The making of these unusually long and powerful bows, the chief weapon of the Kunok, and the sharpening and feathering of the arrows, was the King's favourite occupation, and one in which he displayed no little skill. The string also was of home manufacture, and, as the work went on, the young men moistened it from time to time with water.
Many a time Akos had joined them in their evening work, but to-night, as they sat round the blazing fire, his hands were idle.
"Akos, my son, we are alone now," began Kuthen composedly, "speak out, and keep back nothing. You need not be afraid, for this grey head of mine has weathered many a storm before now."
"Your Highness—father! if I may call you so"—said Akos, giving his hand to Mária, "there is a storm coming without doubt, for the wind is blowing from two quarters at once, and we are caught between the two."
"I don't understand," said Kuthen, twanging the bowstring, while one son took a second bow down from the wall, and the other got a fresh string ready.
"You will directly, sir; the Mongols are coming nearer and nearer, burning and destroying everything before them—that's the last news!"
"Haven't I told the King a hundred times how it would be?"
"You have, and he knows! But there are certain persons who seem to be expecting miracles; and meantime, to excuse themselves for sitting still, they have been whispering suspicions of other people. A few hours ago they went to the King and told him plainly what was in their minds."
"Suspicions! whom do they suspect?"
"You, your Highness! you and your people."