The battle was ended, and ended because the enraged crowd fell upon Krívonos at last, shouting with despair and madness,--
"Traitor! you are destroying us. You bloody dog! We will bind you ourselves, and give you up to Yeremi, and thus secure our lives. Death to you, not to us!"
"To-morrow I will give you the prince and all his army, or perish myself," answered Krívonos.
But the hoped for to-morrow had yet to come, and the present to-day was a day of defeat and disorder. Several thousand of the best warriors of the lower country, not counting the mob, lay on the field of battle, or were drowned in the pond and river. Nearly two thousand were taken prisoners; fourteen colonels were killed, not counting sotniks, essauls, and other elders. Pulyan, next in command to Krívonos, had fallen into the hands of the enemy alive, but with broken ribs.
"To-morrow we will cut them all up," said Krívonos. "I will neither eat nor drink till it is done."
In the opposite camp the captured banners were thrown down at the feet of the terrible prince. Each of the captors brought his own, so that they formed a considerable crowd,--altogether forty. When Zagloba passed by, he threw his down with such force that the staff split. Seeing this, the prince detained him, and asked,--
"And you captured that banner with your own hands?"
"At your service, your Highness."
"I see that you are not only a Ulysses, but an Achilles."
"I am a simple soldier, but I serve under Alexander of Macedon."