CHAPTER IV.

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.