George Veer therefore sounded the recall, whilst Banfi, with restless rage, rushed hither and thither after the flying foe. All in vain; every way was barred by the trunks of trees which the Turks had hewn down in hot haste.
“We must let them escape!” cried Veer, thrusting his sabre into its sheath.
“Say not so! say not so!” cried Banfi excitedly, and riding up to the top of a hillock, he seemed to be observing something in the distance. Suddenly he exclaimed with a joyful voice—“Look yonder. The fire-signals have just been lit!”
And indeed on the crests of the Gyalyui Mountains the fire-signals could be seen flashing up one by one in a long line.
“Those are our people!” cried Banfi, with fresh enthusiasm. “The Turk is caught in the trap. Forward!” And remarshalling his squadrons, he galloped towards the barricaded forest paths, heedless of the warnings of the more circumspect Veer.
Meanwhile Ali Pasha, abandoning his tents, camels, and booty-laden wagons to the enemy, sent Dzem Haman, the Albanian commander, on before, to level the roads over the snowy mountains.
As now Dzem Haman was advancing through the darkness and superintending the labours of his Albanian pioneers, he heard voices in the steep rock above his head, and a company of armed men suddenly emerged from the mountain passes before his eyes.
The troops on both sides challenged each other simultaneously.
“Who are ye? What are you doing?”
“We are carrying stones,” answered Dzem Haman. “And you?”
“We too are carrying stones,” was the answer from above.
“We are Dzem Haman’s men, who are removing the stones from the path of Ali Pasha—and ye, are you not Csaky’s men?”
“We are collecting stones for the head of Ali Pasha, and are Michael Angel’s people,” resounded from above, and at the same time a terrible rain of stones rolled down upon the heads of the Albanians, by way of confirming the statement.
“Michel Anchal is here also!” roared the terrified Albanians, falling back aghast, and creating a panic among those behind them by declaring that they were surrounded.
At these tidings, the Turkish host, harassed from before and behind, resolved itself into a disorderly mass, on which, at break of day, the Hungarian infantry began rolling enormous masses of stone and rock.
Ali Pasha attempted first on one side and then on another to break through the enemy’s lines, but was everywhere driven back with fearful loss by the missiles hurled down from above. The boldest warriors, who had fought man to man in a hundred battles, fled back pale and trembling before the thundering masses of rock, which so completely smashed everything that came in their way that horse and rider were undistinguishable.
Ali Pasha tore his beard in impotent rage on perceiving that he and all his host were at the mercy of an army even now much weaker than his own.
“There is neither help nor refuge, save with the Most High God!” cried he, breaking his sword in twain in his despair; and drawing out his pistols, he pointed them at his own heart.
At that moment a hand snatched his weapons from him, and Ali Pasha saw Zülfikar before him.
“What wouldst thou do, madman?” cried he. “Thou wouldst not have me fall into the hands of the unbelievers?”
“I would deliver you and your host out of their hands,” said Zülfikar.
“By the shadow of Allah, thou dost speak brave words, and if thou couldst but do as thou sayst, I would make thee the foremost of my captains.”
“I desire no such honour. Promise me a thousand ducats, and send me as a messenger to Banfi.”
“So that thou mayst betray my position to him, eh! thou cur?”
“I’ve no need to do that. He can see it for himself from yon hilltop. You are as good as dead and buried already, so that you have no choice but to trust to me. You may hold out for a couple of days perhaps; but then you and your bravest heroes must perish with hunger just like me. We are all in the same evil case, there is nothing to choose between any of us.”
“And what wouldst thou do, wretched slave?”
“Induce Banfi to withdraw his troops from the road leading to Kalota, and thus leave us a loophole of escape.”
“And dost thou think that possible?”
“It may, or it may not be so. Where death is certain, a man cares not what he risks. If I can speak to Banfi this evening, you may be able to escape the same night. If I succeed, well. If not, we shall be no worse off than we are now.”
“The fellow speaks boldly. Do as thou dost desire. I’ll trust thee. Allah alone reads the secrets of the heart. Go!”
Zülfikar laid down his arms, and went all alone down to the narrow pass leading to Kalota. When he came to the Hungarian outposts, his eyes fell upon rows of dead Turks who had been hung up on the trees along the wayside. This sight did not appear to disturb the renegade in the least. He stepped boldly among the Magyars, and as they seized him, said quickly to them in the purest Hungarian—
“Bring me to Denis Banfi. I am his spy!”
“You lie!” cried they. “Sling him up.”
“I can prove it,” continued Zülfikar, with a loud voice, and taking a neatly-folded parchment out of his turban, he handed it to the captain.
The letter contained these words—
“I, Gregory Söter, hereby declare to all the commanders of the Hungarian troops that Zülfikar, the bearer of this letter, is my faithful war-spy. Let him pass free everywhere.”
The captain gave back the letter, not without grumbling, and bade two of his soldiers lead Zülfikar to Banfi, but they were to cut him down at once if the general did not acknowledge him. However, at the first glance Banfi recognized in him Pongracz, Balassa’s former servant, and motioned to his men to leave them alone together.
“So you have turned Turk?” said Banfi.
“This is no time for questions, my lord. ’Tis for me to
