The Nameless Castle

by Maurus Jokai

  “Yes; but I shall not need a guide. I have an excellent map of the neighborhood, which I used when I was in garrison here. I used to hunt all over this region after wild boars and turkeys, and never had any difficulty finding my way, even at night.”

  De Fervlans now sent orders to his troop to break camp at once, with as little stir as possible; and before twilight shadows fell upon the land, the demons were riding toward the Hansag.

  If we assume that Marie left the Nameless Castle in company with the wife of Satan Laczi at midnight, we can easily see that she would have but a few hours’ advantage of the demons, who broke camp at sunset. If the latter met with no hindrance on their way, they would overtake the coach of the fugitives at the crossing of the Raab. As it was after midnight when Ludwig Vavel learned of the danger which threatened Marie, he could not, even if he had set out at once, have reached the Hansag before noon of the following day, by which time De Fervlans and his demons would have accomplished their errand. Therefore nothing short of a miracle could save the maid.

  CHAPTER II

  The miracle happened—a true miracle, like the one of the biblical legend, when the Red Sea obstructed the way of the persecutor Pharaoh.

  Those who may doubt this assertion are referred to the “Monograph on Lake Neusiedl,” in which may be read a description of the phenomenon. In the last years Lake Neusiedl had been drained, and where it had joined the lakes of the Hansag, a stout dam had been built. When the waters of the Hansag chain rose, the muddy undercurrent threw up great mounds of earth, like enormous excrescences on a diseased body. One of these huge mounds burst open at the top and emitted a black, slimy mud that inundated the surrounding morass for a considerable distance.

  Already in the neighborhood of St. Andras this slimy ooze was noticeable when the troop of demons galloped over the plantain-covered flats which here and there bent under the weight of the horsemen. As they proceeded, the enormous numbers of frogs became surprising, as if this host of amphibia had leagued against the invading demons. Then flocks of water-fowl, with clamorous cries and rustling wings, rose here and there, startled from their quiet nests by the approaching inundation, which by this time had completely hidden what was called in that region the public road. De Fervlans, at a loss what to make of this singular freak of nature, sent a horseman to the right, and one to the left, to examine the ground, and learn whence came the sea of slime, and how it might be avoided. Each of his messengers returned with the information that the slime was flowing in the direction he had ridden. The source, then, must be near where they had halted.

  “This is bad,” said De Fervlans, impatiently. “This eruption of mud will hinder our progress. We can’t run a race with it. We must look up another route, and this will delay us perhaps for hours. But we can make that up when on a hard road again.”

  De Fervlans, who was familiar with the neighborhood, now led his troop in the direction of the path which ran through the morass toward the village of Banfalva, hoping thus to gain the excellent highway of Eszterhaza. Here and there from the swamp rose slight elevations of dry earth which were overgrown with alders and willows. On one of these “hills” De Fervlans concluded to halt for a rest, as both men and horses were weary with the toilsome journey over the wretched roads.

  Very soon enough dry wood was collected for a fire. There was no need to fear that the light might attract attention; the camp was far enough from human habitation, and neither man nor beast ever spent the night in the morass of the Hansag. Besides, they could have seen, from the top of a tree, if any one were approaching. They could see in the bright moonlight the long poplar avenue which led to Eszterhaza; and even a gilded steeple might be seen gleaming in the Hungarian Versailles, which was perhaps a two hours’ ride distant.

  Suddenly the sharp call, “Qui vive?” was heard. It was answered by a sort of grunt, half-brute, half-human. Again the challenging call broke the silence, and was followed in a few seconds by a gunshot. Then a wild laugh was heard at some distance from the hill. De Fervlans hurried toward the guard.

  “What was it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know whether it was a wild beast or a devil in human form,” was the reply. “It was a strange-looking monster with a large head and pointed ears.”

  “I’ll wager it is my runaway fish-boy!” exclaimed the marquis.

  “When I challenged the creature he stood up on his feet, and barked, or grunted, or whatever you might call it; and when I called out the second time he seemed to strike fire with something; at any rate, he did not act in the proper manner, so I fired at him. But I didn’t hit him.”

  “I should be sorry if you had,” responded the marquis. “I am convinced that it was my little monster. I taught him to strike fire; and he was evidently attracted by the light of our camp-fire.”

  Perhaps it would have been better had the guard shot the amphibious dwarf. Hardly had De Fervlans returned to his seat when the adjutant called his attention to a suspicious flashing in the morass a short distance from the hill on which they were resting. Suddenly, while they were watching the flashes of light, a column of flame rose toward the sky, then another, and another—the morass was on fire in a dozen places.

  “Hell, and all devils!” shouted De Fervlans, springing toward his horse. “The little monster has set the marsh-grass on fire, and it was I who taught the devil’s spawn how to use touchwood! Give chase to the creature!”

  But the order for a chase came too late. In ten minutes the reeds growing about the hill were burning, and the demons were compelled to use their spurs in order to speed their horses from the dangerous conflagration.

  They did not stop until they had reached the Valla plain—driven to their mad gallop by the caricature of the “militiaman”!

  “This is a pretty state of affairs!” grumbled De Fervlans. “Mire first, then flames, bar our way. Quis quid peccat, in eo punitur—he who sins will be punished by his sin! I sinned in teaching that monster to strike fire. It has made us lose four more hours.”

  The four hours were of some consequence to the fugitive maid and Ludwig Vavel.

  Dawn broke before the demons found the road between the groups of hills, and when they reached it, they still had before them that half of the Hansag which is formed by a series of small lakes.

  De Fervlans now became anxious to shorten their route. A lakelet of fifty or sixty paces in width is not an impassable hindrance for a horseman. Therefore it was not necessary to ride perhaps a thousand paces in making a detour of the lakelets—the demons must ride through them. How often had he, when following a deer, swam with his horse through just such a body of water. Only then it was autumn, and now it was spring.

  The flora of this marsh country has many species which hide underneath the water, and in the springtime send their long stems and tendrils toward the surface. De Fervlans was yet to learn that even plants may become foes. Those of his demons who were the first to plunge into the water suddenly began to call for help. Neither man nor beast can swim through a network of growing plants; at every movement they become entangled among the clinging tendrils and swaying stems, and sink to the bottom unless promptly rescued. The men on shore were obliged to grasp the tails of the struggling horses and draw them back to land. De Fervlans, who could not be convinced that it was impossible to swim across the narrow stretch of water, came very near losing his life among the aquatic growths. There was now no likelihood of their reaching the highway before sunrise.

  There was still another hindrance. The fire in the morass had alarmed the entire neighborhood, and the inhabitants were out, to a man, fighting the flames which threatened their meadows. Therefore De Fervlans, who wished to avoid attracting attention to his troop, was obliged to make his way through thickets and over rough byways, which was very tedious work.

  It was noon when they arrived at the bridge which crossed the Raab half a mile from Pomogy. At the farther end of this bridge was the custom-house, which was also a public inn.

>   “We must rest there,” said De Fervlans, “or our worn-out beasts will drop under us.”

  Just as the troop rode on to the bridge, two men ran swiftly from the custom-house toward the swampy lowland. Before they entered the marsh they stopped, and bound long wooden stilts to their feet; and, thus equipped, stepped without difficulty from one earth-clod to another. No horseman could have followed them across the treacherous ground. De Fervlans’s adjutant became uneasy when he saw these two men, whose actions seemed suspicious to him; but the marquis assured him that they were only shepherds whose herds pastured in the marshes.

  The troop dismounted at the inn, and demanded of the host whatever he had of victuals and drinks. He could offer them nothing better than sour cider, mead, and wild ducks’ eggs. But when a demon is hungry and thirsty, even these will satisfy him. De Fervlans, who had not for one instant doubted that his expedition would be successful, spread out his map and planned their further march. General Guillaume would have received one of his letters at least,—he had sent two, with two different couriers in different directions,—and would now be waiting at Friedberg for the arrival of the demons and their distinguished captive. Therefore the most direct route to that point must be selected. It was not likely that any militia troops would be idling about that cart of the country; and if there were, the demons could very easily manage them.

  CHAPTER III

  One of the two men who crossed the morass on stilts was Master Matyas, whose distance marches during this campaign were something phenomenal. Matyas found Count Vavel with his troop already at Eszterhaza, and apprized him at once of De Fervlans’s arrival at the bridge-inn. The Volons had not yet rested, but they had traveled over passable roads, and were not so exhausted. Their leader at once gave orders to mount.

  When Ludwig saw that Katharina also prepared to accompany the troop, he hurried to her side.

  “Don’t come any farther, Katharina,” he begged. “Remain here, where you will be perfectly safe. Something might happen to you when we meet the enemy.”

  Katharina’s smiling reply was:

  “No, my dear friend. I have paid a very high entrance-fee to see this tragedy, for that you will kill Barthelmy Fervlans I am as certain as that there is a just God in heaven!”

  “But your presence will make me fear at a moment when I must not feel afraid—afraid for your safety.”

  “Oh, don’t trouble about yourself. I know you better. When you come in sight of the enemy you will forget all about me. As for me, I am going with you.”

  The troop now set out on the march through the poplar avenue. When they drew near to Pomogy, Vavel sent a squad in advance to act as skirmishers, while he, with the rest of his men, took possession of a solitary elevation near the road, which was the work of human hands. It was composed of the refuse from a soda-factory, and encircled on three sides a low building. Vavel concealed his horsemen behind this artificial hillock, then, accompanied by Katharina, he ascended to the top to take a view of the surrounding country.

  He could see through his field-glass the bridge across the Raab and the inn at the farther end. The entire region was nothing but morass. A trench ran from the highway toward Lake Neusiedl; it could be traced by the dense growth of broom along its edges.

  “You are my adjutant,” jestingly remarked Vavel to Katharina. “I am going down now; for if I should be seen here it will be known what is behind me. You are a farmer’s wife, and will not arouse suspicion; stop here, therefore, and take observations with my glass, and keep me informed of what happens.”

  The Marquis de Fervlans was enjoying a tankard of foaming mead when his adjutant came hastily into the room with the announcement that some troopers were approaching the bridge on the farther side of the river. De Fervlans hurried from the inn and gave orders to mount. As yet only the crimson hats of the troopers could be seen above the tall reeds on the farther shore.

  “Those are Vavel’s Volons,” said De Fervlans, taking a look through his glass. “I recognize the uniform from Jocrisse’s description. Madame Themire has turned traitor, and sent the count to deal with me instead of coming herself. Very good! We will show the gentleman that war and star-gazing are different occupations. He was a soldier once; but I don’t think he paid much attention to military tactics, else he would not have neglected to occupy yon hill, on which I see a peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head. That is an old soda-factory—I know the place well. I shouldn’t wonder if Vavel had concealed some men there after all! That small body coming this way is evidently bent on a skirmishing errand. Well, our tactics will be to lure him from his concealment.”

  He held a consultation with his subordinates; after which he turned toward the waiting demons, and called:

  “Signor Trentatrante!”

  The man came forward—a true type of the gladiator of the Vatican.

  “Dismount,” ordered the marquis. “Take thirty men, and proceed on foot to the farther side of yon thicket, where you will lie in ambush until I have begun an assault on the soda-factory over yonder. The men in hiding there will show up when we approach; I shall then pretend to retreat, and lure them toward the thicket. You will know what to do then—fall upon them in the rear. When you have arrived at the thicket let me know. Set fire to that tallest clump of reeds near the willow-shrubs.”

  “All right!” returned the signor. Then he selected thirty of his companions, who also dismounted, and they started at once to obey the orders of their leader.

  The “peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head,” who was standing on the soda-factory hill, called in a low, clear tone to Ludwig:

  “De Fervlans is coming with his troop.”

  “Then we must prepare a greeting for him,” responded Vavel. He ordered his men into their saddles, then sallied forth with them to meet the enemy.

  The two bodies of soldiers moving toward each other were very nearly alike in numbers. Neither seemed to be in a particular hurry to begin an assault. Suddenly a column of smoke rose from the thicket near the bridge—it was the signal De Fervlans was waiting for. He gave orders to halt. The next instant there was a rattling salute from the demons’ carbines. The “peasant woman” on the hill covered her face with both hands and shivered. The messengers of death flew about the head of her lover, but left him unharmed.

  Vavel now moved nearer to the attacking foe, and himself made straight for the leader. One of De Fervlans’s lieutenants, however, a thick-set, sun-browned Sicilian, met the count’s assault. There was a little sword-play, then Vavel struck his adversary’s blade from his hand with a force that sent it whizzing through the air, and with his left hand thrust the Sicilian, who was reaching for his pistols, from the saddle.

  Nor had Vavel’s companions been idle the while. The first assault was a success for the count’s troop. De Fervlans now ordered a retreat. The death-heads looked upon this as a victory, and eagerly pursued the retreating foe. But the woman on the hill had already perceived that the retreat was but a feint. She saw the demons crouching among the reeds in the thicket, and guessed their intention.

  “Vavel!” she shouted at the top of her voice, “Vavel, take care! Look to your rear!”

  She imagined that her lover would hear her amid the tumult of the fight.

  But Vavel had ears and eyes only for what was in front of him. Nearer and nearer he approached to the trap De Fervlans had laid for him. He was in it! The trench was behind him now, and the demons in ambush were preparing to spring upon their prey.

  Katharina could look no longer. She ran down the hill, sprang on her mule, and galloped after her lover.

  De Fervlans’s retreat was conducted in proper order, step by step, from earth-clod to earth-clod.

  Suddenly Katharina discovered that a mule was an obstinate beast. The one she was riding stopped abruptly, and would not advance another step. In vain she urged and coaxed. At last she sprang from the saddle, and on foot made her way toward the scene of the fray.

  A
t this moment the demons creeping steathily along the trench sprang from their concealment, their bayonets ready for action. They were on the point of firing a volley into the black backs of the Volons, when a rattling fire in their own rear brought down half of them dead and wounded. The uninjured on turning found themselves confronted by Satan Laczi and his comrades, who, black and slimy from their passage through the morass, sprang like tigers upon the foe.

  “Strike for their heads!” commanded Satan Laczi, as, with sabers drawn, the ex-robbers rushed upon the bewildered demons, who had at last met their match.

  When De Fervlans heard the firing in the neighborhood of the trench, he believed it to come from the muskets of his own men, and quickly sounded an attack. The demons, who had been feigning to retreat, now turned and met their pursuers, and a hand-to-hand conflict began.

  Vavel also had heard the firing behind him, and believed himself surrounded by the enemy. He beckoned to his trumpeter, to whom he wished to give orders to sound a retreat, but the man’s horse unfortunately stumbled, and threw his rider to the earth. Three demons, at once sprang to capture the fallen trumpeter; but Vavel, who knew how necessary the man was to him, hastened to his assistance.

  De Fervlans in amazement watched this unequal encounter. A masterly conflict arouses admiration even in an enemy; and Vavel certainly proved himself a master in the art of fighting.

  He fought in cold blood; he was not in the least excited. He made no unnecessary thrusts, but wounded his three adversaries in the hand, the elbow, the forearm, whereby he rendered them incapable of further combat. De Fervlans saw how his skilled demons gave way before Vavel’s masterly thrusts, while the Volons drew their unfortunate trumpeter from beneath his horse, and assisted him to mount again, after they had also helped the horse to his feet.