CHAPTER XIX.

FATHER ROGER'S STORY.

A day or two passed, and the good Father Roger began to recover a little of his strength, if not much of his cheerfulness. He was naturally a robust man, and he was, besides, inured to hardship and suffering; there was nothing actually amiss with him but extreme fatigue and want of food, so that after a few quiet nights and days he began to feel more like himself, and able to give some account of all that had happened since Aunt Orsolya and the rest had betaken themselves to the cavern.

The men, of course, had some of them been going out more or less all the time, hunting, or--as we have said, stealing, but the accounts they had brought back had been not only imperfect, but often so contradictory that it was hard for the refugees to form any clear idea of what had really been going on, and, naturally enough, they were intensely eager to hear.

No one was more eager than Aunt Orsolya, and it cost her no small effort to repress her curiosity, or rather anxiety; but she did it, and not only forbore to question Roger herself, but strictly forbade everyone else to do so also.

But as soon as she saw that the Canon was able to walk about a little, that his appetite was good, and that he was gradually regaining his usual calm, she reminded him of his promise; and one evening they all gathered round him in the firelight to hear the story which he afterwards wrote in Latin verse, and to which he gave the title of "Carmen miserabile," or "Lamentable Song."

Roger began his narration by telling of the battle of Mohi and the King's escape to Thurócz; and Orsolya heard with pride how Stephen, Peter, and Akos Szirmay had shared his flight, how Stephen had fallen by the way, and how Master Peter had survived all the perils and dangers by which they were beset, and how Akos, too, had not only survived the Kun massacre, but was safe and sound when last the Canon had heard of him, and had distinguished himself by many an act of bravery and devotion; and the old lady's eyes grew very bright as she listened, and she put out her hand to stroke that of the pale, slim girl who sat beside her, eagerly drinking in every word. Father Roger's information came from the captives brought in at different times, and stopped short, so far as the King and his followers were concerned, at the time when they had taken refuge in the island of Bua, and Kajdán had found himself baffled in his pursuit. To indemnify himself for the loss of his prey, he had plundered Dalmatia, Croatia, and Bosnia, had vainly stormed Ragusa, and had set fire to Cattaro. The last Father Roger knew of him was that he had turned east and was expected to join Batu in Moldavia, by way of Albania, Servia, and Bulgaria.

The name of Kajdán was not unknown to the refugees, for it was he who had led the Mongol horde which had poured into Transylvania from the north-east; it was he, or rather probably only his vanguard, who had been defeated by the men of Radna; it was he who had suddenly attacked them in force on March 31st, when they were gaily celebrating their victory; it was he who had consented to leave their town and mines uninjured on the condition that Ariskald, their Count, should act as his guide. It was he, as Father Roger knew too well, who had crossed into Hungary and joined Batu in reducing it to a desert; for his own cathedral city, Grosswardein (Nagyvárad) was one of the many places which Kajdán had captured.

"And about yourself, Father Roger?" asked Orsolya. "Tell us about yourself, where you were taken, and how you escaped with your life."

"I had fled from Nagyvárad before Kajdán reached it, and was a fugitive, hiding in the woods, living on roots and herbs and wild fruits until the autumn, and then--I was deceived as others were!"

Father Roger went on to explain that Batu, by way of keeping those of the inhabitants who had not yet fled, and of luring back some who had, in order that the harvest might be secured, had issued a proclamation in the King's name.

"But how?" interrupted Orsolya. "You were deceived! Can he write our tongue? Besides, the King's proclamations have the King's seal."

"And so had this! They--they got hold of it."

"And knew what it was?" persisted Aunt Orsolya incredulously.

Reluctantly Father Roger had to admit that they had been enlightened by a Hungarian.

"A Magyar!" burst from his audience in various tones of horror and indignation.

"There were not many like him, I am sure there were not many--perhaps we don't know everything. He saved my life; I don't like to think too ill of him--it was a time of awful trial--ah! if you had seen how some were tortured! It was enough to try the courage of the stoutest heart, and he was not naturally a brave man. And yet I could not have believed it of him! I can't believe it! There must have been some mistake, surely!"

"You had known him before, the traitor!" cried Aunt Orsolya.

"Yes," said Father Roger sadly, "I had known him. He had joined the Mongols before the battle of Mohi, partly because he was poor, or rather because he was afraid of being poor, and partly because he was frightened. He had been useful to the Mongols on many occasions; and he had grown rich and prosperous among them. No one of the chiefs outdid him in splendour, in the number of his servants, or of his beautiful horses. He, too, had been made a chief, a Knéz, as they called it. Well, Nicholas the Chancellor was among the many who fell at Mohi, and a Mongol, who was plundering the dead, found upon him the King's seal. This chanced to come to--to this man's ears, and he thought it might be useful; it was easy for him to get possession of it, for it was not valuable, being only of steel. He gave the Mongol a stolen sheep in exchange, and the man thought himself well paid. I don't suppose he had any thought then of putting his prize to any ill use; but he was one of those who never missed an opportunity, and generally managed to secure for himself the lion's share of any booty. However it was, he had the seal, and now----"

Father Roger paused, perhaps from weariness; perhaps because it was never his way to speak evil of any if it could be avoided.

"Don't let us judge him," he went on. "The poor wretch had seen enough to terrify a bolder man than he. He went to the Khan and advised him what to do, and Batu gave him a valuable Tartar sword, and a splendid horse in return."

Father Roger explained that among the prisoners there were many monks and others able to write, and that some of these were "compelled" by Batu to draw up and make copies of a proclamation in the King's name. Every copy was sealed with the King's seal, and they were distributed broadcast over the country. He had seen more than one copy himself, and more than once he had been called upon to read it to those who were unable to read for themselves.

This was how the proclamation ran: "Fear not the savage fury of the dogs! and do not dare to fly from your homes. We were somewhat over hasty indeed in abandoning the camp and our tents, but by the mercy of God we hope to renew the war valiantly before long, and to regain all that we have lost. Pray diligently therefore to the all-merciful God that He may grant us the heads of our enemies."

There was nothing of the Mongol about this, and any lingering doubts were, dispelled by the sight of the King's seal. The result was what the Mongols hoped for. In places which had not yet been harried and ravaged the population remained, while many refugees returned to their farms.

"But the traitor!" interrupted Orsolya, "what of him? Where is he? If there is such a thing as justice----"

"He was made one of the hundred chief magistrates," said Father Roger quietly, "and one day when he was in Nagyvárad, after my return, he recognised me and offered to take me into his service. He could protect me better, he said."

"But his name! Who is he? One ought to know who are traitors! Where had you known him before?" persisted Orsolya.

"At Master Stephen Szirmay's! He was one of his pages. His name was Libor."

Dora and Talabor both uttered an exclamation.

"He lived with my nephew Stephen! and he could turn traitor!" cried Aunt Orsolya in horror.

"Yes, dear lady, he was not the only Magyar to do so! But there were not many, no! indeed there were not many."

"And why couldn't they have died, every one of them!" cried Orsolya, impetuously.

"Ah! who knows?" said Father Roger gently. "Who knows? But he did not think matters would go as far as they did; no, I am sure he did not!"

It was not in Father Roger's nature to think the worst of any, still less of one to whom he owed his life, and he knew nothing of the attack on Master Peter's house or of the despicable part which Libor had played with regard to Dora, or he would have spoken less leniently.

Libor had "climbed the cucumber-tree" to some purpose; and this last service rendered to the Khan had won for him the praise of Batu and all the chiefs, who called him one of themselves. He had reached the pinnacle of greatness, his fortune was made.

The Hungarian prisoners came to him for his advice and assistance, and Libor always received them with the kindly condescension of a great man, and was always ready with fair words and empty assurances to allay their fears.

Late in the autumn, and without any previous intimation to anyone, came an order to Libor and all the other chief magistrates that they were to assemble on a certain day at various appointed spots, each at the head of the entire population for which he was responsible. They were to come with their old and with their young, and they were to be provided with presents for the Khan.

It was a gloomy day, and the storm-clouds were chasing one another across the sky, as if they, too, were going to hold a rendezvous somewhere, to consult perhaps how many thunderbolts would be required to reduce the country to a heap of ruins.

Batu Khan's tent was pitched in the centre of a vast plain, and round it were gathered a large number of Mongols, some mounted, some on foot. In the background, making a terrific noise, were a swarm of filthy Mongol children, who were lying about under a group of tall trees.

The mud huts and numberless tents of the Mongol camp formed an extended semicircle at some little distance, and within this were drawn up a number of Mongol horsemen, quite unconcerned apparently at the blackness of the sky and the distant muttering of the thunder.

Batu Khan was seated on a camp-stool brilliantly attired as if for some great ceremony. Around him stood more than thirty chiefs, armed from head to foot, and among them was Libor, who had surpassed himself in the magnificence of the apparel which he had assumed in honour of the day's festivity.

He stood on the Khan's right hand, and more than once had the honour of being addressed by that personage; behind him, as behind the other chiefs, stood a swarm of servants, their ears--if they were still lucky enough to possess such appendages--ever attentive to catch the commands of their masters. Father Roger had been present in Libor's retinue on this occasion, a slave among slaves.

Presently the wild Mongolian "band" struck up. Its members were a motley crew, stationed before the Khan's tent, and their songs were of the most ear-splitting variety, accompanied too by the dull roll of drums and the screeching of pipes and horns, the whole performance being such as to baffle description, and to be compared only with the choicest of cats' concerts.

The "music" seemed to be intended as a welcome to a white-flagged procession which now appeared in the distance, advancing towards the Khan, every member heavily laden. It consisted in fact of the whole population of some two hundred villages and hamlets, from the district of which Libor was chief magistrate.

Meanwhile, Father Roger had brought round Libor's horse, magnificently caparisoned, and at the first burst of music, the Knéz mounted and galloped off, followed, in obedience to his haughty signal, by a couple of armed Mongols, the Mongol chiefs meanwhile looking on with envious eyes. They were not too well pleased with the Tartar-Magyar's rise to favour.

Libor galloped across the plain to meet the new-comers, who bowed down before him as if he had been a god, and then rising again at his command, followed him to the camp, where he drew them up in a long line; after which he hurried back to the Khan, dismounted, and announced that his people had brought him such gifts as they could, and only awaited his orders.

The Khan's wide mouth grew wider still as he smiled from ear to ear, and showed two perfect rows of sharp-pointed teeth; but the smile was like that of an ogre, and such as might have made some people rather uneasy, though not, of course, anyone who was such a favourite and in such an exalted position as Libor.

"That's well," said the Khan; and then, turning from him, he muttered something to the other chiefs which escaped Libor's ears or comprehension, though he had done his best to acquire the miserable language spoken by his master.

The next moment a large detachment of Mongols had stepped forth from behind the tents, and moving forward swiftly, but in perfect silence, had advanced towards the rear of the Hungarians. Others at the same time came from behind the Khan's tent, and in a few seconds the white flags were hemmed in before and behind.

Libor, who had looked upon the whole ceremony as merely one of the usual devices for squeezing the unfortunate people, was plainly startled, nay terrified, by this sudden movement, and his astonishment and discomfiture did not escape the sharp eyes of Batu.

"These proceedings are not quite to your taste, eh, Knéz?" said he, with a tigerish grin.

And the wretched Libor, bowing almost to the earth, made hurried answer, "How could I possibly take amiss anything that his Highness the Khan, my lord and master, may choose to do?"

"I thought as much, my faithful Knéz! Make haste then, and see that all that these folk have brought is taken from them, and then--have them all cut down together!"

Libor turned pale as death, but he knew his master; he knew that the slightest remonstrance, the slightest demur even, would be at the risk of his life. He bowed more deeply than before, and staggered away to give the signal for the plunder and massacre of his own people.

The wind had suddenly risen to a hurricane, and was filling the air with dust; the thunder pealed; but above the howling of the one and the roaring of the other, there rose one long, long cry, and then all was still.

Libor returned, trembling, shaking, to the Khan, the gracious Khan, whose favourite he was, who had honoured him to such an extent as to provoke the jealousy of the Mongol chiefs; who had enriched him, and had distinguished him above all the rest. He had faithfully obeyed the Khan's orders, though, with a bleeding heart; and now, holding as he did the first place among those who formed Batu's retinue, he was secure as to his own miserable life, for who would dare to lift hand against him?

The Khan received him on his return with the same enigmatical smile, which seemed just now to be stereotyped on his lips.

When the dust-storm was past, a terrible spectacle presented itself. Thousands of corpses lay upon the ground; and among the men, who were quite worn out by their murderous work, were to be seen Mongol women and children, seated upon the bodies of their victims, their hands stained with blood.

"A few thousand bread eaters the less!" exclaimed Batu, in high good humour, "and if my orders are as well carried out in other parts of the country as they have been by you, Libor, my faithful Knéz, there won't be many left to share the rich harvest and vintage with us."

Libor said nothing, for his lips were twitching and quivering convulsively.

"By the way, Libor," the Khan went on pleasantly, "it has just struck me, what present have you yourself brought, my faithful servant?"

"All that I possess belongs to your Highness, mighty Khan," said Libor, trembling.

"Excellent man!" replied Batu, and turning to one of the chiefs standing by, he addressed him in particular, saying gently, "See now, and take example by this excellent man, who has made me a present of all that he has!"

The chief to whom these words were spoken cast a furious glance at the favourite.

"All you possess is mine, eh, Libor?" Batu went on, "all, even your life, isn't it?"

Libor bowed.

"Oh, how faithful he is!" exclaimed the Khan, addressing the same chief as before, and speaking in the same good-natured tone. "I know the loyalty of this trusty Knéz of ours is a thorn in your eyes! and I know that there are some of you daring enough even to have doubts of his splendid fidelity and obedience! Wretches, take example by Libor the Knéz!"

So saying, the Khan rose from his seat, and cried in a loud, shrill voice, "Take this devoted servant and hang him on the tree yonder opposite my tent!"

If a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet Libor could not have been more terror-stricken. He threw himself on his face before the Khan, but his voice was strangled in his throat, and he could not utter a word; all that he was able to do was to wring his hands, and raise them imploringly towards his awful master.

And the Khan--burst into a loud fit of laughter!

Another moment and Libor the favourite, the envied--whom the other chiefs were ready enough to speed upon his way--Libor was hanging to a lofty willow-tree and tossing to and fro in the stormy wind.

Batu Khan presented one of Libor's horses--a lame one--to Bajdár; and the rest of the ex-favourite's very considerable property he kept for himself.

(Bajdár, it may be remembered, though, of course, neither Father Roger nor Talabor were aware of the fact, had been of the party which had attacked Master Peter's house, and we may readily guess how he had earned this handsome reward.)

Orsolya gave a sigh of satisfaction as Father Roger finished his story.

"There is one traitor less in the world," said she, "and he might think himself lucky that he was only hanged! It was an easy death compared with many!"

And she said the same thing, yet more emphatically, when she heard from Dora and Talabor of their experiences at the hands of the Magyar-Tartar-Knéz.

Gentle Father Roger sighed too, but without any satisfaction, as he thought of the youth, with whom he had lived under the same roof, and to whom, as he was fond of insisting, he and his servant owed their lives.

But when he heard all that Talabor could tell him, he was as indignant as even Orsolya could have wished; for he understood Master Peter, and saw at once what had puzzled so many, the reason why he had left Dora at home instead of sending her to the Queen, out of harm's way.