"Do what I bid you, sir!" was Banfi's reply; and giving his horse the spur, he dashed off, followed by about half-a-dozen of his suite.
"What ails him then, that he will neither wait for us, nor inform his wife and the Princess of what has happened?"
"He was aghast when I told him that Dame Vizaknai was defending Banfi-Hunyad," said Benkö apologetically. "She is an old flame of his whom he has long forgotten; but his youthful affection seemed to revive him when he heard of her heroic audacity."
George Veer, satisfied with this explanation, ordered his squadrons to take horse forthwith; and after previously informing Lady Banfi that he was off on a petty raid, departed for Klausenburg, leaving the command of the infantry to Captain Michael Angel, who did not break up till evening, the road along the Snow Mountains being much the shorter way.
Just as they were about to start, a tattered young Szekler, with pale cheeks but strong arms, stepped forth. His companions had pushed him into the front ranks.
"Come, sing us a battle-song!" they cried.
It was the rude, popular poet, Ambrose Gelenze.
Drawing from the pocket of his tunic his Bible, on the inside of the parchment covers of which he used to jot down his improvised war-songs, he placed himself in front of the host, and began to sing the following simple lay, the whole of the Transylvanian gentry repeating it word for word as they marched after him—
"Now dawns serene the morning sheen,
The wonted hour hath come;
Sounds bold and free the merry march,
Nor bush nor brake is dumb!
Then up! to horse! and scale the height,
Bold Magyar! Szekler steeled in fight!
And sturdy Saxon hind!
A laggard he who doth not hie
When straight before the road doth lie;
And where there is no road to go, then climb, nor look behind!"
This song, sung by thousands and thousands of warriors, gradually died away in the distance.