The terrible Zmudzian raised his hands to his neck and with the right hand made a gesture like the up-jerk of a halter:
"This shall happen to him," he said, "to him as well as to the other prisoners … this!"
Then Zbyszko's brow furrowed.
"Listen, Skirwoilla," he said. "Nothing will happen to him, neither this nor that because he is my prisoner and my friend. Prince Janusz knighted both of us. I will not even permit you to cut off one finger from his hand."
"You will not permit?"
"No, I will not."
Then they glared fiercely into each other's eyes. Skirwoilla's face was so much wrinkled that it had the appearance of a bird of prey. It appeared as if both were about to burst out. But Zbyszko did not want any trouble with the old leader, whom he prized and respected; moreover his heart was greatly agitated with the events of the day. He fell suddenly upon his neck, pressed him to his breast and exclaimed:
"Do you really desire to tear him from me, and with him my last hope? Why do you wrong me?"
Skirwoilla did not repel the embrace. Finally, withdrawing his head from
Zbyszko's arm, he looked at him benignantly, breathing heavily.
"Well," he said, after a moment's silence. "Well, to-morrow I will give orders for the prisoners to be hanged, but if you want any one of them, I will give him to you."