The Gypsy Lad of Roumania/Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR.
When another month had passed, Peter no longer felt like a boy. He had looked upon danger and battle. He had seen war in its cruelest form. He had prayed fervently for peace, and yet he knew why these men would fight until the last one fell. For peace with the Turk as ruler would be worse than war. Things had been going badly for the Roumanian forces. The Turks were pouring an overwhelming number across the borders. When Stephen, at his wits’ end, divided his forces to guard several points, the different detachments were defeated.
One day he joined battle with such men as remained to him, against a body of Turks that outnumbered him two to one.
Peter had only a confused idea of what happened that day. He himself was not allowed to ride where there was fighting. He was employed on errands to different parts of the field, and when these were done, was bidden stay near the prince’s tent.
The Roumanians were discouraged with the repeated rumors of defeat that had come to them in the past week. The tide of battle turned against them, and at length they fled from the field. Peter waited in agony as the rout swept by him. He would not go without his master. At length the prince emerged at the rear, guiding with what care he could the defeated fragment of his army. Peter rode with him, unnoticed. They got into the wooded slopes of the mountains, by stopping to hold the Turks back with an arrow flight when they pressed too closely.
When this shelter was reached, it was every man for himself. The army seemed to melt away. At dusk the prince was riding toward his castle attended only by one of his staff. That was the boy Peter, who rode still unnoticed in the rear. Perhaps no one could guess at the bitterness of the prince’s thoughts as he rode over his doomed country.
At midnight they rested for a few hours, and ate from the bag of food that Peter carried.
“Art thou all of my court now?” said the prince bitterly. “It seems thy good fortune is departed.”
“Oh, say not so, Highness!” entreated Peter. “We will fight again and win.”
But the prince shook his head, and retired into his gloomy thoughts.
Before dawn they were on the way again, and soon rode up before the castle. The drawbridge was up, the gate was closed. Armed guards patrolled the walls, and early as it was there were women on the turret. When they looked over, Peter could see that they were the mother and wife of Stephen, with their maidens. Peter’s heart was pierced with a fresh grief. There was the lovely and gracious Princess Zaida, all of whose family had been slain by the Turks. Was such a fate hanging over her head, too? Peter thought frantically that he
He understood now that there was no welcome home for him.
could fight like a giant to save her. She had been very kind to the boy who had saved her little son. And there was the stately Elizabeth. Her heart would break when she knew that hope was lost.
The prince looked up once, and then in agony bowed his head as he waited before his own gate. But the drawbridge did not move, the gates did not swing back, the sentinels patrolled the walls unmoved. As he waited, a shudder shook him. He understood now that there was no welcome home for him.
“Mother!” he cried appealingly, “I am wounded and defeated. The enemy pursue me. Let me in!”
Elizabeth’s voice rang out like a trumpet.
“Stranger!” she cried, “Who art thou that lingers at this gate?”
“It is your son, Stephen,” he said in despairing tones.
“My son does not come defeated to enter here,” cried Elizabeth. “And if you meet him in battle, and he should have such a thought of shame in his heart, bid him turn back, and when he is slain, I will cover his grave with flowers and my tears.”
Stephen drew his head up resolutely. One could not face such an undaunted spirit unmoved. He turned his horse, and with Peter at his heels rode away.
Zaida’s despairing cry rang out over the turrets, “He is going alone and wounded, to his death!” she cried, “Oh, let him in!”
“To victory or an honorable death,” said Elizabeth apparently unmoved. “There are but these two things for the men of Roumania.”
Peter stood up in his stirrups, and turned back. “We go to victory,” he cried.
When he looked at the prince, he was smiling.
“How am I to beat these Turks with an army of two?” he asked.
“We’ll gather them. We’ll tell them that they dare not come home defeated,” cried Peter.
So in the forest the two paused, and the prince planned the campaign. Then he rode one way and Peter another. Some new spirit of faith made the men respond. Before night they had gathered a company that was growing hourly. They took up a position in a mountain pass, and when the Turks, flushed with victory, came upon them, the men fought with a strength that was invincible. The Turks rolled back. The Roumanians, heartened by victory, pursued, and pressed them to the very borders of the country.
From every hamlet of Roumania, the men poured forth. In a campaign of a month, the Turks were driven out, and retreated sullenly to gather strength for a fresh invasion.
When the last Turk was driven out, Stephen rode home. His staff was with him this time, but his faithful little attendant rode nearest.
“There was a time, sirs,” he said whimsically, “when this lad was all my army.”
And no one grudged Peter his place.
This time the drawbridge was down, and greens from the forest decked it. The gate was open, and Elizabeth and Zaida, in their richest robes, stood to welcome the conqueror.
Peter, his heart throbbing with happiness, sought a quiet corner to look on. He had met Sabas and his sons when the army was disbanding, and had sent messages and gifts to Maria. He had seen Fontanus and his sons riding home, and was to visit them in a day or two. For a last drop to his cup of joy, he found Beauty quite safe. Zaida’s little son, who was also a Stephen, brought the bird to him in a wicker cage.
“We fed it every day, mother and I,” he prattled. “Mother said, for the sake of the good boy that helped to save us all.”
Beauty was quite tame in his master’s care, so Peter took him out and let the little boy stroke his soft, white feathers.
“Here you are,” cried a servant importantly, bursting in upon them, “they’re searching the castle over for you, Master Peter. Come at once. They want you to sit down at the feast.”
The servant hurried him to the great hall. There, at the prince’s table, was a vacant chair, and they all looked kindly at him when he was guided to it.
“Thy place is close to me, my son,” said the prince. And for a moment, Peter could not see his neighbors for happy tears.
That is really all we need to know of Peter. In the prince’s household, he grew to be a brave and honored man as he had been a brave and faithful boy.
The wars with the Turks were not over. They came again and again. In all, Stephen fought fifty battles with them, and he won more than forty. So it seems likely he remembered the lesson his mother taught him that day at his own gate.
THE END.
