The Bad Old Times

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Title:     The Bad Old Times
Author: Maurus Jokai [More Titles by Jokai]

In those sad times when the accursed, merciless Tatar was ravaging our good country, two good Hungarian brother warriors and kinsmen, Simon and Michael Koppand, after the devastation of Tamásfalu, of which great city not a vestige remains to the present day, escaped somehow from the burning and massacring, and taking refuge among the bulrushes, lay concealed therein for many days and nights, often up to the tops of their heads in water, for the evil, bloodthirsty enemy scoured even the morasses in search of fugitives, with the firm determination of extirpating every Magyar from the face of the earth once for all.

Thus, hiding by day and skulking by night, they made their way gradually but steadily towards the west, so far as the course of the stars pointed it out to them, hoping still somewhere to find a refuge. They had no other food but the eggs of wild ducks and moorhens, and whatever they might find in the nests of the marsh-birds that they lived upon.

One day, when they had already gone a long way and thought that they had well distanced the Tatars, they ventured to emerge from the wilderness of rushes, and by the beautiful light of the moon they then beheld, some distance in front of them, a tower.

That means there must be a town there, they thought, let us make for it, there we shall be in safety, so far the Tatar has not come. For every man in those days believed that then, as had been usual at other times, every robber horde, bursting into a kingdom, when once it has well loaded itself with booty, returns again as a matter of course to its own country.

All night, then, they proceeded in the direction of the tower before them. When they drew close to it they perceived for the first time that this tower had no roof; but when they got closer still they saw that all the houses of the town had been levelled with the ground, and when they entered the street they saw that none dwelt there, but wolves and savage dogs bayed at them from behind the pillars of the gates, within which every sort of human shape was lying, shapes without heads, women transfixed with darts, mothers with long, dishevelled, black tresses covering their children with their dead bodies.

The youths covered their eyes with horror at this spectacle.

But still there they must remain till the night of the following day, concealed somewhere, for dawn was now close at hand and it was not good to come out in the open in the bright sunlight.

So they went into the church that they might hide themselves there, either in the crypt or perhaps in a sacristy.

Hah, the whole church was a funeral vault. There they had cut down the pride, the flower of the nation. Women, men, and children lay heaped up together among the burnt rafters, the pale moon shining through the roofless and dilapidated building illuminated them.

Inside they had to wield their swords with right good will to drive out the wolves who had come hither to perform the office of grave-diggers, and who as often as they were chased away came back and bayed at the open door.

Then said Simon, the elder of the two brethren: "Brother Michael, these evil wolves will give us no peace, and because of them we shall get no rest, and yet, for sheer weariness and want of sleep, we can go not a step further. Lie you down, therefore--your best place will be close beside the altar, for there God is not far from you, and I meanwhile keep guard the door and keep the wild beasts away from you, and when I am aweary, then you shall rise up and watch over me."

Michael sought him out, therefore, a place near the altar, and lay down beside the dead body of a warrior, it looked just as if the two of them were sleeping, or as if the two of them were dead. Simon, meanwhile, gathered together some fallen darts from the field of battle, found him a bow, and leaned against the lintel of the doorway. Whenever the hideous monsters approached, he shot an arrow among them, and every time he did so a fight arose between the wounded wolf and the others, which he thought had bitten him. This disgusting combat lasted amidst ugly snarling and snapping for about an hour, when an old wolf began to howl hideously, as if by way of signal to his fellows, who howled back again from every part of the town, and then suddenly the whole lot of them made off, scattering in every direction.

Simon speedily conjectured the cause of this sudden flight, hastened back to his brother and cried--

"Awake, little brother! I hear the hoot of the horns, the Tatars are coming back."

There was no other hope of escape than for the pair of them to lie down among the dead bodies with their faces turned earthwards, thus quietly to await the new-comers.

Presently they appeared amidst the ruins of the church.

Ofttimes it happened thus. The Tatars thought to themselves: The people who have taken refuge fancy we have nothing more to seek in the devastated towns, and will come out of their holes, let us go and hunt them down. And in this way very many perished.

It was a man of that very town who led them back. An inhabitant of a Christian town had become a Tatar, joined himself to the enemies of his faith and country, and went before to show them the best places to plunder.

And this wicked, accursed man was now wearing the Tatar dress, a high-peaked fur cap, white breeches, and murdered the Tatar tongue to give them pleasure--God grant the words may stick in his throat and choke him.

The two brethren could gather from their talk that the evil renegade had led the enemy hither in order that he might show them the entrance to the crypt in which the fugitive population had concealed their treasures, and then walled up the door behind them. They immediately broke it open, and with a great racket and uproar dispersed among the discovered treasures, breaking in pieces whatever was too large to be taken away whole. The renegade got for his share the cover of a pyx, which the vile wretch stuck in front of his cap by way of ornament.

"Let me once get a fair hold of you!" thought Simon the warrior to himself. He was looking on at all this with half an eye as he lay among the dead bodies.

Then the murderous Tatars piled up a fire on the altar, slaughtered a horse in the church, broiled it in hunks on huge spits, and squatted down to devour it. It was an abomination to behold them. The Tatar convert ate along with them.

Suddenly a burning ember from the crackling fire lit upon Michael the warrior's extended palm. Simon the warrior saw it well, and trembled lest his younger brother might make some movement under this burning torture, when both of them must needs perish. But warrior Michael, very nicely and quietly, closed tightly the palm of his hand, so that nobody noticed it, and stifled the burning ember so that not even its expiring fizzle was audible.

Towards dawn the Tatars began to set off again, mounted their barebacked horses and scudded further on, never observing that they had left two living men among the dead bodies.

The two warriors were careful not to leave the church till late in the evening, but went on fighting there with the beasts of the field, and, in the daytime, they found yet other adversaries in the vultures who hovered all day above their heads, and all but tore their eyes out with their claws, because they stood between them and the dead bodies. They gave thanks to God when at sundown they were able to quit the horrible place and go on further.

Along the level plain they went as quickly as they could hasten, not even daring to look behind them, though there they would have seen nothing but the black clouds of smoke from the burning towns, which the wind drove over their heads. Behind them the Tatar was coming.

Towards evening they reached a lofty hill, in which dwelt a gipsy. The gipsy was doubly a foe, being both an alien and a heathen, he was, therefore, just the sort of man to give good advice to fugitives.

In those days all sorts of folks were flying from the Tatars, flying whithersoever they saw light before them, some on foot, some on horseback, some on cars, men, women, and children.

"Alas! my dear creatures," wailed the gipsy, "you come to a bad place when you come hither. You would do very much better to turn back in the direction whence the Tatar bands are coming, for they, at least if you surrender, will not cut you down, but will only make slaves of you. But, alas! in front a far greater danger awaits you, for in yonder forest dwell giants, terribly huge monsters with antlered heads and mouths so wide that they can swallow a man down whole. They seize all those who fly towards the forest and roast them on large spits. They don't hurt me because I give them wine to drink when they come hither."

Before now the refugees had heard from the warriors flying from the direction of Grosswardein of these Tatar giants who had scattered a whole host by simply appearing before it. Nay, a herdsman, a worthy man of Cumanian origin, had sworn that he had seen them. They strode over the fields, he said, four ells at one stride, and one of them had sat down quite easily on the roof of a house, with his legs dangling down.

At this rumour, the poor, terrified, common folks preferred to run back into the jaws of the Tatars, rather than fall beneath the fangs of these monsters; but the two Koppands said to one another very prudently--

"Look, now, there are far fewer of these monsters, whereas the Tatars can be numbered by hundreds of thousands. The flesh of a giant is but flesh, and a sword may pierce it. Goliath also was a giant, and a shepherd's son slew him. Let us rather go against them."

And they set off towards the forest.

"Well, you will repent it," the gipsy cried after them.

As the warriors drew near to the forest, there emerged from among the trees twelve terrible forms, thrice as big as ordinary men. They had heads as large as barrels, their moustaches were like horses' tails, they covered two ells at each stride, and swords two ells in length hung heavily on their shoulders.

"Well, little brother," said Simon the warrior, grasping the hilt of his sword at the sight, "either they are going to eat us or we will eat them, choose your man and I'll choose mine."

And they drew their swords and rushed upon the giants.

The monstrous shapes at first raised a great shout at them, and flourished their swords, but perceiving that they could by no means terrify the two warriors, they turned tail, and with long strides hastened back towards the forest.

They were no giants from the hand of Nature after all, but only jugglers of the Tatar khan who could stride about on long stilts, and dressed up to ape God's wonders, so as to scare back the fugitive population into the claws of its murderers. The gipsy knew this very well, for he was in league with them.

When Simon the warrior saw the giants take to flight, he encouraged his brother still more against them. But they had no need to hunt for them in the forest, for they could not move quickly enough on their stilts among the trees and shrubs, their masques and wrappings also impeded them, so that they could not make a proper use of their heavy swords, so the two brothers cut down every one of them without mercy, and stuck their painted monster heads on the tops of stakes on the borders of the forest, that the flying people might take courage at the sight when they beheld them from afar. And the name of the treacherous gipsy Simon the warrior wrote down on the hilt of his sword.

And then they again set out westward, till at length they reached the waters of the Theiss, where they found a ferry, in front of which many people were then waiting, all of whom had fled from before the Tatars. The toll was in those days collected by certain of the Patarenes or Albigenses, for in the days of King Andrew and the Palatine Dienes, all the tolls had fallen into the hands of such-like oppressed people. It might be supposed that in times of such great danger, when every one was flying from fire amidst bloodshed, that the ferrymen would let the fugitives over the rivers for nothing. And of a truth Christian Magyar men would have so done, but the impious Patarenes laid heavier contributions than usual on the refugees, who fled from before the Tatars, carrying all they possessed on their persons, and these last possessions they had to give up to the godless ferrymen. The women had to give up their earrings, the men their shoe-buckles by way of ransom, to the hard-hearted wretches to ferry them over. But those who had nothing and were flying as beggars received godless usage at their hands, for they were compelled to repeat after them a Manichæan prayer, which was nothing but a frightful blasphemy against the one true God and His saints in the Tatar tongue. And very many repeated it not thinking at all in their deadly fear of the salvation of their souls. Those who feared to utter the abomination searched elsewhere for a ford across the Theiss, or, if they could swim, set about swimming, and so many perished there.

The two brethren had nought wherewith to pay the ferry-toll but the blaspheming Tatar prayer. Simon the warrior said he would rather let himself be cut in pieces by the Tatars than blaspheme the true God and the Blessed Virgin, but Michael, having more sang-froid, assured him that he would say it for them both, and made out that his brother was dumb. He, therefore, repeated the horrible blasphemy twice, once for himself and once for his elder brother, while Simon, with clenched fists, repeated silently to himself an Our Father and a Hail Mary! Thus they got ferried over to the opposite shore; and when Simon the warrior reproached his brother for yielding to compulsion and repeating the blasphemous verses, Michael reassured his elder brother by telling him that after every verse he had said to himself: "Not true, not true." Yet for all that it was a grievous sin.

And warrior Simon marked the name of the Manichæan on the hilt of his sword.

But now the refugees plunged into the jaws of a fresh danger. The great battle of the Sajo[22] had just been lost. The Tatar flood filled the whole space between the Danube and the Theiss. When they emerged on the border of a forest, the two brothers saw nothing all around them, right up to the horizon, but the smoke of burning villages. They returned, therefore, into the forest, and began to fare northwards, hearing on every side of them the sound of the Tatar horns replying to each other; seeking a refuge for the night in the trunks of hollow trees, and finding no other sustenance than wild honey and beach-mast with which to satisfy the cravings of hunger.

[Footnote 22: On the Muhi puszta, near the river Sajo, the Tatars defeated King Bela and the Magyars in 1241.]

On the fourth day they reached a respectable house in the midst of the forest, which was defended neither by trench nor bastion, and yet was not burnt down.

The young warriors marvelled thereat; they did not know that in this house dwelt a Moor, and the Moors were all on the side of the Tatars. They brought them tidings, conducted them to the towns, and were their spies and receivers. What the Tatars stole they bought of them cheaply, and peddled it in Moravia, and even further still. This was the house of one of these hucksters. A great red ox's head was painted on the door, that the Tatars might recognize that the dweller therein was one of their men.

The Moor received them with great amiability when they crossed his threshold, assured them that they might stay with him, and immediately set about making ready a meal for them, which was a great consolation to the honest, starving wanderers. While they were complaining to their honest host of the hardships they had undergone, a noble lady came panting up to the house, from whose ragged robes and unstitched sandals one could see that she had fled afar for refuge, and asked whether her beloved husband and her little boy had come thither. There were five of them hiding in the forest, she said; her husband, with their little boy, a faithful retainer, a nurse, and a little baby. All at once they had heard the barking of dogs, and her husband had said that the other three should remain behind in a cave, while he himself, with the little boy, went on in front to look about, and see whether there were any human dwelling near at hand. They had waited for him a long time, till at last the wife, terrified at the long absence of her husband, had come forth herself to seek him. Were they perchance here?

"It is possible they may have come hither, my child," said the Moor, with a shrug; "many seek refuge here nowadays. What were they like?"

The woman described her husband's appearance and his garments, and then the little boy. On the little boy's finger, she said, was a black horsehair ring, with a little white cross. None could take it off, even if they killed him for it; he could be recognized by that.

The Moor replied that he had not cast eyes on them, and the poor woman, wailing and ringing her hands, went further on to seek for her husband and her little boy.

Meanwhile, a meal had been served up for the young warriors--seethed flesh in a huge caldron. The Moor also brought them wine, and, hoping they would enjoy their food, left them to themselves.

Sir Michael, who was very hungry, would have attacked the liberal repast forthwith, but Sir Simon stopped him.

"Had we not better first offer up our thanks, Michael?" said he.

So they said a grace, as it becomes God-fearing men to do, and then only did they turn to their meat.

And behold! God had mercy on them, and was gracious to them, for when Sir Michael plunged his curved eating-knife into the kettle, what think you he brought out of it on the point of his knife? A tiny bone encircled by a black horsehair ring, with a tiny white cross in the midst of the ring.

The youths leaped in terror to their feet, and, with no further thought of either meat or drink, and without taking leave of host or hostess, rushed from thence as fast as their legs could carry them, and only late in the evening arrived in front of the cave of a poor hermit, to whom they told the horrible thing that had befallen them.

"Give thanks to God, my sons," said the old ascetic, "that He has delivered you from that evil place, for the dwellers therein are none other than the impious Moors, the spies of the Tatars, who give to the refugees who seek a shelter there, stupefying drugs in their drink, and, when sleep has overcome them, chop off their heads. For the heads they get a denarius a piece from the Tatars, and the flesh of the bodies they give to the refugees who come afterwards, thus most monstrously causing the Magyars to eat the bodies of their own brethren. Rejoice that you have not tasted thereof. Clear fresh water and dried roots will now be a banquet to you, and we will share them together. Remain here till morning, and then go even higher and higher towards the north; you cannot miss your way. On whichever side of the trees you find moss, in that direction the north will be. If you go a seven days' journey through valleys and hills, you will see before you the highest mountains on the borders of Hungary; there will you hear a bell, and it shall guide you. There you will find a shelter--there are the Stones of Refuge, which those who are skilled in war have provided with means of defence, so that they may receive fugitives from every quarter. There also will be a good place for you. You will find there an altar, bread, strong bastions, which the good God and your good swords will defend against a thousand enemies. Stop nowhere till you reach that place, for danger and desolation are over all the land."

The young warriors kissed the hand of the good old man for his good counsel, and early in the morning, according to his directions, went all alone through the dense forests. They went far, they went for a long time, they left behind them the oak hills, they left the beech hills behind them, and now they were among the dark, solemn pines, but further and further still they had to go.

But one morning, when they had sat down to rest among the lofty mountains, the voice of a bell, coming from afar, struck upon their ears. It was the voice of a very large bell, such bells as are only to be found in such cities as Fehérvár or Nagy Várad, in the cathedrals.

Sir Michael leaped with joy at the sound.

"Here must certainly be the Rocks of Refuge," he cried.

But his brother Simon only shook his head.

"We have still further to go, my brother. The holy man said it was at least a seven days' journey from here."

"Ah! no doubt he measured the distance with his own feet, and they are old."

"But the sound of this bell comes not from the north, but much more from the west."

"No doubt we have lost the proper direction."

And Sir Michael persuaded his elder brother, Simon, not to go any further, but turn aside and discover from whence came the sound of the bell, for surely none but a Christian man would signal with a bell. No doubt they did so to prevent folks from losing their way, so that they might turn in thither and find a place of refuge from the enemy.

Simon at last agreed, and they proceeded in the direction from whence the sound of the bell came, and when they had emerged from the forest a little pebbly valley opened out before them, through which wound a little brook, and over the brook a great footbridge was cast. But the bridge led up to a great rocky castle, with a large pointed tower in each of its four corners, and a fifth tower in the middle. There were bells in all five of these towers, and they were pulling them as if they were ringing in a procession.

"These be certainly the Rocks of Refuge!" cried Sir Michael, once more.

"The hermit said nothing of such towers and bastions as these," remarked his brother Simon, hesitating.

"They may have been built since last he was here," replied his brother.

And so they went on towards the castle. But it struck them as strange that there were neither peasants' huts, nor a village, nor cottagers' dwellings at the base of this strange castle, as there was wont to be elsewhere. How was that?

"No doubt they have gathered all the peasantry within the walls of the castle." Thus did the credulous Sir Michael explain it all.

The watchman on the tower, when he saw the travellers drawing near, immediately sounded his horn, whereupon they let down the drawbridge which connected the footbridge with the castle gate. Strong retainers came forth to meet the new arrivals, and when the travellers gravely told them that they had come from afar, from the midst of the devastated kingdom, and knew not whether this was a good place of refuge or not, the men laughed aloud and said: "Yes, you have indeed come to a good place, comrades, for this is the castle of Sir Fulko, a famous and well-known warrior. The Tatar cannot come hither, though he fill up the whole valley. Here, too, there is no lack, for here is enough to eat and drink and to spare. Have you any treasures which you want put into a safe place?"

"Of a truth we have nothing at all but our good swords."

"Well, so much the better. You can enter into the knight's service, and can win a good wage by fighting valiantly beneath his banner."

"We want no money for our service; it suffices us if we can fight against the pagans beneath a good leader."

The lackeys laughed at the valorous way in which the youths spoke, and led them into the castle, and soon afterwards they brought them scented water in silver ewers, and made them wash and bathe themselves. Then they brought them splendid velvet and flowered damask garments embroidered with gold and crusted with diamonds. They also anointed their locks with fragrant unguents. Sir Fulko, they said, had commanded all these things to be done; he always received his guests with the like hospitality.

"But perchance we do not deserve this great honour," said Sir Simon, blushing, who was always a shamefaced man when favours were forced upon him.

"Oh, you'll have your full share of far more than this," said the servants, jocosely. "Our master has prepared a banquet for us all, and the young ladies, the daughters of Sir Fulko, Meryza and Siona, will be at the banquet also. You will sit beside them."

"But what odd names they have!" cried Sir Simon. "Where were they christened to get such names as these?"

"Don't trouble your heads about that. To-morrow you will be able to say which of the twain is the most beautiful."

Sir Michael's heart was immediately interested in imagining which of the two ladies was likely to be the fairest, but his elder brother, Simon, was busy with very different thoughts.

"Is there no chapel here?" he asked. "We should like to go there first to give thanks to God for delivering us from the midst of so many dangers. It is now many weeks since we had an altar before us, only in the woods, at break of day, with the fowls of the air, have we been able to pray to God."

The lackeys again laughed at them.

"Leave all that now, good friends, you can find your way about to-morrow; a priest you can see at any time. Now come to the feast; they must have sat down to table long ago."

Sir Simon shook his head a good deal at this. He did not much like a place where they spoke of the altar so lightly; but he did not want to begin a brawl, so he allowed himself to accept the invitation, but he reminded his younger brother that after their long fast it would be as well to partake of the feast sparingly, and not drink too much wine, lest harm might come of so sudden a repast.

At the blast of a trumpet the inner folding doors of the castle were thrown open, and the youths were conducted into the banqueting-room.

The two honest young warriors felt the light of their eyes darkened by the great splendour which now burst like enchantment upon them from all sides. The tables were piled with silver plate and golden beakers; chairs and benches were gorgeously carved and painted; the windows were full of coloured glass; the chairs, at the heads of the tables, were upholstered in velvet and surmounted by canopies as if they had been placed there for princes. At the back of every chair stood a heyduke in parade garments of cloth of gold, scarlet mantles, and with silver wine pitchers in their hands. Then the folding doors at the opposite end of the banqueting-room were thrown open, and through them came the guests of the lord of the castle, each richly attired gentleman conducting a beautiful damsel by the right hand. The ladies swept the floor with their heavy silk dresses, and diamonds and carbuncles sparkled on their foreheads and in their bosoms. They took their places in couples around the long, loaded tables, a man and a woman side by side. Finally, three fanfaronades announced the arrival of the master of the castle, Sir Fulko, an obese figure almost collapsing beneath the weight of the precious stones and gems he wore. He led a lady by each hand, his daughters Meryza and Siona.

The former, whom he led by the right hand, was a marvellously beautiful damsel; a tall, stately, dignified figure, who lifted her head as haughtily as one who knew that every one present was indeed her very humble servant.

The second damsel, whom Fulko led by the left hand, was small and hump-backed: she never raised her eyes nor looked around her, like one who knew right well that every one despised her. It was easy enough to say which of the twain was the more beautiful.

At this spectacle Sir Michael fancied he was dreaming, so blinded were his eyes by the sheen of the precious stones, that he knew not whether he was in earth or heaven. But Sir Simon, when he beheld all the splendour before him, bethought him that at this very time King Bela[23] was drinking out of his helmet water stained with bloods from the banks of flowing streams.

[Footnote 23: After losing the Battle of the Sajo, where 65,000 Magyars vainly endeavoured to arrest the march of 500,000 Mongols, Bela fled for a time into Austria.]

"Knights and dames to your places!" cried Sir Fulko. "Here beside me will sit Sir Simon and Sir Michael; the latest guest always has the first place at my table. Sit down beside my daughters. This is my daughter Meryza, and that my daughter Siona."

Michael so contrived that the fair Meryza sat next to him, but Sir Simon took his place next to the meek-eyed Siona, but first of all he said grace to himself in a low voice, at which the other guests laughed greatly; the good knight was making quite a scandal, they said. Nevertheless, a voice beside him whispered softly: "Amen! Amen!" He looked in that direction and saw the humpbacked Siona, and at that moment the deformed damsel seemed lovelier to him than the stately Meryza.

The guests drank right gallantly; they required no very urgent invitation thereto, and when they had all got pretty full skins, they requested the new-comers to tell them the story of all that had befallen them on their way thither.

Sir Michael, not possessing the gift of eloquence himself, beckoned to his elder brother to speak. Simon, therefore, got on his legs, and imagining he had to do with honest patriots whose hearts could be touched, he began to tell them of the mournful events he had seen. As his narrative proceeded he was carried away more and more by his emotions; the terrible scenes rising again before his eyes gave inspiration to his lips, so that at last he spoke with such feeling that the tears coursed down his own cheeks.

But by the time he had dried his tears and looked round him again, he perceived that the army of guests was neither sighing nor crying at his melancholy oration; on the contrary, they were only listening by way of diversion, like triflers listening to a singer of songs.

So scandalized was he at the sight that he broke off abruptly.

What annoyed him most of all were the eyes of the stately Meryza; they regarded him so smilingly.

When he stopped speaking the stately damsel addressed him--

"Tell us some more of those pretty tales!" said she.

But a whimpering voice beside him--it was the pale Siona's--implored him to cease for the love of God, for it made her heart bleed to hear such horrible things.

And Sir Simon listened to the words of Siona; he sighed deeply and sat down. He was sorry that he had reproached his host and the army of guests with heartlessness; he thought that it was only good manners on their part, and that he had forgotten himself because he was so tired.

But now arose Sir Saksin, a gigantic figure of a man, close beside Simon, and asked him why he did not drink like the rest of them and why he had left off speaking? Why had he insulted the company by this sudden silence? Let him come out on the green, then, if he would!

Sir Simon perceived that this would mean bloodshed, so he shoved away his chair from beneath him and held himself ready for everything. This was no unusual thing in the days when there had been much drinking among many guests and the exhibition of strength was not considered a disgrace, and therefore, before a banquet, all the guests were wont to unload themselves of all their cutting and thrusting weapons, lest they might injure one another and be sorry of it when they were sober again.

Perceiving this, Sir Michael would also have leaped from his seat, but the wine he had taken had tied him to it, and besides, those about him said that in a quarrel between two men, it did not become a third person to interfere.

But Siona whispered to Simon.

"Beware of letting yourself be hugged, for Saksin has spiked armour beneath his dolman, and if he clip you tight it will mangle you."

And this secret information was of great use to Simon, for when he was wrestling with the big knight in the midst of the room, he never let himself be clipt round the body, but seized him firmly by both arms, and after thus giving his huge body a good shaking, tripped him up and flung him to the ground so that his head hit the floor violently.

At this, Saksin leaped furiously to his feet, and clutching a chair, rushed upon Sir Simon; but the latter broke the impact of the chair with one hand, while with the other he gave Sir Saksin such a buffet that he saw and heard nothing more, for the blood burst suddenly from his nose, mouth, and ears. So they carried him off wrapped up in a rug.

At this the other guests laughed heartily, praised Sir Simon for his strength and skill, and pressed his hand one after another. But he noticed at the same time that they all tried to find out whether they could hurt his hand by pressing it as hard as they could. "Let them do as they like," he thought; "but I wonder what is going to happen next."

Finally, the master of the house tapped him on the shoulder. He told him too that he was a fine fellow for overthrowing so doughty a warrior with whom none hitherto had ventured to cope, and inasmuch as he had resolved that whoever was able to vanquish Sir Saksin was to be allowed to choose one of his daughters for his consort, let him make his choice straightway.

Sir Simon fancied they were making sport with him by promising him such a reward, which he had done nought to earn. But when he saw them summon the chaplain, he perceived they were in real earnest. And, besides, he was invited once more to make his choice.

But Sir Michael, his brother, was greatly amazed at all this. He was also grievously annoyed that he had not contended with Saksin, for he was no whit less doughty than his brother Simon. Alas! Simon would of course choose Meryza, for if he had any eyes at all he could not fail to see at a glance which was the loveliest.

But Simon turned towards the pale Siona and said it was she who pleased him best.

Sir Fulko was greatly surprised. He did not like the choice at all. He scratched his head. He bit his lips. But the only objection he could make was that Meryza was the eldest.

"Well, if you don't want her married later than her younger sister, give her to wife to my younger brother. He is just as good a warrior as I am, and if he had fought with Saksin he would have flung him to the ground not twice but thrice."

Michael himself swore that he would indeed have done all that for Meryza, and, if necessary, he would try conclusions with every gentleman present one after the other; whereat they all laughed heartily.

Sir Fulko thereupon took him at his word, and said that, as he was so enamoured of his daughter, he might take her for his consort by all means.

Sir Michael was beside himself for joy. He could scarce stand upon his legs for joy, and challenged the whole world to wrestle with him.

But the soul of Sir Simon was steadied and cooled by the reflection: How was it that such a rich lord disposed so readily of his lady-daughters, and gave them to wife to the first comers without wooing or sueing?

Nevertheless, it was a fact, whether he believed himself to be awake or imagined himself to be asleep, it had happened all the same. Sir Fulko joined their hands together; Meryza drew from her finger a diamond ring, which she placed on the finger of Sir Michael; while Siona gave a thin circlet to Sir Simon as a token of their espousals, the knights giving them in exchange from their fingers old ancestral rings of great price; whereupon the whole army of guests, suddenly converted into a bridal party, proceeded forthwith to the castle chapel, where a priestly shape united the two couples in holy matrimony according to the ritual of the Catholic Faith, decently and in order to the accompaniment of hymns and organ.

Sir Michael and the fair Meryza withdrew to their appointed bridal-chamber, but Sir Simon said to his bride: "I will remain here a little while before the altar to thank God for His wondrous benefits, inasmuch as He has delivered me out of jeopardy and guided my footsteps into the path of liberty. It was but yesterday the wolves were lying in wait for me, and now to-day I am blessed with a good consort like you. Go back to your room, and I will shortly come after you."

For about an hour Sir Simon remained there beside the altar, which was embellished with the statues of the Saints; he felt inclined to bless these holy images one after the other, but then he thought that perhaps Siona might be growing impatient at his long delay.

"Forgive me, Siona, for remaining so long in the chapel," said he, on his return; "but I had so many thanks to render to God this day."

"Indeed, you have many reasons to thank God," said Siona; "for marvellously hath He delivered you from death this day. You may thank God that you sat beside me instead of by Meryza, for Saksin would assuredly have fastened a quarrel upon you in any case; and had you not taken heed and avoided his grip, you would have been a dead man now. You may also thank God that you drank not out of your own beaker, but out of mine, in which there was water; for the rim of your beaker was smeared with stupefying poison, and if your lips had touched it, you would have been drugged and died before dawn. But you may thank God a hundred times over that you did not stretch out your hand after Meryza when they allowed you to choose between us, as hundreds have done before you, who are all dead; for you most certainly would have followed them."

"But what sort of a house can this be, then?" inquired the terrified Simon.

"A house of robbers and murderers. Sir Fulko is a bandit-chief; he is not my father, but my step-father, who tormented my mother to death. Meryza, on the contrary, is his daughter, of whom they relate horrors. These guests, who walk about in cloth of gold, the companions of Fulko and his daughter, are every one of them murderers a hundred times over, and accursed. Formerly, until last year, they scoured the counties far and wide, in bands, on their predatory adventures. Sometimes Meryza herself led them, and she is more merciless even than her father in these nocturnal massacres. Since, however, Heaven in its wrath has inflicted this great blow on our country, and let loose the Tatars upon it, Fulko's bands have not gone forth plundering. They fear to fall in with stronger robbers than themselves, so they hung large bells in their towers, and the far-sounding voices of the bells decoy from afar those who are seeking a refuge from the Tartars. When rich nobles or chapmen come hither they are hospitably welcomed; their treasures are taken charge of, and they themselves are disposed of the very first night. If there are handsome youths amongst them they are made sport of, as you were. Fulko offers them the choice of his daughters. The youth, intoxicated by the drugged wine, demand the hand of Meryza, and they conduct him to the altar. A robber, clothed in the vestments of some murdered priest, unites them, and he finds himself her husband. When Meryza gives the signal they ring the bell outside; an alarm of 'fire' is raised; the young husband is aroused from his slumbers, and the moment he rushes from the bedroom all trace of him is lost, and the next day there is a fresh comer, another death, another sacrifice."

"Horrible!" cried Sir Simon. "And is Michael there at this moment? Where is he, I say?"

"Speak softly! He is not there now. In the adjoining room gapes an abyss twenty fathoms wide. Every day we walk over it. The floor on which we walk turns downwards on a hinge, which is in the centre of it, and on the withdrawal of a bolt is ready to yawn open from end to end. At this moment the bolt is withdrawn. If any one were to tread upon the floor it would give way beneath him, and precipitate him below into a deep well, which leads into a long corridor, extending right away to the base of the mountain, and only admitting the light of day through a narrow opening. If by some miracle any one falls to the bottom of the dry well without dashing out his brains, he is torn to pieces in the depths by two bloodhounds of Fulko, Orcus and Erebus he calls them. On the following day, Fulko and his men descend into the cave-like corridor, scare away the dogs, and divide among them the gems and ornaments of the dead men."

"And my brother? What has happened to my brother?"

Siona dried the tears from her eyes.

"Listen, and I'll tell you the designs of your enemies. A hand will begin tapping softly on the window of the bedroom, and then they will whisper that your brother wants a word with you. They are tapping at Michael's window now."

"And he?"

"Dead, without doubt. It was impossible to save him, for Meryza would come with him to the very door, and kiss him there; and then there would be a shout--and a great silence."

Words failed Sir Simon for sheer sorrow of heart.

"All you can do now is to save yourself. Here is a long rope; tie it round your body. Here is a good sword; gird it on to your belt. Take this burning torch in your left hand; don't wait till they call. Step out upon the drawbridge. I will let you down softly by this cord, and when you have got down I'll fling the cord after you. If you meet the bloodhounds cry: 'Be off, Orcus and Erebus,' and dash the torch in their eyes, and they will not hurt you. Kill them not, for then it will be known that you have escaped, and Fulko and his men will go after you and capture you. And now hasten. When you are in a place of safety, I wish you a long life; and perhaps you will sometimes think that the poor orphan whom you chose for your faithful consort really was faithful to you."

Sir Simon embraced and kissed Siona with great emotion.

"I am really your husband, and will not leave you here; come along with me!"

"That would mean the destruction of us both. They would know in an hour that I had betrayed them, and before dawn we should be again in their hands. The whole neighbourhood is in league with them. In three days' time they will not be able to make out which of the bones are yours. Hasten! Tarry not!"

Sir Simon thereupon vowed to God that if he escaped from thence, and the realm ever righted itself again, he would return thither to release his bride and take vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He did everything that Siona wished. His sword in one hand, his torch in the other, the card of deliverance round his body, he cautiously stepped upon the bridge of sighs, and when it gave way beneath him, he softly descended into the terrible abyss, from whose depths a dull howling greeted him.

"God be with you!" cried the voice of Siona above his head, when he already stood at the bottom of the well. He lifted the torch and lit up everything around him. There lay his brother Michael, his beautiful head crushed to death. The two bloodhounds, which were licking up his blood, fell back before the torch into the darkness; their blood-red eyes sparkled in the distance.

Sir Simon kissed the face of his dead brother, and suffered him not to lie there for the wild beasts, but threw him over his shoulder and carried him through the long corridor till he came to the forest. The two dogs followed him all the way, but dare not attack him because of the torch.

In the forest beyond he dug a grave for the dead body, piled a great heap of stones upon it, cut crosses in the bark of four trees which towered above it so that he might recognize the spot, and earnestly prayed God to allow him to rest there in peace.

The north star now led him onwards towards the Carpathians.

Two nights he travelled continuously; in the daytime he kept closely under cover. On the third day at dawn he beheld in the distance the simple cross on the hilltop, of which the hermit had told him.

It was indeed the Stone of Refuge.

The worthy and valiant Templars, the Red Brothers, as the common folks called them, had built there a place of refuge for the fugitives of the whole kingdom, and whenever a vagrant Tatar band came after them they were bravely repulsed, and could not take them by force.

And in the third year the hand of the Lord swept away from the bereaved Magyar land the hordes of Gog and Magog, and every one returned to his devastated fatherland.

The King came back and re-created a nation and a kingdom, and laid an iron hand on the traitors and malefactors who had competed with the enemy in the devastation of their country.

Ambulatory tribunals were formed which, under the presidency of the Palatine, summoned the accused to appear at the bar on the borders of every county. Those charged with such grievous crimes had to submit to the judgments of God by means of the fire or water ordeal, or if they were warriors they had to contend with the royal warriors, whose faces were defended by helmets, and their bodies by coats of mail, while the accused had no other weapons than sword and targe.

Many an impious offender was caught in this way, to wit, renegades, traitors, saracens, cannibals, highwaymen, and spies. And at last it came to the turn of Sir Fulko. The royal herald fastened the accusing iron-glove on his gates also, and so great was the confidence of the robber chief that, though he might have fled, he did not fly, but appeared with all his retainers, with his captain Saksin, and his daughter Meryza, before the tribunal, only Siona remained behind in the earth.

Meryza put heart into Captain Saksin, who was a frightfully strong man and experienced in duelling, and bade him have no fear, but embrace the royal champion firmly, and to that end she had made for him a shirt of mail which was a masterpiece of sorcery, for no weapon could pierce it, and gave him a sword besides, which could pierce iron as if it were velvet.

Thus caparisoned, Sir Saksin planted himself in the lists where the royal champion stood; over against him and in the midst of the lists sat the Palatine beneath a canopy, with the Pristaldus standing below him, and the Pristaldus recited from a long list, in a loud voice, the charges brought against the accused, to wit, that they had faithlessly murdered those who had sought refuge with them, and had profaned the Holy Sacrament.

The accused replied that the charges against them were lies, in the belief that those who could testify against them were all dead.

"I declare the accusation to be pure calumny, and I demand a duel with the royal champion," cried Sir Saksin, defiantly.

"Then recognize whom you fight with," said the champion, pulling off his barred helmet; "I am Simon Koppand, whom Orcus and Erebus did not devour."

On hearing that name and seeing that face, the enchanted sword fell from the hand of the big powerful man; he had no more stomach for fighting. He stretched out his hand for the fetters, and promised to confess everything.

Sir Fulko, when he heard the names of Orcus and Erebus, swiftly flung himself on his horse and galloped off; they pursued, but could not overtake him. None to this day knows what became of him.

Only Meryza remained defiant. When her father fled, and Saksin confessed everything, even she denied her crimes, and refused to tell anything. Then she was subjected to the water ordeal, and died beneath it.

Saksin they quartered; the other robbers were beheaded.

After this the King bestowed upon Simon Koppand the castle of Sir Fulko, and Simon Koppand presented the enormous treasure he found there to the Church, to the glory of God.

But Siona he really took to wife, and was married to her a second time, canonically, and she lived with him long and happily as his faithful consort. And the name of Koppand continued for centuries.

And may the Lord God bless the Magyars hereafter as He hath done heretofore.

[The end]
Maurus Jokai's short story: Bad Old Times

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