Banfi answered not a syllable, but he sent for his armour and his charger, and calmly got ready to depart.
“Your lordship would do well to hasten,” said the castellan; “by this time the Szeklers must have penetrated into the state apartments.”
“It is well,” replied Banfi, walking up and down the room with folded arms.
“No, my lord; it is not well. They have smashed to pieces everything in the rooms, torn the carpets to shreds, divided among them the curiosities, flooded the cellars with wine, and even made away with the horses.”
“It does not matter,” replied the magnate hoarsely. What cared he at that moment for his costliest treasures, his wine, his horses?
“They have done still worse, my lord. They forced their way into her ladyship’s bedroom, set up the bust of her ladyship as a target, and mutilated it horribly amidst peals of laughter.”
“What! My wife’s bust?” cried Banfi, putting his hand to his sword. “My wife’s bust did you say?” repeated he with sparkling eyes. “Ha!” he roared, and tearing his sword from its sheath, raised his face to heaven with an expression which no one had ever seen there before. It was like the face of a furious tiger chained down by force, with bloodshot eyes, thick starting veins in the forehead, and lips thirsting after blood. “God be gracious and merciful to them!” cried he, with a terrible voice, threw himself upon his horse, and hastened to his host.
“My friends!” cried he, ere yet he had had time to marshal their ranks. “A marauding swarm of hornets has fallen upon my castle and plundered it. They have smashed everything in my rooms, emptied my stables, stolen or destroyed my family treasures. All that troubles me little. Let the half-starved wretches eat and drink their fill! Let them keep what they have got! Let them rob, burn, and ravage if they will, poor devils! I am still the master of many mansions, and can pay off this beggarly Szekler crew out of one pocket. But they have defaced the image of my wife!—my wife I say! Therefore will I take vengeance upon them, a fearful vengeance. Follow me! The trees of the orchards of Bonczhida have not borne fruit for a long time. We will now hang fruit upon them ourselves!”
The enthusiastic shouts of the squadrons proved that the host was ready to follow Banfi whithersoever he might choose to lead it. The captains marshalled their divisions, and the second flourish of trumpets had already sounded, when a company of twelve horsemen suddenly appeared in front of Banfi’s host. In the foremost of this company they recognized the Prince’s herald, a broad-shouldered man of gigantic stature, who boldly rode up to Banfi and his staff, and raising his escutcheoned bâton, cried—“Halt!”
“Use your eyes! We are halting!” retorted Michael Angel.
“In the name of his Highness, the Prince, I cite you, Denis Banfi, to appear within three days before the Privy Council at Karoly-Fehervár, there to defend yourself as best you may against the charges brought against you. Till then your consort remains in our hands as a hostage for your good behaviour.”
“We are coming,” retorted Michael Angel; “don’t you see that we are already about to start? We only wanted to know whither, and now we know it.”
“Silence, captain!” cried Banfi; “one must not jest with the Prince’s ambassador.”
The herald next turned to the captains.
“This citation does not concern you. I have a very different message to deliver to you in the Prince’s name.”
“You had better keep your message to yourself, or I’ll speak a word in your ears which will make them tingle,” jeered one of the captains, aiming at the herald with his pistol.
“Down with your weapons,” exclaimed Banfi; “let him proclaim the Prince’s mandate. Give him room that he may speak freely.”
The herald rose in his stirrups, and looking along the ranks cried aloud—
“The Prince forbids you from henceforth to obey Banfi! Whoever takes up weapons for him is a traitor!”
“You’re a traitor yourself,” roared Michael Angel, and the next moment the crowd fell furiously upon the herald, with loud cries of “Kill him! kill him!” A hundred blades flashed simultaneously over his head.
“Hold!” cried Banfi in a voice of thunder, covering the herald with his body; “this man’s person is sacred and inviolable. To your places! Sheathe your swords! I—your leader—command it!”
“Eljen! eljen!” roared the brigades, and at the word of command they fell back into their places and stood there like an iron wall.
“You will not be very angry with me,” said Banfi to the herald, who had suddenly turned deadly pale, “you will not be very angry with me, I hope, for making them obey me this once? Go back to the Prince and tell him that in three days I will appear before him.”
“And tell him that we will be there too,” cried the captains in chorus.
The herald and his suite withdrew. Banfi moodily bent his head.
The third flourish of trumpets had already sounded, and the banners were all unfurled; but Banfi still continued staring blankly, darkly, dumbly before him.
“Draw your sword, my lord!” cried Angel; “place yourself at our head, and let us start. First to Bonczhida and then to Fehervár.”
“What do you say?” said Banfi, with a start. “What is it?”
“I say that if the law of the sword is to try you, the sword must also be your defence.”
“And such a process is generally called civil war!”
“We have not kindled it.”
“Nor will we fan it. ’Tis no longer, I see, a struggle against my personal enemies, but against the Prince, and he is the head of the land.”
“And are not you its right arm? If they choose to light up the flames of civil war, we will not allow it to be quenched in your blood.”
“And
