'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of GodJósika, Miklós, báró
History
'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of God
Jósika, Miklós, báró
Hungary -- History -- Mongol Invasion, 1241-1242 -- Fiction
As to what had become of Dora and the two men, no one knew but Moses.
Some thought that she was still there, and others that she had "left the
country," as they said in those days, though how she could have crossed
the moat, except by the drawbridge, and how, if she had done so, the
drawbridge could have been pulled up again, was a mystery which none
could fathom.
Not even Talabor had ever known of the subterranean passage, which
Master Peter had shown to his daughter and to no one else; and even now
Dora did not disclose its whereabouts. Blindfold, her companions were
led through it, she herself guiding Talabor, and he Gábor; and when she
allowed them to take the bandages off their eyes, they were out of sight
of the castle, and could see not the slightest sign of any secret
entrance. They were in a diminutive valley, with rocks and cliffs all
about them; and here Dora gave Gábor, the horseman, a small purse,
which, had she but known it, was likely to be of small assistance in a
wilderness where no one had anything to sell, but where there were
plenty of people ready to take any money they could get hold of.
Dora told the man to travel only by night, to avoid all the high roads,
and to make for Dalmatia, where he had been once before in charge of a
horse which Master Peter was sending to a friend. He remembered the way
well enough, which was one reason why Dora had chosen him for this
dangerous and almost impossible mission.
CHAPTER XVI.
THROUGH THE SNOW.
Hungary was a very garden for fertility; her crops of every kind were
abundant, her flocks and herds were enormous; and while the grain-pits
and barns were full, and while there were sheep and oxen to steal, the
Mongols lived well. But at last the country was stripped, provisions
began to grow scarce, and the year's crops were still in the fields.
Whether or no the Mongols themselves ever condescended to eat anything
but flesh, the mixed multitudes with them were no doubt glad of whatever
they could get, and Batu foresaw that if the harvest were not gathered,
and if something were not done to keep such of the population as yet
remained in their homes, and bring back the fugitives, there must needs
be a famine.
Among his prisoners he had many monks and priests whom he had spared,
from a sort of superstitious awe, and these he now called together, and
tried to tempt with brilliant promises, to devise some plan for luring
the people back to the deserted farms and homesteads. Many and many a
brave man rejected his offers at the risk, and with the loss, of his
life; but there were some who were ready to do what the Khan wanted, if
only they could hit upon any scheme. All their proclamations issued in
the Khan's name failed to inspire confidence, however. The people did
not return; those hitherto left in peace fled at the approach of the
Mongols, the general need increased day by day, and the captives were
put to death by hundreds to save food.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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