THE MIDNIGHT BATTLE.
As Denis Banfi, after quitting his wife's chamber, was descending the
spiral staircase which led to the hall, he saw a young horseman come
galloping at full speed into the courtyard.
The horseman was covered with blood and foam. As he sprang from his
horse the beast collapsed altogether; but the rider rushed pell-mell
towards Banfi, who, recognizing in him one of his captains, Gabriel
Benkö, went to meet him, and asked him what was the matter.
"Sir," began the gasping knight, catching his breath, "Ali Pasha is
attacking Banfi-Hunyad."
"Is that all?" said Banfi gruffly, not displeased that Fate had given
his irritated temper something to rend and tear. "Send Veer hither!" he
cried to his retainers; "and you, when you have got your breath, just
tell me how the matter went."
"I must be brief, my lord. I come from the thick of the fight. Yesterday
a troop of Kurdish freebooters appeared before Banfi-Hunyad. Your
lordship's captain, Gregory Söter, anticipating that they had come to
levy blackmail, went out against them with the castle bands, engaged in
combat with them, drove them from beneath the walls after a sharp
contest, and, following up his advantage, sounded a charge and pursued
the fugitives in the direction of Zenlelke. We were still pursuing the
Kurds, who fled headlong, when suddenly we saw ourselves attacked in
flank; and in a trice the whole plain was swarming with Turkish
horsemen, who overran us like ants. I cannot exactly tell their numbers,
but I saw three horse-tail standards with my own eyes, which proves
that the Pasha himself was with the expedition. Söter had no time to
make good his retreat to Banfi-Hunyad."
"The devil!" cried Banfi.
"Every one of us had to do with two or three of them. Söter himself
seized a morning-star with one hand and a broadsword with the other, and
cried to me--I was by his side--'My son, leave the battle-field, cut
your way through! Fly to Bonczhida and tell the news!' I heard no more.
The surging masses parted us; so I threw my shield over my shoulders,
bowed my head deep down over my saddle-bow, gave my nag the spur, and
galloped out of the fight. About one hundred horsemen pursued me, the
darts fell like a hailstorm on my shield; but my good horse, well aware
of the danger, redoubled his speed, and so the pursuers lost trace of
me."
"Did you come direct to Bonczhida?"
"No; I made a side-spring to Banfi-Hunyad, to warn the people there of
their danger, so that they might have time to escape to the mountains."
"You did wisely. Then the people have escaped?"
"By no means. It was in front of Dame Vizaknai's house that I told the
news to the people. Their faces turned pale, when all at once the lady
of the house appeared with a drawn sword in her hand, and as if
possessed by the spirits of a hundred warriors, stood among the people
with sparkling eyes and thus addressed them--
"'Are ye men? If so, seize your weapons, go out upon the ramparts, and
show the world that you can defend the place where your children were
born and your fathers lie buried. But if ye are cowards, then fly
whither you will; but the women will remain behind here with me, to show
the savage foe that none is too weak to fight for hearth and home.'"
Banfi, with a hoarse voice, called to his armourers to bring him
breastplate, spear, and helmet, and beckoned to the panting messenger to
go on with his story.
"At these words the people uttered a loud and furious cry. The women,
like so many Bacchantes, ran in search of weapons, and mounted the
ramparts by the side of their husbands, whom the determination of their
wives had turned into veritable heroes. Every one seized the first thing
that came to hand--scythes, spades, flails. Meanwhile, Dame Vizaknai was
everywhere at once, marshalling and haranguing the combatants,
barricading the church, breaking down the bridge, so that when I left
the town, it was already in a fair state of defence. Thereupon I swam
the Körös, to avoid making a long circuit, and came hither through the
woods and by-ways."
During the latter part of this narrative Banfi seemed to be nearly
beside himself. He waited now for neither armour nor helmet, but roared
for his horse; and as he sprang into the saddle, cried to Veer, who was
hastening up--
"After me to Banfi-Hunyad! March day and night. The infantry must go
round by the Gyalyui Alps. The cavalry will follow me to Klausenburg.
Light beacons in the mountains as you approach, that I may attack the
foe simultaneously with the vanguard."
"Would it not perhaps be better if your Excellency remained behind with
the main army?" said George Veer, with an anxious face.
"Do what I bid you, sir!" was Banfi's reply; and giving his horse the
spur, he dashed off, followed by about half-a-dozen of his suite.
"What ails him then, that he will neither wait for us, nor inform his
wife and the Princess of what has happened?"
"He was aghast when I told him that Dame Vizaknai was defending
Banfi-Hunyad," said Benkö apologetically. "She is an old flame of his
whom he has long forgotten; but his youthful affection seemed to revive
him when he heard of her heroic audacity."
George Veer, satisfied with this explanation, ordered his squadrons to
take horse forthwith; and after previously informing Lady Banfi that he
was off on a petty raid, departed for Klausenburg, leaving the command
of the infantry to Captain Michael Angel, who did not break up till
evening, the road along the Snow Mountains being much the shorter way.
Just as they were about to start, a tattered young Szekler, with pale
cheeks but strong arms, stepped forth. His companions had pushed him
into the front ranks.
"Come, sing us a battle-song!" they cried.
It was the rude, popular poet, Ambrose Gelenze.
Drawing from the pocket of his tunic his Bible, on the inside of the
parchment covers of which he used to jot down his improvised war-songs,
he placed himself in front of the host, and began to sing the following
simple lay, the whole of the Transylvanian gentry repeating it word for
word as they marched after him--
"Now dawns serene the morning sheen,
The wonted hour hath come;
Sounds bold and free the merry march,
Nor bush nor brake is dumb!
Then up! to horse! and scale the height,
Bold Magyar! Szekler steeled in fight!
And sturdy Saxon hind!
A laggard he who doth not hie
When straight before the road doth lie;
And where there is no road to go, then climb, nor look behind!"
This song, sung by thousands and thousands of warriors, gradually died
away in the distance.
* * * * *
George Veer, on reaching Klausenburg, no longer found Banfi there. The
Lord-Lieutenant with two hundred horsemen had departed an hour before.
Veer, after allowing his men a brief halt, followed Banfi all night long
without being able to overtake him; the Baron had always the start of
him, though sometimes only a few minutes.
It was already late in the night when Banfi with his two hundred
horsemen reached the point where the Körös intersects the woody dale;
just where a bridge crosses the stream the Turk had pitched his camp.
Watchful Bedouins lay stretched on their bellies there, with their long
muskets in their hands. It was impossible to surprise them.
In the direction of Banfi-Hunyad a red glow illuminated the sky,
alternately waxing and waning.
Leaving his horsemen in ambush on the opposite shore, Banfi with four
companions descended to the stream to seek for a ford. The Körös is
there so rapid that it can unhorse the firmest rider. Fortunately it had
fallen so much in consequence of the summer drought, that Banfi soon
found a place where the water flowed more calmly, and waded successfully
through it with his escort. One of them he sent back to fetch the rest,
but he himself with the other three remained on the opposite bank
looking steadily in the direction of the fire.
Meanwhile a patrol of Bedouin horsemen, who were keeping watch on the
bank, perceived the three riders and their leader, and challenged them.
Banfi would have fallen back, but three of the Bedouins charged upon him
forthwith, while the three others with couched lances fell upon his
comrades.
"Bend your heads down over the necks of your horses, and seize their
lances with your left hands!" cried Banfi to his companions; and with
that they all four drew their swords, went at full tilt against the foe,
and collided beneath the dark shadows without another word.
Banfi was in the centre. The lances of the three Bedouins whizzed
through the air simultaneously, and Banfi's comrades fell on both sides
of him, transfixed, from their horses, while he with his left hand
skilfully disarmed one of the spearmen, at the same time dealing him a
blow with his right hand which cleft his skull. He then turned
single-handed upon his two nearest assailants, and cut down one with his
lance and the other with his sword.
But now the three remaining horsemen fell furiously upon him.
"Come on then!" shouted Banfi, gnashing his teeth; and with that
terrible humour peculiar to certain warriors in the hour of danger, he
added--"I'll teach you how to wield the spear, my boys!" and setting his
back against a clump of trees, he stuck his sword into its sheath,
seized his spear with both hands, and not three minutes had elapsed
before all three Bedouins had fallen from their horses to the ground.
Then he looked around to see if any more were coming, and was delighted
to observe that the Turks at the bridge had heard nothing of the tussle,
while his two hundred horsemen had come down to the river-side and were
noiselessly crossing to the opposite bank.
Some of the fallen Bedouins were still moaning and groaning.
"Smash their skulls in, that they may not betray us with their cries!"
"Ought we not to await Veer's troops?" asked one of the captains.
"We cannot. We haven't time!" replied Banfi, with his eyes fixed upon
the ruddy horizon, and the little band proceeded covertly through field
and forest.
Soon a distant hubbub struck upon their ears, and when they had climbed
to the top of a little hill, Banfi-Hunyad emerged before their eyes.
Banfi gave a sigh of relief. It was not the town that was burning, but
the haystacks. The roofs of the houses had been taken off beforehand by
the inhabitants themselves to prevent the enemy from setting them on
fire. Even the church and castle were roofless, and the Turkish host
could be seen swarming round them by the light of the conflagration,
whilst from the battlements a fiery rain of sulphur and pitch,
occasionally intermingled with heavy beams, poured down upon the
besiegers, and drove them back from the walls.
Ali Pasha had not waited for his artillery,--it had stuck fast in the
wretched roads,--imagining that he could easily storm a place defended
only by women and peasants. But it is notorious that despair makes every
one a soldier, and that even scythes and axes are good weapons in
resolute hands.
At this spectacle Banfi's features grew flaming red. He fancied he saw a
white female form on the pinnacle of the tower, immediately gave his
horse the spur, and rushed forward like a whirlwind, crying to his
horsemen--
"Don't count the enemy now; we shall have time enough for that
afterwards, when we have cut them all down!" and in a quarter of an hour
the little band had reached the camp before the town.
There every one was slumbering. Whilst one half of the host was storming
the town the other found time to repose. Even the heads of the sentries
hung drowsily down. There they lay, close to their horses, and only
awoke out of their dreams when Banfi was already charging through their
ranks.
The Baron, who seemed bent upon relieving the besieged single-handed,
cut down everything that came in his way; while the Turks, scared out of
their slumbers, blindly snatched up sword and spear, and began
massacring each other, despite all the efforts of the Tsahusz's to
restore order.
Meanwhile Banfi was madly forcing his way through the Turkish host
surrounding the church. The foremost rows fled back aghast at this
unexpected onslaught; but a brigade of Ali Pasha's picked Mamelukes rode
forward and arrested the flight.
A gigantic Moor stood at the head of this troop. His horse too was an
extraordinarily big beast, a stallion sixteen hands high. The
protuberant, swelling muscles of the dusky giant's naked arms shone like
steel in the hellish glare of the burning haystacks, his broad mouth was
bleeding from the blow of a stone, and the whites of his eyes gleamed
ghost-like out of his dark countenance.
"Halt, Giaour!" roared the Moor, with a voice which rose above the din
of battle, and he went straight for Banfi. In his enormous fist sparkled
a sabre as broad as a man's hand; it appeared too heavy even for him.
Two hussars riding in front of Banfi fell right and left before two
blows from the monster, one without his head, the other cleft to the
shoulder. Throwing back his arm for a third stroke, the Moor rose in his
stirrups, and exclaimed with a voice of thunder--
"I am Kariassar, the invincible! Thank thy God that thou diest by my
hand!" and with that he swept his sword backwards, and dealt a
tremendous blow at Banfi's head.
The Baron, with the utmost sangfroid, brought his sword in front of his
face, and at the very moment when Kariassar let fly at him, made with
lightning-like swiftness a dextrous lunge at the Moor's fist--it was
what fencers call _an inner cut_--striking off Kariassar's four fingers,
so that the heavy scimitar fell clashing out of the fingerless hand.
The black's face grew pale from rage and pain. With a frightful howl he
instantly threw himself on Banfi, and disregarding fresh wounds on his
face and shoulders, seized Banfi's right hand with his left, and must
have dragged him from his horse by sheer brute force if the Baron had
not had an uncommonly firm seat.
It seemed as if the Moor were capable of crushing him with only one
hand. But Banfi was a good rider, and now he pressed his horse tightly
with his knee, whereupon the noble beast reared and plunged; and while
the giant was struggling with his master, and tearing at his lacerated
arm with a lion's strength, the war-horse turned suddenly on the Moor,
struck him a blow on the thigh with its front hoof, bit his brawny
breast with foaming mouth, and shook the bitten part between its teeth.
Kariassar yelled aloud, and suddenly relinquishing the Baron, grasped
his poniard with his left hand, and writhing with pain, drew it from its
sheath; but at the self-same moment Banfi dealt a rapid stroke at the
giant's neck. The huge head rolled suddenly to the ground, and while the
blood shot up in a threefold jet from the severed neck, the headless
figure remained for an instant swaying on its horse, and spasmodically
waving its poniard--a fearful spectacle to friend and foe.
At the sight of their leader's fall the terrified Mamelukes scattered
in all directions, trampling one another down in their panic-flight. At
the same time the defenders of the church threw down their barricades
and made a sortie, Dame Vizaknai at their head with a drawn sword, and
close behind her the priests as standard-bearers with the church's
banners. The great besieging host, thus caught between two fires, was
cut in two, leaving a free space on one side for the scythes of the
peasants, and on the other for the csakanys of the hussars.
The csakany, by the way, is a mighty weapon in the hands of those who
know how to use it. Its strokes are almost unavoidable. Its long,
pointed beak smites down with such force as to crush shield and helmet
to pieces, and a sword is no defence against it.
Step by step the besieged and the relief party drew nearer to each
other, driving before them the Janissaries, who contested every inch of
ground, and even when lying on the ground half-dead, aimed with their
daggers at the feet of the horses which trampled them down.
Dame Vizaknai sprang towards Denis Banfi and seized his horse by the
bridle.
"The danger is great, my lord! The Turk is twenty to one. Come behind
the churchyard wall."
"I'll not budge a single step," replied Banfi coolly; "but that is no
reason why you should not save yourself behind your barricades."
"Not another step do I budge either," rejoined Dame Vizaknai.
"I can defend myself!" cried Banfi vehemently.
"And I too!" replied the lady proudly.
The next instant fresh squadrons came streaming up from every quarter,
as if they had fallen from the clouds or sprung from the earth--infantry
and cavalry with long muskets, bows and arrows, and ribboned darts.
"Ali! Ali! Allah akbar!"
The Hungarian forces ranged themselves in battle array, with their backs
to the churchyard wall, and awaited the attack. From the end of the
street a glittering array of horsemen was seen approaching; it consisted
of a picked corps of Spahis[39] on stately Arabs, whose emerald-set
saddles sparkled in the firelight. In their midst rode Ali on a slender,
snow-white Barbary steed, in his hand flashed a diamond-hilted
scimitar; on his head he wore a turbaned helmet; his long black beard
fell down over his silver breastplate. On coming within gunshot of
Banfi's host, he halted and marshalled his squadrons.
[Footnote 39: _Spahis._ Light Turkish cavalry.]
Hitherto Banfi had not touched his pistols, the wonderfully-carved ivory
handles of which peeped forth from his holsters. But now he drew them
forth and handed them to Dame Vizaknai.
"Take them!" said he; "you must have wherewith to defend yourself."
Meanwhile Ali Pasha had sent forward a herald, who, drawing near to the
Hungarians, delivered the following message to them--
"My master, Ali Pasha, informs you, O ye unbelieving Giaours, that every
loophole of escape is closed. Wherefore then strive against him further?
Lay down your weapons and throw yourselves upon his mercy."
Scarcely had the herald finished speaking when two shots resounded, and
he fell dead from his horse. Dame Vizaknai had fired both pistols at him
by way of reply. Then Ali Pasha beckoned furiously to the squadrons
surrounding him, and from all sides there rained darts, bullets, and
arrows on the little band of Hungarians. The same moment Dame Vizaknai
climbed on to Banfi's stirrups, and supporting herself on his shoulders
with one hand, cried--
"Fear nought, my friends!"
A crackling report and a hissing shower of darts followed. Dame Vizaknai
covered Banfi with her body, and after the fiery tempest had roared
past, the Baron felt her hold upon his arm relaxing. An arrow had struck
her just above the heart.
"That arrow was meant for you," said Dame Vizaknai, with a faint voice,
and she sank dead to the ground.
"Poor lady!" cried Banfi, with a look of compassion. "She always loved
me, and would never show it."
And then blood flowed instead of tears.
The Turkish host surrounded the Hungarians on every side, but were
unable to break through their ranks. Banfi was already fighting with his
eighth Spahi, who like the seven others was at last overcome by the
Baron's extraordinary dexterity. Ali Pasha was beside himself with rage.
"Why can't you cut down that grizzly dog?" roared he furiously, and
galloped himself against Banfi, driving his flying followers out of his
way with the flat part of his sword-blade. "'Tis I, Ali Pasha, who now
stands before thee, vile hog!" bellowed he, gnashing his teeth, "thou
son of a dog, thou."
"Keep your titles for yourself," cried Banfi, and riding up to the Pasha
he dealt him a tremendous blow on the helmet with his sword, so that
sword and helmet were both smashed to pieces, and the champions reeled
back half stunned. Ali quickly snatched from his armour-bearers a round
shield, while Banfi was hastily provided with a steel csakany, and again
they rushed upon each other.
The csakany fell with fearful force upon the shield, and knocked a hole
through it, while Ali lunged forward with his scimitar, and this time
only a very dexterous twist of the head saved Banfi's life.
"I'll play ball with thy head!" cried Ali contemptuously.
"And I'll make a broom of thy beard!" retorted Banfi.
"I'll have thy coat-of-arms nailed up over my stables!"
"And thy skin, stuffed with sawdust, shall serve me as a scarecrow!"
"Thou rebellious slave!"
"Thou barber's apprentice turned general."
Every abusive epithet was accompanied by a fresh and furious blow.
"Thou dishonourable girl-snatcher," cried the Pasha, with foaming mouth.
"Thou dost filch Turkish maidens for thy unclean embraces; therefore
will I carry off thy wife and make her the lowest slave in my harem."
To Banfi the world seemed all at once to be turning round and round. His
soul had received three wounds, which quite divested him of humanity.
"Thou accursed devil," he roared, gnashing his teeth, seized his csakany
by the middle with both hands, sprang closer to Ali, and whirled his
weapon with lightning-like rapidity over his head, so that it flew round
and round in his hands like the sail of a windmill, crashing down now
with its axe-head, now with its bullet-shaped nether end on his
antagonist's shield, and attacking and defending himself at the same
time. Ali Pasha, confused at this altogether novel mode of attack, would
have retired; but the two war-horses, furiously biting each other about
the head and neck, were now taking part in the contest of their masters,
and could not be parted.
The Spahis, seeing their leader waver, threw themselves between the
combatants and drove from Banfi's side his escort of hussars. The Baron
now perceiving that all his people had fled to the churchyard, directed
one last swift stroke at Ali's shield, which, to judge from Ali's
agonized howl, penetrated it at the very spot where fitted on to the
arm. Banfi had no time for a third encounter, as he was now completely
surrounded.
At that moment a well-known flourish of trumpets resounded in the rear
of the combatants, and a fresh and general battle-cry mingled with the
din--
"God and St. Michael."
George Veer had arrived with the banderia.
"God and St. Michael!" thundered the leader of the nobility, conspicuous
among them all in his silver coat of mail with the bearskin thrown over
his shoulders; and with his toothed battle-axe he hewed his way through
the ranks of the astonished Turks.
The attack was skilfully conducted; the mounted nobility pressed on from
all sides, simultaneously bringing the Turkish host everywhere into
confusion, so that one wing could not assist the other, and the
outermost ranks were always borne down by superior numbers.
Ali Pasha had received a bad wound in the arm from Banfi's last blow,
which had daunted his courage, so he stuck his spurs into his horse's
sides and gave the signal for retreat.
The Turkish host was driven head and heels out of the town, and its
leaders endeavoured to retreat among the Gyalyui Alps, hoping to rally
it again in the narrow defiles.
Outside the town the battle, fast becoming a rout, still raged
furiously. The Hungarians scattered about the burning hayricks, and were
so intermingled in the darkness of the night with their opponents that
they could only distinguish one another by their battle-cries.
The harassed Turkish host, which in the darkness and confusion at one
time took refuge among the enemy, and at another cut down their own
comrades, tried to imitate the battle-cry of the Hungarians, but this
only made the mischief greater; for as they could not pronounce the
words "Angel Michael," but always cried "Anchal Michel," they exposed
themselves more completely to the Hungarians.
The Turkish army was now completely beaten; more than a thousand of its
dead lay in the streets and around the church, and only the mountain
passes, into which it was not prudent for the Hungarians to follow them,
saved them from utter annihilation.
George Veer therefore sounded the recall, whilst Banfi, with restless
rage, rushed hither and thither after the flying foe. All in vain; every
way was barred by the trunks of trees which the Turks had hewn down in
hot haste.
"We must let them escape!" cried Veer, thrusting his sabre into its
sheath.
"Say not so! say not so!" cried Banfi excitedly, and riding up to the
top of a hillock, he seemed to be observing something in the distance.
Suddenly he exclaimed with a joyful voice--"Look yonder. The
fire-signals have just been lit!"
And indeed on the crests of the Gyalyui Mountains the fire-signals could
be seen flashing up one by one in a long line.
"Those are our people!" cried Banfi, with fresh enthusiasm. "The Turk is
caught in the trap. Forward!" And remarshalling his squadrons, he
galloped towards the barricaded forest paths, heedless of the warnings
of the more circumspect Veer.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Ali Pasha, abandoning his tents, camels, and booty-laden
wagons to the enemy, sent Dzem Haman, the Albanian commander, on before,
to level the roads over the snowy mountains.
As now Dzem Haman was advancing through the darkness and superintending
the labours of his Albanian pioneers, he heard voices in the steep rock
above his head, and a company of armed men suddenly emerged from the
mountain passes before his eyes.
The troops on both sides challenged each other simultaneously.
"Who are ye? What are you doing?"
"We are carrying stones," answered Dzem Haman. "And you?"
"We too are carrying stones," was the answer from above.
"We are Dzem Haman's men, who are removing the stones from the path of
Ali Pasha--and ye, are you not Csaky's men?"
"We are collecting stones for the head of Ali Pasha, and are Michael
Angel's people," resounded from above, and at the same time a terrible
rain of stones rolled down upon the heads of the Albanians, by way of
confirming the statement.
"Michel Anchal is here also!" roared the terrified Albanians, falling
back aghast, and creating a panic among those behind them by declaring
that they were surrounded.
At these tidings, the Turkish host, harassed from before and behind,
resolved itself into a disorderly mass, on which, at break of day, the
Hungarian infantry began rolling enormous masses of stone and rock.
Ali Pasha attempted first on one side and then on another to break
through the enemy's lines, but was everywhere driven back with fearful
loss by the missiles hurled down from above. The boldest warriors, who
had fought man to man in a hundred battles, fled back pale and trembling
before the thundering masses of rock, which so completely smashed
everything that came in their way that horse and rider were
undistinguishable.
Ali Pasha tore his beard in impotent rage on perceiving that he and all
his host were at the mercy of an army even now much weaker than his own.
"There is neither help nor refuge, save with the Most High God!" cried
he, breaking his sword in twain in his despair; and drawing out his
pistols, he pointed them at his own heart.
At that moment a hand snatched his weapons from him, and Ali Pasha saw
Zülfikar before him.
"What wouldst thou do, madman?" cried he. "Thou wouldst not have me fall
into the hands of the unbelievers?"
"I would deliver you and your host out of their hands," said Zülfikar.
"By the shadow of Allah, thou dost speak brave words, and if thou
couldst but do as thou sayst, I would make thee the foremost of my
captains."
"I desire no such honour. Promise me a thousand ducats, and send me as a
messenger to Banfi."
"So that thou mayst betray my position to him, eh! thou cur?"
"I've no need to do that. He can see it for himself from yon hill-top.
You are as good as dead and buried already, so that you have no choice
but to trust to me. You may hold out for a couple of days perhaps; but
then you and your bravest heroes must perish with hunger just like me.
We are all in the same evil case, there is nothing to choose between any
of us."
"And what wouldst thou do, wretched slave?"
"Induce Banfi to withdraw his troops from the road leading to Kalota,
and thus leave us a loophole of escape."
"And dost thou think that possible?"
"It may, or it may not be so. Where death is certain, a man cares not
what he risks. If I can speak to Banfi this evening, you may be able to
escape the same night. If I succeed, well. If not, we shall be no worse
off than we are now."
"The fellow speaks boldly. Do as thou dost desire. I'll trust thee.
Allah alone reads the secrets of the heart. Go!"
Zülfikar laid down his arms, and went all alone down to the narrow pass
leading to Kalota. When he came to the Hungarian outposts, his eyes fell
upon rows of dead Turks who had been hung up on the trees along the
wayside. This sight did not appear to disturb the renegade in the least.
He stepped boldly among the Magyars, and as they seized him, said
quickly to them in the purest Hungarian--
"Bring me to Denis Banfi. I am his spy!"
"You lie!" cried they. "Sling him up."
"I can prove it," continued Zülfikar, with a loud voice, and taking a
neatly-folded parchment out of his turban, he handed it to the captain.
The letter contained these words--
"I, Gregory Söter, hereby declare to all the commanders of the Hungarian
troops that Zülfikar, the bearer of this letter, is my faithful war-spy.
Let him pass free everywhere."
The captain gave back the letter, not without grumbling, and bade two of
his soldiers lead Zülfikar to Banfi, but they were to cut him down at
once if the general did not acknowledge him. However, at the first
glance Banfi recognized in him Pongracz, Balassa's former servant, and
motioned to his men to leave them alone together.
"So you have turned Turk?" said Banfi.
"This is no time for questions, my lord. 'Tis for me to speak, and to
the point. I'll be brief, if you'll let me. Emerich Balassa expelled me
from his house when he learnt that I had helped you to abduct Azrael."
"Good!" said Banfi, contracting his brows. "The girl has flown from me
too--whither, I know not."
"Yes, my lord, you do; and the worst of it is, others know it also.
Close to the Gradina Dracului there is a habitation among the rocks, and
there she dwells."
"Silence!" cried Banfi, aghast. "How know you that?"
"Balassa has lodged a complaint with the Prince about the abduction of
the girl. The matter is not such a trifle as you imagine. Azrael is the
Sultan's daughter, who, after being betrothed to Ali Pasha, was carried
off by Corsar Beg, whom Balassa's poison alone saved from the silken
cord, while Balassa himself has become a homeless vagabond because of
her. She has been the ruin of all who ever possessed her. It is your
turn now. The Prince having promised the disgraced Ladislaus Csaky
everything he likes to ask, if only he can ferret out the girl's
hiding-place, Csaky slyly commissioned the Patrol-officer to make
inquiries among the people whether a panther had been seen anywhere in
the woods, for he well knew that it is the habit of this wild beast to
roam about in search of prey. Its track led them to the rocky retreat,
the girl has been seen, and everything discovered."
"Devils and hell!" cried Banfi, turning pale.
"Listen further. Csaky communicated his plan to Ali Pasha, and it was
agreed between them that while the Pasha attacked Banfi-Hunyad, Csaky
with two thousand Wallachs was to scour the mountains under the pretext
of a hunt, and storm the Devil's Garden."
"What infernal villainy!" cried Banfi, striking his sword with his fist.
"It is just possible, my lord, that you might still arrive in time,"
added the renegade insidiously, "if you do not stay here too long."
"We'll be off at once," cried Banfi, pale with rage. "I'll teach these
lickspittlers to invade the domains of a free nobleman at the very
moment when he himself is fighting against the enemies of his country. A
few hundred men will be sufficient to keep Ali Pasha in check from this
side. With the rest I wager I'll be able to pull Master Ladislaus Csaky
out by the ears if I catch him trespassing."
And immediately Banfi commanded his men to set out for Marisel as
swiftly and as silently as possible, and bade the little band he left
behind him light many large fires in the wood, so as to make the enemy
believe that the whole host was bivouacking there, while he himself
hastened towards the imperilled hiding-place. To Zülfikar he paid five
hundred gold pieces for his timely warning.
The same night Ali Pasha fell with his whole host upon the two or three
hundred Hungarians whom Banfi had left behind him; scattered them after
a brief resistance, and hastened back to Grosswardein, swallowing as
best he could the indignity of a great defeat, for he left behind him
two thousand dead, and the whole of his baggage.
From him too Zülfikar received the covenanted one thousand gold pieces,
thus doing a service to the Turks and to the Hungarians at the same
time, and making both of them pay him for his pains.