IV
The Midnight Battle
As Denis Banfi, after quitting his wife’s chamber, was descending the spiral staircase which led to the hall, he saw a young horseman come galloping at full speed into the courtyard.
The horseman was covered with blood and foam. As he sprang from his horse the beast collapsed altogether; but the rider rushed pell-mell towards Banfi, who, recognizing in him one of his captains, Gabriel Benkö, went to meet him, and asked him what was the matter.
“Sir,” began the gasping knight, catching his breath, “Ali Pasha is attacking Banfi-Hunyad.”
“Is that all?” said Banfi gruffly, not displeased that Fate had given his irritated temper something to rend and tear. “Send Veer hither!” he cried to his retainers; “and you, when you have got your breath, just tell me how the matter went.”
“I must be brief, my lord. I come from the thick of the fight. Yesterday a troop of Kurdish freebooters appeared before Banfi-Hunyad. Your lordship’s captain, Gregory Söter, anticipating that they had come to levy blackmail, went out against them with the castle bands, engaged in combat with them, drove them from beneath the walls after a sharp contest, and, following up his advantage, sounded a charge and pursued the fugitives in the direction of Zenlelke. We were still pursuing the Kurds, who fled headlong, when suddenly we saw ourselves attacked in flank; and in a trice the whole plain was swarming with Turkish horsemen, who overran us like ants. I cannot exactly tell their numbers, but I saw three horsetail standards with my own eyes, which proves that the Pasha himself was with the expedition. Söter had no time to make good his retreat to Banfi-Hunyad.”
“The devil!” cried Banfi.
“Every one of us had to do with two or three of them. Söter himself seized a morning-star with one hand and a broadsword with the other, and cried to me—I was by his side—‘My son, leave the battlefield, cut your way through! Fly to Bonczhida and tell the news!’ I heard no more. The surging masses parted us; so I threw my shield over my shoulders, bowed my head deep down over my saddlebow, gave my nag the spur, and galloped out of the fight. About one hundred horsemen pursued me, the darts fell like a hailstorm on my shield; but my good horse, well aware of the danger, redoubled his speed, and so the pursuers lost trace of me.”
“Did you come direct to Bonczhida?”
“No; I made a side-spring to Banfi-Hunyad, to warn the people there of their danger, so that they might have time to escape to the mountains.”
“You did wisely. Then the people have escaped?”
“By no means. It was in front of Dame Vizaknai’s house that I told the news to the people. Their faces turned pale, when all at once the lady of the house appeared with a drawn sword in her hand, and as if possessed by the spirits of a hundred warriors, stood among the people with sparkling eyes and thus addressed them—
“ ‘Are ye men? If so, seize your weapons, go out upon the ramparts, and show the world that you can defend the place where your children were born and your fathers lie buried. But if ye are cowards, then fly whither you will; but the women will remain behind here with me, to show the savage foe that none is too weak to fight for hearth and home.’ ”
Banfi, with a hoarse voice, called to his armourers to bring him breastplate, spear, and helmet, and beckoned to the panting messenger to go on with his story.
“At these words the people uttered a loud and furious cry. The women, like so many Bacchantes, ran in search of weapons, and mounted the ramparts by the side of their husbands, whom the determination of their wives had turned into veritable heroes. Everyone seized the first thing that came to hand—scythes, spades, flails. Meanwhile, Dame Vizaknai was everywhere at once, marshalling and haranguing the combatants, barricading the church, breaking down the bridge, so that when I left the town, it was already in a fair state of defence. Thereupon I swam the Körös, to avoid making a long circuit, and came hither through the woods and byways.”
During the latter part of this narrative Banfi seemed to be nearly beside himself. He waited now for neither armour nor helmet, but roared for his horse; and as he sprang into the saddle, cried to Veer, who was hastening up—
“After me to Banfi-Hunyad! March day and night. The infantry must go round by the Gyalyui Alps. The cavalry will follow me to Klausenburg. Light beacons in the mountains as you approach, that I may attack the foe simultaneously with the vanguard.”
“Would it not perhaps be better if your Excellency remained behind with the main army?” said George Veer, with an anxious face.
“Do what I bid you, sir!” was Banfi’s reply; and giving his horse the spur, he dashed off, followed by about half-a-dozen of his suite.
“What ails him then, that he will neither wait for us, nor inform his wife and the Princess of what has happened?”
“He was aghast when I told him that Dame Vizaknai was defending Banfi-Hunyad,” said Benkö apologetically. “She is an old flame of his whom he has long forgotten; but his youthful affection seemed to revive him when he heard of her heroic audacity.”
George Veer, satisfied with this explanation, ordered his squadrons to take horse forthwith; and after previously informing Lady Banfi that he was off on a petty raid, departed for Klausenburg, leaving the command of the infantry to Captain Michael Angel, who did not break up till evening, the road along the Snow Mountains being much the shorter way.
Just as they were about to start, a tattered young Szekler, with pale cheeks but strong arms, stepped forth. His companions had pushed him into the front ranks.
“Come, sing us a battle-song!” they cried.
It was the rude, popular poet, Ambrose Gelenze.
Drawing from the pocket of his tunic his
