CHAPTER XII.
DEFENDING THE CASTLE.

"O God!" she said within herself, "I am afraid! and I must not be afraid!" and as she spoke, her maids all came rushing into the balcony, wringing their hands above their heads, uttering loud lamentations, which were half strangled by sobs.

"The Tartars! the Tartars!" they cried, hardly able to get the words out. "It's all over with us! What shall we do! What shall we do!"

"Go about your own business, every one of you!" said Dora sternly, "fighting is the men's work, yours is to be at the washing-tub, and the fireside. Don't let me hear another sound, and don't come here again till I call you!"

Her speech had the desired effect; the women were all silent, as if they had been taken by the throat and had had their wails suddenly choked; and away they went in haste, either to do as they were told, or to hide themselves in the lowest depths of the cellar. At all events they vanished.

They had no sooner all tumbled out of the balcony than Talabor stepped in, and just as he did so, an arrow, the first from outside, flew in and struck his cap.

"Come in! come inside! for Heaven's sake!" cried Talabor, seizing Dora by the hand.

"Mr. Talabor! What do you mean?" she began indignantly, both startled and angered by his audacity. Then, catching sight of the arrow in his cap, she went on in a frightened voice, "Are you wounded, Talabor?"

The young man did not let go his hold until he had drawn Dora into the adjoining hall, where she was quite reassured as to the arrow, which he then drew from his cap, without a word, and fitted to the long bow he had in his hand. Then he stepped back into the balcony, and sent the arrow flying with the remark, "There's one who won't swallow any more Magyar bread at all events!"

The next instant a cloud of arrows poured into the balcony, but already Talabor was down in the court and rushing to the walls, whence Master Peter's famous dog-keeper and some of the garrison had already discharged their arrows with deadly effect.

Dora had quite recovered herself.

As for Libor, he had vanished as completely as if he had never been there.

"If I could only clap eyes on that scoundrel!" cried Talabor furiously. "Ah! there! that's he! with his head buried in a cowl! cowardly dog!"

He fitted an arrow and drew his bow, but hit only a Tartar.

"Missed!" he muttered, with vexation, "and it's the last! Here, Jakó," he said, turning to the dog-keeper, "just go and fetch me the great Székely bow from the dining hall! you know, the one which takes three of us to string it."

While Jakó was gone, Talabor observed that one body of Tartars was stealing along under the trees close beside the moat, towards the south side of the castle, and that Libor had dismounted, and was creeping along with them.

"What can those rascals mean to do?" whispered the governor.

"I know!" said Talabor, "the traitor! I know well enough what he's after! but he's out! The wretch! he thinks he shall find the wall on that side in the same tumble-down state in which it was the last time he was here!"

"True!" returned the governor, "they are making straight for it."

"You there at the bastion, quick! follow me," he went on, hurrying along the parapet to where the Mongols seemed to intend a mighty assault.

The dog-keeper, who had come back with the bow, climbed the wall by the narrow steps, and he, too, followed Talabor.

Libor was creeping along on foot among his men, wearing a coat of mail, and so managing as to be out of range of the arrows of the defenders. Libor thoroughly understood how to avail himself of shelter, and here, close to the wood, had no difficulty in finding it.

To his great chagrin, however, he found that he had miscalculated. The wall had been so well repaired that if anything it was even stronger here than elsewhere.

Talabor and his party had no sooner made their appearance than they were observed, in spite of the gathering twilight, and were the targets for a cloud of arrows. They withdrew behind the breastwork, and after some difficulty succeeded in stringing the great Székely bow. Whereupon, Talabor chose the longest arrow from Jakó's quiver, fitted it to the string, straightened himself, and, as he did so, he caught sight of Libor. Libor also recognised his worst enemy at the self-same moment, and turning suddenly away made for the wood.

But Talabor's arrow flew faster than he, and with so sure an aim that it hit him in the back, below his iron corselet, and there stuck.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Jakó, himself a passionate bowman, and one of the few who could manage the Székely bow, "ha! ha! ha! that's right! if not in front, then behind! all's one to us!"

But Talabor was not satisfied with his shot, for Libor kept his feet, at least as long as he was within sight.

The Mongols were meantime showing how determined they could be when the hope of valuable booty was dangled before their eyes. Their numbers had been mysteriously increased tenfold, and from all sides they were bringing stones, branches from the trees, whole trees, in a word, all and everything upon which they could lay hands. The attack on the south side of the castle was abandoned, though not before some score or so of the enemy had been laid low by the arrows of Talabor and his men, and the Mongols all now turned their attention to the moat, and to that part of it immediately fronting the drawbridge. Arrows poured down upon them incessantly, and there was seldom one which missed its mark. But in spite of this, the work proceeded at such a rate as threatened to be successful in no long time, for as one fell another took his place, and the wood seemed to be swarming.

Talabor had had no experience of the Mongols, and was not aware that their chief strength lay in their enormous numbers. He did not so much as dream how many of them there might be. However, Master Peter had made no bad choice in the garrison he had left behind him, and they did not for a moment lose courage. They shot down arrow after arrow, not one of which was left without its response by the bowmen stationed behind those at work on the moat; but while many of the besiegers were stretched upon the ground, not more than three or four of the besieged were wounded, and of them not one so seriously as to be incapable of further fighting.

Dora had been coming out into the courtyard from time to time, ever since the siege had begun in earnest. Talabor and the governor were too busy probably to notice her, and though not altogether safe, she found herself comparatively out of danger, so long as she kept under the wall, as the arrows described a curve in falling. She could handle a bow at least as well as many of the women of her time; but though she had a strong sense of her responsibilities as the "mistress of the castle" in her father's absence, she was content to leave the fighting to the men, and to do no more than speak an encouraging word to them from time to time and keep everything in readiness for attending to their wounds.

As she stood there, in the shelter of the wall, she suddenly heard the governor's voice uttering maledictions and imprecations, and the next moment he came blundering down the stone steps from the parapet.

"Oh! Moses, deák! what is the matter?" cried Dora, rushing towards him.

The governor could be a very careful man when occasion required, and if he descended now with something of a roll, he trod gingerly all the same; and he had besides the advantage of such well-covered bones, that they were in little danger.

"The matter?" he cried, as he reached the grass in safety, "the matter, young mistress, is that they have shot me—through the arm, hang them! just as my spear had caught one of them behind the ear too!"

"Here," cried Dora to the man nearest her, "Vid, fetch me some water and rag, quick! we must stop the bleeding. Borka has them all ready!"

Vid, who was on the wall, had seen the governor totter and almost lose his balance as he stumbled down the steps, and was hurrying after him when Dora called.

But Mr. Moses no sooner found himself safely at the bottom, and sound in all his limbs except just where he was hit, than he at once regained his wonted composure.

"Off with you, Vid," said he, "but fetch a good handful of cobwebs; that will stop the bleeding in a trice."

Meantime Dora herself ran into the house and soon came back with Borka her maid, bringing water, heaps of old rag, and all that could possibly be wanted. The girl's knees were shaking under her with terror as she slipped along, close after her mistress.

Dora herself bound up the injured arm, Moses offering no opposition, as they were in a fairly safe place, and when the operation was over, he even kissed the hands of this "fairest of surgeons," as he called her. Then he rose to his feet, gave himself a shake and roared, "Hand me my spears! I shall hardly be able to draw another bow to-day!"

No sooner was the governor standing up once more than Borka made a hasty dash for the house.

"Keep along by the wall, Borka!" Dora called after her. But the girl was so consumed with fear that she neither heard nor saw. Just as she was hurrying up the steps of the principal entrance, instead of going round to the back, where the danger was nil, she fell down, head foremost, and as she did so, a long Tartar arrow caught her in the back.

Dora flew after her, and just as she had reached the steps Talabor was beside her, with his shield held over her head. Two or three arrows rattled down upon it, even in the few moments that they stood there.

"Get up at once!" said Talabor, sternly. But the girl did not move, and Moses began to tremble.

Borka was dead! killed, not by the arrow, as they found later on, but by her own terror.

"Oh, poor girl!" cried Dora, her eyes filling with tears.

"She has got her deserts!" said Talabor, in a hard tone. "There is one traitor less in the castle! and I believe she was the only one."

And without giving time for question or answer, he hurried Dora indoors, and rushed back to his post on the wall, followed at a more leisurely pace by Moses with his four spears.

While all this was going on, the Mongols had succeeded more or less in filling up the moat, and though up to their knees in water, and impeded by the logs, branches, stones, and other material with which they had filled it, some had already crossed, and were beginning to climb the wall, by means of long poles, when Talabor gave the signal, and a volley of huge stones and pieces of rock came suddenly crashing down upon them. These were swiftly followed by a flight of arrows, and the two together worked such terrible havoc among the assailants that the survivors beat a hasty retreat.

They seemed to be entirely disheartened by this last repulse, and convinced that nothing would be gained by continuing their present tactics; for, to the great surprise of Moses and Talabor, they did not return. When next the moon shone out it was seen that a large number of men were lying dead both in and about the moat. All, whether whole or wounded, who could do so, had drawn off into the depths of the wood, the more severely wounded borne on the shoulders of the rest.

Libor was not again seen by anyone.

The usual guard was doubled, and Talabor was going to pass the night on the battlements, with the great dog-wood bow beside him and his quiver full of fresh arrows.

The wounded, only four of whom were seriously injured, had been bandaged, and it now appeared that, of the entire garrison there were but two or three who had not at least a scratch to show.

Talabor had been hit he did not know how many times, but he had escaped without any serious wound, though he had lost a good deal of blood. Before going to his post on the wall, he paid a visit to the porter's room to have his hurts seen to, and when at last the porter's wife let him go, he was so bound up and bandaged as to be not unlike an Egyptian mummy.

By the time Moses came in to see Dora, she was utterly worn out.

"Where is Talabor?" she asked.

"On the castle wall," said the governor.

"Not wounded, is he?"

"I don't think so," was the answer. "At least, he said nothing about it."

"We must all watch to-night, Mr. Moses; I am afraid they may come back and bring more with them."

"My dear young lady," said Moses, "whether they do or not, this castle is no place for you now. It is only the mercy of God which has preserved you this time."

"But I must not stir from here until I hear from my father! Besides, where can I go? If the Tartars have discovered such an out-of-the-way place as this, the country must be swarming with them!"

"It was easy enough for them to find their way here," growled Moses, with sundry not too respectful expletives. "It was that good-for-nothing clerk, Libor, who brought them down on us."

"That's true indeed; but now that they have found us out, others may come. So, Mr. Moses, we must have our eyes open, and as soon as we can, we must have the moat cleared, and make the castle more secure if possible."

Moses said "good-night," though he well knew that Dora would not go to rest, and then he, too, went to the porter's room.

It was a most unusual thing for the Mongols to abandon any attack, but just as Talabor had begun to pelt the assailants with the heavy missiles already mentioned, one of the chiefs sent with Libor (possibly to act as spy upon him), hastily quitted the post of danger and hurried after the governor-clerk, whom he found in the wood, trying as best he might to bind up the wound from which he had now drawn the arrow. The wound, though deep enough, was not serious.

"Why, Knéz! sitting here under the trees, are you?" cried the Mongol roughly, in his own uncouth tongue. "Sitting here, when those Magyar dogs have done for more than a hundred of our men!"

"Directly, Bajdár!" said Libor sharply, "you see I have been shot in the head and can't move!"

"Directly? and can't move? shot in the head? Perhaps you don't keep your head where we Mongols keep ours! but what will the Khan say, if we take back only five or six out of 300 men?"

"Five or six?" repeated Libor in alarm; "are so many lost?"

"Well, and if it's not so many! and if you, who ought to be first in the fight have managed to save your own skin! quite enough have fallen for all that, and we shall all perish if this mad business goes on any longer. Take care, Knéz! Look after yourself! for Batu Khan is not used to being played with by new men such as you!"

Libor staggered to his feet, and though badly frightened by his ill-success, as well as by what Bajdár had said, his natural cunning did not altogether desert him.

"Be off, Bajdár! and don't blame me! Of course, I meant it for the best! The castle is crammed with gold and silver, and there are some good horses, as well as a pretty girl or two. Who could have supposed the rascals would defend themselves in such a fashion! Be off, I tell you, Bajdár, and stop this senseless fighting, and we'll draw off into the woods."

"What! with empty hands?"

"Who is to help it? But we won't go quite empty-handed either."

The Mongol glanced up from under his cap as Libor said this, and his small eyes glittered like fire-flies in the darkness.

"Master Peter has a large sheep-fold in a valley not far from here, and the few men who guard it are nothing to reckon with; if we drive off the sheep, there will be a good feast for a thousand or two of hungry fellows in the camp."

"What's that?" said the Tartar hotly. "Why, we shall eat those up ourselves! All the cattle have been driven off out of our way, and we are as hungry as wolves!"

"Only go, Bajdár, and call the men off, and then I'll tell you something which will make up for our ill-luck here."

Bajdár shook his head. He was in no good humour, but he had gained his object, and he went off, cursing and threatening, to stop the assault.

As for the amends which Libor promised, we can say only so much as this, that they were ample. He believed the country to be wholly at the Mongols' mercy, he was well acquainted with the neighbourhood, and he led his men, who had now dwindled to thirty or so, to the most defenceless places, where they found cattle enough to satisfy them.

So great was the prevailing terror, that many had fled from their homes leaving everything behind them, or had been so harassed by perpetual alarms that they had at last concealed their property in such senseless ways that it was found without difficulty.

However it may have been in this case, it was a fact that when Knéz Libor returned from his campaign, he received high praise from Batu Khan, who cared nothing at all that the force had melted away till little more than a fourth part was left to return to the Sajó. Batu had further uses for Libor.

When the Mongols had at last made off, and Moses and Talabor found that the shepherds had been killed, and the sheep, either eaten on the spot, carried off, or scattered in the woods, they first cautiously searched the neighbourhood, and then proceeded with no little labour, to bury the dead.

This done, Talabor made it his business to ride out every day, and was sometimes absent for hours, scouring the country while those at home were busy with the governor, strengthening the defences of the castle.

One morning, some days after the attack, Talabor asked to speak to Dora. It had been a trying time for all in the castle, but Dora had gone back to her usual habits, and was looking after her household affairs as strictly and regularly as if nothing had happened. In one thing she was somewhat changed: her confidence in and dependence upon Talabor had much increased.

"Well, Talabor, is there any good news?" she asked gently.

"May I speak plainly, dear young mistress?" he asked, by way of answer.

"I never wish you to speak otherwise, Clerk Talabor."

"Then I will tell you at once, that you must not stay here any longer, mistress. The place is too unsafe now that the Mongols know it."

"Must not? and where could I go?"

"We have to do with dangerous enemies, and they are enraged, and will be certain to revenge themselves as soon as they can," he urged.

Dora sighed. "I know, Talabor, but I am not going to move till I hear from my father."

"Dear lady," said Talabor again, after a pause. "Dear mistress—perhaps you may have noticed that I have been out riding every day. I have scoured the whole neighbourhood for miles round, and I have learnt a good deal more than the mere rumours which are all that reach us here."

"And you have dared to keep it to yourself?"

"Yes, dear mistress, I have dared! I did not wish to trouble you for nothing, and one hears many things. If I have done wrong, God knows, I could not do anything else until I was sure."

"Talabor!" said Dora, quite disarmed, "and why do you speak now?"

"Because the time has come when I must either tell you the worst, or let you risk your precious life."

Dora shuddered but did not speak, and Talabor went on to tell her, what we already know, of the invasion, and of the successes already gained by Batu Khan. There were naturally many gaps in his narrative, and much that was already sorrowful fact, he knew only as rumour and surmise. But still, with all deficiencies it was abundantly evident that her present home was no longer safe, and that the very next week, day, even hour, she might be exposed to fresh and graver peril.

And still, what was she to do?

"Is that all?" she asked presently, "you have not heard anything of my father?"

"I have heard that he is alive at least," responded Talabor cheerfully, "though twice I heard the contrary——"

"And you kept it from me?"

"Why should I tell you what I did not believe myself, and what those who told me were not at all sure of? It was only a report, and now I know for certain that Master Peter is alive."

"Certain? how?"

"Truly," and he told how the news had reached him, adding, "so now we know where to find him, when we have the opportunity."

"Ah! that settles it then, Talabor. The proper place for a good daughter is with her father. I'll go to him!"

But while Dora was thus making up her mind to ride to the camp, events had taken place which, when they came to her ears, made her hesitate again as to what she ought to do.

Meantime, until they could decide, Talabor went on strengthening the walls in every way he could think of, and rendering the steep approach more difficult.

CHAPTER XIII.
CAMP FIRES.

The boundless steppes of Asia, and the lands lying between the River Ural and the Dnieper, with all their various peoples, were speedily brought under his sway. In the autumn of 1237 the Mongolian catapults had reduced Riazan to a heap of ruins; Moscow perished in the flames; and with the capture of Kieff, then the handsomest and best fortified city of Northern Europe, all Russia sank under the yoke of the Mongols, who ruled her for centuries. Kieff had fallen towards the end of 1240, and Batu had then divided his forces, sending 50,000 men to Poland, where they burnt Cracow and Breslau, and then proceeded to Silesia, where, on April 9th, they defeated an army of Germans, Poles, and Bohemians near Liegnitz; they then devastated Moravia, and entering Hungary on the north-west, presently rejoined Batu, who himself had made a straight line from Kieff for Hungary, entering it, as already said, by the pass of Verecz, on the north-east.

The third division of Mongols had gone south, skirting the eastern Carpathians and entering Transylvania at two different points.

One portion of this division had rejoined Batu at the river Sajó, in time for the pitched battle now imminent.

When first the Hungarian camp was pitched Batu had surveyed it from an eminence with a grim smile of satisfaction.

"There are a good many of them!" he exclaimed, "but they can't get away! They have penned themselves up as if they were so many sheep in a fold!"

With the return of Duke Kálmán after his victory at the bridge, all danger was believed to be over for the night, and save for a few merry-makers, the exultant army slept profoundly. There were few watchers but the King, the Duke, the Archbishop, and the few others gathered in the royal tent.

On the other side of the Sajó a different and wilder scene was being enacted.

The night was dark, but the Mongol camp was brilliantly illuminated by the blaze of a bonfire so huge, that its light shone far and wide.

It was never the Khan's way to extinguish his camp fires; quite the contrary. He wished his enemy to see them, and to suppose that his army was stationary.

Thanks to his innumerable spies, he was well aware of all that had taken place early in the night, and had not been in the least surprised by the recent sortie. It was, in fact, just what he had wished to provoke, by way of diverting the attention of the Hungarians from that which was taking place farther up the river.

If a few hundred scape-goats had perished, what matter? there were plenty more to take their place. And they were not even Mongols, but slaves, Russians, Kuns, etc., who had been forced into his service.

While these wretches, with the trembling Libor perforce among them, were bearing the brunt of the Hungarian onset, and being thoroughly beaten, Batu had sent a large force across the Sajó farther up and this, under cover of the darkness, was now stealthily drawing nearer and nearer to the Hungarian camp. It moved forward in absolute silence, and without attracting any notice.

Batu and several of his chief leaders were just now standing on a low hill, all mounted, armed, and ready for battle. Below was the Mongol host, mounted also and armed with bows, spears, and short, curved swords. A wild, terrible-looking host they were, short of stature, broad in the chest, flat in the face; with small, far-apart eyes, and flat noses. They were clad in ox-hide so thick as to be proof against most weapons, and consisting of small pieces, like scales, sewn together. So they are described by Thomas, Archdeacon of Spalatro, who had but too good opportunity of seeing what they were like. He adds that their helmets were either of leather or iron, and that their black and white flags were surmounted by a bunch of wool; that their horses, ridden bare-backed and unshod, were small but sturdy, well inured to fatigue and fasting, and as nimble and sure-footed in climbing rocks as the chamois. Scanty food and short rest sufficed these hardy animals even after three days of fatigue.

Their masters were not accustomed to much in the way of creature-comforts for themselves. They carried nothing in the way of stores or supplies, which gave them great advantage in the matter of speed; they ate no bread, and lived on flesh, blood, and mare's milk. Wherever they went, they dragged along with them a large number of armed captives, especially Kuns, whom they forced into battle, and killed whenever they did not fight as desperately as they desired. They did not themselves care to rush into danger, but were quite content to let their captives do the worst of the fighting while they reaped the victory. In spite of their enormous numbers they made no noise whether they were in camp, on the march, or on the field of battle.

Thus far Archdeacon Thomas.

When to this description we add the fact that they had had continuous practice in warfare for years past, that a career of well-nigh unbroken victory had given them perfect self-confidence, while it spread such terror among those whom they attacked as paralysed the courage even of the stoutest hearts, it is not difficult to understand how it was that everything fell before them, and they were able to found an empire vaster than any which had before, or has since, existed.

But to return to the Khan and his train of chiefs, among whom was to be seen Libor the Knéz—not the Libor of old days, but a much less comfortable-looking individual. Mongol fare did not seem to have agreed with him too well, for he looked worn and wasted, and his every movement betrayed his nervousness. Yet he was at the Khan's side, perfectly safe, and surely a hundred-fold more fortunate than the miserable captives whom the Mongols held so cheap that they cared not a jot whether they lived or died.

Libor was a Mongol now; he wore a round helmet of leather, carried a scimitar, rode one of the tough little Mongol horses, and was in high favour with his terrible master.

Batu was an undersized man, and the reverse of stout. His eyes, set far apart and slant-wise, were small, but they burnt like live coals, and were as restless as those of a lynx. His low forehead, flat nose, fearfully large mouth, and projecting ears, made him altogether strikingly like the figures, in gold on a black ground, to be seen on antique Chinese furniture.

He was marked out from those about him, however, by his dignified bearing, and by the pure white of his leathern garments.

It is true that his dignity was of the lion-like order, animal, that is to say, rather than human; but it was very pronounced. And there was a sort of rude splendour and glitter in his costume, too; for the white leather, the fur of which was turned inwards, was covered all over with strange designs, looking like so many dragons or other imaginary monsters.

He was mounted on a slim, dapple-brown horse, of purest breed, and all his arms, even his bow, were profusely decorated with precious stones.

Of all the ape-faced circle, there is no denying that he was the best looking ape of them all, even if we include Libor, who was dainty enough in appearance, though fear just now was making him not indeed like an ape, but like a large hare, with quivering nostrils!

The camp was far from deserted, in spite of the large force detached, for there could not have been altogether fewer than 300,000 Mongols on the Sajó, and in addition, there were nearly half as many more of the miserable beings who had been first conquered and then forced to join the great host. Round about the hill where stood the Khan were multitudes of felt or leather tents, and thousands of temporary mud-huts, for the trees afforded but little shelter as yet, it being now about the middle of April. Tents and huts were full of armed men, also of women, who wore the scantiest of clothing, and of children, who wore no clothing at all.

Besides these, there were many women captives, who lay about in groups under the trees, with ears and noses cut off, the picture of exhaustion and misery, and so brutalised by slavery and suffering that they looked more like a herd of mutilated animals than human beings.

Any good-looking women captured by the Mongols were given up to their own women, who fell upon them like furies, tortured without mercy, and then murdered all but those wanted as slaves.

The camp extended far into the depths of the wood, where the chiefs kept order such as it was, with their whips.

As Batu reached the top of the hill, his harsh voice was to be heard giving some peremptory order, at which those about him bent their heads low in respectful submission, and a dozen women, his wives, appeared upon the scene, muffled up in white woollen garments, and mounted upon beautiful horses, which were smothered in fringes, straps, etc., of leather. They were followed by an armed guard, and preceded, oriental fashion, by a band of singers chanting a melancholy dirge.

They had come to take their leave of the Khan, who was sending them to his home, and on reaching the foot of the hill they were helped to dismount. Whereupon they threw back their snow-white veils, which were of wool like their other wraps, and Batu Khan looked at them in dead silence. There was no trace either of pain, or pleasure, or of any other emotion, unless it were vanity and ambition, upon his wild features.

The women burst into a furious fit of weeping; but it was evidently the result of great effort, not of any irrepressible distress. Men are much like overgrown children, and have always liked to deceive themselves and be deceived; and this weeping and lamentation were the proper thing, the conventional way of saying "farewell!"

And yet, if they but looked on themselves, the sight was surely enough to move anyone to tears; for these women were all strikingly beautiful, and their beauty was enhanced by an expression—and this not forced—of profound sorrow and dejection.

Who they were, and whence they came—whether they were Russian girls from the Volga and Don, Caucasians from the Caspian, fair Slavonians, or white-faced Wallachians, who could say? But all were beautiful, all had an air of distinction about them, and all looked overwhelmed with woe unutterable.

They gathered round the Khan, and his horse pricked its ears and whinnied as if it would take part in the proceedings; for, though Batu's horses were all his friends and tent-mates, far more beloved than his people, this one was an especial favourite, its sire, so the story went, having lived to the age of a hundred.

When he had had enough of the ceremonial weeping, Batu raised his hand, as who should say, "That will do! You have done your duty, now you can go!"

And instantly the sobs were checked, and smiles were forced to take their place, while the poor goods and chattels raised their hands towards their master, but whether as a mere token of farewell, whether in blessing, or perchance in secret cursing, who could tell!

Another signal and away they hurried down the hill; and a few moments after the white figures had disappeared out of the glare and were lost to sight in the recesses of the wood.

The women gone, Batu put spurs to his horse and raced down the slope, his chiefs following as best they might. With the light flashing blood-red about him, with his spear quivering uplifted above his head, himself and his horse absolutely one, he dashed on with the rush of a whirlwind, and wherever he went he seemed to say, "Look and admire!" And indeed, the Khan looked his best, when he was thus exhibiting his horsemanship, and in spite of his ape-like features, might almost have passed for some gallant, if wild cavalier.

He and his train galloped away into the darkness, followed by a select body of mounted men; and as soon as they were out of sight, the remaining squadrons were drawn up in regular order. Tents were taken down, and they and their belongings were packed on horses or in waggons, and in a short time, though the bonfire still blazed, it cast its light upon a deserted camp.

Followed by a herd of women, the entire force moved in dead silence towards the Sajó, where Batu had his first line of battle.

Day was beginning to break when the Hungarian camp was roused by startling cries, and those who rushed from the King's tent to learn the meaning of them were met by terror-stricken shouts of "The Tartars! The Tartars are upon us!" "They are yonder, close at hand!" "The guard at the bridge has been overpowered, massacred, put to flight," etc.

Looking out between the wooden walls, Master Peter descried at the distance of about a quarter of an hour's march, a dark mass of something which appeared to be in the form of a crescent, but of a size too vast to be measured by the eye. It was like a wall of stone, as solid, as silent, and as motionless; and for a moment he was in doubt as to what it might be, until the neighing of a horse, and the briefer, rarer sound of a signal-horn brought the truth home to him.

The Mongols had come up in the night; the camp was surrounded on three sides; and nothing but the most desperate determination could save them! So much was evident even to his inexperienced eyes, and the silence of these savage folk, who could howl like the very wolves at other times, had something so weird and terrible about it that Master Peter was not the only brave man to feel his heart quake and his blood run cold.

The victory of the Duke and Ugrin but a few hours before had been delusive indeed, for they had hardly returned in triumph to the camp when Batu sent down to the bridge seven of the gigantic engines of war which played so large a part in the Mongol invasion.

Suddenly, without the least warning, the detachment left on guard found itself assailed by a fierce and heavy storm of stones and pieces of rock; and what added to their terror was the fact that they could not see their enemy, and that there were no stones or rocks anywhere near the river. Seized by superstitious panic, those who escaped being crushed or wounded fled back to the camp, where instantly all was uproar and confusion.

Master Peter rushed back to the King as fast as he could for the turmoil, the narrow ways, and the tent-ropes; and indignation filled his soul at some of the sights he saw: luxurious young nobles, for instance, making their leisurely toilets, combing and arranging their hair, having their armour put on with the greatest care, and finally drawing on new gloves! What he heard during his hurried passage was not much more reassuring. There was plenty of courage and confidence expressed; plenty of contempt for the despicable foe; plenty of assurance that Mongol spears and arrows would prove ineffectual against iron armour; but also there was among some contempt, openly expressed, for their own leaders, though they looked upon the victory as already won.

"It will be a hard day's work!" muttered Peter Szirmay to himself, while his thoughts flew to Dora in her lonely castle. He had little doubt that the Hungarians must conquer in the end, in spite of the huge odds against them, but still—! and even if they did, he himself might fall! What would become of her?

"God and the Holy Virgin protect her!"

CHAPTER XIV.
A FATAL DAY.

They rode through the camp, finding the ways everywhere crowded with men, whom some of the officers were trying to reduce to order, while others, still busy attiring themselves, were of opinion that they would be in plenty of time if they made their appearance when the whole army was mounted.

The Templars were first on horseback.

Their white mantles, with the large red cross upon them, were blowing about in the keen wind, and displaying the steel breastplates beneath, their martial appearance being enhanced by their heavy helmets, which covered the whole head and face, with the exception of narrow slits through which they breathed and saw. As the King rode up to them, the wind blew out the folds of their white banner, and showed its double-armed cross of blood-red.

All this time the Mongols had been drawing nearer and nearer, like an advancing wall, so close were their ranks. And now like a storm of hail the arrows began to fall upon the half-asleep, half-tipsy, and wholly bewildered men in camp. Most were mounted now, but the confusion was indescribable. There were grooms with led horses looking for their masters, masters looking for chargers and servants, and generals looking for their banderia.

There was shouting, running to and fro, and such confusion and hurly-burly that the King had great difficulty in making his orders understood.

He galloped from one squadron to another, amid a cloud of falling arrows and spears, doing all that in him lay to organise the troops. Men were falling on all sides around him, more than one arrow had struck his own armour; the battle had begun, and blood was flowing in streams before the army had been able so much as to get out of camp.

At last a dash was made down the narrow ways between the tents and the hastily uncoupled waggons; and then with the rage, not the courage, of despair, every leader wanted to rush upon the enemy straight away without waiting for orders, or heeding any but his own followers.

"Stop!" cried Béla, hurrying up to them with the Palatine, and a few men who were hardly able to force their way after him. "Stop! Wait for the word of command!"

But no one even saw, no one heard him.

Leaders and men had most of them lost their heads, and the few disorderly squadrons which succeeded in reaching the Mongols were immediately surrounded and overwhelmed.

The great black crescent was growing more and more dense and solid; there was no way of eluding it, no hope of escape.

Bishop Ugrin was well-nigh beside himself; and he poured forth now blessings, now execrations, as the distracted troops rushed aimlessly hither and thither, between the tents and their ropes, and down the narrow passages.

They were completely entangled as in a net; to form them up in order was an impossibility; and a deadly cloud of spears and arrows was continuously poured upon them by the Mongols.

To add to the general horror and terror, the waggons took fire, and soon the tents nearest them were in flames. The tumult and confusion waxed greater and greater.

Batu's main object was to capture the King, and already Béla had had at least one narrow escape, which he owed to the devotion of one of his guard; but now both he and they were all wounded.

Fighting had been going on since early morning; it was now noon, when the Duke made a last bold effort to retrieve the day.

"I'll break through the enemy's lines with the right wing," he shouted in stentorian tones. "Will your Majesty give the left wing orders to do the same, and then yourself lead the centre!"

The heroic Duke spoke of left and right wing, and centre; but alas! where was any one of them?

Without waiting for the King's answer he galloped off again, succeeded in infusing some of his own spirit into his men, and, joined by Ugrin and his followers, and the remaining Templars, he made a dashing attack upon the Mongols, who were drawn up in such close order that individuals had no room to turn.

Numbers of them fell before the furious onslaught of the Hungarians, and great was the devastation wrought in their ranks, when suddenly, like a whirlwind, up came Batu Khan himself with a fresh cloud of savage warriors, and arrows and spears flew thicker and faster than ever.

The Archbishop was smitten on the head by a spear, just as he had cut down a Mongol, and he fell, as a ship's mast falls struck by lightning.

Next fell the leader of the Templars, fighting helmetless by his side. The riderless horses dashed neighing into the ranks of the enemy, among whom they quickly found new masters.

Kálmán had seen the bravest fall around him, but he was still pressing forward, still fighting, when he also received a severe wound. Just then the sun went down.

His sword-arm was useless, and his brave warriors, placing him in their midst, made their way back to the camp. But the camp was deserted now by all but the dead and the dying. The troops whom they had left there had forced their way out at last, but it was to fly, not to fight.

The Mongols had made no attempt to stop them; on the contrary, they had opened their ranks to let them pass through, and the faster and thicker they came, the more room they gave them.

That the fugitives would not escape in the long run well they knew, and their object just now was the King.

The flower of the Hungarian nobility, several bishops, and high dignitaries, both of Church and State, had fallen in the battle, or fell afterwards in the flight. Most of them took the way to Pest, which was strewn for two days' journey with the dead and dying, with arms and accoutrements.

Many were slain by the Mongols who pursued and attacked them when they were too weak to defend themselves; and many others perished in the attempt to cross rivers and swamps.

Seeing that all was lost, Béla himself thought it time to fly, and while the Mongols were plundering the camp, he succeeded in reaching the open, and made for the mountains, recognised by few in the on-coming darkness.

Immediately surrounding him were Paul Héderváry, in spite of his five wounds, Peter and Stephen Szirmay, Akos, Detrö, Adam the Pole, the two Forgács, and several others—a devoted band, while behind came a long train of the bravest warriors, the last to think of flying, who followed in any order or none.

Few, as we have said, had recognised the King, but there were some who had, and these pressed hard after him.

"My horse is done for!" cried the King, as his famous charger began to tremble beneath him. "Let us stand and die fighting like men!"

"No! for Heaven's sake, no!" cried Adam the Pole, leaping from his horse as he spoke. "Mine is sound! take him! I hear the howl of the Mongols."

One had indeed actually overtaken them, but, though on foot, Adam felled him to the ground, leapt upon the Mongol's horse, and galloped on after the King.

The handful of brave, true men guarded Béla as the very apple of their eye. Not one thought of himself; their one anxiety was for the King.

For an hour they galloped on, always pursued by the Mongols. The foam was dropping from the horses; the moon had risen and was shining brightly down upon them, when the irregular force which had followed them was overtaken, and engaged in a fierce battle with the relentless and unwearied enemy.

Just at that moment down sank the horse which Adam had given to the King; but one of the two Forgács, András (Andrew), who was known in the army as Ivánka (Little John, i.e., John Baptist) gave up his. The King was so worn out by this time that two of the nobles had to lift him upon the horse; Ivánka himself followed on foot. A younger brother of his, whose name has not come down to us, lost his life at the hands of the Mongols, who were again approaching perilously near the fugitives.

Ivánka was threatened by the like danger, when Paul Héderváry and a few of the others who were on in front chanced to see his peril, and turning back, routed the Mongols. Ivánka mounted his brother's horse, which had remained standing quietly by its master's body, and rode after the little band.

Daybreak was once more at hand, and they were far, far away from the field of blood, when again the King's horse failed him, and the Mongols were hardly so much as a hundred paces behind.

They had recognised the King, and one of Batu Khan's sub-officers had promised a large reward to anyone who could get Béla into his hands, alive or dead.

Then a young hero, Rugács by name, who had already distinguished himself in battle, offered the King his charger, and it was thanks to this good horse of Transylvanian breed that the King finally escaped his pursuers. For, tough though they were, even the Mongolian horses were beginning to fail, while nothing apparently could tire out the Transylvanian.

As they helped him to mount, Béla noticed that there was blood on the arm of the faithful Rugács, and asked kindly whether it gave him much pain.

"Ay, indeed, sir!" was the answer, "but there is worse pain than this!"

"Ah! your name shall be Fáj from to-day," said the King. "Remind us of it if we live to see better times."

And accordingly, there is to this day a family which bears the honourable name of Fáj or Fáy, the meaning of which is: "It pains."

At last the fugitives reached the forest, the Mongols were left behind, and the King then happily gained a castle in the mountains, where for a while he remained.

But when he looked upon his devoted followers, how many were missing! how many had laid down their lives to save his!

Among the dozen or more who had fallen by the way was Jolánta's father, Stephen Szirmay; his brother Peter, though he had not come off scathless, had escaped without any mortal wound.

Having no army, the King was for the present helpless, and as soon as he could do so, he made his way to Pressburg, where he sent for the Queen and his children to join him, they having taken refuge in Haimburg, on the other side of the Austrian frontier.

But instead of the Queen, appeared Duke Friedrich, who persuaded the King that it would be much wiser for him too to come to Austria, and had no sooner got him in his clutches than he made a prisoner of him, and refused to let him go until he had refunded the large sum of money with which Friedrich had purchased peace from him four or five years previously.

Béla gave up all the valuables which he and the Queen had with them, but as the Duke was still not satisfied, he had to pawn three Hungarian counties in order to regain his liberty.

Once more free, he sent the Queen to Dalmatia for safety, and despatched ambassadors to Pope and Emperor, and the King of France, praying for their help against the terrible foe who threatened all Europe with destruction. But the Emperor was fighting Rome, and the Pope was bent upon reducing him to obedience. Poland was fighting the Mongols on her own account; Bohemia was in momentary danger of being herself attacked; and the shameless Duke Friedrich availed himself of Hungary's defenceless condition to invade and plunder the counties nearest him, and even to rob such fugitives as had fled to Austria for refuge from the Mongols.

Béla meantime had borrowed a little money where he could, and had gone south to await the answers to his appeal, and to raise what troops he could for a campaign. But he waited in vain. No help came! and without an army or the means of raising one, he was helpless.

His brother Kálmán had reached Pest, and after urging the terrified inhabitants to abandon the city, cross the Danube, and hide wherever they could, he continued his journey to Slavonia (then Dalmatia and Croatia), his dukedom, where he soon after died of his wounds.

Before the people of Pest could remove their goods to a place of safety, they were hemmed in by the Mongols. Thousands from the surrounding country had taken refuge here with their families and treasures, and the numbers had been further increased by the arrival of fugitives from the army. They resolved to defend themselves to the last man; but they little knew the enemy with whom they had to deal. Three days' battering with catapults was enough to make breaches in the walls; the Mongols stormed and burnt the town, and murdered all who fell into their hands.

The Mongols flooded all the land east of the Danube, but for the present the broad river formed a barrier which they could not easily pass, and they were further deterred from making the attempt by the idea, unfortunately erroneous, that if they crossed it they would find all the armies of Europe massed upon the other side waiting to receive and beat them back.

But if they were checked to the west, there was nothing to prevent their chasing the King, who was lingering near the Drave. Here they were in no fear of the armies of Europe, and they crossed the Danube by means of bladders and boats.

Béla fled to Spalatro, but feeling unsafe even there, retired with his family to the island of Issa. Furious at finding that his prey had escaped him, the Mongol leader, Kajdán, revenged himself upon his prisoners, whom he set up in rows and cut down; then he hurried on to the sea coast, and appeared before Spalatro early in May. Foiled again, he hurried to Issa, which was connected with the mainland by a bridge; and here he had the mortification of seeing the King and his followers take ship for the island of Bua under his very eyes.

Pursuit, without a fleet, was hopeless, and Kajdán had to content himself with ravaging Dalmatia, Croatia, and Bosnia.

CHAPTER XV.
DORA'S RESOLVE.

Gradually, one by one, the men of the garrison disappeared. If a man were sent out hunting, or to gather what news he could in the neighbourhood, he not seldom vanished. Whether he had deserted, or whether he had been captured, who could say? In either case he might bring the Mongols down upon them.

At last, when the number of fighting men was so diminished that it would have been out of the question for them to offer any serious resistance, disquieting events began to occur among the house-servants. One day two of them were nowhere to be found! One was a turnkey of Master Peter's, the other a maid-servant, a simple, country girl, whom no one would have supposed capable of counting up to three!

These two had evidently not gone empty-handed, moreover, a few silver plates and other light articles having vanished at the same time! Neither of them had been sent out to reconnoitre; neither, least of all the peasant girl, could have gone a-hunting. They had deserted, and they had stolen anything they could lay hands on!

After this discovery Dora became every day more uneasy, feeling that the danger from within might be as great as that from without.

Talabor kept his eye with redoubled vigilance upon those who were left, but confidence was destroyed in all but one or two.

Early one morning it was found that the whole of the plate had disappeared from the great dining hall. Every chest was empty, and no one of the servants knew where the contents were. Talabor had spent an entire night in carrying them away to a hiding place shown him by Master Peter, a sort of well-like cavity in a cellar, of which he kept the key always about him. He had been busy for days digging out the earth and rubbish, without letting anyone, even the faithful Moses, know what he was about; for, like many another sorrowful Magyar in those days, the old man had of late been trying to drown his grief in wine, and Talabor feared that his tongue might betray what his fidelity would have kept secret.

All being ready, he carried down the silver from the chests in which it had been locked, and finally removed from the shelves in the dining hall even what had been in daily use. This done, he filled the pit with earth again, and left no traces to indicate the hiding place of Master Peter's treasure.

Libor, of course, was well aware of its existence, and Talabor sometimes wondered whether he were intending to keep the knowledge of it to himself, to be made use of later on, when the winter was over, and the castle more easily reached. Be this as it might, neither he nor the Mongols appeared again; and only once had Talabor encountered any in his rides. So far as he could see and learn, the neighbourhood seemed to be free of them; and still anxiety rather increased than diminished, as day followed day without bringing any news to be relied on.

Early one morning Dora sent for Talabor, who went expecting merely some fresh suggestion or order; but he had no sooner entered the room than she met him, and without any sort of preliminary, exclaimed, in a somewhat agitated voice, "Talabor! you are loyal to us, and to me, I know you are! aren't you? You would do anything for me? I am sure you would!"

Talabor fell upon one knee, and with glowing countenance raised his hand to heaven, by way of answer. His heart swelled within him, and just then he felt strong enough for anything.

"Good Talabor, I believe you," said Dora; "but get up and listen to what I want to say. I am only a woman, and perhaps I give myself credit for more courage than I really have; but one thing I know, I have a strong will, and I have made up my mind. I mean to go and find the King and my father!"

"What!" exclaimed Talabor, almost petrified by the mere idea of so daring a step. "Master Peter—we don't even know whether——"

"He is alive!" interrupted Dora very decidedly.

"But the King! whether it is true or not, who can say? But so far as I can gather he seems to be in Dalmatia, and the Tartars are pursuing him. The country may still be full of them, for anything I know; and you mean to run such a frightful risk as this would be? Dear mistress——"

"I do mean, Talabor!" said Dora, "I do mean; for it seems to me that I may have worse to face if I stay here; and what is more, I can't do any good by staying. I can't in the least help those who would, I know, lay down their lives for me. Did not you yourself say, months ago, that this place was not safe?"

"True, but then things were not as they are now, and I was thinking of some safer refuge, not of a perilous winter journey. We will defend ourselves to the last, and now that we are free of traitors, we shall be stronger than before."

"To the last, you say? Then the last person would be myself, and I should be left to die by torture or to become the slave of some Mongol scoundrel! No, Talabor! if I could protect those who have been faithful and devoted to me, if I could even protect those who have deceived me, robbed me and deserted me so disgracefully, I would stay, but my presence here does no one any good."

"And," Dora continued, after a moment's pause, "the fact is we are living over a volcano, for who can answer for it that none of those who have stayed behind are traitors, and what of those who are gone? Why then, should you wish to stay?"

Dora had taken to "theeing and thouing" Talabor, ever since the time of danger and anxiety which they had passed through together. It showed him that she had confidence in him; but he, of course, continued to address her in the third person.

"Because," replied the young man in a firm voice, "I can put down any mischief that may raise its head here; and because, dear lady, if there is any danger of your being attacked here in the castle, the dangers outside in the open are a thousand times more serious."

"You are mistaken in one thing, Talabor. It may all be, perhaps it is, as you say, but something tells me to go! I can't explain it, but it is as if I were continually hearing a voice within saying, 'Go, go;' but if I made a mistake in expecting you to follow me blindly——"

"Oh, dear lady, how could you be mistaken in trusting the most devoted of your servants! Let it be as you say! Command me, and I will neither gainsay, nor delay to do what you wish."

"You really mean it?"

"I do! before Heaven I do."

"Well now, Talabor, can you deny that there is a sort of nightmare oppression about this place? The garrison has dwindled to three, and there are but four servants. We can't reckon upon Mr. Moses, for he grows harder to stir every day."

It was all so perfectly true that Talabor could say nothing; but they talked on for a time, and then Dora began to think and consult with him as to the first steps to be taken. She wished to discharge all her duties as mistress of the castle to the end, as far as was possible; and the first question was, what was to become of Moses and the rest of the household? This settled, they thought it time to take the old governor into their confidence.

Mr. Moses had long been of opinion that the castle was no safe place to stay in, and he readily undertook to conduct the remaining members of the garrison and household to a place of greater safety.

In the depths of the neighbouring forest lived an old charcoal-burner, who supplied the castle blacksmith with charcoal, and had managed to steal up with it now and then all through these perilous times. The hut, or rather cave, in which the poor man and his family lived, was far away from any road, it was closed in by rocks, and was altogether so difficult, if not impossible, for any stranger to discover, that Moses and Talabor thought it the safest place of any to be found. But Dora begged them both to keep their own counsel until the time for action should come; and as to when that time should be, no one knew but herself.

Latterly, as troubles had multiplied, it had become a sort of fixed idea with her that she must go and find her father at all costs, or at least make sure whether he were still alive or dead, and in the latter event she had resolved to take refuge in a convent.

Two or three days after the consultation mentioned above, Dora sent for her two devoted followers.

It was quite early in the morning, but she was already dressed for going out—for a journey it seemed, though, in spite of the bitter cold, she wore none of her rich furs. Except that she was cleaner and neater, there was nothing to distinguish her from the poorest peasant-girl tramping from one village to another, or perhaps going on a distant pilgrimage.

In the narrow belt, which she wore in the ancient Magyar fashion, round her waist, she had hidden a few pieces of gold; on her feet she had thick, heavy boots, and over her shoulders hung a rough cloak of antiquated cut, which might be put over her head like a hood if necessary.

Somehow Talabor had never admired her so much before as he did now. Moses stared at her wide-eyed, for of late he had seen her always in black.

The old huntsman looked as if he were wondering what new madness this might mean, and one can hardly be surprised at him. But he was always respectful to Dora, and next to the old castle, and the woods, and Master Peter, he loved her better than anything else in the world! Talabor came next to her in his affections, but a good way behind.

"Mr. Moses," began Dora gravely, addressing him first as she always did, because he was governor, in name at least, if not in fact, "I think the time has come for us to follow your advice; we have not men enough to defend the castle, and if it is true that the whole country is laid waste, it is very likely that one of the horrible Tartars who came before will take it into his head to come again. Besides, the thieves who have deserted us know how few we are, and how much plate there is in the chests; and what is to hinder their coming back? Well, at any rate, I have made up my mind to leave the castle, but I mean to be the last. I shall not go until I know that every one is as safe as he can be."

"I don't stir a step without you, mistress," exclaimed Moses.

"I am Dora Szirmay, Master Peter's daughter, and my faithful governor will obey my orders!" returned Dora, in tones so decided that it was plain she had not forgotten how to command.

Mr. Moses was silenced, and Dora went on, still in the same grave way, "I know that you are faithful, that no one is truer to my father and me than yourself, and so I can give you my orders with trust and confidence. You, Mr. Moses, and everyone that is left in the castle, except Talabor and Gábor, will go to-day as soon as it is dusk, to old Gödri, the charcoal-burner. You can take Jakó's pony with you in case anyone should be tired, and be sure you take all the arms you can carry. The food, too, you must take all that, though I am afraid there is not much left, for we have all been hungry for some time past, if we have not been actually famished. When that is gone, there are the woods; and no hunter ever died of starvation."

"But yourself, my dear young mistress?" asked Moses.

"I stay here in the meantime with Talabor and Gábor. You know all I wish done besides, good Mr. Moses," said Dora gently, with a smile, rather sad than cheerful.

"I need not tell you all to be prudent," she continued. "That we must every one of us be. Take all the care you can of yourselves!"

"And what about the horses?"