That the fugitives would not escape in the long run well they knew, and their object just now was the King.
The flower of the Hungarian nobility, several bishops, and high dignitaries, both of Church and State, had fallen in the battle, or fell afterwards in the flight. Most of them took the way to Pest, which was strewn for two days' journey with the dead and dying, with arms and accoutrements.
Many were slain by the Mongols who pursued and attacked them when they were too weak to defend themselves; and many others perished in the attempt to cross rivers and swamps.
Seeing that all was lost, Béla himself thought it time to fly, and while the Mongols were plundering the camp, he succeeded in reaching the open, and made for the mountains, recognised by few in the on-coming darkness.
Immediately surrounding him were Paul Héderváry, in spite of his five wounds, Peter and Stephen Szirmay, Akos, Detrö, Adam the Pole, the two Forgács, and several others—a devoted band, while behind came a long train of the bravest warriors, the last to think of flying, who followed in any order or none.
Few, as we have said, had recognised the King, but there were some who had, and these pressed hard after him.
"My horse is done for!" cried the King, as his famous charger began to tremble beneath him. "Let us stand and die fighting like men!"
"No! for Heaven's sake, no!" cried Adam the Pole, leaping from his horse as he spoke. "Mine is sound! take him! I hear the howl of the Mongols."
One had indeed actually overtaken them, but, though on foot, Adam felled him to the ground, leapt upon the Mongol's horse, and galloped on after the King.
The handful of brave, true men guarded Béla as the very apple of their eye. Not one thought of himself; their one anxiety was for the King.