King Béla, pressed on all sides by those who were beseeching, imploring, urging, forgot himself for a moment. He put his hands over his eyes, then stretching them out, he said, "Lavabo manus meas! (I will wash my hands). You will answer to God for this wickedness. I have done what I could do!"
"The King has consented!" roared those nearest him.
The mob began to sway about, the horses neighed, the people all poured forth, roaring, "Eljen a király! Long live the King! Death to the false traitors! Forward! To Kuthen! to Kuthen!"
No sooner was he free than Duke Kálmán mounted the first horse he could seize, while the mob rushed off like a whirlwind in the direction of the house by the Danube.
When the King looked round none were left but some of the magnates.
"A horse!" he shouted furiously; and he galloped away after the mob, accompanied by the Austrian Duke and the rest.
If Béla had mounted his horse before he addressed the mob, if he had faced the insurgents as a king, and had at once punished the ringleaders, the country might have been spared great part of the disasters which were now on the very threshold. But once again the King was weak at a critical moment. There is much to be said in his excuse and defence; but weakness, however brilliantly defended, remains weakness still.
A few moments after the mob had burst into the King's tent, Akos was again at the drawbridge which led to Kuthen's dwelling.
"What do you want, sir?" asked the captain of the guard hotly, as he sprang forward to meet him. "No one is admitted."