LIBOR CLIMBS THE CUCUMBER-TREE.
Duke Friedrich had left him in the lurch; the Kunok were on their way to
Bulgaria, wasting and burning as they went; and now King Béla saw the
mistake he had made in not exerting his utmost power to defend Kuthen.
The banderia (troops) expected from both sides of the Tisza (Theiss) did
not arrive, eagerly as they were expected. The Bishop of Csanád, and
nobles from Arád, and other places, had indeed been hastening to Pest
with their followers, but on the way they had encountered the outraged
and enraged Kunok. Knowing nothing of what had been taking place in the
capital, they were unprepared for hostilities, and when the Kunok fell
upon them, some were cut off from the rest of the force, and some were
cut down.
All things seemed to be in a conspiracy against the King and the
country, and one blow followed another.
It was not until the Kunok had crossed into Bulgaria, leaving a trail
of desolation behind them that the Bishop of Nagyvárad (Grosswardein)
could venture to lead his banderium towards Pest; and the banderium of
the county of Bihar was in the same case. Now, however, they were
hurrying forward, when the Mongols, who knew of their coming, put
themselves in their way. The Bishop attacked what appeared to be but a
small force of them; the Mongols retreated, fighting. The Hungarians,
who did not as yet understand their enemy's tactics, pursued. Suddenly
the Mongols turned and fell upon them, and but few escaped to tell the
story of the disaster.
By this time some 60,000 or 70,000 men were assembled in Pest, against
the 300,000 or more under the command of Batu Khan; but of those who had
put in an appearance, few were likely to be very serviceable as
commanders.
The nation had to a great extent lost the military qualities which had
distinguished it before, and which distinguished it again afterwards.
The masses were no longer called upon for service, and the nobles, not
being bound to serve beyond the frontier, had become unused to war.
There was plenty of blind self-confidence, little knowledge or
experience.
The King was no general; and although Duke Kálmán and Bishop Ugrin were
distinguished for their personal valour and courage, neither they nor
any of the other leaders had an idea of what war on a large scale really
was.
However, such as it was, the army was there, and it was not likely to
receive any large accessions; it believed itself invincible, which might
count for something in its favour; and the general distress and misery
were so great that at last the King yielded his own wish to remain on
the defensive, and led his army out into the plain. Batu Khan at once
began to retreat, and to call in his scattered forces, which were busy
marauding in various directions. He drew off northwards, his numbers
swelling as he went, and the Hungarians followed, exulting in the
conviction that the Mongols were being driven before them, and meant to
avoid a battle! It did not for a moment strike them that they were
following Batu's lead, and that he was drawing them to the very place
which he had chosen to suit himself.
When they were not many miles from Tokay the Mongols crossed the Sajó by
a bridge which they fortified, and they then took up a position which
extended from this point to the right bank of the Tisza (Theiss), having
in front of them the vast plain of Mohi, bounded on the east by the
hills of Tokay, on the west by woods, which at that time were dense
forests, while behind them to the north they had more plains and hills
and, beyond these again, a snow-capped peak which shone like a diamond
in a field of azure.
Master Peter's old country-house lay about a hundred miles to the
north-west of Mohi, almost under the shadow of the loftiest part of the
Carpathians. A hundred miles was no distance for such swift riders as
the Mongols, but thus far the county of Saros had escaped them, they
having entered Hungary by passes which lay not only east and west, but
also south of it.
Batu Khan's forces occupied the horse-shoe formed by the junction of the
three great rivers, Sajó, Hernád, and Tisza.
The Hungarians encamped on the great plain opposite. But though they had
so vast a space at their disposal, their tents were pitched close
together, and their horses--a large number, as nearly all were mounted
men--stood tethered side by side in rows. Freedom of motion within the
camp was impossible; and to make matters even worse, the whole was
enclosed within an ill-constructed rampart of wooden waggons, which
quite prevented freedom of egress.
A thousand mounted men were on guard at night outside the camp, but
scouting and outposts were apparently unthought of.
A few days had passed in merry-making and self-congratulation on the
easy victory before them, when one morning King Béla appeared mounted on
a magnificent charger, to make his customary inspection of the camp. He
wore a complete suit of German armour, a white, gold-embroidered cloak
over his shoulders, and an aigrette in his helmet.
Many of the Knights Templar had joined the army, and some of them, in
their white, red-crossed mantles, were now standing about him. Close
behind him was his brother Kálmán, in armour of steel, inlaid with gold;
and near at hand was the fiery Archbishop Ugrin, the most
splendid-looking man in the army, so say the chroniclers, his gold chain
and cross being the only mark which distinguished him from the laymen.
The Bishop was a devoted patriot, and though he had not forgiven the
King for "leaving him in the lurch," he was sincerely attached to him.
He was the leading spirit of the campaign.
It was Ugrin who had urged the King to take the field without further
delay; Ugrin, who, with much valour and enthusiasm, but with little
military experience, had advised Duke Kálmán where to pitch the camp;
and again it was Ugrin, who, convinced that the Mongols were in retreat,
had pressed the King to give hurried chase, whereby the army had been
fatigued to no purpose, and had finally been brought precisely to the
spot where Batu wished to see it. The Bishop, however, happy in his
ignorance, was under the delusion that it was he who had forced the Khan
into his present position.
Just now the King was giving patient hearing to the opinions, frequently
conflicting, of those about him. Black care was at his heart, but he
looked serene, even cheerful, as usual, as he asked his brother in an
undertone whether he had managed to reduce his men to anything like
order.
The Duke, for all reply, shrugged his shoulders and looked decidedly
grave.
"Ah!" said the King, stifling something like a sigh, "just as I
expected!"
Then he heard what the leader of the Knights Templar had to say, and
then he turned to Ugrin, well knowing that the Bishop's one idea was to
attack, and of course beat, the enemy, and that he had no room in his
head for any other.
"You don't think Batu Khan will attack?"
"Attack! not he!" said the Bishop, scornfully. "They are all paralysed
with fear, or they would never have pitched their tents between three
rivers. They have three fronts, and they have put those wretches the
Kunok and Russians foremost! Here have we been face to face for days and
nothing has come of it! And yet," continued the Archbishop eagerly,
"nothing would be easier than to annihilate the whole army. All we have
to do is to deliver one attack across the Sajó, while we send another
large force to the left through the woods at night, and across the
Hernád, and we shall have the Mongols caught in their own net!"
The Archbishop may have been right, but whether he were so or not, the
King saw one insuperable objection to what he proposed. The movement
depended for its success upon its being executed in absolute silence;
and there was no power on earth capable of making any part of the
Hungarian squadrons move forward without shouts, cries, and tumult!
Unless Heaven should strike them dumb they would noise enough to betray
themselves for miles around, as soon as they caught the sound of the
word "battle."
Still, the King was obliged to admit that there did not seem to be
anything to be gained by waiting.
He was just about to start on his tour of inspection, when there was a
sudden sound of great commotion within the camp. Men were rushing to and
fro, tumbling over one another in their eagerness, and the air was rent
with their shouts. But sudden hubbubs, all about nothing, and tumults
which were merely the outcome of exuberant spirits, were so frequent
that Béla and the more staid officers expected the mountain to bring
forth no more than the customary mouse on the present occasion.
"A prisoner, apparently," observed the Duke, as an officer emerged from
the crowd. Spies and fugitives were frequently crossing the river and
stealing into the camp, where there were already Russians, Kunok,
Tartars, and men of many tongues.
This man had been caught just as, having crept between the waggons, he
was starting off at a run down the main thoroughfare, and making
straight for the King's tent.
"Keep back!" cried the officer, "Keep back! and hold your tongues, while
I take him to the Duke and let him tell his story!"
But he might as well have addressed the winds and waves.
There was a storm of "Eljens," mingled with cries in various tongues
unintelligible to the rest. They threatened, they swore, they yelled;
and in this disorderly fashion approached the group of which the King
was the centre.
"Not to me! There is the King!" said the Duke, as the rather bewildered
officer pushed his prisoner up to the Commander-in-Chief.
"Well, what news do you bring? Who are you? Where are you from?" the
King asked good-humouredly, but with an involuntary smile of contempt.
"I am a Magyar, your Majesty," said the man in a doleful voice. "The
Tartars carried me off just outside Pest."
"Why!" exclaimed Paul Héderváry suddenly, as he stood facing the
fugitive, "why, if it isn't Mr. Libor's groom, Matykó!"
Libor, as we have said, was not to be found on the morning of Paul's
expedition with Bishop Ugrin; and not having seen or heard of him since,
Paul had been growing daily more anxious on his account. He missed him,
too, at every turn, for Libor had made himself indispensable to his
comfort.
Stephen Szirmay and Master Peter, who were as usual in close attendance
upon the King, looked with curiosity at the unfortunate lad, who, as
they now saw, had lost both ears.
"What have you done with your master?" inquired Master Stephen,
forgetting the King for a moment in his eagerness.
"The Tartars are going to attack the Hungarian camp this very night!"
blurted out the fugitive, with a loud snort; after which, and having
relieved his news-bag of this weighty portion of its contents, he seemed
to feel easier.
"Do you know it for a fact?" asked the King gravely. "Take care what you
are saying, for your head will have to answer for it."
"It is the pure truth, your Majesty. I heard the whole thing, and when I
knew everything I took my life in my hand and crept through the bushes,
swam across the Sajó, and then stole hither by the edge of the ditches!
Well, your Majesty will see for yourself by to-night whether I have been
telling lies or no."
"What more do you know? Are the Mongols in great force? Have they many
prisoners?" the King asked, by way of getting at the lad's budget of
news and forming some idea of its value.
"They are as thick together as a swarm of locusts, sir; and as for the
prisoners, they are like the chaff of a threshing floor. There are
gentlefolk there too. My old master is one of them--blast him with hot
thunderbolts!"
"And who is your master?"
"My faithful governor--Libor!" exclaimed Paul Héderváry, stepping
forward and answering for the groom in a tone of great displeasure.
"And have they treated the rest as they have treated you?" asked the
Duke, pointing to the lad's bleeding ears.
"The Tartar women cut off the ears and noses of every pretty woman and
girl, and the best looking of all they kill! They have killed most of
the gentlemen too, and thrown them into the Hernád."
"And your master?" asked Paul quickly.
"My master? No master of mine! he's better fit to be master to the
devil," said the prisoner, quite forgetting the King in his rage.
"What--whom are you talking about?" asked Paul, indignantly.
"I'm talking about Mr. Governor Libor, and I say that he has turned
Tartar!"
"Turned Tartar!" exclaimed several in amazement.
"It's fact," said the lad. "He has cast off his 'menti' and 'suba,' and
doffed his great plume, and now he is going about like a reverend friar,
with a cowl large enough to hold myself."
"Turned priest then, has he?" asked Master Peter.
"Priest to the devil, if he has any of that sort down below," said
Matykó. "Priest, not a bit of it! He has turned Knéz! that's what he has
done! The Tartars wear all sorts of church vestments, even the Khans do,
blight them!"
"Knéz! what sort of creature is that, Matykó?" asked Ugrin.
"A sort of governor, something like an 'Ispán' (_i.e._, Count, or
head-man of a county)--I don't know, but he has some sort of office, and
our poor gentlemen prisoners must doff their hats to the wretch!"
"Well, nephew!" said Master Peter, with a laugh, for this was water to
his own mill, "so you have chosen a pretty sort of fellow indeed to
entrust your castle to!"
The King meantime had turned away to speak to the Knight Commander of
the Templars, and Paul was able to go on questioning Matykó. He was
beside himself with astonishment.
"How long has he been in such favour with the Tartars?" he asked.
"Ah, sir! who can say?" answered the lad, hotly. "He was Knéz before
they took me! I found him among them, and hardly knew him. It was he who
had my ears cut off, the brute! and only just saved my nose!"
"Well, that is something anyhow," said Master Peter.
"And then," continued Matykó, "I heard that Mr. Governor had been having
dealings with the Tartars, like those rascally Kunok, and what's more,
if it is true--and true it must be, for Tartars don't give anything for
nothing--they say he has shown them the way to two or three castles,
where they have got a lot of plunder!"
"Shown them! the scoundrel!" exclaimed Peter and Héderváry together.
"It's so," said Matykó emphatically. "He did ought to have his own long
ears and snout cut off, he ought!"
Young Héderváry did not perhaps believe all that had been said about his
favourite, but still his anger waxed hot within him.
He had to leave Matykó now, however, and follow the King, who rode
through the whole camp, and finally gave orders to the Duke to
anticipate the Tartars by advancing at once to the Sajó with a
considerable force.
"Ugrin!" cried the Duke, well pleased with the command, "you will come
with me! Quick! Mount your men, and we will be on the way to the Sajó in
half an hour and stop the Tartars from crossing."
By the time the Duke and Ugrin reached the river, they found that a
number of Mongols had already got across. These, after some hard
fighting they successfully beat back, and that with considerable loss;
and as the survivors disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of
the river, the Duke and Ugrin led their victorious troops back to the
camp, where they were received with acclamations and triumph. They had
lost hardly any of their men and were highly elated by their victory.
The night following this success was one of the quietest in the camp.
The rapid and easy victory they had won had redoubled everyone's hopes
that, upon the advance of the entire army the Mongols would perish
utterly and completely, as if they had never been.
Most of the men in camp lay down, with the exception of the King, the
sentries, and some of the generals.
The King allowed himself but a very short rest; for, from his many
conversations with the unfortunate King Kuthen, he was well aware of the
overwhelming numbers and strength of the Mongols, and he was determined
that the enemy should never find him anything but prepared and on the
alert.
Kálmán and Bishop Ugrin also approved these prudent measures; but the
army as a whole was so worn out by long watches and merry-making that
rest it must have.
It was a dark night, and the wind blew the tents about; the camp fires
had been purposely extinguished, though it was spring-time and chilly.
Twice in the course of the night the King left his tent, made the round
of the camp, and satisfied himself as to the strength of the wooden
bulwarks. The Duke, the Commander of the Templars, Héderváry the
Palatine, and his son Paul, as well as Ugrin, all lay in the King's
tent, on carpets, dozing, but not sleeping, while the King merely put
off his armour, and stretched himself on the camp bedstead for an hour
or two.
All was still save for the wind, and in the intervals between the gusts
nothing was to be heard but some terrific snores, and the stamping of
the horses.
Now and again those who were fully awake thought they heard shouts of
merriment, showing that there were still some not too tired to be
amusing themselves; then the wind roared again, and all other sounds
were lost.