Manasseh Part 26

"Oh, heavens!" cried Anna, "what have you done? What if it should hit him?"

"If it hits him it will help him along the faster," was Aaron's reply as he caught up a second stone, smaller than the first, and sent it to overtake its fellow. But the fleeing form was too far down the hill to serve as a good target, and Aaron's stones bounded harmlessly by.

"You might have killed him!" said Anna, reproachfully.

"And that would have been the best thing for all concerned," answered Aaron, giving his moustache a fierce pull.

"But it would have been a piece of needless cruelty," remarked Mana.s.seh,--"and merely on account of a little hay that has not been touched, after all."

"He didn't come up here to steal hay; he is one of Diurbanu's spies."

"But what, pray, could he spy out here?"

"What could he spy out? Oh, just see how sharp my brother Mana.s.seh is!

My fortifications and armament are on the Szekler Stone. Yes, you may laugh now, but you won't laugh when you come to learn their value. I will show the ladies my cannon, but I won't let you see them, Mana.s.seh."

"Cannon, brother?" repeated Mana.s.seh, laughing. "How in the world did you ever get them up here?"

"My business is with the ladies now," was all Aaron would say. "You sit down on a stone and paint the beautiful view. My battery is not for you to see. Yes, I have a battery, all complete. If Aaron Gabor could fit out his Szeklers with artillery, why should not his namesake be able to do the same? You young women may see my big guns; I'll show them to you.

But first promise me solemnly not to tell any mortal soul what you see--not even Mana.s.seh."

Blanka and Anna both pledged themselves most solemnly to secrecy, whereupon Aaron led them up to a height on which stood the ruins of Szekler-Stone Castle, one of the oldest monuments to be found in all Hungary.

After a short interval the three rejoined Mana.s.seh, the two ladies laughing and in the merriest of moods, scarcely heeding their conductor's solemnly raised forefinger and sober mien, which were meant to remind them of their promise. But they betrayed no secrets; they only laughed. Yet Aaron thought it betrayal enough for them even to laugh.

"That's always the way," he muttered, "when you let a woman into a secret!"

They soothed and caressed him, but only laughed the more as they did so.

"I wish you to understand that this is no trifling matter," he declared, "and that I had good reason to send those stones after that prying spy."

This allusion checked the young women's merriment at once, and a shudder ran over them at the remembrance of what had pa.s.sed. "Did we both have the same thought?" whispered Blanka to Anna.

"Yes," returned the latter, with a sigh.

That night, before she lay down to sleep, Anna veiled the little portrait that hung in her room, as if to prevent her seeing it in her dreams.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE HAND OF FATE.

Through the main street of Abrudbanya rode two men, one of them wearing an overcoat with silver b.u.t.tons over his Wallachian dress, and a tuft of heron's feathers in his cap, while at his side hung a curved sword, pistols protruded from his holsters, and a rifle lay across his saddle-bow. His face had nothing of the Wallachian peasant in its features or expression. The other horseman, however, who rode at some paces' distance in the rear, was manifestly of the peasant cla.s.s.

The horses' hoofs awoke the echoes of the vacant street. Silence and desolation reigned supreme. Half-burned houses and smoke-blackened walls greeted the riders on every side. High up on the door-post of a church appeared the b.l.o.o.d.y imprint of a child's hand. How had it come there?

Gra.s.s and weeds were growing in the marketplace, and a millstone covered the village well. Here and there a lean and hungry dog crept forth at the hors.e.m.e.n's approach, howled dismally, and then retreated among the ruins.

After this scene of devastation was pa.s.sed, the highway led the riders along the bank of a stream, on both sides of which smelting works had been erected, as this region is rich in gold-producing ore; but nothing except charred ruins was now left of the buildings. At intervals a deserted mill was pa.s.sed, its wheel still turning idly under the impulse of the tireless stream. Leaving this mining district behind, the two riders came to a settlement of a different sort, which had not been given over entirely to destruction. Only occasionally a house showed windows or doors lacking, while many were wholly unharmed. Among the latter was one building in whose front wall a well-preserved Roman gravestone was set, its carving in high relief being still clearly outlined. Here had once been entombed the ashes of Caius Longinis, a centurion of the third legion. _Sit sibi terra levis!_ One of the door-posts had in ancient times served as a milestone, and the broad bench before the house was made from the lid of a sarcophagus, bearing an inscription which informed the archaeologist what saffron-haired Roman beauty had, centuries before, been laid to rest beneath it.

The riders drew rein before this house, and straightway an old woman of extraordinary ugliness stuck her head out of the little door. Among the Wallachians one meets with the comeliest young women and the ugliest old hags. Knock at any door, and it is sure to be opened by one of these ancient dames.

"He isn't at home," called out the old woman, without waiting to be addressed. "He has gone to the 'Priest's Tree.' You'll find him there."

"Well, then, if you know where this 'Priest's Tree' is, go ahead and show us the way," commanded he of the silver b.u.t.tons, unwilling even to halt long enough to water his horse, so pressing was his errand.

The way led through a vast forest, and when the riders reached their destination it was late evening, the darkness being further increased by gathering thunder-clouds. The so-called "Priest's Tree" is a giant beech standing in a broad open s.p.a.ce and fenced around with a hedge planted by pious hands. Under this tree have been sworn the most solemn of oaths, and the ground shaded by it is hallowed. Near by stands a wooden church, exactly like the churches to be seen in all Wallachian villages, its steep roof and sides covered with s.h.i.+ngles, and a pointed turret surmounting the whole. The belfry has no bell, and the windows are unglazed, so that the breezes blow at will through the deserted building.

Our riders found a dozen or more horses tethered at the foot of the tree and watched by a few Wallachian lads, who were m.u.f.fled in fur coats against the approach of the storm. The beech furnished a good shelter: lightning could not strike it, as it was the "Priest's Tree."

Leaving his horse in charge of his attendant, he of the silver b.u.t.tons hastened on to the church door, where an armed sentry demanded his name.

"Diurbanu," was the reply, whereupon he was admitted.

The interior of the church was very dark. Two wax tapers, indeed, burned on the altar, but they flickered and flared so in the wind as to furnish a very insufficient light. The thunder-clouds without, however, were now rent with frequent flashes of lightning, which served to illumine the scene within. About a dozen men were a.s.sembled there, sitting on the benches that had once been occupied by wors.h.i.+ppers, some wearing the costume of the country, while others were dressed in military uniform.

Before them, with his back to the altar, sat a man of commanding appearance, attired in a clerical gown with long, flowing sleeves. In his lap he held a little fair-haired boy, covering the child with one of his wide sleeves, and giving it the golden crucifix that hung from his neck to play with. At times his long black beard completely concealed the child's face. The little one was playing and prattling, giving no heed to the talk of the men about him and betraying no alarm at the tumultuous approach of the storm.

The newcomer advanced and addressed the group:

"Gentleman and friends, glorious descendants of Decebalus and Trajan!"

"Never mind ceremony now, Diurbanu," interrupted the wearer of the gown, in a deep, commanding voice. "What news? Let us hear your errand."

"I am the bearer of instructions."

"Out with them, then!"

"We must prosecute the war with might and main. There is no time to lose. Bem regards the Transylvanian campaign as ended, and has set out with his whole army for the Banat, leaving only a few regulars to guard the pa.s.ses and to prosecute the siege of Karlsburg. Our part is to check him in his march on Croatia."

"Or, in other words," interrupted the man in the gown, "to prevent him from dealing Jellachich a fatal blow, we are to throw ourselves in Bem's way."

"The victors of Abrudbanya and Brad will not shrink from the undertaking, I should hope," was Diurbanu's response.

"Let us understand each other," said the other, setting the little boy on his knee and trotting him up and down as he spoke. "Is it reasonable to suppose that we could, without cavalry, artillery, or experienced commanders, attack a fully equipped force with any hope of success, especially after that force has driven an Austrian army corps out of the country and shown itself able to repulse the Russian auxiliaries?"

"No one expects that of us. Our operations are to be confined to raids in the mountains."

"But no enemy is to be found now in the mountains. Don't you know that?

You have just come over the mountains. Did you see any sign of the enemy?"

"We have foes enough there still. There is Toroczko." Diurbanu's face, as he said this, was suddenly illumined by a blinding flash of lightning.

"And Torda!" cried a voice from the benches.

"No, we have nothing against Torda," declared Diurbanu, almost angrily.

"But what have we against Toroczko?" asked another voice. "The men of Toroczko have never done us any harm. So far we have received their iron only in the form of ploughs and shovels, scythes and wheel-tires."