CHAPTER VIII.
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR.

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

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

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

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

"Did you see many?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Archbishop had met the enemy and defeated him!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX.
"I WASH MY HANDS!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!"