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was away on the unsuccessful errand, Maxim sat in his tent pondering what he should do. His short meeting with Peace-Renown was like a bright ray of sunshine in the brooding darkness of his helpless imprisonment. Her words, her glances, the touch of her hands, the tidings she brought, all this it seemed snatched him back from the brink of a murky grave, restoring him once more to life. He felt his old courage and hope returning. Quietly but with optimistic thoughts he waited, listening for the boyar’s footsteps.

“So you are still here?” cried the boyar, entering the tent. “Poor boy, all in vain I tried my best to obtain your freedom. But your old man is obstinate! Though he’s grey, he’s still a child.”

“Didn’t I warn you, Boyarin, that your efforts would prove fruitless?” replied Maxim.

“But tell me, what exactly did my father say to you?”

“He said they would fight to their last breath, and that’s all there was to it. ‘Either we will all be slain,’ he said, ‘or you will.’ ”

“My father doesn’t say things like that just to hear himself talk, Boyarin. He is in the habit of considering matters thoroughly before he speaks.”

“I’ve noticed myself,” the boyar admitted unwillingly, “that he doesn’t say much but whatever he says is the truth. But what is there to do? No matter how you look at it the