Генрик Сенкевич - On the Field of Glory

But Tachevski pushed up to Marek, who was gritting his teeth, and repeated in a quick voice, as if fearing lest the common attack might repeat itself, -

"If you please! If you please!"

And the sabres were clanking a second time ominously. But with Marek, who was as much stronger than his enemy as he was less dexterous, Tachevski had short work. Marek used his great sabre like a flail, so that Yatsek at the third blow struck his right shoulder-blade, cut through the bone, and disarmed him.

Now Lukash and Yan understood that a very ugly task was before them, and that the slender young man was a wasp in reality, – a wasp which it would have been wise not to irritate. But with increased passion, they stood now against him to a struggle which ended as badly for them as it had for their elders. Lukash, cut through his cheek to the gums, fell with impetus, and, besides, struck a stone which the deep snow had hidden; while from Yan, the most dexterous of the brothers, his sabre, together with one of his fingers, fell to the ground at the end of some minutes.

Yatsek, without a scratch, gazed at his work, as it were, with astonishment, and those sparks which a moment before had been glittering in his eyeballs began now to quench gradually. With his left hand he straightened his cap, which during the struggle had slipped somewhat over his right ear, then he removed it, breathed deeply once and a second time, turned to the cross, and said, half to himself and half to Stanislav, -

"God knows that I am innocent."

"Now it is my turn," said Stanislav. "But you are panting, perhaps you would rest; meanwhile I will put their cloaks on my comrades, lest this damp cold may chill them ere help comes."

"Help is near," said Tachevski. "Over there in the mist is a sleigh sent by Father Voynovski, and he himself is at my house. Permit me. I will go for the sleigh in which those gentlemen will feel easier than here on this snow field."

And he started while Stanislav went to cover the Bukoyemskis who were sitting arm to arm in the snow, except Yan, the least wounded. Yan on his knees was in front of Mateush, holding up his own right hand lest blood might flow from the finger stump too freely; in his left he held snow with which he was washing the face of his brother.

"How are ye?" asked Stanislav.

"Ah, he has bitten us, the son of a such a one!" said Lukash, and he spat blood abundantly; "but we will avenge ourselves."

"I cannot move my arm at all, for he cut the bone," added Marek. "Eh, the dog! Eh!"

"And Mateush is cut over the brows!" called out Yan; "the wound should be covered with bread and spider-web but I will staunch the blood with snow for the present."

"If my eyes were not filled with blood," said Mateush, "I would-"

But he could not finish since blood loss had weakened him, and he was interrupted by Lukash who had been borne away suddenly by anger.

"But he is cunning, the dog blood! He stings like a gnat, though he looks like a maiden."

"It is just that cunning," said Yan, "which I cannot pardon."

Further conversation was interrupted by the snorting of horses. The sleigh appeared in the haze dimly, and next it was there at the side of the brothers. Out of the sleigh sprang Tachevski, who commanded the driver to step down and help them.

The man looked at the Bukoyemskis, took in the whole case with a glance, and said not a word, but on his face was reflected, as it seemed, disappointment, and, turning toward the horses, he crossed himself. Then the three men fell to raising the wounded. The brothers protested against the assistance of Yatsek, but he stopped them.

"If ye gentlemen had wounded me, would ye leave me unassisted? This is the service of a noble which one may not meet with neglect or refusal."

They were silent, for he won them by these words-somewhat, and after a while they were lying upon straw in the broad sleigh more comfortably, and soon they were warmer.

"Whither shall I go?" asked the driver.

"Wait. Thou wilt take still another," answered Stanislav, and turning to Yatsek, he said to him, -

"Well, gracious sir, it is our time!"

"Oh, it is better to drop this," said Yatsek, regarding him with a look almost friendly. "That God there knows why this has happened, and you took my part when these gentlemen together attacked me. Why should you and I fight a duel?"

"We must and will fight," replied Stanislav, coldly. "You have insulted me, and, even if you had not, my name is in question at present-do you understand? Though I were to lose life, though this were to be my last hour-we must fight."

"Let it be so! but against my will," said Tachevski.

And they began. Stanislav, had more skill than the brothers, but he was weaker than any of them. It was clear that he had been taught by better masters, and that his practice had not been confined to inns and markets. He pressed forward quickly, he parried with readiness and knowledge. Yatsek, in whose heart there was no hatred, and who would have stopped at the lesson given the Bukoyemskis, began to praise him.

"With you," said he, "the work is quite different. Your hand was trained by no common swordsman."

"Too bad that you did not train it!" said Stanislav.

And he was doubly rejoiced, first at the praise, and then because he had given answer, for only the most famed among swordsmen could let himself speak in time of a duel, and polite conversation was considered moreover as the acme of courtesy. All this increased Stanislav in his own eyes. Hence he pressed forward again with good feeling. But after some fresh blows he was forced to acknowledge in spirit that Tachevski surpassed him. Yatsek defended himself as it seemed with unwillingness but very easily, and in general he acted as though engaged not in fighting, but in fencing for exercise. Clearly, he wished to convince himself as to what Stanislav knew, and as to how much better he was than the brothers, and when he had done this with accuracy he felt at last sure of his own case.

Stanislav noted this also, hence delight left him, and he struck with more passion. Tachevski then twisted himself as if he had had enough of amusement, gave the "feigned" blow, pressed on and sprang aside after a moment.

"Thou hast got it!" said he.

Stanislav felt, as it were, a cold sting in the arm, but he answered, -

"Go on. That is nothing!"

And he cut again, that same moment the point of Yatsek's sabre laid his lower lip open and cut the skin under it. Yatsek sprang aside now a second time.

"Thou art bleeding!" said he.

"That is nothing!"

"Glory to God if 'tis nothing! But I have had plenty, and here is my hand for you. You have acted like a genuine cavalier."

Stanislav greatly roused, but pleased also at these words, stood for a moment, as if undecided whether to make peace or fight longer. At last he sheathed his sabre and gave his hand then to Yatsek.

"Let it be so. In truth, as it seems, I am bleeding."

He touched his chin with his left hand and looked at the blood with much wonder. It had colored his palm and his fingers abundantly.

"Hold snow on the wound to keep it from swelling," said Yatsek, "and go to the sleigh now."

So speaking he took Stanislav by the arm and conducted him to the Bukoyemskis, who looked at him silently, somewhat astonished, but also confounded. Yatsek roused real respect in them, not only as a master with the sabre, but as a man of "lofty manners," such manners precisely as they themselves needed.

So after a while this inquiry was made of Stanislav by Mateush, -

"How is it with thee, O Stashko?"

"Well. I might go on foot," was the answer, "but I choose the sleigh, the journey will be quicker."

Yatsek sat toward them sidewise, and cried to the driver, -

"To Vyrambki."