Historical fiction; Hungarian fiction -- Translations into English; Transylvania (Romania) -- History -- Fiction
"Come on then!" shouted Banfi, gnashing his teeth; and with that
terrible humour peculiar to certain warriors in the hour of danger, he
added--"I'll teach you how to wield the spear, my boys!" and setting his
back against a clump of trees, he stuck his sword into its sheath,
seized his spear with both hands, and not three minutes had elapsed
before all three Bedouins had fallen from their horses to the ground.
Then he looked around to see if any more were coming, and was delighted
to observe that the Turks at the bridge had heard nothing of the tussle,
while his two hundred horsemen had come down to the river-side and were
noiselessly crossing to the opposite bank.
Some of the fallen Bedouins were still moaning and groaning.
"Smash their skulls in, that they may not betray us with their cries!"
"Ought we not to await Veer's troops?" asked one of the captains.
"We cannot. We haven't time!" replied Banfi, with his eyes fixed upon
the ruddy horizon, and the little band proceeded covertly through field
and forest.
Soon a distant hubbub struck upon their ears, and when they had climbed
to the top of a little hill, Banfi-Hunyad emerged before their eyes.
Banfi gave a sigh of relief. It was not the town that was burning, but
the haystacks. The roofs of the houses had been taken off beforehand by
the inhabitants themselves to prevent the enemy from setting them on
fire. Even the church and castle were roofless, and the Turkish host
could be seen swarming round them by the light of the conflagration,
whilst from the battlements a fiery rain of sulphur and pitch,
occasionally intermingled with heavy beams, poured down upon the
besiegers, and drove them back from the walls.
Ali Pasha had not waited for his artillery,--it had stuck fast in the
wretched roads,--imagining that he could easily storm a place defended
only by women and peasants. But it is notorious that despair makes every
one a soldier, and that even scythes and axes are good weapons in
resolute hands.
At this spectacle Banfi's features grew flaming red. He fancied he saw a
white female form on the pinnacle of the tower, immediately gave his
horse the spur, and rushed forward like a whirlwind, crying to his
horsemen--
"Don't count the enemy now; we shall have time enough for that
afterwards, when we have cut them all down!" and in a quarter of an hour
the little band had reached the camp before the town.
There every one was slumbering. Whilst one half of the host was storming
the town the other found time to repose. Even the heads of the sentries
hung drowsily down. There they lay, close to their horses, and only
awoke out of their dreams when Banfi was already charging through their
ranks.
The Baron, who seemed bent upon relieving the besieged single-handed,
cut down everything that came in his way; while the Turks, scared out of
their slumbers, blindly snatched up sword and spear, and began
massacring each other, despite all the efforts of the Tsahusz's to
restore order.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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