“For God’s sake, my dear son, do not so wickedly. Take away the saints from the altar if you like, but harm not the innocent who are now peacefully slumbering in the shadow of God’s protection.”
“Not another word, Brother Gregory,” cried the robber, closing his fist on his dagger, “or I’ll set the monastery on fire and burn every living soul in it, yourself included. A robber only recognises four sacraments: wine, money, wenches, and blood! You may congratulate yourself if we are content with the third and dispense with the last.”
“So it is!” observed another of the cowled and bearded robbers, tapping Magyari on the shoulder. “Do you recognise me, eh, your Reverence?”
Magyari, with a sensation of shuddering loathing, recognised Szénasi, a canting charlatan whose frauds he had often exposed.
“We know well enough,” said the fellow with an evil chuckle, “that you have a fair daughter here. I am going to pay off old scores.”
If Magyari had not been well in the brother’s grip, he would have gone for the wretch. Every fibre of his body was shivering with rage.
Only the brother remained calm and smiling. Joining his hands together, he made a little mill with the aid of his two thumbs.
“Wait, my dear son, cannot we come to some agreement. You know very well that my money is concealed in barrels, but so well hidden is it that none besides myself know where it is. Even if you turned this monastery upside down you would not find it. You may also have heard that once upon a time there lived a kind of men called martyrs, who let themselves be boiled in oil, or roasted on red-hot fires, or torn in pieces by wild beasts, without saying a word which might hurt their souls. Well, that is the sort of man I am. If I make up my mind to hold my tongue, you might tear me to bits inch by inch with burning tweezers, and you would get not a word nor a penny out of me. Now ’tis for you to choose. Will you carry off the money and leave the poor womenfolk alone, or will you lay your hands on the downtrodden, lame, halt, consumptive beggar-women, whom you will find here, and not see a farthing? Which is it to be?”
The four robbers whispered together. No doubt they said something to this effect: only let the pater produce his money, and then it will be an easy thing for us to take back our given word and satisfy our hearts’ desires. They signified that they would stand by the money.
“Look now! you are good men,” said the father, “take these two torches and come with me to the cellar and go through my treasures, only you must do none any harm.”
“A little less jaw, please,” growled Kökényesdi. “Two go in front with the torches, and Brother Gregory between you. I’ll follow after; the magister can remain behind to look after the other parson. Whoever speaks a word or makes a signal, I’ll bring my axe down on his head—forward!”
And so it was. Two of the robbers went in front with torches; after them came the brother with Kökényesdi at his heels with a drawn dagger in his hand; last of all marched Magyari, whom Master Szénasi held by the collar at arm’s-length, threatening him at the same time with a flashing axe.
Thus they descended to the cellar. The good father, with timid humility, hid his head in his hood and looked neither to the left nor to the right.
The cellar was provided with a large, double, iron trapdoor. After drawing out its massive bolts, the worthy brother raised one of its flaps, bidding them lower the torches for his convenience.
As now the first robber descended and the second plunged after him, the father suddenly kicked out with his monstrous wooden shoe and brought the door down on his head, so that he rolled down to the bottom of the stairs; and then, quick as thought, he turned upon Kökényesdi, seized his hands, and said to Magyari:
“You seize the other!”
Kökényesdi, in the first moment of surprise, thrust at the brother, but his dagger glanced aside against the stiff hair-shirt, and there was no time for a second thrust, for the terrible brother had seized both his hands and crushed them against his breast with irresistible force with one hand, while with the other he dispossessed him of all the murderous weapons in his girdle one by one, shaking him with one hand as easily as a grown man shakes a child of nine; then he dragged him towards the cellar door, pressing it down with their double weight so that those below could not raise it.
Mr. Magyari that selfsame instant had caught the magister by the nape of the neck and, mindful of the wrestling trick he had learnt in his youth when he was a student at Nagyenyed, quickly floored, and, not content with that, sat down on the top of him with his whole weight, so that the poor meagre creature was flattened out beneath him. Magyari at the same time relieved his sprawling hands of their murderous weapons in imitation of the good priest.
Kökényesdi admitted to himself that never before had he been in such a hobble. In a stand-up fight he had rarely met his equal, and more than once he had held his own against two or three stout fellows single-handed; but never had he had to do with such a man as Brother Gregory, one of whose hands was quite sufficient to pin his two arms uselessly to his side, while with the other hand he explored his remotest pockets to their ultimate depths and denuded them of every sort of cutting and stabbing instrument. When the robber realized that even his gigantic strength was powerless to drag his antagonist away from the cellar door beneath which his two comrades
