But suddenly the younger of the two Princes fighting beside their father, fell to the ground with a short cry.
"My son!" exclaimed Kuthen, turning to Akos, "Go! now's the time! keep your word! I—I'm dying!"
With that, Kuthen, who had been mortally wounded by a couple of pikes, rushed upon his foes, felled several of them by the mere strength of his arm, and then himself sank down. Akos rushed from the entrance-hall into the house.
"You are our King now!" roared the Kunok, pressing round the remaining Prince, and covering him with their shields, as he fought like a young lion.
All at once there were loud outcries and yells. The Kunok outside the house, finding themselves unable to defend the castle against the swarms which poured into the courtyard, had rushed in, closing the doors and barring the windows.
All in vain! The young Prince, just proclaimed King amid a shower of arrows, retreated from one room to another, some of his defenders falling around him at every moment. By the time the last door was burst open, less than a dozen of his guard remained, all wounded, all fighting a life-and-death battle with desperation.
A few moments more and every Kun in the place had ceased to breathe.
Where were the women? What had become of Akos and his bride?
Presently the mob outside received with howls of joy the heads of Kuthen and his family, flung to them from the windows, and at once hoisted them on pikes in token of victory. If the head of Akos was among them no one noticed it, for he had stained his face.
Maddened by their success, the rabble now made with one consent for "King Béla's palace," foremost and most active among them being the Austrian Duke's men-at-arms.