Fighting had been going on since early morning; it was now noon, when the Duke made a last bold effort to retrieve the day.
"I'll break through the enemy's lines with the right wing," he shouted in stentorian tones. "Will your Majesty give the left wing orders to do the same, and then yourself lead the centre!"
The heroic Duke spoke of left and right wing, and centre; but alas! where was any one of them?
Without waiting for the King's answer he galloped off again, succeeded in infusing some of his own spirit into his men, and, joined by Ugrin and his followers, and the remaining Templars, he made a dashing attack upon the Mongols, who were drawn up in such close order that individuals had no room to turn.
Numbers of them fell before the furious onslaught of the Hungarians, and great was the devastation wrought in their ranks, when suddenly, like a whirlwind, up came Batu Khan himself with a fresh cloud of savage warriors, and arrows and spears flew thicker and faster than ever.
The Archbishop was smitten on the head by a spear, just as he had cut down a Mongol, and he fell, as a ship's mast falls struck by lightning.
Next fell the leader of the Templars, fighting helmetless by his side. The riderless horses dashed neighing into the ranks of the enemy, among whom they quickly found new masters.
Kálmán had seen the bravest fall around him, but he was still pressing forward, still fighting, when he also received a severe wound. Just then the sun went down.
His sword-arm was useless, and his brave warriors, placing him in their midst, made their way back to the camp. But the camp was deserted now by all but the dead and the dying. The troops whom they had left there had forced their way out at last, but it was to fly, not to fight.
The Mongols had made no attempt to stop them; on the contrary, they had opened their ranks to let them pass through, and the faster and thicker they came, the more room they gave them.