‘In you strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
And who will stand, on either hand,
And keep the (gate) with me? '
Lays of Ancient Rome.
A FEW days afterward Hubert and his companions, on their journey back to Pihel, were drawing near Prague. They halted for their noonday meal—the last before reaching the city—in a broad, open meadow, where the new-mown hay furnished them with luxurious seats. A stream flowed beside them, and behind there was a large, carefully-walled garden, where crocuses were cultivated for the production of saffron. The same resting-place was chosen by another band of pilgrims, returning from Tabor to their homes in the city. With them were many women and a few children, and a great deal of friendly talk ensued, with a general sharing of provisions. After the repast, they all sung a hymn together.
While they were thus engaged, Hubert and some others observed in the distance the flash of sunlight upon steel, and became gradually aware that an armed company was approaching them. Little alarm was felt at first; the sights and sounds of Tabor had accustomed them to hear the clash of arms, and to see the movement of ordered ranks. These, they thought, might be some of the people belonging to Husseneč, or some of Zisca's men. But as they drew near it became abundantly evident that they were anything but friends. Their dress and arms showed them to be Germans, doubtless some of the mercenaries sent for by King Wenzel expressly for the purpose of coercing his Hussite subjects. The sound of the singing convinced them that the crowd they saw before were a sample of these Bohemian heretics, and they thought it well to begin their campaign by attacking them. The old race-hatred between Czech and German mingled with religious fanaticism in the cries and shouts with which they advanced upon the unarmed multitude: ‘Heretics! Hussites! Bohemians! Die like the dogs you are! '
For an instant the crowd stood still, in sudden, speechless terror, too panic-stricken to run away. Then a few boys, who chanced to be near the brook, caught up a stone apiece, and hurled it at the assailants, by no means without effect. Some of the Germans, who carried great cumbrous weapons, like large cross-bows, halted, and seemed to be preparing them for use.
Hubert glanced at the garden gate, and saw that it was not over well secured. He rushed at it, and burst it open with a great exertion of strength, then shouted in Czech to the bewildered crowd: ‘In there! In, for your lives! '
He was not too soon. There was a strange, sharp sound, a succession of flashes, a cloud of smoke, and, struck by some mysterious agency, a man and a boy fell down, and lay bleeding on the ground.
‘’Tis the devil! 'Tis the Red Dragon from the bottomless pit!’ cried the terrified crowd. No more was needed to drive them, like a flock of frightened sheep, inside the gate.
Only the Pihel men remained outside. ‘I have heard of this thing,' said Hubert. ‘These fire-weapons—arquebuses— are no great matter after all; good swords are better. Vitus, Prokop, Martin, take up the wounded and bring them in there. Vaclav, go thou in at once. Stay, Vitus, give me thy pike.' As he spoke, he tore out of his haversack a napkin of snowy damask, in which provisions for the way had been wrapped, and tied it to the top of the pike. Then he sprang on his horse, which happily was close at hand. ‘I go with thee,' said Vaclav, seeing his purpose.
‘Thou dost not. Take care of the people in there: speak to them—reassure them.'
So saying, he advanced alone towards the enemy, bearing in his hand the flag of truce. Did they know the laws of civilized warfare? Did they mean to observe them?
That was what Václav, Vitus, and the others asked themselves as they bore the wounded into the shelter of the garden. They were not long left in doubt as to the answer. Hubert speedily wheeled his horse about and rode back to the gate, followed by a shower of cross-bow bolts; for some of the band had the old weapon, and some the arquebus, or earliest kind of firearm.
‘Wilt shut the gate, master?’ cried Vitus, as he neared it.
‘No. It would not hold—no better than old firewood. Canst get thy horse? '
‘Ay, master; and the Panec̆, and Prokop.'
‘Quick, then, for all those lives!’ pointing to the garden. ‘Three mounted men can hold the gateway against you rabble. In the name of God! '
There were four who placed themselves in the gateway, side by side, and stood like rocks against the advancing flood. Again Hubert spoke to Václav. ‘Thou art too young for this, dear boy. Think of thy sister.'
‘I do think of her. There are boys' sisters as well as men's sweethearts in there, Hubert. Besides, I am Kepka's son.' In the wild fight that followed all else was forgotten. ‘Ha!’ cried Hubert, as he saw their foes throw away the now useless arquebuses, and take to their swords and pikes. Ha! the wasps have lost their sting! It was the last word spoken for the space of an hour and more. Sword to sword, hand to hand they fought. The Germans had the immense advantage of overwhelming numbers; but the Bohemians were on horseback; were protected in the rear and partly at the side; and, best of all, were fighting for dear life, and for the lives of the multitude behind them.
At last a hoarse shout of triumph came from a hundred German throats. Vaclav was unhorsed. A pike-thrust had slain his steed. The boy was on his feet, fighting alone amongst a dozen;— the next moment he was down on the ground. Hubert saw, and struggled madly to get at him. But between them was a dense and seething mass of heads and bodies, arms and legs, all mixed together in one frantic struggle for life. Vitus saw too; and he was nearer to Václav. Springing from his horse, and making for a gigantic German who was standing over the boy with sword upraised to give him the death-blow, he hewed off his hand with one stroke at the wrist. Then he helped Vaclav up, and in another moment the boy was fighting like a lion, with the remains of his shattered sword.
Across all the tumult Hubert sent a ringing shout ‘Well done, "faithful Vitus!”’
So Master John called him. He heard, and the light of a sudden smile flashed across his face. But that instant a German, with his broadsword, thrust him through the heart. He fell, without groan or struggle, and with the self-same smile ‘lingering on the dead lip still.'
They could not stop to look. Ever faster and more furious grew the fray. Vaclav leaped upon the horse of Vitus, and with Prokop and Hubert fought on. But the fearful odds were beginning to tell. Prokop was wounded, and the strokes of all were growing feebler from exhaustion.
Suddenly some boys who had climbed upon the wall, and were trying to help by throwing stones at the Germans, raised a shout. ‘See! See! A rescue! A rescue! Our friends are coming!'
Hubert looked. A body of men was approaching, and, as he saw presently, over them waved a black flag with a red cup upon it. ‘Zisca! Zisca!’ he cried aloud, with all the strength left in him. ‘Zisca! Zisca! The servants of God and of the Cup! '
Others took up the shout. Again and again it arose, echoing and re-echoing from the crowd in the garden, mingled with cries of joy. ‘Thank God! God be praised! We are saved now!'
In very different accents did the Germans take up the cry. ‘Zisca! Zisca!’ rang out from trembling lips. It is true they scarce knew yet who Zisca was, but they saw his name lent new strength to their foes. Already weary and discouraged, they had no mind to be taken in rear by a fresh enemy, and that no doubt a formidable one. As the new-comers advanced, singing their battle hymn, and swinging their terrible flails, the Germans seemed to melt before them. Right and left, far and wide, they scattered, most of them, however, taking the road to Prague, but without method or order. The Bohemians failed not to send after them derisive shouts and cries. ‘Go and take your spoils to those who hired you. Much thanks they will give for this day's work.'
After all, Zisca was not there. The armed band of Hussites was led by one of his friends, a priest named Prokopius, of Kamen̆ec, a tall, dark man, in a long black cassock: with a two-handled sword in one hand and the sacramental cup in the other, he looked as formidable an antagonist as any foe need wish to face. He complimented Hubert and his companions most warmly on their courage, and asked Hubert to come with him to Zisca, who would make a captain of him.
Hubert thanked him, but said it was neither his duty nor his wish to fight: he was bound to return at once to his lord, the Knight of Chlum.
‘However little you and he may wish to fight,' said the Hussite chief, ‘there are those yonder'— and he pointed to the distant towers of Prague—'who will make you do it. Young man, you will fight one day, and under the standard of Zisca and the Cup. Still, for the present go thy way, and God be with thee! '
Hubert, Václav, and the rest gave thanks to God for their victory, but as they looked on the dead face of faithful Vitus' they thought it had been dearly bought.
Ere they resumed their journey they buried him where he lay, and sang a farewell hymn over his grave.
‘He was indeed found faithful,' said Václav, with tearful eyes, as he turned away from the spot. ‘Ere this he has told Master John that his word was true.'
‘I do not think he has seen Master John,' returned Hubert. ‘I think that when death was over he "looked up and saw no man, save Jesus only."'