Then he turned to Macko and looked expressively at Lichtenstein, as if to recommend him to Macko's memory; his uncle nodded in return that he understood and would remember. Lichtenstein also understood the look and the nod, and although he was as courageous as implacable, a cold shiver ran through him--so dreadful and ill-omened was the face of the old warrior. The Krzyzak knew that between him and that knight it would be a question of life or death. That even if he wanted to avoid the combat, he could not do it; that when his mission was ended, they must meet, even at Malborg.[56] Meanwhile the castellan went to the adjoining room to dictate the sentence to a secretary. Some of the knights during the interruption came near the Krzyzak, saying: "May they give you a more merciful sentence in the great day of judgment!" But Lichtenstein cared only for the opinion of Zawisza, because he was noted all over the world for his knightly deeds, his knowledge of the laws of chivalry and his great exactness in keeping them. In the most entangled affairs in which there was any question about knightly honor, they used to go to him even from distant lands. Nobody contradicted his decisions, not only because there was no chance of victory in a contest with him, but because they considered him "the mirror of honor." One word of blame or praise from his mouth was quickly known by the knighthood of Poland, Hungary, Bohemia (Czech) and Germany; and he could decide between the good and evil actions of a knight. Therefore Lichtenstein approached him as if he would like to justify his deadly grudge, and said: "The grand master himself, with the chapter, could show him clemency; but I cannot." "Your grand master has nothing to do with our laws; our king can show clemency to our people, not he," answered Zawisza. "I as the envoy was obliged to insist upon punishment." "Lichtenstein, you were first a knight, afterward an envoy!" "Do you think that I acted against honor?" "You know our books of chivalry, and you know that they order us to imitate two animals, the lamb and the lion. Which of the two have you, imitated in this case?" "You are not my judge!" "You asked me if you had committed an offence, and I answered as I thought." "You give me a hard answer, which I cannot swallow." "You will be choked by your own malice, not by mine." "But Christ will put to my account, the fact that I cared more about the dignity of the Order, than about your praise." "He will judge all of us." Further conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of the castellan and the secretary. They knew that the sentence would be a severe one, and everyone waited silently. The castellan sat at the table, and, having taken a crucifix in his hand, ordered Zbyszko to kneel. The secretary began to read the sentence in Latin. It was a sentence of death. When the reading was over, Zbyszko struck himself several times on the chest, repeating; "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"