"Woe!" he said to himself. "Here none will escape; perhaps I may purchase their salvation with my own blood."
Then he shouted to his men to halt, and himself turned around toward the foe, not caring whether any one overheard his command.
Zbyszko galloped up to him first, the German struck him upon the visor, but without breaking it or harming Zbyszko. At the same time, Zbyszko, instead of giving stroke for stroke, grasped the knight by the middle, but, in the attempt to take him alive, engaged in a close struggle, during which the girth of his horse gave way from the intense strain of the contest, and both fell to the ground. For a while they wrestled; but the extraordinary strength of the young man soon prevailed against his antagonist; he pressed his knees against his stomach, holding him down as a wolf does a dog who dares to oppose him in the woods.
But there was no need to hold him, because the German fainted. Meanwhile Macko and the Bohemian arrived at a gallop. Zbyszko shouted: "Quick, here! A rope!"
The Bohemian dismounted, but seeing the helplessness of the German, he did not bind him, but disarmed him and unbuckled his armlets and his belt, and with the attached "misericordia," (dagger of mercy) cut the gorget, and lastly he unscrewed the helmet.
But he had scarcely glanced in the face of the knight, when he started back and exclaimed:
"Master! master! please only look here!"
"De Lorche!" shouted Zbyszko.
And there lay de Lorche pale and motionless as a corpse, with closed eyes and face covered with perspiration.