For several moments he held his own against his enemies; several reeled back dead before him. He was hatless, and his fair, flushed face, the blue eyes vivid, showed above them all; then one caught him by the belt and dragged him half down; but he resisted to the full of his great strength and would have got free, but, in turning, his spur caught in the robe of one of his assailants and threw him.
They had him down, and twenty janissaries threw themselves on him to pin him to the earth.
Karl, with one last effort and a loud cry, flung his sword up into the air.
The bloody blade glittered a second in the pale spring sunshine, then was caught by a dozen eager hands.
The King, knowing now that all was useless, remained perfectly motionless.
The janissaries, whose cries of anger and triumph were mingled with exclamations of respect, lifted their terrible captive from the ground, and carrying him by the knees, the feet, and the shoulders, bore him to Ismail Pasha’s tent. At the door of this they set him on his feet, and conducted him into the presence of the Governor of Bender.
Karl made no resistance; he looked at his captors with a little smile and passed into the tent.
It was the first time in his life that he had been without a sword.
Ismail Pasha, cool and grave, richly dressed and splendid in his luxurious tent, rose and courteously greeted his presence, asking him with many compliments to be seated on the silk-covered divan.
“I bless the All Highest,” he said, “that your Majesty is alive—it was my despair that your Majesty compelled me to put in execution the orders of the Sultan.”