“A fire, a fire! I am not mistaken!” cried Kmita.
And indeed, of all of the attendants of the king he knew most in that matter. At last it was no longer possible to doubt, since above that supposed twilight were rising as it were red clouds, rolling now brighter, now darker in turn.
“It is as if Jivyets were burning!” cried the king; “maybe the enemy is ravaging it.”
He had not finished speaking when to their ears flew the noise of men, the snorting of horses, and a number of dark figures appeared before the retinue.
“Halt, halt!” cried Tyzenhauz.
These figures halted, as if uncertain what to do farther.
“Who are you?” was asked from the retinue.
“Ours!” said a number of voices. “Ours! We are escaping with our lives from Jivyets. The Swedes are burning Jivyets, and murdering people.”
“Stop, in God’s name! What do you say? Whence have they come?”
“They were waiting for our king. There is a power of them, a power! May the Mother of God have the king in Her keeping!”