A desperate battle seethed up throughout the whole line; torrents of blood flowed along the earth; the sky grew cloudy and dull thunder rolls were heard, as if God himself wished to interfere between the combatants.
But the victory was inclining toward the Germans. Disorder was just beginning in the Polish body; the legions of the Knights of the Order were growing frenzied, and had begun in one voice to sing the hymn of triumph,—
"Christ ist erstanden! (Christ has arisen!)"
But just then something still more tremendous took place. One of the Knights of the Order while lying on the ground opened with a knife the belly of the horse ridden by Martsin of Vrotsimovitse, who bore the grand banner of Cracow, a crowned eagle, which was sacred for all the king's armies. Steed and rider went down on a sudden; with them the banner tottered and fell.
In one moment hundreds of arms were stretched out to grasp the banner. From all German breasts a roar of delight burst forth. It seemed to them that the end had come, that terror and panic would seize the Poles straightway, that the hour of defeat, death, and slaughter was at hand, that they would have merely to hunt and cut down the fugitives.
But just there a bloody deception was in wait for them.
The Polish armies shouted as one man, in desperation at sight of the falling banner, but in that shout, and in that desperation there was no fear, only rage. One might have said that living fire had fallen on their armor; the most formidable men of both armies, not thinking of rank, without order, each from where he stood, rushed to one spot like raging lions. That was not a battle now around the banner, but a storm let loose. Warriors and horses were packed into one monstrous whirl, and in that whirl men's arms moved like whips, swords clanked, axes bit, steel gritted against steel; there was a groaning, there were wild cries from men whom others were slaughtering. All these sounds were mingled in one ghastly roar which was as terrifying as if the damned had torn free on a sudden from the abyss of hell. Dust rose and out of it rushed, blinded from terror, riderless horses with bloodshot eyes and manes scattered wildly.
But this lasted only a brief time. Not one German came out of that tempest. After a while the rescued banner waved again over the Polish legions. The wind stirred it, unfurled it, and it bloomed forth in splendor, like a gigantic flower,—
