“Are you Kuklinovski’s men?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the rest of the regiment?”
“They have run away. They refused to serve longer against Yasna Gora.”
“What does he say?” asked Miller.
Zbrojek interpreted the words.
“Ask him where they went to.”
Zbrojek repeated the question.
“It is unknown,” said the soldier. “Some have gone to Silesia. Others said that they would serve with Kmita, for there is not another such colonel either among the Poles or the Swedes.”
When Zbrojek interpreted these words to Miller, he grew serious. In truth, such men as Kuklinovski had were ready to pass over to the command of Kmita without hesitation. But then they might become terrible, if not for Miller’s army, at least for his supplies and communication. A river of perils was rising higher and higher around the enchanted fortress.
Zbrojek, into whose head this idea must have come, said, as if in answer to these thoughts of Miller: “It is certain that everything is in a storm now in our Commonwealth. Let only such a Kmita shout, hundreds and thousands will surround him, especially after what he has done.”
“But what can he effect?” asked Miller.
“Remember, your worthiness, that that man brought Hovanski to desperation, and Hovanski had, counting the Cossacks, six times as many men as we. Not a transport will come to us without his permission, the country houses are destroyed, and we are beginning to feel hunger. Besides, this Kmita may join with Jegotski and Kulesha; then he will have several thousand sabres at his call. He is a grievous man, and may become most harmful.”
“Are you sure of your soldiers?”
“Surer than of myself,” answered Zbrojek, with brutal frankness.
“How surer?”
“For, to tell the truth, we have all of us enough of this siege.”
“I trust that it will soon come to an end.”
“Only the question is: How? But for that matter to capture this fortress is at present as great a calamity as to retire from it.”
Meanwhile they had reached the little barn. Miller dismounted, after him the officers, and all entered. The soldiers had removed Kuklinovski from the beam, and covering him with a rug laid him on his back on remnants of straw. The bodies of three soldiers lay at one side, placed evenly one by the other.
“These were killed with knives.”
“But Kuklinovski?”
“There are no wounds on Kuklinovski, but his side is roasted and his mustaches daubed with pitch. He must have perished of cold or suffocation, for he holds his own cap in his teeth to this moment.”
“Uncover him.”
The soldier raised a corner of the rug, and a terrible face was uncovered, swollen, with eyes bursting out. On the remnants of his pitched mustaches were icicles formed from his frozen breath and mixed with soot, making as it were tusks sticking out of his mouth. That face was so revolting that Miller, though accustomed to all kinds of ghastliness, shuddered and said—
“Cover it quickly. Terrible, terrible!”
Silence reigned in the barn.
“Why have we come here?” asked the Prince of Hesse, spitting. “I shall not touch food for a whole day.”
All at once some kind of uncommon exasperation closely bordering on frenzy took possession of Miller. His face became blue, his eyes expanded, he began to gnash his teeth, a wild thirst for the blood of someone had seized him; then turning to Zbrojek, he screamed—
“Where is that soldier who saw that Kuklinovski was in the barn? He must be a confederate!”
“I know not whether that soldier is here yet,” answered Zbrojek. “All Kuklinovski’s men have scattered like oxen let out from the yoke.”
“Then catch him!” bellowed Miller, in fury.
“Catch him yourself!” cried Zbrojek, in similar fury.
And again a terrible outburst hung as it were on a spiderweb over the heads of the Swedes and the Poles. The latter began to gather around Zbrojek, moving their mustaches threateningly and rattling their sabres.
During this noise the echoes of shots and the tramp of horses were heard, and into the barn rushed a Swedish officer of cavalry.
“General!” cried he. “A sortie from the cloister! The men working at the mine have been cut to pieces! A party of infantry is scattered!”
“I shall go wild!” roared Miller, seizing the hair of his wig. “To horse!”
In a moment they were all rushing like a whirlwind toward the cloister, so that lumps of snow fell like hail from the hoofs of their horses. A hundred of Sadovski’s cavalry, under command of his brother, joined Miller and ran to assist. On the way they saw parties of terrified infantry fleeing in disorder and panic, so fallen were the hearts of the Swedish infantry, elsewhere unrivalled. They had left even trenches which were not threatened by any danger. The oncoming officers and cavalry trampled a few, and rode finally to within a furlong of the fortress, but only to see on the height as clearly as on the palm of the hand, the attacking party returning safely to the cloister; songs, shouts of joy, and laughter came from them to Miller’s ears.
Single persons stood forth and threatened with bloody sabres in the direction of the staff. The Poles present at the side of the Swedish general recognized Zamoyski himself, who had led the sortie in person, and who, when he saw the staff, stopped and saluted it solemnly with his cap. No wonder he felt safe under cover of the fortress cannon.
And, in fact, it began to smoke on the walls, and iron flocks of cannon balls were flying with terrible whistling among the officers. Troopers tottered in their saddles, and groans answered whistles.
“We are under fire. Retreat!” commanded Sadovski.
Zbrojek seized the reins of Miller’s horse. “General, withdraw! It is death here!”
Miller, as if he had become torpid, said not a word, and let himself be led out of range of the missiles. Returning to his quarters, he locked himself in, and for a whole day would see no man. He was meditating surely over his fame of Poliorcetes.
Count Veyhard now took all power in hand, and began with immense energy to make preparations for
