“Oh, ye false knaves!” cried Feriz Beg, striking his forehead with his clenched fist.
Ajas Pasha turned coolly towards Martin Pók: “Greet thy master, and tell him from me that another time he must be quicker, and not make me angry.—As for thee, Feriz, my son, pay me back those hundred ducats!”
XXIV
The Hostage
One evening two horsemen dressed as Turks rode into the courtyard of the fortress of Szamosújvár, and demanded an audience of the noble Danó Sólymosi, the commandant. A soldier conducted to him the two Muslims, one of whom seemed to be a man advanced in years, whose sunburnt face was covered with scars; the other was a youth, whose face was half hidden in the folds of a large mantle, only his dark eyes were visible.
“Good evening, captain,” said the elder Turk, greeting the commandant, who at the first moment recognised the intruder and joyfully hastened towards him and grasped his hand.
“So God has brought Kucsuk Pasha to my humble dwelling.”
“Then thou dost recognise me, worthy old man?” said Kucsuk, just touching the hand of the worthy old Magyar.
“How could I help it, my good sir? Thou didst free my only daughter from the hands of the filthy Tartars, thou didst deliver her from grievous captivity, thou didst give her a place of refuge, food, and pleasant words in a foreign land. I should not be a man if I were to forget thee.”
“Well, for all these things I have come hither to beg something of thee.”
“Command me! My life and goods are at thy service.”
“Dost thou not detain here the family of Paul Béldi?”
“Yes, sir; they brought the unfortunate creatures hither.”
“I must have Paul Béldi’s consort out of this prison for a fortnight, at the accomplishment of which time I will bring her back again.”
The captain was thunderstruck.
“Sir,” said he, “you are playing with my head.”
“None will know, and in two weeks’ time she will be here again.”
“But if they discover it?”
“Have no fear of that. During that time I will leave in thy hands as a hostage my own son.”
The young cavalier approached, threw back his mantle, and the captain recognised Feriz Beg. He fancied he was dreaming.
“Dost thou not suppose that I will bring back the woman for the sake of my son?”
“Do what you think well,” said the commandant. “I owe you a life, I will now pay it back to you; follow me!”
The commandant led his visitors up a narrow corkscrew fortress into the corner tower, which was used as a dungeon for state prisoners. The circular windows were guarded by heavy iron bars, the heavy iron-plated oaken doors groaned upon their hinges, indicating thereby that they were very seldom opened.
“Why did you put them in this lonely place?” asked Kucsuk Pasha; “is there not some other prison in the town?”
“Don’t blame me, sir; my orders were to lock the lady up securely, apart from her child, and in this tower are two adjacent chambers with a common window, and in one of them I have put the mother and in the other the child. I knew that they would not mind if they could speak to each other through the window, and press each other’s hands, and even kiss each other through the bars.”
“Thou art a true man, my good old fellow,” said Kucsuk Pasha, patting the commandant’s shoulder; while Feriz Beg warmly pressed his hand.
“Thou wouldst put me into just such another dungeon, eh?” he asked.
“There would be no need of that, good Feriz Beg; you should dwell in my apartments.”
“But I would not have it so,” said the youth, thinking with glowing cheeks of the fair Aranka who would thus be his next-door neighbour and fellow-prisoner.
At last the iron door of the prison was opened, the jailor remained outside, and the two Osmanlis entered. By the side of a rude oak table was sitting a lady in deep mourning in front of the narrow window, reading aloud from a large Bible with silver clasps; her children at the window of the other dungeon were listening devoutly to the Word of God.
When the men entered the woman started and looked up; the dim ray of light coming through the narrow window made her face appear still paler than it used to be; she looked up seriously, sadly—sorrow had lent a gentle gravity to the face that used to be so bright and gay.
Kucsuk Pasha approached, and taking the lady’s soft transparent hand in his own, briefly introduced himself.
“I am Kucsuk Pasha, thy husband’s most faithful friend in this world after thyself.”
“I thank you for your visit; my husband has often mentioned your name. Do you perchance bring me any message from him?”
“He would have thee with him.”
“Then I am free?” cried the lady, tremulous between joy and doubt.
“Rejoice not, lady; it is not in my power to give thee freedom, I only promise thee a brief interview with Paul Béldi, just time enough for thee to tell him how much thou hast suffered. He cannot come to thee, so thou must come to him. With me thou canst come most quickly, for the greatest part of the time we shall be travelling together.”
“Will my children come with me?”
“They will remain here. But thou wilt see them again soon. Either thou wilt conquer Paul Béldi with thy tears, and melt his iron will, and then he will come back to Transylvania as Prince and every gate will be open before him; or else he will stand fast to his determination, and then thou wilt return to thy dungeon and he to his, and so you will both die in the dungeons of different realms. Now take leave of thy children and hasten. It depends upon thee whether they become princes and princesses or slaves forever.”
“And who will defend them, who will watch over
