Akos meantime had been for the last hour or two at the Diet. From where he was he had a full view of the Danube, and after a time he noticed a large crowd of people crossing the river by the ferry-boats and making straight for the place where the Diet was being held. Both banks of the Danube were thronged, and soon the crowd became a vast, compact mass; but the first intimation of anything unusual that many of the members had, was the finding the table at which they sat suddenly surrounded by their own gaily caparisoned horses, which the crowd had found blocking their way, and had driven before them into the tent.

It was a terrible moment! No one could imagine what had happened, and some of the more nervous thought that the Tartars, whom they had taken so lightly before, had actually stormed the town. All started to their feet, seized the horses by their bridles, and drew their swords.

And now the howls of the furious mob were plainly to be heard.

"Kuthen! the Kunok! the traitors! Death to the Kunok!"

It was impossible to misunderstand what the mob were bent upon.

This was no peaceable, if clamorous deputation like the former one! these were no faithful subjects rallying round the King in a moment of danger, and seeking his counsel and help!

No! the flood had burst its bounds, carrying all before it, and had come not to petition, but to claim, and to threaten.

The King motioned for silence. He was the calmest and most collected of all present, and such was the magic influence of his presence, such the respect felt for him, that even now, in spite of all the excitement, for a moment the clamour seemed to cease.

Just then one of the nobles, a young man in brilliant armour, with flashing eyes, seized the bridle of the horse nearest him, flung himself on its back, dashed away, and looking neither behind nor before him, forced his way recklessly through the mob. All who noticed him supposed that he had received some command from the King, but the confusion was so great that his departure was unobserved, except by those whose legs were endangered by his horse's hoofs.

"The Kun King is a prisoner," said Béla in a trumpet-like voice, which commanded attention at least for the moment. "No one in my dominions will be condemned unheard. I forbid all violence, and I shall hold the leaders of this insurgent multitude responsible."

So far the King was allowed to speak without interruption, or at least without having his voice drowned. But after this, if he spoke, he could not make himself heard. For no sooner did the magnates and others assembled understand what all the uproar was about, than the King's words lost their effect.

Members from the counties where the Kunok were settled, recalled the many irregularities of which the latter had been guilty on their first arrival, envied them their rich pastures, and joined the mob in crying for vengeance upon them, and in shrieking "Treachery!"

There were but few on the King's side, save the two Archbishops, the two Szirmays, one Foyács, and Héderváry the Palatine.

The mob surged into the tent, howling and threatening.

"If the King won't consent, let us settle it ourselves! The country stands first! The King himself will thank us when his eyes are opened! Let's go! what are we waiting for? There are enough of us!"

Duke Friedrich, who, as being the most powerful and most distinguished guest present, was sitting next the King, turned to him and said in a half whisper: "Your Majesty, this is a case in which you must give in! Nothing is more dangerous than for the people to think they can act against the King's will and go unpunished. No one will defend Kuthen, and who knows what has been going on yonder, or even whether Kuthen is still alive?"

The King maintained a determined silence, but his eyes flashed, and his hand grasped the hilt of his sword.

The tumult increased, and some even of those who believed in the Kunok's innocence, were so alarmed by the rage of the insurgents that they hurried up to the King and implored him to yield. The pressure around him waxed greater and greater.

Duke Kálmán, who was standing not far off, cried out, "Your Majesty won't give in! The honour of the nation is at stake!"

But the noise and confusion were so great that the King could not hear a word his brother said. The Duke shouted for his horse, but it was all in vain, for he could not move.

King Béla, pressed on all sides by those who were beseeching, imploring, urging, forgot himself for a moment. He put his hands over his eyes, then stretching them out, he said, "Lavabo manus meas! (I will wash my hands). You will answer to God for this wickedness. I have done what I could do!"

"The King has consented!" roared those nearest him.

The mob began to sway about, the horses neighed, the people all poured forth, roaring, "Eljen a király! Long live the King! Death to the false traitors! Forward! To Kuthen! to Kuthen!"

No sooner was he free than Duke Kálmán mounted the first horse he could seize, while the mob rushed off like a whirlwind in the direction of the house by the Danube.

When the King looked round none were left but some of the magnates.

"A horse!" he shouted furiously; and he galloped away after the mob, accompanied by the Austrian Duke and the rest.

If Béla had mounted his horse before he addressed the mob, if he had faced the insurgents as a king, and had at once punished the ringleaders, the country might have been spared great part of the disasters which were now on the very threshold. But once again the King was weak at a critical moment. There is much to be said in his excuse and defence; but weakness, however brilliantly defended, remains weakness still.

A few moments after the mob had burst into the King's tent, Akos was again at the drawbridge which led to Kuthen's dwelling.

"What do you want, sir?" asked the captain of the guard hotly, as he sprang forward to meet him. "No one is admitted."

"Since when?" asked Akos haughtily.

"The King sent orders an hour ago."

"Maybe! but I have come straight from the Diet by the King's command, and I am to take Kuthen and all his family before him and the States at once, while you can remain here to guard the place till our return."

The captain turned back submissively, and blew the horn which hung at his side. Possibly the drawbridge which formed the outer gate of the castle would not even now have been lowered, but that Kuthen had recognised Akos, and that they were so well armed as to be quite a match for the guard, and for those of the mob who had remained behind.

The drawbridge was lowered therefore, but raised again the moment Akos had passed. He rode across the covered space between the drawbridge and the inner gate, and there he had to wait again a few moments while the bolts and bars were withdrawn. He leapt from his horse as soon as he was within, and Kuthen and his sons hurried from the entrance-hall to meet him, doubting whether he brought good news or bad.

"Quick!" said Akos, "to horse! your Majesty, to horse! all of you," and without waiting Kuthen's answer, he shouted, "Horses! bring the horses! and mount, all who can!"

The Princes flew at once to the stables, and bridled the horses—which were always kept ready saddled—while Kuthen asked in some surprise, "What has happened? Where are we to go?" for he had not been able to read anything in young Szirmay's face, whether of good or of evil.

"Where?" said Akos bitterly, "where we can be farthest from the mob—the mob has risen and may be here any moment."

In those times, sudden dangers, sudden alarms, sudden flights were things of every-day occurrence, and Kuthen and his followers had long been accustomed not to know in the morning where they should lay their heads at night. No people were quicker or more resolute in case of extremity than the Kunok, who were one family, one army, one colony, and moved like a machine.

The Queen and Princesses, as well as the chiefs, had all come together in the hall, but now the former and many of the servants rushed back into the house, from which they again emerged in a few moments, all cool and collected, all ready to start, and with their most valued possessions packed in bundles.

The riding horses were bridled, some of the pack-horses loaded, and all had been done so quickly and quietly, that the guard without had heard no more than the sort of hum made by a swarm of bees before they take flight.

Meantime Akos had rapidly explained matters to Kuthen, pointing out to him that King Béla and his brother and others were standing up for him, but that there was a rising of the populace, and that the mob might arrive before the King, when, even if they were successfully beaten back, there would certainly be bloodshed, which would only exasperate the people more than ever, and make it impossible for the King, good as he was, to ensure the safety of his guests. Whereas, if they could succeed in avoiding the first paroxysms of fury, King Béla would be the first to rejoice at their escape.

Akos spoke confidently, and his words carried conviction.

Kuthen, his family, and the chiefs were already mounted, while those of the guard who were on foot formed themselves into a close, wedge-shaped mass, and were all ready to set out.

"Lower the drawbridge!" cried Kuthen. The chains rattled, and the gate, which had been closed behind Akos, was reopened. He and Kuthen headed the procession which issued forth.

At that moment a long, yellow cloud of dust made its appearance in the distance, coming towards them. A horseman was galloping in front of it, and he was closely followed by two more, shouting aloud what no one in the castle understood, but something which made the captain of the guard without give orders for the bolts of the drawbridge to be pulled back; and the bridge, left without its supports, dropped with a great plash into the moat.

The Kunok were cut off!

With the sangfroid and fearlessness learnt in the course of his adventurous life, Kuthen at once ordered the drawbridge to be raised; the inner gate was closed again and barred with all speed.

Akos was as pale as death, for he saw in a moment that he had come too late, and that all was lost; but he was resolved to share the fate of the man, whom for Marána's sake he looked upon as his father.

As for Kuthen, he was suddenly the wild chief again. His face was aflame, his eyes flashed fire, he was eager for the fray, and his one thought was to defend himself proudly. He ordered the guards to their places, the horses having been already led back to their stables; and then, turning to his family, he said coolly and calmly, "We will defend ourselves until the King comes, and then his commands shall be obeyed, whatever they are."

The women at once retired to their own quarters, without uttering word or groan. There were no tears, no sobs, no sign of terror on their countenances. They looked angry and defiant.

When the women had withdrawn, the Princes went to their posts, and Kuthen, turning to Akos, said, "Remember your oath."

Akos raised his hands to heaven without a word.

His own position was a more dangerous one than it might seem at first sight. His manifest intention of shielding Kuthen from their vengeance would bring down upon him the hatred of his own countrymen; while on the other hand the furious glances of the Kunok confined in the castle, and their ill-concealed hostility, showed him clearly that his life was now in danger from within as well as from without.

The mob which had rushed away from the Diet had pressed on with the speed of the whirlwind, its numbers growing as it went. A few minutes only had passed since the cloud heralding its approach had been seen, and already the crowd was swarming round the banks of the moat, making an indescribable uproar and uttering the wildest, fiercest shouts.

Within, all was silent as the grave. But the mob outside were not idle for a moment. They were athirst for vengeance, and from the moment of their arrival they had been busy trying to make a passage across the moat by throwing in earth, straw, pieces of wood, even furniture, brought on all sides from the neighbouring houses, and, in fact, all and everything that came to hand.

All at once there was a cry raised of "The King! The King is coming!"

It was not the King, however, but Duke Kálmán, with his servants and some of the nobles in his train.

That part of the moat faced by the gate was by this time almost full, and some of the more daring spirits were trying to clamber up to the drawbridge, when suddenly the scene changed. The wild figures of the Kunok appeared as if by magic upon the walls, the thrilling war-cry was raised, and a cloud of well-aimed arrows hailed down upon the assailants.

Kuthen and his sons, who confidently expected King Béla, had done their utmost to restrain their people, but in vain, for when they saw the moat filled and their enemies preparing to rush the gate, they became infuriated and uncontrollable.

In the first moment of surprise all fell back, knocking over those behind them; but some few began to retaliate and shoot up at the garrison. Not to much purpose, however, for neither arrows nor spears hit the intended marks, while the long arrows shot from the powerful bows of the Kunok never failed.

It was during this fierce overture of the contest that Duke Kálmán rode up.

"Stand aside!" he shouted, "stop fighting! The King is coming, he will see justice done——"

The words were not out of his mouth when two arrows flew forth from loopholes in the walls. One struck the Duke's horse, and the second felled to the earth a young nobleman riding close beside him.

"They have shot the Duke!" was shouted on all sides; for so dense was the cloud of arrows that it was impossible to see at first which of the two had fallen.

The Duke himself, however, was standing coolly defiant amidst the whistling storm.

But the shouts were the signals for a general rush, and from that moment no one, not even the King, could have restrained the people.

The moat was filled, the drawbridge wrecked, the inner gate, in spite of its bars, wrenched from its hinges and thrown down upon the dead bodies of the Kun guards.

The mob rushed in and stormed the castle, and an awful scene of bloodshed followed. Kuthen, his sons, and the Kun chiefs fought desperately; and side by side with them fought Akos, so completely disguised as a Kun as to be quite unrecognisable. He was too downright to have thought of a disguise for himself, but had acquiesced in it at Kuthen's entreaty.

The first of the mob who rushed into the courtyard fell victims to their own rashness, and many more were despatched by the arrows poured from the walls.

But suddenly the younger of the two Princes fighting beside their father, fell to the ground with a short cry.

"My son!" exclaimed Kuthen, turning to Akos, "Go! now's the time! keep your word! I—I'm dying!"

With that, Kuthen, who had been mortally wounded by a couple of pikes, rushed upon his foes, felled several of them by the mere strength of his arm, and then himself sank down. Akos rushed from the entrance-hall into the house.

"You are our King now!" roared the Kunok, pressing round the remaining Prince, and covering him with their shields, as he fought like a young lion.

All at once there were loud outcries and yells. The Kunok outside the house, finding themselves unable to defend the castle against the swarms which poured into the courtyard, had rushed in, closing the doors and barring the windows.

All in vain! The young Prince, just proclaimed King amid a shower of arrows, retreated from one room to another, some of his defenders falling around him at every moment. By the time the last door was burst open, less than a dozen of his guard remained, all wounded, all fighting a life-and-death battle with desperation.

A few moments more and every Kun in the place had ceased to breathe.

Where were the women? What had become of Akos and his bride?

Presently the mob outside received with howls of joy the heads of Kuthen and his family, flung to them from the windows, and at once hoisted them on pikes in token of victory. If the head of Akos was among them no one noticed it, for he had stained his face.

Maddened by their success, the rabble now made with one consent for "King Béla's palace," foremost and most active among them being the Austrian Duke's men-at-arms.

They poured into it like a deluge, and the air was filled with shouts of "Eljen a király! Long live the King! The traitors are dead!"

When they had shouted long enough, they set fire to Master Peter's old mansion, as if it had been the property of King Kuthen, and in less than a quarter of an hour sparks and burning embers were flying from it into the air, while the gaping multitudes ran round and round the dwelling, in all the bloodthirsty delight of satisfied revenge.

A day or two later, the Kun army, which had promptly obeyed orders—more promptly indeed than most even of the more energetic Hungarians—reached the gate of Pest, well mounted and well armed. There first they learnt what had befallen their King and his family.

They came to a halt.

The chiefs took counsel together as to what was to be done, and they were not slow in coming to a decision. For the news had spread into the country that all the Kunok in Pest had been put to death for treachery, and the country, following the example of the city, had also begun to take matters into their own hands by making in some places regular attacks upon the Kun women, children, and old men. The Kunok had not understood the reason of this before.

Now they knew! and with one consent they turned back, gathering all their own people together as they went, and turning against the Hungarians the arms which at Béla's appeal they had been so quick to take up in their defence.

Duke Friedrich stayed no longer, but, content with his little victory over the Mongol chief, content with having helped to capture Kuthen's castle and to murder its inhabitants, he made off home, giving a promise which he did not keep, that he would send an army to Béla's assistance. He had done mischief enough, and left an evil legacy behind him.

CHAPTER X.
LIBOR CLIMBS THE CUCUMBER-TREE.

It was not until the Kunok had crossed into Bulgaria, leaving a trail of desolation behind them that the Bishop of Nagyvárad (Grosswardein) could venture to lead his banderium towards Pest; and the banderium of the county of Bihar was in the same case. Now, however, they were hurrying forward, when the Mongols, who knew of their coming, put themselves in their way. The Bishop attacked what appeared to be but a small force of them; the Mongols retreated, fighting. The Hungarians, who did not as yet understand their enemy's tactics, pursued. Suddenly the Mongols turned and fell upon them, and but few escaped to tell the story of the disaster.

By this time some 60,000 or 70,000 men were assembled in Pest, against the 300,000 or more under the command of Batu Khan; but of those who had put in an appearance, few were likely to be very serviceable as commanders.

The nation had to a great extent lost the military qualities which had distinguished it before, and which distinguished it again afterwards. The masses were no longer called upon for service, and the nobles, not being bound to serve beyond the frontier, had become unused to war. There was plenty of blind self-confidence, little knowledge or experience.

The King was no general; and although Duke Kálmán and Bishop Ugrin were distinguished for their personal valour and courage, neither they nor any of the other leaders had an idea of what war on a large scale really was.

However, such as it was, the army was there, and it was not likely to receive any large accessions; it believed itself invincible, which might count for something in its favour; and the general distress and misery were so great that at last the King yielded his own wish to remain on the defensive, and led his army out into the plain. Batu Khan at once began to retreat, and to call in his scattered forces, which were busy marauding in various directions. He drew off northwards, his numbers swelling as he went, and the Hungarians followed, exulting in the conviction that the Mongols were being driven before them, and meant to avoid a battle! It did not for a moment strike them that they were following Batu's lead, and that he was drawing them to the very place which he had chosen to suit himself.

When they were not many miles from Tokay the Mongols crossed the Sajó by a bridge which they fortified, and they then took up a position which extended from this point to the right bank of the Tisza (Theiss), having in front of them the vast plain of Mohi, bounded on the east by the hills of Tokay, on the west by woods, which at that time were dense forests, while behind them to the north they had more plains and hills and, beyond these again, a snow-capped peak which shone like a diamond in a field of azure.

Master Peter's old country-house lay about a hundred miles to the north-west of Mohi, almost under the shadow of the loftiest part of the Carpathians. A hundred miles was no distance for such swift riders as the Mongols, but thus far the county of Saros had escaped them, they having entered Hungary by passes which lay not only east and west, but also south of it.

Batu Khan's forces occupied the horse-shoe formed by the junction of the three great rivers, Sajó, Hernád, and Tisza.

The Hungarians encamped on the great plain opposite. But though they had so vast a space at their disposal, their tents were pitched close together, and their horses—a large number, as nearly all were mounted men—stood tethered side by side in rows. Freedom of motion within the camp was impossible; and to make matters even worse, the whole was enclosed within an ill-constructed rampart of wooden waggons, which quite prevented freedom of egress.

A thousand mounted men were on guard at night outside the camp, but scouting and outposts were apparently unthought of.

A few days had passed in merry-making and self-congratulation on the easy victory before them, when one morning King Béla appeared mounted on a magnificent charger, to make his customary inspection of the camp. He wore a complete suit of German armour, a white, gold-embroidered cloak over his shoulders, and an aigrette in his helmet.

Many of the Knights Templar had joined the army, and some of them, in their white, red-crossed mantles, were now standing about him. Close behind him was his brother Kálmán, in armour of steel, inlaid with gold; and near at hand was the fiery Archbishop Ugrin, the most splendid-looking man in the army, so say the chroniclers, his gold chain and cross being the only mark which distinguished him from the laymen.

The Bishop was a devoted patriot, and though he had not forgiven the King for "leaving him in the lurch," he was sincerely attached to him. He was the leading spirit of the campaign.

It was Ugrin who had urged the King to take the field without further delay; Ugrin, who, with much valour and enthusiasm, but with little military experience, had advised Duke Kálmán where to pitch the camp; and again it was Ugrin, who, convinced that the Mongols were in retreat, had pressed the King to give hurried chase, whereby the army had been fatigued to no purpose, and had finally been brought precisely to the spot where Batu wished to see it. The Bishop, however, happy in his ignorance, was under the delusion that it was he who had forced the Khan into his present position.

Just now the King was giving patient hearing to the opinions, frequently conflicting, of those about him. Black care was at his heart, but he looked serene, even cheerful, as usual, as he asked his brother in an undertone whether he had managed to reduce his men to anything like order.

The Duke, for all reply, shrugged his shoulders and looked decidedly grave.

"Ah!" said the King, stifling something like a sigh, "just as I expected!"

Then he heard what the leader of the Knights Templar had to say, and then he turned to Ugrin, well knowing that the Bishop's one idea was to attack, and of course beat, the enemy, and that he had no room in his head for any other.

"You don't think Batu Khan will attack?"

"Attack! not he!" said the Bishop, scornfully. "They are all paralysed with fear, or they would never have pitched their tents between three rivers. They have three fronts, and they have put those wretches the Kunok and Russians foremost! Here have we been face to face for days and nothing has come of it! And yet," continued the Archbishop eagerly, "nothing would be easier than to annihilate the whole army. All we have to do is to deliver one attack across the Sajó, while we send another large force to the left through the woods at night, and across the Hernád, and we shall have the Mongols caught in their own net!"

The Archbishop may have been right, but whether he were so or not, the King saw one insuperable objection to what he proposed. The movement depended for its success upon its being executed in absolute silence; and there was no power on earth capable of making any part of the Hungarian squadrons move forward without shouts, cries, and tumult! Unless Heaven should strike them dumb they would noise enough to betray themselves for miles around, as soon as they caught the sound of the word "battle."

Still, the King was obliged to admit that there did not seem to be anything to be gained by waiting.

He was just about to start on his tour of inspection, when there was a sudden sound of great commotion within the camp. Men were rushing to and fro, tumbling over one another in their eagerness, and the air was rent with their shouts. But sudden hubbubs, all about nothing, and tumults which were merely the outcome of exuberant spirits, were so frequent that Béla and the more staid officers expected the mountain to bring forth no more than the customary mouse on the present occasion.

"A prisoner, apparently," observed the Duke, as an officer emerged from the crowd. Spies and fugitives were frequently crossing the river and stealing into the camp, where there were already Russians, Kunok, Tartars, and men of many tongues.

This man had been caught just as, having crept between the waggons, he was starting off at a run down the main thoroughfare, and making straight for the King's tent.

"Keep back!" cried the officer, "Keep back! and hold your tongues, while I take him to the Duke and let him tell his story!"

But he might as well have addressed the winds and waves.

There was a storm of "Eljens," mingled with cries in various tongues unintelligible to the rest. They threatened, they swore, they yelled; and in this disorderly fashion approached the group of which the King was the centre.

"Not to me! There is the King!" said the Duke, as the rather bewildered officer pushed his prisoner up to the Commander-in-Chief.

"Well, what news do you bring? Who are you? Where are you from?" the King asked good-humouredly, but with an involuntary smile of contempt.

"I am a Magyar, your Majesty," said the man in a doleful voice. "The Tartars carried me off just outside Pest."

"Why!" exclaimed Paul Héderváry suddenly, as he stood facing the fugitive, "why, if it isn't Mr. Libor's groom, Matykó!"

Libor, as we have said, was not to be found on the morning of Paul's expedition with Bishop Ugrin; and not having seen or heard of him since, Paul had been growing daily more anxious on his account. He missed him, too, at every turn, for Libor had made himself indispensable to his comfort.

Stephen Szirmay and Master Peter, who were as usual in close attendance upon the King, looked with curiosity at the unfortunate lad, who, as they now saw, had lost both ears.

"What have you done with your master?" inquired Master Stephen, forgetting the King for a moment in his eagerness.

"The Tartars are going to attack the Hungarian camp this very night!" blurted out the fugitive, with a loud snort; after which, and having relieved his news-bag of this weighty portion of its contents, he seemed to feel easier.

"Do you know it for a fact?" asked the King gravely. "Take care what you are saying, for your head will have to answer for it."

"It is the pure truth, your Majesty. I heard the whole thing, and when I knew everything I took my life in my hand and crept through the bushes, swam across the Sajó, and then stole hither by the edge of the ditches! Well, your Majesty will see for yourself by to-night whether I have been telling lies or no."

"What more do you know? Are the Mongols in great force? Have they many prisoners?" the King asked, by way of getting at the lad's budget of news and forming some idea of its value.

"They are as thick together as a swarm of locusts, sir; and as for the prisoners, they are like the chaff of a threshing floor. There are gentlefolk there too. My old master is one of them—blast him with hot thunderbolts!"

"And who is your master?"

"My faithful governor—Libor!" exclaimed Paul Héderváry, stepping forward and answering for the groom in a tone of great displeasure.

"And have they treated the rest as they have treated you?" asked the Duke, pointing to the lad's bleeding ears.

"The Tartar women cut off the ears and noses of every pretty woman and girl, and the best looking of all they kill! They have killed most of the gentlemen too, and thrown them into the Hernád."

"And your master?" asked Paul quickly.

"My master? No master of mine! he's better fit to be master to the devil," said the prisoner, quite forgetting the King in his rage.

"What—whom are you talking about?" asked Paul, indignantly.

"I'm talking about Mr. Governor Libor, and I say that he has turned Tartar!"

"Turned Tartar!" exclaimed several in amazement.

"It's fact," said the lad. "He has cast off his 'menti' and 'suba,' and doffed his great plume, and now he is going about like a reverend friar, with a cowl large enough to hold myself."

"Turned priest then, has he?" asked Master Peter.

"Priest to the devil, if he has any of that sort down below," said Matykó. "Priest, not a bit of it! He has turned Knéz! that's what he has done! The Tartars wear all sorts of church vestments, even the Khans do, blight them!"

"Knéz! what sort of creature is that, Matykó?" asked Ugrin.

"A sort of governor, something like an 'Ispán' (i.e., Count, or head-man of a county)—I don't know, but he has some sort of office, and our poor gentlemen prisoners must doff their hats to the wretch!"

"Well, nephew!" said Master Peter, with a laugh, for this was water to his own mill, "so you have chosen a pretty sort of fellow indeed to entrust your castle to!"

The King meantime had turned away to speak to the Knight Commander of the Templars, and Paul was able to go on questioning Matykó. He was beside himself with astonishment.

"How long has he been in such favour with the Tartars?" he asked.

"Ah, sir! who can say?" answered the lad, hotly. "He was Knéz before they took me! I found him among them, and hardly knew him. It was he who had my ears cut off, the brute! and only just saved my nose!"

"Well, that is something anyhow," said Master Peter.

"And then," continued Matykó, "I heard that Mr. Governor had been having dealings with the Tartars, like those rascally Kunok, and what's more, if it is true—and true it must be, for Tartars don't give anything for nothing—they say he has shown them the way to two or three castles, where they have got a lot of plunder!"

"Shown them! the scoundrel!" exclaimed Peter and Héderváry together.

"It's so," said Matykó emphatically. "He did ought to have his own long ears and snout cut off, he ought!"

Young Héderváry did not perhaps believe all that had been said about his favourite, but still his anger waxed hot within him.

He had to leave Matykó now, however, and follow the King, who rode through the whole camp, and finally gave orders to the Duke to anticipate the Tartars by advancing at once to the Sajó with a considerable force.

"Ugrin!" cried the Duke, well pleased with the command, "you will come with me! Quick! Mount your men, and we will be on the way to the Sajó in half an hour and stop the Tartars from crossing."

By the time the Duke and Ugrin reached the river, they found that a number of Mongols had already got across. These, after some hard fighting they successfully beat back, and that with considerable loss; and as the survivors disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the river, the Duke and Ugrin led their victorious troops back to the camp, where they were received with acclamations and triumph. They had lost hardly any of their men and were highly elated by their victory.

The night following this success was one of the quietest in the camp. The rapid and easy victory they had won had redoubled everyone's hopes that, upon the advance of the entire army the Mongols would perish utterly and completely, as if they had never been.

Most of the men in camp lay down, with the exception of the King, the sentries, and some of the generals.

The King allowed himself but a very short rest; for, from his many conversations with the unfortunate King Kuthen, he was well aware of the overwhelming numbers and strength of the Mongols, and he was determined that the enemy should never find him anything but prepared and on the alert.

Kálmán and Bishop Ugrin also approved these prudent measures; but the army as a whole was so worn out by long watches and merry-making that rest it must have.

It was a dark night, and the wind blew the tents about; the camp fires had been purposely extinguished, though it was spring-time and chilly.

Twice in the course of the night the King left his tent, made the round of the camp, and satisfied himself as to the strength of the wooden bulwarks. The Duke, the Commander of the Templars, Héderváry the Palatine, and his son Paul, as well as Ugrin, all lay in the King's tent, on carpets, dozing, but not sleeping, while the King merely put off his armour, and stretched himself on the camp bedstead for an hour or two.

All was still save for the wind, and in the intervals between the gusts nothing was to be heard but some terrific snores, and the stamping of the horses.

Now and again those who were fully awake thought they heard shouts of merriment, showing that there were still some not too tired to be amusing themselves; then the wind roared again, and all other sounds were lost.

CHAPTER XI.
"NEXT TIME WE MEET!"

Without being in the least alarmed, Talabor was one who showed himself particularly circumspect at this time; and, as if he had some sort of instinct that trouble might be at hand, he gradually got into the way of helping the seneschal in all that he had to do. And his assistance, though uncalled for, was most welcome to the poor man, who felt a good deal burthened, now that he had to bestir himself to greater speed than was his wont.

Some of the servants liked Talabor for his unpresuming ways, resolution, and courage, while the rest sought to curry favour with him because the young clerk was evidently in the master's good graces, and they believed him to be a power in consequence.

By degrees, and without even noticing it, Talabor quite took the governor's place. The servants, being accustomed to receive their orders from him, and to go to him in all difficulties, finding moreover that Talabor was always ready with an answer and never at a loss what to do, while the old seneschal forgot more than he remembered, soon almost overlooked the latter and put him on one side.

Even Dora, who was perhaps more distant with Talabor now than she had ever been before, came at last to giving her orders to him, instead of to the governor. And the governor, finding himself thus in the shade, would now and then suddenly awake and become jealous for the preservation of his authority, and at such times would seize the reins with ludicrous haste, while Talabor would as quickly take up again the part of a subordinate.

Such was the state of affairs when the governor and Talabor were sitting together one evening in a tolerably large room occupied by the former.

On the table before them were a good sized pewter pot and drinking cups to match. The two had been talking for some time. The governor was looking as if he had been annoyed about something, and Talabor could not be said to look cheerful either, in fact, he had rarely been seen to smile since Master Peter's departure. He missed him greatly, for latterly, as long as he was at home, Peter had often had the young man with him in the evenings, when the candles were lighted, or when a blazing fire supplied the place of tallow and wax, these latter being still considered luxuries.

Master Peter possessed a few books which he greatly valued—a copy of his favourite Ovid, and a Bible, for which he had given a village and a half, besides one or two others. He made Talabor read to him from all in turn; and often by way of variety, he had long conversations with him, and told him stories of his hunting adventures.

Talabor was a good listener, and he not only enjoyed but learnt a good deal from the narratives of his younger days, in which Master Peter delighted. Dora, too, was more often present than not, and sometimes joined in the conversation, which made it more interesting still, and then Talabor felt as if he were almost one of the family. Of course, there could be nothing of this sort now. Dora gave her orders, sometimes made suggestions, but he never saw her except in the presence of others and on matters of business. He had quite satisfied himself, however, that there had never been anything between her and Libor, and that was a satisfaction. She had not deceived her father, she had never either sent or received a single letter unknown to him, and in fact she was just as upright and honourable as he had always thought her.

As to why Libor had spread the reports which Talabor had traced to him, and why he had enlisted Borka's aid, unless it were to magnify his own importance, that, of course, he could not guess; but he had so frightened the maid that he was satisfied not only that she had told him the truth so far as she knew it, but that for the future she would keep it to herself, on pain of being denounced as a traitor to her master, of whom she stood in great awe.

"This won't do!" cried the governor, as he brought his hand down on the table with a mighty bang. "This won't do, I say! Here are the woods swarming with wolves, and one good hunt would drive the whole pack off, and yet you, Talabor, would have us look idly on while the brutes are carrying off the master's sheep and lambs regularly day after day."

"Not idly, sir, I did not say idly; but they have the shepherd and his boys to look after them, and they are good shots, especially the shepherd, and then he has four dogs, each as big as a buffalo," Talabor rejoined, rather absently.

"Buffalo!"

"Calf, I mean, of course; but it would certainly not be wise to take the garrison out hunting just now."

"And why not? You are afraid of the Tartars, I suppose, like the rest!"

"No, sir! but if they do come, I should prefer their being afraid of us! Besides, there is no good in denying it—the wind never blows without cause, and there has been more than one report that the Tartars have actually invaded us."

"Always the Tartars! How in the world should they find their way through such woods as these unless you or I led them here?"

"If once the filthy creatures flood the country, it seems to me from all that ever I have heard, that not a corner will be safe from them. They'll go even where they have no intention of going, just because of their numbers, because those behind will press them forward in any and every direction."

"Well, it's true, certainly, that the last time I was with the master in Pest, I heard they had done I don't know what not in Russia and Wallachia. People said that wherever they forced their way they were like—excuse me—like bugs, and not to be so easily got rid of, even with boiling water! And they are foul, disgusting folk, too! they poison the very air; and they eat up everything, to the very hog-wash!"

"So, Governor, you agree with me then! It's the man who keeps his eyes open who controls the market! Who knows whether we mayn't have a struggle with them ourselves to-day or to-morrow!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the governor. "Our walls are strong, and, if only there are not very many of them——"

"Eh, sir, but numbers will make no difference! We are so enclosed here that the closer they are packed the more of them our arrows will hit."

"True! true!" said the governor, with more animation now that there was a question of fighting, "but they shoot too, blast them!"

"Let them!" said Talabor confidently, "we are behind our walls, and can see every man of them without being seen ourselves."

"Clerk!" cried the governor, quite annoyed, "I declare you talk as if the Tartars were at the very gate!"

"Heaven forbid! but——"

At that instant the door flew open, and the gate-keeper, one of the most vigilant fellows of the castle, rushed in.

"Get on with you, you ass!" shouted the governor, "what's the news? What do you mean by leaving the gate and bolting in here as if the wolves were at your heels?"

The governor might perhaps have gone on scolding, but the gate-keeper interrupted him.

"Talabor—Mr. Governor, I mean, there are some suspicious-looking men on the edge of the wood, if my eyes don't deceive me."

"On the edge of the wood? But it is rather dark to see so far," said Talabor, standing up as he spoke.

"If it were not so dark, I could tell better who the rascals are; but so much I can say, there they are, and a good lot of them."

"Very well," said Talabor, making a sign to the governor, "you are a faithful fellow to have noticed them; but we mustn't make any fuss, or our young mistress may be frightened."

"I am not usually given to fearing danger, Mr. Talabor," said Dora, entering the room at that moment, and speaking with cool dignity. "I have just been to the top of the look out myself, and what this honest fellow says is perfectly true. There are some men just inside the wood, and they do look suspicious, because they keep creeping about among the underwood, and only now and then putting their heads out."

While his mistress spoke, the gate-keeper had stood there motionless.

"Come, go back to the gate," said Dora, turning to him, "and make haste! you heard what Mr. Talabor said; let him know at once if you notice any movement among these people."

"And, Governor," she continued, "you had better place the guard and all the men who can shoot at the loopholes, quietly, you know, not as if we were expecting to be attacked; and then, the stones for the walls——"

"Pardon me, mistress," interposed Talabor, "I had stones, and everything else we might need, carried up a week ago."

"I know it, Mr. Talabor, I was not doubting it," Dora said in an unruffled tone, "but for all that, it will be as well to have more stones, I think. I believe myself that they are just brigands, not Tartars, but even so, if they attack us at night, and in large numbers, all will depend upon the reception they get, so it seems to me."

Talabor said no more, but in his own mind he was fully persuaded that the suspicious-looking folk were the Mongols, and that they were concocting some plan for getting into the castle without attacking it.

"Your orders shall be obeyed, my young mistress," answered the governor.

"Talabor," Dora went on, as if to make up for her previous coldness, "I trust to you to do everything necessary for our defence."

A few moments later Talabor was in the spacious courtyard, collecting the men who formed the watch or guard, while the old governor hurried with some difficulty up the stairs which led to the porter's room, over the gate.

All preparations were complete within a quarter of an hour.

Dora wrapped herself in a cloak and stationed herself in a wide balcony facing the woods.

She had been very desirous of following her father and sharing all his perils and dangers; but it must be confessed that at this moment she was filled with fear; so, too, she probably would have been if at her father's side in battle, but she would have suppressed her fear then as she was doing now, and would have shown herself as brave and resolute as any.

The doubtful-looking figures had vanished now from the wood, and, aided by the moon which just then shone out through the clouds, Talabor's sharp eyes detected three horsemen coming towards the gate. They were riding confidently, though the path was steep and narrow, with a wall of rock on one side and a sheer precipice on the other. They seemed to know the way.

"Talabor!" cried Dora, as she caught sight of him standing on the wall just opposite her, between the low but massive battlements.

"Directly!" answered Talabor, and with a whisper to Jakó the dog-keeper, who was beside him, he hurried down and came and stood below the balcony, while Dora bent over it, saying in a pleased tone, "Do you see, there are guests arriving? I think they must be friends, or at least acquaintances, by the way they ride."

"Yes, I do, mistress!" answered Talabor. "They have the appearance of visitors certainly, but they have come from those other questionable-looking folk, so we will be careful. Trust me, I have my wits about me."

"There are three," said Dora, after a short pause, and as if the answer did not quite satisfy her. "How can we tell whether they have any evil intentions or not?"

"We shall see; but I must go back to my place."

"Go to the gate tower."

"I am going!" said Talabor, and without waiting for further orders, he ran back, first to his former post on the wall, where he spoke to the wild-looking dog-keeper and the two armed men who had joined him, and then to the tower flanking the gate, from a slit-like opening in which he could see the moat, and the space opposite formed by a clearing in the wood.

The gate-keeper had not noticed the approach of the "guests," as Dora called them, for the window was too narrow to give any view of the breakneck path, along which the riders were advancing, now hidden in the hollows, now reappearing among the juniper bushes and wild roses. They were within a short distance of the moat now, and were making straight for the gate.

"Quick!" said Talabor to the porter, "go and fetch the governor! I'll take your place meantime; and tell him to be on his guard, but not to raise any alarm. It would be as well if he could get our young mistress to leave that open balcony, for some impudent arrow, if not a spear, might find its way there."

The gate-keeper stared for a moment, and then went off without a word.

The governor, finding day after day pass in peace, had cast care to the winds for his own part, and had fallen into the way of constantly testing the contents of Master Peter's well-filled cellar, in the privacy of his own room. He was rather a dainty than greedy drinker, and the wine, being pure, never affected his head, though it did not make him more inclined to exert himself. Just now, however, he was carrying out Dora's orders, as he sat on a projection of the wall with his feet dangling down into the court. He would have had his pipe in his mouth, not a doubt of it, if tobacco had been known in those days.

While the gate-keeper was gone the three horsemen arrived.

"Hi! porter!" cried the foremost, whose figure, though not his features, was plainly discernible. He was mounted on a dark, undersized horse, and was enveloped in a sort of cloak of primitive shape, much like the coarse garment worn by swine-herds. His head was covered by a small round helmet, like a half melon.

"Here I am, what do you want?" answered Talabor.

"I come by order of Master Peter Szirmay," answered the man. "The Tartars have broken into the country, and his Honour has sent a garrison, as he does not consider the present one sufficient."

"You are Libor the clerk!" said Talabor, at once recognising the forward governor by his peculiar voice, which reminded him irresistibly of a cock's crow.

"And who may you be?"

"Talabor, if his Honour the governor still remembers my poor name."

"Ah! all right, Clerk! just let them be quick with the drawbridge, for it is going to rain, and I have no fancy for getting wet."

"No fear, Mr. Libor. It is not blowing up for rain yet! But in these perilous times, caution is the order of the day, and so, Mr. Libor, your Honour will perhaps explain how it happens that Mr. Paul Héderváry's gallant governor has been sent to our assistance by our master. That we are in much need of help I don't deny."

"Why such a heap of questions? Mr. Héderváry and some twenty or more Szirmays are in the King's camp, and Master Peter has sent me with Mr. Héderváry's consent, as being a man to be trusted."

"A man to be trusted? And since when have you been a man to be trusted, Governor? Since when have people come to trust a scamp? You take care that I don't tell Master Peter something about you!"

"Mr. Talabor!" cried Libor haughtily, "have the drawbridge lowered at once! I have orders to garrison the castle. And pray where is the governor? and since when have such pettifoggers as you been allowed to meddle in Master Peter's affairs?"

"Here is the governor," said old Moses at this moment. Curiosity, and just a little spice of uneasiness had brought him quickly to the tower, and he had heard Libor's last angry words.

Talabor at once gave up his place to him, but neither he nor the porter left the room.

"Oh, Mr. Governor," said Libor in a tone of flattery, "I am glad indeed to be able to speak to the real governor at last, instead of to that wind-bag of a fellow. I know Mr. Moses deák, and how long he has been in Master Peter's confidence as his right hand."

Then, slightly raising his voice, he went on: "The promised garrison has arrived. It is here close at hand by Master Peter's orders, and is only waiting for the drawbridge to place itself under Mr. Moses' command."

Before making any answer to this, the governor turned to Talabor with a look of inquiry, which seemed to say, "It is all quite correct. Master Peter himself has sent Governor Libor here, and there is no reason why we should not admit the reinforcements."

"Mr. Governor," whispered Talabor, with his hand on his sword, "say you will let Mr. Libor himself in and that you will settle matters with him over a cup of wine."

"Good," said the governor, who liked this suggestion very well. Then he shouted down through the opening, "Mr. Libor, before I admit the garrison, I should be pleased to see you in the castle by yourself! I am sure you must be tired after your long journey, and it will do you good to wet your whistle with a cup or two of wine; and then, as soon as we have had a look at things all round, I will receive your good fellows with open arms."

"Who is in command of this guard?" inquired Talabor, coming to the window again.

"Myself! until I hand my men over to the governor. But I don't answer you again, Clerk Talabor! What need is there of anyone else while good Mr. Moses is alive? But I can't come and feast inside while my men are left hungry and thirsty without. I will summon them at once! and even then they can come only single file up this abominable road where one risks one's life at every step."

"Indeed so, Mr. Libor? Well, if you have all your wits about you, we have not quite taken leave of ours. You would like to come in with your troop, but we should like first to have the pleasure of being made personally acquainted with your two wooden figures there! I understand you, sir! but you should have come when times were better. These are evil days! Who knows whether Master Peter is even alive, and whether Mr. Héderváry's governor has not come to take possession and turn this time of confusion to his own advantage?"

So spoke Talabor, and Governor Moses was a little shaken out of his confidence. Indeed, the whole affair seemed strange. Surely, thought he, if Master Peter had wished to strengthen the garrison he would have found someone to send besides the clerk, Libor; for he, of course, knew nothing of the latter's recent military advancement; and then again, Talabor was so prudent that during the past weeks the governor had come to look on him as a sort of oracle.

"Then you won't admit the guard?" said Libor wrathfully.

"We have not said that," answered Moses; "but if you have come on an honest errand, come in first by yourself; show me a line of writing, or some other token, and we shall know at once what we are about."

"Writing? token? Isn't the living word more than any writing? And isn't it token enough that I, the Hédervárys' governor, am here myself?"

"The garrison are not coming into the castle!" cried Talabor. "There are enough of us here, and we don't want any more mouths to feed! But if you yourself wish to come in, you may, and then we shall soon see how things are."

"Mr. Governor!" shouted Libor in a fury, "I hold you responsible for anything that may happen! who knows whether some stray band of Tartars may not find their way up here to-day or to-morrow, and who is going to stand against them?"

"We! I!" said Talabor. "Make your choice, if you please! Come in alone, or—nobody will be let in, and we will take the responsibility."

So saying Talabor went forward, and looking down through the loophole, exclaimed, "Why, Mr. Libor, who are those behind you?"

"Tótok (Slovacks), they don't understand Hungarian," answered Libor; and in a louder voice he added, "Let the drawbridge down at once, I will come in alone."

"Talabor!" said Dora, coming hastily into the room, "I see a whole number of men coming up the road. What does it mean?"

"It means treachery, mistress! Mr. Héderváry's governor, Libor, deák, is here asking for admittance, and I suspect mischief. I believe the rascal means to take the castle," said Talabor.

"No one must be admitted," answered Dora.

As Dora spoke, Governor Moses turned round. The old man was not yet clear in his own mind what they ought to do.

If the reinforcements had really come from Master Peter, why then there was no reason why they should not be admitted; and, left to himself, he would certainly have let both Libor and all his followers in without delay. But Talabor had "driven a nail into his head" which caused him to hesitate, and Dora's commands were peremptory.

"Excuse me, Mr. Governor," said Dora, "and allow me to come to the window."

"Mr. Libor," she went on, in a voice which trembled a little, "please to withdraw yourself and your men, and go back wherever you have come from. If we are attacked we will defend ourselves, and you must all be wanted elsewhere, if it is true, as I hear, that the Tartars have invaded the country."

"Dearest young lady! Your father will be greatly vexed by this obstinacy."

"That's enough, Libor!" said Talabor, with a sign to Dora, who drew back. "We shall let no one into the castle, not even Master Peter's own brother, unless he can show us Master Peter's ring, for those were his private instructions to me."

"Why didn't you say so before?" muttered Moses to himself; and then, as if annoyed that his master should have thought it necessary to give private instructions to any but himself, in the event of such an unforeseen emergency as the present, he called down to Libor, "It is quite true! I asked you for a token myself just now, for I have had my instructions too."

"I'll show it as soon as we are in the castle," returned Libor.

"Treachery!" said Talabor, addressing Dora. "The castle is strong, and it will be difficult to attack it. We will answer for that! Don't have any anxiety about anything, dear young lady; but hasten back to your own rooms and don't risk your precious life, for I expect the dance will begin directly."

Talabor's manly self-possession had reassured her, and she looked at him with animation equal to his own; then, not wishing to wound the feelings of the governor, she shook him by the hand for the first time in her life, saying, "Moses, deák! if they should really attack us, I trust entirely to you and Mr. Talabor. And, now, everyone to his post! I am not a Szirmay for nothing! and I know how to behave, if the home of my ancestors is attacked!"

And having hurriedly uttered these words, Dora withdrew.

"Very well then, as you please!" shouted Libor furiously. "Hungarian dogs! you shall get what you have earned!"

With that he turned his horse's head, and not long after the whole body of mounted men had reached the open space fronting the gate.

"Hungarian dogs!" thundered the governor, "then the rascally whelp can actually slander his own race!"

A few moments more, and not only the horsemen who wore the Hungarian costume, but also a hundred or so of filthy, monkey-faced Mongols on foot, were all assembled before the castle, these latter having climbed the rocks as if they had been so many wild cats. It was easy to see at once that they were not Hungarians.

"Yes! Hungarian dogs, that's what you are!" shouted Libor, "and I am a Knéz of his Highness, the Grand Khan Oktai, and I shall spit every man of you!"

So saying, he hurried away, and was lost in the throng.