I could see him off there, at Bangok, saying so gravely to me, "Ought we to rejoice, or weep?" Alas! he was dead; he could neither weep or rejoice any more!...
But around me were shouts of triumph. My Master still fought.
"Take him alive!" cried the Maharajah from his elephant. "He shall die by the hand of the executioner!"
I tried to rush forward but my feet were entangled in running knots which they had thrown around me, and my furious efforts only drew them tighter.
All was ended. I was taken; and my Master with me.
Poor Princess Saphire-of-Heaven! In her desolate Palace she was suffering a thousand times more from fear and anxiety than we from our misfortune. For her also it was Fate!
I could hear her sweet voice entreating me to bring back to her her beloved husband; and behold! we were vanquished—prisoners—and the Prince, loaded with chains, was now listening to the sentence that condemned him to die a shameful death at dawn on the morrow!
I was of value. I made part of the "spoils." And they had no intention of killing me. But I had been so terrible in battle that they dared not come near me.
I set to thinking with all the powers of my poor, feeble mind. It seemed as if I had best pretend to submit. I began to feel the smart of my wounds, and the fatigue of the combat; and my heavy armour weighed on me painfully.
I began to utter plaintive moans—as if imploring assistance from those standing about.