"Kill the Muscovite, the torturer!"
"Death to Prince Louis, the traitor and coward!"
"We will save the lad alive!"
About the centre platform whereon the living cross was extended the crush grew first oppressive and then dangerous.
"Back there—you are killing him! Back, I say!"
Then strong men took staves and halberts out of the hands of dazed soldiermen, and by force of brawny arms and sharp pricking steel pressed the people back breast high. The smiths who had riveted the wristlets and ankle-rings were already busy with their files. The lashings were cast loose from the frames. A hundred palms chafed the white swollen limbs. A burgher back in the crowd slipped his cloak. It was passed overhead on a thousand eager hands and thrown across the young man's body.
At last all was done, and dazed and blinded, but unshaken in his soul, Maurice von Lynar stood totteringly upon his feet.
"Lift him up! Lift him up! Let us see him! If he be dead, we will slay Prince Louis and crucify the Muscovite in his place!"
"Bah!" another would cry, "Louis is no longer ruler! Conrad is the true Prince!"
"Down with the Russ, the Cossack! Where are they? Pursue them! Kill them!"