mere prey, and thinks of naught else save to grasp that prey in its talons. In spite of all his strength he noticed that in strength too he was no match for Zbyshko, and that if he became exhausted before he could give the settling blow, the combat with that terrible though less prepared youth would be fatal. Considering this, he resolved to fight with the least labor possible: he drew the shield toward his body; he did not advance too much, he did not withdraw too much; he limited his motions; he collected his whole strength of mind and arm for one decisive blow, and watched for the moment.
The fierce battle was protracted beyond usual duration. A deathlike silence had settled down on the portico. Nothing was heard save blows on the shields from the edges and backs of the axes, now dull, and now piercing. To the prince, princess, knights, and damsels such sights were not novel; still a feeling akin to terror pressed all hearts as with vices. They knew that there was no question then of showing strength, skill, or bravery, but that there was a greater rage in that combat, a deeper despair, a harder, a keener resolve, and a deadlier vengeance. On one side was a feeling of dreadful injustice endured, and with it love and grief beyond limit; on the other, the honor of a whole Order and with it concentrated hate. These two had met on that place of conflict to receive God's decision.
Meanwhile the pale winter morning had brightened, the gray obstruction of mist had been broken, and a sun-ray now lighted Rotgier's blue armor and the silvery Milan mail worn by Zbyshko. In the chapel the bell rang for the mid-forenoon prayer, and at sound of it flocks of daws flew again from the peaks of the castle, flapping their wings and croaking noisily, as if from delight at the spectacle of bloodshed and that corpse lying motionless there on the snow. Rotgier had cast his eyes at it more than once in the course of the battle, and felt now a great loneliness all on a sudden. Every eye which looked at him was the eye of an enemy. Every prayer, wish, and silent vow made by women were in favor of Zbyshko. Besides, though the brother of the Order felt perfectly sure that Hlava would not rush from the rear and fall on him treacherously, the presence and proximity of that terrible figure filled him with that kind of fear which people feel at sight of a bear, wolf, or buffalo from which they are not separated by a grating. And he could not ward off that feeling, all the more since Hlava, while follow-
