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Updated: June 25, 2025
He made a belt of the cords he had brought with him from the cellar, and stuck the weapons into it. "Now we must hurry," he urged, "or the people will be coming back." While Manasseh made his way to the church, his companion hastened in search of Diurbanu. The little man had sharp eyes and keen wits.
"Manasseh!" called a voice from the darkness, when Diurbanu had gone. "Who calls? Or is it only a rat?" Manasseh had forgotten that his dungeon contained another prisoner beside himself. "Yes, it's a rat," answered the voice. "I heard my schoolmaster tell a story once about a lion that fell into a snare, and a mouse came and gnawed the ropes so as to set him free.
Presently the iron door itself was opened, and two men, bearing pitch-pine torches, entered, and then stood one on each side of the door. Diurbanu came last, dressed in the costume of a Wallachian military commander, his face flushed with wine and evil passions, and his long hair falling over his shoulders. Despite his disguise, Manasseh recognised him at once.
The little one was playing and prattling, giving no heed to the talk of the men about him and betraying no alarm at the tumultuous approach of the storm. The newcomer advanced and addressed the group: "Gentleman and friends, glorious descendants of Decebalus and Trajan!" "Never mind ceremony now, Diurbanu," interrupted the wearer of the gown, in a deep, commanding voice. "What news?
"This little chap shall draw for us." "What, this innocent child decide which town shall be given over to fire and blood and pillage!" exclaimed the priest. "An infernal contrivance of yours, Diurbanu!" But meantime the child had reached out a tiny hand and clutched at one of the cards, which it handed to the priest. "Bring me one of the candles," bade the latter.
"No, we have nothing against Torda," declared Diurbanu, almost angrily. "But what have we against Toroczko?" asked another voice. "The men of Toroczko have never done us any harm. So far we have received their iron only in the form of ploughs and shovels, scythes and wheel-tires."
"Do you understand now," continued Diurbanu, "that there is one man in the world who has sworn to march against Toroczko, treaty or no treaty, to leave not one stone on another in that town, and not one of its people alive to tell the story of its destruction? My day has come at last and Toroczko's night."
"I protest." "Let us draw lots to decide it." "Very well," assented Diurbanu, and, going to the altar on which stood the flickering candles, he wrote a name on each of two cards and threw the bits of pasteboard into his cap. "Now who will draw?" he asked; but no one volunteered. "It must be an innocent hand that decides the fate of these two towns," continued Diurbanu.
Leaving his horse in charge of his attendant, he of the silver buttons hastened on to the church door, where an armed sentry demanded his name. "Diurbanu," was the reply, whereupon he was admitted. The interior of the church was very dark. Two wax tapers, indeed, burned on the altar, but they flickered and flared so in the wind as to furnish a very insufficient light.
We are in the midst of war, and in war-times the soldier must go whither he is sent." "Very well, Diurbanu," was the reply, "our soldiers will go whither they are sent. The wind can direct the storm-cloud whither it shall go, but cannot compel it to flash lightning and hurl thunderbolts at command." "But I know one storm-cloud," rejoined Diurbanu, "that has not withheld its thunderbolts."
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