With merry shouts and festive songs the banquet began. The longer the youths sat at the tables, the more they ate and drank, the more subdued grew their hilarity, seemingly without cause or reason. Although the honey drink foamed in the artistically carved wooden mugs, the broiled meat steamed appetizingly on the wooden platters and sincere friendly conversation hummed around the table, nonetheless, in each heart there seemed to tremble an un-voiced dread, as if they all awaited some bad news. An unexplainable, but to all apparent, constraint hung in the air. Did the walls of the boyar’s house cramp the spirits of the free citizens?
One of the boyar’s mercenaries stood up and raising his jug full of mead, began to speak: “Brothers, this is a day of great rejoicing for us and no evil son of man. . . .”
But he did not finish. He paled and shuddered. All the banqueteers jumped out from their places on the benches behind the tables upsetting them with all the food and drink.
“What is it? What is it?” the cry arose and all made for the doors.
As inconsequential as this sign was, the far-off, hollow clatter of horses’ hoofs, what an inconceivable amount of confusion it created in the boyar’s house! One ran this way, another that, this one sought this, another that outlet and all of them distracted, disconcerted, stampeded over the wooden jugs, plates of food, the white tablecloths and the overturned oaken tables. Maxim was the first to escape from this melé and glancing about him immediately recognized the seriousness of their predicament. “To arms, brothers, to arms! The Mongols are coming! The Mongols!”
That command was like a thunder clap. They all stood as if paralyzed, the panic and confusion changing to stupefaction but it lasted only an instant. The hoof-beats grew louder and nearer and their imminent danger roused all of them from their torpor of surprise. Here they all were, bold, strong and
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