The Eighth Tribe, 1975 (2. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1975-09-01 / 9. szám
Page 4 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Szeptember, 1975 TONUZOBA The last of the intruding Bessenyos were killed or captured. In King Istvan’s war tent, the old ruler and the young Besenyő chief faced each other. The King looked with pleasure at the captured Tonuzoba, his straight stature, his proudly raised head, his noble features. He felt sad that his own son was not like this bold young chief who stood before him, but it was too late to correct the mistake. It was the fault of the foreign priests, that his only son, the Magyar Crown-Prince Imre, had been raised as a pale, ascetic monk, rather than as a leader of warriors. “Turn Christian, you and your people,” said King István, to Chief Tonuzoba, “and neither you nor your people shall be harmed. I shall give you as much land as you desire. You shall live free, ruling over your own tribe, if you give me your oath of fidelity, and recognize me as your King.” “My oath of loyalty I gladly give you!” Tonuzoba answered. “The soil shall not accept my body, heaven shall banish my soul, and I shall never find peace between heaven and earth, if I ever break my oath. The Besenyos will be glad to join their Magyar brethren in the union of the blood. However, we do not change our religion as we change our underwear. We shall never convert to the faith of strangers.” “You are foolish, my son,” the old King replied. “There is only one God.” “That is true,” agreed the young chief. “We have kept His ancient name,” King István went on. “Every Christian Magyar prays to Isten, and we call the Virgin Mary, the Queen of Heaven, Boldogasszony, as our ancestors did.” “Yes,” said Tonuzoba, with an ironic smile. “You did that, so that your people would not notice the change so much, and take up the yoke more willingly. In the name of the God, the Magyars are forced into servitude to foreign priests and knights, and those who insist on keeping their freedom are being slaughtered for the good of the new religion.” The face of the old King grew red in anger. “You fool!” he shouted at the Bessenyo chief. “You do not understand! We are surrounded here by a multitude of Christian nations. They would kill us all if we would stick stubbornly to our old customs. Convert to Christianity, Tonuzoba, and live!” But the Bessenyo shook his head. “Rather a hundred deaths than to betray the God of my fathers!” he answered. Deeply saddened in his heart, King István asked his foreign priests to try by every means to convert the young chieftain of the Bessenyos. The priests talked patiently for three days to him about the beauties of the new religion, about the happiness of heaven and about Jesus Christ who had died on the cross to save this world. But no matter how hard they tried, the stubborn young man just shook his head. “Never,” he kept repeating. “Never!” Then for another three days, the foreign priests spoke to him about hell, and the eternal fire in which pagans like him were boiled alive forever and ever, by the devils. Tonuzoba just laughed, saying that he would be in good company there, among all his ancestors. His stubborness made the priests angry. “If you do not convert, we shall bury you alive!” they told him. So Bessenyo prisoners were ordered to dig the grave for their young chief. They dug it deep and wide. When they were done, they even drove four heaven wooden poles into the bottom. “What are those poles for?” the priests asked through their interpreters. “You do not think that a Bessenyo leader would descend into a grave without his favorite horse?” the prisoners replied calmly. “How would he hunt on the heavenly meadows without a horse?” “He shall hunt in the depths of hell!” the priests shouted, losing their patience. The Bessenyos led a beautiful black stallion, fully saddled, down into the grave. They tied his legs to the four posts. Tonuzoba mounted his charger. His favorite hunting dog, already killed, was brought into the grave too. Then, without even waiting for orders from the priests, the Bessenyo prisoners began to fill the grave with dirt. Shovel after shovel, singing their old pagan songs. Tonuzoba sat straight on his horse. “Tonuzoba, do you convert to the only true faith?” the priests asked. The young chief did not answer. The earth was up to his knees, completely covering the lcg3, chest, and belly of his horse. The beautiful black stallion became frightened. “Kill him,” Tonuzoba ordered his men. “One has no right to torture an animal.” “Feel sorry for yourself, not for an animal without a soul!” the priests shouted at him, angrily.
