A FATAL DAY.
Peter Szirmay and Paul Héderváry were arming the King with all speed,
while his charger, magnificently caparisoned, was brought round,
neighing with excitement.
Béla had never appeared more cool and collected than on that eventful
morning. As already remarked, he was without military experience, and
though his expectations were not extravagant, and he did not make the
mistake of underrating the enemy, he had much confidence in the valour
of his army.
"We must get the troops outside, without an instant's delay!" shouted
Bishop Ugrin, galloping up his face aglow with pleasurable excitement,
for he was never happier than when astride his war-horse and amid the
blare of trumpets.
"Sequere!" (follow) cried the King, who usually spoke Latin to the
ecclesiastical dignitaries.
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.