Then he walked up to Schranden's gallant troopers, who, pale and with chattering teeth, cowered near the church door, like criminals awaiting execution.
His comrades pointed out to each other in dismay the blood-stains on his clothes, but not one dared ask him to explain how they came there.
"Bring out the prisoner, and get a waggon for him," he ordered. Felix Merckel was led out, but Boleslav did not deign to give him a glance.
When farewells had been said, and all was in readiness for the march, the old pastor made his way through the crowd. His face was haggard and his hands shook.
He hastened to Boleslav's side and whispered in his ear: "I hear that Regina met her death last night.... I am willing to give her Christian burial."
"Many thanks, your reverence," answered Boleslav, "but I have already buried her with Pagan rites," and he turned away.
A Schrandener, who, to ingratiate himself, had probably spent part of the night in capturing Boleslav's horse, now came forward holding it, with a servile grin.
He swung into the saddle, and his sabre flew out of the scabbard. His voice rang out clear and threatening above the heads of the crowd as he gave the word of command.
"Right, left. Quick march!"
They left the village behind them; the woods loomed nearer.