Apafi had eaten and drunk nothing for three days from sheer anxiety at the straits into which he had fallen, through no fault of his own, when word was brought him of the arrival of the auxiliaries. It was late in the evening when Kucsuk Pasha, after a fatiguing march along unfrequented mountain paths, entered the town. Apafi rode out to meet him, and saluted the Turks as his guardian angels. But great indeed was his astonishment, after mustering the troops twice or thrice, to find that at the very highest estimate they were only a fifth part of the forces opposed to him.
“What does your Excellency mean to do with this little band?” he uneasily asked the Pasha.
“God alone knows, who reads the destiny of man in heaven above,” returned Kucsuk with laconic fatalism; and that was all that the Prince could get out of him. That night the Turks pitched their tents in the marketplace, immediately opposite the dwelling of the Prince.
Apafi, after so many sleepless nights, could at last enjoy repose. It did his heart good to hear beneath his windows the snorting of the warhorses and the sabre-clattering of the sentries, and he gradually dozed off in the midst of the comforting hubbub, reflecting, that with such an army he could at least defend himself for some time, and that meanwhile a great many things might happen. Long before daybreak, however, he was awakened by the hammering of planks, the usual signal to the Turkish cavalry to feed their horses. “They feed their horses very early in the morning,” thought the Prince, and he turned over on to the other side and again fell asleep. While still half-dreaming he fancied he heard the songs of the dervishes, songs apt to make even the wakeful feel drowsy. Then a loud and sudden flourish of trumpets once more aroused his Highness from his slumbers. “Egad! What are they about in the middle of the night?” cried he peevishly; got up, looked out of the window, and saw that the Turks were all sitting motionless on their horses in the dark. Then came a second flourish, and the whole squadron started off, the clattering of the horses’ hoofs on the paving-stones and the watchwords of the sentinels resounding far and wide through the silent night. “This Pasha is a very restless man,” thought Apafi. “Even at night, and after so many fatigues, he grudges his men their proper repose.” And with that he again turned in, and fell into a yet sweeter sleep, from which he only awoke on the following morning.
The sun stood high in the heavens when Apafi rang for his steward and factotum, John Cserey.
The first question he put to him was, “What is the Pasha about?”
“He quitted the town last night, and sent back a messenger, who has been waiting outside there ever since dawn to deliver his message.”
“Let him come in at once,” cried Apafi, and he began hastily to dress.
Stephen Apafi, Nalaczi, and Daczo entered the Prince’s apartments at the same time as Kucsuk’s messenger. They too had been waiting for the last two hours for the Prince to awake, and were very curious to hear the Pasha’s message.
“Speak quickly!” cried Apafi to the Turk, who bowed to the ground, folded his arms across his breast, and said—
“Illustrious Prince! my master, Kucsuk Pasha, speaks these words to thee through the mouth of thy servant: Remain quietly in Segesvar and be of good cheer. Let the troops that are with thee mount guard upon the walls. Meantime my master, Kucsuk Pasha, is marching against John Kemeny, and will fight him wherever he meets him, yea! though he lose his host to a man, yet will he fight with him to the death.”
The Prince was so confounded by these tidings that he had not a word to say for himself. Kucsuk’s forces were scarcely a fifth part of Kemeny’s, and, moreover, they were still exhausted by their forced marches. To expect a victory under such circumstances was to look for miracles.
“Let us make up our minds for the worst and trust in God,” said Stephen Apafi; and, under the circumstances, this was perhaps the most sensible thing that could have been said.
So Michael Apafi let things take their own course. If anyone had a mind to guard the walls he was free to do so. So the commanders left the soldiers to their own devices, and the soldiers did nothing at all. The fate of the realm lay in God’s hands in the fullest sense of the word, for man had withdrawn his hand from it altogether. One thing, however, the Prince did. He sent old Cserey up to the top of the church tower that he might keep a good lookout, and come and tell his master the moment he saw troops approaching.
John Kemeny had established himself at Nagy Szöllös, which is a few hours’ journey from Segesvar. He had fixed his headquarters at the parsonage there, and to this day the little room is pointed out in which he slept for the last time, as well as the round hillock in the garden, where stood at that time a pretty little wooden summerhouse in which the Prince began the dinner which he never finished.
The Hungarian gentlemen had a long debate with Wenzinger and the Prince about the plan of campaign. Some were for taking the town by storm, others preferred starving it out by a blockade.
Wenzinger
