Great commotion was observable in the Turkish camp. The Tartars were roasting a whole ox on a huge spit, and cut pieces off it while it was roasting; some jovial Wallachians, a little elated by wine, began dancing their national dances; on a hill the Hungarian hussars were blaring their farogatos, whose penetrating voices frequently pierced the most distant recess of the snowy Alps.
But just because the camp had begun making merry the outposts had been carefully disposed. The leaders of the host were youths in age but veterans in military experience; they were keeping watch for everyone.
They met as they were going their rounds and, without observing it, strayed somewhat from the camp and advanced without a word along a mountain path.
At last Feriz broke the silence by remarking gravely to Tököly:
“Is it not desperating to see a mountain before you and not be able to fly?”
“Especially when your desires are on the other side of that mountain.”
“What are your desires?” said Feriz bitterly, “in comparison with mine; you have only a thirst for glory, I have a thirst for blood.”
“But mine is a still stronger impulse,” said Tököly; “I have a wife.”
“Ah! I understand, and you want to see your wife? I also should like to see her if I am not slain. And is the lady worthy of you?”
“One must have lived very far from this kingdom not to have heard of her,” said Tököly proudly. “My name has not given such glory to Helen as her name has to me. When everyone in Hungary laid down their arms, and I myself fled from the kingdom, she herself remained in the fortress of Munkács and defended it as valiantly as any man could do. Helen stood like a man upon the bastions amidst the whirring of the bullets and the thunder of the guns, extinguished the bombs cast into the fortress with huge moistened buffalo-skins, fired off the cannons against the besiegers with her own hands, and cut down the soldiers who attempted to storm the walls, spiked their guns, and burnt their tents.”
At this Feriz grew enthusiastic.
“We will save this brave woman; is she still defending herself?”
“No. My chief confidant—a man whom I trusted would carry out my ideas, a man whom I found a beggar and made a gentleman—betrayed her, and they now hold her captive. Believe me, Feriz, if they gave her back to me I would perchance forever forget my dream of glory and renounce the crown I seek, but to win her back I’ll go through hell itself, and you will see that I shall go through this mountain chain also, for though I have not the strength to fly over it, I have the patience to crawl over it.”
Feriz Beg sighed gloomily.
“Alas! I have no one for whose sake I might hasten into battle.”
Early next morning Tököly came over to Feriz’s quarters and told him that he had just received tidings that Heissler had arrived during the night, having galloped without stopping through Szent Peter to Törcsvár. Teleki, too, was with him.
That name seemed to electrify the young Turk.
He leapt quickly from his couch, and, seizing his sword, raised it towards Heaven and cried with a savage expression which had never been on his face before: “I thank thee, Allah, that thou hast delivered him into my hands!”
The two young generals then consulted together in private for about an hour, after sending everyone out of their tent. Then they came forth and reviewed their forces. Feriz selected his best Janissaries and Spahis, Tököly the Hungarian hussars and the swiftest of the Tartars, and with this little army, numbering about six thousand, they marched off without saying whither. The vast camp meanwhile was entrusted to the care of the Prince of Moldavia, who was charged to stand face to face night and day over against the Transylvanian army, and not move from the spot.
Meanwhile the two young leaders, with their picked band, made their way among the hills by the dark, sylvan mountain paths, whose wilderness no human foot had ever yet trod. Anyone looking down upon them from the rocks above would have called their enterprise foolhardy. Now they had to crawl down precipitous slopes on their hands and knees; now gigantic rocks barred their way, which enclosed them within a narrow, mountainous gorge whence there was no exit; here and there they had to cling on to the roots of the stout shrubs growing out of the crevices of the rocks, or pull themselves up, man by man, and horse by horse, by means of ropes fastened to the trunks of trees. In these regions nought dwelt but savage birds of prey, and the startled golden eagle looked down in wonder from his stony lair at the panting, toiling host—what did such a multitude of men seek in that desolate wilderness?
The Transylvanian gentlemen from the vantage-point of a lofty mountain ridge watched the two opposing hosts facing each other in front of the defiles. Now the Szeklers would burst forth from the woods on the straying Tartars and drive them back to their tents, and now like a disturbing swarm of wasps the Tartars and Wallachians would force the Szeklers back to the very borders of the forest. It was great fun to watch all this from the lofty ridge where stood Heissler, Doria, and Teleki observing the manly sport through long telescopes.
Suddenly the sentinels brought to Heissler a Wallachian who had given the pickets to understand that he had brought a message from the Prince of Wallachia to the commander-in-chief.
“No doubt it is to tell you once more not to go into Wallachia again, for the enemy has eaten it up,” said Teleki, turning to Heissler, who had got to the bottom of the Prince’s former craftiness. “What is your master’s message?” he said, turning towards the Wallachian.
“He sends his respects, and bids you be on your guard against Tököly, for he has a large army
