Still, the King was obliged to admit that there did not seem to be anything to be gained by waiting.
He was just about to start on his tour of inspection, when there was a sudden sound of great commotion within the camp. Men were rushing to and fro, tumbling over one another in their eagerness, and the air was rent with their shouts. But sudden hubbubs, all about nothing, and tumults which were merely the outcome of exuberant spirits, were so frequent that Béla and the more staid officers expected the mountain to bring forth no more than the customary mouse on the present occasion.
"A prisoner, apparently," observed the Duke, as an officer emerged from the crowd. Spies and fugitives were frequently crossing the river and stealing into the camp, where there were already Russians, Kunok, Tartars, and men of many tongues.
This man had been caught just as, having crept between the waggons, he was starting off at a run down the main thoroughfare, and making straight for the King's tent.
"Keep back!" cried the officer, "Keep back! and hold your tongues, while I take him to the Duke and let him tell his story!"
But he might as well have addressed the winds and waves.
There was a storm of "Eljens," mingled with cries in various tongues unintelligible to the rest. They threatened, they swore, they yelled; and in this disorderly fashion approached the group of which the King was the centre.
"Not to me! There is the King!" said the Duke, as the rather bewildered officer pushed his prisoner up to the Commander-in-Chief.
"Well, what news do you bring? Who are you? Where are you from?" the King asked good-humouredly, but with an involuntary smile of contempt.
"I am a Magyar, your Majesty," said the man in a doleful voice. "The Tartars carried me off just outside Pest."
"Why!" exclaimed Paul Héderváry suddenly, as he stood facing the fugitive, "why, if it isn't Mr. Libor's groom, Matykó!"
Libor, as we have said, was not to be found on the morning of Paul's expedition with Bishop Ugrin; and not having seen or heard of him since, Paul had been growing daily more anxious on his account. He missed him, too, at every turn, for Libor had made himself indispensable to his comfort.
Stephen Szirmay and Master Peter, who were as usual in close attendance upon the King, looked with curiosity at the unfortunate lad, who, as they now saw, had lost both ears.