“In Tykotsin we found only one officer, Pan Kharlamp, who did not leave the prince at once, and who did not wish afterward to desert him in misery. Compassion alone kept Kharlamp with Radzivill, for natural affection drew him to us. We were barely able to restore him to health, such hunger had there been in Tykotsin, and he took the food from his own mouth to nourish the prince. He has come here to Lvoff to implore pardon of your Royal Grace, and I too fall at your feet for him; he is a tried and good soldier.”
“Let him come hither,” said the king.
“He has also something important to tell, which he heard in Kyedani from the mouth of Prince Boguslav, and which relates to the person of your Royal Grace, which is sacred to us.”
“Is this about Kmita?”
“Yes, Gracious Lord.”
“Did you know Kmita?”
“I knew him and fought with him; but where he is now, I know not.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Gracious Lord, since he undertook such a deed there are no torments of which he is not worthy, for he is an abortion of hell.”
“That story is untrue,” said the king; “it is all an invention of Prince Boguslav. But putting that affair aside, what do you know of Kmita in times previous?”