prepared a solid block of oak. This instrument he directed to be beveled down at one side until it formed a sharpened edge. Hardening this wooden knife in fire and setting it between two upright grooved posts, forming a sort of guillotine, Nicolas placed Zawis, bound to a plank underneath, so that his neck lay under the wooden knife raised up and weighted with stone. Then raising a shout, the assailants pointed to the rude scaffold, and tauntingly reproached the garrison with the murder of their master. A shower of stones and arrows answered; and Nicolas giving the order, the wooden knife descended, and with a horrid, jagged gash tore, rather than cut, the noble head of Lord Zawis from his body.
A pause intervened as the defenders stood agonized with the dreadful butchery. Siege operations temporarily ceased and even a few of the garrison ventured outside during the necessary burial of the dead. Among others Sambor went forth to inquire after former comrades. His good will towards Nicolas had not been augmented by the refusal of promised promotion when the opportunity came round. Among the dead lay two women, one closely veiled, her face wholly crushed by a stone, and unrecognizable. Nicolas, attracted by the report of the occurrence, repaired to the spot.
Sambor stood there among the soldiers.
“Can any person declare who that woman was?” asked Nicolas.
As yet no reply.
“I offer a reward and promotion to any one who can tell who that woman was.”
