King Béla paid no heed to the wagging of these many tongues, and himself went all round the eastern frontiers of the kingdom, to see personally to the defences. His plans were well considered and well adapted to the object in view. They failed in one point only, but that a fatal one—they were never carried out!
On the King's return to Pest, he found the capital given up to festivity. Nearly every noble in the place must be giving entertainments. If there was a banquet at one house to-day, there was one at another to-morrow. There was no trace of any preparations for war or defence, though there was plenty of nervous alarm.
Shortly after his arrival, the King called a Council, and the heads of Church and State met in a spacious hall often used for Court balls and assemblies, now presenting a very different appearance, and with its walls draped in sober green cloth.
The King was seated in a canopied armchair raised above the rest, and he wore a white silk mantle, with a clasp something like the ancient Roman fibula, but set with precious stones. On his head was a crown, simple but brilliant, in his hand he held a golden war-club, and from the plain leather belt which confined his white dolmány at the waist, there hung a long, straight sword, with a hilt in the form of a large cross.
The Council consisted of about sixty members, some wearing their ecclesiastical vestments, and others the long Hungarian dolmány. Of all those present no one looked so entirely calm as the King, and those who knew him best could read firm resolve in his face.
Béla knew Hungary and the strength of its various races, and he was never afraid of dangers from without. What he did fear was the spirit of obstinacy and envy, and at last of blindness, which has so often shown itself, just when clear sight and absolute unity were especially needed to enable the country to confront the most serious difficulties.
He knew that he must prove the existence of danger by facts, if he wanted to silence the contentious tongues of those who did not wish to believe; and he had determined to lay convincing proofs before them on this particular day.
When all were assembled and in their places, the King made a sign to Paul Héderváry, who at once left the hall, the door of which was shortly after again thrown open for the entrance of two gloomy-looking men, with swords and daggers at their belts, whom Paul ushered up to the King's throne. Their robes, trimmed with costly furs, showed that they were persons of importance; and what with the richness of their attire, and their manly deportment, they did not fail to make an impression upon the assembly, though one of the younger members muttered to his neighbour, "Hem! Flat noses and glittering eyes! Who may these be?"
The two bowed low before the king, and then one of them, Románovics by name, said: "Your Majesty, we are both Russian dukes, and have been driven from the broad lands of our ancestors, by Batu Khan, one of Oktai's chiefs. We have now come to your footstool, to entreat your hospitality, and to offer you our services."
"More guests!" whispered the same young man who had spoken before. "Kunok, Russians, and next, of course, the Tartars, not a doubt of it!" The broad smile on his face showed that he was highly pleased with his own wit.