When they had finished eating, and had drunk sour mare’s milk out of skins, they felt satisfied. They talked awhile yet; then their heads and limbs became heavy.
Afternoon came. The heat flew down from heaven more and more. The forest was varied with quivering streaks of light made by the rays of the sun penetrating dense places. Everything was silent; even the falcons ceased to call.
A number of Tartars stood up and went to look at the horses; others stretched themselves like corpses on a battlefield, and soon sleep overpowered them. But their sleep after meat and drink was rather heavy and uneasy, for at times one groaned deeply, another opened his lids for a moment, and repeated, “Allah, Bismillah!”
All at once on the edge of the wood was heard some low but terrible sound, like the short rattle of a stifled man who had no time to cry. Whether the ears of the herdsmen were so keen, or some animal instinct had warned them of danger, or finally, whether Death had blown with cold breath on them, it is enough that they sprang up from sleep in one moment.
“What is that? Where are the men at the horses?” they began to inquire of one another. Then from a thicket some voice said in Polish—
“They will not return.”
That moment a hundred and fifty men rushed in a circle at the herdsmen, who were frightened so terribly that the cry died in their breasts. An odd one barely succeeded in grasping his dagger. The circle of attackers covered and hid them completely. The bush quivered from the pressure of human bodies, which struggled in a disorderly group. The whistle of blades, panting, and at times groaning or wheezing were heard, but that lasted one twinkle of an eye; and all was silent.
“How many are alive?” asked a voice among the attackers.
“Five, Pan Commandant.”
“Examine the bodies; lest any escape, give each man a knife in the throat, and bring the prisoners to the fire.”
The command was obeyed in one moment. The corpses were pinned to the turf with their own knives; the prisoners, after their feet had been bound to sticks, were brought around the fire, which Lusnia had raked so that coals, hidden under ashes, would be on the top.
The prisoners looked at this preparation and at Lusnia with wild eyes. Among them were three Tartars of Hreptyoff who knew the sergeant perfectly. He knew them too, and said—
“Well, comrades, you must sing now; if not, you will go to the other world on roasted soles. For old acquaintance’ sake I will not spare fire on you.”
When he had said this he threw dry limbs on the fire, which burst out at once in a tall blaze.
Pan Adam came now, and began the examination. From confessions of the prisoners it appeared that what the young lieutenant had divined earlier was true. The Lithuanian Tartars and Cheremis were marching in the vanguard before the horde, and before all the troops of the Sultan. They were led by Azya, son of Tugai Bey, to whom was given command over all the parties. They, as well as the whole army, marched at night because of the heat; in the day they sent their herds out to pasture. They threw out no pickets, for no one supposed that troops could attack them even near the Dniester, much less at the Pruth, right at the dwellings of the horde; they marched comfortably, therefore, with their herds and with camels, which carried the tents of the officers. The tent of Murza Azya was easily known, for it had a bunchuk fixed on its summit, and the banners of the companies were fastened near it in time of halt. The camp was four or five miles distant; there were about two thousand men in it, but some of them had remained with the Belgrod horde, which was marching about five miles behind.
Pan Adam inquired further touching the road which would lead to the camp best, then how the tents were arranged, and last, of that which concerned him most deeply.
“Are there women in the tent?”
The Tartars trembled for their lives. Those of them who had served in Hreptyoff knew perfectly that Pan Adam was the brother of one of those women, and was betrothed to the other; they understood, therefore, what rage would seize him when he knew the whole truth.
That rage might fall first on them; they hesitated, therefore, but Lusnia said at once—
“Pan Commandant, we’ll warm their soles for the dog brothers; then they will speak.”
“Thrust their feet in the fire!” said Pan Adam.
“Have mercy!” cried Eliashevich, an old Tartar from Hreptyoff. “I will tell all that my eyes have seen.”
Lusnia looked at the commandant to learn if he was to carry out the threat notwithstanding this answer; but Pan Adam shook his head, and said to Eliashevich—
“Tell what thou hast seen.”
“We are innocent, lord,” answered Eliashevich; “we went at command. The murza gave your gracious sister to Pan Adurovich, who had her in his tent. I saw her in Kuchunkaury when she was going for water with pails; and I helped her to carry them, for she was heavy—”
“Woe!” muttered Pan Adam.
“But the other lady our murza himself had in his tent. We did not see her so often; but we heard more than once how she screamed, for the murza, though he kept her for his pleasure, beat her with rods, and kicked her.”
Pan Adam’s lips began to quiver.
Eliashevich barely heard the question.
“Where are they now?”
“Sold in Stambul.”
“To whom?”
“The murza himself does not know certainly. A command came
