With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz (big ebook reader .txt) 📕

moved; only his hand described, without stopping, circles narrow but swift as thought, and caught the raging blows of Bogun. He put edge under edge, warded off and again defended and still retreated, fixed his eyes on the eyes of the Cossack, and in the midst of serpentine lightnings appeared calm; but on his cheeks purple spots were coming out. Zagloba closed his eyes, and heard nothing but blow after blow, bite after bite.

“He defends himself yet,” thought he.

“He defends himself yet,” said the Selitskis and Kushel.

“He is already pushed to the sandbank,” added Kushel, quietly.

Zagloba opened his eyes again and looked. True, Volodyovski was pushed to the bank; but evidently he was not wounded yet. The flush on his face had become deeper, and drops of sweat were on his forehead.

Zagloba’s heart began to beat with hope. “Pan Michael is a master beyond masters,” thought he, “and this fellow will become tired at last.”

In fact Bogun’s face had grown pale, sweat stood in drops on his forehead; but resistance only roused his rage, foam shone from under his mustache, and from his breast came the hoarseness of fury.

Volodyovski did not let him out of sight, and defended himself continually. Suddenly, feeling the sandbank behind, he collected himself. It seemed to the spectators that he had fallen; meanwhile he bent, shrunk up, half squatted, and hurled his whole body as if it were a stone against the breast of the Cossack.

“He is attacking!” shouted Zagloba.

“He is attacking!” repeated the others.

So he was, in fact. The Cossack retreated now; and the little knight, having discovered the whole power of his opponent, pushed on him so briskly that the breath stopped in the breasts of the seconds. Evidently he began to warm up; his little eyes shot sparks; he squatted, he sprang, he changed position in a moment, he described circles around the Cossack, and forced him to turn where he stood.

“Oh, masterly, masterly!” said Zagloba.

“You will perish!” said Bogun, all at once.

“You will perish!” answered, like an echo, Volodyovski.

At that moment the Cossack threw, his sabre from his right to his left hand⁠—a feat possible only to the ablest fencers⁠—and gave with his left hand such a terrible blow that Volodyovski fell to the ground as if struck by lightning.

“Jesus, Mary!” screamed Zagloba.

But Volodyovski had fallen on purpose, so that the sabre of Bogun might meet only air. Then the little knight sprang up like a wildcat, and with almost the whole length of his blade cut terribly into the open breast of the Cossack.

Bogun tottered, advanced a step, and with a last effort gave the last thrust. Volodyovski warded it off with ease, and struck still twice on the inclined head. The sabre dropped from the powerless hands of Bogun, and he fell with his face on the sand, which immediately reddened under him in a broad pool of blood.

Eliasenko, present at the duel, rushed to the body of the ataman. The seconds were unable to utter a word for some time. Pan Michael too was silent; he rested both hands on his sabre and panted heavily.

Zagloba first broke the silence. “Pan Michael, come to my embrace!” said he, with emotion.

Then they surrounded him in a circle.

“You are a swordsman of the first water. May the bullets strike you!” said the Selitskis.

“You are a deceitful rogue, I see,” said Kharlamp; “but I’ll meet you, lest it be said that I am afraid. But though you were to slash me in such fashion as this, still I congratulate you.”

“And you should put yourself at rest, for in fact you have nothing to fight about,” said Zagloba.

“Impossible!” answered the light-horseman, “for it is a question here of my reputation, for which I am glad to give my life.”

“I have no claim on your life. It is better to drop the matter; for to tell you the truth, I have not come in your way as you imagine. Some other man better than I will stand in your way, but not I.”

“Is that true?”

“My knightly word for it.”

“Then make peace with each other,” cried the Selitskis and Kushel.

“Let it be so,” said Kharlamp, opening his arms.

Volodyovski fell into them, and the two men kissed each other till the echoes resounded along the bank.

Kushel said: “I did not think that you could beat such a giant; and he knew too how to use a sabre.”

“I had no idea that he was such a swordsman. Where could he have learned?”

Here the attention of all was directed again to the prostrate chief, whom at that time Eliasenko had turned on his back and was looking with tears for signs of life in him. It was impossible to recognize the features of Bogun, for they were covered with streaks of blood which flowed out of the wounds in his head and which immediately grew stiff in the chill air. The shirt on his breast was all in blood, but he still gave signs of life. Seemingly he was in his last agonies; his feet quivered, and his fingers hooked convulsively like claws in the sand.

Zagloba looked and waved his hand. “He has had his fill; he is parting with the world.”

“Ah,” said one of the Selitskis, looking at the body, “that’s a corpse already!”

“Yes, for he is almost cut into bits.”

“He was no common knight,” muttered Volodyovski, nodding his head.

“I know something of that,” added Zagloba.

Meanwhile Eliasenko tried to raise up and carry away the unfortunate ataman; but being rather a slender man and not young, and since Bogun belonged almost to the giants, he could not. It was some distance to the inn, and Bogun might die at any moment. The essaul, seeing this, turned to the nobles.

“Gentlemen,” said he, clasping his hands, “for the sake of the Saviour and the Holy Most Pure, help me! Do not let him die here like a dog! I am old, not strong enough, and the men are far away.”

The nobles looked at one another. Animosity against