"That will be shown soon," said Povala. "Tears flow to the king's eyes continually at the thought that so much Christian blood will be shed, and at the very last moment he would be glad to conclude a just peace, but the pride of the Knights will not let matters end thus."
"As true as life! I know the Knights of the Order, and we all know them," added Matsko. "God has already arranged the scales on which he will place our blood and that of the enemies of our race."
They were not far now from the Mazovian regiments, among which stood the tent of Pan de Lorche, when they saw in the middle of the "street" a large crowd of people close together and looking at the sky.
"Stand, there! stand!" cried a voice in the crowd.
"But who is speaking, and what are ye doing?" inquired Povala.
"I am the parish priest of Klobuko. But who are ye?"
"Povala of Tachev, the knights of Bogdanets, and Pan de Lorche."
"Oh, that is you, lords," said the priest in a mysterious voice, as he approached Povala's horse. "But look at the moon and see what is happening on it. This night is prophetic and wonderful!"
The knights raised their faces and looked at the moon, which had grown pale, and was near to its setting.
"I cannot distinguish anything," said Povala. "But what do you see?"
"A monk in a cowl is fighting with a king who is wearing his crown. Look! Oh, there! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit! Oh, how terribly they wrestle,—God be merciful to us sinners."
There was silence round about, for all held the breath in their breasts.
"Look! look!" cried the priest.
"True, there is something there," said Matsko.
"True! true!" confirmed others.
"Ha! the king has thrown the monk!" cried the priest on a sudden. "He has put his foot on him! Praised be Jesus Christ!"
"For ages of ages!"
At that moment a great black cloud covered the moon, and the night became dark, but the light of fires quivered in bloody stripes across the road.
