Iskander returned to his men. Night was coming on. Fires and lights
blazed and sparkled in every direction. The air was clear, but very
cold. He entered his tent, and muffling himself up in his pelisse of
sables, he mounted his horse, and declining any attendance, rode for
some little distance, until he had escaped from the precincts of the
camp. Then he turned his horse towards one of the wildest passes of
the mountain, and galloping at great speed, never stopped until he had
gained a considerable ascent. The track became steep and rugged. The
masses of loose stone rendered his progress slow; but his Anatolian
charger still bore him at intervals bravely, and in three hours’ time he
had gained the summit of Mount Hæmus. A brilliant moon flooded the broad
plains of Bulgaria with shadowy light. At the base of the mountainous
range, the red watch-fires denoted the situation of the Christian camp.
Iskander proceeded down the descent with an audacious rapidity; but his
charger was thorough-bred, and his moments were golden. Ere midnight, he
had reached the outposts of the enemy, and was challenged by a sentinel.
“Who goes there?”
“A friend to Christendom.”
“The word?”
“I have it not--nay calmly. I am alone, but I am not unarmed. I do not
know the word. I come from a far country, and bear important tidings to
the great Hunniades; conduct me to that chief.”
“May I be crucified if I will,” responded the sentinel, “before I know
who and what you are. Come, keep off, unless you wish to try the effect
of a Polish lance,” continued the sentinel; “‘tis something, I assure
you, not less awkward than your Greek fire, if Greek indeed you be.”
“My friend, you are a fool,” said Iskander, “but time is too precious
to argue any longer.” So saying, the Turkish commander dismounted, and
taking up the brawny sentinel in his arms with the greatest ease,
threw him over his shoulder, and threatening the astounded soldier with
instant death if he struggled, covered him with his pelisse, and entered
the camp.
They approached a watch-fire, around which several soldiers were warming
themselves.
“Who goes there?” inquired a second sentinel.
“A friend to Christendom,” answered Iskander.
“The word?”
Iskander hesitated.
“The word, or I’ll let fly,” said the sentinel, elevating his cross bow.
“The Bridge of Buda,” instantly replied the terrified prisoner beneath
the pelisse of Iskander.
“Why did not you answer before, then?” said one of the guards.
“And why do you mock us by changing your voice?” said another. “Come,
get on with you, and no more jokes.”
Iskander proceeded through a street of tents, in some of which were
lights, but all of which were silent. At length, he met the esquire of a
Polish knight returning from a convivial meeting, not a little elevated.
“Who are you?” inquired Iskander.
“I am an Esquire,” replied the gentleman.
“A shrewd man, I doubt not, who would make his fortune,” replied
Iskander. “You must know great things have happened. Being on guard
I have taken a prisoner, who has deep secrets to divulge to the Lord
Hunniades. Thither, to his pavilion, I am now bearing him. But he is a
stout barbarian, and almost too much for me. Assist me in carrying him
to the pavilion of Hunniades, and you shall have all the reward, and
half the fame.”
“You are a very civil spoken young gentleman,” said the Esquire. “I
think I know your voice. Your name, if I mistake not, is Leckinski?”
“A relative. We had a common ancestor.”
“I thought so. I know the Leckinskies ever by their voice. I am free
to help you on the terms you mention--all the reward and half the fame.
‘Tis a strong barbarian, is it? We cannot cut his throat, or it will not
divulge. All the reward and half the fame! I will be a knight to-morrow.
It seems a sort of fish, and has a smell.”
The Esquire seized the Shoulders of the prisoner, who would have spoken
had he not been terrified by the threats of Iskander, who, carrying the
legs of the sentinel, allowed the Polish gentleman to lead the way to
the pavilion of Hunniades. Thither they soon arrived; and Iskander,
dropping his burthen, and leaving the prisoner without to the charge of
his assistant, entered the pavilion of the General of the Hungarians.
He was stopped in a small outer apartment by an officer, who inquired
his purpose, and to whom he repeated his desire to see the Hungarian
leader, without loss of time, on important business. The officer
hesitated; but, summoning several guards, left Iskander in their
custody, and, stepping behind a curtain, disappeared. Iskander heard
voices, but could distinguish no words. Soon the officer returned, and,
ordering the guards to disarm and search Iskander, directed the Grecian
Prince to follow him. Drawing aside the curtain, Iskander and his
attendant entered a low apartment of considerable size. It was hung
with skins. A variety of armour and dresses were piled on couches. A
middle-aged man, of majestic appearance, muffled in a pelisse of furs,
with long chestnut hair, and a cap of crimson velvet and ermine, was
walking up and down the apartment, and dictating some instructions to a
person who was kneeling on the ground, and writing by the bright flame
of a brazen lamp. The bright flame of the blazing lamp fell full upon
the face of the secretary. Iskander beheld a most beautiful woman.
She looked up as Iskander entered. Her large dark eyes glanced through
his soul. Her raven hair descended to her shoulders in many curls on
each side of her face, and was braided with strings of immense pearls.
A broad cap of white fox-skin crowned her whiter forehead. Her features
were very small, but sharply moulded, and a delicate tint gave animation
to her clear fair cheek. She looked up as Iskander entered, with an air
rather of curiosity than embarrassment.
Hunniades stopped, and examined his visitor with a searching
inquisition. “Whence come you?” inquired the Hungarian chieftain.
“From the Turkish camp,” was the answer.
“An envoy or a deserter?”
“Neither.”
“What then?”
“A convert.”
“Your name?”
“Lord Hunniades,” said Iskander, “that is for your private ear. I am
unarmed, and were I otherwise, the first knight of Christendom can
scarcely fear. I am one in birth and rank your equal; if not in fame, at
least, I trust, in honour. My time is all-precious: I can scarcely stay
here while my horse breathes. Dismiss your attendant.”
Hunniades darted a glance at his visitor which would have baffled a
weaker brain, but Iskander stood the scrutiny calm and undisturbed.
“Go, Stanislaus,” said the Vaivode to the officer. “This lady, sir,”
continued the chieftain, “is my daughter, and one from whom I have no
secrets.”
Iskander bowed lowly as the officer disappeared.
“And now,” said Hunniades, “to business. Your purpose?”
“I am a Grecian Prince, and a compulsory ally of the Moslemin. In a
word, my purpose here is to arrange a plan by which we may effect, at
the same time, your triumph, and my freedom.”
“To whom, then, have I the honour of speaking?” inquired Hunniades.
“My name, great Hunniades, is perhaps not altogether unknown to you:
they call me Iskander.”
“What, the right arm of Amurath, the conqueror of Caramania, the
flower of Turkish chivalry? Do I indeed behold that matchless warrior?”
exclaimed Hunniades, and he held forth his hand to his guest, and
ungirding his own sword, offered it to the Prince. “Iduna” continued
Hunniades, to his daughter, “you at length behold Iskander.”
“My joy is great, sir,” replied Iduna, “if I indeed rightly understand
that we may count the Prince Iskander a champion of the Cross.”
Iskander took from his heart his golden crucifix, and kissed it before
her. “This has been my companion and consolation for long years, lady,”
said Iskander; “you, perhaps, know my mournful history, Hunniades.
Hitherto my pretended sovereign has not required me to bare my scimitar
against my Christian brethren. That hour, however, has at length
arrived, and it has decided me to adopt a line of conduct long
meditated. Karam Bey who is aware of your necessities, the moment you
commence your retreat, will attack you. I shall command his left wing.
In spite of his superior power and position, draw up in array, and meet
him with confidence. I propose, at a convenient moment in the day, to
withdraw my troops, and with the Epirots hasten to my native country,
and at once raise the standard of independence. It is a bold measure,
but Success is the child of Audacity. We must assist each other with
mutual diversions. Single-handed it is in vain for me to commence a
struggle, which, with all adventitious advantages, will require the
utmost exertion of energy, skill, and patience. But if yourself and
the King Uladislaus occupy the armies of Amurath in Bulgaria, I am not
without hope of ultimate success, since I have to inspire me all the
most urgent interests of humanity, and combat, at the same time, for my
God, my country, and my lawful crown.”
“Brave Prince, I pledge you my troth,” said Hunniades, coming forward
and seizing his hand; “and while Iskander and Hunniades live, they will
never cease until they have achieved their great and holy end.”
“It is a solemn compact,” said Iskander, “more sacred than if registered
by all the scribes of Christendom. Lady Iduna, your prayers!”
“They are ever with the champions of the Cross,” replied the daughter
of Hunniades. She rose, the large cloak in which she was enveloped fell
from her exquisite form. “Noble Iskander, this rosary is from the Holy
Sepulchre,” continued Iduna; “wear it for the sake and memory of that
blessed Saviour who died for our sins.”
Iskander held forth his arm and touched her delicate hand as he received
the rosary, which, pressing to his lips, he placed round his neck.
“Great Hunniades,” said the Grecian Prince, “I must cross the mountains
before dawn. Let me venture to entreat that we should hear to-morrow
that the Christian camp is in retreat.”
“Let it be even so,” said the Hungarian, after some thought, “and may
to-morrow’s sun bring brighter days to Christendom.” And with these
words terminated the brief and extraordinary visit of Iskander to the
Christian general.