CHAPTER XIII

CONCLUSION

The people dwelling in the mountains prayed and praised God in the midst of their peaceful habitations; only a faint echo of the terrible battle below reached their ears.

On the fourth day everything was silent. The clouds that had obscured the sky dispersed, and as the dwellers among the glaciers looked down from their mountains, lo! a great ocean extended before and around them--a serene and silent watery mirror, whose wide horizon was conterminous with the vast firmament--mountain, valley, continent, what had become of them? whither had they vanished?

The eleven glaciers were also separated by the waters, and had become eleven islands. The whole mass had sank insensibly some thousands of feet. The warmer atmosphere of the lower regions had begun to melt the layers of eternal snow, and a new life--a new vegetation--was developing. On the first spot left clear by the snow Bar Noemi planted a linden--under the shadow of which he erected his hut, and the larger the leafy tabernacle grew the greater grew Bar Noemi's family, and God's blessing grew with it.

The group of these eleven mountains form the Canary Islands. Of all that vast continent, these mountains alone remain. Their fauna and flora, the conformation of their coasts, prove that this group of islands is merely the remnant of a submerged world.

Their later discoverers perceived with astonishment that a peculiar race of people inhabited these remotely situated islands--a race hardier and comelier than the men of other nations; a race intelligent and virtuous, which adored an invisible God, was chaste in its love, simple in its life, and content with its lot. It believed in the resurrection of the body, for it embalmed its dead, and laid them in funeral vaults. Moreover, it possessed the arts, and had an alphabet of its own, unlike that of any other people in the world.

This group of islands, moreover, possessed two other most wondrous kinds of inhabitants--a race of dogs and of yellow sparrows. Singular enough, both these species of animals remain dumb in the place of their birth, as if some vow prevented them from uttering a word; but they recover their voices if removed to other climes. The tiny canary birds--those gentle, amiable, sprightly songsters come from here. This is their proper home. With us they sing as sweetly, as meltingly as once they sang in Triton's luxurious city, and many a heart has been saddened by their songs without exactly knowing why.

The linden-tree planted by Bar Noemi still stands on the island of Ferro, whence the geographers draw the first meridian. The tree, which measures 160 feet in circumference, is already two thousand years old, and whole communities repose beneath its branches. Travellers tell us that the leaves of this tree imbibe the atmospheric vapours, and then distil them upon the earth below, thus watering the waterless island night and day. Even to this day the inhabitants hold the tree holy.

Between Europe and the New World there now extends the infinity of a vast ocean, and whoever thinks about it at all must needs say to himself that a whole continent is missing there. Plato has described it; Solon has sung of it; the Arabs speak of it in their fables, and the Carthaginians forbade it to be mentioned under pain of death--what more do we want? It must have existed!

Now, however, white sails fly over it.

But often, when a calm prevails on the ocean, and the dreamy mariner is brooding over the past, wondrous phenomena reveal themselves in the heated air before his eyes. On the dun-coloured horizon appear the dim outlines of cities with towers turned upside down, whole palm-forests with their crowns reversed. Wondrous, magnificent shapes are these, of which the existing world knows nothing, and these inimitable edifices, these boldly aspiring cupolas and domes undergo the strangest metamorphoses before the eyes of the astonished seafarer, till a light breeze in an instant dissolves the whole panorama, and nothing is visible around the rocking ship but the endless, the interminable sea.

VIII

THE HOSTILE SKULLS

As this story is of a somewhat horrible character, I would duly impress it upon my more timid readers that, if possible, they had better leave it unread. If, however, they have invested their money in the book in which it appears, they might at least _not_ read it just before going to bed, for I don't want the responsibility of their nightmares on my shoulders. This, at any rate, I can say: the event recorded actually happened. The fact that I have kept it a profound secret till now does honour to my powers of self-control.

When I was a young man, a budding novelist, in fact, as my printed transgressions of that period sufficiently testify, I was much addicted to subjects of a mystic, supernatural tendency; tales of mystery, gloomy prognostications, fatal accidents, had a peculiar attraction for me. I had a shorter beard, but longer hair, a smaller experience but a larger credulity than now, _then_ it was just as well, _now_ it would not be quite as well.

I was thus a very young man when, in the course of a holiday ramble, I arrived, quite alone, at night-time, at the mansion of one of our most enlightened magnates, whom, for the sake of anonymity, I will simply call Squire Gabriel.

We had seen and heard something of each other. I was a belated traveller far from any hostelry, while he was a householder and lived by the roadside, I wanted a night's lodging, he had a castle. All these circumstances gave me a right to call upon him, and he received me right heartily, a guest, indeed, was no great rarity at _his_ house.

Squire Gabriel was reputed to be a bit of an oddity, who dearly loved his joke. He had a library, being a well-read man; he had a room full of all sorts of stuffed birds and beasts which he had himself shot, and whose names he knew; he had an expensive picture-gallery, interesting family archives, and he was very much interested in machinery--not the sort of machinery that may be applied to useful purposes, but that which serves for pure amusement, and is meant to produce startling effects. For instance, he had standing by the door an iron man, who, whenever anybody opened the door, at once raised his musket and steadily took aim at the intruder till the door was shut, when he respectfully lowered his weapon again, to the mortal terror of timid visitors. On the hall table mysterious clarionettes played all sorts of tunes whenever any one leaned his elbows on it. There was a certain chair from which it was impossible to rise up again if once you sat down again, with so firm a grip did it hold you.

I had often heard tell of these harmless jests, and was quite prepared not to be surprised by them. But Squire Gabriel did not exhibit any of his jests to me. On the contrary, his conversation was grave, and he led me into the library, introduced me to his very curious and, indeed, really valuable collection of manuscripts, and showed me his armoury, his collection of seals, to which he ingeniously attached a good many singular historical anecdotes. Indeed, I was so impressed that I begged his permission to take notes of these anecdotes.

"Certainly, do so by all means," he said, with the utmost courtesy, and, indeed, it seemed to afford him great delight to see me recording in my note-book what he had just told me of the dames and heroes of bygone days, of whom all that remained was a spur or a slipper, actually before our eyes.

What a rich source of historical information. Certainly I had no reason to regret my coming here.

Squire Gabriel had every reason to be perfectly satisfied with the interest I displayed in his historical recitals. His store, too, was absolutely inexhaustible, fresh _data_ came pouring forth every moment.

In such diversions we spent the whole evening.

At supper-time we were joined by the squire's man of business and one of his secretaries, who withdrew after the meal, and Squire Gabriel and I remained alone again.

He ordered tea to be brought into the Gothic chamber, and with the tea beside us, we may have gone on talking for a small matter of another hour or so, or, rather, he talked, but I listened.

The Gothic Room was the largest chamber in the castle wing. It derived its name from its curious old-fashioned furniture, and from a couple of mediæval niches in the Gothic style. The spacious fireplace in the centre of it was piled up with crackling logs, and close beside it were comfortable armchairs and sofas, in which we reclined at our ease and sipped our fragrant Pekoe.

The hearth was warm, the time was late, and the fatigues of travelling, I must confess, had made me so drowsy, that more than once during the cheerful conversation of my host, I caught myself in the act of resolutely inclining my head towards the cushion of the sofa.

Squire Gabriel observed my condition, and said, with a smile--

"You are very sleepy, I see."

I had no reason to be insincere, so I replied that it was the very place in which to go to sleep.

"I should not advise you to do so, however," remarked Squire Gabriel, gravely, "there is something queer about this room. I may tell you," he added, "it is not very friendly to strangers, who have even died in it now and then."

These words completely cleared slumber from my eyes.

"Ghosts visit it, perhaps?"

"It would be more correct to say they dwell in it, and they are visible day and night."

Curiosity made me quite awake now. I began to look about me.

"When I say ghosts, I would not have you imagine anything so stupid as spectres wrapped in sheets and chained with fetters. The _thing_ that is here is a perfectly simple object which can be held in your hand. Perhaps you would like to see it?"

What a question! I was immediately on my feet.

"Where's your ghost? Let me see it!"

Squire Gabriel led me to one of the niches which was covered by a green curtain, and drawing aside the curtain, pointed out to me two skulls which were covered by a round glass, and, curiously enough, were turned back to back.

I had seen something of the sort before, and was by no means inclined to recognize anything ghostly in them. They were simply fragments of a human skeleton, as little alarming as an extracted tooth, of which it never occurs to anybody to be afraid.

"These are the skulls of two brothers, the Counts Kalmanffy, to whom this property formerly belonged, and who built a wing of the castle. Their history is very tragic. They were constantly opposed to each other and wrangling about the possession of the castle, and one day, soon after a reconciliation, the elder brother suddenly invited the younger one to be his guest, and when he had well filled him with strong wine, drove a long nail into his head while he lay there in a drunken sleep. The nail is also here. A servant who was privy to the evil deed subsequently betrayed the elder brother, who was beheaded for his crime. His body they buried as usual under the place of execution, but the severed head they allowed to be buried in the family vault, where the bones of the murdered brother were also deposited. The heads of the two brothers were placed side by side in a niche, and so these mortal enemies, who could not endure each other during their life-time, were turned face to face. On one occasion, however, some one who had to do some work or other in the vault, was amazed to perceive that the heads of the two brothers were now turned back to back. The fellow was not very frightened. He had had a good deal to do with human remains, and fancied some truant rats might have effected the change, so he simply put the two skulls face to face again. Next day he went down to have another look at them, and again they were turned in the opposite direction.

"And so it went on for a whole week. The fellow turned the skulls round every day, and every night they changed their positions of their own accord. The guardian of the vault got quite ill over it. He began to pine and grow melancholy mad, till at length the young chaplain took the bull by the horns, and asked him what ailed him, or if he had anything on his mind.

"The old family retainer, with some agitation, confessed the ghostly secret, on account of which he was in a fair way of becoming a ghost himself.

"The parson was an enlightened man, and was determined to convince the superstitious old fellow that he was mistaken, so he went down into the vault himself to look at this alleged marvel.

"There, then, the two skulls were, turned back to back, and the old servant solemnly swore that the evening before he had placed them cheek by jowl.

"'Impossible,' said the clergyman. 'A lifeless body has no volition. These things are nothing but two pieces of bone, without nerves, without muscles: they _cannot_ move of their own accord.'

"And, to make his words the more impressive, he seized one of the skulls in order to lift it, and show the doubter that it was merely an inert mass, incapable of movement.

"At that very instant the skull gave the clergyman's little finger such a nip that he could scarce disengage it from its teeth.

"After that the vault remained closed, and soon afterwards the old family servant died. As for the clergyman, he carried about with him till his death the mark of the bite on his little finger.

"The matter was kept secret, and so well kept indeed, that not a soul knew a word about it until I came into possession of the property. One day, while I was rummaging about in the old library, I came across the diary of the clergyman in question, in which he described the whole case, concluding his mysterious tale with the assurance that the door of the vault had been walled up in such and such a place. Since then a granary had been built up close beside it, and the locality had been completely forgotten.

"I immediately searched for the walled-up door. It was easy to discover, it had been so minutely described, broke it open and descended into it myself, and at once discovered the two hostile skulls, just as they had been placed, turned back to back.

"I confess, despite my naturally cynical disposition of mind, I had not the courage to lift up either of them; but I had the whole slab of stone on which they reposed, raised just as it was and placed in this room.

"Since then I have had many an unbelieving guest who has taken the whole thing for a joke, and has tried to convince himself of its reality with his own eyes. Although I don't very much like jesting with this sort of thing, nevertheless when I really come upon a strong-minded man who is not afraid of running the risk of becoming melancholy mad for the rest of his days, I allow him to sleep in this room and persuade himself with his own eyes that the skulls which have been placed face to face in the evening, the next morning are found to be turned back to back again.

"This takes place regularly. My visitors are constrained to believe in this mysterious fact, and since the death of the clergyman already alluded to, none has dared to ridicule it."

Squire Gabriel could perceive from my eyes that I also had a great mind to be convinced of this mysterious circumstance with my own eyes. Show me the youth of two and twenty who would not be interested in such an enigma!

I begged and prayed him to allow me to sleep in this room, and turn the skulls face to face.

Squire Gabriel did not attempt to dissuade me. My curiosity gratified him, he lifted the globular glass, very cautiously turned the two death's heads face to face, and then covered them again with the glass.

Then he indicated the alcove where I should find my couch, wished me a good night, and left me alone.

The squire and his secretaries lived alone in the top-floor of the spacious castle. The servants slept in rooms on the ground floor. Between the Gothic room and their dormitories lay two or three halls of various sizes, so that I may be said to have been left alone in my wing, and was as far as possible from every human being.

Despite my excited fancy I had still philosophy enough left not to let any one play pranks with me. First of all I examined the walls; there was no visible means of entrance into the room. Then I thoroughly investigated the niche; it was absolutely inaccessible. It was carved out of a single slab of hard marble, and was all of a piece. The door I bolted, and then drew the sofa before it and lay down on it. I was now immediately opposite the curtained niche.

Moreover I took an additional precaution. The silk curtain which covered the niche was hitched upon some ornamental moulding, and hung down in picturesque folds. I took out my pocket-book and made a sketch of the curtain down to the very last detail.

Now, that was a very artful idea of mine.

If any being, clothed with a jacket, were to try to get at the skulls, he was bound to disturb the curtain; but the slightest contact would disturb its folds, and destroy its resemblance to the drawing of it in my pocket-book.

Then I piled some fresh logs on the fire, placed the candelabra beside me on a little one-legged table, and flung myself on the sofa with the firm purpose not to go to sleep.

I knew that tea had the property of keeping a man awake, so I filled myself another cup. I added to it a spoonful of rum. I hardly tasted it. Yet at other times a spoonful of rum would have been quite enough to upset me. I poured in still more. Even that did not make it stronger. Then it suddenly occurred to me that there was a flask of cognac in the cupboard beside the fireplace. Squire Gabriel had pointed it out to me a short time before, but then I had not required it. It was very curious I should feel the want of strong drinks just at that moment.

I got up to fetch it. I tasted it. It certainly was strong, very much so. I filled up my cup with it, and then it occurred to me that there was no wire screen in front of the fire. A spark might pop out of it any moment. I went to the fireplace straightway, and began pushing back the burning embers with the poker. A spark popped out and burnt my hand. Then I shut the iron register, and went back towards my tea-table.

A nice surprise awaited me.

On the very sofa which I had drawn up for my own use two gentlemen were sitting whom I seemed to know very well, but whose names I could not remember. One of them had short, light, curly hair, and an angry red beard; the other had black hair and a long dangling moustache, but was otherwise clean shaved, and a round bald patch was visible on the top of his head.

The first of these gentlemen, who was stripped to the shirt, wore a silken vest with gold buttons; the other was dressed in a short linen jacket, bravely embroidered at the back.

These two gentlemen were sipping at their ease the cognaced tea which I had prepared for myself. First one took a sip and then the other, the pair of them out of one cup, quite fraternally.

Amazement first, and then fear, seized me. I durst not approach them, but sat down in a dark corner, from whence I watched to see what they would do.

The two gentlemen glared oddly enough at each other, and presently they began to converse.

"Good evening, Kalmanffy minor!"

"Good evening, Kalmanffy major!"

"Then you're here again, Kalmanffy minor?"

"And here I remain, Kalmanffy major!"

"This castle is too strait for the two of us."

"There would be lots of room if one of us dwelt beneath it."

"Beneath it? I suppose you mean in the cellar?"

"No, deeper still; in the family vault."

"We must settle this business once for all, Kalmanffy minor."

"Yes, and now that we are quite alone is the time, Kalmanffy major?"

"Do you prefer pistols or swords?"

"I should like both; but I fear they might betray us."

"True, firearms make a noise, and cold steel makes blood to flow; we want no such witnesses."

"A cup of poison, and drawing lots for it--that would be best."

"Not bad; but it leaves corpse-marks on the face."

"I've a better plan. Here is strong drink before us; let us drink each other down."

"And then?"

"Then, whichever of us keeps sober shall do for the other. Here is a long nail and a hammer. If it be driven well into the skull, none will be a penny the wiser."

"True, especially in your case, who have such thick hair; but I have a moon on the top of my head."

"Never fear. I'll make a good job of it."

I'm bound to confess that a cold shiver ran through me as I listened to this conversation. Even if I wanted to escape there was no means of escaping, for they sat right in front of the door opposite which I had drawn the chair and the sofa.

Then they both began drinking out of the same cup, first one and then the other. They filled it up for each other from the cognac flask right up to the brim, so that the liquid flowed over the edge of the cup.

"Your health, my brother!"

"Your health!"

Each of them always said this with such a devilish smile as he watched his brother gasp and choke as he swallowed the intoxicating stuff, while his head waggled backwards and forwards, and his face turned a ghastly yellow or a flaming red, and the veins on his temples stood out in green and blue knots like strained cords.

"You are drunk, my brother!"

"Nay, 'tis you."

Meanwhile the candles burning on the table began to burn low. It seemed as if a bloody mist were enveloping their flames, which gradually assumed a dusky lilac hue. The two faces suddenly went quite pale, the two heads suddenly grew quite shaky; it was hard to say which of them would fall down first.

The flames of the candles had now passed into the darkest green, and in that green light the two faces seemed of a deadly pallor. They were no longer able to converse, but glared at each other with stony eyes, and kept offering each other the intoxicating drink.

Suddenly the candles flared up, and then went out. The two figures instantly disappeared.

The moon was shining through the painted windows in all her glory; the burning logs in the fireplace cast a rosy light into the semi-darkness. I was alone in the room.

I dreamt it all, I said, and I laughed at myself, though my teeth kept on chattering. It was a dream, a dream, I kept on reassuring myself. Now I will go and lie down. I'll take off my things, I'll get into bed, I'll draw the bed-clothes over my head, and then let them go on haunting as much as they like. They may rise from their graves and roam about to their hearts' content. I shall simply take no notice.

The moon shone with a beautiful white light; the fire gave forth a nice rosy illumination. I had no need of the candles, which I could not have lit had I wanted to, for they had burnt down to the very socket. I shall be able to find the bed quite comfortably. So I undressed myself leisurely, wound up my watch, and drew aside the curtains of the alcove which contained the bed, in order to lie down on it.

Horror rooted me to the spot.

In the bed lay the two brothers side by side; two fearfully distorted corpses. One of them lay on his back, but with his face looking down, and in his bald head the head of the nail shone in the moonlight like a dark blue spot; the other brother lay beside him with his head turned towards the sky.

Horror, I say, paralyzed me. I had not strength to move a limb. I would have cried out, but I had no voice. I would have seized the bell-rope, but my hand was powerless. I would have fled, but my legs weighed me down like lead. My chest was oppressed, my legs were benumbed. At last, with a most desperate effort of my will, and after frightful torments, I pronounced something or other--and immediately awoke.

Those who have suffered from nightmare will understand what a torture it is under the circumstances to utter a word.

It was morning, and the sun was shining through the tall poplars. There, too, I was lying on the sofa in front of the closed door, where I had laid down in order not to fall asleep.

The candles really had burnt down to their sockets, and the teacup was really empty. However, I was inclined to believe that I had put nothing into it the night before, and that tea, rum, and cognac had all been simply dreamt.

But--now comes the most terrible part of this ghost story.

What had been happening in the niche all this time?

The curtain was precisely as I had sketched it, not a wrinkle of a fold had been changed in it.

Therefore, nobody could have laid hands upon it.

Still completely possessed by the memory of my nightly visions, I approached the mysterious niche, and I cannot deny that my hand trembled as I drew aside the curtain.

And, behold . . . the two mortally hostile skulls were turned back to back!

A cold shudder ran twice or thrice right down my body.

This, at any rate, was no dream. I _saw_ it. It was broad daylight. Outside, the usual daily noise and racket had begun, and at that very time I saw before me the most frightful of phantoms.

Then things really do happen beneath the sun which our philosophy cannot account for?

Then it is a fact that those two lifeless skulls live and hate and turn from each other even after death?

I don't believe it, it is impossible, it is not true.

I see, I tremble at it, and yet it is not true.

It _is_ true, and yet I don't believe it.

I then bethought me of the story of the clergyman who was said to have discovered the subterranean marvel, and dared to put his hand on the head of the spectre, and then carried about the marks of its teeth to his dying day.

I don't care.

I'll let it bite me too.

I lifted the glass from the skulls. My heart may have beaten violently, I don't deny it. I stretched out my arm. My hand came in contact with a cold jaw-bone. I raised it and turned it round.

Hah!

What had happened? Had it bit me?

I should have flung it away with all my heart if it had; but at that instant I discovered that it was provided with a cunningly constructed piece of clockwork, which made it turn round if you pressed a spring. The other skull was provided with a similar contrivance.

At the breakfast-table I encountered Squire Gabriel. As usual he was very solemn, so was I.

"How did you sleep?" he inquired, with sympathetic courtesy.

"Thank you, very badly. I drank lots of tea yesterday evening, and it plagued me with all manner of spectres."

"And what did the skulls do?"

"Well, they seem to have quite distinguished themselves for my special edification, for they not only turned their backs on each other, but even stood on their heads."

At these words, Squire Gabriel laughed greatly.

"So you looked inside them, eh?"

"I did."

"Now, look here! Forty persons have slept in that room; all of them have had experience of the marvel, and not one of them has looked to see if there was anything in the skulls."

"They feared, perhaps, that it would fare with them as with the adventurous clergyman."

"Were you not afraid?"

"Certainly, a little, but my curiosity was even greater than my fear. And now I very much regret I did look."

"Why?"

"Because I am an historical anecdote the poorer."

At this Squire Gabriel laughed more than ever.

"And I will make free to ask another question. Are the anecdotes, which I noted down in my memorandum-book yesterday, equally authentic?"

"You may boldly light your pipe with them," replied the nobleman, with a smile.

I only did not do so because I am not in the habit of eating smoke.

Only one thing Squire Gabriel begged of me. I was not to mention my discovery to any one else, so that he might be able to give a salutary shock of terror to others also.

I promised that I would keep the secret for ten years.

The ten years expired last week, so the story of the two ghostly skulls can now become public property.

IX

THE BAD OLD TIMES

In those sad times when the accursed, merciless Tatar was ravaging our good country, two good Hungarian brother warriors and kinsmen, Simon and Michael Koppand, after the devastation of Tamásfalu, of which great city not a vestige remains to the present day, escaped somehow from the burning and massacring, and taking refuge among the bulrushes, lay concealed therein for many days and nights, often up to the tops of their heads in water, for the evil, bloodthirsty enemy scoured even the morasses in search of fugitives, with the firm determination of extirpating every Magyar from the face of the earth once for all.

Thus, hiding by day and skulking by night, they made their way gradually but steadily towards the west, so far as the course of the stars pointed it out to them, hoping still somewhere to find a refuge. They had no other food but the eggs of wild ducks and moorhens, and whatever they might find in the nests of the marsh-birds that they lived upon.

One day, when they had already gone a long way and thought that they had well distanced the Tatars, they ventured to emerge from the wilderness of rushes, and by the beautiful light of the moon they then beheld, some distance in front of them, a tower.

That means there must be a town there, they thought, let us make for it, there we shall be in safety, so far the Tatar has not come. For every man in those days believed that then, as had been usual at other times, every robber horde, bursting into a kingdom, when once it has well loaded itself with booty, returns again as a matter of course to its own country.

All night, then, they proceeded in the direction of the tower before them. When they drew close to it they perceived for the first time that this tower had no roof; but when they got closer still they saw that all the houses of the town had been levelled with the ground, and when they entered the street they saw that none dwelt there, but wolves and savage dogs bayed at them from behind the pillars of the gates, within which every sort of human shape was lying, shapes without heads, women transfixed with darts, mothers with long, dishevelled, black tresses covering their children with their dead bodies.

The youths covered their eyes with horror at this spectacle.

But still there they must remain till the night of the following day, concealed somewhere, for dawn was now close at hand and it was not good to come out in the open in the bright sunlight.

So they went into the church that they might hide themselves there, either in the crypt or perhaps in a sacristy.

Hah, the whole church was a funeral vault. There they had cut down the pride, the flower of the nation. Women, men, and children lay heaped up together among the burnt rafters, the pale moon shining through the roofless and dilapidated building illuminated them.

Inside they had to wield their swords with right good will to drive out the wolves who had come hither to perform the office of grave-diggers, and who as often as they were chased away came back and bayed at the open door.

Then said Simon, the elder of the two brethren: "Brother Michael, these evil wolves will give us no peace, and because of them we shall get no rest, and yet, for sheer weariness and want of sleep, we can go not a step further. Lie you down, therefore--your best place will be close beside the altar, for there God is not far from you, and I meanwhile keep guard the door and keep the wild beasts away from you, and when I am aweary, then you shall rise up and watch over me."

Michael sought him out, therefore, a place near the altar, and lay down beside the dead body of a warrior, it looked just as if the two of them were sleeping, or as if the two of them were dead. Simon, meanwhile, gathered together some fallen darts from the field of battle, found him a bow, and leaned against the lintel of the doorway. Whenever the hideous monsters approached, he shot an arrow among them, and every time he did so a fight arose between the wounded wolf and the others, which he thought had bitten him. This disgusting combat lasted amidst ugly snarling and snapping for about an hour, when an old wolf began to howl hideously, as if by way of signal to his fellows, who howled back again from every part of the town, and then suddenly the whole lot of them made off, scattering in every direction.

Simon speedily conjectured the cause of this sudden flight, hastened back to his brother and cried--

"Awake, little brother! I hear the hoot of the horns, the Tatars are coming back."

There was no other hope of escape than for the pair of them to lie down among the dead bodies with their faces turned earthwards, thus quietly to await the new-comers.

Presently they appeared amidst the ruins of the church.

Ofttimes it happened thus. The Tatars thought to themselves: The people who have taken refuge fancy we have nothing more to seek in the devastated towns, and will come out of their holes, let us go and hunt them down. And in this way very many perished.

It was a man of that very town who led them back. An inhabitant of a Christian town had become a Tatar, joined himself to the enemies of his faith and country, and went before to show them the best places to plunder.

And this wicked, accursed man was now wearing the Tatar dress, a high-peaked fur cap, white breeches, and murdered the Tatar tongue to give them pleasure--God grant the words may stick in his throat and choke him.

The two brethren could gather from their talk that the evil renegade had led the enemy hither in order that he might show them the entrance to the crypt in which the fugitive population had concealed their treasures, and then walled up the door behind them. They immediately broke it open, and with a great racket and uproar dispersed among the discovered treasures, breaking in pieces whatever was too large to be taken away whole. The renegade got for his share the cover of a pyx, which the vile wretch stuck in front of his cap by way of ornament.

"Let me once get a fair hold of you!" thought Simon the warrior to himself. He was looking on at all this with half an eye as he lay among the dead bodies.

Then the murderous Tatars piled up a fire on the altar, slaughtered a horse in the church, broiled it in hunks on huge spits, and squatted down to devour it. It was an abomination to behold them. The Tatar convert ate along with them.

Suddenly a burning ember from the crackling fire lit upon Michael the warrior's extended palm. Simon the warrior saw it well, and trembled lest his younger brother might make some movement under this burning torture, when both of them must needs perish. But warrior Michael, very nicely and quietly, closed tightly the palm of his hand, so that nobody noticed it, and stifled the burning ember so that not even its expiring fizzle was audible.

Towards dawn the Tatars began to set off again, mounted their barebacked horses and scudded further on, never observing that they had left two living men among the dead bodies.

The two warriors were careful not to leave the church till late in the evening, but went on fighting there with the beasts of the field, and, in the daytime, they found yet other adversaries in the vultures who hovered all day above their heads, and all but tore their eyes out with their claws, because they stood between them and the dead bodies. They gave thanks to God when at sundown they were able to quit the horrible place and go on further.

Along the level plain they went as quickly as they could hasten, not even daring to look behind them, though there they would have seen nothing but the black clouds of smoke from the burning towns, which the wind drove over their heads. Behind them the Tatar was coming.

Towards evening they reached a lofty hill, in which dwelt a gipsy. The gipsy was doubly a foe, being both an alien and a heathen, he was, therefore, just the sort of man to give good advice to fugitives.

In those days all sorts of folks were flying from the Tatars, flying whithersoever they saw light before them, some on foot, some on horseback, some on cars, men, women, and children.

"Alas! my dear creatures," wailed the gipsy, "you come to a bad place when you come hither. You would do very much better to turn back in the direction whence the Tatar bands are coming, for they, at least if you surrender, will not cut you down, but will only make slaves of you. But, alas! in front a far greater danger awaits you, for in yonder forest dwell giants, terribly huge monsters with antlered heads and mouths so wide that they can swallow a man down whole. They seize all those who fly towards the forest and roast them on large spits. They don't hurt me because I give them wine to drink when they come hither."

Before now the refugees had heard from the warriors flying from the direction of Grosswardein of these Tatar giants who had scattered a whole host by simply appearing before it. Nay, a herdsman, a worthy man of Cumanian origin, had sworn that he had seen them. They strode over the fields, he said, four ells at one stride, and one of them had sat down quite easily on the roof of a house, with his legs dangling down.

At this rumour, the poor, terrified, common folks preferred to run back into the jaws of the Tatars, rather than fall beneath the fangs of these monsters; but the two Koppands said to one another very prudently--

"Look, now, there are far fewer of these monsters, whereas the Tatars can be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The flesh of a giant is but flesh, and a sword may pierce it. Goliath also was a giant, and a shepherd's son slew him. Let us rather go against them."

And they set off towards the forest.

"Well, you will repent it," the gipsy cried after them.

As the warriors drew near to the forest, there emerged from among the trees twelve terrible forms, thrice as big as ordinary men. They had heads as large as barrels, their moustaches were like horses' tails, they covered two ells at each stride, and swords two ells in length hung heavily on their shoulders.

"Well, little brother," said Simon the warrior, grasping the hilt of his sword at the sight, "either they are going to eat us or we will eat them, choose your man and I'll choose mine."

And they drew their swords and rushed upon the giants.

The monstrous shapes at first raised a great shout at them, and flourished their swords, but perceiving that they could by no means terrify the two warriors, they turned tail, and with long strides hastened back towards the forest.

They were no giants from the hand of Nature after all, but only jugglers of the Tatar khan who could stride about on long stilts, and dressed up to ape God's wonders, so as to scare back the fugitive population into the claws of its murderers. The gipsy knew this very well, for he was in league with them.

When Simon the warrior saw the giants take to flight, he encouraged his brother still more against them. But they had no need to hunt for them in the forest, for they could not move quickly enough on their stilts among the trees and shrubs, their masques and wrappings also impeded them, so that they could not make a proper use of their heavy swords, so the two brothers cut down every one of them without mercy, and stuck their painted monster heads on the tops of stakes on the borders of the forest, that the flying people might take courage at the sight when they beheld them from afar. And the name of the treacherous gipsy Simon the warrior wrote down on the hilt of his sword.

And then they again set out westward, till at length they reached the waters of the Theiss, where they found a ferry, in front of which many people were then waiting, all of whom had fled from before the Tatars. The toll was in those days collected by certain of the Patarenes or Albigenses, for in the days of King Andrew and the Palatine Dienes, all the tolls had fallen into the hands of such-like oppressed people. It might be supposed that in times of such great danger, when every one was flying from fire amidst bloodshed, that the ferrymen would let the fugitives over the rivers for nothing. And of a truth Christian Magyar men would have so done, but the impious Patarenes laid heavier contributions than usual on the refugees, who fled from before the Tatars, carrying all they possessed on their persons, and these last possessions they had to give up to the godless ferrymen. The women had to give up their earrings, the men their shoe-buckles by way of ransom, to the hard-hearted wretches to ferry them over. But those who had nothing and were flying as beggars received godless usage at their hands, for they were compelled to repeat after them a Manichæan prayer, which was nothing but a frightful blasphemy against the one true God and His saints in the Tatar tongue. And very many repeated it not thinking at all in their deadly fear of the salvation of their souls. Those who feared to utter the abomination searched elsewhere for a ford across the Theiss, or, if they could swim, set about swimming, and so many perished there.

The two brethren had nought wherewith to pay the ferry-toll but the blaspheming Tatar prayer. Simon the warrior said he would rather let himself be cut in pieces by the Tatars than blaspheme the true God and the Blessed Virgin, but Michael, having more _sang-froid_, assured him that he would say it for them both, and made out that his brother was dumb. He, therefore, repeated the horrible blasphemy twice, once for himself and once for his elder brother, while Simon, with clenched fists, repeated silently to himself an Our Father and a Hail Mary! Thus they got ferried over to the opposite shore; and when Simon the warrior reproached his brother for yielding to compulsion and repeating the blasphemous verses, Michael reassured his elder brother by telling him that after every verse he had said to himself: "Not true, not true." Yet for all that it was a grievous sin.

And warrior Simon marked the name of the Manichæan on the hilt of his sword.

But now the refugees plunged into the jaws of a fresh danger. The great battle of the Sajo[22] had just been lost. The Tatar flood filled the whole space between the Danube and the Theiss. When they emerged on the border of a forest, the two brothers saw nothing all around them, right up to the horizon, but the smoke of burning villages. They returned, therefore, into the forest, and began to fare northwards, hearing on every side of them the sound of the Tatar horns replying to each other; seeking a refuge for the night in the trunks of hollow trees, and finding no other sustenance than wild honey and beach-mast with which to satisfy the cravings of hunger.

[Footnote 22: On the Muhi _puszta_, near the river Sajo, the Tatars defeated King Bela and the Magyars in 1241.]

On the fourth day they reached a respectable house in the midst of the forest, which was defended neither by trench nor bastion, and yet was not burnt down.

The young warriors marvelled thereat; they did not know that in this house dwelt a Moor, and the Moors were all on the side of the Tatars. They brought them tidings, conducted them to the towns, and were their spies and receivers. What the Tatars stole they bought of them cheaply, and peddled it in Moravia, and even further still. This was the house of one of these hucksters. A great red ox's head was painted on the door, that the Tatars might recognize that the dweller therein was one of their men.

The Moor received them with great amiability when they crossed his threshold, assured them that they might stay with him, and immediately set about making ready a meal for them, which was a great consolation to the honest, starving wanderers. While they were complaining to their honest host of the hardships they had undergone, a noble lady came panting up to the house, from whose ragged robes and unstitched sandals one could see that she had fled afar for refuge, and asked whether her beloved husband and her little boy had come thither. There were five of them hiding in the forest, she said; her husband, with their little boy, a faithful retainer, a nurse, and a little baby. All at once they had heard the barking of dogs, and her husband had said that the other three should remain behind in a cave, while he himself, with the little boy, went on in front to look about, and see whether there were any human dwelling near at hand. They had waited for him a long time, till at last the wife, terrified at the long absence of her husband, had come forth herself to seek him. Were they perchance here?

"It is possible they may have come hither, my child," said the Moor, with a shrug; "many seek refuge here nowadays. What were they like?"

The woman described her husband's appearance and his garments, and then the little boy. On the little boy's finger, she said, was a black horsehair ring, with a little white cross. None could take it off, even if they killed him for it; he could be recognized by that.

The Moor replied that he had not cast eyes on them, and the poor woman, wailing and ringing her hands, went further on to seek for her husband and her little boy.

Meanwhile, a meal had been served up for the young warriors--seethed flesh in a huge caldron. The Moor also brought them wine, and, hoping they would enjoy their food, left them to themselves.

Sir Michael, who was very hungry, would have attacked the liberal repast forthwith, but Sir Simon stopped him.

"Had we not better first offer up our thanks, Michael?" said he.

So they said a grace, as it becomes God-fearing men to do, and then only did they turn to their meat.

And behold! God had mercy on them, and was gracious to them, for when Sir Michael plunged his curved eating-knife into the kettle, what think you he brought out of it on the point of his knife? A tiny bone encircled by a black horsehair ring, with a tiny white cross in the midst of the ring.

The youths leaped in terror to their feet, and, with no further thought of either meat or drink, and without taking leave of host or hostess, rushed from thence as fast as their legs could carry them, and only late in the evening arrived in front of the cave of a poor hermit, to whom they told the horrible thing that had befallen them.

"Give thanks to God, my sons," said the old ascetic, "that He has delivered you from that evil place, for the dwellers therein are none other than the impious Moors, the spies of the Tatars, who give to the refugees who seek a shelter there, stupefying drugs in their drink, and, when sleep has overcome them, chop off their heads. For the heads they get a denarius a piece from the Tatars, and the flesh of the bodies they give to the refugees who come afterwards, thus most monstrously causing the Magyars to eat the bodies of their own brethren. Rejoice that you have not tasted thereof. Clear fresh water and dried roots will now be a banquet to you, and we will share them together. Remain here till morning, and then go even higher and higher towards the north; you cannot miss your way. On whichever side of the trees you find moss, in that direction the north will be. If you go a seven days' journey through valleys and hills, you will see before you the highest mountains on the borders of Hungary; there will you hear a bell, and it shall guide you. There you will find a shelter--there are the Stones of Refuge, which those who are skilled in war have provided with means of defence, so that they may receive fugitives from every quarter. There also will be a good place for you. You will find there an altar, bread, strong bastions, which the good God and your good swords will defend against a thousand enemies. Stop nowhere till you reach that place, for danger and desolation are over all the land."

The young warriors kissed the hand of the good old man for his good counsel, and early in the morning, according to his directions, went all alone through the dense forests. They went far, they went for a long time, they left behind them the oak hills, they left the beech hills behind them, and now they were among the dark, solemn pines, but further and further still they had to go.

But one morning, when they had sat down to rest among the lofty mountains, the voice of a bell, coming from afar, struck upon their ears. It was the voice of a very large bell, such bells as are only to be found in such cities as Fehérvár or Nagy Várad, in the cathedrals.

Sir Michael leaped with joy at the sound.

"Here must certainly be the Rocks of Refuge," he cried.

But his brother Simon only shook his head.

"We have still further to go, my brother. The holy man said it was at least a seven days' journey from here."

"Ah! no doubt he measured the distance with his own feet, and they are old."

"But the sound of this bell comes not from the north, but much more from the west."

"No doubt we have lost the proper direction."

And Sir Michael persuaded his elder brother, Simon, not to go any further, but turn aside and discover from whence came the sound of the bell, for surely none but a Christian man would signal with a bell. No doubt they did so to prevent folks from losing their way, so that they might turn in thither and find a place of refuge from the enemy.

Simon at last agreed, and they proceeded in the direction from whence the sound of the bell came, and when they had emerged from the forest a little pebbly valley opened out before them, through which wound a little brook, and over the brook a great footbridge was cast. But the bridge led up to a great rocky castle, with a large pointed tower in each of its four corners, and a fifth tower in the middle. There were bells in all five of these towers, and they were pulling them as if they were ringing in a procession.

"These be certainly the Rocks of Refuge!" cried Sir Michael, once more.

"The hermit said nothing of such towers and bastions as these," remarked his brother Simon, hesitating.

"They may have been built since last he was here," replied his brother.

And so they went on towards the castle. But it struck them as strange that there were neither peasants' huts, nor a village, nor cottagers' dwellings at the base of this strange castle, as there was wont to be elsewhere. How was that?

"No doubt they have gathered all the peasantry within the walls of the castle." Thus did the credulous Sir Michael explain it all.

The watchman on the tower, when he saw the travellers drawing near, immediately sounded his horn, whereupon they let down the drawbridge which connected the footbridge with the castle gate. Strong retainers came forth to meet the new arrivals, and when the travellers gravely told them that they had come from afar, from the midst of the devastated kingdom, and knew not whether this was a good place of refuge or not, the men laughed aloud and said: "Yes, you have indeed come to a good place, comrades, for this is the castle of Sir Fulko, a famous and well-known warrior. The Tatar cannot come hither, though he fill up the whole valley. Here, too, there is no lack, for here is enough to eat and drink and to spare. Have you any treasures which you want put into a safe place?"

"Of a truth we have nothing at all but our good swords."

"Well, so much the better. You can enter into the knight's service, and can win a good wage by fighting valiantly beneath his banner."

"We want no money for our service; it suffices us if we can fight against the pagans beneath a good leader."

The lackeys laughed at the valorous way in which the youths spoke, and led them into the castle, and soon afterwards they brought them scented water in silver ewers, and made them wash and bathe themselves. Then they brought them splendid velvet and flowered damask garments embroidered with gold and crusted with diamonds. They also anointed their locks with fragrant unguents. Sir Fulko, they said, had commanded all these things to be done; he always received his guests with the like hospitality.

"But perchance we do not deserve this great honour," said Sir Simon, blushing, who was always a shamefaced man when favours were forced upon him.

"Oh, you'll have your full share of far more than this," said the servants, jocosely. "Our master has prepared a banquet for us all, and the young ladies, the daughters of Sir Fulko, Meryza and Siona, will be at the banquet also. You will sit beside them."

"But what odd names they have!" cried Sir Simon. "Where were they christened to get such names as these?"

"Don't trouble your heads about that. To-morrow you will be able to say which of the twain is the most beautiful."

Sir Michael's heart was immediately interested in imagining which of the two ladies was likely to be the fairest, but his elder brother, Simon, was busy with very different thoughts.

"Is there no chapel here?" he asked. "We should like to go there first to give thanks to God for delivering us from the midst of so many dangers. It is now many weeks since we had an altar before us, only in the woods, at break of day, with the fowls of the air, have we been able to pray to God."

The lackeys again laughed at them.

"Leave all that now, good friends, you can find your way about to-morrow; a priest you can see at any time. Now come to the feast; they must have sat down to table long ago."

Sir Simon shook his head a good deal at this. He did not much like a place where they spoke of the altar so lightly; but he did not want to begin a brawl, so he allowed himself to accept the invitation, but he reminded his younger brother that after their long fast it would be as well to partake of the feast sparingly, and not drink too much wine, lest harm might come of so sudden a repast.

At the blast of a trumpet the inner folding doors of the castle were thrown open, and the youths were conducted into the banqueting-room.

The two honest young warriors felt the light of their eyes darkened by the great splendour which now burst like enchantment upon them from all sides. The tables were piled with silver plate and golden beakers; chairs and benches were gorgeously carved and painted; the windows were full of coloured glass; the chairs, at the heads of the tables, were upholstered in velvet and surmounted by canopies as if they had been placed there for princes. At the back of every chair stood a heyduke in parade garments of cloth of gold, scarlet mantles, and with silver wine pitchers in their hands. Then the folding doors at the opposite end of the banqueting-room were thrown open, and through them came the guests of the lord of the castle, each richly attired gentleman conducting a beautiful damsel by the right hand. The ladies swept the floor with their heavy silk dresses, and diamonds and carbuncles sparkled on their foreheads and in their bosoms. They took their places in couples around the long, loaded tables, a man and a woman side by side. Finally, three fanfaronades announced the arrival of the master of the castle, Sir Fulko, an obese figure almost collapsing beneath the weight of the precious stones and gems he wore. He led a lady by each hand, his daughters Meryza and Siona.

The former, whom he led by the right hand, was a marvellously beautiful damsel; a tall, stately, dignified figure, who lifted her head as haughtily as one who knew that every one present was indeed her very humble servant.

The second damsel, whom Fulko led by the left hand, was small and hump-backed: she never raised her eyes nor looked around her, like one who knew right well that every one despised her. It was easy enough to say which of the twain was the more beautiful.

At this spectacle Sir Michael fancied he was dreaming, so blinded were his eyes by the sheen of the precious stones, that he knew not whether he was in earth or heaven. But Sir Simon, when he beheld all the splendour before him, bethought him that at this very time King Bela[23] was drinking out of his helmet water stained with bloods from the banks of flowing streams.

[Footnote 23: After losing the Battle of the Sajo, where 65,000 Magyars vainly endeavoured to arrest the march of 500,000 Mongols, Bela fled for a time into Austria.]

"Knights and dames to your places!" cried Sir Fulko. "Here beside me will sit Sir Simon and Sir Michael; the latest guest always has the first place at _my_ table. Sit down beside my daughters. This is my daughter Meryza, and that my daughter Siona."

Michael so contrived that the fair Meryza sat next to him, but Sir Simon took his place next to the meek-eyed Siona, but first of all he said grace to himself in a low voice, at which the other guests laughed greatly; the good knight was making quite a scandal, they said. Nevertheless, a voice beside him whispered softly: "Amen! Amen!" He looked in that direction and saw the humpbacked Siona, and at that moment the deformed damsel seemed lovelier to him than the stately Meryza.

The guests drank right gallantly; they required no very urgent invitation thereto, and when they had all got pretty full skins, they requested the new-comers to tell them the story of all that had befallen them on their way thither.

Sir Michael, not possessing the gift of eloquence himself, beckoned to his elder brother to speak. Simon, therefore, got on his legs, and imagining he had to do with honest patriots whose hearts could be touched, he began to tell them of the mournful events he had seen. As his narrative proceeded he was carried away more and more by his emotions; the terrible scenes rising again before his eyes gave inspiration to his lips, so that at last he spoke with such feeling that the tears coursed down his own cheeks.

But by the time he had dried his tears and looked round him again, he perceived that the army of guests was neither sighing nor crying at his melancholy oration; on the contrary, they were only listening by way of diversion, like triflers listening to a singer of songs.

So scandalized was he at the sight that he broke off abruptly.

What annoyed him most of all were the eyes of the stately Meryza; they regarded him so smilingly.

When he stopped speaking the stately damsel addressed him--

"Tell us some more of those pretty tales!" said she.

But a whimpering voice beside him--it was the pale Siona's--implored him to cease for the love of God, for it made her heart bleed to hear such horrible things.

And Sir Simon listened to the words of Siona; he sighed deeply and sat down. He was sorry that he had reproached his host and the army of guests with heartlessness; he thought that it was only good manners on their part, and that he had forgotten himself because he was so tired.

But now arose Sir Saksin, a gigantic figure of a man, close beside Simon, and asked him why he did not drink like the rest of them and why he had left off speaking? Why had he insulted the company by this sudden silence? Let him come out on the green, then, if he would!

Sir Simon perceived that this would mean bloodshed, so he shoved away his chair from beneath him and held himself ready for everything. This was no unusual thing in the days when there had been much drinking among many guests and the exhibition of strength was not considered a disgrace, and therefore, before a banquet, all the guests were wont to unload themselves of all their cutting and thrusting weapons, lest they might injure one another and be sorry of it when they were sober again.

Perceiving this, Sir Michael would also have leaped from his seat, but the wine he had taken had tied him to it, and besides, those about him said that in a quarrel between two men, it did not become a third person to interfere.

But Siona whispered to Simon.

"Beware of letting yourself be hugged, for Saksin has spiked armour beneath his dolman, and if he clip you tight it will mangle you."

And this secret information was of great use to Simon, for when he was wrestling with the big knight in the midst of the room, he never let himself be clipt round the body, but seized him firmly by both arms, and after thus giving his huge body a good shaking, tripped him up and flung him to the ground so that his head hit the floor violently.

At this, Saksin leaped furiously to his feet, and clutching a chair, rushed upon Sir Simon; but the latter broke the impact of the chair with one hand, while with the other he gave Sir Saksin such a buffet that he saw and heard nothing more, for the blood burst suddenly from his nose, mouth, and ears. So they carried him off wrapped up in a rug.

At this the other guests laughed heartily, praised Sir Simon for his strength and skill, and pressed his hand one after another. But he noticed at the same time that they all tried to find out whether they could hurt his hand by pressing it as hard as they could. "Let them do as they like," he thought; "but I wonder what is going to happen next."

Finally, the master of the house tapped him on the shoulder. He told him too that he was a fine fellow for overthrowing so doughty a warrior with whom none hitherto had ventured to cope, and inasmuch as he had resolved that whoever was able to vanquish Sir Saksin was to be allowed to choose one of his daughters for his consort, let him make his choice straightway.

Sir Simon fancied they were making sport with him by promising him such a reward, which he had done nought to earn. But when he saw them summon the chaplain, he perceived they were in real earnest. And, besides, he was invited once more to make his choice.

But Sir Michael, his brother, was greatly amazed at all this. He was also grievously annoyed that _he_ had not contended with Saksin, for he was no whit less doughty than his brother Simon. Alas! Simon would of course choose Meryza, for if he had any eyes at all he could not fail to see at a glance which was the loveliest.

But Simon turned towards the pale Siona and said it was she who pleased him best.

Sir Fulko was greatly surprised. _He_ did not like the choice at all. He scratched his head. He bit his lips. But the only objection he could make was that Meryza was the eldest.

"Well, if you don't want her married later than her younger sister, give her to wife to my younger brother. He is just as good a warrior as I am, and if he had fought with Saksin he would have flung him to the ground not twice but thrice."

Michael himself swore that he would indeed have done all that for Meryza, and, if necessary, he would try conclusions with every gentleman present one after the other; whereat they all laughed heartily.

Sir Fulko thereupon took him at his word, and said that, as he was so enamoured of his daughter, he might take her for his consort by all means.

Sir Michael was beside himself for joy. He could scarce stand upon his legs for joy, and challenged the whole world to wrestle with him.

But the soul of Sir Simon was steadied and cooled by the reflection: How was it that such a rich lord disposed so readily of his lady-daughters, and gave them to wife to the first comers without wooing or sueing?

Nevertheless, it was a fact, whether he believed himself to be awake or imagined himself to be asleep, it had happened all the same. Sir Fulko joined their hands together; Meryza drew from her finger a diamond ring, which she placed on the finger of Sir Michael; while Siona gave a thin circlet to Sir Simon as a token of their espousals, the knights giving them in exchange from their fingers old ancestral rings of great price; whereupon the whole army of guests, suddenly converted into a bridal party, proceeded forthwith to the castle chapel, where a priestly shape united the two couples in holy matrimony according to the ritual of the Catholic Faith, decently and in order to the accompaniment of hymns and organ.

Sir Michael and the fair Meryza withdrew to their appointed bridal-chamber, but Sir Simon said to his bride: "I will remain here a little while before the altar to thank God for His wondrous benefits, inasmuch as He has delivered me out of jeopardy and guided my footsteps into the path of liberty. It was but yesterday the wolves were lying in wait for me, and now to-day I am blessed with a good consort like you. Go back to your room, and I will shortly come after you."

For about an hour Sir Simon remained there beside the altar, which was embellished with the statues of the Saints; he felt inclined to bless these holy images one after the other, but then he thought that perhaps Siona might be growing impatient at his long delay.

"Forgive me, Siona, for remaining so long in the chapel," said he, on his return; "but I had so many thanks to render to God this day."

"Indeed, you have many reasons to thank God," said Siona; "for marvellously hath He delivered you from death this day. You may thank God that you sat beside me instead of by Meryza, for Saksin would assuredly have fastened a quarrel upon you in any case; and had you not taken heed and avoided his grip, you would have been a dead man now. You may also thank God that you drank not out of your own beaker, but out of mine, in which there was water; for the rim of your beaker was smeared with stupefying poison, and if your lips had touched it, you would have been drugged and died before dawn. But you may thank God a hundred times over that you did not stretch out your hand after Meryza when they allowed you to choose between us, as hundreds have done before you, who are all dead; for you most certainly would have followed them."

"But what sort of a house can this be, then?" inquired the terrified Simon.

"A house of robbers and murderers. Sir Fulko is a bandit-chief; he is not my father, but my step-father, who tormented my mother to death. Meryza, on the contrary, _is_ his daughter, of whom they relate horrors. These guests, who walk about in cloth of gold, the companions of Fulko and his daughter, are every one of them murderers a hundred times over, and accursed. Formerly, until last year, they scoured the counties far and wide, in bands, on their predatory adventures. Sometimes Meryza herself led them, and she is more merciless even than her father in these nocturnal massacres. Since, however, Heaven in its wrath has inflicted this great blow on our country, and let loose the Tatars upon it, Fulko's bands have not gone forth plundering. They fear to fall in with stronger robbers than themselves, so they hung large bells in their towers, and the far-sounding voices of the bells decoy from afar those who are seeking a refuge from the Tartars. When rich nobles or chapmen come hither they are hospitably welcomed; their treasures are taken charge of, and they themselves are disposed of the very first night. If there are handsome youths amongst them they are made sport of, as you were. Fulko offers them the choice of his daughters. The youth, intoxicated by the drugged wine, demand the hand of Meryza, and they conduct him to the altar. A robber, clothed in the vestments of some murdered priest, unites them, and he finds himself her husband. When Meryza gives the signal they ring the bell outside; an alarm of 'fire' is raised; the young husband is aroused from his slumbers, and the moment he rushes from the bedroom all trace of him is lost, and the next day there is a fresh comer, another death, another sacrifice."

"Horrible!" cried Sir Simon. "And is Michael there at this moment? Where is he, I say?"

"Speak softly! He is not there now. In the adjoining room gapes an abyss twenty fathoms wide. Every day we walk over it. The floor on which we walk turns downwards on a hinge, which is in the centre of it, and on the withdrawal of a bolt is ready to yawn open from end to end. At this moment the bolt is withdrawn. If any one were to tread upon the floor it would give way beneath him, and precipitate him below into a deep well, which leads into a long corridor, extending right away to the base of the mountain, and only admitting the light of day through a narrow opening. If by some miracle any one falls to the bottom of the dry well without dashing out his brains, he is torn to pieces in the depths by two bloodhounds of Fulko, Orcus and Erebus he calls them. On the following day, Fulko and his men descend into the cave-like corridor, scare away the dogs, and divide among them the gems and ornaments of the dead men."

"And my brother? What has happened to my brother?"

Siona dried the tears from her eyes.

"Listen, and I'll tell you the designs of your enemies. A hand will begin tapping softly on the window of the bedroom, and then they will whisper that your brother wants a word with you. They are tapping at Michael's window now."

"And he?"

"Dead, without doubt. It was impossible to save him, for Meryza would come with him to the very door, and kiss him there; and then there would be a shout--and a great silence."

Words failed Sir Simon for sheer sorrow of heart.

"All you can do now is to save yourself. Here is a long rope; tie it round your body. Here is a good sword; gird it on to your belt. Take this burning torch in your left hand; don't wait till they call. Step out upon the drawbridge. I will let you down softly by this cord, and when you have got down I'll fling the cord after you. If you meet the bloodhounds cry: 'Be off, Orcus and Erebus,' and dash the torch in their eyes, and they will not hurt you. Kill them not, for then it will be known that you have escaped, and Fulko and his men will go after you and capture you. And now hasten. When you are in a place of safety, I wish you a long life; and perhaps you will sometimes think that the poor orphan whom you chose for your faithful consort really was faithful to you."

Sir Simon embraced and kissed Siona with great emotion.

"I am really your husband, and will not leave you here; come along with me!"

"That would mean the destruction of us both. They would know in an hour that I had betrayed them, and before dawn we should be again in their hands. The whole neighbourhood is in league with them. In three days' time they will not be able to make out which of the bones are yours. Hasten! Tarry not!"

Sir Simon thereupon vowed to God that if he escaped from thence, and the realm ever righted itself again, he would return thither to release his bride and take vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He did everything that Siona wished. His sword in one hand, his torch in the other, the card of deliverance round his body, he cautiously stepped upon the bridge of sighs, and when it gave way beneath him, he softly descended into the terrible abyss, from whose depths a dull howling greeted him.

"God be with you!" cried the voice of Siona above his head, when he already stood at the bottom of the well. He lifted the torch and lit up everything around him. There lay his brother Michael, his beautiful head crushed to death. The two bloodhounds, which were licking up his blood, fell back before the torch into the darkness; their blood-red eyes sparkled in the distance.

Sir Simon kissed the face of his dead brother, and suffered him not to lie there for the wild beasts, but threw him over his shoulder and carried him through the long corridor till he came to the forest. The two dogs followed him all the way, but dare not attack him because of the torch.

In the forest beyond he dug a grave for the dead body, piled a great heap of stones upon it, cut crosses in the bark of four trees which towered above it so that he might recognize the spot, and earnestly prayed God to allow him to rest there in peace.

The north star now led him onwards towards the Carpathians.

Two nights he travelled continuously; in the daytime he kept closely under cover. On the third day at dawn he beheld in the distance the simple cross on the hilltop, of which the hermit had told him.

It was indeed the Stone of Refuge.

The worthy and valiant Templars, the Red Brothers, as the common folks called them, had built there a place of refuge for the fugitives of the whole kingdom, and whenever a vagrant Tatar band came after them they were bravely repulsed, and could not take them by force.

And in the third year the hand of the Lord swept away from the bereaved Magyar land the hordes of Gog and Magog, and every one returned to his devastated fatherland.

The King came back and re-created a nation and a kingdom, and laid an iron hand on the traitors and malefactors who had competed with the enemy in the devastation of their country.

Ambulatory tribunals were formed which, under the presidency of the Palatine, summoned the accused to appear at the bar on the borders of every county. Those charged with such grievous crimes had to submit to the judgments of God by means of the fire or water ordeal, or if they were warriors they had to contend with the royal warriors, whose faces were defended by helmets, and their bodies by coats of mail, while the accused had no other weapons than sword and targe.

Many an impious offender was caught in this way, to wit, renegades, traitors, saracens, cannibals, highwaymen, and spies. And at last it came to the turn of Sir Fulko. The royal herald fastened the accusing iron-glove on his gates also, and so great was the confidence of the robber chief that, though he might have fled, he did not fly, but appeared with all his retainers, with his captain Saksin, and his daughter Meryza, before the tribunal, only Siona remained behind in the earth.

Meryza put heart into Captain Saksin, who was a frightfully strong man and experienced in duelling, and bade him have no fear, but embrace the royal champion firmly, and to that end she had made for him a shirt of mail which was a masterpiece of sorcery, for no weapon could pierce it, and gave him a sword besides, which could pierce iron as if it were velvet.

Thus caparisoned, Sir Saksin planted himself in the lists where the royal champion stood; over against him and in the midst of the lists sat the Palatine beneath a canopy, with the Pristaldus standing below him, and the Pristaldus recited from a long list, in a loud voice, the charges brought against the accused, to wit, that they had faithlessly murdered those who had sought refuge with them, and had profaned the Holy Sacrament.

The accused replied that the charges against them were lies, in the belief that those who could testify against them were all dead.

"I declare the accusation to be pure calumny, and I demand a duel with the royal champion," cried Sir Saksin, defiantly.

"Then recognize whom you fight with," said the champion, pulling off his barred helmet; "I am Simon Koppand, whom Orcus and Erebus did not devour."

On hearing that name and seeing that face, the enchanted sword fell from the hand of the big powerful man; he had no more stomach for fighting. He stretched out his hand for the fetters, and promised to confess everything.

Sir Fulko, when he heard the names of Orcus and Erebus, swiftly flung himself on his horse and galloped off; they pursued, but could not overtake him. None to this day knows what became of him.

Only Meryza remained defiant. When her father fled, and Saksin confessed everything, even she denied her crimes, and refused to tell anything. Then she was subjected to the water ordeal, and died beneath it.

Saksin they quartered; the other robbers were beheaded.

After this the King bestowed upon Simon Koppand the castle of Sir Fulko, and Simon Koppand presented the enormous treasure he found there to the Church, to the glory of God.

But Siona he really took to wife, and was married to her a second time, canonically, and she lived with him long and happily as his faithful consort. And the name of Koppand continued for centuries.

And may the Lord God bless the Magyars hereafter as He hath done heretofore.

THE END

_Jarrold and Sons, Ltd., The Empire Press, Norwich._

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"The man has all the notes of genuine and unmistakable literary genius. He has vision; he has the mastery of the phrase; half-a-dozen deft touches and there is your picture; in a paragraph he has infected you with the emotion he himself experienced at the moment he presents."--_Daily Chronicle._

MAURUS JOKAI'S FAMOUS NOVELS.

AUTHORISED EDITIONS.

_Crown 8vo Art Linen, with Photogravure Portrait of DR. JÓKAI. 6s. each._

=THE GREEN BOOK; or, Freedom under the Snow.= Eighth Edition.

Mr. Courtney, in the _Daily Telegraph_, says:--"It is truly an astounding book. In force, fire, and prodigal variety he reminds one of the elder Dumas."

=THE DAY OF WRATH.= Fourth Edition.

"There is no novel in which Jókai's all-round forcefulness and daring wealth of colour are more terrific."--_Pall Mall Gazette._

=BLACK DIAMONDS.= Fifth Edition.

"Few living novelists rival Jókai in popularity. 'Black Diamonds' is one of Jókai's most popular romances."--_Athenæum._

=EYES LIKE THE SEA.= Fourth Edition.

"A brilliant story. . . . The wealth of incident and quaint situations display the surprising fancy of the author."--_Pilot._

=THE LION OF JANINA.= Fifth Edition.

"It is a fascinating story."--_Daily Chronicle._

=DR. DUMANY'S WIFE.= Fourth Edition.

"A good interesting novel. The characters live and move all through the book."--_St. James' Gazette._

=PRETTY MICHAL.= Fifth Edition.

"We admire the work of Maurus Jókai. It is vivid and there is a superabundance of incident."--_Times._

='MIDST THE WILD CARPATHIANS.= Fourth Edition.

"A succession of gorgeous tableaux. His canvas is crowded with striking figures of irresistible charm."--_Spectator._

=THE SLAVES OF THE PADISHAH; or, The Turks in Hungary.= Sequel to "'Midst the Wild Carpathians."

"One of the great books of the brilliant Hungarian Novelist."--_Daily News._

=A HUNGARIAN NABOB.= Fifth Edition.

"A series of strong, vivid pictures of Hungarian life, executed by the hand of a great master."--_Daily Chronicle._

=THE NAMELESS CASTLE.= Fifth Edition.

"An enthralling romance of adventure and intrigue."--_The Bookman._

=THE POOR PLUTOCRATS.= Fifth Edition.

"Full of exciting incidents and masterly studies of character."--_Court Circular._

=HALIL THE PEDLAR (The White Rose).=

"The book is a brilliant picture of an almost increditable world."--_St. James' Gazette._

=DEBTS OF HONOR.= Fourth Edition.

"A series of pictures, stirring, sorrowful, and gay, but always beautiful."--_St. James' Gazette._

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_And of all Booksellers._

Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the original text have been corrected. Please note that the original text was inconsistent in the spelling and hyphenation of many words, in particular, in the use of accents. Except as noted below, these variations have been retained.

The title page was moved to the front of the book, ahead of the advertising material which preceded it in the original edition.

In the Biography of Jókai, "János Kováes" was changed to "János Kovács", "A debreceni Sunatikus" was changed to "A debreceni lunatikus", and "Déak's original programme" was changed to "Deák's original programme".

In The Justice of Soliman, "who had stolen the body of Eminah" was changed to "who had stolen the body of Eminha".

In Love and the Little Dog, "without the break on" was changed to "without the brake on".

In The Red Starosta, "the descendant of Jitschak Ben Menachim" was changed to "the descendant of Jitzchak Ben Menachim".

In The City of the Beast, "stones and other missles" was changed to "stones and other missiles", "mirky, dark-green tinge" was changed to "murky, dark-green tinge", and "wot not off" was changed to "wot not of".

In The Hostile Skulls, "if had anything on his mind" was changed to "if he had anything on his mind", and "a similiar contrivance" was changed to "a similar contrivance".

In The Bad Old Times, a quotation mark was added after "you shall rise up and watch over me.", and "in which dwell a gipsy" was changed to "in which dwelt a gipsy".

In the advertisement for New and Forthcoming Books, "Tales from Jòkai" was changed to "Tales from Jókai", "cleft touches" was changed to "deft touches", a quotation mark was added after "masterly studies of character.", and one page of books was moved from after the list of "Maurus Jokai's Famous Novels" to before.