flesh, corpses and living men, heavy stones and missiles fell from above.
Above that hell of turmoil, half-veiled by the cloak of night, arose up the hill the triumphant shouts of the Tukholians, the mournful yowls of the Mongols and the thunderous, execrable curses of Burunda-Behadir, who paced up and down the meeting place raging as if he were mad, tearing at his hair. In the end without checking his wrath he swung towards Tuhar Wolf with his sword unsheathed. “You pale-faced dog!” he sprang to Tuhar Wolf’s side. “You, two-faced traitor,” he yelled, gnashing his teeth, “it’s all your fault! You led us into this ditch from which we can’t escape!”
Tuhar Wolf reddened hotly at these words which no Mongol had ever addressed to him before. His hand involuntarily grasped his sword, but at that same moment a deep and unendurable ache smote his heart so that his hand relaxed its grip and fell to his side as if it were of clay. He bowed his head and clenching his teeth, replied in a subdued tone of voice, “Great Behadir, your anger is unjustified towards the faithful servant of Jinghis Khan. It is not my fault that the “smerdi” are repelling us. Order the army to retire for the night and rest. Tomorrow morning you will see for yourself that they will scatter before our arrow shots like the dry autumn leaves before a strong wind.”
“So that’s it!” shouted Burunda. “So they might fall upon and murder the army sleeping in the houses!”
“Then order the houses to be burned while the soldiers sleep out in the open under the canopy of the sky.”
“Always you speak craftily and offer clever plans to avert my wrath and to absolve yourself of any blame! But not this time! You brought us here, now you must get us out and that the first thing in the morning without any more loss of time or men. Do you understand? You will live up to the bargain or suffer dire misfortune.”
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