Witek and his company approached the low range that forms the northern boundary of Moravia. Evening’s dusk warned the party to seek a retired location for a night’s encampment. Having selected their resting place on the bank of a small stream, they prepared for the night; when a sound of singing attracted and astonished them. The voice was evidently practised and the air more sedate than usual with a jongleur. Another encampment was soon discerned, and the entire party cautiously approached. There about twenty Cumanians guarded a number of young women, several wagons laden with booty of the lighter sort, and two men, of whom the singer was one. Witek’s company did not exceed twelve, but all bore arms under their loose clothing. They were wholly undiscovered. The words of the song were inaudible, but the melody was unmistakable. Every dweller along that march well knew it. One of the new-comers wore sandals of a peculiar pattern. They were more than sandals and not complete shoes. The opening in front was loosely secured by a thong carefully tied in imitation of a cross. These shoes were the zabbata, sabbata, modern sabots of the Waldensian sectaries. Approaching the banditti, the stranger craved a shelter. Throwing his arms at full length and at right angles to his body, he at the same moment stepped into the light of the fire. His shoes at once revealed his character to Pietro’s practised eye. As soon as the wearied troop sank to sleep, for they kept no sentinel, Pietro and his new auxiliary quietly withdrew Eudocia and
