promised and undertook to defend them against the attack and upon this guarantee they sent us their aid, five hundred select young men. Plainly our duty is to hold our own to the very last and we intend to do this. It’s possible God has willed that you will defeat us, in that case we shall not stop you. But remember, that only over the dead bodies of the last Tukholians will you be able to get out of this valley. But then who knows, perhaps the conquest is to be ours, then you can be sure that having come into our valley you have all entered your graves so that even your corpses will never again be carried out of it. Either we will all die or you will, there is no other choice. This is our answer.”
Zakhar Berkut’s face flushed with a strange fire while he pronounced these terrible words, so that the boyar, gazing at the tall old man with his hand outstretched, could find no adequate reply to make. He saw plainly that it was useless to argue any further and silently he turned about and walked away.
A gloomy silence hung over the council, only the fire crackled and spluttered and the unceasing felling and scraping of wood being made into engines with which to kill the Mongols resounded within the glade.
“Father!” cried Peace-Renown in a tortured voice. “Father, come back!” She ran after him and caught him by the hand. Filial love once more overpowered her with an undeniable force. “Father, come back! Stay here among your own people! Face the aggressors with them in battle like a brother at the side of his brothers and they will forgive you for everything in the past. But there . . . what can you expect from them? They will deceive you, will intoxicate you with promises and then murder you! Father, please don’t go back to the Mongols . . . there only death awaits you!”
The boyar stood undecided, lost in thought, but only for a moment. Then he embraced Peace-Renown and said half-
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