Abafi

by Mikls Jsika
Hungarian Editor
Zsuzsanna Tams
English Editor
Joey Payne
Translator
desource2012

Copyright 2013

Table of Contents
Foreword
4
1. A House in the Village
5
2. Amazon
9
3. Scamp
11
4. Happiness
14
5. Abafi
16
6. Kolosvr in 1594
19
7. Wooden Construction
22
8. Three Ladies
25
9. House Rsa
27
10. The Red Man
30
11. The Consequences Of A Vow
35
12. A Speaker
38
13. The Restaurant
41
14. The Little Tbis
44
15. A Scream
48
16. House Mikola
51
17. Living Statue
55
18.Whim
56
19. Csettye Boli
61
20. Lightning
67
21. Black Knight At Midnight
70
22. Dancing Hall
73
23. The Castle of Trencs
77
24. Mt Tornya
79
25. Swan Knight
82
26. The Enameled Knight
86
27. Nice Couple
88
28. War Preparations
91
29. The Bath
93
30. Bthroi, As A Leader
96
31. The Battle And What Came After
101
32. Death And Death
105
33. The Little Zsiga
111
34. Hopeless Wish
115
35. Gizella
119
36. A Few Words On The Moral Effect
122
37. Jsikas Notes To The Abafi
124

Foreword

I give you, the reader, a picture of a soul. Its intentions are serious and it shows, that with strong will,
every evil can be beaten. The road of perfection is hard, there are many setbacks to the bad things we
are used to; but the greatness of the soul will win, if it is able to want it.
Though I painted the inner life in this story, I tried to give it an outer spark as well, and show this
serious path through the complicated ways of one story, in which the truth is more, than fiction, and
which I wrote for the casual readers and the educated audience as well. Whether my hunch was
correct, whether my intentions reach their goals, the readers will be the judges for that.

1.

A House in the Village

Go, my son..., he said.

- Walter Scott

In the valley of the beautiful river Maros, Alvinc is one of the richest villages of Transilvania. Good
fields lie beneath it, promising plenty of grains for its diligent farmers. Beyond the Maros, dark grey
vineyards stand tall, under which the straw rooftops of Borberek seem like they are from a fairytale.
Near the middle of the village the grey walls of an old castle of a lord can be seen, they were still in
one piece at the time, which is when our story takes place. The building has two other wings as well,
the door opens to one of them under a high arch, and the other two are ruins today, and are used only
for storage. In one of the corners of this wing, there are still a few walls standing of the onetime room
where Gyrgy Martinusius was killed, thrown out the window, not to be buried for a long time.

On the western side of this pretty village was a short, simple house, with dark, half painted walls, that
you can still see around in villages far from roads. It is tall with a sharp roof, has a chimney topped
with shingles, and a porch that is only 17 inches wide. The stairs leading there are made of blocks of
shapeless wood. On the porch, which is held up by roughly carved beams, the half-open granary is to
the right, the roof made of hemp, next to it a badly made little barrel, the paint-stained sides showing
its contents. There is a bench to the left, with wide, rickety legs, next to the door which leads to the
ante-room. On the other side a hemp swingle and a few short chairs. Behind these, chickens are
picking oat and barley seeds.
Around this simple house, a harrowed fence was built, but parts of it were already holey by the
weather and bad neighbours. On the left side of the small yard was a hutch topped with straw. Next to
it was a remise without doors, a rick of hay, and two piggeries with its residents sticking out their
grunting noses from time to time.
The building consisted of three rooms and a court with a lonely, smoke filled kitchen at the end of the
latter. At the present, on its stove, neither fire, nor a pot, nor even the housekeeper was visible, only a
few dishes, spoons, and several other similar things were hanging in nice disorder from its walls. In
the room left of the kitchen the only servant of the house, an old lady lived. The right side consisted of
two rooms: one next to the yard, the only window of the other one opened to the plum garden. The
first one was pretty big with a big open furnace and fireplace that took up almost one eighth of its
space. In front of the fireplace was a bed covered with pillows, showing some places its onetime
paintings. Next to the wall, with two circle plaited windows, were painted chests, an old sideboard,

and a few wooden chairs. On the opposite side of the door, a large oak table occupied the whole
wall. Everything showed the below average, uncomfortable situation of the owner of the house.

Mrs. Tmr, a widow of Mr. Istk Tmr, the onetime notary of the village, was the owner with her
only son, Miska Tmr, who, after three years of studying, spent his time mostly with errands around
the house, sleeping, and sometimes going to the local pub, the Limp Cock.
The woman was tall, lean and a very mobile old lady, with dark blue eyes, and a clever face, carved
with the usual pleats of sixty years, and she sat at the fireplace. She had a dark blue kerchief on her
head above her shirt, which showed that Saturday was coming by its dirt, along with a black open
vest. Her skirt had a similar color that was protected by a homemade linen apron, unexpectedly clean
unlike her other clothing. Her sad looks and worried listening showed that she is waiting for
someone.
Her son, Miska, a twenty something usual looking boy, was sitting on one of the painted chests. His
eyes looking straight forward, his narrowed mouth showed that he is pouting. His clothing was rough
with blue trousers and a sleeveless dolman, made of similar fabrics.

Oh God! said the old one, getting up from her seat and going to one of the windows, Neither Sri,
nor the neighbour is coming. Zsiga is lost forever. What should I do? she whispered in a drowning
sound, with her hands around her head.
Ey, answered Miska, Dont be sad, mother! A nine year old boy doesnt get lost so easily, and he
is knacky as well. Maybe he wandered off because he wanted to!
"Oh!", answered the old one with a punishing voice, which sounded almost like crying, May God
give us that it was so! Just make him appear already. But Im afraid he got lost in the woods
somewhere, and either a wolf eats him, or he starves to death. Oh, my boy, you will be sorry then!
You did not look for him as much as you should have.
Miska got off the tulip patterned chest angrily. Mother he said, I tell it to you again. The child is
not lost. Bad money never gets lost. Do you remember, a few days ago, when you hit him with the
distaff and he said 'It does not last forever!'?
"That is all true, but what will his mother say when she comes here? And it can happen any minute
now. Miska, dont be lazy, walk around the forest once more and ask around the neighbourhood," said
the old one, who opened one of the chests, and took a small purse out. "Here, son. Everything I
gathered in two years, nice new silver coins, you can buy nine heavy buttons for your dolman from it.
It is all yours, if you find Zsiga.
The heir of the house took a glimpse at the money with a grim on his face and spurted, "So be it!" as
he put on his hat. "I will go. Saddle up the grey one, but if I cannot find him, dont curse me, mother!

The old one looked relieved. While her son left, she sat down by the fireplace again, continuing her
weaving. She was in a lot of trouble because little Zsiga was not her son. Four years ago, on a late
autumn night, a nice young woman came to her with the little Zsiga. She trusted her to take care of
him. Since then, she appeared several times, never empty handed, and always with promises which,
because she fulfilled them time to time, were all true to the old lady. She did not know the parents of
the boy. It seemed to be a deep secret, but because of the love the woman who gave her had towards
Zsiga, it seemed as if she was his mother, with peculiar views about her son. "Raise him, told many
times to the old Mrs. Tmr, Raise my Zsiga to be a strong, persistent man! Do not spare him from
any work. He should endure warmth, cold, hunger, thirst. He should have a heart that knows work,
good, but not softness. He should learn little but learn it well. Make him a man whose body and soul
is strong! He should be used to being alone, because," she said in tears, which she looked to be
ashamed of, "his fate is to be alone between the waves of life, he has to be able to be without
everything, but he has to know what to be without.

The old woman listened to these principles carefully, half understanding what they mean and
deciding, mostly because she liked the little boy and partly because of greed, that she will comply to
them the best she can.
She raised Zsiga roughly. The boy went to the priest only twice a week, where he learned quickly
how to read and write. Around the house he took part in every work: fed the animals, cleaned the
yard, renovated the walls, he couldnt get out of anything hard. He took the two horses of the old
woman's to drink occasionally and would get up on one or the other's back. He often loitered around
getting them home sweaty and dirty, making his guardian angry on him. He shepherded her sheep and
spent days with them, sometimes, on the edges of forests or on the pastures.
After Miska came home, the old lady was not so careful about the young one anymore. The boy was
more serious than happy, but his rare kindnesses made them even nicer. Everything he did had a very
deep feeling behind it. If he hugged his guardian mom sometimes, it was something that could not be
left unanswered.
All this created a very deep feeling in the old lady towards the boy. But Miska was not the same, he
seemed to be jealous and was not happy to share the love of his mother with someone else, even
though he did not earn it, nor was able to repay it. He would mostly be bitter with him, whenever he
could. Otherwise he was very careful and nice with little Zsiga, although he watched him sometimes
with suspicion, and never forgot about the gifts of the possible mother of the boy.

The old lady, a day before we met this small family, sent the young boy with her eleven sheep and
three goats to the forest to graze them. Late that night, the sheep came home alone, so the old lady
called her son to go after the boy. Miska either went to look for him, or not (only he knows), but he
came back angrily in the morning, without the boy. It seemed that the old woman took the news very
badly. While the little boy was around all day long, she didnt even surmise how much she got used to
him or how much she loved him now that she'd lost him. She felt bitter partly because of the love,
partly because of the fear that maybe his mother wants him back, and partly because her income

would be lower because of all this. Because sometimes the small amount of money she got to feed the
boy was the only money the family got to get by.
The old woman walked about concerned. She didnt get by with her weaving and she had that
peculiar feeling in her heart which is always paired with useless waiting. She did not think the boy
was lost; he was too cunning for that. He either couldnt find his way, which was not very uncommon
in forests at that time, or he got away because he wanted to, which offended the old woman twice,
because she did not feel that their relationship had been like that. This wondering, disencouragement,
hope, and waiting lasted hour after hour. The sun already hurried to its night quarters, showing only
pale streams above the tops of the mountains. The herd of the village came back with a dust cloud
around them, and the church already called everyone for the evening worship. Neither Sra the old
servant, nor her old neighbour, who went to look for Zsiga, came back yet. Miska went to search for
him a long time ago as well.
The usual companion of the evening darkness, the shaking encompassed her with its demonic hangs
and casted a deep pain on her heart. It seemed that she really had lost the little boy, and tears began to
appear in her eyes. She cryed, stooped sitting on one of the chests, listening to her own complaints.

2.

Amazon

A civil woman, born in shadows

for sure, but full of grace.
- Victor Hugo

Slow footsteps could be heard in the yard, and a weak squeak of the wooden gate. The old dog fell
silent after a few barks and whined in a way, which we could say is a laugh of an animal and which is
usually spared for familiar faces. The old woman noticed a voice.
"Hello!" yells an unfamiliar sound, "is there no one here who can lead my horse into the hutch? Hello!
Miska, or Sri! Cant you hear me?
The old woman got up from her place quickly but very astounded and toddled out of the room.
A few minutes later a tall woman stepped into the room. She had eastern features on her face, a nice
posture, and a slim figure. All together she had a surprising look. On her head there was a pointy red
hat, its dipping end almost touching her shoulders. The hat was rounded by a slim line of black fur,
and she had two ponytails with red ribbons tied around them. Around her waist was a short fitting
dark green jacket with thin decorations and tiny buttons. Underneath she had a heavy silk skirt far
above her ankles. She had a short bow around her shoulders, an elaborate dagger, two arrows stuck in
her belt, and her hand on a light whip.
The lady stood in the middle of the room, took down the bow off her shoulders and put it on the table,
and sat down by the fireplace. On her face the cloud of the peaceful waiting was visible. She
glimpsed at the door sometimes, and hit the floor with her whip.
A bit later the old woman came in.
"Mother," said the beautiful stranger, "How are you? Where is my Zsiga? I held him in my arms so
long ago. Call him in, dear old one!
Mrs. Tmr stood in front of the woman without a word, as if she was thinking silently what she
should do.
"Tell me," said the woman, "Why are you hesitating? Hurry up!"

The old woman suddenly got pale, jammed her hands in her eyes, and seemed like she was about to
say something. It was clear that she was struggling and she was almost shaken by it.

"Old woman!" said the lady, looking up with her big, dark, questioning eyes that are messengers for
dismay, "What happened? Why are you standing in front of me, as if you were nailed to the floor?
What does this silence, this cowardly look mean, which says nothing, but scares me? Woman, by
heavens, what is this? Tell me!
The old woman fell on her knees, put her hands together and looked up at her. She seemed to be full
of pain, fear, and deep bitterness, but she could not say anything. What could she say! She kneeled
there as a statue, with her hands together before the flaming eyes and red lips of the angry mother.
"Woman!" she said, "Devil! There is no name that suits you, the hangman of my patience. Say
something! A word, a sound!" She took a step forward, and hit the forehead of the old woman with
her fist, who fell back, leaning on one hand, and reaching forward with the other, as if she was trying
to protect herself.
"Mercy!" said the old woman with a shaking voice, "Mercy, my lady!"
"Where is my son?" continued the lady in a deep voice, her flaming red face from anger now pale.
She stood there with her lips sealed so calm it would scare a rage cherub.
"Where is my son?" she said with her face red again, "Did your lips burn together by words? Do you
not have a voice in your chest? Where is my son? Oh, heavens! Where is my son? Do you know, you
miserable wench, that he is my life? Without him, I am not, I was not and I will not be. The past and
the future is consumed by the terribleness off the loss. Where is my child? Horrible!"
She fell on her knees, with her past anger, and pain, which reached her heart even more passionate
than she was. She held her hands together.
"God," she said, "is horrible but just, as they say. Lord, above, or here below, kind or tremendous,
hear me out! If your powers are true, give me my son back, and take my life instead! Or," she said,
jumping up on her feet, pulling out her dagger, "If you are greedy, tell me. Give me a sign of how
many lives you want for this only one. Ten, a hundred, a thousand?" she whispered, and fell down on
the floor.
The old woman stood there in indescribable fear, unable to speak, and seeing the woman raging
against man, God, and herself. Then, falling down, the old woman got out of the house. She stopped in
the doorway for a minute, and yelled back towards the woman, "Zsiga got lost, he might still be
alive!" With that she suddenly closed the door, and it seemed like she even locked it with the key.
The woman raised her head, He might be alive!
She was screaming with a crazy laugh, Where!!?... Where!!? she asked and ran to the door, which

she found locked. She grabbed it and shook it with tremendous strength. It tore out of the wall and fell
on her, but she pushed it over and ran out through the gap.

3.

Scamp

My life and all the best parts thanks you

for your kind care.
- Walter Scott

While all these happened in Alvinc, let us take a look at the road coming from Fehrvr. It goes near
the river Maros in nice curves. The spacious valley watered by the most beautiful river of
Transylvania is encompassed by huge mountains, with vineyards on the sides, thick forests, and
sometimes plough lands, which are either black in between the green grassy fields, or yellow by the
golden wheatears. The area is open, rich, and it gives happiness and comfort to all the travellers
passing by. At some places on the foots of the hill or on the plate of the valley, there are villages. In
between them stand tall the field houses of the squires, surrounded with fir trees, breathing out the
feeling of silence and calm familiarity.
On this landscape, we can see a knight silently moving. His beautiful brown mare lowers her head
tiredly. Her bridle hangs down long, either as sparing her, or as carelessness by her owner, who
hangs his body on the horse the same way. Looking at him from a distance, one could think he is
sleeping, or maybe his head is heavy because of the load it had on a nearby farm. The whole figure of
the knight suggests careless obliviousness, not only because of his expression, but also because of his
dirty clothes. He is young. It seems he is barely twenty-two years old. His long face is pale, but is
seems it is mostly because of long nights and a reckless life, than some illness. His big eyes almost
extraordinarily shine out of these lines, with his thin nose and pale lips contradicting the liveliness of
the eyes. His eyes are more likely to spark back the flame of alcoholic drinks than the flames of his
soul. On his head a broken marten hat, almost falling off at the back. Under it sprouts uncombed dark
hair, dust and sweat.
A dark, almost unidentified coloured dolman hangs on his left shoulder, open and missing several
buttons. He wears trousers with similar colours and worn boots. On his side is a nicely made silver
sword that hangs on a patched belt.
The knight is half sleepy, half drunk, but neither of them so much that he would not know what he is
doing. Looking at him closer, he seems like a lost child from a rich family. He moves forward on the
road, almost dormant, sometimes raising his head, paying little to no attention about the scenery
around him. His silent uniform march is only stopped by the loosening of his belt sometimes. He gets
down, tightens it, and then continues. It seems that the dinner and the grape juice afterwards are
disappearing in his head, which can also be seen by his straighter back and the ride of his horse. This
is how he marches for a long time.

The sun is already behind the hills, glorifying their heads with dying streams, and lengthening their
shadows in the valley. The green mirror of the river Maros reflect its last beams with a red smile, as
our knight notices moaning from far away. He seems to come to his senses, but his apathetic mood is
against further inspection. But as he marches forward, the moaning gets closer. Close to the road, in a
bush, he notices a child. At first glimpse it looks like he was seriously ill. Nothing else but curiosity
was the reason for our wanderer to go closer. The horse snorted, as she wanted to go against the will
of her ruler, who, arriving there wanted to attack the child harshly for startling his horse, but as he
looked closer at the nine year old, he saw that his situation was horrible. His moaning was not
because of stubbornness or restlessness.
The boy had a nice face, and an interesting look, but he seemed to have a terrible illness. His fading
paleness, off eyes, and silent shakiness around his lips, which almost seemed like craziness or at least
being very much afraid, did not really touch, but at least surprised the knight. The well made, but
worn clothes of the boy showed that he had wealthy parents. There were many scratches on his face
and his small hands, which he held together silently while he was struggling to sit up. The marks
showed that he wandered around thick bushes and thorns.
The knight took a piece of cheese out of his bag hanging on the saddle and threw it to the boy, like
when someone throws scraps to a dog, but not out of fear or mercy, only to make it stop barking.
Whose son are you? he asked in a not so gentle voice, And why are you here? The child, still
struggling wanted to say something but did not have the strength for it. The tower of Alvinc stood in
the fog of the night in the distance, and its rooftops shined in the sinking sun. The boy pointed at it,
still laying on the ground.
Here, said the knight pointing at the cheese thrown to the boy, a little cheese for you. Eat it! Other
wanderes will come this way and someone will lead you home. I neither have the time, nor the mood
for it. But come closer to the road if you cannot say anything anymore. Even the devil wont find you
here. At the beginning of the knights speech the child seemed to be glad, but at the end of it he fell
back to a silent despair.
It was impossible to see this innocent child so alone and broken, in horrible pain, without sympathy,
but the thick ice around the wanderers heart did not seem to break. So he turned his horse around, and
started to leave.
The child, as he noticed his intentions, gathered all his strength and crawled near him to scream,
Dear lord, for Gods sake, dont leave me here! For Gods sake, oh, dont leave me here!
The knight left.
It seemed, from the restless look on his face, as if the begging of the poor boy was boring him. The
child got silent, fell on the ground and cried silently. Sometimes a loud shout could be heard. The
knight stopped at last and felt the inner battle in his heart. Deep and quietly something pushed him to
help. An inner voice, the unintentional movement of the soul, maybe still not sympathy, but something

good inside, which affects even the most depraved ones as well. Alvinc was not far, the child was not
heavy, and there, he thought, he can get rid of the unnecessary weight at the first house he finds. He
stood there for a while, then turned around his horse, galloped to the child, got off his horse and lifted
the child up right next to him in the saddle. The boy, delighted by the unexpected joy and gratitude, as
if his strength came back, moved his arms around the knights neck. His beautiful and innocent face
cried and laughed at the same time with tears pouring down his face. The rough man felt something,
which even he did not know what, but the movement of his heart was nice. It seemed from his face,
that he was almost astonished. The unfamiliar feeling of the reward of a good deed warmed his soul.
The feeling of freedom gathered words on the lips of the boy. The simple, touching expression of his
gratitude would make everyone happy. The knight felt something like that too, but dark, as the
shadows of imagination in the evening darkness. The knight questioned the child, during the quarter of
an hour it took to get to Alvinc, and found out that he was an orphan. A poor widow fed him for
money, and his mother visited him from time to time. The boy told him that he fell asleep yesterday
while watching the sheep, and when he woke up the sheep were gone. He thought they went into the
forest, so he started to look for them there, but as he went forward he got lost. He spent the night in the
forest in fear, and could barely get to where the knight found him the next day.

4.

Happiness

How can I show my gratitude?

- Voltaire

We left the unknown woman in Alvinc, when she put down the torn out door and stepped into the yard.
This is when she heard the squeak of the door. The dog barked and, through the silence of the night, a
rough but sonorous voice said, Are we home yet? Open the door!
The woman stood in the dark yard with the door leading to it still closed, and she was vaguely
affected by the sound, which sounded more dangerous then joyful. The scream of old Mrs. Tmr
sounded from the outside. It was the kind of scream which is caused by sudden joy or fear, something
unexpected in women.
Here! Take him down from the saddle, old woman! said the man from before. We can already
suspect who the voice belongs to, and who is the one to be taken down. Yes, the knight, we have
found on the road from Fehrvr, he took the child with him, who is of course little Zsiga. The joy that
this caused on the faces of everyone here is only imagineable for us, but it was all the same, even
though it looked different according to everyone's personality.
The woman was passionate about everything and she was the same in her happiness. She hugged the
knight, which he took apathetically at first, but when he watched the woman more carefully in the light
of the fire, he was much more happy about it. The woman cried, then laughed. One would think her to
be crazy if they see her for the first time. The old woman, feeling herself guilty as well, pretended a
bit of regret, but was much less sorry anymore. As it happens a lot, women often think their mistakes
are done with after the mistakes are taken care of, and here the mistake was not even intentional.
The most heart-tugging was the joy of little Zsiga. The child looked almost like an angel with his face
red of happiness, and even though he ran to his mother and then ran and ran again, it was clear that he
is mostly greatful towards the knight. You had to have seen it, it can not be described. Take the figure
of this knight with clear signs of satisfaction, boredom, and the wish for all this to be over with soon.
These are all the colours to paint this picture with.
The young woman held her son in her arms, stroked his forehead, washed his wounds with her tears,
and, making the bed comfortable, layed him down there to rest. Soon his wounds were bandaged, and
there was a small plate of soup steaming only for him. As fearsome as she was in her tremendous
rage, and joyful in her happiness, as affable and womanly she was in her love towards her son, her
eyes were gazing on her son. She blushed for his every moan, she jumped for his every wish, and
completed them most excitedly.

As the emotions died down a bit, the woman asked the name of the knight with empathy, who wanted
to leave already several times before, but the wishes of the beautiful lady always made him stay. The
knight suddenly answered,
My name is Olivr Abafi! Its not worth, he said with a rough laugh, as much as its owner!
Ah, answered the lady, Olivr Abafi! The name is nice, it sounds as sweet to my ears as the deed
to my heart, which made me know it. What am I? she continued, and grabbed the hands of Abafi,
confining it to her chest. A miserable woman, who can never be grateful enough for so much good.
Oh, tell me, what should I do? What can I do? I have only one life, which is yours until the day I die!
Every minute of it, every beat of my heart!
Well, kind woman, I accept your gratitude, and if every minute of your life is mine, then you are mine
as well, right? said Abafi, moving his arms around the womans waist and confining her to his chest,
which she was not against.
Yes, yes, shouted the woman, putting her arms around his neck, I am happy enough, if I can make
an hour of your life a lucky one.
The knight started to feel warm, and pulled the pretty amazon in his lap, whose face was red, and
their lips touched with passion.
Then little Zsiga said, Mother, the wound on my chest hurts very much.
The woman jumped up, and rushed to the childs bed.
Where, she asked with a pale face, my sweet angel?
The child pushed his small head on his mothers chest.
Here, he answered, pointing at his chest, my dear mother. But it doesnt hurt as much now that you
are at my side.
The lady removed the bandages from the wound immediately, looked at it with teary eyes, washed
and bandaged it again with unbelievable fondness and love, comforting her child, and not leaving him
again.
Abafi slapped his feet on the ground angrily I dont know, he murmured quietly, when will I find
the woman this warm again! Finally he left, and the young woman escorted him out.
Will we see each other again? he said in her arms.
Yes, yes, answered the other, we will see each other many times.

They whispered to each other for a while, annoying Mrs. Tmr, who would have loved to hear what
they were talking about. After a passionate handshake, Abafi jumped on the horse, and the beautiful
lady went to see her son.

5.

Abafi

Two sides, which both win and lose, change each other.
- Polyb

Olivr Abafi, son of Gedeon Abafi was born in a noble family. His father was a wealthy man, but he
raised his only son with little care. It was partly because he was away very often, he grew old in
many battles, and valued only a man who knew how to fight. It was also partly because Olivr did not
really want to learn anything. The child was left alone, and although he had a sharp mind, he learned
very little. In fact, that he even learned anything was because in those short times he studied, he was
very fast and clever at it. What he learned once, he never forgot.
Olivr finished his schools with erratic grades, but he got into villainous companies, and took on
various faults. He would have been a nice boy, maybe one of the nicest in his age, but his reckless
life, his passions, and his frequent debaucheries made his face different. His figure was tall and lean,
he was nervous and strong, or at least he had a strength which, later on made him fearful, and we can
only imagine how strong he would have been with a better life! His characteristics were keen and
noble. He had a clean roman face, beautiful eyes, a nice mouth, and a clever forehead. His image was
one of the most interesting ones. But his body was crushed. His eyes showed the many sleepless
nights. His nose hung down, and his lips were marked with the signs of alcohol, being dry. His face
was pale making him altogether sometimes even ugly.
As he stands before us, his heart is evil. What is mercy, what is compassion, what is sympathy? He
did not know. His soul was in endless intoxication, he did not think of anything great, anything noble.
He enjoyed the present, rough joys. Unclean passion was his whole life.
Behind all this rot, the curious man can see a rough strength, a small spark of nobility; this strength
was visible in his every act. If there was a fight anywhere, Olivr was always part of it. He always
chose the strongest one as his opponent, and usually won the match. He was counted as the best
drinker, and never stopped until all his friends were under the table, without it showing much on him.
He was a good athlete. He handled the spear better than anyone around him. He used both newly
fashionable triggered guns and old ones greatly. He was a famous hunter and rider as well. And who
felt the weight of his hand once, bypassed him every time after. Especially if Olivrs head was not
clear anymore.
The end of this everyday excess was a permanent dizziness, which is close to the first signs of
craziness and evolves into that very often. But in this life of intoxication, he sometimes felt an

unexpected feeling, an inner judgement, not understanding it clearly. Not willingly, but comparing the
good and evil, he sometimes chose the right path, occasionally only by whim.
Abafi chose the right path several times before, but because of the story and the circumstances, he
chose not necessarily the good thing, but the way that was better for him.
As evil as his heart might have been, he felt that the better deeds affected his soul in a different and
better way than the evil actions that he did before. He felt better and calmer after the good ones. He
felt this initially without thinking about it any deeper. Later, with much surprise, thinking and
calculating about it, he realized that the consequences of such actions were always reliable and good.
If he spent a night with a dreadful, loud company, drinking and fighting, the next morning he felt
himself miserable. He felt half-hearted in a hunt, and this made him angry. Sometimes he was nervous,
and decided that if he has two options, two activities to choose from, not to go for the evil, nefarious
one. In time they have gone completely away. So slowly two sides raised in Abafi and his feelings,
first weakly and hesitating, but finally strongly, opposed each other greatly. Because you cannot say
that Abafi was not strong, he felt a strange joy if he could be the master of his feelings sometimes.
"You would be the one who could control his feelings, you drunk, you filth," once said a drinking
companion to him.
Abafi was hurt by this, and we cannot be surprised that he lifted that man, spun him around the scared
drinkers and threw him out the door, which he felt for six weeks. But maybe we would admire Abafi
if we knew that he kept his pledge to master his feelings and avoided drinking, fighting and hunting for
three months.
This inner conflict in his soul; this separation into two halves of good and bad influences brought a
certain improvement in him. It was very rare now that he did not think about his actions afterwards.
He could rarely do anything bad without being at least a little remorseful. This made his soul
unbalanced, which, probably because it was constant, became a strong part of it.
We have seen Abafi in such inner conflict while he was going to Szrvros. Where he saw the lost
little Zsiga at the side of the road. It would be wrong to think that, against boredom and evil thoughts,
the good had prevailed. I think, from a psychological point of view, it was more like an involuntary
movement of his soul; only the momentary effect of the circumstances.
But as he sat the boy next to him on the saddle, the argument changed its colours. He felt a certain
peace in his soul. The passionate, innocent gratitude of the child made him feel good. It was a new
kind of happiness. Sweeter than anything he felt before, and if you look at the life of Abafi carefully,
you could see that this moment had a great influence on him. He started to see clearly the difference
between good and evil, and decided that he wanted to feel this even more.
We have seen how Abafi accepted the gratitude of the beautiful woman and mother, and we could not
expect anything else from him. The passionate offering of the woman would cause opposition in
nobler souls. But Abafi was more tainted. He got used to going for momentary satisfaction, so he

would not think twice about such adventures. Without little Zsiga saying anything, the woman would
have been more compliant, and our hero even more imperious.
Such strange and crazy gratitude from the beautiful lady was probably surprising for all the readers,
but not so much for someone who understands human nature. Not for someone who understands, that
the human soul can contain very different feelings at the same time. A mother, who lives for her child,
who is ready to offer everything for the child, creates warm compassion in everyone. But we feel
strange if we see her willing to give her love to the first stranger she sees. To understand this, we
need to continue the story further. Maybe it will paint a much clearer picture.

6.

Kolosvr in 1594

What is this noise?

- Jacob

It is hard to describe an interesting landscape, an old rock, or even a small group of trees. How much
harder it is to paint a whole city; to create it in the imagination with all its colours. But if it is hard,
almost impossible, it is more enduring to show you the face and the feelings of it, or putting into
words everything that the place could mean.
We should admire the painter, who not only shows the figure, but also the soul. He creates life on a
dead canvas, his eyes can tell a story, his forehead is meaningful, his whole being creates an
atmosphere. His paintings live and speak. But the writer can be admired as well. He who creates life
on dead paper, whose lines create images, interests, and a whole world comes to life.
Taking the task this way, I will try to give not only the figure, but the soul of Kolosvr at time time of
our story.

The face of Kolosvr back then was similar to human faces, which have no distinctive characteristics
and whose interests are only their own. But it also gained detail and meaning when you saw it
repeatedly. Strange, but it is based on psychological concepts, that you have to know the inhabitants
of Kolosvr to see that the city is beautiful, and this fact was the same at the time of our story.
There are many preposterous cases like this. Its reason is not explained and not apparent, either.
There are many men who are fine generals that would make ugly flagpoles. It happens that a noble,
nice man enters a party, but because he is not known there, no one notices him. If he mentions
someone well known, he will become beautiful and interesting instantly. There is something to that,
which cannot be denied.
If you are at Kolosvr, standing on the main square, look to your sides and you will see a house. See
that it is not very nice on the outside, but on the inside it is nice. See that in every square and every
street, there are houses that have nice inhabitants and familiar faces. This will make you think very
much differently, and much better of the city.

A real picture of this interesting Hungarian city can only be seen if you know many inhabitants of it, or
knew them at the time of this story. For them, Kolosvr seems like a nice, happy city; a place of
educated conversations. It will seem like the face of a man, who we pay little to no attention at first,

talk to him the next time, and make friends with him the third time.
At the time of this story, almost no suburbs existed. The hills were covered with forests. The river,
Kis-Szamos, meandered as a silver serpent between the fields, with its surface uncovered and
visible. The foliage around it was green and lovely.
Between the city and the mountain, Kolos, there was a wide gap and there were almost no buildings
outside gate Torda.
Kolosvr, as all the fenced cities were, was very peculiar at back then. Hard walls surrounded it, and
it was always guarded. The walls were blockaded with wide trenches and it was defended by square
towers with thin loopholes. Drawbridges led through whimsically shaped doors into the castle. The
doors were shut early and the inhabitants got used to wars. The loud and lively life, that is common
today, was very rare and exceptional.
All this gave Kolosvr a reputation of being a defended and strong city. At night it was like a closed
beehive, surrounded by doubtful hubble-bubble. Its inside, with tall rooftops and dark square
buildings, showed an interesting view which was a bit crude, but for a reason.
That part of the city, which is called Old Town today, was the most inhabited, with curvy streets and a
lonely market. In one of the corners of the street, leading from the Big square to here, still stands the
house where our king, Mathias, was born.
The other parts of the city were less inhabited, surrounded with wooden fences. On one of the sides
of the wide square there was a nice gothic church, back then with its tower still standing. It stood
there between the small houses with great dignity, in ceremonial solitude, creating an atmosphere of
respect.
The inhabitants of the city had a peculiar figure as well. They had very different clothes and
carriages, and used mostly horses as well. These gave the people a whole different look. Long, loose
shirts, huge jackets, dolmans hanging down to their knees. Caps, hats, and shakos painted a feeling of
something old. The completely different faces, rougher language, crude habits, and the different
expressions for even joy and rage strengthened this. The often unrests blew away the impassivity from
the faces of the citizens and the feel of comfort which is usual today.

The peaceful familiarity, the quiet life, the calmness we know today did not exist back then. But there
was more strength and more self-esteem on the faces. There was something provocative, something
responsive and dedicated in the eyes, and the foreheads, which we will not find today.
But let us go inside, through the Hungarian gate, guarded by the tall, square tower. The houses on the
sides are mostly grey and white, except for the few that are old or stand out by their colours. There is
no stone pavement. At some places birch trees stand tall, and between them the grey or white shingle
roofs appear. There are only two taller houses in the entire street. Both about two stories high, one of
them stands close to the gate on the right, the other one at the middle, in the corner of the street leading

to Middle street. With uneven tasteless carvings on their windows, two servants look out through
them, bend down, and watch the people rushing towards the square. One of them is an old man, with a
long moustache and a broom in his hand. The other one a young girl, with a duster in her hand.

Under the window a brown haired young man marches forward in a bright blue dolman, with small
copper buttons and bear fur around it. The head of the bear, with its bright, red crystal eyes and velvet
sides, hangs on his wide chest. His silver mace hangs on a pretty, but strong silver chain and his
silvery sword hangs on his side. He stops in front of the window, patting the slim neck of his lively
horse.
Is your master still home, Kelemen? he said to the old servant, who was staring down.
He went to the gathering in the small church, answered the old one, greeting the other with only his
head.
The gathering? says the younger, So I am late, am I? What are all these noisy people, marching
through the streets with their mouths open?
The face of the old one got dark, and whispered:
My lord, you dont know what is happening? My Lord! It is a terrible day for Kolosvr! They have
built a wooden construction on the square. Everyone is in a panic. They say it will cost several
peoples lives.
The knight looked at the old servant questioningly, Is the prince at home?
He is! answered the old one with a bitter laugh. Women know it from his kisses. Men know it from
the sword hanging above them.
The knight shook his head, and continued on his way. The old one stared down at the street, thinking.
Who was that, uncle Kelemen? asked the healthy girl, with the duster in her hand.
Pter Dacz, answered the old one.
I have never seen him before, noted the girl, shaking the duster.
Who could you have seen, answered the other, in the previous eight days, since you came here
from Csk?

7.

Wooden Construction

Its name is gallows.

- Mller

While these two were talking like that, a wide man, with a shiny, greasy leather cap on his head and a
leather apron around his neck, crossed the street in a hurry. His tucked up sleeves, sooty arms, small
eyes, and smoky face implied him to be a blacksmith. He was walking in front of the gate of the tall
building when he met with a young boy in a blue linen shirt and a light jerkin.
Where to, said the young one, Mr. Gti?
Ey, answered the other, hardly breathing, to the jail to see Mr. Szalnczi. I havent found him at
home. He owes me three months work and if they take off his head, he continued, touching his head,
I dont know, who will pay for it. With this, he rushed to the left, towards the Big square.
Looking around there, we see three men standing on a flat stone by Szn street. It seems like they have
chosen this higher position to be able to see what is going on at the marketplace.
One of these three men was undoubtedly a wealthy man from Kolosvr. He had a bright grey jacket,
with a black sheep fur, and a nice cap on his head and a staff in his hand. His face showed a
comfortable life. His nose and the right side of the chin was a bit red, but it seemed like he had sober
judgement.The other one was a monk in old brown clothes, with a hood hanging on his back and a
rope around his waist. The third one was a young man, with a tall red cap and a bright blue jacket.
His whole figure and the nice, tanned face suggested that he was a hard working village man.
The faces of all three were very serious. It was a sad and doubtful seriousness. Sometimes they
glanced at the wooden construction on the other side of the square, which was covered with black
cloth, and surrounded by the so called blue guards of Zsigmond Bthori. It stood tall above the
waving crowd.
To paint this picture of the crowd even clearer, imagine a tall square construction, covered in black,
closer to the Middle street than to the middle of the square. Around the construction, tall men were
standing with blue jackets on them. Swords were hanging off their sides, and they had guns in their
hands, keeping the crowd away.
As with the individual citizens, the people from years ago had a very different look as well. Today the
dark colours are fashionable, the clothes are fitted, fancy and light. Back then the faces were darker

and the clothes were much brighter. A nation can remain the same for centuries, but small changes like
this are still clearly visible.
Around the construction, a crowded ring of people gathered, always changing, but always dense.
Behind this ring, people were standing in smaller groups. From the wide streets people were
continuously coming to the square, as small rivers flowing into a lake, around the construction,
making the ring bigger and bigger.
This lively image was surrounded by the onetime, strange looking, dark or colourful houses, which
you can still see on the square.
Every window was full of spectators. You could see more women than men, mostly staring, only
some of them with the apathetic look that cannot be changed by unexpected events.
How different this square looks now, said the citizen on the stone to the monk, compared to how it
was in 1571, when Istvn Bthori marched through it. He came through the Middle gate, marched
through the city as the prince of Transylvania, surrounded by the happy and joyful citizens.
Or in 1576, said the monk, when Bthori greeted the Polish embassadors, with Gizella Bthori
accompanying them, the wife of old Zamojszki. They brought the news of him being the new king of
Poland.
There is some similarity between that and today, said a villager with a crude voice, As with today,
back then, the citizens of Kolosvr were silent and serious. Do you still know, father, he continued,
turning to the monk, the jealousy and shakiness that the people of Transylvania felt back then? It was
like when a man invites his friend to the biggest lord, and is then surprised by envy because of it.
Many frowned upon the stolidity of Istvn Bthori, even though he was raised to be like that.
It is strange, noted the citizen, shaking his head, that only several people can judge by the inner
movements of the heart. I, you can believe, have seen the tears of pain in the big black eyes of
Bthori.
Do you still remember, said the monk, wiping off the dust from his face when the ten year old
Zsigmond Bthori said he would not leave his home as the prince of Transylvania even for three
crowns?
Yes, yes! answered the citizen with a strange look, this saying of little Zsigmond was told all
around, and created warm feelings in us with a reason. he added with a frown.
Silently, my lords! whispered the monk, Even the walls have ears around here. In '93, when the
lazy-eyed Bucella was in Poland trying to get back the crown for the Bthori family, I remembered the
saying of Zsiga as well. He was not called Zsigmond back then. But instead of the crown he could not
even get all the thirty thousand forints. Istk Gyulai left for Zsigmond in his testament.
A good prince likes changes, said the citizen, Until last year we were Turkish. Back then, you

know that in winter, Andrs Bthori came here with the bishop Cumuleus and they tried to accept the
offering of Rudolf, instead of the Turkish half-moon.
The monk seemed to be thinking.
Since the prince came home from Kvr, something sinister surrounds him. Everything that is
happening today shows that he wants to be independent, without any councelors.
But still, said the citizen, he should rather follow the suggestions of wise man, than the inspiration
of raw passions.
There is none in his current actions, yelled the villager, which he will not regret. I know him, like
my own son!
He never does anything even small, they say, said the citizen with a bitter smile, that he will not
change later. The people around him, who know this hesitation, never do what he says first.
Oh, shouts the monk with anger, he should have died in Kvr! The heart of Boldizsr is not better
than his, but at least he is a man and knows how to want something!

8.

Three Ladies

What scares you?

- Rousseau

On the part of the Big square, which was left of the Torda street, near to the Middle street, and right of
the wooden construction in present, there is a house not like the others, with a balcony. The windows
of this gothic balcony are open, and show us three beautiful ladies. The first one is a child-face girl,
almost but not yet a woman, elbowing on the ledge. It seems, that she is not paying attention to the
things happening around her. She is Gizella Cski, an orphan from a rich family. Next to this childish
figure, a tall, slim woman stood, with an indescribably pleasant face. It is one of those old faces,
which we can still see on coins and which almost disappeared from the living ones. She has lush,
dark hair, a thin, smooth forehead, a curved nose, full lips, and a round chin, with big, dark, flaming
eyes. The pretty lady has red velvet clothes and a lace cap lined with golden strings.
This is how Margit Mikola, Mrs. Gyulafi, looked like! Who has seen her once will never forget her.
Respect, attraction, and jealousy merged in the effect Margit caused, wherever she appeared.
The third one was a round-faced lady, more like a child. The virgin health, the calm smile on her lips,
the white arms, the beautiful hands, and the whole round, but pretty, figure caused a warm desire in
everyone. This was Judit Zsombori, a close relative to house Mikola, paying a visit to Margit.
Who is that nice knight marching towards us quietly from Middle street? asked Gizella, looking at
Judit.
I do not know him, answered Judit apathetically.
Olivr Abafi, said Margit in a deep silver voice, rare to a woman.
Olivr! shouted Judit looking at her, Impossible!
Why? asked Margit, looking at her with a look which could be only hers.
'Olivr? asked Judit, That Olivr, who... but no, no!
Yes, if I say so, said Margit again, I could recognize him from a thousand men.
I am not arguing with you, Margit, but if it is him, he has changed a lot. When I last saw him here in
Kolosvr, he looked more like an outrider than a son of house Abafi. What a difference!

Maybe on the outside, but the soul, that got lost so much as his, changes very hard. noted Margit,
with deep sighs.
Could it really be him? But yes, yes! said Judit with undeniable surprise, He is close now, it is
him! Every feature is his... the dirty clothes are gone, the face looks healthier, the crude pride is gone
and substituted with noble gestures. And it still is him! Look at his eyes! What a wild, cruel look! His
clenched lips show passion. How interesting this man, Olivr, is! How much manliness, how much
strength!
It reminds me, said Margit, what my father always said about Olivr: 'You will see, he will be a
man someday!'
And what made the old man think that? asked Gizella.
He had a lot of strength in him, he said, answered Margit, he knows how to want something, and
who knows that, I can believe in.
We ladies are interesting, said Judit with a painful smile, We find the bad things interesting as
well, sometimes. Why do we hate faults in someone and why do we want to clear these faults away
from Olivr?
Ah, said Margit, who is perfect enough to not to feel better when he can clear away someone
elses faults? You would like to do that too, dear, quiet angel?
Judit reached to her heart as if she was feeling regret.
Oh, yes, she said, from my heart, and she looked at Margit with a deep look, which meant it was
not without a hint.
Margit reached for Judit. It was natural, but beautiful as all her moves are, and whispered to Judit,
You will err, you poor, cheerful girl! You do not understand me. Ah, I do not understand myself!
Little Gizella screamed shortly and quietly, and covered her red face with her hands. She opened her
mouth to say something, and ran into the building.
Margit and Judit looked out the balcony, and suddenly followed Gizella with a pale face.
A few minutes later, a common servants face looked out the window, staring around. Closing it
carefully, he then left.

9.

House Rsa

Happy on the outside, but black and dark on the inside.

- Plutarch

On the part of the square where the wooden construction was raised, we would go past a peculiar
looking house. It was peculiar partly because of all the people surrounding it, and partly because the
wooden construction hides it from other parts of the square. But this house is worth our attention not
just because of its insides, but because of its inhabitant, Carigli.
There are people in every era, who are guided by some kind of whim. Their situation, their education,
or their need for solitude is usually the reason for that. But life wants us sometimes to go off the usual
road, and in those cases it is also caused by other reasons such as wealth. A city, for example, which
is constructed of different and tasteless houses is an object of laughter, but some of its buildings,
concerning their shape and the soul surrounding them, give our eyes a certain feeling of security and
they are not unpleasant.
The house I mentioned was like that. Its owner, Imre Bogner, was a rich trader who had two other
houses in Kolosvr. He has built this one only to satisfy his mood for it.
The house was two stories high and its new rooftop was painted red. Its front ended in a tower-like
edge and overhung so much that you could stand under it in the heaviest rain and not get wet. This
front part of the roof was open and protected by a very tawdry fence, which you could reach only
through the roof.
In the middle of the second floor, there were two unusually big windows close to each other, almost
as one piece. Only a thin red pillar separated them. Next to them, on each side, there were six smaller
windows, the upper three round, the lower three rectangular.
The upper story was separated by a thin roof, painted in red and white squares. Under the above
mentioned double window there was an arched door, with one window on each side, painted green.
The citizens of Kolosvr called this building House Rsa, either because its owner gained his wealth
by selling colourful clothes or because the building itself was full of colours. It was rare that a
stranger passed by without a smile on his face and asking about the owner, who was proud of this.
The citizens got used to this so much, that they did not even notice the house anymore. Like a peculiar
looking man who everyone looks or laughs at at first, but finally they convince themselves that there is
nothing strange about the man at all.

Entering the door, on the right side, a steep stairway led to the upper story. The barriers were made of
ropes and the stairs were covered with grey cloth. In the middle of it the stairway turned to the right
onto the the wide rectangular upper porch. This acted as a lobby and was open towards the yard.
This open lobby had two big pictures on the opposite wall of the stairway. One of them pictured Ignc
Loyola, and the other pictured Ribadeneyra, both in full life-size. Between the two pictures, a huge
grandfathers clock stood. On the right, under the picture of Ribadeneyra, next to an oak-desk on two
wooden chairs, two young boys were seated with their legs extended, in a comfortable position. One
of them was a nice blond boy, maybe seventeen years old, healthy, with a round face, lively eyes, and
was dressed in a red dolman, blue vest and trousers. The other one was blond as well, with a long
face, even younger, dressed in a black velvet dolman and vest, with red trousers. In front of them, on
the table, their short furred caps were laying. The boys were talking to each other quietly.
Left of this described wall, close to the stairway, there was a tall, red gothic door. Next to it, on the
oak bench, a servant-looking man sat, dressed in brown clothes with a meaningless look on his face.
He was staring blankly ahead. Close to him, there was a man dressed in blue, which we have seen in
Hungarian streets, and who was one of the Blue Guards of Zsigmond Bthori.
The Guard seemed to be waiting, and looked seriously towards the door.
Mikola! said someone from inside the room, with an almost screaming voice that you have to get
used to not to find hurtful.
The man with the black dolman jumped up from his seat, and stepped in the inner room through the
half open door.
How quickly Mikola jumps, said his companion to the Guard, Yesterday he sent me in for every
call in his place.
It is easy to figure out the reason for that, answered the brown boy on the bench, Today the prince
is in a better mood than yesterday.
Better? asked the other. Yes, because he is still in the same clothes as he was in the morning, this
means he is either in a good mood, or has a lot to do. Otherwise, he changes his clothes three times
before noon.
The door creaked, the brown one waved his finger, and the young one got suddenly quiet. Mikola
came out through the door and signaled to the Guard, who went in immediately.
The prince patted my shoulders, said Mikola, I havent seen him in such good mood for a long
time.
Did he say anything? asked the other boy.
Not much. He wanted to see Dacz, and told me to order horses to Szamosfalva this afternoon for

three carriages. But I will wait a bit longer. You know the prince almost never keeps his first
command, Mikola replied.
True, answered the other. Yesterday he wanted his breakfast, and I ran to get it. But then he thought
about it, and wanted to go for a ride before breakfast instead. Because I had already left, he scolded
me.
I told you, Szgfi, that at the Court you should always know when to be late and when to hurry, didnt
I? Mikola said, reminding him.
Haha, answered young Szgfi, with a small laugh, you are a perfect teacher. He bowed funnily, I
will always follow your advice from now on, dear lord!
Dacz came through the door. Mikola, he said, the prince will not ride out this afternoon.
I thought so, he answered with a smile and looked at Szgfi.
We will leave to Fejrvr tomorrow. I just got the orders of his lordship about horses, carriages and
others. Good bye! and Dacz left through the stairway with this.
The tall door opened again.
Cyrill! said the once heard sharp voice.
The brown man stood up.
To be clear about the following scene, we will stand in front of the door. Everything we see in the
next room is so peculiar and surprising, that it needs further description.
The big, wide door led to a door completely covered in black cloth. The big windows facing the
street are on the opposing side of it. These give the building the look of a small wide dwarf, with one
eye like a cyclops.
Close to the windows, to the left, there is an oak desk with carved legs. On it there is a simple
wooden plate, filled with fresh figs.
Next to it we see a tall, brown, leather covered chair, positioned in a way that the one sitting in it can
easily look at the marketplace through the windows, without him being noticed.
A tall, young man sat in this chair, with a healthy face, and strong, but not noble features. His blond
hair was thick, but short. His forehead was one of those out sticking foreheads, which looked as if it
was only stuck to the head. His eyes were blue, not big, and without any expression. His nose was
crooked, thick, and in between the peck of an owl and an eagle. His mouth was wonted and his teeth
were healthy. The face was not ugly, but you could see its expressions only by further inspection.
There was some crudeness and cruelness in this forehead and in those blue eyes. There was vanity in

the smile and the posture, but looking at it more, the spectator would be surprised to see that it was
full of doubt as well. This young, strong, wide shouldered man wore a purple velvet dolman, with
loose sleeves and an orange shirt under it. Both of these clothes were covered with silver linings. His
trousers were also orange until the knee. Below it was purple, and the feet were covered with black
shoes. Around his waist there was a silver and gold plated elaborate belt.
We can see a particular man next to him. His eyes showed a fearful reticence and a sinister
strangeness. This tall, dry man had a long and pale face. At the back of his head he had a small
amount of black hair left, part of it combed towards his forehead. His tall forehead was smooth and
unlined on the top, but covered with wrinkles around the eyebrows. His eyes were big, squinty, and
they gave a ghostly look to him. He had a nice Roman nose and thin lips, which showed some kind of
sarcasm all the time, but his whole face gave the impression of a fake innocence and forced suavity.
His upper lip was covered with a rare moustache and he had a sparse beard on his chin. His clothes
were black and loose, tightened to his waist with a shiny belt.
Across the oak table was a simple wooden bed covered with straw and a bears hide, with some
thick books at is headpiece. At the other two walls, two doors led to smaller rooms, but they were
closed at this time. And as with the walls, the doors were also covered with black cloth. Only the
door handles were visible. On the right side of door leading to this room, there was a green furnace,
almost as high as the room itself. On the left side there was a small bench for praying, with a tall
black cross and a skull.
All this furniture showed such monastic simplicity and abnegation, which was the sign of the order of
Ignatius of Loyola.

10.

The Red Man

Where the red man is.

-Victor Hugo

At that moment, when Margit Mikola left the balcony with fear on her face, Cyill entered the room
with its two windows open, showing the scenery of the marketplace. The first thing he saw was the
wooden construction, with a man on top of it dressed in a red cape and a black hat, lined with a red
feather.
At his side, the wide broadsword hung with its big, cross-like handle. Behind all this, the huge crowd
was visible, and its deep voice was audible, which is often a messenger for rebellion.
Cyrill closed the door behind him, and stopped in front of the tall man.
The black man told to the one sitting in the chair, with the unpleasant voice, that which we have
already heard twice, The man with the red cape just stepped on the construction. he got closer to
Cyrill, pointing at the part of the marketplace, where we have heard the conversation between the
citizen, the villager and the monk. Go! he said harshly to Cyrill, Go to where I am pointing at, to
that corner, and tell to the monk the will of his lordship; for him to return to the monastery at once and
not to be seen again today.
The man in the chair nodded.
As Cyrill reversed to the door and went through it, he turned to the tall man, Bucella, he said with a
nice, full voice, I think, the citizens of Kolosvr have seen enough and what comes next should be
for fewer people only.
As your lordship wishe, he answered with reverence, we can help about that immediately.
Mikola! Bucella yelled out the door.
Allright, said the other one, but wait! Or... yes, yes.
For the call of Bucella, Mikola stepped into the room with ease only specific to the young.
Go, said the blond man with an ordering voice, to the marketplace and tell Pter Nagy, who is
riding around the church, this message: Announce it on the street, that every citizen must go home and
clear the windows looking at the square in a quarter of an hour, not to be seen anyone but the Guards.

At once, he answered, bowed, and turned to the door.

Stop! said the blonde man, One more thing! After you completed the first order, go to Geszti in the
small church and give him this. Unnoticed if possible. He took out a scroll from his clothes and gave
it to the tall man, who handed it to Mikola. Stop! Send one of the Guards outside the Monostor gates.
There is Keresztri, with the army from Kvr. Tell him to be ready to march in the city for the first
sign. Outside the Middle gates, Gspr Kornis stands with the army from Mramaros and parts of the
Bocskai army. Tell them to separate into four groups and occupy the Hd street, Magyar, Middle and
Torda streets. Tell them to stand still, but let no one enter the square.
Bucella was silent for a while, but suddenly closed in to the ears of the speaker, The vr, he said,
is completely empty, it would be better to-
Yes, the other said suddenly, Keresztri should send fifty men to the vri square.
Mikola bowed again, and started to leave.
One more thing, Bthori said, tell my orders to the Guards, so they can deliver them quickly.
Geszti will have small problems, added the prince, keeping the groups together.
He is an experienced man, Bucella answered, Otherwise I think he will be able to point out the
interesting goals, and he will occupy the groups with them.
I do not want this bitter, but necessary, act of justice to be delayed by needless wishes. I think what I
do will please God as well, replied the prince.
When the Lord gave the right of justice to his earthly substitutes, the princes, he gave them insight as
well, which makes them able to decide what is good, said Bucella
It is humanly to make mistakes, Bucella! But these who pretended to be faithful and loyal, but instead
conspired against my back deserve death. The cowards!... They thought I would always be a child.
Where is the pride of Boldizsr now? The letter he and Kovasczi, the chancellor, sent me from
Szamosjvr proves how humiliated they are. But where is father Carigli? the prince wondered.
Cyrill, as his student, said that he is praying in the big church, Bucella answered, and it takes a
long time for him.
The sight we will see is not for his kind, even though he agrees with my views, noted the prince.
My soul is far from that, your lordship, said Bucella with fake submissiveness, to interfere with
such important matters. I would like to be a peace angel, spreading the spirit of friendship and unity.
A higher, sacred goal makes me happy, and I, the most humble servant of God, will not go against him.
I have seen his rage against the rebels, because for them it is better to serve the pagans than to feel the

blessing of the Father, and the friendship of the great Rudolf, the Italian bowed at his last words.
I thought about this plan a lot, Bucella! said Bthori after a little pause, The Turkish are good
neighbours if we pay them and keep calm. But if they are calm, the Germans are angry. But if we join
forces with them, the Turkish will be against us, and if Mark Deli was not guarding us all the time,
our country would be full of enemy armies. No matter how much I think about it, I, who will sooner or
later stop ruling our home, think it is better to have a Christian above us than to leave it to the
Turkish.
Your will is dear to God and his lordship. The Roman pope will bless it as well. We need stability
now.
Oh, do not worry! the prince said, with a smile mixed with sarcasm. I know the good man
Boldizsr very well, who, besides all his flattery, would like to sit in my place very much. I know the
chauncelors, who greeted me with magnificence in Szamosjvr, gathered that night by Gbor Kendi
and swore death on my head.
While the prince and Bucella were talking like this, the Guards gathered in groups and announced the
orders of the prince.
The people looked surprised, and the noise started to sound threatening. It was only a matter of a
good leader to form this hubble-bubble into action.
Crush this construction! Kill the executioner! Go to House Rsa! Zsigmond is there by Carigli!
They yelled such things from here and there, even though the prince could not hear them yet.
The orders from the prince came just in time, which the Guards made even heavier. At first in smaller
groups, but later in bigger ones, the crowd started to disappear. In a quarter of an hour the square was
empty. Only the tall, black construction was visible, with the man wearing the red cape on top of it, in
deep silence. The guards formed a rectangle around him.
Close to House Rsa, from a dark building, a few soldiers marched out with long spears in their
hands. Between them, a tall, strong man walked with a grey beard, a white shirt, and red trousers. His
feet were cuffed.
This is Sndor Kendi! said one of the Guards. This is how a righteous old man dies!
Restless, wild man said another, and who cares about it!
The soldiers were greated by total silence.
The prince sat apathetically in the chair.
Bucella, he said, grabbing a fig from the plate, figs are as bad as people. They are bad because
they look nice on the outside, but they start to rot from the inside.

The old, proud Kendi is stepping on the construction, whispered Bucella, looking at the square, not
caring about what the prince said, How haughtily he is looking around, as if he was sorry that so
little people will see his heroic death. He will not think of plans against his prince anymore.
There are not even two good figs, said the prince, in the plate of father Carigli. It is visible, that it
was raised between tall walls, not in beautiful Italy. Oh, Bucella, when will I get there, away from
this mess?
He is no more! said Bucella, completely mesmerised by the horrible view, The executioner is
showing his head around.
It was sudden, noted the prince, taking a short glance over there, with rough, crude revenge.
It is hard to be a prince, said Bucella, with fake sadness in his eyes, but it comes from heaven and
may God bless you with the title for a long, long time!
If only the people of Transylvania would want the same, answered the prince, rubbing his forehead,
which seemed much more serious now.
The holiness of the goal proves the bitter way, my prince. If this party is lost, we will not see
anymore resistance, informed Bucella.
Who is up next? asked Bthori, taking a short look at the construction.
Gyrgy Literati. The scholar is not that brave to climb the stairs... two are holding him.
In one or two minutes a raising noise sounded. Rage and anger was visible on the faces of the Guards.
What happened? shouted the prince with a red face, is this the voice of my own Guards?
Literati died only from the second hit, Bucella answered without any emotions, it is rare, but not
the first, neither the last.
The executioner knows his job, said the prince angrily, get him to Szamosjvr! I do not like
torture... Szgfi! he yelled.
Szgfi entered.
Get Gspr Kornis here immediately! the prince demanded.
He is marching through the soldiers, Bucella said with a smile, If I am not mistaken, he stepped
closer to the window, Keresztri is coming next to him.
The noise is quieter, said the prince, you can stay, Szgfi! Well, he continued, pinching the face of

Szgfi, what are the nice ladies of Kolosvr doing and how many of them do you know already?
Only a few, and only from the windows, my lord! answered the henchman, shaking as if he did not
expect a question like this.
Then think about a rope, boy, said Bthori, putting his hands on his shoulder, or about a lute, to
make them come down. You can go, Szgfi!
Szgfi left.
It is silent again, said Bucella, there is Bocskai riding.
Who is next?
Gbor Kendi, answered the other.
Did I not say to leave him last? asked the prince, accusingly.
Let him go now, said Bucella, sooner or later... it does not matter.
Alright! said the prince, I will execute Forr and Iffi in prison.
Away, you scum! yelled someone on the square.
Who is this? asked the prince, looking out the window, with angry eyes.
It seems like Kendi is not letting them blindfold him, answerd Bucella.
The stubborn fool! said Bthori, sitting back.
Away, I say! a yell from the square again, It would not be good for you to die first!
There was a buzz by the Guards, Do not hurt him! Do not blindfold him if he does not want it.
Kendi was standing on the construction with unbelievable calmness. Before he kneeled down, he
looked at House Rsa, You, child prince, you are not far away I think, he yelled loudly, be cursed
by the innocent blood you spilled.
Bthori covered his eyes, his face was shaking, and he signalled with his hand.
Kill him, executioner! he yelled.
In a minute the executioner lifted up the head of Kendi.
Soon, it started to rain, and it washed down the blood of the executed ones. At that time they believed

it is a sign for innocence.

11.

The Consequences Of A Vow

I always keep my word.

- Kind

We have seen Abafi riding by House Mikola. Margit recognized him immediately, but so did a few
others in Kolosvr. For someone who has seen him a year ago, it would be hard to recognize him. His
face changed, his forehead has gotten smooth, his hair got much nicer, the dangerous flames in his
eyes disappeared and they seemed much calmer, able to command and conquer. His figure has gotten
straight, his shoulders were wide, and he looked noble altogether. They way we see him right now,
there was no man more beautiful in Transylvania. As he marched on the street, no one could walk by
him without looking at him twice.
We mentioned before that he vowed not to do anything bad for three months, and he got used to doing
good. It was half a year ago, that the three months have passed, and he kept his word.
What made him keep it is hard to understand, but from a psychological point of view, it is reasonable.
We have seen his way of thinking; that he has seen the consequences of his acts. We also know, that he
was noble and proud, but his decision was not because of pride. It was more likely because he
wanted to go against the ones who said he was not able to practice abstinence.
It was not an easy task for a man, who did not write, did not read, did not care about his lands, who
did not enjoy a nice conversation, and who could not love in a noble way.
The first two weeks passed with boredom. He asked his henchmen often for wine. They brought it to
him and sometimes he almost drank it, but then remembered the face of the man who called him a
drunk, and pushed the drink away. He spent the nights with a priest, and argued with his servants.
Everything bored him and he was drawn to his vices, but he had tremendous strength. This strength
helped him to keep his word, down to the smallest details.
A few days later Abafi started to change. He slept better, after all the nights he spent being awake
with a messy life, and his body healed slowly. He started to feel lighter and happier. He woke up with
more joy and his life seemed less boring. He was almost surprised, how his life was happier and
stronger this way.
All this change had another conclusion as well. His servants did not like him before, the way he was.
Now, that they have seen the better mood of their master, they were almost reborn and served him
with more joy. Abafi started to feel more like working as well. He vowed not to ride a horse, not to

hunt, and some other nobler actions which provided joy to him before. Time started to feel empty and
long for the healing and strong young man. He started looking after his fields, firstly because of
boredom, later with more and more enthusiasm, which he could not unfold. But its root is easy to find
for someone who understands this process. It was the consequence of his successes and a growing
passion towards fieldwork. Two months later people started to talk differently about him. Not even
three months have passed, and there were some who respected him. Who has seen his change, could
not deny the nobility in his actions.
Abafi was lucky, in life, luck and circumstances, that his priest was a clever, well educated man with
much wit and scholarship. He could not avoid the priests advice on the road he walked. The priest
liked the young man and he often carried him as a baby. There was something father-like in this
feeling. The priest always kept his word and encouraged the man because he knew, that with nice
words, he could lift off Abafi from the state he was in before. The priest called him unique, and told
him many times that he is a man who can achieve great success and because he is strong, he only
needs to want it. He also warned Abafi to take care about his appearance, and everything that is
needed for a better life. Olivr liked the old monk. At first it was almost an animal-like love, who he
would have missed, but later this love changed into appreciation and he started to like and miss the
monk's company. The priest warned him that the leaders of Transylvania serve their country with
sword only in a battlefield but around a table words and wit are much more useful. Abafi was on this
road to improvement when he got to Kolosvr.
There was a little boy living in the court of Abafi, under the supervision of his priest. No one knew
whose child he was, but whoever saw him was very kind to him. Olivr liked him very much. Who
the boy was, we can already guess.
The title of this book shows that it is not the goal of the author to describe the history of Transylvania,
but we must speak about the things that are connected to the events of this story.
As Zsigmond Bthori came back from Kvr, where he spent very little time, everyone was very kind
to him, but it suddenly changed one day. A long time ago, he watched the growing influence of
Boldizsr Bthori with jealousy. Boldizsr was a strong man both in body and in soul, in his early
years he traveled to Denmark, Norwegia, England, France and Spain.
The prince thought that his brother was against him, or at least that he was his opponent in some ways.
Therefore, in 1594 on a Sunday morning, he asked for the noble man to come to him and imprisoned
Sndor and Ferenc Kendi, Jnos Iffi, Farkas Kovasczi, Gbor Kendi, Forr, Jnos Bornemisza,
Jnos Gerendi, Albert Lnyai, Boldizsr Cseszeliczki, Gyrgy Szalnczi and Gyrgy Literati. They
lost their lives on the 30th of August, as we have seen it, even though the prince promised that nothing
out of the law would happen to them. On that day, when the wooden construction was raised, no one
knew exactly what the prince really wanted. The people, as in every sudden case, gathered on the
marketplace, some thinking one thing, others differently. And because at that time there were robbers
from Havasalfld around the place, a lot of them thought it is all because of them.
But let us get back to Abafi. He was full of bravery. Frequent huntings, which, at that time were
always life threatening, made his soul strong and increased his courage. After he started to change, it

was also apparent that he wanted to use his skills for different reasons. He already suspected that if
he could get out of his bad way of life, he would be useful for his country. He had the will to take part
in the doubtful affairs with words and actions as well.
There was something nice in his voice and in his speeches since he pursued a better life. He could
tell his hunting stories with happiness and he has some affection towards more serious topics as well.
The rough material, as they say, was still there, it only calmed down a bit.
His education was so neglected, that he knew very little, but for his luck he had a lot of willpower.
His soul started to trust himself. He slowly but steadily proceeded in a better way. His priest was a
lot of help in this, but even more was House Mikola, which he was related. Margit, whom Abafi liked
deeply, was also a big influence. Margit was something unreacheable for him. If someone told him
Margit loved him, he would have never believed it.
It was not pretentious, it was not because he thought that Margit cannot love. It was because he
thought that there is no man who is worthy of her, whom he valued so much.
The way Abafi became a better man is interesting for everyone, but for him it was a goal. He decided
to achieve greatness.

12.

A Speaker

Who are you, and what is your name?

- M. Cottin

Abafi, from his home where he spent very little time, hurried to see the nobles of the country.
Zsigmond Bthori kept the cizitens of Kolosvr in such doubt that no one suspected his intentions. The
nobles were still talking about the fate of the country when some of them were already dead.
Abafi was the first one to stand up. Every eye looked at him. Most of the ones there did not even
recognize him; that is how big the difference was in old and new Abafi. He was wearing a simple
black velvet dolman and a vest. His figure was strong. Only his sword, a legacy of his house, showed
his origins.
He stood up bravely and looked around at the crowd eyeing him. He was surprised by the doubt of the
crowd. His face was pale, he was seeing sparks in front of him, and it seemed that the great hall of the
church was covered in fog.
His voice was shaking, but the strength of his soul won over his fears. It became stronger and
stronger, and finally all his words flew in the gothic church with ease; clearly audible in every point.
His speech was clear, without any frippery. He did not go against the will of the prince to befriend the
Christians. He wished that the church would reach everyone, closing them to God himself. But also
religion commands us to keep our words, he said.
He showed the calmness of Transylvania in the time of Istvn Bthori, and how calm the Turkish were
as a neighbour if their wishes came true. How many times they let things happen in Transylvania, if
they could prove that their wishes were impossible. He described how much power can hurt if it is
against the people. He revealed that, in the present, the doubt of the nobles in Transylvania and the
known intentions of the prince denying the Turkish, brought the hordes of Tartars into the country
before. And the poverty, which came with it. If, he said, there is a party in the country which goes
against this will because they fear this danger, are they really guilty? He denied that those who were
imprisoned wanted the prince to die. Their honest respect when he returned from Kvr proved that
they are ready to obey him. He asked the nobles to send an emissary to delay this danger above their
heads.

37

He should not worry, he said, with passion in his words and on his face, the nephew of Istvn
Bthori is in Transylvania. We should protect him, but he should not forget the past and should give
respect only for respect. One of the best rights of the prince is to forget the guilty. Those, who he
thought were his enemies will become his friends, and they should be, because we will need a
common goal if we go up against the Turkish and are willing to fight them.
Everyone was staring at Abafi. Not because of the simple speech, which had no strength compared to
the circumstances, but on his bravery and directness, with which Abafi dared to speak in such
dangerous times.
Many told their opinions, and they were mostly about the ones to be executed. The gathering decided
to send many emissaries to the prince.
The sudden rain stopped and the sky was clear again. Kendi, Forr, and Literati lived no more when
the emissaries reached House Rsa, which was surrounded by many people. Bthori came down to
see them. Carigli was standing next to the prince in his simple monkly robes, along with Bucella, the
private doctor of the prince. His Guards were surrounding him. Abafi spoke again. His voice was
rough, but clean, and his eyes were flaming. He started with his head hanging, but he soon raised it
up, and it seemed as if he was looking down at the crowd. An outsider looking in might have thought
him to be the prince.
The young Zsigmond spoke to the emissaries with such a brave stand and such a nice voice that was
characteristic of the Bthori family. He announced that the ones he executed wanted to kill him and
wanted the let the Tartars into the country. He promised that he would be able to prove all these
claims, but it never happened. Otherwise, he asked them not to be worried and told them he did not
want to be violent. He said, he believes, that he needs the loyalty of the nobles against the Turkish.
The nobles thought about it deeply, and went home with a feeling of danger.
The prince turned to Abafi.
What is your name? He asked with a voice of despite.
Olivr Abafi, anwered the other modestly.
Olivr Abafi! I still remember you! said the prince looking at him Olivr, yes, yes. Are you not the
son of Gedeon, known as an uneducated, nefarious man?
Your lordship, Abafi answered, not being able to hide his shame, I believe the one standing in
front of you is not the Olivr you know. Or at least I have the strong will in my heart never to be
thought of as an evil man.

I see, said Bthori, with great despise, a converted sheep! Yes, he continued with a sarcastic
smile, it is always good to see one of those. But if you are not already so perfect not to listen to any
advice, remember: Who got lost once, will always be watched.
Abafi understood the deeper meaning behind the response.
My every wish is, he answered calmly, that my actions are known to everyone; even the bad ones.
I never wanted to be watched. It is not for the youth, but for the older ones, he continued with an
allusion in his eyes looking at Zsigmond.
The prince nodded, signalling that Abafi could leave. There was something sinister in this nod that
scared Abafi.
One more thing, said the prince as he stepped very close to Abafi, do not forget, my young friend,
that if someone is being watched closely, he continued with a cruel smile, sometimes he loses his
head as well.
The prince suddenly left. Abafi stood there for a couple of minutes, thinking. He then left towards
House Mikola.

13.

The Restaurant

Dinner is served.
- Balzac

There was a small street opening from Torda street called Bza street. This was where Mzes Gti
lived, who we have seen before. An honest citizen and blacksmith of Kolosvr, with his wife,
Orsolya. The forge was on the right side of the building, smokey and dark, surrounded with younger
boys working on it. On the left side, there was a wide door, and in the middle was a small set of
windows covered with iron fences, the proud work of Mzes Gti.
At the time of our story there were bars, pubs, and smaller drinking places in Kolosvr. But because
of the noble hospitality, restaurants were very rare. But, as we know it, there are some men who
would rather command, than ask, and when he is having fun he likes to be more relaxed. These are the
people Mzes Gti was counting on when he decided to organize small events in his house on
festivals, holidays, and so on. His wife cooked the tasty food, mostly with cabbage, and he provided
the fine wine. All this, the great food and the flowing wine, meant that his table was very rarely empty
and without guests.
One of the long rooms looking at the street was utilized for this. A long, thin oak table, with an always
clean, but rough tablecloth. A tall furnace, several straw chairs, a few small benches, and a
sideboard. These were the furnitures of the room. One of its doors opened near the main entrance, the
other into a smaller room.
It was three days after the above mentioned event, when we see Orsolya cleaning the table. Mzes
came from the forge a little while ago, and he is sitting on a small chair near the furnace. He has a
shiny leather cap on his head, and he looks really tired.
While Mzes was resting after a hard days work, his wife layed the table, and put on it bread with
some bottles and cups.
The owner of the house was almost sleeping when his wife put out a plateful of cakes on the table. As
she was preparing for dinner, Tbis, their nine year old son, sneaked into the room and started to
steal the cakes while his mother was not watching. He was successful for a while, but with one
clumsy move, he knocked down the pile. This startled him and he ran out the door, quietly.
A few minutes later we can see him sending in the cat. Orsolya saw the deficit of the cakes and
slapped the cat off the table with anger.

Ey, my darling, said Mzes waking up, rubbing his eyes, What is happening again? I cant even
rest for a moment after the hard work!
If it was up to you, they could take everything off the table! Look what the old cat did! It cant do
anything else but eat and sleep all day.
Leave him alone. He did a lot, before he got old. So let him rest, he continued, looking out the
window, It is getting late, and we dont have any guests.
We will have two less for sure, she added. I dont think that Abafi and Bethlen would come after
yesterdays argument. I only mind that I couldnt have been there. It would have ended much quieter.
You are only looking out of your head, but it is a duty of the host to create order, she said angrily.
I will not take part in such businesses, Mzes answered, At the end, they would drag me into it. If
you want to create order, someone will be angry with you at the end. I did want to say a few words,
they just didnt listen. It was mostly Abafi! He never listens if he is excited.
And was he yesterday? Since he came here, he was the only one who never went home being drunk,
and he was being gentle all the time.
Yes! Well, Abafi changed a lot, but I think yesterday he still was drunk because he got so angry at
Bethlen that we all thought he would throw him out the window.
Hmmm, said Orsolya, and for such little things. Why would it be bad to promise a lady a village
for her kisses?
Bad? asked the man with a smile. Zounds! It is not bad at all, it is good! If they would give you a
village for all your kisses, you would not have time to eat at all.
Naughty, she said, but maybe that was not the reason for Abafi. Tell me again, the story. Yesterday
you were so fast I couldnt understand a word you said.
Bethlen and Abafi were talking about pretty ladies, answered Mzes with a yawn, One said this,
the other something else. They were talking about House Mikola:
***********************************************************************************
Did you notice, said Bethlen, little Gizella by them? There is no one more beautiful the she!
She is a child, said the other, pretty, but clumsy. Whenever I say something, she gets red. Anyways,
who would notice her standing by the others of House Mikola?
True, said Bethlen, All the others stand in Margit's shadow. I know someone who said he would
give a whole village for a kiss from her. I do not have many villages, but I would give an old field

easily for it.

Abafi frowned at that. Stop! he said.
But Bethlen continued, But it would still be expensive. The kiss should be long and emotional.
Stop! said Abafi, again with a red face, Bethlen, if we want to keep being friends, be more
respectful about a lady.
You are joking! answered Bethlen, with a strange look, I dont think you would want to educate me
about respect. Why is it insulting that I want a kiss from Margit Mikola?
Nor me, nor Bethlen, nor God, nor men should speak about ladies like that! Or, at least not if they
dont want to befriend my sword. It is always ready, said Abafi with great anger, against you, or the
one who I think has more villages than wits!
It is strange! yelled Bethlen, As I see it, you are drunk! You are mistaken if you think that Bethlen
would step down against Abafi. I have a good sword on my belt as well. But I hope that the other one
is not as ready as I am, because he has even more power than I do. The one who said he would give a
village was Zsigmond Bthori. But dont be afraid, he will not hear this from me.
Him, or anyone else! said Abafi roughly. They exchanged a few words like this, and ran out.
***********************************************************************************
Hm! said Orsolya, I am sorry, that this happened in our house, but I think it was all because Margit
looked deeper in his eyes this time.
He doesnt really need such a noble lady, said Mzes with a nod, he is not that picky!
Who knows whether it is really true? I cannot believe the much bad about Abafi that they say. There
is something lovely in that man.
It is true, said Mzes, that he is a different man, but still not a good friend, as we have seen
yesterday. But I would not remember that, if those two men werent here yesterday, who are always
watching Abafi.
I think I can figure out, whispered Orsolya, who those dark faced men are, but it is better to keep
silent.
The old man stood up, continuing slowly, as if he was afraid. You could be right, but what did Abafi
do to be watched so carefully?
Did you not hear, said Orsolya, that he spoke against the prince? These men are always watched
nowadays.

14.

The Little Tbis

The world is a smelly swamp.

- Shakespeare

The couple would have continued their conversation further, but the doors opened, and Bethlen,
Kenderesi, Tolcsvai and others came in and sat down. Orsolya was looking at Bethlen carefully,
whose right hand was bandaged up to his shoulder. Mzes started to pick up the empty bottles off the
table. The company was very serious and there was no sound of fun at all, which is unusual for these
men that can usually be heard well into the next street.
This seriousness can be explained about the happenings of this dangerous time. Almost every family
is connected in Transylvania by blood or by friendship, and everyone cared about each other. A very
few people were satisfied with what the prince did. Everyone started to visit the local gathering
places, but with much less joy in their hearts than before.
Orsolya came back with full plates soon.
Tolcsvai was sitting across the table from Bethlen, whose face was more pale than usual. Farkas,
Tolcsvai asked with sympathy, is your wound deep?
It is not worth a word, answered Bethlen, it did not reach a bone, and my mothers medicine is
already healing it. But where is Abafi? He promised me he would be here.
And he is unharmed? asked Kenderesi, a serious looking young man, eating from the plate in front
of him.
He is for now, answered Bethlen with a laugh, I tried to hit him with my sword, but it turned
around. This is the answer for it, he continued pointing at his arm.
I can respect, added Tolcsvai, the strength and bravery of Abafi. If someone was brave only in his
arms, as a gladiator, I would despite him. Only a man, brave in his heart, is worth it.
You are wrong, said Bethlen, if you think he is a gladiator. His soul is brave as well. It was
visible in his speech for the prince, which might lead to his doom.
I have once seen his composure, said Kenderesi. Do you remember, Tolcsvai, at that hunt for a
bison? He was the fastest, the first to arrive, and the bison was so close to him? I was nearby and

thought he would die. But he got out of it. And here he is. Welcome, Olivr! Come to our table, and
drink with us!
There was something strange in Abafis whole figure. No one would recognize him who had seen him
a day before. He looked angry and upset. He sat down near Bethlen, and shook hands with him with
sympathy and defiance merged in his eyes.
Hello! he said to Tolcsvai.
Yes, get us wine, a lot of it... What better could we do! He said with a wild laugh, This world is
wrong, cowardly and nefarious. Who would like to become better is an idiot... Wine, I said, wine!
Bethlen and the others looked at him in amazement.
What happened to you, Olivr, my friend? said the first one, Tell us! Since we shed each others
blood, my heart is closer to you. Tell us what is wrong! Should I protect you from something, or
should I fight for you? What is wrong?
The world, the people, myself, and everything, answered Abafi, hitting the table, a prince kills the
best of our country, then a child pays the price for the hugs from Margit Mikola.
Bethlen stood up, and looked at the other questioningly.
I dont mean you! Abafi said, offering his hand, It is hell to see and stand all of this! Old men, who
are brave, fear the prince, and all this for what? Ah, let me go silent, because I will start to be
ashamed to keep a sword in my hand. Wine, I said, wine! he grabbed the bottle in front of him, and
drank its content completely.
The devil jumped in you! yelled Tolcsvai, Are you against humanity, Olivr? Don't you know that
you have to be clever in dangerous times? Cold strength and wise thinking are the tools you should
use; not violence. You are an Abafi, are you not?
I understand you, answered Olivr, and the loyalty of House Abafi is well known. I do not hate
Bthori, but I despise his actions. I hate the Italians, Geszti and everyone around him, and all who
will make him fall sooner or later. Who can be calm, should be calm, but I can not.
You should, my friend, said Kenderesi, be a bit more peaceful. If your heart is boiling, you should
cool it down. Cold strength is the real strength.
Wine, said Abafi, and pretty girls! This is what I want, nothing else.
The young men continued their conversation. Oliver was in flames, his every word, every move was
by anger, not by cowardly plaintiveness. He withstood the wine usually well, but now he was even
warmer because of it.

As they were talking like this, little Tbis sneaked through the door, and assumed that his parents
were not looking. He looked around in the room, and noticed a slice of cake on top of the sideboard.
Little Tbis lifted a wooden chair, and dragged it to the sideboard, slowly, standing in front of the
chair just in case his mother or father were looking, to cover it with his small body. He marched
silently, until he reached his goal, and put down the chair next to the sideboard. Then he lifted one of
the benches and put it on top of the chair. The stairway was done, he climbed on the chair, then on the
bench from that, and tried to reach for the plate.
While Tbis tried to accomplish his mission, which he wanted to blame on the cat again, the young
men were already deep into drinking, Abafi the most. Soon loud laughs and nasty jokes started to
appear, which usually happens in these places with wine.
The door opened at this point, and two men came in with their hats down. They sat down quietly at a
smaller table. One of them was an older man with big eyes and a bald head. He had a black ribbon on
his left eye and a big beard on his chin, and was wearing a black dolman. The other was a young man
who looked like a soldier, both of them wearing a dark scarf around their neck and chin.
Orsolya looked angrily at them, and whispered something into her husbands ears. Mzes stepped
closer to them, and they ordered wine and cheese.
As his wife went to bring in what they ordered, Kenderesi stood up from the table. My friends, he
said, I know a good place near the city walls, where the wine is good and the girls are pretty. Here,
he continued, looking at the ones who just came in, it is getting dark. Who is coming with me?...
Abafi! Wine and pretty girls! Come!
All of them jumped up. The young man by the smaller table frowned. At this moment, Tbis
reached for the plate on top of the bench. Mzes noticed what the boy was doing, and reached for his
belt, with a strange smile on his face.The boy looked back and tried to let go of the plate, but he lost
his balance. He fell on the ground with a scream, rolling onto the feet of Abafi, who was going
towards the door.
The child hit his nose and it was bleeding, but Mzes started to hit him anyways with his belt, holding
him tightly, until Orsolya came in and tried to calm her husband down. Abafi looked at this scene for
a while. His face became pale as if he was thinking, remembering about something. Do not torture
the poor boy that much, he said sensitively, I will pay for the damage, he turned to the others,
Good bye! he continued, I will stay here.
You are not coming? asked Bethlen.
No! answered Abafi shortly.
No? But why? said Tolcsvai, and Kenderesi at the same time.
Ey, said Bethlen, leave him be! He is not coming, he said so. I know how an Abafi is. Well, he
added with a laugh, Good by, Olivr!... another time, then...

All of them left. Abafi sat down silently by the furnace.

What is the time, Orsolya? he asked, and called for Tbis, stroking his face.
It is almost ten oclock, she said.
I still have a quarter of an hour, said Abafi, after that, I am going home.
The men by the small table were whispering to each other. The younger one sometimes looked at
Abafi, and his face showed hatred. A bit later they stood up, and left the room.
Mzes went to Abafi confidentially.
Sir, he said, did you notice those two owls by the small table?
Not for the first time, he answered, I do not have anything to do with them!
I am not telling you as advice, sir, continued Mzes whispering, but those two are not onto
something good.
And do you think, said Olivr with a smile, that two wretched ones as those can scare me?
I do not think that, sir, but who knows what they want, and how many of them there are out there!
Do not worry, dear man, he said, my soul is clean, my sword is sharp, my heart is at its right
place. What could I be afraid of?
Mzes shook his head. I can think of something, but my soul is at rest because I have spoken my
mind. Good night! he said, saying goodbye to Abafi, who was strapping on his sword and putting
something in the hands of little Tbis, who looked really happy about it.
Good night! said Abafi.

15.

A Scream

I am your enemy alone, no one else's.

- Cornelius Nepos

Abafi walked silently in deep thoughts until the end of Bza street, left of Torda street, towards the
marketplace. The reader might be surprised about the change happening in him. How he seemed to go
back to his former ways when he entered the room of Mzes, wanting girls and wine, and how we
have seen him, almost going to a house with such pleasures, and how big the change was when he
decided not to go there.
These things can be explained easily. He sunk down back to his former life several times for a little
while, and his will was not always there to stop him. But we can't say that these feelings disappeared
easily and fast, and so his will to avoid such actions got stronger and stronger.
As long as the regret of such actions hurt him very little, it was hard to resist them, but since his heart
reacted strongly, his feelings got deeper and he felt stronger remorse.
There are many times in life when a small thing has big consequences. A proud man can often think of
these as if they were because of his soul and strength. Did Orsolya think, when she was putting out the
cakes, that Tbis would try to get them, and that the consequence of this act would be a man changing
his mind, going on the right path, and avoiding the nefarious passions he got away from?
As Abafi saw Tbis on the ground in front of him, he remembered one of the most significant scenes
in his life; the rescue of little Zsiga. He remembered how his soul wanted to do the evil thing. He
remembered that this was the point where his feelings changed. Slowly, he thought of the noble vows
which he loved a few days ago. How he believed his soul could be better, and how he thought he was
marching fast towards perfection. No! He decided not to leave this path again, and that he would
despise everything wrong from this point on. He felt that he was strong enough to do so, and kept his
vows.
He realized that there is no circumstance he could not win against with his strength. It is true that he
felt ashamed when he spoke on the gathering of the nobles. The words of the prince also hurt him very
much.
But these words showed that his actions were important, which Abafi realized as well. The pureness
of his intentions were great and noble in his mind. He spoke on behalf of great patriots and he felt
bitter because his intentions were misinterpreted.

It is no surprise then, how he acted before. The anger, the calm and peaceful behaviour after, and the
deep and strong friendship between him and Bethlen proves how much he has changed.
His duel with Bethlen, from a psychological point of view, is not a setback at all. There are feelings
like this in the most noble soul as well, where his actions seem violent, but his intentions were good.
It was because of chivalry. His setback was more like the feelings he had when he entered the room.
But, as we have seen it, the circumstances got him back to the right path and his vow, not to be
nefarious again, was never as strong as it is now.
Abafi walked slowly and quietly in the dark. Every street was mute and empty. There was only the
small light of a candle visible in House Rsa, with a long, thin shadow that was probably Cariglis.
Abafi continued on his way. When he reached the middle of the square, he heard a quiet whisper
behind him. He looked back, and saw someone in a dark robe.
Abafi stopped. There was more courage in him than to be afraid of someone following him. So he
reached for his sword, and went on. He barely reached Middle street, when, from a dark door, three
men jumped in front of him with drawn swords. Their faces were covered in dark scarfs, and their
clothes were also dark. It seemed to Olivr as if two of them were the ones drinking in the room of
Mzes.
Surrender! said one of them in a deep voice, It is of no use to try to defend yourself.
Abafi drew his sword, and his answer was only a huge cut, which knocked the speaker on ground
immediately. The other two started fighting. Our hero, not forgetting the mysterious person following
him, was backed to a wall, defending himself with fast strikes.
As he was fighting with doubtful luck, a scream sounded from one of the balconies of the nearby
House Mikola.
You friend of the devil! said one of the fighters, dropping his sword and grabbing his mace,
attacking Abafi with wild elan.
Two against one! said a voice, not unknown to Olivr, and the man with the mace fell to the ground.
Abafi suddenly grabbed the throat of the third man, and turned to the one defending him, whom he
recognized as the man following him. I will not thank you for this, he said, you attacked him from
the back, and that is not manly.
Should I have left you to die? said the known voice, stepping aside. I would not protect you if
there was only one. There is no chivalry against assassins.
It is you! said Abafi, with surprise, You! Did I not tell you, he continued with blame in his voice,
not to follow my every step?

Then teach me first, how to do that, said the pretty boy, with a sad face, I do not want anything,
Olivr, but to help you. And still how little it is compared to what you did, what you did for me!
Enough! said Abafi, Enough! he offered his hand for the boy, and continued, You might be right,
you nice, loyal soul, but leave! Good night!
The unfamiliar boy left crying. Olivr sighed.
And you, he said to his attacker, who was still tightly grabbed by his strong, steel-like hands, the
third of the men who wanted to fight Abafi. You are very little for my revenge! I do not want to know
your name, neither your companions, nor the name of who you sent you. Here, he said, dropping his
purse, remember this hour, when you were held in my hand like a statue! He swung him and threw
him on top the two others. He followed after the young boy, who just left.
The dropped assassin rose up, half-sitting. With tremendous rage on his face, he grabbed his dagger
and threw it after Abafi. The dagger flew next to his ear, and stuck into the ground.
Abafi stepped one step back, stopped, and looked at the assassin with a long distressful look, then left
without a word.
The young boy grabbed the dagger from the ground, and rushed to the assassin.
Do not harm him! yelled Abafi in a commanding voice, Leave!
The boy put the dagger away, but it seemed that he was struggling inside. Then he left, slowly.
I, only I, am your enemy, Abafi, said the assassin, and I will be, until the day I die. Curse you! his
last words he almost mumbled, and he was still not able to get up from the ground.

16.

House Mikola

They are different, but I like them both.

- Moor

There are faces which are representatives of a whole nation. If you look at them, you would have an
idea of how all the people look in that counry. Like this, there are also families which represent all
the households. House Mikola was one of these; it represented the households of all Transylvania
perfectly. If anyone saw them, they would know all rich families in the country, all their customs, and
hobbies at the time of our story.
No matter if the family was in a city, or in a village, they were all great to be friends with. They
respected each other, and they were very hospitable.
They had golden lined furniture, expensive carpets, silver everywhere, for almost everything, even
for pots and horseshoes. They had many servants dressed in colourful clothes, huge guards, henchmen,
clerks, a priest, and a jester, found in every rich family at that time.
There was a no more visited, loved, or respected House in whole Transylvania at that era, than House
Mikola.
Mikls Mikola was fifty six years old, and was a middle height, strong, but nervous man. His face
was round, always red, healthy and usually happy. His blue eyes showed cordiality.
But as everywhere, there were clouds above House Mikola occasionally. The husband of Margit,
Blint Gyulafi, died four years before the start of our story. Soon the wife of Mikls Mikola, Mria
Abafi, followed him to the grave. Both these deaths doomed the family to mourning. These people had
feelings unlike any other family. There was some joint connection between them, and if any one
person felt something, everyone else did as well. In time the pain got smaller and the House was
happy again.
Mikls Mikola had one son and one daughter. The boy was only sixteen years old. He served as a
henchmen in the court of Zsigmond Bthori, and was almost always close to him. His daughter,
Margit, the wife of Gyulafi (we have seen her on the balcony), the beautiful widow, was twenty seven
years old.
Margit was one of those peculiar ladies, who morphed every atmosphere into a happy one. Her
beauty and her honor separated her from the everyday world somehow.

There was something in her, which kept away even the brave ones. Not pride, not coldness, not her
dignity, but her charm, which made her unique.
And this beautiful lady was not lucky. There was something unearthly in her, that meant she could not
be happy by earthly joys. She was only sixteen when she got married. Her husband was rich, pretty,
and maybe even good in a way, but he was a careless man. He did not understand or respect her. They
had a son, who was born when Gyulafi was away, but died very young, before the death of her
husband.
When her husband died, Margit became serious. Maybe she never loved Gyulafi, but someone as
perfect as her could not mourne someone who she was close to for a long time. However, the lady
was not broken because of her losses, even though, you could say, her actions were somehow farfetched. Still, everyone knew her as a nice, calm, and cordial woman.
Many tried to win her love, but could not reach their goals. But there was something she could achive,
that very few other women can; to remain friends with all the suitors. It was somehow impossible to
say something against her or to blame her for anything.
Apart from these two children, Mikls Mikola had a close relative, Gizella Cski, at the house as
well. A fifteen year old girl, with her parents dead.
As Mrs. Gyulafi was a statue for beauty, Gizella was a woman, one of a kind. She was naive, but
curious, like a bird that just hatched from its egg. She was sensitive and her heart was easy to touch.
She was startled easily, but when she something good happened, she was the first to show the signs of
happiness.
She was pure as an angel, as a lily in spring. She was fifteen, but seemed younger than eight in soul.
She was so pure that she made everything more noble around her.
Olivr Abafi, as one of the closest relative to House Mikola appeared there from time to time,
already when he was very young, when his mother was still alive. His first appearances were all
without any interest. He was much younger than the old Mikola. This meant he was wilder, less
educated, and too rough to start a conversation with the enthusiastic Margit or her husband. He was
usually the quiet, sad boy at the end of the table.
Old Mikola was the first to notice him, and he forewarned everyone, but Abafi was still neither a
dear, nor an obnoxious figure in the house. He was one of those, who, after they left, people would
only say He was here too.
Anyone who watched him more carefull could notice how he looked at Margit, and how he was
willing to fulfil her every wish. Not with only love, but with much nobler respect, like what a student
has for his teacher who he learns to be afraid of, but also wants to please.
It is almost impossible to think that the intentions of Olivr, who appeared only rarely, remained

unnoticed to Mrs. Gyulafi. Margit, who loved everyone with the same enthusiasm, seemed to be
different with Abafi. Abafi took this as a distinction in comparison to how she acted to others. And it
is clear for us now that this distinction from Margit lived only in Abafi. In reality Margit acted
towards him the same, as for anyone else.
When his father died, Olivr inherited his wealth. He stopped to hold his passions, and sunk deeper
and deeper. His life was full of nefarious acts. Only hunting and horseriding were honourable for him,
and these trained his braveness and huge strength, which he was gifted with originally. He appeared
at House Mikola more rarely, where the sarcastic smiles of old Mikola and the blames of Margit
were too heavy for him. We have seen the flow of his thoughts and the change in him getting him
closer to the house once again. As he became more noble and good as a person, Margit became the
wish of his dreams once again. She was the anchor in his youth, which connected him to a better
world. When he was in Kolosvr, his visits were daily to House Mikola.
Mrs. Gyulafi knew the power of her gentle strength which drew Olivr closer to her, and started to
notice his intentions even before he arrived to Kolosvr. Margit felt that she was not an empty, quiet
actor in this scene; she knew that none of her words have gone unnoticed. We can not be surprised that
she found the man interesting. The man, whose every act was a prophecy for a great future.
The heart of Margit started to get attracted to Olivr as well. It might not have been love, what Margit
felt, but something very much close to it. There was doubt in her soul. Can someone be so noble, who
was that nefarious before?
But she started to trust him, as women always trust someone who is interesting to them. Margit trusted
Abafi. She started to believe, he would win over his passions. But one thing was certain; Margit was
not sure about her own intentions, while others already thought that she loved Olivr.
But there were no such intentions in Abafi. Since his childhood, he grew up with Margit as a close
relative. He was thinking of her more as a sister. He respected Margit, exiling every earthly desire
from his soul. He never believed that Margit would be able to love someone in a common way. He
thought, that if she did, it would be blasphemy.
The coldest towards him was little Gizella Cski. We know that she was the one who noticed Abafi,
as he went past by the balcony of House Mikola. Even though Judit mentioned it only to tease Gizella,
she got red, and got angry. If Abafi would say something to her, it seemed that she felt shame from his
words. The happy child became self-concious in Abafis presence. Margit thought that Gizella was
against Olivr, and she felt hurt by this. She talked about him greatly many times, but Gizella closed
her eyes and remained silent. She avoided the company of Abafi, and if she was caught looking at
him, she became embarrassed and looked away.
Many explained this behaviour differently. She heard the former lifestyle of Abafi in House Mikola,
and she might have felt hurt to be at the same place as such man who she thought was depraved; even
though Gizella had no clear visions about what being depraved really meant. Olivr nearly never
looked at her, and she thought that maybe her grudge was because of this. He thought of her as a child,
and acted like that with her.

No one ever heard Gizella saying anything good or bad about Abafi, since he started visiting the
house more frequently. Sometimes, when she was talking happily with others, Olivr only had to
appear in to room for her to stop talking. Once, Margit asked why she hates Abafi so much, because,
although he was bad, he had changed greatly, and he was one of the most interesting men in
Transylvania.
I do not hate, answered Gizella, with her eyes closed anyone. And why would Abafi even care
about the respect of a child like me?
I do not know, said Margit, but I think you will respect him, if you look at him closely. He is not an
ordinary man.
Please! said Gizella with a red face, Dear Margit, do not mention him. I am still a child, I do not
have such wit to estimate someones merits. And if you love me, do not tell me about Abafi anymore.
Promise me that! she said with a heavenly voice, and offered her hands to Margit.
I cannot understand you, Gizella! But as you wish, I will not talk about him anymore. If he comes
here, try to be more friendly to him. He might notice your coldness, and it might hurt him!
Hurt him! said Gizella, with a questioning smile. He will not notice that, Margit! and she looked
at Mrs. Gyulafi, as if the whole conversation was painful for her.
Margit became quiet and realized that the coldness of Gizella towards Olivr was incurable, and
caused by unknown circumstances, which Gizella did not allow her to question more.

17.

Living Statue

Oh, what are you doing here?

- Wieland

That night, when Abafi went home from Mzes Gti, and got attacked, we heard a scream from the
balcony of House Mikola, and we can suspect someone noticed his fight. Someone did.
Gizella was afraid after the whole city sunk deep in anxiety. She could not sleep, and sighed often.
I will go to sleep later, she said to Margit, maybe I will sleep better.
And no one noticed her going to bed later, as she did this often because of needlework or things like
that. She was sitting on the balcony that night as well. She saw Abafi in his quiet walk, she looked at
him seriously. Her scream proves that she saw the fight, she saw how he was attacked, and how the
first one fell. She saw all that, but nothing more. She screamed and fainted, falling on the balcony,
hurting her shoulder.
Everyone was sleeping at House Mikola. Margit, who got used to the late vigilances of Gizella, slept
in her bed. It was well after midnight and you could hear the sound of the night guards horn in the
distance.
Gizella woke up and looked at the sky. Her candle was long dead. She looked in front of her. There
was something crazy in this look. She sat up once, holding herself with her arms, and sat there as
quietly as a statue. Pheidias or Praxiteles would carve such figures showing despair.
She sat there like this for a while. Margit woke up, and the candle in Gizella's room indicated to her
that she was still awake. What is Gizella doing up so late? she thought and then said loudly,
Gizella! Gizella!

18.

Whim

Yes, yes, yes! he said suddenly and fast.

- Walter Scott
The next day, around nightfall, a medium size room is opened to us. Its walls are covered in dark red
damask.
Its one big window, with stained glass on the upper half and tiny ring ornaments on the bottom, faces
the Place of Kolosvr. The room has a rectangular shape and just opposite the window there is a
great, richly carved wooden door with golden doorway. On both sides of the door, there is a huge
upholstered bed with white bedclothes like flowing snow wrinkles towards the floor. Next to both
beds there is a sofa, covered in nice, big flowery fabric. They are facing each other, and in front of
both of them, there is a small, elaborately hewn table full of womens work, showing scissors, silks
and half-ready embroideries.
To the left and right of the window there is a white table leaning on the wall with a big silver mirror
on the tables surface. Around the mirrors there are small, bigger and big pots. Some are covered in
silver, some in part or in whole covered in gold, and some decorated with precious stones. The main
ornaments of these dressing tables, however, are two big silver jugs. One with the arms of the family
Mikola, and the other with the arms of the family Cski. The jugs are rounded at their bottom, but slim
and elegantly tall at their top. Next to the jugs, there are two pairs of candlesticks. The window now
is hidden by a thick red curtain, running like a waterfall of rubies towards the floor. In the middle of
the room, four candles of a chandelier pour out orange light.
The curtains of the bed to the left of the great door are now undrawn, and, at the foot of the bed, we
can see Margit Mikola lying in a spacious armchair. Her enthusiastic eyes linger on the bed, her
simple home clothes flow around her body with ease, and her right arm rests on the chair. In the bed,
like in a foamy cloud, rests little Gizella. Those who have seen Guidos angels, and who have stared
at Correggios Armor, might have an idea of the image we can experience in this room. The nice child
lying among pillows with a trembling smile, her eyes closed.
Her thick tresses in rich rings spill around the snow of her forehead, the dawn of her face, and the
marble of her shoulders and breasts. Her arms stretch out of the quilt, and under her half tucked-up
blouse, they seduce the eyes to wander around her half visible shoulders and the line of the roundness
of her breasts. She seemed to be fast asleep. Then, the tall door of the room opened, and a man
entered with a wide, gray beard in a long, plaited garb fastened with a simple belt. He was holding a
small, cedar wood box, carved and plaited with pearls. He approached the bed quietly and nodded to
Mrs. Gyulafi in response to her silent warning that the girl was sleeping.
How is our little ill one? asked the old man in a whisper.

Her dream seems to be more silent, since we brought her in here from the balcony, answered
Margit quietly. But I would rather, sweet ron, if you just felt her forehead, I am not sure if she is
feverish again.
I believe, replied ron on the same voice, this means the fever is approaching her. Still, sleep is
the best of medicines, lets not disturb her. I will come back in a few hours, but, until that, I would
rather change the serum for another one. He reached into the box he was carrying and gave a small
glass vial to Margit.
Here you are, he said, Put five drops into clear water and give it to her between two feverish
periods, when the patient is calmer. Margit nodded, and ron silently left the sick girl.
At that time, even if there were some doctors in the country, most people trusted the foreigners more,
arriving with several certificates, among which there were more than one Jew, as well. So ron was
well-known and worthy. He was also welcome at the princes house in Kvr, where he saved the
prince from a dangerous sore throat and also many others in noble houses in Transylvania.
After the doctor left, it seemed that the sweetness of Gizellas smiling and calm sleep changed into a
feverish tossing of herself to and fro. She half opened her eyes, sometimes a bit lifting her head and
moving her hands in front of her face, as if some kind of smoke was there to be dispelled. Her lips
started to move, as if she was to speak, but no sound could be heard.
Oh, she finally said, shaking her head and opening her eyes, but suddenly closing them again. What
a heavenly place to live! Olivr, look!... Theres the rose bush! How many blooming roses!... What
colours! She went silent again, but after a short silence, her face was blushed with the most beautiful
light pink. Her eyes opened again and the look on her face was ablaze; boastingly radiant. It was
really heavenly; heavenly and almost fearful for the uninitiated eye. It was that characteristic of the
illness which gives the sick something metaphysical; a clear view on what the bodily eyes cannot see.
Her unbearably beautiful face radiated joy and happiness from its all lineaments.
My dear, my faithfully loved Olivr! Tell me, the one chosen by my heart, sit here beside me! How
can I thank you for your love? Oh, joy! she almost sang, You love me, you are mine! Is this a
dream? Oh, no, dont!... Its not a dream, is it? she murmured, her hands reaching forward, as if she
was holding some other hand Are these your hands, Olivr? Those hands, with which you struck
your enemies into the dust, those with which you pull your Gizella in so warmly, so tenderly and so
sweetly to your heart!
Margit understood all. Goodness! she said, I understand it all now! She is in love! Margit pushed
her hands to her eyes, so as to wipe away her tears. Yes, she repeated, she is in love! Burning with
flames, but suppressed. Now I can feel it. I can feel it in my heart now in its indefensible, full
power Poor child! Oh, this is more than a fever! These are the first signs of madness. Oh, Lord!
What shall I do now? Shall I call someone?... Now shes silent again, Margit thought for a moment,
No, no!... Could I share the most hidden, deepest feelings of this little angel with others? No! That
would be sacrilege!

Gizella woke up from her dream again, her face went pale, her lips trembled, and her half-open eyes
stared intently at nothing. She lifted her arms in front of her chest, as if in defense from something, and
a shrill, sharp scream escaped her lips.
Oh, Lord! she shouted, Three against one! Oh, thats him, thats Olivr!... Olivr and me! But thats
just one, and she pressed her hands to her heart, falling back to her pillows unconsciously. She did
not lie there long. Dawn fell in her face again, the paleness was blown away and the spirits of heaven
played a smile around her lips. She said, with a tender silver flow of her voice and with her eyes
glowing in the flames of love, Oh, no, good Olivr, do not! she said, and lifted her hands in
defense, Look, we must not Oh, do not ask that from me! she went silent again, but after a short
pause she continued, You are right, my life. You are my precious only one, you are my husband! You
are my Olivr, whom my heart embraces with hot vehemence since I first saw you!... Yes, she
murmured, with a seraphic smile playing on her lips. Those who are married can kiss each other,
isn't that so, Olivr? Or do they sin if they do so? she said with deep modesty, her eyes cast down.
Oh, she goes on with her face in flames, are you leading me astray, Olivr? Or, no, I believe you,
come here, she repeated with open arms, Come here! She kissed the air in front of herself, her
eyes half closed, her alabaster face blushed with a darker pink, almost with a round shape in her lily
skin. It was as if she was charmed by the please she had not known before; raptured by the sweet and
floating on delight. Oh! she said.
What Margit was to feel at this gracious, but for her eyes, sour and heart breaking scene is hard to
tell. Maybe, for the first time now, it is clear that she loves Olivr. Little Gizella read from Margits
heart, and every single word of hers, in her innocent, but more than childish cleanness, was found
inside Margits heart as well. Margit was a woman, and she might not have been so worthy of respect
if she had no weakness. Jealousy started to take her heart, but being a moral woman, as if horrified by
her own reactions, put all her will against this feeling.
Ah, she thought to herself, in her soul, I am just a woman, a weak woman, and I believed a silly
presumption; that I am free of every weakness. What a feeling that surprised me! I love Olivr, I fear
for Olivr, and hate arises from the noise of my feelings against this innocent little angel, who can, in
silence, close this much love in her virgin heart. Who would not say a word, even now, if not for her
madness spilling these words from her lips! And do I have the right to be jealous for Olivr? Does he
love me?... Oh, do not cheat yourself, you vain woman! The feeling which takes him to you is not
love, it is not that heavenly passion. It is just habitual respect, nothing else! And I love him, I love
him! she continued with tears bursting from her eyes. But stop this! Nobody should see Margit
weak, not the world, not Abafi, nobody!
Gizella started tossing herself uneasily in her bed. Her fever covered her completely. Her lips went
dry, her face was soaked in red, her look stared intently at nothing through her half-open, mad eyes,
and her little breasts were lifting in a fast pace. She came into consciousness again from her
intoxication, she closed her lips, horrified, and her hands were moving fast, as if she was touching
something with them. Oh, Heavens! she said barely clearly. Such a deep wound! Please stay in one
place, my soul, my Olivr! The potion which I will put on it is effective, it will bring you relief. I
collected the plants with my own hands on the cliffs, and I made the potion following Margits

instructions. Stay calm! she repeated with deep sympathy on her face. It hurts, my dear, it hurts a lot
doesnt it? I can almost feel it myself. Here, rest your head on my shoulders! I will just caress your
hair and take your thick locks from your forehead. Oh, how hot is your forehead! she said touching
the quilt in front of herself. She went silent again, and seemed to be asleep quietly. You wont
speak? she asked gently, as if realizing something. Dont you recognize me, darling? I am Gizella,
your faithful woman, your little Gizella who loves you so much, so inexpressibly! Gizella, your
Gizella, who you can call on so many sweet names! Who has no other thoughts but you, always only
you?
Margit listened to the beautiful, ill girl with varying feelings, and at one moment she would keep
caressing her hands, the next she would wipe her forehead.
Poor girl, she said, such a young soul with such passions, such deep feelings! Where would it lead
her? Oh, if I could make her happy, her and Olivr! Yes, this would be so nice, so joyful, for me as
well!
Margit did not have that lazy, sick feeling which so many women have. She was in love, she could not
deny it for herself any more, and at that moment this feeling showed itself from her soul in its full
reality. But she loved over the regular, she loved nobly and divinely, so she did not let her dark
passions take over her. She felt deeply in her soul that all noble souls have a certain destination in
this life, and if one does not follow it, they do not really live or their life turns into simple existences
like animals. To fill her fathers last days with tame delights of homely joy, to do all she can for the
people on her rich lands, to make wishes come true, to end pains and to wipe her tears secretly when
nobody can see. That is the beautiful circle of life in which she can find her own joy. Now that she
knows about Gizellas secret passion, Margits soul is filled with more serious thoughts. She might
not be able to make Olivr as happy as she would like to, since she is older, and after a while he
might turn cold. What unbearable pain it would be to see the one she loves so much turn coolly
towards her. But what if his attention towards her, which was so well-marked that it could not be
disregarded, was not due to love! There was a sound in Margits heart which whispered to her from
time to time, He loves you as his sister, he attends you with respect and friendship, so why disturb
the warmth of these tame feelings with such a passion! These, he will always feel, but his love could
not last forever! Yes, this way, I might be his most precious, his truest friend! This is how her
thoughts chased each other. Every assumption of hers was full of noble force of her soul.
She could see that Olivr felt noting for Gizella; he barely realized the existence of the innocent girl.
Oh, she said to herself, would it not be great to lead these two hearts towards each other? Margit
seemed to be deep in thought. But, she went on, if Abafi lost the noble way his high soul gave him,
and sank back to the flood of his foul passions, the innocent Gizella, the clean, the heavenly child,
would receive him as a regular person. Then for all of her disappointments and her pain, I would
blame myself. No, no, this would be terrible.
Nice, big plans started to flourish in Margits noble soul. Yes, she said, and tears filled her eyes,
while her breath sped up, I will instruct and teach Gizella, I will help turn the noble material perfect
and I will affect Olivrs soul. I will train his noble lines, I will encourage him on the right way, and
when, on this way, they become good enough for each other; when they see the other and get to know

each other better, then they will love each other. Putting their hands together in front of God and
praying for them to live in such a sweet joy which she, defeating her own passions, herself will draw
to existence. This was Margits plan even though her heart broke at the thought of them.
Gizella opened her eyes again. Margit took her hands and asked, How do you feel, my sweet angel?
Im thirsty, said Gizella, now conscious. Oh, please, not that thick liquid! Give me water, please,
Olivr! Crystal clear water, just like my love for you!
Gizella, said Margit while Gizella took the water from her hands and drank it fast, dont you
recognize me?
I do, I do, and I do, she said with a mad speed. You are the queen. No, no, you are a great fairy,
your clothes are from glass, nicely melting on your body and you have golden roses dancing at your
temples. Yes, she continues staring in front of herself, I can see your heart through your clothing,
and oh, how clean your heart is! Oh! she shouts, rising up, you are Margit, the good Margit, and
she lovingly wrapped her arms around Mrs. Gyulafi's neck.
So you recognize me, dear? asked Margit again, her eyes filled with tears, caressing and kissing the
girls head.
Recognize you? answered the child passionately, resting her eyes in Margits beautiful face.
Recognize you, you good angel? I can thank only you all the happiness of my life! You love him just
like I love him, or no. Nobody can love him as much as I do. His soul is mine, his blood beats in
my heart and his eyes... There are no words to say how happy he makes me, and you waive him for
me, for the simple child, you, Margit, the first of all the women, my beloved Margit! How can I thank
this to you? Oh she said and tears descended her eyes. You knew well I could not live without
him. You saw my hearts unsounded pain, and you saw my sleepless nights! You saw all these, she
said, and she stayed wordless as if she got tired in her thoughts. After a little while she continued,
pressing hand close to her heart. You knew everything, like I knew! And you made your steps! You
put out hands together. You opened the gates of the Heavens for us! Gizellas face seemed to be
surrounded by gloriole. Her fever started fading, her breathing calmer, the flaming blaze in her eyes
melted into a silent fire, and sleepiness came to her. Margit sat next to her, voiceless in her thoughts.
She saw a picture in her head, she herself as a good fairy helping the crowds. She was serious and
soundless. Joy appeared on her face only rarely, and that joy was not her doing.
Yes, Margit said, and tenderly kissed Gizellas forehead again. Your dream will come true, if it
can come true, and I will live, not among cowardly complaints, not hating life, but hopeless and
closed out from my imagined heaven, she said with a deep sigh. Live and work, until this heart has
a beat, until my soul lives and talks under my breast.

19. Csettye Boli

What is the news?

- Victor Hugo

If the eye falls on Pters church in Rome or in Westminsters London, men bow their heads in front of
the wonderful works of human hands and human brain. There were huge vaults on big and slim
columns, sacred gloom inside, fantastic divine atmosphere, and brave rising outside. Great
architecture makes the souls feel great and aroused. Men become disdainful in watching themselves
living forever in their work. Art is beautiful, noble and amazing, but where is it compared to mother
nature? What great and giant works are formed in mother natures secret workshops! Floods,
volcanoes, mountains, earthquakes! They break mountains, fill valleys, burrow caves and, whatever
she does, her smallest works are wonderful in their greatness and endlessly delicate. A metal rod
through a magnifying glass is rough and raw, but the bees stinger is smooth and perfect magnified by
a million, as well.
So the works of human hands are a disappointment but those of mother nature are real. Mens works
make men disdainful, but mother natures make men ashamed. This is the scale for their difference.
On the top of mountains a man might breathe more freely, desire wings and take a whole world in
through his eyes, and up high, the small human believes him to be so big! When the rising sun on the
horizon by the sea floods the country with orange light, or dies among viol clouds and falls into its
watery grave, shining through the green surface in a radiating line, the heart sinks from the pleasure,
isolated from everything it desires in thousands of ways. The house, which flies him through waves,
is of his own making. The roots, what starts him on his way, are his own ideas, and the target, which
he reaches for, is his own intent.
But in dark caves and in deep lungs of the mountains, looking around in the vast dark space, a strange,
inexpressible spell is breathed on men. Religious passions and moved feelings arise, appear and
disappear. In the throats of hell the soul thinks of heaven and from devils haunt it ascends to God on
invisible wings to the spirit, who has created this all, and who quotes himself in his works. Taking the
souls of men, he makes it sensible and lifts the earthly to heaven and sends the heavenly to earth. One
of the most beautiful caves in Transylvania is close to the Volkni Strait, and its name is Csettye
Boli, which means Bolis Castle. Boli was simple man, who on his own defended himself here from
the Turks and Tartars.
Its a rugged rocky mountain, lying there almost naked among green crowds of trees in a safe position
looking up towards the heavens. From the big road a small path takes you to the dark mouth of Boli

cave. After a few steps inside it suddenly expands, showing itself off to the wanderer like a church.
On both sides a natural gallery stretches high up with countless caverns. On the ends of the great
cavern, a small mountain river rumbles passing by. Its so wide that a big tree would not reach
through it at some places, and it would only reach a mans knee in deepness. Its ice cold water dug its
way through with its emerald waves in the heart of the cave and turns to the right by the wall with a
sad murmur.
At the time of our story, the cave shows us a lively picture. In its cool cavern a fire flies in high
spirits and big logs crackle through the billowing smoke. On the sides are horses standing in long
lines, eating the grass put in big heaps in front of them. Close to the fire, a man lies on wolf skins, his
elbow rests on a small barrel. The look on his face is surprising, as far as it can be seen in this
situation. He has just a little hair left on his head, his body is big and lean, and his face looks serious.
He could be around sixty. The lower part of his head is covered with dark, red hair in thick locks. His
forehead is wrinkled, especially between his two eyebrows, which show that he must be passionate
and vehement. His slim, straight nose has a sudden curve to it at its end, but it lends his face a unique
look, along with his big, blue eyes, and the show white, strong teeth which look out behind from his
wide, fine, half-open lips. His jaw is covered in a thick, red beard and mustache. His clothes were
simple; an open brown spencer and a white shirt. The upper few buttons of his shirt were open, thus
showing his hairy, sunburnt chest. He wore wide leather trousers and rough, big boots.
Not far from this man, who seemed to be somewhat superior, stood others in small groups, like on a
painting. Tall, tanned men wearing either heavy iron shirts or snow white linen shirts. Many of them
were armed. Some of them sat on rocks or bottom-up barrels and others were playing dice,
sometimes laughing up harshly, to kill time. Some men just walk back and forth around the fire and the
horses.
A strange, coarse spirit flies around the men. The deep red flames of the fire post their lengthened
shadows fearfully on the walls of the cave. The whole scene was somewhat novelistic.
Looking around at this ill-omened gathering, one would think these men were thieves.
Two pretty men especially attracted the eye, both for the white color of their faces and for the fineness
of their clothes. They were wearing dark cloaks, hanging down to their knees and they had belts with
golden carvings, and expensive swords hang on their sides. Their whole look suggested they had not
been part of this gathering for long. They stood with their arms crossed and looked almost happy next
to the fire. They were talking and paid little attention to the others.
Boldizsr, said the older one, a man around forty with a red, round face and a lean body. Who will
get the Cseszeliczki property?
Who knows? answered the other one indifferently, turning towards the older. In the light of the fire
his nice young face glittered, as well as his burning blue eyes. To an Italian nobody, my friend, just
like most of the Lnyai lands,
The two men were Cseszeliczki Boldizsr, a noble and clever young man, and Lnyai Bla. Boldizsr
was well-known for his wittiness, while Bla for his valour. The Prince pardoned them, but took their

properties and made Lnyai leave.

Cseszeliczki was often called Hawk, for his speed and Lnyai was called Striker, for his fame in war.
In this army everyone had a code name. Hawk stayed silent for a while. Ay, Uncle, who knows what
the future will bring you Till theres strength and joy, two men like us will live through the waves
of life! said Hawk finally.
True words, answered Striker touching his beard. Sitting in our comfortable richness, we desired
battle. Now we have it. Let those be sad who are willing to be, so I am not!
Its been long since Lightning left, said the man lying on the wolf skin to Striker. I would think she
ran into some Tartars on her way, I hope shes alright.
Do not fear for her, said Striker She is a strong, fiery girl. She would be better off as man, than a
lady! One day she was chased by two Tartars, she barely realized they were after her when she turned
back towards them. They would have been better off running away, but since they stayed, one of them
passed away and the other will not forget what he got.
Sure, but Lightning also got a big hit on her head. We had to carry her into the cave on the chariot,
he stepped closer Hawk. The wheel tracks are still visible in the river, he showed. Who goes to
the Csettye Boli can still see the track of those wheels. Most probably no other chariots were in the
cave since then.
Thats true agreed Mark. But she swore she would bring here the head of the man who did that to
her.
Aye, said a dumpy man laughing, leaning on his lance, You sure he can be recognized from all of
those look-alike Tartars? The first one she finds will pay for that fellow, Im sure!
The dull sound of a horn was heard in the cave, multiplied a hundred times by the echo. The men
jumped at once, took their arms and stood at the mouth of the cave. A knight galloped into the cave in
a simple, blue cloak and a short bear fur coat which indicated he was a member of this group. He was
around thirty-five. His face was symmetric with a serious, cold, but significant look. Passion carved
early wrinkles on his high forehead, on which his hair already thinned.
Hello, Brigade, the leader shouted at him from besides the fire. I wasnt expecting you so early!
Whats the news at Kolosvr? I can see you rushed your horse, Sparrow, quite well! with this he
rested back on the wolf skins.
I could come in fast steps, he replied, dismounting. Take my horse, he said to the others, but do
not lead him out of the cave. I saw bold heads around, their eyes shining towards me like those of
owls from among the trees!
Then you were lucky, said Hawk stepping closer to him, that they left you alone.

Were they far from here? asked Mark calmly.

Around two hours from here, Brigade answered, approaching the fire. Im sure they have a plan!
Because they noticed me, but they did not come out of the bushes and they did not pull their spears.
There must be only a few of them, said the leader indifferently, that could be the reason.
Yes, I also think so, otherwise they would have attacked me. Though, none of them could catch up
with my Sparrow.
How many people left from here with Breaker, Stick?
Eight men, answered Stick, a huge man.
Anyways, continued Mark, we are ready. I only wish Lightning was finally here at home!
I dont fear for Lightning, said Stick, shes cleverer than a hundred!
Sit down here, Brigade, said Mark to the one arriving, everyone, come in closer! Heres the
gourd. I know youre thirsty. Take some of it!
Brigade drank well from the gourd and lay down on the wolf skins stretching.
The whole group gathered around the fire, their eyes attentively looked at Brigade.
Do you know, Brigade started, what the fresh news is? Ive heard in Dva that Szalnczi Lszl
was cut in his own house in Branyicska by the Princes people.
Since the alliance with the Turks is not like it used to be. The Prince has been thinking less of the
good ambassador. What is he doing about it? asked Mark.
Hes preparing, Brigade answered. The peace with the Turks has totally ended, its said.
Then we will have even more to do! shouted Mark. I knew in advance when I heard about the
execution of Boldizsr and Kovasczi in Szamosjvr. And also, I heard the execution of Kendi
Ferenc and Bornemissza Jnos in Gyalu.
I have bad news for you, Hawk and Striker, Brigade said.
What could it be? asked Striker laughing, As long as I have my sword, theres no problem!
As long as there is wine and nice ladies, continued Hawk what shall we worry about? We have
experienced everything one can experience.
The Prince took both of your properties, and you, Striker, are exiled to Hungary.

Hungarys close to here, I can start today, and he looked at the other with question in his eyes.
Youre not going anywhere, youre good here! assured Mark with a confidence in his face which
is so characteristic of him. I am the king of the borders, he continued, standing up and looking
around with pride on his face. I am, Mark Deli. If Zsigmond wants well for himself, he is not going
to pick on me! Here, Hawk, this was brought to you a few days ago from Kornis Gspr, he said,
giving Hawk a roll of paper.
Hawk ran through the letter by the firelight. Well, he said, the Prince should hurry up taking care of
himself. Mihly and Razvn shook hands with the Voivods. Well, my beautiful lands, my money,
everything is gone! Taken by the Prince. Only he knows the reason, but still, he said pulling out his
sword and looking around with a flaming look on his face. Viva Transylvania! Viva the relatives of
Istvn Bthori! I am with Transylvania, as long as my heart beats and my arm can move, I am with
Transylvania! Those with me, pull out your swords! The swords rose up into the air clanking, and
the whole cave echoed, Viva Transylvania!
Mark seriously looked around. Viva Transylvania, he repeated in a calm voice, but do not be so
sudden-headed, my friends. The Turks are dangerous and great in number. It is best to leave the Prince
in doubts and let him be anxious about which side we would choose! Anyways, that thing, he said
disdainfully, I will decide myself, in the end!
Let me remind you, said Striker, of your promise! I would never draw my sword against
Transylvania.
Me neither! said Hawk and Stick at once. Me neither, said many other voices in the wide cavern.
I am your oldest friend and companion, Mark! shouted Brigade. I have nobody in this world, my
home is your army, and my world is battle! I follow you wherever you go!
I know, answered Mark seriously, what it is that bonds you here with me. I know I can count on
you anytime and anywhere, a sarcastic smile played at his lips. And the others, you need to know
that all I expect from you is what you offered! This is how I do things! And now, silence! he said in a
deep voice, and as if after a thunder, everybody quieted. They all sat around the fire. What other
news do you have, Brigade? asked Mark.
The Prince is going to marry, its said hes waiting for the daughter of Carl of Styria right now.
What? said Mark with a half-smile. He has just sent Jsika Istvn to Italy for the same reasons.
Yes, answered Brigade, but until he returns, the nice Cristierna is being brought to Kolosvr. They
say that the Prince went to collect them on the way in a disguise. He dressed as a clown. Preparations
were great. All the blue and yellow cloths were bought from Bogner5 in Kolosvr, and also in
Szeben. There will be a tournament and several Polish and German knights will participate.

Tournament with swords? asked Striker.

No, with spears, like the Germans do. As a sign of respect for the Germanic lady.
I hate Germanic tournaments, said Hawk. Its never courage or talent which decides there, but
simple strength of the body. I prefer swords. Still, I would enjoy defeating some of those knights
there. Hell, I am not happy we have to miss this!
What do you think, asked Striker, will Abafi fight as well?
No doubt he will. And if he fights, he will win! Hawk answered. Fights like this are really in his
favor. He could defeat two at once!
I doubt he can participate! said Brigade trying to hide his annoyance.
It might be he was also exiled! butted in Hawk. If so, I would bet he ends up with us.
I do not think so, said Brigade, his face becoming almost blue. His place is among wine glasses
and tender-hearted women, not here, among the lions of caves! Anyways, he continued wrinkling his
forehead, He must have a great enemy, and he told them how Abafi was attacked on the Kolosvr
market.
It is said to be Bucella, said Mark. He is Abafis secret enemy, hiding beside the Prince.
If thats so, hed better take care of himself in time, added Stick. I just wonder why the Prince
would attack him secretly. He was not so careful with anyone else.
I think, said Brigade, that Bthori would not want to become enemies with House Mikola. Abafi is
a really close relative to them. But it will not save him at the end, he said, pressing together his lips
tightly.
If he can avoid the Princes rage for a while, Hawk added, everything will be forgotten. I know
Zsigmond Bthori well
While they were talking like this in the darkness of the cave, two gunshots could be heard outside.
Again they all jumped to their feet the only way finely trained men who are ready for anything can.
This is either the Tartars, or Lightning! said Mark Deli looking at his people.
This is Lightning, I say, said Brigade in a deep voice, but he seemed anxious.
Lightning or the Tartars, answered Mark in a calm voice, nobody else.

20. Lightning

Away, you miserable!

- Szilgyi

A young knight came riding through the cave entrance, like a whimsical painting, cuddled by the azure
blue air behind.
The horse was beautiful and slim, playfully carrying its load. A real Transylvanian horse, not like the
later species of half Spanish, half Arabian. It had an elegant, straight head, a red nose, and a slim neck
with a mane like veil on the bride. Its back was straight and the legs were strong and lean. This is
what this knight had as horse; a real species of Csk of Transylvania. Its lively green clothing was
bloody, but it suited its color well.
The knight was wearing a cloak in the color of cherry, with a silver iron shirt on top of it, and wide
leather trousers below. The knight also had small hat, with three ostrich feathers on it.
It's Lightning! said the whole group together, raising their spears calmly.
Where have you been, dear child? asked joyfully Mark.
Lightning brought us a present! said Stick, and took the bridle from her. The nice girl stood with her
face ablaze in the circle of those wild looking men, and she held up high the cut head of a Tartar man.
Here you are, a present! she shouted happily and threw the head into the dust in front of Mark.
But I have a present for myself as well! she said, and took down a beautiful, silver sword from the
saddle. Hawk took the sword, but Lightning dismounted fast and took it back. I am satisfied with you
today, she said to her horse, flattering it and kissing its forehead. She waved to Stick, who lead the
horse towards the food in the cave.
Lightning was slim and nice in her figure and more tall than short. She was around twenty-two, but in
her manly dresses she seemed less. Her face was rounded, but slim and had a brownish exotic
complexion. She had a joyous, playful atmosphere. Her moves and words were all graceful,
especially with her silvery tingling voice.
As the men returned back to their previous positions, she lied down on the wolf skins and took down
her hat under which her maroon hair locks flowed down to her ankles.

Help with my shoes, she said half ordering, half smiling.

Brigade approached immediately.
Not you! she said harshly to Brigade, who was already bending down to her shoes.
Brigade stiffened and stood up. He was annoyed and could not hide it.
She seemed to battle inside with herself, her lips were moving, as if she was about to say something.
No, she said after a while, looking at Brigade with scorn. I am not betraying you, but for heavens
sake, leave me alone, because I know you. Brigade stood speechless in front of her, his eyes cut into
Lightning. His look was so sad and so angry at the same time that it was frightening.
Hawk politely bent over to help Lightning out of her shoes.
Whats wrong with you two? Mark asked staring at them, looking from Lightning to Brigade and
vice versa.
Only she knows! replied Brigade defiant.
Nothing, said Lightning shortly, keeping an eye on Brigade. And you, Pappa! Have some wine
brought here, she continued. Im thirsty.
Go, Vidor, he ordered one of the men standing close. Check the supplies and see if we have some
of that red wine left. The child is fastidious, despite the fact that I kept her short!
Shes become cheeky, Leader! said Vidor smiling, hurrying away towards the supplies. He came
back with a wooden jug. Here you are, it's all we have left. White we have enough for everyone.
The white you can drink all by yourself if the red comes to me! said Lightning and drank from the
jug.
Where have you been, tell me! said Mark caressing her forehead. Where did you bring that head
from?
They really exhausted me, those pagan dogs! Lightning answered. I was on my way here, and
around an hour away, I saw three wandering Tartars. They seemed to be in a hurry towards the
mountains. Oh, I thought to myself, it would be good to cut in their way. So I told my horse, Swallow,
as well, but three against one? Oh, I thought, the world is for the brave, so I got in front of them.
The three dogs immediately tried to cut me on their spears. You know how Tartars do that. They
revolve it around their head first, and then stop it when it looks at the target and then they suddenly
throw it at you. While the three spears were flying towards me, Swallow dodged them, so the spears
landed in the ground. Then I threw my spear and it found one of the Tartar dogs. The other two ran at
me with small swords, we fought for a long time, and dust was flying all around us! And then a group

of people appeared.
It was Breaker, wasnt it? smiled Mark.
Yes! He and his companions. answered Lightning. When the two Tartars saw them, they
disappeared. I dismounted and thought I would take the Tartar head from the ground. It is worth some
fine gold in Fehrvr. So I took his sword and, with it, his head and I brought them both here with me.
Is this alright coming from a woman, guys?
Goodness, it is enough! said Mark, reaching towards her. It's enough from a man as well. They
had a pile of Tartar heads by the wall. How many do we have, Striker? 20? Tomorrow we can take
them to Fehrvr.
Soon we will have lots of problems! said Hawk gaily. Turks are preparing, but Transylvanians are
not resting, either!
Aye! The more the better!" Lightning said. Just need to have good health and good mood! Viva the
battle! she shouted gaily and raised the jug.
Viva!

21. Black Knight At Midnight

At midnight, when everyone has long been at rest.

- Krner

Lets go back to the Prince. Zsigmond Bthori was hated by most Transylvanian noblemen, and by
most noblemen abroad, due to his cruel doings and killings. However it cannot be denied that the
name Bthori had a certain air of magic, partly because of the prosperous ruling of the wise Istvn
Bthori, and partly because of certain characteristics, which no Bthori was without. These were
reasons that all Bthoris had their endlessly loyal adherers. Bthori Istvn was beloved in
Transylvania, and later in Poland, for his wise mind and morals. Later, Andrs was loved for his
experiences, his knowledge and also the light which radiated from his Church constructions.
Boldizsr was famous for his knightly valour and fine literacy. The most beautiful women in
Transylvania followed his steps and offered their hearts to him.
But Zsigmond also could make many people feel obliged to him. He was courageous in his heart, both
as a soldier and as a man. He was also a sometimes surprisingly good leader in war, as his initial
victories against the Turks showed.
This might explain why the Transylvanians still stuck to the Bthori family with some good hope, and
they were willing to try to understand Zsigmonds cruel doings. They blamed them on his wicked
advisors, or on his young age and indecisive thinking which the advisors took advantage of.
Sometimes they used the Princes negligence for their own advantage, for their own revenge.
One proof of this is those several expulsions that the victims of which did not even know what the
reasons were for their bad fate.
A major fraction of the people in Kolosvr thought that the reason for the attack against Abafi was the
Princes doctor, Bucella, who personally hated Abafi for a negligent comment he made towards him.
Abafi called Bucella a poison to Transylvania, for which the Italian wanted revenge and was not
willing to forget. The theory became even more believable when Bucella was sent to Poland by the
Prince, and no more bad fate fell on Abafi from that moment on. Others think that Bucella was not
ordered to kill Abafi, but they thought that if it had succeeded, Bthori would have been more happy
than sad. Bthori was also angry at Abafi for his brave words at the Parliament against the Prince.
Anyone who knew Zsigmond Bthori was not surprised when the attacks against Abafi stopped
suddenly, even if they happened at the Princes orders. It happened quite often that those who were
executed one day, found themselves in the Princes grace or vice versa. Whatever Zsigmond did, it

had the stamp of his whimsicality on it for which he was famous for all around Transylvania.
However, the Mikola familys house was one of the most frequently visited by the Prince, partly due
to Margit alluring him with the charming magic of her soul. She attracted the Prince outside her will,
but she was able to keep him at a proper distance. Still, the Prince seemed to spare Abafi just
because he was a close relative to the Mikola house. He never talked about him nicely and thought of
him as an apprehensive, though not dangerous, man.
However, some others still thought that there were different reasons for the attacks against Olivr.
They reasoned that if the Prince had thought Abafi dangerous, he could have found a silent way to free
himself of Abafi. They also thought it improbable that Bucella, who could have easily convinced the
Prince to kill Abafi, would hire assassins himself. So there seemed to be some secrets floating around
the Abafi issue.
The Prince was awaited every day. The day of the arrival of the Prince and his beautiful wife was a
notable event, and the people were determined to welcome them with great preparations. The Prince,
after he saw her disguised, awaited the woman in Szszsebes, where he hurried back before
Cristierna.
When today there are nation-wide celebrations, in those days it wasn't as easy to entertain the
crowds. Great actors, famous singers, knights, circuses and tournaments can fill days or weeks with
enjoyment these days. However, these things are free from the rough strength of the old times, they are
charming in a new way.
In the time of our story it was really hard to fill a day with entertainment for all, especially in
Transylvania, from where the frequent unrest chased away the tenderness of artistic enjoyment.
Sometimes a group of actors would actually come by and entertain the crowds with their not so
artistic and not so appropriate pieces. They wandered from house to house and from city to city.
Noble men sometimes ordered famous archers, knights or gypsies from far lands to chase the
boredom of long winter nights, but in case of a great celebration, country-wide tournaments were
held, often in the spirit of German tournaments. Old Hungarian and Turkish fighting also appeared at
the tournaments. The nights were filled with amazing dances, music and food. These were the only
events, when in Transylvania, that one could see some luxury.
Although, it would be useful to have a look at the Mikola house and Abafi.
The little Gizella, not easily, but somehow, recovered from her illness, which was caused by a single
sudden fear in her heart. Margit took care for her from dawn to night. There was something heavenly
in the way she treated her, and this was what Gizella could be grateful for in her recovery. Margits
care was not like that of a aunt, but like that of a mother. Her face was radiant from the spiritual joy
she felt when she could see little Gizella recover due to her attendance. She inherently felt that she
could not tell Gizella what she knew about the secrets of her heart. She treated Margit twice as
friendly as before. She had changed a lot during her sickness. Her body lengthened and her womanly
charms became more womanly, than girlish. First she was weak and pale, but with time she got back
her nice forms, and though her paleness stayed, she was now the most beautiful girl in Transylvania.
Although her childish enthusiasm towards any existing creatures of the Lord remained, her fast

coming happiness at the smallest things and her excitement towards everything had disappeared. She
stayed tame and charming, but she was surrounded with a soft cloud of seriousness. She was not
aware of the fact that Margit knew her secret. She thought it well hidden in the deepest corners of her
heart. She felt ill-fated, for being destined to love without hope and prospect.
She believed that Margit was also in love with Olivr, so she would not say a word about her own
feelings, not for Lords sake, because she loved and respected her aunt so much. Margit was amazed
by the strength of Gizellas soul. She felt and appreciated much the sacrifice which Gizella would
have been able to take for her. She knew everything and her soul melted into Gizellas.
Shall the little girl overcome her in the strength of her soul? Shall she put her whole adult life in
hopeless sadness for Margit, who thought her own sacrifice much less? This was what she asked
herself. She loved Olivr with her whole heart, and she could not deny it in her soul any more, but she
did not believe that a marriage, if it could ever happen, would make her and Abafi happy. She was
much older than him, and the tender modesty of her soul would not have let her melt her destiny into
the young mans. Though it would also greatly depend on Olivr. And as we know, his fidelity to
Margit was really deep, but of a different nature. So Margit decided that she would slowly let Gizella
know that there was nothing preventing her dreams from coming true. She would talk high of Abafi,
but cautiously. She always made sure that, from her words, it was clear that she would not want to
marry again. And if at hearing this, Gizellas face brightened with the nice shining of dawn on fresh
snow, who could blame her?
But Gizella could hide the reactions of her soul so well, that Margit sometimes started to doubt her
intentions.
Gizella slowly started to believe that her aunt respected Abafi more than she loved him, but she could
never be sure if Abafi felt the same. Gizella cruelly made herself believe that Olivr was in love with
Margit. Olivr visited Margit frequently, and she often called his attention to Gizella as well. Abafi
found the girl nice and interesting, but no strings of his heart played sweet music when seeing her.
However, Abafi visited them quite often, and Margit very cleverly drove the two youngsters towards
each other. They talked more and more, sometimes even discussing more serious topics together. And
Gizella was so tame, so tender and full of goodwill that Abafi started to feel interested in her, and
spent his time with her gaining more and more joy in his heart. But the readers would be disappointed
if they thought that Abafis attraction towards Gizella was the first manifestation of a slowly forming
love. The difference between the hot agreement of the hearts, which satisfies the souls, even if its
silent, and the way Abafi turned towards Gizella is huge. For him, the girl was a nice companion, but
not more. Weeks and months went by like this. Olivr spent most of his time in the village with his
lands, horses and hunting. His most frequent visitor was Farkas Bethlen and their friendship became
stronger day by day. People started to respect Abafi, and not only his valour, but his knowledge, his
languages and his literacy because Abafi spent his spare time with learning new, useful and important
things.
He retreated one day every week. The gates of his great castle were closed on that day. Nobody could
visit him these days, not even his hearty friend, Farkas Bethlen, who treated this strange habit of his
friend with patience. But when midnight arrived and the sounds of the bells filled the autumn night, a

knight in black appeared in front of Abafis castle. He blew his horn three times and the gates of
Abafis castle opened, and the knight rode in. Even when clouds fought on the night sky, when the
wind curved the trees or even when ice fell from the skies, the knight would come and stand in front
of the dark gates at midnight.
If a traveler ever crossed the ways of the knight, he would be smiling happily, but if they would see
him coming from the castle, there would be tears in his eyes.
This strange thing gave an excellent opportunity for the villagers to make up tales and guess wildly
the nature of these visits. After a while a whole legend was made up from the little that the villagers
knew.

22. Dancing Hall

Gentle, affable and good.
- Scuderi

The nice Cristierna was getting closer and closer to Kolosvr in a fast pace. When she crossed the
borders of Transylvania, she immediately experienced valour in her spirit that was real and authentic,
unlike anywhere else in Europe. The Hungarian language made the knightly words of respect towards
the nicer gender even more extraordinary. A new surprise awaited the beautiful and tamely moral lady
in every new city and village, where they knew her well in advance from the tales told about her
beauty and tenderness, which Transylvanians predicted would a favorable effect on Zsigmonds
uncertain nature. On the night of her arrival, every single street of Kolosvr was lit. Candles burnt in
every window. In some houses the inhabitants painted or wrote warm welcomes in their windows,
thus elevating the atmosphere of the important and joyful event.
The Princes castle had its every room ornamented and the eye could find nice and heavy silk
everywhere. Golden strings in tapestries, chairs with golden handles, silver mirrors, and Turkish rugs
were everywhere. From the damask on the walls, dragoons and griffins stared at the guests.
Noble families from all around Transylvania gathered there and competed in making the visit of the
Princess as pleasant as possible.
Before the splendid dinner, the ladies of Transylvania were introduced to Cristierna. Among the
ladies was the beautiful Margit Mikola, and her first appearance made the same good impression in
Cristierna as she left in everyone.
Cristierna was of medium height with a delicate figure. Her face was noble with roman lines, her hair
was like blond silk flowing to her shoulders, and her eyes were blue like the summer skies. A calm
confidence and modesty radiated from her figure; the kind which would not condescend anyone, but
would lift the other one to her level. She talked to everyone, in Latin to the men and in French to the
women, sometimes using the Hungarian words which she learned during her journey through the
country. After finishing the introductions, Cristierna talked to Margit Mikola, Gspr Kornis,
Keresztri and some others. She was so tame and attractive that she won most peoples good will and
welcome, even many of those who originally had desired another woman for the Prince from Italy.
The several Italian noblemen who were, at that time, present in Zsigmonds court kept trying to win
the ladys grace to themselves by all their means. But Cristierna visibly treated the Transylvanians the
best. Abafi was not present at this celebration. Many people thought that he stayed away because the
Princes anger for him was still hanging in the air. Others thought he would not want to risk any new
attempts at his assassination and thus drawing the attention from the celebration. Margit immediately

realized his absence and asked Farkas Bethlen where the noble man could be. Farkas did not seem to
know. He said he saw Abafi a few days before at a hunt where he was healthy and well. Bthori,
when Cristierna talked to others, went up to Margit and spent most of the night talking to her. Maybe
Margit used the opportunity and convinced the Prince to forgive Abafi, but all we know is that the
Prince asked Farkas Bethlen where Olivr could be. Bethlen once again said that he did not know and
he had seen last seen him on the hunt.
Im glad, said the Prince, when I hear that our knights train their courage and strength, for which
there is no better way than a hunt.
The sons of Transylvania, said Bethlen, with a manly spirit combining grace and dignity, if your
Highness leads them to battle, and I am convinced that my friend, Abafi, will be among the first who
grab their swords for the Bthori house and Transylvania.
I would be really glad to know that what you are saying is just so, said Bthori laughing, We love
Abafi more with his sword in hand than giving speeches. That stuff is not really for him, he
continued with a sarcastic smile.
Bethlen stood there in silence and seemed to be about to answer when the Prince went on. I hope that
you will not fault among the spears tomorrow, on the tournament, my lord. We have famous fighters
here. The young Zamojszki and Kornl Szpia are right there, talking to Mrs Kornis. To take the
victory from them would be really nice.
Your Highness, replied Bethlen, I have signed up for the games and I am leader for one of the
groups, Bthori nodded. What a pity, he said with annoyance on his face, that I have to miss this
noble game! I do not feel very well nowadays, and Bucella banned every fast movement and
exercise. And after a noble nod, the Prince turned towards Lugosi who was standing close to them.
Standing next to one of the columns of the hall, we can see the nice Zsombori Judit, her light brown
gown flows to the floor with silver strings, and an amazingly elaborate corolla makes her look taller
than she actually is. That night she was a center of attention. Jnos Bnfi stood next to her, a tall, pale
young nobleman with a Hungarian face and big brown eyes. His coat had the color of chestnut and
was made of heavy silk with blue precious metals and golden strings. His clothing was the type which
the boy inherited from father throughout generations, and it always stayed beautiful. His trousers were
colored like viol and his shoes were elegantly simple. They talked about Cristierna.
It seems, said Bnfi, in a whisper, that our dear Princess is not as happy as a newlywed woman
should be. As I have heard, the Prince is not that kind of man who could make her forgets the pain of
missing her good old home.
Princes, said Judit with sympathy, are not like other men for a husband. They are pushed to the
arms of their wives by secret reasons and the countrys interests. And shall we expect Zsigmond, who
is like a butterfly flying from one flower to the other, amazed by every nice woman, to be faithful?
Bnfi seemed to think about this.

Margit, he finally said, still seems to affect Zsigmond the way she used to do. You are mistaken if
you think of Margit like this. There is no woman in the world that would be less calculating than she
is. The superiority which she seems to have over the Prince is not by her will. She treats his approach
impassively. Shes just like this to everyone.
Undeniably, said Bnfi, she is always noble and graceful, the Princess, it seems, feels good in her
companion as well.
I would not predict the best for Cristierna, she is so different from the Prince. I do not see much hope
for their tender relationship. Trust and understanding is the only way for married couples to make
happiness. I think the Prince will stay indecisive the whole time, and I believe that for one of those
women he usually visits, it would not be hard to turn him away from Cristierna. Bnfi smiled. This
would happen without any interference if what I hear is true.
And what that would be? asked Judit and hung her eyes on him.
A tender secret, about which I would not talk gladly, especially so in front of a lady, said Bnfi,
with a meaningful look on his face. Their relationship must not be more than that of siblings.
Then I would not ask you to tell, replied Judit, blushing lightly. In an attempt to turn the discussion
towards another topic she said, Ive heard that Gizella Cski will be introduced to the Princess
tomorrow.
So shes recovered completely?
Yes, she has. She is a little pale still, but she is beautiful, so beautiful! The Princess would like to
have a few ladies around from the first houses, and Gizella would scarcely avoid being chosen.
Though, Ive heard she would not willingly leave the Mikola house. She found in Margit a sister and
a mother there.
And Mrs Gyulafi could scarcely be without her, but I guess she would not remain inconsolable
Abafi spends lots of time in the Mikola house and in his eyes Margit comes before all women.
Yes, I had been convinced that his feelings towards Mrs. Gyulafi were not in lack of deep love, but
later I found that Abafi did not feel that tender passion for Margit.
Oh, said Bnfi, love can have so many forms, its protean. I admit I believe its even more
dangerous when it starts slow and takes the form of respect or friendship initially, for example. That
kind of love which comes in a moment often dies in a moment as well.
True love, said Judit with some grace, shall it be the work of a moment or a year, should never
die. It is one and forever. If it dies, it has never been love in the first place.
Others approached the interesting couple at this moment. The talk was about nothing special. The
journey of the Princess, the tournament on the next day, the so far unknown ornaments and furniture of

the hall and things like these. In corners here and there, important interests of the country came into
the topic. In the neighboring room, the bell rang and the people went into richly lit rooms.
The young Zamojszki, a relative to the Bthori House, approached the Princess and asked for a slow
Polish dance.
His eastern clothes made the paladin look even taller. His richly embroidered long coat almost
reached the floor and was made of the most beautiful white tissue, on his chest were many little
golden buttons.
The Princess had her robe in the color of red apple. It had wonderful embroideries and diamond on it.
Her alabaster neck was rounded by a lace of pearls.
This first couple was followed by the Prince, Margit Mikola and many others. Among them were the
German knights who arrived with the Princess and were also outstanding. They were well-known for
their countless tournament victories. Their names were Zobel and Tattenbach.
Bucella, the doctor, was also there in simple black clothes, and Bazili, an Italian painter, also
appeared.

23. The Castle of Trencs

Many people in waiting.

- Walter Scott

The area outside Kolosvr, in front of the Middle Gate, was the so called Castle of Trencs. It was
prepared for the tournaments that day. Starting from the Hungarian gate to this place, lead wide and
long pine lines with walking paths. Around them, a suddenly grown forest could be seen, which was
planted by the Council of Kolosvr as a gift for the Prince. The trees were brought from the Alps and
hidden in a secret place. They were all planted the night before the tournament with some picturesque
groups here and some great trees alone there, thus forming a natural looking park around the territory
designated for the tournament. In the middle of the new park was the path leading to the battlefield.
In the Castle of Trencs we can see a spacious rectangular piece of land surrounded with high board
bars, all of them covered in yellow and blue cloths. Above them, yellow and blue columns were
raised. Towards the city stretch the stands for the spectators, also in yellow and blue clothing. From
the direction of the city, stairs lead up to some lodges ornamented with amazing richness and care.
These are three times bigger than the other stands.
Opposite to the lodges stands a tall, single lodge that is raised, similar to the others. It is for the
judges. In the middle of the battle field there is a tall, carved, wooden column with four flags on its
top. They were the Transylvanian, the Polish, the Syrian and the German flags. On the top of the
column, in the middle, there were beautiful awards which the Prince made for the victorious knights.
These consisted of swords, cloaks, shadracks and more of that kind of treasure for knights.
The board bars are up, so the spectators can take their seats. The remaining two sides of the field are
empty, so spears can not cause any harm.
At the moment we arrive the whole scene is very colorful.
The Prince and the Princess already took their seats in the middle lodge. Behind them sit Gspr
Kornis, Geszti, Keresztri, strong men in nice clothes, and the young Zamojszki. Next to Cristierna,
two gay faced women sit in long, white bonnets and long veils. The other lodges are also full of
nicely, mostly also richly, dressed people. In one of these sat Margit Mikola, the third on to the right
of Bthori. Next to Margit sat Judit, and on her other side, Gizella. The old Mikola also sat with them,
next to him his handsome son, who was not on duty that day. Behind Judit there was Bnfi.
Gizella was apparently pale, but she had something so beautiful in her, that all eyes hung on her face

and all men desired to know her name.

On the stairs around the board bars, the folk fizzles out, no empty place could be found. In a line stand
the paladins of the Princes guard troops with their heavy arms.
Looking around the spectators, we can find many familiar faces. On the stairs next to the lodge of the
Prince we can find the respectable citizen we have heard talking to the monk and a village lord on the
Place of Kolosvr. Not far from them sits the honest blacksmith, Mzes Gti, with his faithful wife,
Orsolya. Both of them with gay faces and in their best clothes. Next to them we can set an eye on
Tbis, half on his knee, half sitting.
Close to the lodge of the judges, we can see a young lad in a short, green coat, light blue trousers and
a sheepskin hat in his hands. This lad can be no one else but Miska Timr, who we met in Alvinc. He
seems to be seriously into his thoughts, as if he had a big plan of some kind. He sometimes lifts his
fists, as if he could not decide whether he would go to the field and take part in boxing, or stay
satisfied with fighting in his imagination.
Close to the Mikola-lodge, there is a lad standing. His face is interesting, and if we look closer at his
east-like lines on his face and his dark eyes and slim figure, we would think that we have already
seen this secretive figure in several forms. Since his form is always so different from the previous
ones, we cannot state with safety that this is the same person. Maybe this figure only reminds us of
someone else. The clothes of this strange being consist of a grass-colored knee-high coat, which
heightens beauty of the statuary figure, a pair of trousers in similar color and very small black shoes.
On his head there is a hat with one red feather and his hair is tucked under it.
A very beautiful silver sword, which looks very familiar, is hanging from the shoulders of the
secretive lad. He just stands there with his arms crossed and he looks like he was waiting or looking
for someone.
The fortresses of the castle are crowded with folks. Outside the board bars, several groups of people
stand under the tall pine trees. A close hillside is pestered by people of the neighboring village. This
diverse, colorful, joyful and buzzing atmosphere is what gives a lively taste to the event, besides all
the flashy chariots and horses all around.
Finally, the two trumpeters who stand on the two sides of the judges lodge blow their trumpets.

24. Mt Tornya

The board bar opens.

- Arthur

Then the board bars opened, and a very tall, wide shouldered man appeared silently on the battle
field. His shirt was white like snow and his trousers were simple and red. Red, like the long hair
locks falling curly to his shoulders. He had wide eyebrows and light blue eyes and his red beard and
mustache gave him the look of a lion. His shirt was tucked up so that the thick muscles on his arms
were visible.
This wild man radiated strength and confidence. When he arrived to the middle of the field, he looked
around with a wild disguise in his eyes; the kind which makes the coward run, but doubles the will in
the strong with a passion to defeat the bragging.
The citizen, who we have just recognized, turned to his neighbor, a beer maker. This is Mt, he
said, we have not heard from him for a long time. They say he can lift a rock of 1500 kilograms and
defeat four at once in fist fight.
This is Tornya, said the Prince to Cristierna, a very good soldier of ours. My brother Istvn
indebted to him. As his look shows, he must be even stronger than he was back then, when I saw him
in my child years at my brothers court.
Would not a fight with this Goliath be too dangerous? she asked with slightly trembling lips.
Oh, no, Bthori answered laughing, He wins really fast, and his enemies fall less than a German
knight does from the saddle.
The fat beer maker, to whom the citizen talked just a second before staring at Mt, said, Ah, so! He
would scarcely find a partner to fight with!
Who knows, replied the other, the reward is great. There will always be someone to fight for it!
The citizen was right, because while they were talking, a stout lad, who we immediately recognize as
Miska Timr, stood on the field. He tucked up the arms of his shirt and looked courageously at the
giant mans eyes, who in return smiled at him sarcastically.
Come, Miska said, I am not afraid of my own shadow. In my county I defeat three at a time, so

lets see who gets that prize!

Mt looked over the lad and answered in a deep, thundering voice. Get ready, because you dont
know in which second you will check the soil in front of your nose!
Then, extremely suddenly, he picked up the boy at his hips. Miska struggled, his legs and arms flying
around, but there was nothing to do. Miska quite silently let Mt throw him to the ground. The
spectators laughed at it loudly, and Miska had to trudge back to his place, down from the field.
This was short, said Gti. I dont think there will be anyone else to fight with him.
Me, neither, she answered and pushed Tbis a bit further with her elbow. Ay. Tbis, stop
squirming, you'll wear out the fur from my nice skirt! Stop munching on that scone, for Gods sake!
Quiet, please!
Tbis hid the scone under his coat and stared in front of himself with an open mouth.
Oh, and what is that scrawny lad doing on the field? Wont fight with that giant, would he?
It seems he wants to! said Gti looking attentively at the field, where the tall lad approached the
giant. His face had interesting features and his eyes looked brave. Mt stood calmly, like a lion in
front of the dogs trying to get him.
The trumpets gave the starting sign and everybody felt sympathy to the poor boy, but nobody seemed
to doubt the obvious chances.
Get the name of this boy, said the Prince to Gspr Kornis. I want him in the guards troop. Kornis
nodded.
Looking towards the Mikola lodge, anyone could see that Gizella feared this game. At every new
event her face blushed in hot flames, her breast lifted heavily and fast, and she could not say a word
until the fighting was going. Margit, who has experienced fights like this several times before, was
not affected by them so much as the young Gizella. The old Mikola enjoyed the games and he laughed
loudly at the Miska-scene.
I doubt this fight will be longer! he said turning, to Bnfi and Margit. He will break in Mts
fingers!
But the fight started and the young lad avoided Mts sudden attack with ease. Tornya, naturally, lost
a bit of his balance from his weight. Using this single moment of Mts lurch, the young boy ran to
Mt and pushed him with one hand at his chest and the other at his hips, towards the ground. Mt
fell to the ground, right onto his big, straight nose and blood started pouring from it.
A long, loud Viva! could be heard. Mt had to leave the field, the rules said so, and since nobody
else wanted to fight with the lad, he was proclaimed to be the winner.

Who was this? asked Mikola turning to Bnfi. Hes coming close, do you know him?
Bnfi bent over the rails. The champion just stepped in front of the Prince, and accepted the
ornamented ribbon from the Princess with a deep bow. The ribbon was a glorifying extra present to
be worn by the winner of each competition, until at the end of the day the rewards are divided.
This is, said Bnfi, Farkas Bethlen. I hardly recognized him in this simple brown vest and tucked
up shirt.
His nice, long hair must be hidden under his hat, said Mikola, Otherwise I would have recognized
him. Aye, he continued, this was a big audacity. It could have ended really badly! I only regret my
favorite competition ended so fast!
It could be seen that the Prince told Bethlen kind words. Bethlen shortly left the field.

25. Swan Knight

Pure and spotless.

- Mller

The most interesting game of the tournament was the lance game, just like in the whole of Eastern
Europe.
To make Cristierna familiar and amazed with the game, the Transylvanians tried to make their
appearance really eastern, just like the game. Twenty-four paladins of Transylvania from the first
families, the young Szpia and Zamojszki from the Polish, and the German knight Zobel participated.
The fencers were divided into two groups; a blue and a red group. The leader of the first group was
Farkas Bethlen and the other had Jnos Bnfi as leader. All of the participants wore short, white,
Turkish shirts embroidered with golden figures and an original Turkish scarf for a belt. The first
group had blue, loose trousers and the other had red. Their shoes were yellow and on their side, a
small, richly ornamented Turkish sword was hanging. Their eastern-style peaked hat had white veillike tissue flowing behind them. Before starting the game, the paladins rode around the field in pairs
on the most beautiful horses ever seen on the continent. Their heads and backs were covered with
blue-golden or red-golden clothing with nicely flying strings attached to them. The paladins had a
long spine stick or a spear shaft in their hands, painted to the colors of their group.
On the field, in front of the lodges, several men stood with similar sticks in their hands. After the
paladins finished the round, they parted into the two groups and the game started.
They flew around and around the field on their horses, first challenging each other one by one, then
later the whole groups were fighting. They avoided the sticks of one another with amazing skills.
They would bow in the saddle of their horses or turn towards another direction with a spectacular
velocity. Sometimes they would hold the stick of the other by their hands and would attack back
immediately. The fighters enjoyed the game a lot and their happy faces were blushed in the passion of
the play. The horses also seemed entertained, neighing joyfully.
This was really nice! said the Princess turning to one of the older ladies on her side. Zamojszki
avoided three sticks at once, and Bethlen, he is also a good knight! The old woman nodded in
agreement.
Look at Bnfi, said Margit to Gizella. He has already hit two, but he himself is clean yet. Gizella
felt uncomfortable. Her breathing was fast, and at every new move she would hold back the air in her
lungs or hide her eyes with her hands.

Zamojszki and Szpia stood out from the rest of the fighters. Not just because they could so suddenly
turn their horses at the last second that the spectators were surprised seeing them avoiding the bars or
the stick, but also because of their exceptional skills in fighting. Their white shirts were still flawless,
though they had to change their sticks quite often for them being broken after a harder hit. Later, there
were only six fighters left on the field, two more of them still unhurt; Bethlen and Bnfi. All those
who had two or more stains above hips had to leave the field.
It seems that the Polish knights will win this game, said the Prince, their favorite and best
weapons are spear and lance.
Bethlen, Bnfi and Tasndi also seem really skilled, answered Kornis, turning to the Prince. What
a pity that Abafi is not here. He could be a decisive force in the play.
I am surprised that he is not present at the games, he is a good a fighter, the Prince said coldly,
while continuing to Cristierna, We are talking about a young paladin. We had many complaints about
him in the past, but I have heard he has changed a lot.
I dare assure you, your Highness, that he must be held back by a great problem, said Kornis or he
could arrive at any moment. I would prefer if he was here at the joust. He could give a good lot to
think about to the German lords.
The fight got lively at that moment. The spectators could hardly follow the events they were
happening so fast. A knight from the blue group got a second stain, so it seemed the red group would
win. The leader of the reds was Bnfi, but the Polish Szpia and the handsome, young Tasndi started
to attack the reds with double passion.
A short pause was held, and judges found unhurt only Szpia and Zamojszki. This was the moment
when a nice knight appeared at the board bars. His horse, white like a swan, had silver strings around
its head, and its saddle was covered with white wolf skin. The lad was wearing a cloak embroidered
with silver, his belt was full of shiny precious stones, and his light colored trousers also had silver
strings. His white, rounded hat was rounded with ermine fur and a long, white feather was pierced
into its top. His long hair was maroon. A silent screech could be heard from the Mikola lodge while
the knight arrived in the middle of the field with a few jumps.
Gizella, you are unwell! said Margit while holding the girls back to keep her from falling.
Oh, no, no, she said in a little voice, I am alright! Just a bit of dizziness, it will go away in a
moment!
No, my dearest angel, this tournament is not for your nerves, wouldnt you like go home? asked
Margit with sympathy in her voice, I will accompany you. Margit only noticed the white knight at
this moment, and realizing the reason for Gizellas screech, she tried to encourage her, without
Gizella noticing her will. Gizellas eyes stuck to the beautiful white knight. She had never seen before
such a beauty; such a gallant. It seemed to her as if everything went gray around his shining valour.

The first one to recognize the white knight was Gizella, maybe because Abafi never turned up in such
shiny costumes, or because nobody else was waiting for him. The second to recognize his identity
was the lad with a strange, eastern face in light brown clothes that we saw earlier standing with arms
crossed, and the third one was Margit.
Abafi stopped in front of the lodge of the Prince and he seemed to be surprised. His face went pale.
Then, suddenly, he blushed, and hung his enthusiastic eyes on the Princess and just stood there, as if
charmed. He felt as if he was looking through the gates of heaven; suddenly leaving his everyday life.
He felt, so far, unknown pleasures coming to him. What his imagination kind of suspected in form, he
saw that form in the Princess's foreign, but so familiar face. An idol, whom he did not adore, did not
love, did not respect, but with whom his soul melted together; who drew him from himself to solder
together with an unknown form of existence and life.
This is how he stood there for some minutes. Wordless, kind of elevated from his body, and staring at
an unknown life. The Prince looked at him with a question written on his face because Abafis
wordless daydreaming opposed greatly his fiery appearance and arrival.
Finally, Olivr pulled himself together and, while not being able to dispatch his eyes from the
Princesss beautiful figure, he announced that he would like to challenge the two Polish winners of the
lance fight, one against the two.
The winners accepted the challenge, but said they would only fight him one on one. Szpia left the
field first and sat down in the Mikola lodge, thinking about the outcome of the fight, in which he had
no doubts, knowing Zamojszkis skills and practice.
Well, said Gti to his neighbor, a pretty woman with a rounded face and a look gentle as doves. I
dont doubt that the swan white knight will end up as horse meat!... What the heck! This is Abafi! his
wife nodded smiling. Well, in that case, the bold brothers should better bend his back deep! It is told
that Abafis lance would always get where he wants it to!
The pretty lad we have seen in the light brown clothes stood among the helpers, was collecting some
sticks from the ground and watched Abafis every move. Close to this lad, at the leftmost end of the
lodges, a respectable old man was standing.
The white knight must have a confidence in himself, or he had no idea what he was doing when he
came here in such white clothes! the old man spurted out.
The lad looked at him with dark eyes and took a very precious dagger from his clothes. Here, he
said, a dagger which is worth a whole village, and a sword, he continued pointing to the sword at
his side, I bet you in two golden coins that not even one stain will be visible on Abafi after the
fight.
This bet is easy, said the man smiling. Youd better give me your dagger and sword right now!

Yes, yes, agreed some people around them who could heard the exchange.
But the fight started and the spectators watched every move with extreme attentiveness. It could be
seen that most of the people preferred Abafi.
Oh! Could be heard all around when Olivr threw his stick, which always reached the target, but
due to the highly skilled moves of Zamojszki, now it could only reach the horse. Or when Zamojszkis
stick flew only a few inches above Abafis head and pierced the ground. Vigorous encouragement
followed all moves of our hero.
Abafi started, or more like waited, for Zamojszki to start the fight, standing still and calmly.
Zamojszki flew at him rapidly, and threw his first stick almost only 2 meters from Abafi. Abafi and
his horse jumped suddenly to one side, and grabbed the second stick flying towards him with his bare
hands. He threw it back within a moment and it found Zamojszkis horses chest.
They rode around and around the field again and again, and the light brown lad gave two sticks to
Abafi, while Zamojszki also received two from another lad hurrying up to him. I dont fear for
Abafi, said the Prince. This fight is something! Zamojszkis horse already has two stains, but
Abafis is unhurt yet. This is something! said the Prince again to the Princess, who also followed
every move of the fighters. As it is usual in cases like this, she also chose a knight to root for. For her,
it seemed to be none other than the Hungarian knight who all the others were cheering for.
A nice scene went on in the Mikola lodge. Szpia was flaming; he really liked the fight. Now, he
said, now Zamojszki could have won a hit if he threw the second stick right after the first one!
Abafis winning! shouted Margit. Look, Gizella, theres one stain on Zamojszkis arm. And now
another on his hips!
Gizella was pale and looked like she was dead, but her fast breathing betrayed the storms in her
heart.
Olivr won. In the last attack he ran quickly to Zamojszki with his hands up high, but at the last
moment he suddenly stopped his horse and motioned the throwing of his sticks. He did not throw the
sticks, but Zamojszki already started to avoid the imaginary flying sticks. Abafi counted on that, and
threw both of his sticks swiftly at Zamojszki, who was unable to correct his path of motion any more.
A huge Vivaaaa! was heard from the spectators. Zamojszki left the field, and his horse hung its head
low and tired.
Szpia was to be next, and joyfully rode to the field, feeling that he finally found a worthy opponent!
Your bet does not seem to have been the best one, right? asked a man turning towards the old man
who had the bet with the light brown lad.
Well, he said, this was just half of it. I have more trust in Szpia, anyways. I think he will win.
The light brown lad smiled. Five more gold on Abafi! he said and took five Venetian gold pieces

from his purse. Those had a great value at the time.

The old man stayed silent and the fight started. Things happened very similarly to the previous fight,
but Szpia seemed to be much more skilled than even Zamojszki.
Still, Abafis fast reactions and great practice helped him towards victory. Szpia had to leave the
field with three stains on his shirt, one of them at his heart. Everyone stared at the Hungarian knight.
White, as the snow in the mountains, he and his horse stood with joyous, victorious faces. Looking
around, he could have seen three faces shining with happiness for him. Whose were these faces?
That's easy to guess.
After a short pause, archers took the field and showed their exceptional skills to entertain the people
all around. The best archer was the light brown lad with the eastern face, whose participation in
helping Abafi during his fight was so noticeable.

26. The Enameled Knight

Gallant and brave, oh, look, and how calm.
- Schiller

Not long after this, the joust was started with knights in shiny armor and in heavy helmets.
Jousting is such a well-known form of playing that I will not go into the details here. All I want to
share with you here is that Knight Zobel, after defeating four Transylvanian and two Hungarian
paladins, was pushed to the ground by Keresztris spear. Later, Tattenbach was about to defeat
Keresztri and he already believed that he was the one to take home the award, when a knight in
armor covered in blue enamel appeared on a large, raven-black horse.
This is Istvn Bocskai, said the Prince to Cristierna. I know this black horse. Naughty, isnt he?
he turned to Kornis.
I thought, he replied, That Bocskai would not be able to fight today. He seemed to be feeling
unwell yesterday, and, also, he never liked jumping into the games of the young. His place is in battles
and in front of the enemy.
If I see well, said the Princess, Our Paladins in Transylvania cannot really stand watching that a
foreigner might win. Is this Bocskai?
Yes, said the Prince, but the German knight might still win. Bocskai felt unwell yesterday, and this
form of fighting requires him to be at 100%.
Your Highness would have made some trouble to the German lord, if your health had let you.
I have won two fights like this! answered Bthori.
In the Mikola lodge, Gizella was apparently restless. She had never seen before such a fight, and the
other games were also a huge stress to her nerves. Are these jousters at risk of dying at any time?
she asked Margit, murmuring.
No, or very rarely she answered. But when they fall from the horses that could cause very serious
injuries. Their lungs, for example are at risk.
Oh, Lord! Gizella took a deep breath. This is too much for enjoyment!
Just then, the two knights crashed and the heavy javelins fell to the ground in miniature pieces.

Gizella closed her eyes and the deepness of her heart was filled with the waves of despair and pain.
Oh, Lord! She sighed, and her hands held Margits strongly.
Ay, shouted the old Mikola, who got very passionate because at the interesting game, Why are you
trembling, Gizi? Bocskais the best, even when hes half dead. Dont fear for him!
Bocskai! said Gizella, shaking her angelic head. This fighter is not Bocskai.
Then who would it be? laughed Mikola. Gizella stayed silent, but the despair in her face was
clearly visible and she trembled like a leaf. Margit tried to comfort her with great sympathy.
After the first crash, the blue enameled knight, with the tall, white feathers in his hat jumped his horse
to the lodge of the Prince and Princess. He asked the Princess, in a respectful voice, to let him, as a
Transylvanian knight, fight in her colors to lead her them to victory, as, sadly, her husband cannot take
part in the days tournament.
The Princess seemed to be unsure, but the Prince was smiling.
Colors of the beautiful Cristierna, he said politely, will be in the best hands with this knight,
whose sure hands are well-known for us
Mrs. Bthori, with her unique comeliness that made her well beloved in Transylvania later, gave a
red-white ribbon to the knight, unfastening it from her waist. The ribbon was richly embroidered with
silver and the Knight took it with respect.
I hope, she said with tame dignity, that with this ribbon you will not only become my knight in this
fight, but also a faithful follower of my husband in all his fights.
The knight fastened the ribbon on his waist, trembling, and through the visor the rays from his eyes
melted on the graceful beauty of the Princess and, in his heart, there was a more tough fight than he
was prepared for. The heart, which could never love before, now was close to collapsing under the
heavy sweetness of the new feeling.
Like a suffering seraph, Gizella sat in the other lodge, and her beautiful face rested on Margits
shoulders. Who could tell the noise of her feelings under her nice breasts?
A loud Viva! made her look up. Tattenbach was lying on the ground, and the enameled knight was
standing on the ground before the Princesss lodge. Gizella knew in advance who it was; her heart
whispered it to her before. It was Abafi, the days hero. Close to the lodge of the Princess and the
Prince, the lad in the light brown clothes was so joyous and his face was so radiant, that one would
think he was the one who had won.

27. Nice Couple

Like they were made for each other.

- Lessing

To celebrate the days night, again a ball was held. Istvn Bthori gave the ball even more richness,
even more lights as the day before, if thats even possible.
This was the first time when Abafi appeared in the old magnificence and greatness of his family as a
winner, as one provoking jealousy, as one who the whole room gave a look to.
The Prince thought he was Bocskai when he appeared in the blue armor. It was because the black
horse had really belonged to Bocskai, but Abafi bought it some days before the tournament. Also,
Abafis and Bocskais strength, radiating from their personalities and figures, was also similar.
Bthori was very much surprised when he recognized Olivr as the enameled knight. He stared at his
courage, which the Prince liked to think of more like recklessness. A sour taste was still left in his
mouth when he thought of Abafi. Also, wearing the colors of Cristierna was such a high honor, that he
would have not given it to an untried knight like Abafi. But he thought it was Bocskai, even after
Abafi talked. The Prince thought his voice was only strange because of the helmet.
The appearance of this hero was anyways really effective. Not only his handsome, manly appearance,
but also his ease in talking, which he mostly owes to the house of Mikola. But also, his victories were
interesting and put him in the center of attention. The foreign knights also seemed to think high of him
and made friends with him.
The first appearance in a large company of people who you have only seen from afar and used to
think of as higher than yourself is always very exciting. You feel some inner anxiety, which is only for
events really important in our lives. How much sweeter and spicier this first impression is, if you can
be at the center of attention and you are respected for your own achievements!
The Princess, who has already heard of Abafis scandalous doings in his young ages, but now met him
for the first time as a real and full man, treated Abafi with an attention natural in a situation like this.
But things have already changed a lot in Abafis heart. His confidence in his bodily strength and skills
slowly infiltrated the doings of his soul as well. He was disguised in situations, because he was
always convinced when he started any exercise of his body, that he would be great in doing it. We
might forgive him this if we think about the gift he was born with; his exceptional bodily strength
which he, so far, always used with success. The more confident he was in his force, the more he won
and experienced, the more this overconfidence became a natural modesty which cannot be apart from

excellence in this world. In the past, after a victory, the look in his face was wild, superior and
insulting. Now he has learned how to take his superiority, attractiveness and interesting style with a
nice modesty. This natural change of his soul soon appeared in every scope of his life. His goodwill
towards himself soon turned towards things outside himself.
He started to believe and know how much the soul can do and take if it wants to. He trained his soul
as well as he trained his body. At these times, Abafi was already considered to be among the most
interesting young men in Transylvania, and how people treated him after his change just convinced
him more that this was the way he had to take and follow.
Abafis looks were also exceptional that night. His clothes were simple, but elegant and precious. His
dark damask cloak was embroidered with eastern pearls and his belt was garnished with heavy and
precious stones. His trousers were without strings, as for the days fashion, and his shoes were also
white and tight.
A precious sword hung on his side, and his hat was made of tiger skin, with a golden hawk feather.
The Princess, among many others, talked to Abafi as well. She mentioned his victory and thanked him
for winning the days victory for her colors. Abafi was so charmed by the eyes of the beautiful lady
that he did not answer too much. Only a lady so modest as Cristierna could not realize what effect she
had on the nice knight.
The Princess later entertained with Margit, when Gizella and Olivr were standing side by side,
What a nice couple, she said, pointing at Gizella and Abafi.
Margit calmly nodded and smiled.
They continued talking and it seemed that the little Gizella and Abafi were the main subjects of their
discussion. Margit seemed serious the whole night. What the Princess noted about Abafi and Gizella
surprised her. How strange the human heart is! There are strings to it so deep, that we might think they
dont even exist. One of these strings was now one Margit recognized in her own heart. What the
Princess said about Abafi and Gizella hurt her a bit, which she was ashamed of.
What is wrong, what is bad about saying that two interesting people, who actually do look good
together, are a nice couple? And still, it makes my heart ache! Cristierna only worded my own
intentions, but it still hurt! Abafi, oh, yes, she thought to herself, he is a good man, worthy of ones
love! One who sees him like this cannot do anything but respect him! And Gizella, this angelic child.
She has all characteristics that can make a man happy and content. She is so suitable for him, both in
look and in soul. Nice couple! Nice couple! she repeated in her thoughts, as if she was trying to get
used to the thought.
Gathering all the strength of her noble soul, she approached Gizella and paid lots of attention to her
well-being all night, as she had never done before. Gizella felt grateful and in pain at once for
Margits treatment of her, as some strange anxiety filled her soul that night. She had no idea that
Margit knew the secret of her soul, but she whipped herself in her imagination for how she felt for

Abafi.
He would never love you, you vain girl! Why do you imagine how he would talk to you and how he
would love you? His heart is in flames for Margit, and there is nobody who would deserve it better!
she thought.
But then the dance started and Margit turned to Gizella.
Will you dance with Abafi? her face was innocent, and she peeked at Abafi, who was standing
close and could hear them. Gizella was on fire, and somehow felt hurt by the question, but Abafi
approached her and ask her to give him the first dance. Hundreds of jealous eyes looked at the
beautiful girl at once and she followed Abafi, trembling a bit, to the dance hall. Later, a nice, warm
feeling filled her whole body. She was happy, happy for the first time in her life. What she felt fizzing
under her breasts was sweet and inexpressible. Margit looked after them and a teardrop appeared in
her eyes. Anyone who knew her could not doubt that, at that moment, she felt the most noble of all
joys. The joy that comes as reward after one nobly defeats oneself.

28. War Preparations

And there it goes, like a thunderstorm,
The small, but brave army horde.
- Vrsmarty

The celebration ended and the lords from Kolosvr hurried to Fehrvr, where the wedding was to be
held. The wedding was also an exceptionally gorgeous event, but it also has to end at some point.
Abafi was also one of the knights accompanying Cristierna to Fehrvr. He saw her almost every day,
though her first days in Transylvania were not among the best. Her husband was never really in true
love with her. They married because they were counseled to do so by the great relatives of Bthori
and the emperor, and also for the interests of their country.
Cristiernas heart was hurt by the coolness of her husband, and those who could see her every day
admired her strength with which she took the loveless air in which she had to live, though never
deserved. Among those who got charmed by the Princess and stayed in her closeness, Abafi was the
most hardworking. His soul was, by that time, so trained and understanding, that he was completely
aware of Cristiernas feelings. Everything he saw in Cristierna was new and interesting to him. The
fine intellect, the interesting face and the suffering look touched him. He had never felt like that
before. He still thought that Margit, as a woman, was more excellent than Mrs. Bthori, but still, how
interesting the human heart is! The deep respect he felt towards these two ladies was completely
different from one another. Whenever he set eyes on her, a sweet passion ran through his body and the
days they did not meet he felt something was missing. His first thought in the morning was her, and his
last before going to bed was her. Always just her, her and her. He felt and knew the distance which
closed him away from the subject of his admiration. He also knew that Cristierna was so noble, so
clean and so perfect, that she could not love anyone else besides her husband. The Princess is only
for the Prince, there was no question there.
This passion, this romantic feeling could not stay unseen by Cristierna. It did not. But she only saw
knightly valor, and it was medicine for her heart. It treated the way her husband acted so coldly,
which was so far from all of those she loved; from the world she used to live in. Mrs. Bthori was so
noble that it never occurred to her that such attention, which is so noble and lacks every intrusion,
was indicative of love, so she treated Olivr nicely and gracefully. If she needed something done, she
trusted Olivr. If she went to some place, Abafi was among her escorts. As a compliment, we can tell
that Abafi took Cristiernas attention, which originated from noble feelings and lacked all passion in
its form. He accepted with humility and never gave any signs of made-up modesty or any vain, which
is so annoying in minions. The most important proof of how he could avoid any suspicion was that
Zsigmond Bthori himself started to like him more and more. It was a characteristic of Bthori that he
hated somebody one day and liked him the next, but Abafi was loyal to the Bthoris with an inherited

faithfulness.
Zsigmond always took Olivr with him on his hunts and bodily trainings, but he had some secret
journeys which he never told to Olivr. That was because he felt some unnamed feeling for him which
made him not make Olivr his friend.
It happens often in life that those who aim to make themselves and their souls perfect fill with grace.
This was what was happening to Abafi at this period. He felt a romantic charm because he was
secretly in love with a perfect being whom he can understand in her full existence. However, she is at
a great distance from him, does not love him, does not know about him and she would likely dismiss
him quickly if she ever found out about his passion for her.
Soon after the Prince arrived at Fehrvr, the whole of Transylvania was in preparations. The
Voivods signed a treaty with Bthori, who agreed to control the united armies and collected a great
number of soldiers in Transylvania. Mark Deli, a renowned Hajdu leader who practiced his rights
on the borders, was also won over by Bthori and took the side of the Transylvanians with his group.
His group was made of exiled Hungarians and Transylvanians. They lived in forests, caves and in the
open air. They could cope with anything, hunger, thirst, cold or hot weather. Anyone who showed
weakness had to leave his group.
Mark Deli liked to call himself the king of winds and the lion of caves. He was one of those strange
people who had in him the strangest opposites of characteristics. He was ready to be cruel with his
enemies and break his oaths, but when he liked someone his words were worth iron. He loved to lead
but could not stand if someone tried to lead him. He was respectable with his companions, but was a
liar with everyone else. This wild, stubborn man was fearfully loved by his people, was searched by
his hateful lovers, was a giant in his heart and in his body, and never took orders from anybody else.
Still, he was driven by a small girl. She'd need only ask and he'd grant her anything. This girl was
Izidora, or Lightning, as we know her, because in Marks group everybody had to forget their
previous lives and names and had to take a new name by their characters. Lightning got hers from how
suddenly she appeared everywhere; she struck, like lightning.
The first one to increase the numbers of the royal army was Abafi, near Beszterce.

29. The Bath

And in her great pains,

When her heart breaks,
The lady answered
With a determined curse.
- Vrsmarty
While the war preparations are being done, it will be interesting to have a look at a particular person
who has already appeared here so many times but we know so little of him.
Mark Deli and his army were in a forest. Their numbers were growing day by day and he was about
to leave to join the Prince at Beszterce. The night before they started, they feasted happily. Tents stood
in a long line on a field in the forest, among dark pine trees. Several groups of people stood around
huge fires further from the tents. The silver light of the moon borrowed a picturesque look to the
scene. The red of the fire made the grim even more grim, while the silver of the moon made their wolf
skin coats shine with a friendly, attractive shimmer. While this noisy crowd sang and enjoyed the
night, a slim, nice girl stepped out from a tent. She was dainty and light, the fine grass would hardly
bend under her footsteps, but she hurried towards the trees and disappeared in the forest. Her hair
was locked into two long braids, almost touching her ankles and her face had an eastern look. Her
hands had a white pack of clothes and an arch in them. She had a small green coat on, and a white
dress under it. Around her waist there was a Turkish scarf where a precious dagger was dug into it.
She just walked and walked in the forest, until she arrived at a small open field. On the other side of
the field there was a thin mountain pass where she was headed. Passing, she arrived at a place for
which Transylvania is so famous, scenes like this one are always present in stories or in legends.
There were tall cliffs around her, the sky like deep water in a little pond, and some stars could be
gazed upon over her head. On the top of one of the cliffs, four pines pendulate on their leaves the
moonlit skies. Opposite to the pass through which the girl came, there can be found a quite big
entrance to a cave. From its top, a waterfall flows down to a rock pool shining in the light.
The surface of the water is so silent, so motionless, as if on a picture. The waters clear and almost
see-through, as if nature planned it for bathing. The lady stepped closer to the pool and slowly sat on
the fat grass. She put down her arrows and the white clothes from her hands. She started to untie her
blouse, and from her arching shoulder the blouse slipped down and let her beautiful, rounded breasts
bathe in silver moonlight. It was so perfectly beautiful! She put down her white skirt and loosened her
hair from the braids. She stood up, and her hair flowed around her body and her ankles as in a
romantic tale.
There was something supernatural in the scene, partly caused by the silent charm of the place and its

spirit.
The lady slowly sat at the side of the pool and got her feet into the water, but almost immediately
pulled them out, as the water was very cold. Soon she stepped into the pool again and sat down at its
bottom, lying there like a fairy. Her face was joyous and not really serious. While she charmingly
bathed, she heard a noise similar that of a deer when its hiding from the hunter but tries to set an eye
on him. Izidora seemed surprised and looked at her bow which was lying in the grass in a safe
distance. She looked towards the noise, but everything was silent again. Soon she heard the noise
closer, but it again turned into silence. She looked around more vividly now.
Who are you? she shouted and glimpsed a large tree which shadowed half of the pool. Suddenly
she stood up, her wet hair covering her body, and took her bow and tensed it. She just stood there,
with fear in her soul, when the head of a man appeared from the tree above the pool. She pointed her
bow at him. Go away! the lady shouted. Or my arrow will nail your insolent head to that tree!
And it was visible from her voice that she really meant every word.
Izidora, said the head sadly. Izidora, I stayed alive in hundreds of battle for you to nail my head
here? You, whom I love with such an inexpressible feeling?
Is that you, Brigade? You dire! You! And you dare to pronounce the Izidora name? You, who wanted
to tear my heart from me! You, you snake, you killer, you coward! and she lifted up her bow again.
Get off the tree and go away, because I hate you like sun hates darkness, like clean hates dirty and
the angel hates Satan!
The trees leaves made some noise and the head disappeared, but soon Brigades lean figure
appeared at the side of the pool. He was standing in dangerously and threatening stance. His face
radiated strong anger and his eyes looked like they were on fire. Shoot me! he said, holding up a
spear. Shoot me! The first move can be yours, but find your target well. Put your arrow here, here in
the middle of my heart. It will still be you who lives, and you will be there until my heart stops
beating, so find it well, because you know my spear and it will hit my target.
Never pronounce that name again! My name is Lightning and my father is Mark Deli, king of the
borders, lion of the caves!
Izidora is what I call you, nothing else! said Brigade with his anger disappearing, resting his eyes
on the perfect figure of the girl. Her hair stuck to her skin so tightly that all her curves were visible in
the silver light. Do you remember how much you loved to hear that name from me? When your arms,
now threatening me with death, hugged me so tight against your passionate breasts! Everything,
everything is forgotten now? he asked with all tenderness in his voice that rarely comes from such a
wild man. Shoot me, he said, and when my blood has stained your hair and your skin, go and fly to
Abafis castle on the wings of this angry night! Shoot me and when the last beat of my heart is gone,
take that toy-hero in your arms while Brigade, whom you loved and admired one, who was a real
man, trained in battles and not in games, lies here unburied and unwept.
Izidora put down her bow.

I will not shoot you, she said now. I dont want your blood on my hands, but go away, for all that
can be saint even before you, please go away! I curse the moment in which I let myself be surprised
by your not noble love! she cried, I would tear those moments from my memories and my heart,
when I hugged you, you two-faced tiger! And dont flatter yourself, it was not love! No, no, no!
Passion, weakness, hell, whatever you want, but not love!
You say this, Izidora, you, who counted the minutes if I didnt come, who cried if I was ill! You have
been fire and flames! No matter how much I loved you, I had to think you loved me even more! And
all this for a man whose name you hadnt even heard before you gave me your heart!
Yes, yes, for him, said Izidora with flames on her face, Just for him! Ill let you hear it! You can
die or suffer, you assassin, you coward, you nobody! For him, who I love like a God, for whom I
would even die, whose one look is only what I want to cover up my memories of you! Do you know
this dagger? she asked, holding up a dagger, Aye, you ambushed him, three on one, and when his
noble soul let you run, you wanted to kill him with this! This dagger is the wall between you and me! I
know now, what it is that youve been planning for so long now! But fear, because I will let Abafi
know you!
Hahaha! laughed Brigade wildly, I shall fear? Both you and he should fear! and suddenly he fell
to the ground by the pool. Izidora shot her arrow at him, but only at his arm and it just brushed his
skin. In his surprise he fell and grabbed her waist and they fell together. He tried to take the dagger
from her hands, and she tried to get free of his hands.
Hah, what a tame dove! Brigade shouted, You are in my power now! I have come too far to turn
back now, you see. Come, he said, lifting the girl, who seemed tired after the long fight. Her high
pitched scream could be heard around the forest. Come! I feel like stealing some heavenly moments
from Abafi! Dont roar so loudly. Nobody can help you, you are mine!
Brigade, for all that is sacred! said Izidora trembling from the efforts, No, no, please, no, I order
you, let me go!.. Ah, I hate you! How much I hate you, how much I look down on you! You think I am
afraid of you? Your arms keep me tight, but I can still hurt you!
Brigade just walked and walked with his sweet package in his arms, and soon only small voices
could be heard. Not much later, an angry roar came from among the trees and she ran from the inside
them with blood on her hands and the dagger in her right. Ah, die, you hateful! I punched the dagger
in your side before your rape, the dagger with which you wanted to murder Olivr at the Place of
Kolosvr! A spear flew after her from the trees. She grabbed it in mid-air and threw it back.
Grabbing her clothes, too, she ran away. This is how she arrived at the tent of her father; scratched,
tired and hardly breathing. Mark Deli hurried from his tent with anger and started looking for
Brigade with a group of people, but they could not find him anywhere. Maybe the wound Izidora
made was not mortal. The next day, the lion of the borders went to war.

30. Bthroi, As A Leader

The mystery is solved.

- Atlincour

After all the armies gathered at the point of meeting, Bthori took them across the borders and united
them with the troops of Vlach Mihly and Voivod Razvn.
The enemys leader was Pasha Sinn. Zsigmond had great luck in the battles, he defeated the Turks
many times and in many places. Abafi was among those who paid a great service to the Prince. Once,
he even had the chance to save Zsigmond from six Turks who surrounded him and would have killed
him. After this and thanks to recognizing even more how great in battle and in soul Abafi was, Bthori
liked Olivr even more, and gave him a present in the form of an estate, which Zsigmond captured
from the goods of those exiled or arrested. Abafi accepted the present under one condition. He asked
that the Prince announce that he would not care what Abafi used the animal for. The Prince agreed to
do so. After several well-ending battles, the Prince sent Abafi to Transylvania with important news
and some letters. Abafi arrived in Transylvania as a hero. Everybody knew about his heroic moves in
battles. He first paid a visit to Cristierna, who welcomed him with her comeliness and modesty,
which was so lovable about her. Abafi, who was still bathing in his first love, was very happy
whenever he could be close to Cristierna. Did the conscientious woman suspect Abafis feelings? It
cannot be said for sure, but her behavior showed signs that she might. Weve seen that before her
husband went to war, she was happy to have Abafi around. She often asked him to do things for her
and the attention she gave him was clear. Later, though, especially during her time in Fehrvr, she
seemed to treat Abafi a little bit cooler, staying a bit further from him. However, she did not seem to
like or trust him less.
Abafi, who might well be the only one who noticed this change, thought that the noble had found out
his secret feelings and this was what made her a bit more reserved in her morals. We have seen that
the romantic love of Abafi well contained high glorification of the object of his love, so the reserved
behavior of the angel-innocent lady did not distress him. It even made him love her more and made
her love even more sacred in his eyes.
She can see right through me, he thought, but because she can see how my love is so spiritual, she
is not hurt by my feelings. And would I be worth this grace by her if I did not respect the barriers
while my beautiful Cristierna stood up in front of me? Abafis respect for her was doubled, and it
did not matter that her passions were not burning hot, he kept his limitations. Gizella Cski was by
now with the Princess, and though Mikola let her go with a heavy heart, nobody could say no to
anything from this tender and lovely Princess. Margit was even sadder when Gizella left their house,

but she could see the girl the quite often, which made her feel better. Mrs. Bthori treated the girl with
an exceptional liking, and Gizella was by now a grown up woman, the most beautiful in Transylvania.
A sort of dreamful seriousness and some strange air of suffering floated around her and on her
charming face, which all made her just even more attractive and lovable. Margit was the only one
who knew the reason for her sufferings, but she would have never asked her openly about it. When
Cristierna asked Margit, she avoided answering.
Gizella is devastated by some serious sadness, said the Princess once, She might mourn her
parents now that she is a young lady, or she misses you, dear Margit. I couldnt say. You do not even
know how much I would give for her to be happy! she finished in a sympathetic voice.
Might be, your highness, replied Margit uneasily, that sometimes she feels sad about losing her
parents, but that was so long ago that she might not even remember them. She was really young when
they died. For her permanent depression, which I can also see on her, it might have another reason.
But she likes her life now with you, she adores you and is content with her faith, she herself told me.
Maybe time will eliminate her constant sadness.
Cristierna seemed to be thinking. Margit, she said, Gizella loves you a lot. Could you try and find
out the secret of her heart? To me it seems, she went on with a sigh, that she is in love. Margit
remained silent. She did not want to lie, but she did want to tell the truth either. Where would it lead
to? Telling the secret of her friend and daughter-like acquaintance seems like treason to her because
Gizella cuddled her secret with fire in her heart. Her lonely hours were her happiest hours, because
then she could imagine how her love would love her back. But she never talked about it to anyone.
If she is in love, said Cristierna, I would not believe that this angelic child would love someone
not suiting her class, but I am afraid that she gave her heart to someone whom her family would not
accept.
I would not think so, said Margit, she hardly knows anyone apart from those around you and
around our family.
Cristierna talked to Margit about this many times, but Abafis name never occurred to her in the
subject. Abafi was really nice and attentive to Gizella, but it was obvious that he did not love her
with his whole heart. Soon after the discussion happened, Abafi left the Princess and hurried back to
the battlefield to Zsigmond, who only gave him a short time to go and get back.
Gizella was there when Abafi said goodbye to Cristierna. He stepped closer to Gizella and said My
dear Gizella, (because as he was a kind of relative, he could call her by her name) Tomorrow,
early in the morning, I leave for the battlefield. Is there anyone there that I could give a message to
from you, or do you have felicitations for me? I am a bit superstitious, and a felicitation from such a
good soul as you are is a talisman, giving me strength and belief! This he all said jokingly, just to be
nice, but Gizellas eyes almost filled with tears. His words made such a great effect on her. She
offered her hand to the paladin, and it was so charming a move that Abafi should have noticed
something, that is, if his heart was not so full with thoughts of another woman.

I wish only one thing, dear Olivr, said Gizella gracefully, her voice close to trembling. I wish
that all your steps be followed by such blessing, that all women of Transylvania can wish for a hero
like you!
Abafi tenderly stroked her hand, and left.
Cristierna witnessed the scene with a significant look on her face and saw Gizellas eyes, which were
full of a strange mixture of happiness and serious thoughts.
It seemed to Gizella that Abafi never before had talked to her with such grace, with such attention and
tenderness. His stroke on her hand filled her with the dark, but sweet memories of her dreams.
From that time, Mrs. Bthori paid special attention to her friend, Gizella, and talked to her about
Abafi a lot. What at first she just suspected, soon became sure knowledge for her.
Yes, she is in love. She said once to Margit. She is in love with Abafi. Margit, understanding that
Gizellas secret was not a secret anymore told Cristierna everything that happened and how she knew
about the love of Gizella. The Princess wanted to see Gizella happy and joyful, so the two women
made up a plan to bring together two hearts which were so beloved by both of them, though in a
different way.
Not much later, Abafi arrived at the camp. Zsigmond filled the short pause between battles with his
favorite pastime; falcon hunting. Abafi rode with him while he was doing this, once.
Olivr, said the Prince, You are hiding a secret from me! A secret among the many, which the
whole camp knows about, said the Prince smiling, Do you have no words?
Abafi blushed. Your Highness, this thing is not really a secret, but a mystery for me as well.
Aye, said the Prince, laughing, I would be grateful if a good fairy would provide so much
delicacies for my whole camp, as one fairy provides for you!
Abafi told the Prince about his adventure to Alvinc, when he gave back her son to Izidora, and he also
told the story about how he was attacked at the Place of Kolosvr. The birth of Izidora, he went on,
is gloomy and unknown by me, as well. Her father, Mark Deli, prefers not to talk about it. I must
think she is a child of love. Soon after I gave her back her son in Alvinc, I received a letter from her,
in which she asked if I could take care of him. So now the boy is in my castle, with my priest. The
priest takes good care of him; the boy is intelligent, clever, and interesting. Any noble family would
be proud of him. While he was in Alvinc, Izidora visited him weekly. Now she does the same in my
castle.
So she might be that knight of the night visiting you, whom we have already heard about?
Yes, she is. She thinks little about the opinion of others on her, but she is really nice to me. It might
be that this is the reason she would prefer to keep her visits in secret.

Im glad, said the Prince, that you dont despise the joys of life, because I am sure her visits were
not only in the role of a mother, am I right? he asked winking.
I dont want to appear better than I am, said Abafi honestly.
And so were you in love with this lad, who is real a girl? Abafi did not reply immediately, like
those who do not really know the subject they want to talk about.
I dont think so, he said after a short thinking, I think what I felt and what I also feel now for her is
not love. But her fidelity, her loyalty and her deep love and attention towards me could not leave my
heart cold. I also owe her my life! And now my tent is always full of the good things which can be
found around this area, and when I ask who brought them, my servants rarely can give me the answer.
All that I found out is that a young, pretty paladin comes close to my tent at night sometimes, and when
he leaves, in the front of the door lies a basket full of the most precious fruits, Turkish food or meat.
He is said to leave so fast that nobody can recognize him.
Aye. This is her, without a doubt! said the Prince, The woman is very pretty. I have seen her many
times with Mark Deli, but I would not have thought her so loyal and warm-hearted for a wildling!
Her father differs from her a lot. True, he has not broken his words so far with us, but who knows
what will come after the year we agreed on is over! Anyways, have you solved the mystery of that
attack on you at Kolosvr?
I have to admit that I could not solve it so far! he said, Whenever I ask Izidora about it, she replies
in gloomy, ambiguous words. She knows something, but she will not tell me. Your Highness must
know what a shock that attack was for me!
Yes, the Prince said with a sigh, it all happened in the worst period of my time. I was cheated on
by those whom I trusted the most, and I had to live with aggressive and wild solutions. No wonder
that all aggressive happenings were wrote to my bill.
I, replied Abafi, would take it as a personal revenge by Bucella.
He was not your biggest supporter those days, said the Prince sarcastically, but he would not have
dared to do that!
I dont remember those days with joy. If your highness had been surrounded with good men, many
things shouldnt have happened.
Yes, the Prince agreed, The Kendis have always had a secret desire for the place of the Bthoris,
and my cousin also wanted to take my throne. He made me many enemies among my people! And you
were also one of them, Abafi.
My Lord, the Abafi familys loyalty to the Bthori family is legendary throughout Transylvania. An
Abafi might not agree with everything the Prince does, but an Abafi can never be faithless to the

Prince as a person.
Fine. Lets leave this subject, said Bthori. The life of the Prince is not something which can be
judged by someone who is not living his life.
Abafi saw that the discussion made Bthori unhappy, so he tried to pick up another subject. It seems
that Pasha Sinn is glad for the pause. Your Highness proved that Transylvania has the power.
To be honest, despite our success, Ive had enough of camping. I desire peace. Believe me, Abafi,
sometimes I desire for places, like Italy with its arts and language and clothes
To be one for thousands, to care for thousands is such a beautiful profession, I am sure Your
Highness will find the peace of your soul! With the lovely Princess and with your success on the
battlefields, you can make your life much more beautiful than anything in Italy could!
These words again made the Prince serious. He felt some kind of aversion towards Cristierna, which
he could not explain himself. The alliance of Cristierna was desirable for him, for the time being at
least, but the woman, who was a precious jewel of her gender even without any ornaments, and who
had all the characteristics to make the man who could get close to her heaven the most happy in the
world, could not fill the Princes heart.
Two knights rode up to the Prince, who was turning back to the camp. They told the him about a new
move by the Turks.
We are going to have things to do, he said, a bit happier, I am hoping for a victory. And anyways,
he continued smiling, half joking, the silk dress, a red hat and a spacious, comfortable hall among the
ruins of the old queen of the world makes up to all our glory here!... What do you think my paladin?

31. The Battle And What Came After

The wound is not deep.

- Bulwer

My heart is just a deep night from now on.

- Tth Lrinc

What the Prince predicted came true. Right after the short pause, Pasha Sinn started to harass the
sentinels.
The Hungarian camp was situated in a very good field. A long, moderately high mountain had a
plateau on the top. From the one side it was so rocky that nobody could have climbed up. On the other
side, there were rivers and marshes. On the top, Bthoris heavy cannons stood.
Gbor Tri, an experienced military officer was the commander of the cannons. He had a brown
horse with a bear fur jacket. He rode up and down in front of the long line of cannons. He was
approaching a grey haired knight, who stood next to a long cannon and sometimes looked down in the
alley.
Pered! Tri called his name, The left wing of the Keresztri troop has problems with the bold
Turks. Go and take four cannons to help them out. Hurry, hurry, he said, looking down at the battle
field. You have to get thee before they start to fight, unless you want their cannons to kill our men as
well.
Pered took the order and ran to fulfill it. He ordered one guy to stay with one cannon which had its
wheels broken, and he and four others took the four cannons with horses. In a few minutes, their
thundering could already be heard.
Yes, they work, Tri said to a nice, young gunner. My little balls! Look, Istvn, how the balls roll
them apart!
Ay, said Istvn annoyed, Why are we just standing here? Weve been just standing here for an hour
now! Look, at the left! There is the Prince! shouts the young gunner with a blushing face. Who is
that next to him?

Abafi, I would think, said the old one, No, no, that must be Bethlen, he said, trying to have a
better look. Abafi is a bit more down, there, do you see? Oh, Wow! he shouted suddenly, This is
something! Bthori fights as I thought he would! What a Prince we have, huh? And he shouted even
more: The Turks are coming! The Turks are coming! and he rode up and down among the cannon
lines and gave orders after orders, until he shouted, Now turn! Fire!
The thunder of the cannons made everything else soundless, and caused fearful damage among the
Turks. Then a young paladin jumped his horse up to the cannons. Finally, we can do something! said
Istvn in the meanwhile. But look, Jank, lower the mouth a bit, and it will for sure find more
Turks!
The knight, who just arrived up with his horse said to Tri, The Princes order is to take all the
cannons to the other side! The troops of Razvn have great difficulties, they need your help! Can you
see, sir? There, right there. And he showed with his finger. Tri immediately sent for Pered, and
soon the long line of cannons marched to the left.
Ill leave you here, with these two, Istvn! You should shoot down from time to time, when its
needed.
I will, if what I see is not for my taste! Istvn said smiling.
Soon the long line of cannons was a great help to Razvn, who was grateful for the Princes cannons
help.
Your highness is in great danger here! said Abafi to the Prince when he got next to him, Why not
go up there? and he showed at a point nearby, There are a few trees to save you from the arrows
and you can see the whole field and the battle from there as well!
Youre bleeding, Abafi! said the Prince, looking at him.
Where? he asked coldly.
Your shoulder, dont you feel it?
Abafi looked at his shoulder. Must be just a scratch! he said and suddenly rode away. It was good
that Abafi arrived to his troops, because they started to slowly retreat as a large troop of Turks
pushed them backwards in their attack.
Abafi stood there and shouted as loud as he could Whos dared to retreat? BACK! BACK! he
shouted and turned back his troops, which the Turks did not take well.
The enemy was beaten at every point, and they started to retreat fast.
This was when Bthori arrived to Abafi. He said, I am satisfied with Voivod Mihly today, hes
been fighting well! And you go and have your wound tied, it might not be big, but theres lots of blood

around, and you will need your hands in the future!

The Prince hardly finished his sentence when Abafi and his horse fell to the ground. Abafi suddenly
jumped up and said, Good bye, my dear horse, youve done well! Then a nice, slim paladin
appeared next to Bthori in a helmet and a red feather, with a Turkish scarf, and said: Here you are,
a horse instead of a horse! and, jumping down from the saddle, gave the bridle of a beautiful applecolored horse to Abafi. Then the paladin disappeared, before Abafi could say anything.
Who was this? asked the Prince.
Who could it have been? It might have been Izidora; Lightning.
Marks daughter? asked the Prince, Its always, always her! This is help in the greatest moment!
This is something! he said smiling.
Olivr seemed annoyed but grateful at the same time. The relationship between Abafi and Izidora was
strange, really. After they first met, we thought they were really close. But the fact that Abafi retrieved
from her later gives us many reasons to think otherwise. Still, this noble soul stuck to him so hot after
everything, and she would have given up everything for his benefit. Abafi took care of her son, so she
was also grateful to him for that. He was her love and the savior of her son, so Abafi was everything
that she loved in this life, apart from her own son, who can thank his well-being to Abafi, again.
Izidora loved Abafi with such passion, that this feeling gobbled her heart and soul. This sixteen year
old young lady who, before they met, tried to forget her bad fate in the arms of a young seductor. This
lady who after this fallible love realized how nobody can be compared to the noble Abafi. Not only
her previous lover, but herself also. She, who would cut the heads of Tartars with her own hands,
who would play dice and drink wine with the friends of her father as if she was one of the men, was
ashamed to drink wine or take dice in her hands, or let rude words slip her mouth when Abafi was
around to see it. She was raised by and among men in her fathers group. The power of the moment
made her a sinner, and to that her father was so permissive when it came to her. She believed
stubbornly that she could not be better than she is; that she was born a sinner and would remain a
sinner. No lady can be happy or calm ever again after she had given her sacred clarity, her only one
innocent touch to the first man who asked for it. The lady, who lost her innocence, lost everything.
Though, when she met Abafi, who had no presuppositions about her and treated her how a good
woman should be treated, she discovered her better side. Still, she was convinced that she was so
less than Abafi that she would never deserve his love, even if he ever considered loving her back.
This worm kept chewing on her soul.
He cannot love me, she thought, when I myself hate and despise of myself. Mother to a child
whose father I am not allowed to name, who if he was even alive, he would deny him Lover of the
lowest bastard! A hyena, brought up among vultures! How could such a beastly woman dream of the
love of a man, whose love there is no woman in the world who would deserve him!
As a person, as a friend, I desire his respect and like, she thought, Only when he does not despise
the poor Izidora, only then he can know how I feel for him, only then maybe I could be happy in his

arms! No, no! she said, with tears bursting from her eyes. Never! He could never know it! He
would laugh at me, despise me, I am disgusting in comparison to him!
Abafi did not love Izidora, but what was it he felt for her? The ladys approach first had an effect on
him, and if Izidora had been a bit trickier, she could have seduced Abafis heart. But she was not like
that. She was honest and she was always herself. So Abafi knew about her previous life completely.
This knowledge, even though he was a cruel man when he first met Izidora, made him refuse her love
with a cold heart. But he still took the little Zsiga in his house, and he loved the grateful and lovely
little boy as much as if he was his own blood. The boy was so grateful and so cute in his every move
and doing, he seemed to be trying to find out every thought of Abafi's, just to make him happy. Abafi
felt the same, so he decided that he would make the boy happy, and this will and this love of the boy
somehow linked Abafi and Izidora together. Izidora was also in his heart for her so selfless moves for
him. She would have done anything for him and this was so honest, so without calculations, that it
made Abafi feel a deep friendship and pity for her. Though Abafis heart was full of love for someone
else, and the noble care which Izidora gave him reminded him of his own feelings for another woman.
Cristierna.
Izidoras unprecedented loyalty made him feel a combination of ever deep tenderness and friendly
liking. Also, as Izidora was much more feminine in her behavior when she was with Abafi than with
anyone else, and she was a beautiful lady. Abafi could not help but also feel some kind of attraction,
he found an enjoyment in looking at her.
Now, lets go back to the Prince and Abafi. After the retrieval of the enemys troops, the Prince
returned to the camp with his chiefs, among them Bocskai, Kornis, Keresztri, Abafi, Bethlen and
others. They were really happy after their won battle; almost drunk on success. A part of the army
stayed in the valley as sentinels. They paid attention to every move or noise, and ran to tell the news
hourly. In the camp, everything and everybody went to their beds and tents after the long day of
fighting.

32. Death And Death

Pour, pour my blood,

Finish my life!
--- to die
A death for me, is nice.
- Garay

Abafi arrived at his tent and saw many of his servants standing close. He dismounted and told them to
give a good dinner to the light horse. Keep him well, he stays for the night. In the morning, take him
back to Mark Deli! A servant took the horse and Olivr entered his tent. It was big tent, made of
white and red cloth. Inside, there was a wide bed made of wolf and bear skin, and next to it there was
his chest, his clothes and not too far were some jugs and food.
An old servant was standing in the tent. Now its dark outside, Pter! he said to the servant,
Please, tell my servants outside to go away and rest. I want to be alone with you, Pter obliged, and
when the servants were gone, he came back to the tent.
Help me take off this chain mail, said his lord.
My lord, your shoulder is bleeding! The chain is cut. Shall I go for the doctor? Hes living close.
Wait. First take that off of me. Careful! Right, Pter carefully pulled the chain mail from his lord
and put in on the ground.
Lucky that you had this chain mail my lord, otherwise your arm would not be in one piece by now
I will bring water and clean your wound a bit. He went and soon returned with a jug of water.
Yes, my arm hurts. Let me get off my shirt and you can clean the wound.
Abafi took off his shirt, but its arm had to be cut off, because Abafis shoulder swelled a lot. Pter
silently told him they should cut it, and Abafi let him do so.
And have you seen anyone around here today? Abafi asked.
Not yet, but the man who looked in the tent yesterday was not here for good business.
That was Lightning.

I swear it was not! It was a big, ugly man.

Who could that be? But later with that, now go and bring doctor Gyrfs, please. Pter tied the
wound to stop it from bleeding and went to get the doctor.
Abafi lied in bed on his other elbow. He could see out the tent. He saw the fires, and he could hear
the noise of weapons being cleaned with the horses eating and neighing. Not long after Pter was
gone, Lightnings horse started neighing as well, very quietly. A nice, young lad entered the tent in
light brown coat. Izidora! Look, you good soul, your horse is here now, hes alright. I fed him
tonight, but tomorrow morning I will have him led back to your tent! But what brings you here now?
Izidora put down her cloak and approached Abafi sympathetically. You have a wound, and unrest in
my soul brought me here. I was worried, if I had seen this on the field, I would have made a junction
right there! How much blood could be lost since then?
Calm down, please The wound is small. You can pull down the linen and have a look. Doctor
Gyrfs will arrive in a minute, but your tender, fine hands will treat me nicer, I am sure.
Izidora took some cloths immediately from her breasts and put them on the floor. She took down the
linen from the wound and tied it up with endless care and professionalism. You might have these
plants boiled for tea, it will help recover soon. I hope Gyrfs will agree to this, you should ask him.
Now, hush! she said with deep feelings in her voice, Does it hurt? she asked gently, Heavens! I
am done! she screamed suddenly, and in the same moment she collapsed. An arrow flew over
Abafis head and found its way to Izidora.
Ah! Whats this!? Abafi shouted, jumping on his feet, Izidora, good soul, whats wrong with
you?... Heavens! Youre bleeding! HELP! he shouted.
Big noise started outside the tent, many people were talking at the same time, someone swearing
wildly. Abafi picked up Izidora, who hardly could say, My father, oh, Olivr!... my son!... Heavens, I
have to die without seeing him! she stopped speaking and her face went deadly pale. Abafi placed
her on the bed.
You stop! Abafi heard a familiar voice in front of the tent. He ran outside and saw Pter, Gyrfs
and Bethlen, who grabbed the neck of the felon, who shot his arrow exactly to bed, as if he knew
where to aim.
Who are you? asked Bethlen. Olivr, were you harmed?
I wish I were, instead! said Abafi with the deepest pain, I am unhurt, but Oh, come Farkas, help,
poor Izidora is inside, she might be dead by now!... And you, Pter, run for her father, Mark Deli.
His tent is in the valley right under the tent of the Prince! Take my best horse, run! And take this
assassin to Pered. He will pay with his life.

Oh, Izidora! said the killer angrily, Izidora, and not you, Abafi? Oh, hells! How could I make such
a mistake? Izidora! his voice trembled, You are hit? You, for whom I would kill thousands? And
you Abafi, who I wanted to kill, you can live?! he tried to tear himself from the holding hands, but he
could not.
Brigade, could be heard from the tent, Thank you, oh my Lord, that he hit me and not Olivr!
Dont take me! roared Brigade crazily, tearing his own clothes in his wild attempts to free himself.
Let me just see her, let me kiss the dust from her shoes! I curse the hour when my arrow was made
and I curse the hand which shot it! Oh, Izidora!
Many people tried to take him at once, but craziness tripled his force. Finally, he fell on his knees and
said quietly, Fine. Kill me, hang me, but please, let me first see her, see her for the last time Let
her eyes fall on me for the last time, even if its full with hatred! I wont do anything, just please, let
me see her for the last time! Take my eye and let me see her with the other, and then you can take the
other as well, I will not do anything. I will let you, like a lamb, just take me to her, please! The
people lifted him up and started to bring him to Pered. He said nothing anymore. He just roared and
fought for his freedom while ten men took him.
Abafi, Bethlen and Gyrfs entered the tent. The look on Abafis face could not be expressed by
words. Oh, you dear soul, you faithful little being, I cannot bear that you have to die so young,
because of me! But be calm, your son will be my son until the end of my life! Oh, Gyrfs, I give you
everything I have if you save her!
Gyrfs started working immediately. He pulled the arrow from her side, and the girl not so much as
hissed in the process. Gyrfs examined the wound and carefully tied it. The wound can be healed.
Just silence and calmness, little lady! Here, this potion will help with the fever. Izidora shook her
head and reached for Abafis hands, I can feel I will die. Oh, Olivr, you have to live!... My Lord,
thank you for sparing him! Be a father to my Zsiga, she went on, hardly murmuring. And the lady,
who fought in battles, who only knew the joys of man, who had been in her whole life rough and hard,
had now become so tender, so gentle, and so feminine, that nobody would have recognized Lightning
in her. Olivr looked at the beautiful lady with such a passion for which there are no expressions, he
took her hands and said, You will recover, just stay calm, my dearest!
Oh, my son, my precious little Zsiga! Oh, Lord, how far you are from me! Who will love you so
deep like I do?
Quiet, my sweet Izidora, you will live! But anyways, Zsiga, my Zsiga, will have a father. I swear
you with the most sacred oath of mine!
Oh, Olivr, your Izidora Your son.. Heavens me, the bloody Lightning, lover of Brigade, Izidora
without a name, without innocence or modesty! Oh, my heart breaks I lived, yes I lived She
raised her dying eyes at Olivr in flames, and pushed his hand to her heart. Her eyes closed, and she
stayed like that, unconscious, sleeping, or dead. This was how she stayed. Olivr walked up and
down in the tent. Gyrfs, ask for anything and I will give you, but save her! For Gods sake, save

her! I feel such a misery which I would not have thought of existed!
My lord, please be a man and accept that she has ceased to exist, said Gyrfs in a low and serious
voice.
Ceased repeated Olivr desperately.
Not yet, said Gyrfs, but I cant promise more than two hours
So young, so graceful, so noble and only two hours left for her! he cried out in vain, And all for
me Oh, this pain is unbearable!
Maybe it is better like this, said Bethlen, You loved her, Olivr, dont deny it, you loved her, but
where could it lead you? She is happy now! You take her son, and she can spend her last hours with
you, with you in love.
Farkas, your cruel, cold cleverness cuts my heart this minute. I loved her or I didnt, what do I care
now? Losing a friend is terrible enough! And what is any other feeling worth compared to the loyalty
and love she showed for me? You know my heart, my friend; you know the secrets of it. I loved this
girl, I loved her as a friend, a benefactor, and I loved her as hot as only the most graceful heart can
love. I will not forget her as long as I live!
Olivr sat on the rug, next to Izidora, his shoulder forgotten. Wordless pain darkened his soul.
Izidora was sleeping and Bethlen left. The doctor stayed with Olivr.
Abafi stood up. It seemed as if he was thinking about something important; planning something. His
thoughts must have been noble, because his face turned calmed slowly. He took the doctors hands.
Gyrfs, are you sure there is no hope for Izidora to live?
I'm sure.
Abafi sighed, Do you think a great joy would hurry up her death, or could it help keep her alive a bit
more?
She has minutes, it does not really matter. But maybe it could help, yes.
Are you sure?
As sure as a man can be about anything. But what can be that joy you are preparing for her?
Still, still sighed Abafi and left the tent. He gave an order to a servant who immediately hurried
away. Izidora woke up and opened her eyes slowly. Her face was calm and serious. She reached for
Olivrs hands.

Father for my Zsiga she said in a soft voice, Oh, make him happy, please! Heavens, that I cant
see him in my last hour! Leave this life without his little arms hugging my neck one last time
Without hearing him say 'Mother'
Olivr approached her, took her hands and asked in a tame voice, Izidora, are you in pain? Are you
feeling better? Izidora looked at Abafi with some gorgeous gentleness in her eyes, You are so
good.. I feel so happy that you care about me so much, Olivr! I have no pain, but it pains me leaving
behind three people Oh, this hurts! My fathers late
Just calm down my Izidora, he is coming. But dont you want to surprise him with something which
might ease his pain a little?
Surprise him? But how? His pain is going to be terrible!
Izidora! said Abafi, looking at her enthusiastically, Can you bear joy now?
Joy? Heavens! Is it my son? she said and her face lightened up with joy.
No! Abafi said, your son is my son. He is now happy at home, and his little heart might be broken
if he saw his mother like this. He is not here, but maybe its better this way.
This is true, she said after a pause, My desire was cruel.
Have you ever had a secret wish, Izidora? Look in your heart and ask!
No, she said, nothing that could come true so soon.
Olivr pushed Izidoras hands to his heart, but his words were gone, as if he was not brave enough to
talk. My Izidora, be my woman!" he finally continued, Give a father to your son, and let him wear
my name! Be my wife, Izidora! and he bent down to her and kissed her lips.
Oh, Izidora said and her eyes looked at the sky. She did not speak. She looked at Olivr without
words, like a blind man who sees the beautiful world for the first time.
You say nothing, Olivr said, caressing her forehead.
Yes, yes! shouted Izidora, My heart did not cheat when I loved the man who now is standing as a
heavenly angel in front of me! You are Transylvanias best man, Abafi! Thousands of hearts are
waiting for you, a thousand women would die for you, and you would do this for me, for a miserable
girl who is so far from your kindness!
Quietly, my dear! Olivr tried to calm her.
No! answered Izidora passionately. I want the whole world to hear that Olivr Abafi is the most
noble of all men! Oh, Olivr, yes, you are right, I had a secret wish deep in my heart, so secret that

even I found it in this moment!

The doctor came to them. Dont talk too much, my lady! Be careful!
Olivr, is this possible, is this true? said Izidora, This is just a dream Olivr is mine, my
husband! Am I not cast out from the world anymore? Your, oh, yours! she said laughing from behind
her tears. Mrs. Abafi! To appear on the sides of such a husband and look proudly at the first
Princess, because my husband is one who I look at as one looks at their God!
I made you no good with this, Izidora! said Abafi fearfully, Please, calm down!
No, no, she said passionately, I will not die, I will live! See, all the pain is gone! I will hug my
son and I will be the most proud, most happy woman in the world, oh, Olivr!
She said in a really low voice, and hugged Olivrs neck with her powerless arms and pushed her
tear stained face to his. This is how she kept him hugged, until her face went deadly pale, her eyes
closed, and her arms stiffened. And Izidora ceased to exist.
Ah, I killed her! he shouted in horror, Shes dead! Oh, what have I done!
You should not blame yourself, said Gyrfs, She had to die. She had no chance to live and you
gave her the happiest moments of her whole life!
Abafi stood silently by the dead girl and a whole world of pain burdened his shoulders and his soul.
Moments after her death, a priest arrived in haste with the servant who Abafi sent before. Too late,
Father he said, looking at the dead beauty. A wildly galloping horse could be heard from outside,
and the drum of heavy boots. This is the lion of the caves, said Abafi, Mark Deli!

33. The Little Zsiga

--- your child

--- all your joy
Have now died.
- Vrsmarty

Izidora was buried the next day with the largest pomp they could make. Twelve paladins carried the
nice dead and let her rest forever in peace at the closest cemetery.
Mark Delis pain could not be expressed. He did not cry or shout. He was silent, cold, and empty,
like a winter grave. Smiles left his lips for good, and he just stood, like an abandoned tower.
The Prince gave Brigade to Mark, but on the day after Izidoras burial when they went to see him, he
was dead. He broke his own head with the stave he was chained to. The sentinels said they only
heard a thud at night.
What Abafi did deeply touched Marks heart. Two days after the burial he went to Abafis tent and
Abafi let him in silently, with a deep despair on his face. It seemed that a sour expression was carved
to his mouth forever. His eyes radiated pain. Compassion, gratitude and friendship united in Abafis
heart, and his loss was great. Now that this most interesting being ceased to exist, Abafi felt an empty
space in his heart.
Mark Deli stood silently in front of Abafi. You, he said after a while, are a graceful, noble man,
Abafi stayed silent, he hugged the iron man, for what you did for my daughter, said Mark, I owe
you a great lot. You made her final moments the happiest of all, and for that, I am yours. He stopped
here, and reached his large hands towards Abafi. My life is a desert now; it has become winter,
empty. I lost everything I had; my daughter, myself Oh, Izidora! he said in a deep, sad voice which
almost seemed to come from underground.
What I wanted to do, Abafi replied, I cannot do any more. I wanted to make her my wife in front of
the whole world, to give a father to her son. The first was prevented by her death, but the last I will
do, I swear on my own life! he said, extending his hand to Mark.
And if she had lived? If her young body had defeated the wound, then Abafi?
I never tried to look better than I am, Mark. I wanted to make her happy in her last moments, to
assure her about the well-being of her son, to give her a name in front of the whole world Though

close to her grave, this is what I wanted to do. And if she lived, an Abafi would not break his oath.
She would have been my wife and would have provided her with the all respect and happiness and
joy that my wife could ever hope for.
Marks face seemed happy for a moment. He stood silent for a moment, and then started pacing in the
tent. A secret burdens my heart, he said finally, which I do not need to hold back any more.
A secret? asked Abafi.
Zsiga, said Mark darkly, Is not Izidoras son. Abafi trembled, he felt as if his own son was in
question. Not her son?
No, said Mark silently.
Whose then? And Izidora knew that?
No, she did not know and I could not tell her, you have to understand, she loved him so much, I was
unable to tell her
This is news to me Please, for Gods sake, explain!
Sit down here, said Mark, and listen to me, before you make your judgment. Izidora was the fruit
of a forbidden relationship. Her mother is from a noble family, so her name stays a secret in my heart
forever. I can see her so rarely! But this is not what I should talk about now. Izida grew up among
men, and already, as a child, she showed the signs of that stubbornness and determination which later
made her one of the most interesting beings in this world. But there's no need to explain this part to
you, right? Abafi sighed. Mark went on, Despite all difficulties, she was a very lovely child. Her
weaknesses and faults were caused by her upbringing. And maybeyes, I was too permissive of a
father! What Im saying are great words, paladin, I've never spoken them before. She was the
commander and I feared her! Her first mistakes I tried to prevent and lessen. I liked everyone who
loved my daughter. I knew about her relationship with Brigade, Marks face blushed in anger, Oh,
Brigade, coward, assassin! He is gone forever. If he lived, my revenge would be horrible! He came
to my army as an orphan; a wild, stubborn kid, but strong in battle. But I forgave him for everything,
because he seemed to make my little girl happy; he loved her! Mark stopped talking for a second.
Revenge, anger and despair burnt in his eyes. Oh, Izida was beautiful and passionate, just like her
mother! She sinned, and the fruit of her sin was a beautiful little boy. I played with him for hours, a
happy grandfather!
And who was the father of the child? asked Abafi.
She never told me. But I think it was Blint Gyulafi, Margit Mikolas husband, because at that time
we worked around his cattle, and the young husband happily searched for my Izidas company. More
happily than with the first woman of Transylvania, Margit Mikola. But the little boy was born and
Izida was very weak for a long time. I feared for her life. While she was still weak and feverish, one
night, I heard a scream from her room. I hurried in and I saw that Zsiga was lying on the floor with a

huge wound on his head. It was not too big, and the woman, with whom Izida lived in one room, and
who had great respect as healer, healed the wound first. Izidas pain was so great after this event that
her love for the boy doubled while he got healthy again. Around this time I noticed a black, cross-like
spot on the kids right shoulder, which we had never seen before. Izida recovered, the kid was
growing, and when he reached his fifth year, Izida gave him to an old lady to take care for him in
Alvinc. Our lifestyle was not suitable for the child at that time. My daughter loved the boy so much!
She visited him as often as she could, like you know. But Zsiga was not her son.
It is more and more mysterious. How could he not be her son? said Abafi.
You will understand soon. About three years ago a monk entered my tent. He told me that I needed to
follow him because of an extremely important issue. He would not answer my questions, but I
followed him. While we were approaching the neighboring village he told me the following: A few
days ago I was called to a pregnant woman. When I arrived at the small house, I found the woman in a
very dangerous state. I sat next to her and I tried to comfort her with my religious speech and
comforts. She raised her eyes begging and she said she committed a huge sin. She asked if it could be
forgiven if she really repents it in front of God, with her whole heart. I said yes and asked her to tell
me everything. I told her I might help in solving the problem. She asked me to immediately come for
you and take you to her. While we were talking, said Mark, we arrived at a small house and found
the patient on a rough bed. It seemed she was not crazy. The monk left on her request and I sat down
next to her bed. She told me that she was the nurse of Margit Mikolas little son, around the time when
my Izida was so ill after bearing her child. The little Gyulafi was named Blint after his father and he
was older by only a few days compared to my little grandchild. Gyulafi was not at home. He went to
Poland four weeks before his son was born. Margit loved her child passionately, and she wanted to
feed him from her own breasts, but she could not do so. The nurse could leave the childs room only
very rarely, but she went for fruits one afternoon, and when she tried to pick an apple from the tree,
she lost her balance and fell, with the child in her arms. The little Blint was immediately covered in
blood. The nurse ran to the healer woman with whom my Izida lived, and, using the unconscious state
of my daughter, they exchanged the babies. And you know the rest. finished Mark.
Ah! So Zsiga is really Margits son?! No, this is impossible! How could it stay a secret for so long?
And why did the healing woman stay silent?
The nurse was her own daughter was all what Mark said.
And later, asked Abafi, when the boy, who they then believed was Gyulafi, died? If they had told
them the secret, they could have profited from it greatly!
Then it was my order and my purse which kept them silent. The child died three months after I was
told about the secret.
And what made you do so? asked Abafi, standing up from Marks side.
You really have to ask this? You, who knew Izida well? Telling her that her son is dead No. She
lived for her son. She had only this one real passion! It would have been like killing her. How could a

father do that to his daughter? I would have given my whole life for one hour of her happiness!
Abafi looked at him seriously. That was still not right. I can understand you, but I cannot agree with
you.
So you would have killed Izida instead? Because that would have been the sure consequence if she
realized her son was dead. She only lived for that boy, and if she had to lose him, she would have
sunk in the ocean of sadness and in her own tears. Her heart would have broken and she would have
died.
I dont know what I would have done, Mark. I am human too, and in your situation I might have
decided the same way, but it was still not right.
Mark stood silently in front of Abafi. He looked so sour, so unhappy and so cold; as if dead from the
inside. Abafi also felt broken. Oh, our loss is so great! Horrible he said, grabbing Marks
hands. He sat down again. Mark, he said, This story seems true, but if we could prove it, Margit
would be the happiest woman in the world!
The nurse has finally recovered from her illness and she is still alive, as far as I know. Also, the
cross-like mole should also be proof.
And one more thing! Abafi shouted, The kid takes after Margit a bit, I realized that long agoAnd
the heart of the mother will feel what she needs to feel, that will be the greatest proof!
At first the kid totally looked like his father, Gyulafi, added Mark, but later I also noticed some
change in his figure and face.
Mark Deli sat with Abafi for a long time. They planned together how to proceed and they decided
that for now the thing should remain a secret. Later, the Prince ordered them in his tent.

34. Hopeless Wish

Heavens! I never thought that!

- Harro Haring

The Prince told the people who gathered in his tent that he was taking his armies home. The Turks
crossed the Danube, and he thought he had done enough. Many thought he should stay, even Abafi,
who would have given anything to see his Cristierna as soon as possible, but he was convinced that it
would be better to stay and defeat the Turks completely.
But the indecisive Bthori was bored by camping and he wanted to go home. He desired to go back to
Transylvania, not for staying there forever, but to be able to start working on one of his plans with the
Italian lords in his court. They told him a lot about Italy, and it seemed so interesting, and being a
Cardinal had been Bthoris secret wish for a long time.
The troops left and soon they arrived at Transylvanias borders. Thousands of feelings came to
Abafis heart. His heart still ached from the death of Izidora. He was excited about the beautiful
surprise he was about to give Margit, and it was a good medicine for his aching heart, but the
emptiness of it could not be healed. What he wanted to do for Izidora was a subject in many salons in
Transylvania. Many judged him for it, many looked up to him. Those who knew his heart also knew
that he could not have done anything else. Margit and Cristierna were amazed by it. Gizella stayed
silent, but her first thought was Happy Izidora! The closer the men got to Fehrvr, where
Cristierna had her court, the more Abafis heart swelled with love. He could not help but think about
whether this moral woman, now suspecting his feelings, would retreat from him or not. And if she
would, he would still love him forever, from far away, without ever being able to set an eye on her
again! There would be no sacrifice he would not have taken happily for her.
The Bthori finally arrived in the glory of victory. His people lived and respected him even more;
even those who despised of him previously. And the beautiful Cristierna came out to him with such a
grace and such a lovely face, but he only said hello to her coolly, with a strange constraint. Though
this hurt her gentle heart a lot, she could hide her feelings so that anyone who saw her angelic smile
would have thought she was happy.
The usual welcomes were made and Abafi left for his lands and houses. His first doing was to give
back the lands which he received from the Prince to Cseszeliczki, its previous owner. He was the one
we met as Hawk in Marks army. Bthori was not too happy about this, but he promised Abafi could
do with the land whatever he wanted to, so he did nothing. The little Blint, who was not Zsiga any
more, was at home, healthy and fine. The priest who taught the child kept praising him for long hours.

Abafi and Mark, who came with him, acquired all proof of the origins of the little boy and it was
proved that the boy was really the son of Margit. Abafi bid farewell to Mark, who returned to the
borders hating everything, but mainly himself and the world. Abafi traveled to Fehrvr and took
Blint with him. On the way, he told the child about everything. The kid really loved Izidora, whom
he believed to be his mother, so he could not feel any joy for getting a new mother instead of the lost
one. He stayed sad and joyless and asked Abafi from time to time, Who will love me so much as my
mother did? Because she was my mother, more than anyone could ever be.
Margit was also in Fehrvr when they arrived. She went there to visit Gizella with her old, but
always happy, father, Mikls Mikola. Abafi did not want to tell them the good news immediately,
remembering the effect of them on him.
First, Abafi hid the child and, during his first visit to Margit, he only called Margits attention to the
fact that her son had a cross-like mole on his shoulder when he was born, and that it later
disappeared. So he mentioned the possibility that the child was exchanged with another. Margit was
shocked by the assumption and said that her son died in her arms and that moles often disappear or
change on childrens skin.
The next day, Abafi mentioned the issue again, adding that he suspects a change was made for real.
Abafi! shouted Margit, Raising such hope in another heart without any possibilities that it would
come true is cruel! Dont talk about this anymore! Such a heavenly joy is not for this world!
But what if it could come true! And by me!
Margit jumped from her seat, Oh, Olivr! No, no, she murmured, This is impossible!
Olivr, slowly adding the details, soon told Margit the whole secret.
Who could describe her joy? A new world, and a new life opened for her. She again became a
mother! And when she hugged her lost son tightly and kissed his mole a hundred times, all the
sufferings of the past mixed with the heavenly joys of the present, and she raised her eyes to the skies
and felt in heaven! I have no more wishes in this life! Oh, Lord! she cried in her joy. But then she
touched Abafis arm and said, I have one more wish, I do! I want you to be the happiest man of all,
Abafi, you who have given back my life!
Mikola was also unbelievably happy for his grandson and soon the whole of Transylvania knew about
the strange history.
Blint easily got used to his new state between the loving arms of his mother and grandfather. He was
a child, and soon he said, Mother to Margit with the same love in his heart and in his voice, as he
once used to tell Izidora. While Margit was happier than ever in her life, Abafi could see his love,
Cristierna, several times with Gizella, feeling more than before. With Cristierna present, Abafi could
not think of anything else but her!
A few days after the secret of Blint was revealed, the Princess called for Abafi. Her behavior

towards him stayed the same. Last time he was in Fehrvr, the Princess did not call him as many
times as she used to, so Abafis joy now was doubled. He hurried towards her on the wings of love.
He found Cristierna in her reading room. She was sitting on her sofa. Her face looked serious, but
graceful. Welcome here, my knight! she said, Come closer, closer! She was so charming, and her
eyes were so tame that Abafi stood in front of her staring like a statue. I have a request for you, the
Princess started slowly. Abafi remained silent, but on his face happiness was easily visible. He was
thinking that she had never been so nice and graceful to him before. My request is important, she
went on after a short pause, looking at Abafi smiling. Olivr said nothing, his soul was flying in joy
that the beloved woman trusted him with something important for her.
You have to keep it a secret to be able to fulfill my request, Cristierna smiled, Will you promise
you will not say a word to anyone, before you hear me out?
Abafi replied with a passionate, Yes!
However hard it should be and though it might affect your whole life? asked Cristierna, attentively
keeping her eyes on Abafis face.
The more important and the more difficult it is, the more joy I will find in providing it for you!
Abafi said, trying to hold in his passionate feelings.
But, she went on, seeming a bit worried, if my request is much unexpected, if it burdens you to
fulfill it, if it changes all you have planned for your life, if
If it is impossible, replied Abafi, passionately and full of fire, I will make it possible, my Lady!
When you pronounce your command, it is equal to my fulfilling it!
Its not a command! she replied quietly, This is just a wish from my heart, which I believe is
possible to be true, and it would make me so happy! And I believe that it would make you happy as
well.
And what is it, my Lady? Just say it, so that I can help; so that I can make you happy. There is no
bigger desire of my burning heart! No matter if it is unexpected, no matter if it ruins all my plans for
my future, all I want is to fulfill any of your requests; to make and see you happy!
The lady blushed a little. She was touched by Abafis reaction. She said in a low voice, Abafi, I
chose you a really lovely woman. Abafi went pale, dark thoughts gloomed his forehead, and on his
face, something almost reproachful appeared. Hearing this from the only one he loved was a sour
thing, even if he knew that she did not love him back, and she did not even suspect his feelings. Still,
it hurt. So Abafi was in pain, caused by the most heartfelt wish of Cristierna to him. He felt ashamed
that he let himself think impossible things, driven by his own passions. He knew how wrong his
feelings were, but he could not get over his surprise as soon as any other time. He knew that his love
was clean, selfless and suffering.

Cristierna was silent. She was looking at Abafis reaction. You say nothing! she said finally.
My Lady! was all he could say.
So is it that difficult for Abafi to fulfill a wish of my heart? she asked blushing, as if she said more
than she wanted to.
Abafi breathed slowly, his eyes looking into the distance and an inner fight was chewing on his soul.
Cristiernas last words let him know that she saw through him, that his secret was not a secret any
more, she knew. She knew how much he loved her. Oh, womens tact! His face was on fire he felt,
and he fell on one knee in front of the Princess, which she did not really want to see, as was visible
on her face. So Abafi stood up and said with the sudden determination with which he always made
the biggest decisions in life, Your request surprised me more than I could or dare to say, but since it
is a request from my beloved and deeply respected Princess, I can only say one answer.
Can? said Cristierna, looking questioningly at Abafi and her eyes told how much she was unhappy
with the condition.
I want to! said Abafi in a determined voice. A short pause came, during which both of them sank
into their own thoughts.
Abafi, she said smiling, but not from her heart, and dont you want to know who that woman is?
Whoever she is, Your Highness chose her, so I am calm. he said, but his face said differently.
The Princess continued in a charming voice, I hope, dear Abafi, that my choice will be of your
liking. The lady I chose as wife for such a great paladin and hero is my adopted daughter, and in this
sense, she deserves the best of husbands. She, the Princess continued after a short pause, is my dear
Gizella! Abafi said nothing. On his face not even the smallest change or surprise appeared. The
Princess could have said anyones name; he would not have cared at the moment. He could only think
about how he wanted to fulfill the request of his beloved. He could not think of anything else. How
is it that you have no words? she asked. Is my choice wrong?
Gizella is a lovely child and she, he continued in a suffering voice, is your adopted daughter!
Cristierna could not look at Abafi any longer. She turned away her eyes because there was so much
determination, so much significance in his words, that she suddenly was touched. Abafi, she said,
trembling a little, all I want is your and her happiness! She loves you, this I know for sure Yes,
she loves you with all the fire of her young heart and you, a nice anticipation, are telling me, you will
be happy as well! Abafi sighed, his soul could not believe in this happiness.
I hope, Mrs. Bthori went on, standing up from the sofa, that you will fulfill my request suiting the
most loyal and most perfect paladin of our noble and great house. She offered her hand for a kiss,
and Abafi took it tenderly to his lips. Tomorrow I will see you again, as the groom to Gizella, to my
Gizella! she emphasized. Abafi bowed and left the room.

35. Gizella

Happy they are!

- Shakespeare

The next morning, Abafi was in the house of Mikola, talking to the old man. Mikolas face was
burning with joy. Abafi seemed silent, glad and graceful, as was expected from he, who always could
treat his passions.
Gizi! said Mikola joyfully opening the door to the neighboring room, Gizi, my dear child, come
here for a word!
Gizella came.
Mikls Mikola hugged her tightly. My sweet, dear angel, he said, I hope what I am going to say to
you will make you at least as happy as it made me when I heard it!
Gizella looked surprised, but stayed silent, waiting for Mikola to continue.
Gizi! he went on, kissing her forehead and smiling, I have good news for you, news which all girls
want to hear! Guess, Gizi!
Some interesting anticipation appeared in Gizellas soul and her face went red. Uncle, she said on
her so lovely voice, you always make sweet fun of things, but I cannot guess, she said, and kept her
eyes on the floor, while a silent smile brushed her face.
A suitors in the house! shouted out the old man with joy.
Oh, sighed Gizella, blushing and then turning pale again.
You have nothing to say? he asked.
I am not going to marry. she said silently and seriously.
Never? asked Mikola, like someone who did not doubt the success of his plans.
My sweet little Gizella, said Abafi, I have a very important question to you, which I would like to
pose very seriously. I want you to hear it from me, nobody else, he said in a kind voice, and I

would like you to answer it after thinking it over. If you hope that you could be happy with me, if your
heart is free, I offer mine to you together with my hand and with the promise that it will be the
sweetest duty of my life, to make happy such a lovable woman.
Gizella could hardly stay on her feet. And, Abafi, she said, surprised and hardly audible, Olivr!
What made you suddenly decide like this?
I can see on your face that you love Olivr! said Mikola loudly, Do not send him away, you should
not! Come, he went on gladly, and led Gizella to Abafi, giving her in his arms. You were made for
each other! he said resting his eyes on the nice couple. Come, Margit! he said to Mrs. Gyulafi,
who had just entered the room, Dear daughter, come and participate in our joy! Gizella has got a
husbandOlivr!
The old Mikola was exceptionally happy and Margit hugged Gizella with tears in her eyes, the noble
soul!
There is only one question left. Was their marriage happy?
Abafi loved Cristierna, which we have seen. In this love, there was something knightly; something
sublime. He gave his soul fully to his lady. He sacrificed himself and his whole life for her one
request. Abafi believed that Cristierna knew about his feelings for her, and he felt good when he
thought about how Cristierna would look at him with appreciation that he could fulfill a wish of her
heart. Cristierna did know about his feelings, it is true. She also knew that Abafi would be happy with
Gizella. This was why she led her into his arms. She hoped that if he was with Gizella, he would
forget about his romantic feelings for her and would slowly realize what a pearl Gizella was. She
believed that no man staying with Gizella could not do else, but love her deeply.
We have seen Abafi under many circumstances, so we know how he always keeps his promises, and
how he became a good, noble man in his spirit from an evil, cruel being. We have seen him sacrifice
anything for those who he loved. Knowing all this, we can see that even if he was not happy at first,
he was calm for sure. Giving a happy life to Cristiernas adopted daughter was a beautiful new aim
for his life, bearing in mind that Gizellas happiness would bring happiness into Cristiernas heart as
well. He did his duty with full enthusiasm, not at all half-heartedly. He was determined to live up to
this new task.
And Gizella made it easy for him many ways. He was a perfect girl, and it was impossible to get into
such a close relationship with her without feeling deep liking towards her at least. Knowing Abafi,
we can imagine that firstly he felt respect and sympathy for Gizella and nothing more. Since the
beautiful, romantic games of fresh love did not happen between them before, these new plays came
for Gizella in her marriage. And how happy she was!
Gizella was the most excellent woman in Transylvania. One had to meet her several times to see that
and respect her as much as she deserved, though. Her soul could be seen in her actions, not in her
words. Clean and modest are two words suit her the best. She loved Abafi more than anyone could
have loved him and she would do anything to be the right one for him. She tried to follow his passions

and habits, and tried to find out his thoughts, just in order to be able to do everything the was Abafi
liked it.
She was shy, which the manly, brave Abafi must not have liked very much, though he never made
Gizella feel it.
Gizella was so afraid of many things. For example, she would have never sat on a horse before. But
one day, when Abafi was returning home from a hunt, he was surprised by the galloping Gizella, who
rode out to meet her on his way home. These things and others Gizella had done continuously brought
them closer and closer to each other.
One day, Abafi had to go on a journey to Poland on the Princes request. Being apart from his good,
nice Gizella made him realize how much he loved her. He felt with the first, unique joy of his heart
that he was in love with his wife.
Abafi was happy. Margit lived for her son. She saw how Gizella and Abafi got closer to each other
day by day, but she never knew a new desire again. She loved Abafi until her death. Such a perfect
being like Margit can love only once in her life. But her morals won over her passions and her love
soon formed into that of a sister. She brought up Gizella, and everything the girl knew was what she
had learned from Margit. Margit knew about the romantic devotion of Abafi toward Cristierna, but
still she encouraged the plan to bring him together with Gizella. And she did it with much selflessness
and modesty which can be seen from how Abafi attributed the whole plan to solely Cristierna, while
it could not have happened without Margit.
The Mikola house was happier than ever when the young couple went there on visit.
Margit gave a nice house to the old Mrs. Timr and she did not forget to thank Blints old nurse,
either.
Cristiernas and the Princes fate is known from Transylvanian history. The Prince gave his office to
Andrs Bthori in 1599, but later he regretted his decision. After all, he wandered around Europe
among many vicissitudes. He divorced his beloved wife who returned to her parents.
Mark Deli appeared once more in Transylvanian history, under the reign of Andrs Bthori. His
army was the wildest maybe in whole Europe. Without his Izidora, there was nobody who could have
made him less cruel.
Abafis marriage became a happy proverb. The memory of Cristierna was lovely to him and to
Gizella throughout their whole lives. He told Gizella many times, Providence took good care of
everything. What attracted me to Izidora was grace and pity. For Margit, I felt the deepest respect
mixed with brotherly love. Cristierna filled my heart with romantic glorification, and until my heart
beats, she will live inside of it. She is the one to whom I shall be grateful for my wife! But what I feel
for you, my good, sweet angel is love. Yes, yes, pure love! he said with a passionately burning face.
The most beautiful woman in Transylvania is my true love!

36. A Few Words On The Moral Effect

Every good novel has to take a main point and prove it.
If this happens the right way, then the moral effect occurs, which can be direct or indirect.
If the given moral is showed attractive and the reader likes it, it makes the reader want to follow that
moral and want to live up to it. Then, the moral effect is direct.
If we show an evil figure, and give an appropriate and detailed description of him, we can provoke
disgust against the evil. The moral becomes desirable, because the writer could make the evil
disgusting and hated. This is indirect.
Both of these moral effects can be conceived by the intelligent, literate reader. They can understand
both, but those who read less or are less intelligent and pay attention only to the story line of the
novel; those for sure feel the effect of the indirect less. For them, if the writers aims are noble, the
writer should use more direct moral descriptions.
Here in Hungary, where there are only a few readers for Hungarian writers and those also are at very
different levels of intelligence, the writer can never be sure whether his work would be appreciated.
A part of the readers are only familiar with the foreign novels, so their expectations are high. The
other half has read only a little and not many of the great works, with them it is hard for the writer to
make himself understood. And then there are a few who want to explain everything, put everything in
a system, and they dont understand that a writer ceases to be a writer in the same moment when his
flight is put between barriers. With these, most of his work with his novel is lost.
The writer can take the figures of the moral effect either from the real world, or an imaginary world
and let it be better or worse than the real one. There are some who create a world which has never
been and never will be. Their plan is based on disappointment in their world and they try to make
moral effect from the imaginary happenings of an imaginary utopia. Readers who like to think feel
worse by reading nothing else, but that what they are reading could not happen anywhere else, only in
the world of the novel.
Other writers grab the world in its real form and write about it like that. Their life is not a novel-life;
their people are not novel heroes, but real figures of the existing world and events.
In the real world, evil people sometimes win, or are respected, or gain unfair success before they are
defeated and forgotten by good, moral people.
In real life there is no poetic justice, but there are some eternal truths which stay truths regardless
how many times win the evil or the moral. This moral teaching is more often indirect, and requires
more than an imaginary world and its made up morals.

In imaginary worlds, poetic justice is always or almost always present. Morality wins and the evil is
punished and whenever a moral person is hurt or dies of some evil act, the evil is immediately
punished by some moral driving force.
This might work at the first glance, but it is dangerous. It links morality to success and evil to
punishment, though the first will not be loved for itself and the second will not be hated for itself.
Any morality which comes from the real world might be safer, because it tells about reality and will
not bring about disappointment.
Even those examples when the evil can win over the moral have deep moral teachings in them. Is
there a nicer scene, for example, than following morality in its fight against evil? And when it fails,
when it is followed by cruelty, losses and despair instead of good luck, success and happiness, the
sour feeling which surprises the reader is already a success of the writer and the moral. When an evil
figure wins, we hate him a thousand times more, thus the effect is doubled. When an evil figure fails,
we feel a little pity, weakening the moral effect, or instead, it gives us the beauty of revenge. Both
affect our weakest part: our hearts.
All in all, a scene taken from reality or from a world which is highly similar to reality is safer, but the
writer has to prepare to be able to write it the right way and teach the moral lessons to the reader or
non-reader as well.

37.

Jsikas Notes To The Abafi

**Note from the editor**

This section does not have much significance in the english translation. The numbers before each
point are referencing places in the text that have been altered too much, for the sake of making sense,
so the numbers are not included in the main text. They are presented here for additional information
only.
*********************
1. Please do not confuse Abafi with Apafi.
2. This is how Transylvanian Princes were called at that time.
3. One of the most difficult tasks for a writer is to grab the essence of craziness or whim well.
Without psychology, both of them become childish and bore every educated reader.
Some writers give a hundred kinds of words to these crazy figures. Sometimes they seem really
clever and the reader could even believe them, unless the writer warns not to do so.
What common sense does during performing the tasks of soul and body is confused by whim. The
reader might not understand the confusion of many words and oppositional actions. This killing of
order is whim.
And there is a certain process in whim and in craziness; a kind of coherence of images, like that of a
river in the mountains, coming down through and on top of every kind of rock. Sometimes it
disappears, sometimes it forms a pond and then a waterfall. It changes, but it does not end. And the
jumps, which a reader that is not paying much attention to might think of as holes in logic, are
themselves from logic. Every whim or craziness has its main feverish idea (idea fixa) to which it
always returns, no matter how far it goes from this center from time to time.
A woman thinking about clear, for example, when she has a clear heart, makes her think of crystal,
glass, water, and everything that has something to do with clear.
In craziness and in whim there are shorter or longer periods of a clear mind, but sometimes these are
just moments which, after they are gone, cause even bigger jumps from reality. Dark remembering,
association of ideas and the main idea, the idea fixa plays the starring role. When somebody is sick in
their heart, their illness would go on to their souls and vice versa. Also, when the mind wants, hopes,
fears, or is ashamed of something, it makes it come true. Although we cannot imagine anything else
but what we experience in our life. Maybe these effects are put into a new form by combining
different bits. How does it work in this present novel?
Gizella with her weak nerves witnesses how Abafi is attacked by three people on the street and it
makes her fall into a feverish illness. In her whim, which she desires a lot, though innocently as a

child, she is Olivrs wife. At her first speech, she is in a fairy tale, and she is happy with Olivr.
Then the confusion came in her mind between nice and happy. She followed the line towards nice,
and with nice she associates flowers. The nicest of flowers, roses, specifically. She speaks again; her
main ides, Olivr appears again, and she sits him next her. She is his wife, so she is with him, next to
him in her imagination, which makes her associate to sitting next each other. A moment of light finds
her and she realizes that being Olivrs wife was/is her biggest desire. So she is happy now, and
gratitude comes with happiness. How can I thank you? she asks. Again a moment of life and she
realizes that what she now sees as real, was only a dream once. This is a dream, she says, but
reaches forward with her arms. She says no, as if holding Olivrs hands. His hands make her think of
what he did with those hands and remember the fight she has witnessed. And she again jumps back to
idea fixa: with which you hug your Gizella so tight. And again, back to the fight, which is an
important feature of the whole situation, because it was what put her in this condition. Three against
one! Then the number 3 makes her think of the two of them, which then she makes one He and I, that
is one.
She goes along with this, and Olivr wants a kiss from her in her imagination. The innocent child has
her doubts. We cannot, soon she realizes that though she cannot get a kiss from her own experience,
she knows that married couples do kiss. Then back again to the fight, where Olivr was hurt, and
wounds need healing. So she heals him. Healing makes her think of medicine, and she links that to the
easy recipe she got from Margit once. She imagines Olivr with a wound, which is linked to
suffering, and suffering with silence. You say nothing, Her whim exemplifies the tragedy, and goes
as far, as Olivr is so hurt and ill, that he does not even recognize her. When she wakes up for a
minute, she asks for water, which is clean, just like her love crystal clear, like my love.
Do you recognize me? Margit asks and Gizella remembers only the greatness of the figure she sees,
which she associates with a queen. A queen in crystal clothes, because the queen is clear, since what
is great must be clear.
She recognizes Margit in the end by a moment of light, but then she is back to her whim and finds
some memories of Margit and Olivr. She remembers that Margit loves Olivr, but she remembers
that Olivr is now hers. In her imagination Margit gave her Oliver. She thanks Margit this.
4. Bthori sent Szalnczi to many important journeys as ambassador.
5. Famous merchant who helped Zsigmond Bthori with money on more than one occasion
6. Funny name for the Polish for their short hair.
7. My sources do not say anything about the other two attacks, but most probably they were assassins.
8. in 1576 Istvn Bthori Transylvanian Prince was accepted as Polish king. He was followed by
Kristf, who died early, when his son, Zsigmond was only nine years old. Counselors reigned in his
name. In 1594 Zsigmond ran to Kvr, because he thought that Boldizsr and Andrs Bthori wanted
to kill him. Soon he returned, this is when we see him first in this novel.

Copyright 2013 by Joey Payne

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