In the winter of 1443--a few months subsequent to the events with
which our story begins--the Pass of Slatiza echoed other sounds than
the cry of the eagle, the bleating of the flocks, and the songs and
halloos of the mountaineers. Distant bugle calls floated between the
cliffs. At night a fire would flash from a peak, and be suddenly
extinguished, as another gleamed from a peak beyond. Strange men had
gone up and down the road. With one of these Uncle Kabilovitsch had
wandered off, and been absent several days. Great was the excitement
of the little folks when Milosch told them that a real army was not
far off, coming from the Christian country to the north of them, and
that its general was no other than the great Hunyades, the White
Knight of Wallachia--called so because he wore white armor--the son of
that same King Sigismund and the fair Elizabeth Morsiney. How little
Morsinia's cheeks paled, while those of the boys burned, and their
eyes flashed, as their father told them, by the fire-light in the
centre of their cabin, that the White Knight had already conquered the
Turks at Hermanstadt and at Vasag and on the banks of the Morava, and
was--if the story which Milosch had heard from some scouts were
true--preparing to burst through the Balkan mountains, and descend
upon the homes of the Turk on the southern plains. Little did they
sleep at night, in the excitement of the belief that, at any day, they
might see the soldiers--real soldiers, just like those of Alexander,
and those of Bajazet--tramping through the Pass. The tremor of the
earth, occasioned by some distant landslide, in their excited
imagination was thought to be due to the tramp of a myriad feet. The
hoot of the owl became the trumpet call for the onset: and the sharp
whistle of the wind, between leafless trees and along the ice-covered
rocks, seemed like the whizzing flight of the souls of the slain.
Once, just as the gray dawn appeared, Kabilovitsch, who had been
absent for several days, came hurriedly with the alarming news that
the Turks, steadily retiring before the Christians, would soon occupy
the Pass. They were already coming up the defiles, as the mists rise
along the sides of the mountains, in dense masses, hoping to gain such
vantage ground that they could hurl the troops of Hunyades down the
almost perpendicular slopes before they could effect a secure lodgment
on the summit. The children and women must leave herds and homes, and
fly instantly. The only safe retreat was the great cave, which the
mountaineers knew of, lying off towards the other Pass, that of
Soulourderbend.
The fugitives were scarcely gone when the mountain swarmed with
Moslems. The mighty mass of humanity crowded the cliffs like bees
preparing to swarm. They fringed the breastworks of native rock with
abattis made of huge trunks of trees. During the day the Turks had
diverted a mountain stream, so that, leaving its bed, it poured a thin
sheet of water over the steepest part of the road the Christians were
to ascend. This, freezing during the night, made a wall of ice. The
Christians were thus forced to leave the highway and attempt to scale
the crags far and near; a movement which the Turks met by spreading
themselves everywhere above them. Upon ledges and into crevices which
had never before felt the pressure of human feet clambered the
contestants. Every rock was empurpled with gore. Turkish turban and
Hungarian helmet were caught upon the same thorny bush; while the
heads which had worn them rolled together in the same gully, and
stared their deathless hatred from their dead eyes.
The Turks in falling back discovered the mouth of the cave in which
the peasants had taken refuge. As the Moslem bugles sounded the
retreat, lest they should be cut off by the Christians who had scaled
the heights on their flanks, they seized the women and children, who
soon were lost to each other's sight in the skurry of the retiring
host. The hands of Constantine were tied about the neck, and his legs
about the loins, of a huge Moslem, to whose keeping he had been
committed. An arrow pierced the soldier to the heart.
It seemed as if more than keenness of eye--some inspiration of his
fatherly instinct--led Kabilovitsch on through the vast confusion, far
down the slope, outrunning the fugitives and their pursuers, avoiding
contact with any one by leaping from rock to rock and darting like a
serpent through secret by-paths, until he reached the horsemen of the
Turks, who had not been able to follow the foot-soldiers up the steep
ascent. He knew that his little girl would be given in charge to some
one of these. He, therefore, concealed himself in the growing darkness
behind a clump of evergreen trees, close to which one must pass in
order to reach the horses. A moment later, with the stealth and the
strength of a panther, he leaped upon a Turk. The man let go the tiny
form of the girl he was carrying; but, before he could assume an
attitude of defence, the iron grip of Kabilovitsch was upon his
throat, and the steel of the infuriated old man in his heart. Under
the sheltering darkness, carrying his rescued child, Kabilovitsch
threaded his way along ledges and balconies of rock projecting so
slightly from the precipitous mountain that they would have been
discerned, even in daylight, by no eye less expert than his own. At
one place his way was blocked by a dead body which had fallen from the
ledge above, and been caught by the tangled limbs of the mountain
laurel. Without relinquishing his load, he pushed with his foot the
lifeless mass down through the entanglement, and listened to the
snapping of the bushes and the crashing of loosened stones, until the
heavy thud announced that it had found a resting place.
"So God rest his soul, be he Christian or Paynim!" muttered the old
man. "And now, my child, are you frighted?"
"No, father, not when you are with me," said Morsinia.
"Could you stand close to the rock, and hold very tight to the bush,
if I leave you a moment?"
"Yes, father, I will hold to the bush as tight as it holds to the
rock."
Kabilovitsch grasped a root of laurel, and, testing it with main
strength, swung clear of the ledge, until his foot rested upon another
ledge nearly the length of his body below. Bracing himself so that he
spanned the interval with the strength of a granite pillar, he bade
the child crawl cautiously in the direction of his voice. As she
touched his hands, he lifted her with perfect poise, and placed her
feet beside his own on a broad table rock.
"Now, blessed be Jesu, we are safe! Did I not tell you I would some
day take you to a cavern which no one but Milosch and I had ever seen?
Here it is. Unless Sultan Amurath hires the eagles to be his spies--as
they say he does--no eye but God's will see us here even when the sun
rises. You did not know, my little princess, what a coward your old
father had become, to run away from a battle. Did you, my darling?"
said he kissing her. "Never did I dream that Ar----, that Kabilovitsch
would fly like a frightened partridge through the bushes. But my
girl's heart has taken the place of my own to-night."
As he spoke he slipped from his shoulders the rough cape, or armless
jacket, of bear-skin, and wrapped the girl closely in it. He then
carried her beneath the roof of a little cave, where he enfolded her
in his arms, making his own back a barrier against the cutting night
wind and the whirling snow. The cold was intense. Thinking only of the
danger to the already half-benumbed and wearied body of the child, he
took off his conical cap, and unwound the many folds of coarse woollen
cloth of which it was made, and with it wrapped her limbs and feet.
Thus the night was passed. With the first streak of the dawn
Kabilovitsch crept cautiously from the ledge, and soon returned with
the news that the Turks had vanished, swept away by the tide of
Christian soldiers which was still pouring over and down the mountain
in pursuit.
Horrible was the scene which everywhere greeted them as they clambered
back toward the road. The dead were piled upon the dying in every
ravine. Red streaks seamed the white snow--channels in which the
current of many a life had drained away. The road was choked with the
hurrying victors. But the old man's familiarity with the ground found
paths which the nimble feet of the maid could climb; so that the day
was not far advanced when they stood on the site of their home.
Scarcely a trace of the little hamlet remained. Whatever could be
burned had fed the camp-fires of the preceding night. The houses had
been thrown down by the soldiers in rifling the grain bins which were
built between their outer and inner walls.
The old man sat down upon the door-stone of what had been his home.
His head dropped upon his bosom. Morsinia stood by his side, her arm
about his neck, and her cheek pressed close to his, so that her bright
golden hair mingled with his gray beard--as in certain mediæval
pictures the artist expresses a pleasing fancy in hammered work of
silver and gold. They scarcely noticed that a group of horsemen, more
gaily uniformed than the ordinary soldiers, had halted and were
looking at them.
"By the eleven thousand virgins of Coln! I never saw a more unique
picture than that," said one who wore a skull cap of scarlet, while an
attendant carried his heavy helmet. "If Masaccio were with us I would
have him paint that scene for our new cathedral at Milano, as an
allegory of the captivity in Babylon."
"Rather of the captivity in Avignon. It would be a capital
representation of the Holy Father and his daughter the Church,"
replied a companion laughing. "Only I would have the painter insert
the portrait of your eminence, Cardinal Julian, as delivering them
both."
"That would not be altogether unhistoric; for the deliverance was not
wholly wrought until our time," replied the cardinal, evidently
gratified with the flattering addition which his comrade, King
Vladislaus, had made to his pleasing conceit. "But if to-day's victory
be as thorough as it now looks, and we drive the Turks out of Europe,
it would serve as a picture of the captivity in which the haughty,
half-infidel emperor of the Greeks and his daughter, Byzantium, will
soon be to Rome."
"But, by my crown," said Vladislaus, "and with due reverence for the
great cardinal under whose cap is all the brain that Rome can now
boast of--I think the Greeks will find as much spiritual desolation in
Mother Church as these worthy people have about them here."
"I can pardon that speech to the newly baptized king of half-barbarian
Hungary, when I would not shrive another for it," replied Julian
petulantly. "The son of a pagan may be allowed much ignorance
regarding the mystery of the Holy See. But a truce to our badgering!
Let us speak to this old fellow. Good man, is this your house? By
Saint Catherine! the girl is beautiful, your highness."
"It was my home, Sire, yesterday, but now it is his that wants it,"
replied Kabilovitsch.
"And where do you go now?" asked the cardinal.
"Towards God's gate, Sire; and I wish I might see it soon, but for
this little one," said the old man, rising.
"Holy Peter let you in when you get there," rejoined His Eminence,
turning his horse away.
"Hold! Cardinal," replied the king. "I am surprised at that speech
from you. You have tried to teach me by lectures for a fortnight past
that Rome has temporal as well as spiritual authority, all power on
earth as well as in heaven. Now, by Our Lady! you ought to help this
good man over his earthly way towards God's gate, as well as wish him
luck when he gets there. But the priest preaches, and leaves the laity
to do the duties of religion. Credit me with a good Christian deed to
balance the many bad ones you remember against me, Cardinal, and I
will help the man. The golden hair of the child against the old man's
head were as good an aureole as ever a saint wore. And that Holy Peter
knows, if the Cardinal does not. Ho, Olgard! Take the lass on the
saddle with you. And, old man, if you will keep close with your
daughter, you will find as good provision behind the gate of
Philippopolis as that in heaven, if report be true. And, by Saint
Michael! if we go dashing down the mountain at this rate we will vault
the walls of that rich Moslem town as easily as the devil jumped the
gate of Paradise."
Kabilovitsch trudged by the side of Olgard, who held Morsinia before
him. It was hard for the old man to keep from under the hoofs of the
horses as the attendant knights crowded together down the narrow and
tortuous descent. Suddenly the girl uttered a cry, and, clapping her
hands, called,
"Constantine, Constantine!"
The missing lad, emerging from a copse, stood for an instant in
amazement at the apparition of his little playmate; then dashed among
the crowd toward her.
"Drat the witch!" said a knight--between the legs of whose horse the
boy had gone--aiming at him a blow with his iron mace. Constantine
would have been trampled by the crowding cavalcade, had not the strong
hand of a trooper seized him by his ragged jacket and lifted him to
the horse's crupper.
"So may somebody save my own lad in the mountains of Carpathia!" said
the rough, but kindly soldier.
"Ay, the angels will bear him up in their hands, lest he even dash his
foot against a stone, for thy good deed," exclaimed a monk, who, with
hood thrown back, and almost breathless with the effort to rescue the
lad himself, had reached him at the same moment.
"Good Father, pray for me!" said the trooper, crossing himself.
"Ay, with grace," replied the monk, extricating himself from the
crowd, and hasting back to the side of a wounded man, whom his
comrades were carrying on a stretcher which had been extemporized with
an old cloak tied securely between two stout saplings.
As night darkened down, the plain at the base of the mountain burst
into weird magnificence with a thousand campfires. The Turks were in
full retreat toward Adrianople, and joy reigned among the Christians.
It was the eve of Christmas. The stars shone with rare brilliancy
through the cold clear atmosphere.
"The very heavens return the salutation of our beacons," said King
Vladislaus.
A trumpet sounded its shrill and jubilant note, which was caught up by
others, until the woods and fields and the mountain sides were flooded
with the inarticulate song, as quickly as the first note of a bird
awakens the whole matin chorus of the summer time.
Cardinal Julian, reining his horse at the entrance to the camp,
listened as he gazed--
"'And with the angel there was a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God!' Let us accept the joy of this eve of the birth of our
Lord as an omen of the birth of Christian power to these lands, which
have so long lain in the shadow of Moslem infidelity and Greek heresy.
Our camps yonder flash as the sparks which flew from the apron of the
Infant Jesu and terrified the devil.[12] Sultan Amurath has been
scorched this day, though the infernal fiend lodge in his skin, as I
verily believe he does."
"Amurath was not in personal command to-day. At least so I am told,"
replied Vladislaus. "He is occupied with a rebellion of the
Caramanians in Asia. Carambey, the Sultan's sister's husband, led the
forces at the beginning of the fight. He was captured in the bog, and
is now in safe custody with the Servian Despot, George Brankovich.
Hunyades and the Despot have been bargaining for his possession. But
the real commandant, as I have learned from prisoners--at least he was
present at the beginning of the fight--was Scanderbeg."
"Scanderbeg?" exclaimed Julian with great alarm. "What! the Albanian
traitor, Castriot?--Iscariot, rather, should be his name--This then,
Your Majesty, is no night for revelry; but for watching. The flight of
the enemy, if Scanderbeg leads them, is only to draw us into a net.
What if before morning, with the Balkans behind us, we should be
assaulted with fresh corps of Turks on the front? There is no
fathoming the devices of Scanderbeg's wily brain. And never yet has
he been defeated, except to wrest the better victory out of seeming
disaster. Does General Hunyades know the antagonist he is dealing
with? that it is not some bey or pasha, nor even the Sultan himself,
but Scanderbeg? I have heard Hunyades say that since the days of
Saladin, the Moslems have not had a leader so skilful as that Albanian
renegade: that a glance of his eye has more sagacity in it than the
deliberations of a Divan:[13] and that not a score of knights could
stand against his bare arm. We must see Hunyades."
"I confess," replied King Vladislaus, "that I liked not the easy
victory we have had. I would have sworn to prevent a myriad foes
climbing the ice road we travelled yesterday, if I had but a company
of pikemen; yet ten thousand Turkish veterans kept us not back; and
they were led by Scanderbeg! There is mystery here. Jesu prevent it
should be the mystery of death to us all! Let's to Hunyades! If only
your wisdom or prayers, Cardinal, could reclaim Scanderbeg to his
Christian allegiance, I would not fear Sultan Amurath, though he were
the devil's pope, with the keys of death and hell in his girdle."
Hunyades was found with the advance corps of the Christians. But for
his white armor he could scarcely be distinguished from some subaltern
officer, as he moved among the men, inspecting the details of their
encampment. The contrast of the commander-in-chief with the kingly and
the ecclesiastical soldier was striking. He listened quietly to their
surmises and fears, and replied with as little of their excitement as
if he spoke of a new armor-cleaner:
"Yes! we shall probably have a raid from Scanderbeg before morning.
But we are ready for him. Do you look well to the rear, King
Vladislaus! And do you, Cardinal, marshal a host of fresh Latin
prayers for the dying; for, if Scanderbeg gets among your Italians,
their saffron skins will bleach into ghosts for fright of him."
The cardinal's face grew as red as his cap, as he replied:
"But for loyalty to our common Christian cause, and the example of
subordination to our chief, I would answer that taunt as it deserves."
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Vide Apochryphal Gospels.
[13] Divan; the Turkish Council of State.