The night was freezing cold, a chill April wind sweeping the mists over the heights, upon which the two hosts, exhausted and bleeding, slept upon their arms, each fearing a midnight surprise.  With the earliest dawn of the next morning the battle was renewed; both armies defiantly and simultaneously moving down from the hills to meet on the plains.  Mstislaf rode along the ranks of his troops, exclaiming: 

“Let no man turn his head.  Retreat now is destruction.  Let us forget our wives and children, and fight for our lives.”

His soldiers, with shouts of enthusiasm, threw aside all encumbering clothes, and uttering those loud outcries with which semi-barbarians ever rush into battle, impetuously fell upon the advancing foe.  Mstislaf was a prince of herculean stature and strength.  With a battle-ax in his hands, he advanced before the troops, and it is recorded that, striking on the right hand and the left, he cut a path through the ranks of the enemy as a strong man would trample down the grain.  A wake of the dead marked his path.  It was one of the most deplorable of Russian battles, for the dispute had arrayed the son against the father, brother against brother, friend against friend.

The victory, however, was now not for a moment doubtful.  The royal forces were entirely routed, and were pursued with enormous slaughter by the victorious Mstislaf.  Nearly ten thousand of the followers of Georges were slain upon the field of battle.  Georges having had three horses killed beneath him, escaped, and on the fourth day reached Vladimir, where he found only old men, women, children and ecclesiastics, so entirely had he drained the country for the war.  The king himself was the first to announce to the citizens of Vladimir the terrible defeat.  Wan from fatigue and suffering, he rode in at the gates, his hair disheveled, and his clothing torn.  As he traversed the streets, he called earnestly upon all who remained to rally upon the walls for their defense.  It was late in the afternoon when the king reached the metropolis.  During the night a throng of fugitives was continually entering the city, wounded and bleeding.  In the early morning, the king assembled the citizens in the public square, and urged them to a desperate resistance.  But they, disheartened by the awful reverse, exclaimed: 

“Prince, courage can no longer save us.  Our brethren have perished on the field of battle.  Those who have escaped are wounded, exhausted and unarmed.  We are unable to oppose the enemy.”

Georges entreated them to make at least a show of resistance, that he might open negotiations with the foe.  Soon Mstislaf appeared, leading his troops in solid phalanx, with waving banners and trumpet blasts, and surrounded the city.  In the night, a terrible conflagration burst forth within the city, and his soldiers entreated him to take advantage of the confusion for an immediate assault.  The magnanimous conqueror refused to avail himself of the calamity, and restrained the ardor of his troops.  The next morning, Georges despairing of any further defense, rode from the gates into the camp of Mstislaf.