The Rise of Iskander | Page 5

Mount Hæmus. A brilliant moon flooded the broad plains of
Bulgaria with shadowy light. At the base of the mountainous range, the
red watch-fires denoted the situation of the Christian camp.
Iskander proceeded down the descent with an audacious rapidity; but
his charger was thorough-bred, and his moments were golden. Ere
midnight, he had reached the outposts of the enemy, and was
challenged by a sentinel.
"Who goes there?"
"A friend to Christendom."
"The word?"
"I have it not -- nay calmly. I am alone, but I am not unarmed. I do not
know the word. I come from a far country, and bear important tidings
to the great Hunniades; conduct me to that chief."
"May I be crucified if I will," responded the sentinel, "before I know
who and what you are. Come, keep off, unless you wish to try the effect
of a Polish lance," continued the sentinel; "'tis something, I assure you,
not less awkward than your Greek fire, if Greek indeed you be."
"My friend, you are a fool," said Iskander, "but time is too precious to
argue any longer." So saying, the Turkish commander dismounted, and

taking up the brawny sentinel in his arms with the greatest ease, threw
him over his shoulder, and threatening the astounded soldier with
instant death if he struggled, covered him with his pelisse, and entered
the camp.
They approached a watch-fire, around which several soldiers were
warming themselves.
"Who goes there?" inquired a second sentinel.
"A friend to Christendom," answered Iskander.
"The word?"
Iskander hesitated.
"The word, or I'll let fly," said the sentinel, elevating his cross bow.
"The Bridge of Buda," instantly replied the terrified prisoner beneath
the pelisse of Iskander.
"Why did not you answer before, then?" said one of the guards.
"And why do you mock us by changing your voice?" said another.
"Come, get on with you, and no more jokes."
Iskander proceeded through a street of tents, in some of which were
lights, but all of which were silent. At length, he met the esquire of a
Polish knight returning from a convivial meeting, not a little elevated.
"Who are you?" inquired Iskander.
"I am an Esquire," replied the gentleman.
"A shrewd man, I doubt not, who would make his fortune," replied
Iskander. "You must know great things have happened. Being on guard
I have taken a prisoner, who has deep secrets to divulge to the Lord
Hunniades. Thither, to his pavilion, I am now bearing him. But he is a
stout barbarian, and almost too much for me. Assist me in carrying him

to the pavilion of Hunniades, and you shall have all the reward, and
half the fame."
"You are a very civil spoken young gentleman," said the Esquire. "I
think I know your voice. Your name, if I mistake not, is Leckinski?"
"A relative. We had a common ancestor."
"I thought so. I know the Leckinskies ever by their voice. I am free to
help you on the terms you mention -- all the reward and half the fame.
'Tis a strong barbarian, is it? We cannot cut his throat, or it will not
divulge. All the reward and half the fame! I will be a knight to-morrow.
It seems a sort of fish, and has a smell."
The Esquire seized the Shoulders of the prisoner, who would have
spoken had he not been terrified by the threats of Iskander, who,
carrying the legs of the sentinel, allowed the Polish gentleman to lead
the way to the pavilion of Hunniades. Thither they soon arrived; and
Iskander, dropping his burthen, and leaving the prisoner without to the
charge of his assistant, entered the pavilion of the General of the
Hungarians.
He was stopped in a small outer apartment by an officer, who inquired
his purpose, and to whom he repeated his desire to see the Hungarian
leader, without loss of time, on important business. The officer
hesitated; but, summoning several guards, left Iskander in their custody,
and, stepping behind a curtain, disappeared. Iskander heard voices, but
could distinguish no words. Soon the officer returned, and, ordering the
guards to disarm and search Iskander, directed the Grecian Prince to
follow him. Drawing aside the curtain, Iskander and his attendant
entered a low apartment of considerable size. It was hung with skins. A
variety of armour and dresses were piled on couches. A middle-aged
man, of majestic appearance, muffled in a pelisse of furs, with long
chestnut hair, and a cap of crimson velvet and ermine, was walking up
and down the apartment, and dictating some instructions to a person
who was kneeling on the ground, and writing by the bright flame of a
brazen lamp. The bright flame of the blazing lamp fell full upon the
face of the secretary. Iskander beheld a most beautiful