanishing again like the lightning, as suddenly as they had come.

The fortifications of the city were pushed on with redoubled energy, and all were wildly eager to go out at once and challenge the enemy. But the King's orders were strict; no one was to go out and attempt to give battle until the whole army was assembled, when he himself would take the command. Not a third part had come in yet, and the men chafed impatiently at the delay. Even now, however, with danger facing them, there was little unity in the camp, little order, little discipline; everyone who had any pretension to be "somebody," wanted to give orders, not obey them, and, in fact, do everything that he was not asked to do.

But as the troops continued to come in, as the earthworks rose higher, and the ditches and trenches grew broader; as, above all, the King seemed to have no fears, confidence revived, and those who had been timorous ran to the opposite extreme, and began to believe that the King had but to give the signal for battle, and the enemy's hosts would at once be scattered like chaff. They not only believed it, but loudly proclaimed it. Libor was especially loud and emphatic in his expressions of confidence, and went about from one commander to another, trying his utmost to obtain a post of some sort in the army.

He succeeded at last, for Héderváry the Palatine had lost his best officers, and knowing how highly his son thought of Libor, he gave him a command in his own diminished army. Whereupon Paul presented the young governor with a complete suit of armour, and from that day forward Libor did not know how to contain himself. He was a great man indeed now, and he might rise still higher. In fact, so he told himself, the very highest posts were open to him!

CHAPTER VIII.
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR.

Paul and the Archbishop therefore rode quietly out together, accompanied by no more than half a dozen men-at-arms, and they had not been riding a quarter of an hour before they caught sight of a party of horsemen coming towards them through the grey dawn. There seemed to be some three or four score of them, and they might be some of the expected troops arriving; it was impossible to tell in the dim half-light, and Paul and his companion drew behind some rising ground to make sure. They had not long to wait before they saw that these were no friends, however, but an advance body of Mongols cautiously and quietly moving forward. To engage them was out of the question, and the two at once agreed to turn back without attracting attention, if possible. But they had no sooner left their shelter than a perfect hurricane of wild cries showed that they had been observed.

Fortunately for them, their horses were fresh and in good condition, while those of the Mongols were sorry jades at the best, and worn out besides. The Hungarians, therefore, reached the city in safety, though hotly pursued, and they at once presented themselves before the King, who had risen very early that morning, and was already at work in his cabinet.

"Why, Ugrin, how is this?" said Béla, rising to meet the Archbishop, "armed from head to foot so early? and you, too, Héderváry? Where do you come from? I see you are dusty!"

"Your Majesty," began Ugrin, one of the most daring of men, in spite of his office, "Héderváry and I have been riding in the neighbourhood, and we chanced upon the Tartars!"

"Did you see many?"

"The advance guard, with a whole division behind."

"We have only our horses to thank for it that we are here now," added Héderváry.

"Have not I forbidden all provoking of encounters until we have all our troops assembled?" said the King.

"And there was no provocation—on our part," replied Ugrin, in anything but an amiable tone; "but if we don't get information for ourselves as to the enemy's movements——"

The King cut him short. "I know all about them!" said he, "more than you gentlemen do."

Ugrin and Héderváry shrugged their shoulders, and both put the King's coolness down to irresolution, or even fear.

"I know," said the King, "that they have not only approached our towns, but that at this moment they are before Vácz, if they have not stormed it."

"Before Vácz!" exclaimed Ugrin, "and your Majesty is still waiting! waiting now! when one bold stroke might annihilate them before the Khan himself comes up."

"Batu is close at hand," said the King, "and if we don't wish to risk all, we must be prudent, and act only on the defensive until the rest of the troops arrive."

"Ah!" cried Ugrin, forgetting for a moment the respect due to the King, "I suppose your Majesty means to wait until Vácz is in flames! By Heaven! I won't wait—not if I perish for it!"

As he spoke, Ugrin turned on his heel and abruptly left the room. Possibly the rattle of his armour and the clank of his sword prevented the King's hearing clearly his last words; but he called to him in a tone of command, and ordered him not to leave the city.

"Make haste and stop him, Paul," said Béla, as the door closed behind the Archbishop, and Héderváry hurried to obey; but his own horse had been taken to the stables with a Mongol arrow in its back, while Ugrin's was on the spot, being walked up and down in front of the palace. The Archbishop had the start of him therefore, for he had rushed down the steps, mounted, and dashed off like a whirlwind, before Héderváry could catch him up.

"Let him go!" said the King, "let him go!" he repeated, walking up and down the room. He had left his private cabinet now for a larger room, in which, notwithstanding the early hour, many of the nobles were already assembled; for the news of Ugrin's and Héderváry's encounter had spread like wildfire, and all were impatient to be doing something.

"We must double the guards and keep the troops ready; but no one is to venture out of the city," said the King, and his words fell like scalding water upon the ears of those who heard them.

For it was always the Hungarian way to face danger at once, without stopping to realise fully its gravity, or to give courage and energy time to evaporate.

"My orders do not please you, I know, gentlemen," the King said, with dignity, "but when danger is near, blood should be cool. If we waste our strength in small engagements, the enemy's numbers, the one advantage he has over us, will make our efforts entirely useless. No! let him exhaust his strength, while we are gathering ours, and as soon as we have a respectable army, myself will lead it in person!"

No one was satisfied; but Héderváry the Palatine was alone in venturing to say a word, and he spoke firmly though respectfully.

He had had more actual experience of the Mongols than anyone else, and submitted that, though their strength lay chiefly in their numbers, yet that this was not the whole of it, for they were exceedingly cunning, and he believed their object just now was to cut off the reinforcements before they could reach the place of rendezvous. If so, then an attack quickly delivered would be of the greatest service.

"Besides," he concluded, "I suspect that the Archbishop of Kalócsa has led his 'banderium' out against them, and we can't leave him unsupported."

"The brave bishop will soon settle the filthy wretches!" cried a young Forgács who was standing near.

With a reproving look at the young man, the King turned to the Palatine and said gravely, "I expressly forbade the Archbishop to leave Pest, and I cannot therefore believe that he has done so! If he has—well, he must reap as he has sown! I am not going to risk all for the madness of one. But you are right, Palatine, there is no more cunning people on the face of this earth! Isn't it more likely that they want to deceive us and entice us away from our defences, by sending forward these comparatively small bodies of men?"

The Palatine shook his head, urging that a great part of the country was already laid waste, that fear was paralysing everyone, and that it was no time to wait when danger was actually in their midst and threatening the very capital.

And so the discussion went on, a few holding with the King, but the more part with the Palatine.

But the King had heard the same arguments so often before that they had ceased to make any impression upon him. His resolution was taken to await the arrival of Duke Friedrich of Austria, whom he knew to be on the way, and whom he confidently believed to be at the head of a considerable body of troops, from whom Béla expected great things. They would at least set his own army a good example in the matter of discipline, and this was much needed; and that army, too, was growing day by day, surely if slowly, though the greater part was ill-armed.

The discussion ended with the King's reiterated orders that no one should go outside the city, and the nobles went their several ways, giving free vent to their disapproval and impatience, and helping thus to spread mistrust of the King's judgment. For all that, most of them were confident of victory as soon as the army should be put in motion, and some went so far as to expect no less than the immediate annihilation of the Mongol bands in the vicinity, at the hands of Ugrin.

Crowds filled the streets, and reports of all sorts were flying about the city.

The Archbishop had met the enemy and defeated him!

Some watchman on one of the towers had seen the Archbishop cut down a Mongol leader, and great part of the Mongols were lying dead on the ground!

More important still, he had felled Batu Khan himself with one blow of his battle-axe!

So it went on all day till late in the evening, when suddenly the news spread that the Archbishop was coming back, but—with only three or four of his men with him! And while the people in the streets were talking together with bated breath, a man rushed into their midst, covered with blood and dust.

"What has happened? Where are you from?" they asked, not at first recognising the furrier, a man belonging to Pest, and well known there.

"Water!" whispered the new-comer, bowing his head on his breast. "Water! I don't know how I got here! Water, quick!"

Several of the crowd hurried off for water, and when he had quenched his thirst, some of them began to wash the blood from his face and to bind up his wounds.

"Ah! they are no matter!" he gasped, "one may get such cuts as these any day in a tavern brawl, but—I'm—done for!"

By the help of a wooden flask of wine the man presently revived enough to satisfy the curiosity of the bystanders, though he still looked terrified.

"I have come straight from Vácz—my horse fell down under me. I was pursued by Tartars—a score of arrows hit the poor beast—three went through my cap and tore the skin off my head!"

"But what is going on in Vácz? they have beaten off the Tartars, eh?"

"There is no Vácz!" said the man, with an involuntary shudder through all his limbs.

All were too dumfounded to utter even an exclamation. They had believed that their troops had but to show themselves, and the Mongols would be scattered.

"The walls of Vácz stand staring up to heaven, as black as soot," the man went on. "The people defended themselves to the last, ay, to the last, for hardly a hundred out of them all have escaped!"

"But the church—there are moats to it, and new walls——" began one of the bystanders.

"There were!" said the furrier, "there were! there is nothing left now! The clergy, and the old men, with the women and children, took refuge there, and all the valuables were taken there; even the women fought—but it was no good!"

"Did the Tartars take it?" inquired several at once, beneath their breath.

"They stormed it, took it, plundered it, murdered every soul and then set fire to it; it may be burning still! Their horrible yells! they are ringing in my ears now!" and the furrier shuddered again.

But at that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted from him by a commotion going on at a little distance, and they pressed forward to see what it meant, but soon came back, making all the haste they could to get out of the way of some heavy cavalry, armed from head to foot, and preceded by six trumpeters, who were advancing down the street.

"The Austrians!" said some of the more knowing, as Duke Friedrich and his brilliant train passed on straight to the King's palace, where his arrival was so unexpected that no one was in readiness to receive him.

Events and rumours had followed one another so quickly that day, that the whole population was in a state of excitement; but there was more to come, and the Duke was hardly out of sight, when a Magyar horseman galloped up, the foam dropping from his horse, which was covered with blood. Its rider seemed to be so beside himself with terror as not to know what he was doing, and as the crowd flocked round him, he shouted, "Treachery! the King has left us in the lurch! Ugrin and his troops—overwhelmed by the Tartars!"

With that he galloped on till he reached the bank of the Danube, where his horse fell under him, and when they hastened to the rider's assistance, they found only a dead body.

In spite of the King's commands, Ugrin had led his troops out, and had daringly attacked the bands of Mongols who had approached Pest to reconnoitre. Many of them he had cut down with his own hand, and the rest he had put to flight and was pursuing, when, just as he came up with them, the Mongols reached a morass. This did not stop them, however, with their small, light horses. On they went at breakneck speed, and he followed, without guessing that he was already on the edge of the marshy ground until the treacherous green surface gave way beneath the heavy Hungarian horses, which floundered, lost their footing, and sank helplessly up to their knees, up to their ears, unable to extricate themselves.

And then the Mongols turned upon them, as was their wont, and poured a perfect storm of arrows upon the defenceless troopers. Ugrin and four others managed to dismount and cast away their heavy armour; and, with only their battle-axes in their hands, they succeeded at last by superhuman efforts in wading through the marsh, and so reached Pest, pursued by the Mongols, and leaving corpses to mark their track all the way, almost to the gate.

The people were aghast at the intelligence, and they set to work to blame the King!

He was blamed by Ugrin in the first place—Ugrin, who had nothing but his own madness to thank for the disaster! He was blamed by the mob, who were ready to see treachery everywhere; and above all, he was blamed by Duke Friedrich, surnamed the "Streitbare," for his valour!

The King bore all, and worked on. All night he was on horseback, seeing to the fortifications, urging the workmen to redoubled vigour.

And while he was thus engaged, what was going on in the army?

It is hardly credible, but is nevertheless a fact, that blind self-confidence, whether real or feigned, held possession of the camp. The troops and their leaders spent the night for the most part in revelry, while the sentries on the walls mocked at such of the Mongols as came near enough and let fly their arrows at them.

Early in the morning Duke Friedrich was on horseback, after a previous argument with the King, in which he had made light of the invasion, and called it mere child's play, easily dealt with, and then he led the small body of men he had brought with him out of the city. A small body it was, to Béla's bitter disappointment. He had expected something like an army, and the Duke had brought about as many men in his train as he would have done if he had come to a hunting party!

Such as they were, he led them forth on this eventful morning to have a brush with the Mongols, whose advance guard retired, according to custom, as soon as they caught sight of the well-armed, well-mounted, well-trained band. The Duke was cautious. He meant to do something, if only to show Pest how easy it was; and when he presently returned with a couple of horses and one prisoner, he had his reward in the acclamations with which the populace received him. The success of the valorous Duke was belauded on all sides, and some compared the daring warrior with the prudent King, not to the advantage of the latter.

The prisoner was taken before the King, and, as ill-luck would have it, he proved to be a Kun; worse still, he said among other things, that there were many Kunok in Batu's camp.

They had been forced to join him; but the news spread through the town, exciting the people more than ever, and it was openly asserted by many that the Kunok were in league with the Mongols, and that Kuthen was a traitor, who had managed to ingratiate himself with King Béla only that he might prepare the way for the enemy.

CHAPTER IX.
"I WASH MY HANDS!"

Akos had been a daily visitor at the house all along, and he made no secret, either there or at his father's, of his attachment to Kuthen's younger daughter, whose sweet face and winning ways had attracted him from the first.

Stephen Szirmay did not like his son's choice, which was not to be wondered at. Kuthen, it was true, possessed much treasure, and Marána was his favourite child. But Jolánta's marriage had taught him that wealth did not make happiness. Her marriage had had his eager, delighted approval, as he was obliged to admit to himself; and as his judgment had been at fault in the one case, he would not interfere in the other. It would be wiser to remain neutral, lest ill-timed opposition should make his son more determined.

Kuthen was up very early this morning; for news had reached him that many of the Kunok who had remained behind in Moldavia were hastening to Hungary, and being aware also that those already in the country were now on their way to Pest, he was hourly expecting a summons from the King for himself and his sons, and then they would fight, they would fight! and for ever silence the jealous suspicions of their enemies.

Kuthen knew all that was going on about him, for he was well served by his faithful followers, who were more devoted to him than ever since he had been a sort of state prisoner; he knew that the Diet was sitting that day, and that his best friends, the King and Duke Kálmán, would for their own sakes do all they could to bring to an end the present disgraceful state of affairs, which was only likely to increase the slanders and suspicions of which he was the victim.

Kuthen knew also of the Duke of Austria's arrival, of his encounter with the Mongols, and of the prisoner, said to be a Kun, whom he had so unfortunately captured. Kun or not, the populace believed, and were encouraged by the Duke to believe, that he was one. During the last few hours the Duke had done his utmost to foment the growing irritation against the King and his people.

Kuthen knew all, and though he hoped in King Béla, he neglected no precautions to ensure the safety of his family, if the worst should come to the worst. There were already more than a hundred Kunok in the castle, chiefs and simple armed men, who had found means to join him, by degrees, without attracting notice, all of whom were most resolute and most trustworthy. Watch was kept day and night without intermission, and of one thing Kuthen might be entirely confident, that if danger should come, it would not take him by surprise, and that, if the mob should rise against them—as he knew was not impossible—though they might perish, they would at least not perish like cowards.

When Akos arrived on this particular morning, he was closeted alone with the King for a time, and could not deny that things looked threatening, or that the populace and most of the nobles were in a state of irritation, thanks in great measure to the Duke of Austria and his unlucky prisoner. All that he could do was to urge the need of prudence and vigilance.

But before the young noble took his leave, something seemed to strike Kuthen. Whether a new idea flashed into his mind, whether he had a premonition of any kind, or whether he was merely filled with vague forebodings, not unnatural under the circumstances, it is impossible to say, but as Akos was about to make his farewells, Kuthen laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder, and drew him into the adjoining room. There he took his daughter Marána by the hand, and leading her up to Akos, he said solemnly, "Children, man's life and future are in the hands of God! We are living in serious times. See, Akos, I give you my beloved daughter! Happen what may, you will answer to me for this, one of my children."

"You have given me a treasure, you have made me rich indeed! God bless you for it; and, father, have no fears on her account, for we will live and die together," said Akos, with much emotion, his hand in that of his bride.

The Queen's eyes filled with tears as she looked at the handsome young pair, and drawing close to Akos, she whispered in his ear, "Mind, whatever happens to the rest of us, my Marána must be saved."

Just then in came the two young Princes, who were always pleased to see Akos, and were delighted, though not surprised, to hear of their sister's betrothal.

"Oh, but brother Akos," they exclaimed together, as if they thought that the new relationship must at once make a difference, "we should so like to go with you to the Diet, but we are captives, and we have not wings like the eagles."

"And, my dear brothers, even if you had," returned Akos, "I should advise you not to leave your dear father for a moment just now."

"Oh, but why? why?" they both asked.

"Because I think that this is a critical time," he answered. "Let us only get through the next day or two quietly, and I quite believe that you will all be able to go in and out as you please."

"You are right, Akos," interposed the King. "Time may bring us good. Let us wait and be watchful! And don't forget that I have given this dear child into your care. Trust the rest of us to God, in whose hands is our fate; we shall defend ourselves, if need be, but you think only of her. Do you promise me?"

"I swear I will," said Akos, with uplifted hand.

Then he embraced his bride, who accompanied him to the covered entrance, then followed him with her eyes all along the drawbridge, and after that watched him from a window until he was quite out of sight.

Kuthen had already doubled the guards about his dwelling, and had taken other precautions and measures of defence; but the walls were high, and all had been done so quietly that it had not attracted the attention of the sentries posted on the other side of the drawbridge. When Akos was gone, he and his sons armed themselves as if for battle.

Sheaves of arrows were brought out and placed in readiness, the guards were armed, and the Kun chiefs, who took it in turn to be on duty near the King, made all needful preparation for an obstinate defence.

Akos had not been gone more than an hour or two, when little groups and knots of people began to gather round Kuthen's house. There were three or four here, and three or four there, and presently they might be counted by the score. Later on a large crowd had collected. They were talking quietly to one another, and seemed so far to be quite peaceable, however.

The Kun royal family took no alarm, for they knew the Pest populace and its insatiable curiosity well by this time, and they fancied that there was perhaps some idea abroad that Kuthen and his sons would be going to the Diet; or perhaps Marána's betrothal was known.

Another hour passed and the people began to shout and howl. Two persons were declaiming to them; but within the walls it was impossible to distinguish what they were saying. The crowd pressed nearer and nearer to the drawbridge, so near indeed, that the guards on duty there had the greatest difficulty in keeping them back, and a sudden rush of those in the rear sent two or three of the foremost splashing into the moat, to the huge diversion of the rest.

Presently, however, the mob appeared to be seized by a new idea, for they all set off running in one direction; and in a few moments, only a few small knots of people remained.

But these few lay down on the patches of grass round about, as if they meant to stay indefinitely, and the Kun chiefs, who had been keeping close watch behind the loop-holed walls, noticed that they were all armed, some with knotty sticks and wooden clubs bristling with nails, and a few here and there with bows and quivers. It looked as if they meant mischief, and the Kunok were all on the alert for what might happen.