“No one doubts the high mind of the hetman, and all love him in their hearts secretly; but they think thus to themselves: ‘The crowd of nobles will shout down the hetman as a traitor; at the king’s court they hate him; a confederacy threatens him with impeachment. How can he do anything?’”
Pan Bogush began to stroke his forelock. “Well, what?”
“They know not themselves what to do.”
“And will they remain with the Sultan?”
“No.”
“But who will command them to return to the Commonwealth?”
“I.”
“How is that?”
“I am the son of Tugai Bey.”
“My Azya,” said Pan Bogush, after a while, “I do not deny that they may be in love with your blood and the glory of Tugai Bey, though they are our Tartars, and Tugai Bey was our enemy. I understand such things, for even with us there are nobles who say with a certain pride that Hmelnitski was a noble, and descended, not from the Cossacks, but from our people,—from the Mazovians. Well, though such a rascal that in hell a worse is not to be found, they are glad to recognize him, because he was a renowned warrior. Such is the nature of man! But that your blood of Tugai Bey should give you the right to command all Tartars, for this I see no sufficient reason.”