“Go to these old Turks,” commanded Karl, “and bid them leave my house, or else,” he sought for the worst insult one could give a Mohammedan, “I will send my soldiers to cut off their beards.”
CHAPTER III
THE janissaries, utterly outraged at this insult, retired muttering in anger: “Ah, head of iron, head of iron, if you will perish, you shall!”
The Turks and Tartars were now again advancing to the attack.
Karl ran out, mounted and galloped, in company with three generals, towards his little camp. He was in time to see the 300 Swedes surrounded and overwhelmed by the Turks to whom they surrendered without firing a shot.
When the King beheld his veterans thus delivering themselves into the hands of the enemy, in his very presence, the deep color sprang into his cheeks.
For an instant he covered his face with his hands, then, throwing back his head haughtily, he spoke to the officers who accompanied him.
“Come, let us defend the house, then,” he said, and turned swiftly about, and followed by the generals gained his residence that he had left garrisoned by forty servants and fortified as best he could.
These defenses, however, had been useless before the onslaught of an army; the Turks had stormed the house and entered by the windows, a surging crowd of janissaries heaved before the door.
The King’s servants had retired into the large dining-hall that opened off the entrance chamber on the ground floor, their fair frightened faces could be seen at the great window, in strange contrast to the dark triumphant faces shouting without.