Part 28 (2/2)
The Princess, tearless, speechless, then allowed herself to be conducted away by the officers of the council chamber.
The men remained sitting upon their chairs, downcast and sorrowful.
Every bosom was oppressed, and every heart was empty, and the thought of their delivered fatherland was a cold consolation for the grief they felt that the Government of Transylvania should fling an innocent woman back into the throat of the monster which was pursuing her.
The silence still continued when, suddenly, the door was violently burst open, and shoving aside the guards right and left, Yffim Beg entered the room. He had been sent by Ha.s.san Pasha to levy contributions on the Prince and the people.
The rough Turkish captain looked round with boorish pride upon the silent gentlemen, who were still depressed by the preceding incident, and perceiving that here he had to do with the humble, without so much as bowing, he strode straight up to the Prince, and placing one foot on the footstool before the throne, and throwing his head haughtily back, flung these words at him:
”In the name of my master, the mighty Ha.s.san Pasha, I put this question to thee, thou Prince of the Giaurs, why hast thou kept back for so long the tribute which is due to the Porte? Who hath caused the delay--thou, or the farmers of the taxes, or the tax-paying people? Answer me directly, and take care that thou liest not!”
The Prince looked around with wrinkled brows as if looking for something to fling at the head of the fellow. He regretted that the inkstand was so far off.
But Teleki handed a sheet of parchment to Sarpataky, the clerk of the council.
”Read our answer to the Pasha's letter,” said he; ”as for you--sir I will not call you--listen to what is written therein. 'Beneficent Ha.s.san Pasha, we greatly regret that you bother yourself about things which are already settled. We do not ask you why you came so late to the battle of St. Gothard. Why do you ask us, then, why we are so late with the taxes?
We will answer for ourselves at the proper time and place. Till then, Heaven bless you, and grant that misfortune overwhelm you not just when you would ruin others.' When you have written all that down, hand it to his Highness the Prince for signature.”
The gentlemen present had fallen from one surprise into another. Michael Teleki, who a moment before, against the inclinations of his own heart and mind, had tried to compel the land to submit to the demand of Olaj Beg, could in the next moment send such a message to the powerful Vizier of Buda.
But Teleki knew very well that the storm which was pa.s.sing over the country on account of the Princess of Moldavia was sure to rebound on the head of the Vizier of Buda. The Sultan was seeking for an object on which to wreak his wrath because of the lost battle, and if the Pasha of Buda did not succeed in making the Government of Transylvania the victim, he would fall a victim himself.
As for Yffim Beg, he did not quite know whether a thunder-bolt had plunged down close beside him, or whether he was dreaming. There he stood like a statue, unable to utter a word, and only looked on stupidly while the letter was being written before his very eyes, while Apafi's pen sc.r.a.ped the parchment as he subscribed his signature, while they poured the sand over it, folded it up, impressed it with an enormous seal, and thrust it into his palm.
Only then did he emerge somewhat from his stupor.
”Do ye think I am mad enough to carry this letter back with me to Buda?”
And with these words he seized the letter at both ends, tore it in two, and flung it beneath the table.
”Write another!” said he, ”write it nicely, for my master, the mighty Ha.s.san Pasha, will strangle the whole lot of you.”
Teleki turned coldly towards him.
”If you don't like the letter, worthy muderris, you may go back without any letter at all.”
”I am no muderris, but Yffim Beg. I would have thee know that, thou dog; and I won't go without a letter, and I won't let you all go till ye have written another.”
And with these words he sat down on the steps of the Prince's throne and crossed his legs, so that two were sitting on the throne at the same time, the Beg and Apafi.
”Guards!” cried Apafi in a commanding voice, ”seize this shameless fellow, tie him on to a horse's back and drive him out of the town.”
They needed not another word. One of the guards immediately rushed forward to where Yffim Beg was still sitting on a footstool with legs crossed, and took him under the arm, while another of them grasped him firmly by the collar, and raising him thus in the air, kicking and struggling, carried him out of the room in a moment. The Beg struck, bit, and scratched, but it was all of no avail. The merciless drabants set him on the back of a horse in the courtyard, without a saddle, tied his feet together beneath the horse's belly, placed the bridle of the steed in the hands of a stable-boy, while another stable-boy stood behind with a good stout whip; and so liberally did they interpret the commands of the chief counsellor, that they escorted the worthy gentleman, not only out of the town, but beyond the borders of the realm.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FIGHT FOR HIS OWN HEAD.
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