CHAPTER VIII.

THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR.

On the 17th March, six days after Héderváry's imploring cry for help, three after his return, one enormous division of Mongols was in the neighbourhood of Pest, while another was in front of Vácz (Waitzen), a town twenty miles to the north.

That morning very early, Paul Héderváry and Ugrin, the Archbishop of Kalócsa, had sallied forth unknown to anyone, to satisfy themselves as to whether the scattered parties of Mongols who had been seen several times beneath the very walls of Pest, were mere bands of brigands, or whether they were part of Batu Khan's army. Paul was a daring, not to say foolhardy man, and it was not the first time he had been out to reconnoitre, taking only Libor and a few horsemen with him. Of course, he wanted Libor this morning, but the governor, being with all his valour a discreet person, was not forthcoming, was indeed not to be found anywhere, much to Paul's vexation.

Paul and the Archbishop therefore rode quietly out together, accompanied by no more than half a dozen men-at-arms, and they had not been riding a quarter of an hour before they caught sight of a party of horsemen coming towards them through the grey dawn. There seemed to be some three or four score of them, and they might be some of the expected troops arriving; it was impossible to tell in the dim half-light, and Paul and his companion drew behind some rising ground to make sure. They had not long to wait before they saw that these were no friends, however, but an advance body of Mongols cautiously and quietly moving forward. To engage them was out of the question, and the two at once agreed to turn back without attracting attention, if possible. But they had no sooner left their shelter than a perfect hurricane of wild cries showed that they had been observed.

Fortunately for them, their horses were fresh and in good condition, while those of the Mongols were sorry jades at the best, and worn out besides. The Hungarians, therefore, reached the city in safety, though hotly pursued, and they at once presented themselves before the King, who had risen very early that morning, and was already at work in his cabinet.

"Why, Ugrin, how is this?" said Béla, rising to meet the Archbishop, "armed from head to foot so early? and you, too, Héderváry? Where do you come from? I see you are dusty!"

"Your Majesty," began Ugrin, one of the most daring of men, in spite of his office, "Héderváry and I have been riding in the neighbourhood, and we chanced upon the Tartars!"

"Did you see many?"

"The advance guard, with a whole division behind."

"We have only our horses to thank for it that we are here now," added Héderváry.

"Have not I forbidden all provoking of encounters until we have all our troops assembled?" said the King.

"And there was no provocation--on our part," replied Ugrin, in anything but an amiable tone; "but if we don't get information for ourselves as to the enemy's movements----"

The King cut him short. "I know all about them!" said he, "more than you gentlemen do."

Ugrin and Héderváry shrugged their shoulders, and both put the King's coolness down to irresolution, or even fear.

"I know," said the King, "that they have not only approached our towns, but that at this moment they are before Vácz, if they have not stormed it."

"Before Vácz!" exclaimed Ugrin, "and your Majesty is still waiting! waiting now! when one bold stroke might annihilate them before the Khan himself comes up."

"Batu is close at hand," said the King, "and if we don't wish to risk all, we must be prudent, and act only on the defensive until the rest of the troops arrive."

"Ah!" cried Ugrin, forgetting for a moment the respect due to the King, "I suppose your Majesty means to wait until Vácz is in flames! By Heaven! I won't wait--not if I perish for it!"

As he spoke, Ugrin turned on his heel and abruptly left the room. Possibly the rattle of his armour and the clank of his sword prevented the King's hearing clearly his last words; but he called to him in a tone of command, and ordered him not to leave the city.

"Make haste and stop him, Paul," said Béla, as the door closed behind the Archbishop, and Héderváry hurried to obey; but his own horse had been taken to the stables with a Mongol arrow in its back, while Ugrin's was on the spot, being walked up and down in front of the palace. The Archbishop had the start of him therefore, for he had rushed down the steps, mounted, and dashed off like a whirlwind, before Héderváry could catch him up.

"Let him go!" said the King, "let him go!" he repeated, walking up and down the room. He had left his private cabinet now for a larger room, in which, notwithstanding the early hour, many of the nobles were already assembled; for the news of Ugrin's and Héderváry's encounter had spread like wildfire, and all were impatient to be doing something.

"We must double the guards and keep the troops ready; but no one is to venture out of the city," said the King, and his words fell like scalding water upon the ears of those who heard them.

For it was always the Hungarian way to face danger at once, without stopping to realise fully its gravity, or to give courage and energy time to evaporate.

"My orders do not please you, I know, gentlemen," the King said, with dignity, "but when danger is near, blood should be cool. If we waste our strength in small engagements, the enemy's numbers, the one advantage he has over us, will make our efforts entirely useless. No! let him exhaust his strength, while we are gathering ours, and as soon as we have a respectable army, myself will lead it in person!"

No one was satisfied; but Héderváry the Palatine was alone in venturing to say a word, and he spoke firmly though respectfully.

He had had more actual experience of the Mongols than anyone else, and submitted that, though their strength lay chiefly in their numbers, yet that this was not the whole of it, for they were exceedingly cunning, and he believed their object just now was to cut off the reinforcements before they could reach the place of rendezvous. If so, then an attack quickly delivered would be of the greatest service.

"Besides," he concluded, "I suspect that the Archbishop of Kalócsa has led his 'banderium' out against them, and we can't leave him unsupported."

"The brave bishop will soon settle the filthy wretches!" cried a young Forgács who was standing near.

With a reproving look at the young man, the King turned to the Palatine and said gravely, "I expressly forbade the Archbishop to leave Pest, and I cannot therefore believe that he has done so! If he has--well, he must reap as he has sown! I am not going to risk all for the madness of one. But you are right, Palatine, there is no more cunning people on the face of this earth! Isn't it more likely that they want to deceive us and entice us away from our defences, by sending forward these comparatively small bodies of men?"

The Palatine shook his head, urging that a great part of the country was already laid waste, that fear was paralysing everyone, and that it was no time to wait when danger was actually in their midst and threatening the very capital.

And so the discussion went on, a few holding with the King, but the more part with the Palatine.

But the King had heard the same arguments so often before that they had ceased to make any impression upon him. His resolution was taken to await the arrival of Duke Friedrich of Austria, whom he knew to be on the way, and whom he confidently believed to be at the head of a considerable body of troops, from whom Béla expected great things. They would at least set his own army a good example in the matter of discipline, and this was much needed; and that army, too, was growing day by day, surely if slowly, though the greater part was ill-armed.

The discussion ended with the King's reiterated orders that no one should go outside the city, and the nobles went their several ways, giving free vent to their disapproval and impatience, and helping thus to spread mistrust of the King's judgment. For all that, most of them were confident of victory as soon as the army should be put in motion, and some went so far as to expect no less than the immediate annihilation of the Mongol bands in the vicinity, at the hands of Ugrin.

Crowds filled the streets, and reports of all sorts were flying about the city.

The Archbishop had met the enemy and defeated him!

Some watchman on one of the towers had seen the Archbishop cut down a Mongol leader, and great part of the Mongols were lying dead on the ground!

More important still, he had felled Batu Khan himself with one blow of his battle-axe!

So it went on all day till late in the evening, when suddenly the news spread that the Archbishop was coming back, but--with only three or four of his men with him! And while the people in the streets were talking together with bated breath, a man rushed into their midst, covered with blood and dust.

"What has happened? Where are you from?" they asked, not at first recognising the furrier, a man belonging to Pest, and well known there.

"Water!" whispered the new-comer, bowing his head on his breast. "Water! I don't know how I got here! Water, quick!"

Several of the crowd hurried off for water, and when he had quenched his thirst, some of them began to wash the blood from his face and to bind up his wounds.

"Ah! they are no matter!" he gasped, "one may get such cuts as these any day in a tavern brawl, but--I'm--done for!"

By the help of a wooden flask of wine the man presently revived enough to satisfy the curiosity of the bystanders, though he still looked terrified.

"I have come straight from Vácz--my horse fell down under me. I was pursued by Tartars--a score of arrows hit the poor beast--three went through my cap and tore the skin off my head!"

"But what is going on in Vácz? they have beaten off the Tartars, eh?"

"There _is_ no Vácz!" said the man, with an involuntary shudder through all his limbs.

All were too dumfounded to utter even an exclamation. They had believed that their troops had but to show themselves, and the Mongols would be scattered.

"The walls of Vácz stand staring up to heaven, as black as soot," the man went on. "The people defended themselves to the last, ay, to the last, for hardly a hundred out of them all have escaped!"

"But the church--there are moats to it, and new walls----" began one of the bystanders.

"There _were_!" said the furrier, "there were! there is nothing left now! The clergy, and the old men, with the women and children, took refuge there, and all the valuables were taken there; even the women fought--but it was no good!"

"Did the Tartars take it?" inquired several at once, beneath their breath.

"They stormed it, took it, plundered it, murdered every soul and then set fire to it; it may be burning still! Their horrible yells! they are ringing in my ears now!" and the furrier shuddered again.

But at that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted from him by a commotion going on at a little distance, and they pressed forward to see what it meant, but soon came back, making all the haste they could to get out of the way of some heavy cavalry, armed from head to foot, and preceded by six trumpeters, who were advancing down the street.

"The Austrians!" said some of the more knowing, as Duke Friedrich and his brilliant train passed on straight to the King's palace, where his arrival was so unexpected that no one was in readiness to receive him.

Events and rumours had followed one another so quickly that day, that the whole population was in a state of excitement; but there was more to come, and the Duke was hardly out of sight, when a Magyar horseman galloped up, the foam dropping from his horse, which was covered with blood. Its rider seemed to be so beside himself with terror as not to know what he was doing, and as the crowd flocked round him, he shouted, "Treachery! the King has left us in the lurch! Ugrin and his troops--overwhelmed by the Tartars!"

With that he galloped on till he reached the bank of the Danube, where his horse fell under him, and when they hastened to the rider's assistance, they found only a dead body.

In spite of the King's commands, Ugrin had led his troops out, and had daringly attacked the bands of Mongols who had approached Pest to reconnoitre. Many of them he had cut down with his own hand, and the rest he had put to flight and was pursuing, when, just as he came up with them, the Mongols reached a morass. This did not stop them, however, with their small, light horses. On they went at breakneck speed, and he followed, without guessing that he was already on the edge of the marshy ground until the treacherous green surface gave way beneath the heavy Hungarian horses, which floundered, lost their footing, and sank helplessly up to their knees, up to their ears, unable to extricate themselves.

And then the Mongols turned upon them, as was their wont, and poured a perfect storm of arrows upon the defenceless troopers. Ugrin and four others managed to dismount and cast away their heavy armour; and, with only their battle-axes in their hands, they succeeded at last by superhuman efforts in wading through the marsh, and so reached Pest, pursued by the Mongols, and leaving corpses to mark their track all the way, almost to the gate.

The people were aghast at the intelligence, and they set to work to blame the King!

He was blamed by Ugrin in the first place--Ugrin, who had nothing but his own madness to thank for the disaster! He was blamed by the mob, who were ready to see treachery everywhere; and above all, he was blamed by Duke Friedrich, surnamed the "Streitbare," for his valour!

The King bore all, and worked on. All night he was on horseback, seeing to the fortifications, urging the workmen to redoubled vigour.

And while he was thus engaged, what was going on in the army?

It is hardly credible, but is nevertheless a fact, that blind self-confidence, whether real or feigned, held possession of the camp. The troops and their leaders spent the night for the most part in revelry, while the sentries on the walls mocked at such of the Mongols as came near enough and let fly their arrows at them.

Early in the morning Duke Friedrich was on horseback, after a previous argument with the King, in which he had made light of the invasion, and called it mere child's play, easily dealt with, and then he led the small body of men he had brought with him out of the city. A small body it was, to Béla's bitter disappointment. He had expected something like an army, and the Duke had brought about as many men in his train as he would have done if he had come to a hunting party!

Such as they were, he led them forth on this eventful morning to have a brush with the Mongols, whose advance guard retired, according to custom, as soon as they caught sight of the well-armed, well-mounted, well-trained band. The Duke was cautious. He meant to do something, if only to show Pest how easy it was; and when he presently returned with a couple of horses and one prisoner, he had his reward in the acclamations with which the populace received him. The success of the valorous Duke was belauded on all sides, and some compared the daring warrior with the prudent King, not to the advantage of the latter.

The prisoner was taken before the King, and, as ill-luck would have it, he proved to be a Kun; worse still, he said among other things, that there were many Kunok in Batu's camp.

They had been forced to join him; but the news spread through the town, exciting the people more than ever, and it was openly asserted by many that the Kunok were in league with the Mongols, and that Kuthen was a traitor, who had managed to ingratiate himself with King Béla only that he might prepare the way for the enemy.