Beyond the carved columns along the front was a corridor connecting one wing of the castle with the other; the windows were all made with pointed arches and with antique decorations, and the inner court was reached through an arched passage under the building. In this courtyard instead of plows and wagons we now see rampart guns and long culverins. Instead of farm boys, we see outside the gates guards in yellow cloaks and red hose. To reach the Prince's office you must pass through long passage-ways and echoing apartments where pages announce your arrival from door to door, and when at last the reception-room is reached you stand not in the presence of the Prince but of Michael Teleki, his first counsellor. He is the same bald-headed man whom we met on that memorable day that saw the death of Nicholas Zrinyi.
In early days the good man had been only a captain fallen into disfavor with George Rakoczi. Since then his affairs had prospered and he was now chief captain of Kövar and all powerful in the name of the Prince. His mother was the sister of the Princess. Through the protection of his aunt he came into the protection of the Prince. Once there Teleki needed no further support; his comprehensive mind, his extended acquaintance, his statesmanlike training made him indispensable to the Prince, who preferred to bury himself in his books and antiquities and considered himself hindered by anything that took him from his family or his studies.
His reception-room to-day was crowded with men who wished to speak to his Excellency. They were the Hungarian fugitives whom the Prince seemed to hold in special horror. These restless, gloomy people, always in quest of war, did not suit the placid, meditative nature of the Prince. Now he shut them all out, and admitted only, of all his courtiers, a learned pastor, John Passai who had a professorship in Nagy-Emged, and was dear to the Prince on account of his learning. Apafi's office looked more like that of a student than a ruler. The walls were covered with bookcases, in the corners were maps, and on the narrow spaces remaining were clocks, which the Prince wound up himself. The chairs and sofas were covered with books needed at once, so that often when the Prince received the visit of a friend he did not know where to seat him. Sometimes even the floor was covered with maps, dusty documents and open books; if Teleki entered at such a moment he would have to pick his way with as much care as a man looking for a dry path through the mud.
At this moment Apafi and the pastor stood before a table on which lay some old coins. Apafi looked carefully at a gold piece, turned it in his fingers and held it to the light. Passai stood in front of the Prince like a post, hat in hand, with knitted brows. Apafi twirled the coin and studied it on both sides.
"Those are not Roman letters," he growled, "neither are they Greek nor Arabic; and they certainly are not Hunnic. I have never seen such characters. Where were they found?" he asked, turning to Passai.
"In Varhely, when the Wallachians were clearing away the old temple."
"Why did they clear it away?"
"It was an old ruin that they called a Roman temple."
"But it cannot have been a Roman temple, for it is not a Roman coin."
"I agree with you, but the Wallachians are in the habit of calling every ruin in Transylvania Roman."