They were silent, and for a time there was nothing to be heard but the measured tread of Scottish infantry at the door of the cellar.
“There is no help here,” said Zagloba, “but stratagem.”
No one gave answer; therefore he began to talk again after a while: “I will not believe that we are to be put to death. If for every word spoken in haste and in drink, a head were cut off, not one noble in this Commonwealth would walk around with his head on his shoulders. But neminem captivabimus? Is that a trifle?”
“You have an example in yourself and in us,” answered Stanislav.
“Well, that happened in haste; but I believe firmly that the prince will take a second thought. We are strangers; in no way do we come under his jurisdiction. He must respect opinion, and not begin with violence, so as not to offend the nobles. As true as life, our party is too large to have the heads cut from all of us. Over the officers he has authority, I cannot deny that; but, as I think, he will look to the army, which surely will not fail to remember its own. And where is your squadron, Michael?”
“In Upita.”
“But tell me, are you sure that the men will be true to you?”
“Whence should I know? They like me well enough, but they know that the hetman is above me.”
Zagloba meditated awhile. “Give me an order to them to obey me in everything, as they would you, if I appear among them.”
“You think that you are free!”