His servant, the one whom he mentions in his "Lamentable Song," Orsolya took to be quite an old man. Withered and worn like his master, he was, if possible, even more dilapidated, thanks to his encounter with the wolves.

"You have come a long way and suffered much, Father," said Orsolya gently, when she had welcomed Dora and Talabor, and regained her composure.

"Much lady, much--I--I----"

"Ah, well, never mind! so long as you are here at last, Father Roger, never mind! It is a long, long time since we met last! Do you remember?

My husband was alive then, and we were staying in Pressburg with my nephew, Stephen Szirmay, and with the Hedervarys."

"I remember well, dear lady; ah! how little we any of us dreamt of the days that were coming!"

He spoke falteringly, in a faint voice; and as he sat bowed together on the low seat, Orsolya noticed that he trembled in every limb.

The rumour of his arrival had quickly spread, and the inhabitants of the cavern all came flocking round, eager to see and hear. In their bright-coloured, though more or less worn garments, with the fire-light playing upon them, and a whole troop of eager children among them, they were a most picturesque company. But Orsolya allowed no time for questions.

"Come," said she, rising from her chair, "that will do for the present!

Father Roger is worn out! Will you ladies go and get St. Anna's house ready, and make up good beds; and you, kinsmen," she went on, turning to the men, "will you see about clothes and clean linen? I am afraid we have nothing but old rags, but at least they are not quite so worn as those our friends are wearing, and they are a trifle cleaner! I shall put the good Canon especially in your charge, Marton; you will look after him and see that he wants for nothing."

"Thank you, lady," stammered Roger, almost overwhelmed by the warmth of his reception. "Blessings be upon your honoured head, and upon all who dwell beneath this roof."

All present bowed their heads almost involuntarily, whereupon Roger summoned all his remaining strength, and reaching forth his withered hands, p.r.o.nounced the benediction over them; after which the children made a rush forward to seize and kiss his hands.

"No, I won't hear anything now, Father Roger," said the old lady after a pause, for her new guests belonged to the family now, she considered, and were to be "thee'd and thou'd" and managed like the rest. "You must not say another word; you must eat and drink and get thoroughly rested, and then, to-morrow perhaps, or in a day or two, when you have said prayers in the chapel (we have one!) and the day's work is done, we will all sit round the fire, and you shall tell us all you know and all you have seen."

Aunt Orsolya's subjects were well drilled, and though they were burning with eagerness and anxiety, those who had begun to besiege the other wanderers with inquiries at once refrained.

Preceded by a couple of torch-bearers, Father Roger was led carefully away to one of the side caves, all of which had their names; Dora was taken in charge by some of the ladies; Talabor and the Canon's servant were equally well looked after, and that night they all once more ate the "home-made bread," which they had so long been without. That it was made with a considerable admixture of tree-bark mattered little, perhaps they hardly noticed the fact. It was simply delicious!

And the beds! As Dora sank down on hers, it seemed to her that she had never known real comfort before.

At last the excitement of the evening had subsided; the Queen's subjects had all rea.s.sembled about the fires, speculating much as to what the new-comers would have to tell them; and presently Aunt Orsolya began her nightly rounds, visiting all in turn, and stopping to have a little kindly chat with each group.

CHAPTER XIX.

FATHER ROGER'S STORY.

A day or two pa.s.sed, and the good Father Roger began to recover a little of his strength, if not much of his cheerfulness. He was naturally a robust man, and he was, besides, inured to hardship and suffering; there was nothing actually amiss with him but extreme fatigue and want of food, so that after a few quiet nights and days he began to feel more like himself, and able to give some account of all that had happened since Aunt Orsolya and the rest had betaken themselves to the cavern.

The men, of course, had some of them been going out more or less all the time, hunting, or--as we have said, stealing, but the accounts they had brought back had been not only imperfect, but often so contradictory that it was hard for the refugees to form any clear idea of what had really been going on, and, naturally enough, they were intensely eager to hear.

No one was more eager than Aunt Orsolya, and it cost her no small effort to repress her curiosity, or rather anxiety; but she did it, and not only forbore to question Roger herself, but strictly forbade everyone else to do so also.

But as soon as she saw that the Canon was able to walk about a little, that his appet.i.te was good, and that he was gradually regaining his usual calm, she reminded him of his promise; and one evening they all gathered round him in the firelight to hear the story which he afterwards wrote in Latin verse, and to which he gave the t.i.tle of "Carmen miserabile," or "Lamentable Song."

Roger began his narration by telling of the battle of Mohi and the King's escape to Thurocz; and Orsolya heard with pride how Stephen, Peter, and Akos Szirmay had shared his flight, how Stephen had fallen by the way, and how Master Peter had survived all the perils and dangers by which they were beset, and how Akos, too, had not only survived the Kun ma.s.sacre, but was safe and sound when last the Canon had heard of him, and had distinguished himself by many an act of bravery and devotion; and the old lady's eyes grew very bright as she listened, and she put out her hand to stroke that of the pale, slim girl who sat beside her, eagerly drinking in every word. Father Roger's information came from the captives brought in at different times, and stopped short, so far as the King and his followers were concerned, at the time when they had taken refuge in the island of Bua, and Kajdan had found himself baffled in his pursuit. To indemnify himself for the loss of his prey, he had plundered Dalmatia, Croatia, and Bosnia, had vainly stormed Ragusa, and had set fire to Cattaro. The last Father Roger knew of him was that he had turned east and was expected to join Batu in Moldavia, by way of Albania, Servia, and Bulgaria.

The name of Kajdan was not unknown to the refugees, for it was he who had led the Mongol horde which had poured into Transylvania from the north-east; it was he, or rather probably only his vanguard, who had been defeated by the men of Radna; it was he who had suddenly attacked them in force on March 31st, when they were gaily celebrating their victory; it was he who had consented to leave their town and mines uninjured on the condition that Ariskald, their Count, should act as his guide. It was he, as Father Roger knew too well, who had crossed into Hungary and joined Batu in reducing it to a desert; for his own cathedral city, Grosswardein (Nagyvarad) was one of the many places which Kajdan had captured.

"And about yourself, Father Roger?" asked Orsolya. "Tell us about yourself, where you were taken, and how you escaped with your life."

"I had fled from Nagyvarad before Kajdan reached it, and was a fugitive, hiding in the woods, living on roots and herbs and wild fruits until the autumn, and then--I was deceived as others were!"

Father Roger went on to explain that Batu, by way of keeping those of the inhabitants who had not yet fled, and of luring back some who had, in order that the harvest might be secured, had issued a proclamation in the King's name.

"But how?" interrupted Orsolya. "You were deceived! Can he write our tongue? Besides, the King's proclamations have the King's seal."

"And so had this! They--they got hold of it."

"And knew what it was?" persisted Aunt Orsolya incredulously.

Reluctantly Father Roger had to admit that they had been enlightened by a Hungarian.

"A Magyar!" burst from his audience in various tones of horror and indignation.

"There were not many like him, I am sure there were not many--perhaps we don't know everything. He saved my life; I don't like to think too ill of him--it was a time of awful trial--ah! if you had seen how some were tortured! It was enough to try the courage of the stoutest heart, and he was not naturally a brave man. And yet I could not have believed it of him! I can't believe it! There must have been some mistake, surely!"

"You had known him before, the traitor!" cried Aunt Orsolya.

"Yes," said Father Roger sadly, "I had known him. He had joined the Mongols before the battle of Mohi, partly because he was poor, or rather because he was afraid of being poor, and partly because he was frightened. He had been useful to the Mongols on many occasions; and he had grown rich and prosperous among them. No one of the chiefs outdid him in splendour, in the number of his servants, or of his beautiful horses. He, too, had been made a chief, a Knez, as they called it. Well, Nicholas the Chancellor was among the many who fell at Mohi, and a Mongol, who was plundering the dead, found upon him the King's seal.

This chanced to come to--to this man's ears, and he thought it might be useful; it was easy for him to get possession of it, for it was not valuable, being only of steel. He gave the Mongol a stolen sheep in exchange, and the man thought himself well paid. I don't suppose he had any thought then of putting his prize to any ill use; but he was one of those who never missed an opportunity, and generally managed to secure for himself the lion's share of any booty. However it was, he had the seal, and now----"

Father Roger paused, perhaps from weariness; perhaps because it was never his way to speak evil of any if it could be avoided.

"Don't let us judge him," he went on. "The poor wretch had seen enough to terrify a bolder man than he. He went to the Khan and advised him what to do, and Batu gave him a valuable Tartar sword, and a splendid horse in return."

Father Roger explained that among the prisoners there were many monks and others able to write, and that some of these were "compelled" by Batu to draw up and make copies of a proclamation in the King's name.

Every copy was sealed with the King's seal, and they were distributed broadcast over the country. He had seen more than one copy himself, and more than once he had been called upon to read it to those who were unable to read for themselves.

This was how the proclamation ran: "Fear not the savage fury of the dogs! and do not dare to fly from your homes. We were somewhat over hasty indeed in abandoning the camp and our tents, but by the mercy of G.o.d we hope to renew the war valiantly before long, and to regain all that we have lost. Pray diligently therefore to the all-merciful G.o.d that He may grant us the heads of our enemies."

There was nothing of the Mongol about this, and any lingering doubts were, dispelled by the sight of the King's seal. The result was what the Mongols hoped for. In places which had not yet been harried and ravaged the population remained, while many refugees returned to their farms.

"But the traitor!" interrupted Orsolya, "what of him? Where is he? If there is such a thing as justice----"

"He was made one of the hundred chief magistrates," said Father Roger quietly, "and one day when he was in Nagyvarad, after my return, he recognised me and offered to take me into his service. He could protect me better, he said."

"But his name! Who is he? One ought to know who are traitors! Where had you known him before?" persisted Orsolya.

"At Master Stephen Szirmay's! He was one of his pages. His name was Libor."

Dora and Talabor both uttered an exclamation.

"He lived with my nephew Stephen! and he could turn traitor!" cried Aunt Orsolya in horror.