THREE MEN.
Toekoely's servant durst not go to sleep on the off-chance of awaking at
dawn in order to arouse his master, and so the sky had scarcely begun to
grow grey when he routed him up. Emeric hastily dressed himself. A sort
of ill-humour on his pale face was the sole reminder of the previous
night's debauch.
"Here are the letters, sir," said the soldier.
"Leave me in peace with your letters," returned Emeric roughly, "I have
no time now to read your scribble. Go down and saddle my horse for me,
and tell the coachman to make haste and get the carriage ready, and have
it waiting for me near the cross at the slope of the hill, and find out
on your way down whether the old master of the house is up yet."
The soldier pocketed the letter once more, and went down grumbling
greatly, while Emeric buckled on his sword and threw his pelisse over
his shoulders. Soon after the soldier returned and announced that Master
Michael had been up long ago, because many of his guests had to depart
before dawn, amongst them the Prince, also the Turkish gentleman; the
bride was to follow them in the afternoon.
"Good," said Emeric; "let the coachman wait for me in front of the
Dragmuili _csarda_.[4] You had better bring with you some cold meat and
wine, and we'll have breakfast on the way." And with that he hastened
to the father of the bride, who, after embracing him heartily and
repeatedly, with a great flux of tears, and kissing him again and again,
and sending innumerable greetings through him to every eminent
Transylvanian gentleman, took an affectionate leave of him.
[Footnote 4: An inn.]
Toekoely hastened to bestride his horse on hearing that his adversaries
had been a little beforehand with him, and, putting spurs to his horse,
galloped rapidly away. Master Michael looked after him in amazement so
long as he could see him racing along the steep, hilly way, till he
disappeared among the woods. A soldier followed him at a considerable
distance.
Emeric, on reaching the cross, found his adversaries there already.
Feriz Beg had brought with him Achmed Pasha's field-surgeon. Toekoely had
only thought of breakfast, the Prince had thought of nothing.
"Good morning," cried the Count, leaping from his horse. The Beg
returned his salute with a solemn obeisance; the Prince turned his back
upon him.
"Let us go into the forest to find a nice clear space," said Toekoely; and
off he set in silence, leading the way, while the soldiers followed at
some distance, leading the horses by the bridles.
After going about a hundred yards they came to a clear space, surrounded
by some fine ash-trees. The Prince signified to the soldiers to stop
here, and, without a word, began to take off his dolman and mantle and
tuck up his sleeves.
It was a fine sight to behold these men--all three of them were
remarkably handsome fellows. The Prince was one of those vigorous,
muscular shapes, whom Nature herself seems specially to have created to
head a host. As he rolled up the flapping sleeves of his
gold-embroidered, calf-skin shirt, he displayed muscles capable of
holding their own single-handed against a whole brigade, and the defiant
look of his eye testified to his confidence in the strength of his arms,
whose every muscle stood out like a hard tumour, while his fists were
worthy of the heavy broadsword, whose blade was broadest towards its
point.
Feriz Beg, on discarding his dolman, rolled up the sleeves of his fine
shirt of Turkish linen to his shoulders, and drew from its sheath his
fine Damascus scimitar, which was scarce two inches broad, and so
flexible that you could have bent it double in every direction like a
watch-spring. His arms did not seem to be over-encumbered with muscles,
but at the first movement he made, as he lightly tested his blade, a
whole array of steel springs and stone-hard sinews, or so they seemed to
be, suddenly started up upon his arm, revealing a whole network of
highly-developed sinews and muscles. His face was fixed and grave.
Only Emeric seemed to take the whole affair as a light joke. With a
smile he drew up his lace-embroidered shirt of holland linen, bound up
his hair beneath his kalpag, and folded his well-rounded arms, whose
feminine whiteness, plastic, regular symmetry, and slender proportions,
gave no promise whatever of anything like manly strength. His sword came
from a famous Newcastle arms manufactory, and was made of a certain
dark, lilac-coloured steel, somewhat bent, and with a very fine point.
"My friends," said Emeric, turning towards his opponents, "as there are
three of us in this contest, and each one of the three must fight the
other two, let us lay down some rule to regulate the encounter."
"I'll fight the pair of you together," said the Prince haughtily.
"I'll also fight one against two," retorted Feriz.
"Then each one for himself and everybody against everybody else,"
explained Toekoely. "That will certainly be amusing enough; in fact, a new
sort of encounter altogether, though hardly what gentlemen are used to.
Now, I should consider it much nobler if we fought against each other
singly, and when one of us falls, the victor can renew the combat with
the man in reserve."
"I don't mind, only the sooner the better," said the Prince
impatiently, and took up his position on the ground.
"Stop, my friend; don't you know that we cannot commence this contest
without Feriz?"
"Pooh! I didn't come here as a spectator," cried the Prince
passionately; "besides, I have nothing to do with the Beg."
"But I have to do with you," interrupted Feriz.
"Well," said Toekoely, "I myself do not know what has offended him, but he
chose to intervene, and such challenges as his are wont to be accepted
without asking the reason why. No doubt he has private reasons of his
own."
"You may stop there," interrupted Feriz. "Let Fate decide."
"By all means," observed the Count, drawing forth three pieces of money
impressed with the image of King Sigismund--a gold coin, a silver coin,
and a copper coin--and handed them to the Turkish leech. "Take these
pieces of money, my worthy fellow, and throw them into the air. The gold
coin is the Prince, the copper coin is myself. Whichever two of the
three coins come down on the same side, their representatives will fight
first."
The leech flung the pieces into the air, and the gold and silver pieces
came down on the same side.
The Prince beckoned angrily to Feriz.
"Come, the sooner the better. Apparently I must have this little affair
off my hands before I can get at Toekoely."
Toekoely motioned to the leech to keep the pieces of money and have his
bandages ready.
"Bandages!" said the Prince ironically. "It's not first blood, but last
blood, I'm after."
And now the combatants stood face to face.
For a long time they looked into each other's eyes, as if they would
begin the contest with the darts of flashing glances, and then suddenly
they fell to.
The Prince's onset was as furious as if he would have crushed his
opponent in the twinkling of an eye with the heavy and violent blows
which he rained upon him with all his might. But Feriz Beg stood firmly
on the self-same spot where he had first planted his feet, and though he
was obliged to bend backwards a little to avoid the impact of the
terrible blows, yet his slender Damascus scimitar, wove, as it were, a
tent of lightning flashes all around him, defending him on every side,
and flashing sparks now hither, now thither, whenever it encountered the
antagonistic broadsword.
The Prince's face was purple with rage. "Miserable puppy!" he thundered,
gnashing his teeth; and, pressing still closer on his opponent, he dealt
him two or three such terrible blows that the Beg was beaten down upon
one knee, and, the same instant, a jet of blood leaped suddenly from
somewhere into the face of the Prince, who thereupon staggered back and
let fall his sword. In the heat of the duel he had not noticed that he
had been wounded. Whilst raining down a torrent of violent blows upon
his antagonist, he incautiously struck his own hand, so to speak, on the
sword of Feriz Beg, just below the palm where the arteries are, and the
wound which severed the sinews of the wrist constrained him to drop his
sword.
Toekoely at once rushed forward.
"You are wounded, Prince!" he cried.
The leech hastened forward with the bandages, the dark red blood spurted
from the severed arteries like a fountain, and the Prince's face grew
pale in an instant. But scarcely had the surgeon bound up his wounded
right hand than his eye kindled again, and, turning to Emeric, he cried:
"I have still a hand left, and I can fight with it. Put my sword into my
left hand, and I'll fight to the last drop of my blood."
"Don't be impatient, Prince," said Emeric courteously; "ill-luck is your
enemy to-day, but as soon as you are cured you may command me, and I
will be at your service."
The Prince, who was already tottering, leaned heavily on his soldiers,
who hastened towards him and conveyed him half unconscious to the
carriage awaiting him. His wound was much worse than it had seemed at
first, and there was no knowing whether it would not prove mortal.
Only two combatants now remained in the field--Emeric and Feriz. The Beg
was still standing in his former place, and beckoned in dumb show to
Emeric to come on.
"Pardon me, my worthy comrade," said the Count, "you are a little
fatigued, and a combat between us would be unfair if I, who have rested,
should fight with you now. Come, plump down on the grass for a little
beside me. My man has brought some cold provisions for the journey; let
us have a few mouthfuls together first, and then we can fight it out at
our ease."
This nonchalant proposal seemed to please Feriz, and, leaning his sword
against a tree, he sat down in the grass, whilst Emeric's servant
unpacked the cold meat and the fruit which he had brought for his
master, together with a silver calabash-shaped flask full of wine.
Emeric returned the flask to the soldier. "Look you, my son," said he,
"you can drink the wine, and then fill the flask with spring water, for
Feriz Beg does not drink wine, and there are no other drinking utensils;
I, therefore, will also drink water, and so we shall be equal." Feriz
Beg was pleased with his comrade's free and easy behaviour, took
willingly of the food piled up before him, and not only drank out of the
same flask, but even answered questions when they were put to him.
A faint scar was visible on the forehead of the young Beg, which the
fold of his turban did not quite conceal.
"Did you get that wound from a Magyar?" inquired the Count.
"No, from an Italian, on the isle of Candia."
"I thought so at once. A Magyar does not cut with the point of his
sword. I see the hand of an Italian fencing-master in it. I can even
tell you the position you were in when you received it. The enemy was
beside you, in front of you, on your right hand, and on your left. Now
you employed that masterly circular stroke which you have just now
displayed, whereby you can defend yourself on all sides at once. Then
the foe in front of you suddenly rose in his saddle, and with a blow
which you did not completely ward off, scarred your forehead with the
point of his sword."
"It was just like that."
"It is one of the master-strokes of Basanella, and very carefully you
have to watch it, for there is scarce any defence against it; the sword
seems to strike up and down in the same instant, as if it were a sickle,
and however high you may hold your own sword, the blow breaks through
your defence. There is, indeed, only one defence against it, and that
the simplest in the world--dodge back your head."
"You are quite right," said Feriz Beg smiling, and after washing his
hands, he again took up his sword, "let us make an end of it."
"I don't mind," said Toekoely; and lightly drawing his own sword with his
delicate white hand, just as if it were a gewgaw which he was
disengaging from its case to present to a lady, he took up his position
on the ground.
"Just one word more," said Toekoely with friendly candour. "When you fight
with a single opponent, do not rush forward as if you were on a
battlefield and had to do with ten men at least, for in so doing you
expend much force uselessly, and allow your opponent to come up closer;
rather elongate your sword and allow only your hand to play freely."
"I thank you for the advice," said Feriz smiling. Had it been anybody
else he would probably have thrust back the advice into his face. But
Emeric imparted it to him with such a friendly, comrade-like voice as
if they had only come there for the fun of the thing.
Then the combat began. Feriz Beg, with his usual impetuosity, pressed
upon his adversary as if he would pay him back his amicable counsels in
kind; while Toekoely calmly, composedly smiling, flung back the most
violent assaults of his rival as if it were a mere sport to him, so
lightly, so confidently did his sword turn in his hand, with so much
finished grace did he accompany every movement--in fact, he hardly
seemed to make any exertion. The most violent blows aimed at him by
Feriz Beg he parried with the lightest twist of his sword, and not once
did he counter, so that at last Feriz Beg, involuntarily overcome by
rage, fell back and lowered his sword.
"You are only playing with me. Why don't you strike back?"
"Twice you might have received from me Basanella's master-stroke, so
impetuously do you fight."
In a duel nothing is so wounding as the supercilious self-restraint of
an opponent. Feriz Beg grew quite furious at Toekoely's cold repose, and
flung himself upon his opponent as if absolutely beside himself.
"Let us see whether you are the Devil or not," he cried.
At the same instant, when he had advanced a pace nearer to Toekoely, the
latter suddenly stretched forth his sword and at the instant when he
parried his opponent's blow, he made a scarce perceptible backward and
upward jerk with the point of his sword, and at that same instant a
burning red line was visible on the temples of Feriz Beg. The young Turk
lowered his sword in surprise as his face, immediately after the
unnoticed stroke, began to bleed. Toekoely flung away his sword and,
tearing out his white pocket-handkerchief, rushed suddenly towards his
opponent, stanched the wound with the liveliest sympathy, and said, in a
voice tremulous with the most naive apprehension: "Look now! didn't I
tell you all along to watch for that stroke?"
By this time the leech had also come up with the bandages, and examining
the wound, observed consolingly:
"A soldierly affair. Only the skin is pierced. In three days you will be
all right."
Toekoely, full of joy, pressed the hand of Feriz Beg.
"Henceforth we will be good friends," said he. "Before God, I protest I
never gave you the slightest cause of offence."
"I shall rejoice in your friendship," said Feriz solemnly, "but if you
wish it to last, listen to my words: never approach a girl whom you do
not love in order to make her love you, and if you are loved, love in
return and make her happy."
"You have my word of honour on it, Feriz," replied Toekoely. "Of all the
girls whom I have seen since I knew you, not one of them have I loved,
and by none of them do I want to be loved."
Feriz Beg could not refrain from shaking his head and smiling.
"Apparently you forget that your own bride was among them."
Toekoely bit his lips in some confusion, and answered nothing; he thought
it best to pass off this slip of the tongue as a mere jest. Then the two
reconciled antagonists embraced and returned to the roadside cross.
Toekoely constrained the Beg to take his coach and go on to Ibraila, while
he himself mounted his horse, and taking leave of Feriz, took the road
leading to the Pass of Bozza.
The soldier-courier now fancied it was high time that the urgent
letters, of which he was the bearer, should be read, and accordingly
asked his master about it.
"Well, where are your two letters?" asked the Count very languidly.
"There are not two, sir, but three."
"What! have they multiplied?"
"Miss Flora gave me the third half an hour before she took coach to go
home."
"Then she has gone on before, eh? Well, let us see what they write
about."
Teleki's was the first letter which Emeric perused; he glanced through
it rapidly, as if it had no very great claim upon his attention. When he
came to that part of it where he was told to look after Flora, he paused
for a little. "Well, I can easily overtake her," he thought, and he took
the second letter, which was subscribed with the name of Helen. Twice he
perused it, and then he returned to it a third time, and his face grew
visibly redder. Involuntarily he sighed as he thrust the letter into his
breast pocket just above his heart, and looked sadly in front of him, as
if he were listening to the beating of his own heart.
Then he broke open the third letter.
It contained an engagement ring, nothing else. That was all--not a
single accompanying word or letter.
For an instant Emeric held it in his hand in blank amazement; his steed
stopped also. For some minutes his face was pale and his head hung down.
But in another instant he was again upright in his saddle, and he
exclaimed in a voice loud enough to be heard afar:
"Well, it's not coming off then, so much the better!"
Then he threw away the envelope in which the ring had been, and drawing
out the letter which he had thrust into his bosom, he put the ring into
it and then returned it to his bosom; then, with a glowing face, he
turned his horse's head and, in the best of humours, called to his
soldier: "We will not go to Transylvania. Back to Mehadia!"