"No, I will not."
Then they glared fiercely into each other's eyes. Skirwoilla's face was so much wrinkled that it had the appearance of a bird of prey. It appeared as if both were about to burst out. But Zbyszko did not want any trouble with the old leader, whom he prized and respected; moreover his heart was greatly agitated with the events of the day. He fell suddenly upon his neck, pressed him to his breast and exclaimed: "Do you really desire to tear him from me, and with him my last hope? Why do you wrong me?"
Skirwoilla did not repel the embrace. Finally, withdrawing his head from Zbyszko's arm, he looked at him benignantly, breathing heavily.
"Well," he said, after a moment's silence. "Well, to-morrow I will give orders for the prisoners to be hanged, but if you want any one of them, I will give him to you."
Then they embraced each other again and parted on good terms--to the great satisfaction of Macko, who said: "It is obvious that you will never be able to do anything with him by anger, but with kindness you can knead him like wax."
"Such is the whole nation," replied Zbyszko; "but the Germans do not know it."
Then he gave orders for de Lorche, who had taken rest in the booth, to be brought to the camp-fire. A moment later the Bohemian brought him in; he was unarmed and without a helmet, having only his leather jacket upon which the marks of the coat of mail were visible. He had a red cap on his head. De Lorche had already been informed by Hlawa that he was a prisoner and therefore he came in looking cool and haughty, and the light of the flames revealed defiance and contempt in his countenance.
"Thank God," Zbyszko said, "that He delivered you in my hands, because nothing evil shall happen to you by me."
Then he extended a friendly hand; but de Lorche did not even move.
"I decline to give my hand to knights who outrage knightly honor, by joining pagans in fighting Christian knights."
One of the Mazovians present, who could not restrain himself, owing to Zbyszko's importance, on hearing this became excited and his blood boiled.
"Fool!" he shouted and involuntarily grasped the handle of his "misericordia."
But de Lorche lifted up his head.
"Kill me," he said. "I know that you do not spare prisoners."
"But, do you spare prisoners?" the Mazur who could not restrain himself, exclaimed: "Did you not hang on the shore of the island all the prisoners you took in the last fight? That is the reason why Skirwoilla will hang all his prisoners."