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Title: The Knights of the Cross, or, Krzyzacy: Historical Romance

Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz

Translator: Samuel Augustus Binion

Release date: December 1, 2005 [eBook #9473]
                Most recently updated: April 20, 2013

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Thomas Berger, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS, OR, KRZYZACY: HISTORICAL ROMANCE ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Thomas Berger, and the
Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team











THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS

or, KRZYZACY

Historical Romance

By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

Author Of "Quo Vadis," "The Deluge," "With Fire And Sword,"
"Pan Michael," Etc., Etc.

Translated From The Original Polish By Samuel A. Binion

Author Of "Ancient Egypt," Etc. Translator Of "Quo Vadis," Etc.







[Illustration: BUST OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ]





HON. WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D.

Commissioner of Education

My Dear Doctor:--

This translation, of one of the greatest novels of Poland's foremost
modern writer, Henryk Sienkiewicz, I beg to dedicate to you. Apart for my
high personal regard for you, my reason for selecting you among all my
literary friends, is: that you are a historian and philosopher, and can
therefore best appreciate works of this kind.

SAMUEL A. BINION,

New York City.




To the Reader.

Here you have, gentle reader--old writers always called you
gentle--something very much more than a novel to amuse an idle hour. To
read it will be enjoyable pastime, no doubt; but the brilliant romance of
the brilliant author calls upon you for some exercise of the finest
sympathy and intelligence; sympathy for a glorious nation which, with
only one exception, has suffered beyond all other nations; intelligence,
of the sources of that unspeakable and immeasurable love and of the great
things that may yet befall before those woes are atoned for and due
punishment for them meted out to their guilty authors.

Poland! Poland! The very name carries with it sighings and groanings,
nation-murder, brilliance, beauty, patriotism, splendors, self-sacrifice
through generations of gallant men and exquisite women; indomitable
endurance of bands of noble people carrying through world-wide exile the
sacred fire of wrath against the oppressor, and uttering in every clime a
cry of appeal to Humanity to rescue Poland.

It was indeed a terrible moment in history, when the three military
monarchies of Europe, Russia, Austria and Prussia, swooped down upon the
glorious but unhappy country, torn by internal trouble, and determined to
kill it and divide up its dominions. All were alike guilty, as far as
motive went. But Holy Russia--Holy!--since that horrible time has taken
upon herself by far the greatest burden of political crime in her
dealings with that noble nation. Every evil passion bred of despotism, of
theological hatred, of rancorous ancient enmities, and the ghastliest
official corruption, have combined in Russian action for more than one
hundred and fifty years, to turn Poland into a hell on earth. Her very
language was proscribed.

This is not the place to give details of that unhappy country's woes. But
suffice it to say, that Poland, in spite of fatuous prohibitions, has had
a great literature since the loss of her independence, and that
literature has so kept alive the soul of the nation, that with justice
Poland sings her great patriotic song:

  "Poland is not yet lost
  As long as we live...."

The nation is still alive in its writers and their works, their splendid
poetry and prose.

It is a pity that so few of these great writers are widely known. But
most people have heard of Jan Kochanowski, of Mikolaj Rey, of Rubinski,
of Szymanowicz, of Poland's great genius in this century, one of the
supreme poets of the world, Adam Mickiewicz, of Joseph Ignac, of
Kraszewski, who is as prolific in literary and scientific works as
Alexander von Humboldt, and of hundreds of others in all branches of
science and art, too numerous to mention here.

And it is remarkable that the author of this book, Henryk Sienkiewicz,
should of late have attained such prominence in the public eye and found
a place in the heart of mankind. It is of good omen. Thus, Poland, in
spite of her fetters, is keeping step in the very van of the most
progressive nations.

The romance of Sienkiewicz in this volume is perhaps the most interesting
and fascinating he has yet produced. It is in the very first rank of
imaginative and historical romance. The time and scene of the noble story
are laid in the middle ages during the conquest of Pagan Lithuania by the
military and priestly order of the "Krzyzacy" Knights of the Cross. And
the story exhibits with splendid force the collision of race passions and
fierce, violent individualities which accompanied that struggle. Those
who read it will, in addition to their thrilling interest in the tragical
and varied incidents, gain no little insight into the origin and working
of the inextinguishable race hatred between Teuton and Slav. It was an
unfortunate thing surely, that the conversion of the heathen Lithuanians
and Zmudzians was committed so largely to that curious variety of the
missionary, the armed knight, banded in brotherhood, sacred and military.
To say the least, his sword was a weapon dangerous to his evangelizing
purpose. He was always in doubt whether to present to the heathen the one
end of it, as a cross for adoration, or the other, as a point _to kill
with_. And so, if Poland _was_ made a Catholic nation, she was also made
an undying and unalterable hater of the German, the Teutonic name and
person.

And so this noble, historical tale, surpassed perhaps by none in
literature, is commended to the thoughtful attention and appreciation of
the reader.

SAMUEL A. BINION.

NEW YORK, May 9, 1899.




KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS.



PART FIRST




CHAPTER I.

In Tyniec,[1] in the inn under "Dreadful Urus," which belonged to the
abbey, a few people were sitting, listening to the talk of a military man
who had come from afar, and was telling them of the adventures which he
had experienced during the war and his journey.

He had a large beard but he was not yet old, and he was almost gigantic
but thin, with broad shoulders; he wore his hair in a net ornamented with
beads; he was dressed in a leather jacket, which was marked by the
cuirass, and he wore a belt composed of brass buckles; in the belt he had
a knife in a horn scabbard, and at his side a short traveling sword.

Near by him at the table, was sitting a youth with long hair and joyful
look, evidently his comrade, or perhaps a shield-bearer, because he also
was dressed as for a journey in a similar leather jacket. The rest of the
company was composed of two noblemen from the vicinity of Krakow and of
three townsmen with red folding caps, the thin tops of which were hanging
down their sides to their elbows.

The host, a German, dressed in a faded cowl with large, white collar, was
pouring beer for them from a bucket into earthen mugs, and in the
meanwhile he was listening with great curiosity to the military
adventures.

The burghers were listening with still greater curiosity. In these times,
the hatred, which during the time of King Lokietek had separated the city
and the knighthood, had been very much quenched, and the burghers were
prouder than in the following centuries. They called them still _des
allerdurchluchtigsten Kuniges und Herren_ and they appreciated their
readiness _ad concessionem pecuniarum_; therefore one would very often
see in the inns, the merchants drinking with the noblemen like brothers.
They were even welcome, because having plenty of money, usually they paid
for those who had coats of arms.

Therefore they were sitting there and talking, from time to time winking
at the host to fill up the mugs.

"Noble knight, you have seen a good piece of the world!" said one of the
merchants.

"Not many of those who are now coming to Krakow from all parts, have seen
as much," answered the knight.

"There will be plenty of them," said the merchant. "There is to be a
great feast and great pleasure for the king and the queen! The king has
ordered the queen's chamber to be upholstered with golden brocade,
embroidered with pearls, and a canopy of the same material over her.
There will be such entertainments and tournaments, as the world has never
seen before."

"Uncle Gamroth, don't interrupt the knight," said the second merchant.

"Friend Eyertreter, I am not interrupting; only I think that he also will
be glad to know about what they are talking, because I am sure he is
going to Krakow. We cannot return to the city to-day at any rate, because
they will shut the gates."

"And you speak twenty words, in reply to one. You are growing old, Uncle
Gamroth!"

"But I can carry a whole piece of wet broadcloth just the same."

"Great thing! the cloth through which one can see, as through a sieve."

But further dispute was stopped by the knight, who said:

"Yes, I will stay in Krakow because I have heard about the tournaments
and I will be glad to try my strength in the lists during the combats;
and this youth, my nephew, who although young and smooth faced, has
already seen many cuirasses on the ground, will also enter the lists."

The guests glanced at the youth who laughed mirthfully, and putting his
long hair behind his ears, placed the mug of beer to his mouth.

The older knight added:

"Even if we would like to return, we have no place to go."

"How is that?" asked one of the nobles.

"Where are you from, and what do they call you?"

"I am Macko of Bogdaniec, and this lad, the son of my brother, calls
himself Zbyszko. Our coat of arms is Tempa Podkowa, and our war-cry is
Grady!"

"Where is Bogdaniec?"

"Bah! better ask, lord brother, where it was, because it is no more.
During the war between Grzymalczyks and Nalenczs,[2] Bogdaniec was
burned, and we were robbed of everything; the servants ran away. Only the
bare soil remained, because even the farmers who were in the
neighborhood, fled into the forests. The father of this lad, rebuilt; but
the next year, a flood took everything. Then my brother died, and after
his death I remained with the orphan. Then I thought: 'I can't stay!' I
heard about the war for which Jasko of Olesnica, whom the king,
Wladyslaw, sent to Wilno after he sent Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, was
collecting soldiers. I knew a worthy abbot, Janko of Tulcza, to whom I
gave my land as security for the money I needed to buy armor and horses,
necessary for a war expedition. The boy, twelve years old, I put on a
young horse and we went to Jasko of Olesnica."

"With the youth?"

"He was not even a youth then, but he has been strong since childhood.
When he was twelve, he used to rest a crossbow on the ground, press it
against his chest and turn the crank. None of the Englishmen, whom I have
seen in Wilno, could do better."

"Was he so strong?"

"He used to carry my helmet, and when he passed thirteen winters, he
could carry my spear also."

"You had plenty of fighting there!"

"Because of Witold. The prince was with the Knights of the Cross, and
every year they used to make an expedition against Lithuania, as far as
Wilno. Different people went with them: Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen,
who are the best bowmen, Czechs, Swiss and Burgundians. They cut down the
forests, burned the castles on their way and finally they devastated
Lithuania with fire and sword so badly, that the people who were living
in that country, wanted to leave it and search for another land, even to
the end of the world, even among Belial's children, only far from the
Germans."

"We heard here, that the Lithuanians wanted to go away with their wives
and children, but we did not believe it."

"And I looked at it. Hej! If not for Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, for Jasko of
Olesnica, and without any boasting, if not for us, there would be no
Wilno now."

"We know. You did not surrender the castle."

"We did not. And now notice what I am going to say, because I have
experience in military matters. The old people used to say: 'furious
Litwa'[3]--and it's true! They fight well, but they cannot withstand the
knights in the field. When the horses of the Germans are sunk in the
marshes, or when there is a thick forest--that's different."

"The Germans are good soldiers!" exclaimed the burghers.

"They stay like a wall, man beside man, in their iron armor. They advance
in one compact body. They strike, and the Litwa are scattered like sand,
or throw themselves flat on the ground and are trampled down. There are
not only Germans among them, because men of all nations serve with the
Knights of the Cross. And they are brave! Often before a battle a knight
stoops, stretches his lance, and rushes alone against the whole army."

"Christ!" exclaimed Gamroth. "And who among them are the best soldiers?"

"It depends. With the crossbow, the best is the Englishman, who can
pierce a suit of armor through and through, and at a hundred steps he
will not miss a dove. Czechowie (Bohemians) cut dreadfully with axes. For
the big two-handed sword the German is the best. The Swiss is glad to
strike the helmets with an iron flail, but the greatest knights are those
who come from France. These will fight on horseback and on foot, and in
the meanwhile they will speak very brave words, which however you will
not understand, because it is such a strange language. They are pious
people. They criticise us through the Germans. They say we are defending
the heathen and the Turks against the cross, and they want to prove it by
a knightly duel. And such God's judgment is going to be held between four
knights from their side, and four from our side, and they are going to
fight at the the court of Waclaw, the Roman and Bohemian king."[4]

Here the curiosity so increased among the noblemen and merchants, that
they stretched their necks in the direction of Macko of Bogdaniec and
they asked:

"And who are the knights from our side? Speak quickly!" Macko raised the
mug to his mouth, drank and then answered:

"Ej, don't be afraid about them. There is Jan of Wloszczowa, castellan of
Dobrzyn; there's Mikolaj of Waszmuntow; there are Jasko of Zdakow and
Jarosz of Czechow: all glorious knights and sturdy fellows. No matter
which weapons they choose,--swords or axes--nothing new to them! It will
be worth while for human eyes to see it and for human ears to hear
it--because, as I said, even if you press the throat of a Frenchman with
your foot, he will still reply with knightly words. Therefore so help me
God and Holy Cross they will outtalk us, but our knights will defeat
them."

"That will be glory, if God will bless us," said one of the nobles.

"And Saint Stanislaw!" added another. Then turning toward Macko, he asked
him further:

"Well! tell us some more! You praised the Germans and other knights
because they are valiant and have conquered Litwa easily. Did they not
have harder work with you? Did they go against you readily? How did it
happen? Praise our knights."

But evidently Macko of Bogdaniec was not a braggart, because he answered
modestly:

"Those who had just returned from foreign lands, attacked us readily; but
after they tried once or twice, they attacked us with less assurance,
because our people are hardened and they reproached us for that hardness:
'You despise,' they used to say,'death, but you help the Saracens, and
you will be damned for it.' And with us the deadly grudge increased,
because their taunt is not true! The king and the queen have christened
Litwa and everyone there tries to worship the Lord Christ although not
everyone knows how. And it is known also, that our gracious lord, when in
the cathedral of Plock they threw down the devil, ordered them to put a
candle before him--and the priests were obliged to tell him that he ought
not to do it. No wonder then about an ordinary man! Therefore many of
them say to themselves:

"'The _kniaz_[5] ordered us to be baptized, therefore I was baptized; he
ordered us to bow before the Christ, and I bowed; but why should I grudge
a little piece of cheese to the old heathen devils, or why should I not
throw them some turnips; why should I not pour the foam off of the beer?
If I do not do it, then my horses will die; or my cows will be sick, or
their milk will turn into blood--or there will be some trouble with the
harvest.' And many of them do this, and they are suspected. But they are
doing it because of their ignorance and their fear of the devils. Those
devils were better off in times of yore. They used to have their own
groves and they used to take the horses which they rode for their tithe.
But to-day, the groves are cut down and they have nothing to eat--in the
cities the bells ring, therefore the devils are hiding in the thickest
forest, and they howl there from loneliness. If a Litwin[6] goes to the
forest, then they pull him by his sheep-skin overcoat and they say:
'Give!' Some of them give, but there are also courageous boys, who will
not give and then the devils catch them. One of the boys put some beans
in an ox bladder and immediately three hundred devils entered there. And
he stuffed the bladder with a service-tree peg, brought them to Wilno and
sold them to the Franciscan priests, who gave him twenty _skojcow_[7] he
did this to destroy the enemies of Christ's name. I have seen that
bladder with my own eyes; a dreadful stench came from it, because in that
way those dirty spirits manifested their fear before holy water."

"And who counted them, that you know there were three hundred devils,"
asked the merchant Gamroth, intelligently.

"The Litwin counted them, when he saw them entering the bladder. It was
evident that they were there, because one would know it from the stench,
and nobody wished to take out the peg to count them."

"What wonders, what wonders!" exclaimed one of the nobles.

"I have seen many great wonders, because everything is peculiar among
them. They are shaggy and hardly any _kniaz_ combs his hair; they live on
baked turnips, which they prefer to any other food, because they say that
bravery comes from eating them. They live in the forests with their
cattle and snakes; they are not abstinent in eating nor drinking. They
despise the married women, but greatly respect the girls to whom they
attribute great power. They say that if a girl rubs a man with dried
leaves, it will stop colic."

"It's worth while to have colic, if the women are beautiful!" exclaimed
Uncle Eyertreter.

"Ask Zbyszko about it," answered Macko of Bogdaniec.

Zbyszko laughed so heartily that the bench began to shake beneath him.

"There are some beautiful ones," he said. "Ryngalla was charming."

"Who is Ryngalla? Quick!"

"What? you haven't heard about Ryngalla?" asked Macko.

"We have not heard a word."

"She was Witold's sister, and the wife of Henryk, Prince Mazowiecki."

"You don't say! Which Prince Henryk? There was only one Prince
Mazowiecki, elect[8] of Plock, but he died."

"The same one. He expected a dispensation from Rome, but death gave him
his dispensation, because evidently he had not pleased God by his action.
Jasko of Olesnica sent me with a letter to Prince Witold, when Prince
Henryk, elect of Plock, was sent by the king to Ryterswerder. At that
time, Witold was tired of the war, because he could not capture Wilno,
and our king was tired of his own brothers and their dissipation. The
king having noticed that Witold was shrewder and more intelligent than
his own brothers, sent the bishop to him, to persuade him to leave the
Knights of the Cross, and return to his allegiance, for which he promised
to make him ruler over Litwa. Witold, always fond of changing, listened
with pleasure to the embassy. There were also a feast and tournaments.
The elect mounted a horse, although the other bishops did not approve of
it, and in the lists he showed his knightly strength. All the princes of
Mazowsze are very strong; it is well known, that even the girls of that
blood can easily break horseshoes. In the beginning the prince threw
three knights from their saddles; the second time he threw five of them.
He threw me from my saddle, and in the beginning of the encounter,
Zbyszko's horse reared and he was thrown. The prince took all the prizes
from the hands of the beautiful Ryngalla, before whom he kneeled in full
armor. They fell so much in love with each other, that dining the feasts,
the _clerici_[9] pulled him from her by his sleeves and her brother,
Witold, restrained her. The prince said: 'I will give myself a
dispensation, and the pope, if not the one in Home, then the one in
Avignon, will confirm it, but I must marry her immediately--otherwise I
will burn up!' It was a great offence against God, but Witold did not
dare to oppose him, because he did not want to displease the
embassador--and so there was a wedding. Then they went to Suraz, and
afterward to Sluck, to the great sorrow of this youth, Zbyszko, who,
according to the German custom, had selected the Princess Ryngalla to be
the lady of his heart and had promised her eternal fidelity."

"Bah!" suddenly interrupted Zbyszko, "it's true. But afterward the people
said that Ryngalla regretted being the wife of the elect (because he,
although married, did not want to renounce his spiritual dignity) and
feeling that God's blessing could not be over such a marriage, poisoned
her husband. When I heard that, I asked a pious hermit, living not far
from Lublin, to absolve me from that vow."

"He was a hermit," answered Macko, laughing, "but was he pious? I don't
know; we went to him on Friday, and he was splitting bear's bones with an
axe, and sucking the marrow so hard, that there was music in his throat."

"But he said that the marrow was not meat, and besides he had received
permission to do it, because after sucking marrow, he used to have
marvelous visions during his sleep and the next day he could prophesy
until noontime."

"Well, well!" answered Macko. "And the beautiful Ryngalla is a widow and
she may call you to her service."

"It would be in vain, because I am going to choose another lady, whom I
will serve till death, and then I will find a wife."

"You must first find the girdle of a knight."

"_Owa!_[10] There will be plenty of tournaments. And before that the king
will not dub a single knight. I can measure myself against any. The
prince could not have thrown me down, if my horse had not reared."

"There will be knights here better than you are."

Here the noblemen began to shout:

"For heaven's sake! Here, in the presence of the queen, will fight not
such as you, but only the most famous knights in the world. Here will
fight Zawisza of Garbow and Farurej, Dobko of Olesnica, Powala of Taczew,
Paszko Zlodzie of Biskupice, Jasko Naszan and Abdank of Gora. Andrzej of
Brochocice, Krystyn of Ostrow, and Jakob of Kobylany! Can you measure
your sword against the swords of those, with whom neither the knights
here, nor of the Bohemian court, nor of the Hungarian court can compete?
What are you talking about? Are you better then they? How old are you?"

"Eighteen," answered Zbyszko.

"Everyone of them could crush you between his fingers."

"We will see."

But Macko said:

"I have heard that the king rewarded those knights munificently who
returned from the Lithuanian war. Speak, you belong here; is it true?"

"Yes, it is true!" answered one of the nobles. "The king's munificence is
known to the world; but it will be difficult to get near him now, because
the guests are swarming to Krakow; they are coming to be in time for the
queen's confinement and for the christening, wishing to show reverence to
our lord and to render him homage. The king of Hungary is coming; they
say the Roman emperor will be here also, and plenty of princes, counts
and knights, will come because not one of them expects to return with
empty hands. They even say that Pope Boniface, himself will arrive,
because he also needs favor and help from our lord against his adversary
in Avignon. Therefore in such a crowd, it will be difficult to approach
the king; but if one would be able to see him and bow at his feet, then
he will liberally reward him who deserves it."

"Then I will bow before him, because I have served enough, and if there
is another war, I shall go again. We have taken some booty, and we are
not poor; but I am getting old, and when one is old, and the strength has
left his bones, one is pleased to have a quiet corner."

"The king was glad to see those who returned from Litwa with Jasko of
Olesnica; and they feast well now."

"You see I did not return at that time; I was still at the war. You know
that the Germans have suffered because of that reconciliation between the
king and _Kniaz_ Witold. The prince cunningly got the hostages back, and
then rushed against the Germans! He ruined and burned the castle and
slaughtered the knights and a great many of the people. The Germans
wanted revenge, as did also Swidrygello, who went to them. There was
again a great expedition started. The grand master Kondrat himself went
with a great army; they besieged Wilno, and tried from their towers to
ruin the castles; they also tried to capture the city by treachery--but
they did not succeed! While retreating there were so many killed, that
even half of them did not escape. Then we attacked Ulrich von Jungingen,
the grand master's brother, who is bailiff in Swabja. But the bailiff was
afraid of the _kniaz_ and ran away. On account of this flight there is
peace, and they are rebuilding the city. One pious monk, who could walk
with bare feet on hot iron, has prophesied since that time, that as long
as the world exists, no German soldier will be seen under the walls of
Wilno. And if that be so, then whose hands have done it?"

Having said this, Macko of Bogdaniec, extended his palms, broad and
enormous; the others began to nod and to approve:

"Yes, yes! It's true what he says! Yes!"

But further conversation was interrupted by a noise entering through the
windows from which the bladders had been taken out, because the night was
warm and clear. From afar thrumming, singing, laughing and the snorting
of horses were heard. They were surprised because it was quite late. The
host rushed to the yard of the inn, but before the guests were able to
drink their beer to the last drop, he returned shouting:

"Some court is coming!"

A moment afterward, in the door appeared a footman dressed in a blue
jacket and wearing a red folding cap. He stopped, glanced at the guests,
and then having perceived the host, he said:

"Wipe the tables and prepare lights; the princess, Anna Danuta, will stop
here to-night."

Having said this, he withdrew. In the inn a great commotion began; the
host called his servants, and the guests looked at one another with great
surprise.

"Princess Anna Danuta," said one of the townsmen, "she is
Kiejstutowna,[11] Janusz Mazowiecki's wife. She was in Krakow two weeks,
but she went to Zator to visit Prince Waclaw, and now she is coming
back."

"Uncle Gamroth," said the other townsman, "let us go to the barn and
sleep on the hay; the company is too high for us."

"I don't wonder they are traveling during the night," said Macko,
"because the days are very warm; but why do they come to the inn when the
monastery is so near?"

Here he turned toward Zbyszko:

"The beautiful Ryngalla's own sister; do you understand?"

And Zbyszko answered:

"There must be many Mazovian ladies with her, hej!"




CHAPTER II.

At that moment the princess entered. She was a middle-aged lady with a
smiling face, dressed in a red mantle and light green dress with a golden
girdle around her hips. The princess was followed by the ladies of the
court; some not yet grown up, some of them older; they had pink and lilac
wreaths on their heads, and the majority of them had lutes in their
hands. Some of them carried large bunches of fresh, flowers, evidently
plucked by the roadside. The room was soon filled, because the ladies
were followed by some courtiers and young pages. All were lively, with
mirth on their faces, talking loudly or humming as if they were
intoxicated with the beauty of the night. Among the courtiers, there were
two _rybalts_;[12] one had a lute and the other had a _gensla_[13] at his
girdle. One of the girls who was very young, perhaps twelve years old,
carried behind the princess a very small lute ornamented with brass
nails.

"May Jesus Christ be praised!" said the princess, standing in the centre
of the room.

"For ages and ages, amen!" answered those present, in the meanwhile
saluting very profoundly.

"Where is the host?"

The German having heard the call, advanced to the front and kneeled, in
the German fashion, on one knee.

"We are going to stop here and rest," said the lady. "Only be quick,
because we are hungry."

The townsmen had already gone; now the two noblemen, and with them Macko
of Bogdaniec and young Zbyszko, bowed again, intending to leave the room,
as they did not wish to interfere with the court.

But the princess detained them.

"You are noblemen; you do not intrude, you are acquainted with courtiers.
From where has God conducted you?"

Then they mentioned their names,[14] their coats of arms, their nicknames
and the estates from which they received their names. The lady having
heard from _wlodyka_[15] Macko that he had been to Wilno, clapped her
hands, and said:

"How well it has happened! Tell us about Wilno and about my brother and
sister. Is Prince Witold coming for the queen's confinement and for the
christening?"

"He would like to, but does not know whether he will be able to do so;
therefore he sent a silver cradle to the queen for a present. My nephew
and I brought that cradle."

"Then the cradle is here? I would like to see it! All silver?"

"All silver; but it is not here. The Basilians took it to Krakow."

"And what are you doing in Tyniec?"

"We returned here to see the procurator of the monastery who is our
relative, in order to deposit with the worthy monks, that with which the
war has blessed us and that which the prince gave us for a present."

"Then God gave you good luck and valuable booty? But tell me why my
brother is uncertain whether he will come?"

"Because he is preparing an expedition against the Tartars."

"I know it; but I am grieved that the queen did not prophesy a happy
result for that expedition, and everything she predicts is always
fulfilled."

Macko smiled.

"Ej, our lady is a prophetess, I cannot deny; but with Prince Witold, the
might of our knighthood will go, splendid men, against whom nobody is
able to contend."

"Are you not going?"

"No, I was sent with the cradle, and for five years I have not taken off
my armor," answered Macko, showing the furrows made by the cuirass on his
reindeer jacket; "but let me rest, then I will go, or if I do not go
myself then I will send this youth, my nephew, Zbyszko, to Pan[16] Spytko
of Melsztyn, under whose command all our knights will go."

Princess Danuta glanced at Zbyszko's beautiful figure; but further
conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a monk from the monastery,
who having greeted the princess, began to humbly reproach her, because
she had not sent a courier with the news that she was coming, and because
she had not stopped at the monastery, but in an ordinary inn which was
not worthy of her majesty. There are plenty of houses and buildings in
the monastery where even an ordinary man will find hospitality, and
royalty is still more welcome, especially the wife of that prince from
whose ancestors and relatives, the abbey had experienced so many
benefits.

But the princess answered mirthfully:

"We came here only to stretch our limbs; in the morning we must be in
Krakow. We sleep during the day and we travel during the night, because
it is cooler. As the roosters were crowing, I did not wish to awaken the
pious monks, especially with such a company which thinks more about
singing and dancing than about repose."

But when the monk still insisted, she added:

"No. We will stay here. We will spend the time well in singing lay songs,
but we will come to the church for matins in order to begin the day with
God."

"There will be a mass for the welfare of the gracious prince and the
gracious princess," said the monk.

"The prince, my husband, will not come for four or five days."

"The Lord God will be able to grant happiness even from afar, and in the
meanwhile let us poor monks at least bring some wine from the monastery."

"We will gladly repay," said the princess.

When the monk went out, she called:

"Hej, Danusia! Danusia! Mount the bench and make our hearts merry with
the same song you sang in Zator."

Having heard this, the courtiers put a bench in the centre of the room.
The _rybalts_ sat on the ends, and between them stood that young girl who
had carried behind the princess the lute ornamented with brass nails. On
her head she had a small garland, her hair falling on her shoulders, and
she wore a blue dress and red shoes with long points. On the bench she
looked like a child, but at the same time, a beautiful child, like some
figure from a church. It was evident that she was not singing for the
first time before the princess, because she was not embarrassed.

"Sing, Danusia, sing!" the young court girls shouted.

She seized the lute, raised her head like a bird which begins to sing,
and having closed her eyes, she began with a silvery voice:

  "If I only could get
  The wings like a birdie,
  I would fly quickly
  To my dearest Jasiek!"

The _rybalts_ accompanied her, one on the _gensliks_, the other on a big
lute; the princess, who loved the lay songs better than anything else in
the world, began to move her head back and forth, and the young girl sang
further with a thin, sweet childish voice, like a bird singing in the
forest:

  "I would then be seated
  On the high enclosure:
  Look, my dear Jasiulku,
  Look on me, poor orphan."

And then the _rybalts_ played. The young Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, who being
accustomed from childhood to war and its dreadful sights, had never in
his life heard anything like it; he touched a Mazur[17] standing beside
him and asked:

"Who is she?"

"She is a girl from the princess' court. We do not lack _rybalts_ who
cheer up the court, but she is the sweetest little _rybalt_ of them all,
and to the songs of no one else will the princess listen so gladly."

"I don't wonder. I thought she was an angel from heaven and I can't look
at her enough. What do they call her?"

"Have you not heard? Danusia. Her father is Jurand of Spychow, a
_comes_[18] mighty and gallant."

"Hej! Such a girl human eyes never saw before!"

"Everybody loves her for her singing and her beauty."

"And who is her knight?"

"She is only a child yet!"

Further conversation was stopped by Danusia's singing. Zbyszko looked at
her fair hair, her uplifted head, her half-closed eyes, and at her whole
figure lighted by the glare of the wax candles and by the glare of the
moonbeams entering through the windows; and he wondered more and more. It
seemed to him now, that he had seen her before; but he could not remember
whether it was in a dream, or somewhere in Krakow on the pane of a church
window.

And again he touched the courtier and asked in a low voice:

"Then she is from your court?"

"Her mother came from Litwa with the princess, Anna Danuta, who married
her to Count Jurand of Spychow. She was pretty and belonged to a powerful
family; the princess liked her better than any of the other young girls
and she loved the princess. That is the reason she gave the same name to
her daughter--Anna Danuta. But five years ago, when near Zlotorja, the
Germans attacked the court,--she died from fear. Then the princess took
the girl, and she has taken care of her since. Her father often comes to
the court; he is glad that the princess is bringing his child up healthy
and in happiness. But every time he looks at her, he cries, remembering
his wife; then he returns to avenge on the Germans his awful wrong. He
loved his wife more dearly than any one in the whole Mazowsze till now
has loved; but he has killed in revenge a great many Germans."

In a moment Zbyszko's eyes were shining and the veins on his forehead
swelled.

"Then the Germans killed her mother?" he asked.

"Killed and not killed. She died from fear. Five years ago there was
peace; nobody was thinking about war and everybody felt safe. The prince
went without any soldiers, only with the court, as usual during peace, to
build a tower in Zlotorja. Those traitors, the Germans, fell upon them
without any declaration of war, without any reason. They seized the
prince himself, and remembering neither God's anger, nor that from the
prince's ancestor, they had received great benefits, they bound him to a
horse and slaughtered his people. The prince was a prisoner a long time,
and only when King Wladyslaw threatened them with war, did they release
him. During this attack Danusia's mother died."

"And you, sir, were you there? What do they call you? I have forgotten!"

"My name is Mikolaj of Dlugolas and they call me Obuch.[19] I was there.
I saw a German with peacock feathers on his helmet, bind her to his
saddle; and then she died from fear. They cut me with a halberd from
which I have a scar."

Having said this he showed a deep scar on his head coming from beneath
his hair to his eyebrows.

There was a moment of silence. Zbyszko was again looking at Danusia. Then
he asked:

"And you said, sir, that she has no knight?"

But he did not receive any answer, because at that moment the singing
stopped. One of the _rybalts_, a fat and heavy man, suddenly rose, and
the bench tilted to one side. Danusia tottered and stretched out her
little hands, but before she could fall or jump, Zbyszko rushed up like a
wild-cat and seized her in his arms.

The princess, who at first screamed from fear, laughed immediately and
began to shout:

"Here is Danusia's knight! Come, little knight and give us back our dear
little girl!"

"He grasped her boldly," some among the courtiers were heard to say.

Zbyszko walked toward the princess, holding Danusia to his breast, who
having encircled his neck with one arm, held the lute with the other,
being afraid it would be broken. Her face was smiling and pleased,
although a little bit frightened.

In the meanwhile the youth came near the princess, put Danusia before
her, kneeled, raised his head and said with remarkable boldness for his
age:

"Let it be then according to your word, my gracious lady! It is time for
this gentle young girl to have her knight, and it is time for me to have
my lady, whose beauty and virtues I shall extol. With your permission, I
wish to make a vow and I will remain faithful to her under all
circumstances until death."

The princess was surprised, not on account of Zbyszko's words, but
because everything had happened so suddenly. It is true that the custom
of making vows was not Polish; but Mazowsze, being situated on the German
frontier, and often being visited by the knights from remote countries,
was more familiar with that custom than the other provinces, and imitated
it very often. The princess had also heard about it in her father's
court, where all eastern customs were considered as the law and the
example for the noble warriors. Therefore she did not see in Zbyszko's
action anything which could offend either herself or Danusia. She was
even glad that her dear girl had attracted the heart and the eyes of a
knight.

Therefore she turned her joyful face toward the girl.

"Danusia! Danusia! Do you wish to have your own knight?"

The fair-haired Danusia after jumping three times in her red shoes,
seized the princess by the neck and began to scream with joy, as though
they were promising her some pleasure permitted to the older people only.

"I wish, I wish----!"

The princess' eyes were filled with tears from laughing and the whole
court laughed with her; then the lady said to Zbyszko:

"Well, make your vow! Make your vow! What will you promise her?"

But Zbyszko, who preserved his seriousness undisturbed amidst the
laughter, said with dignity, while still kneeling:

"I promise that as soon as I reach Krakow, I will hang my spear on the
door of the inn, and on it I will put a card, which a student in writing
will write for me. On the card I will proclaim that Panna Danuta
Jurandowna is the prettiest and most virtuous girl among all living in
this or any other kingdom. Anyone who wishes to contradict this
declaration, I will fight until one of us dies or is taken into
captivity."

"Very well! I see you know the knightly custom. And what more?"

"I have learned from Pan Mikolaj of Dlugolas that the death of Panna
Jurandowna's mother was caused by the brutality of a German who wore the
crest of a peacock. Therefore I vow to gird my naked sides with a hempen
rope, and even though it eat me to the bone, I will wear it until I tear
three such tufts of feathers from the heads of German warriors whom I
kill."

Here the princess became serious.

"Don't make any joke of your vows!"

And Zbyszko added:

"So help me God and holy cross, this vow I will repeat in church before a
priest."

"It is a praiseworthy thing to fight against the enemy of our people; but
I pity you, because you are young, and you can easily perish."

At that moment Macko of Bogdanice approached, thinking it proper to
reassure the princess.

"Gracious lady, do not be frightened about that. Everybody must risk
being killed in a fight, and it is a laudable end for a _wlodyka_, old or
young. But war is not new nor strange to this man, because although he is
only a youth, he has fought on horseback and on foot, with spear and with
axe, with short sword and with long sword, with lance and without. It is
a new custom, for a knight to vow to a girl whom he sees for the first
time; but I do not blame Zbyszko for his promise. He has fought the
Germans before. Let him fight them again, and if during that fight a few
heads are broken, his glory will increase."

"I see that we have to do with a gallant knight," said the princess.

Then to Danusia, she said:

"Take my place as the first person to-day; only do not laugh because it
is not dignified."

Danusia sat in the place of the lady; she wanted to be dignified, but her
blue eyes were laughing at the kneeling Zbyszko, and she could not help
moving her feet from joy.

"Give him your gloves," said the princess.

Danusia pulled off her gloves and handed them to Zbyszko who pressed them
with great respect to his lips, and said:

"I will fix them on my helmet and woe to the one who stretches his hands
for them!"

Then he kissed Danusia's hands and feet and arose. Then his dignity left
him, and great joy filled his heart because from that time the whole
court would consider him a mature man. Therefore shaking Danusia's
gloves, he began to shout, half mirthfully, half angrily:

"Come, you dog-brothers with peacock's crests, come!"

But at that moment the same monk who had been there before entered the
inn, and with him two superior ones. The servants of the monastery
carried willow baskets which contained bottles of wine and some tidbits.
The monks greeted the princess and again reproached her because she had
not gone directly to the abbey. She explained to them again, that having
slept during the day, she was traveling at night for coolness; therefore
she did not need any sleep; and as she did not wish to awaken the worthy
abbot nor the respectable monks, she preferred to stop in an inn to
stretch her limbs.

After many courteous words, it was finally agreed, that after matins and
mass in the morning, the princess with her court would breakfast and rest
in the monastery. The affable monks also invited the Mazurs, the two
noblemen and Macko of Bogdaniec who intended to go to the abbey to
deposit his wealth acquired in the war and increased by Witold's
munificent gift. This treasure was destined to redeem Bogdaniec from his
pledge. But the young Zbyszko did not hear the invitation, because he had
rushed to his wagon which was guarded by his servants, to procure better
apparel for himself. He ordered his chests carried to a room in the inn
and there he began to dress. At first he hastily combed his hair and put
it in a silk net ornamented with amber beads, and in the front with real
pearls. Then he put on a "_jaka_" of white silk embroidered with golden
griffins; he girded himself with a golden belt from which was hanging a
small sword in an ivory scabbard ornamented with gold. Everything was
new, shining and unspotted with blood, although it had been taken as
booty from a Fryzjan knight who served with the Knights of the Cross.
Then Zbyszko put on beautiful trousers, one part having red and green
stripes, the other part, yellow and purple, and both ended at the top
like a checkered chessboard. After that he put on red shoes with long
points. Fresh and handsome he went into the room.

In fact, as he stood in the door, his appearance made a great impression.
The princess seeing now what a handsome knight had vowed to Danusia, was
still more pleased. Danusia jumped toward him like a gazelle. But either
the beauty of the young man or the sounds of admiration from the
courtiers, caused her to pause before she reached him, drop her eyes
suddenly and blushing and confused, begin to wring her fingers.

After her, came the others; the princess herself, the courtiers, the
ladies-in-waiting, the _rybalts_ and the monks all wanted to see him. The
young Mazovian girls were looking at him as at a rainbow, each regretting
that he had not chosen her; the older ones admired the costly dress; and
thus, a circle of curious ones was formed around him. Zbyszko stood in
the centre with a boastful smile on his youthful face, and turned himself
slightly, so that they could see him better.

"Who is he?" asked one of the monks.

"He is a knight, nephew of that _wlodyka_" answered the princess,
pointing to Macko; "he has made a vow to Danusia."

The monks did not show any surprise, because such a vow did not bind him
to anything. Often vows were made to married women, and among the
powerful families where the eastern custom was known, almost every woman
had a knight. If a knight made a vow to a young girl, he did not thus
become her fiancé; on the contrary he usually married another; he was
constant to his vow, but did not hope to be wedded to her, but to marry
another.

The monks were more astonished at Danusia's youth, and even not much at
that, because in those times sixteen year old youths used to be
castellans. The great Queen Jadwiga herself, when she came from Hungary,
was only fifteen years old, and thirteen year old girls used to marry. At
any rate, at that moment they were more occupied looking at Zbyszko than
at Danusia; they also listened to Macko's words, who, proud of his
nephew, was telling how the youth came in possession of such beautiful
clothes.

"One year and nine weeks ago," said he, "we were invited by the Saxon
knights. There was another guest, a certain knight, from a far Fryzjan
nation, who lived there on the shores of a sea. With him was his son who
was three years older than Zbyszko. Once at a banquet, that son began to
taunt Zbyszko because he has neither moustache nor beard. Zbyszko being
quick tempered, was very angry, and immediately seized him by his
moustache, and pulled out all the hair. On account of that I afterward
fought until death or slavery."

"What do you mean?" asked the Pan of Dlugolas.

"Because the father took his son's part and I took Zbyszko's part;
therefore we fought, in the presence of the guests, on level ground. The
agreement was, that the one who conquered, should take the wagons,
horses, servants and everything that belonged to the vanquished one. God
helped us. We killed those Fryzes, although with great labor, because
they were brave and strong. We took much valuable booty; there were four
wagons, each one drawn by two horses, four enormous stallions, ten
servants, and two excellent suits of armor which are difficult to find.
It is true we broke the helmets in the fight, but the Lord Jesus rewarded
us with something else; there was a large chest of costly clothing; those
in which Zbyszko is now dressed, we found there also."

Now the two noblemen from the vicinity of Krakow, and all the Mazurs
began to look with more respect on both the uncle and the nephew, and the
Pan of Dlugolas, called Obuch, said:

"I see you are terrible fellows, and not lazy."

"We now believe that this youngster will capture three peacocks' crests."

Macko laughed, and in his face there really appeared an expression
similar to that on the face of a beast of prey.

But in the meanwhile, the servants of the monastery had taken the wine
and the dainties from the willow baskets, and the servant girls were
bringing large dishes full of steaming boiled eggs, surrounded by
sausage, from which a strong and savory smell filled the whole room. This
sight excited everybody's appetite, and they rushed to the tables.

But nobody sat down until the princess was seated at the head of the
table; she told Zbyszko and Danusia to sit opposite her and then she said
to Zbyszko:

"It is right for you both to eat from one dish; but do not step on her
feet under the table, nor touch her with your knees, as the other knights
do to their ladies, because she is too young."

To this he answered:

"I shall not do it, gracious lady, for two or three years yet, until the
Lord Jesus permits me to accomplish my vow, and then this little berry
will be ripe; as for stepping on her feet, even if I would like to do it
I can not, because they do not touch the floor."

"True," answered the princess; "but it is pleasant to see that you have
good manners."

Then there was silence because everybody was busy eating. Zbyszko picked
the best pieces of sausage, which he handed to Danusia or put directly
into her mouth; she was glad that such a famous knight served her.

After they had emptied the dishes, the servants of the monastery began to
pour out the sweet-smelling wine--abundantly for the men, but not much
for the ladies. Zbyszko's gallantry was particularly shown when they
brought in the nuts which had been sent from the monastery. There were
hazel nuts and some very rare nuts imported from afar, called Italians;
they all feasted so willingly, that after awhile there was heard no sound
in the whole room but the cracking of shells, crushed between the jaws.
But Zbyszko did not think only about himself; he preferred to show to the
princess and Danusia his knightly strength and abstinence. Therefore he
did not put the nuts between his jaws, as the others did, but he crushed
them between his fingers, and handed to Danusia the kernels picked from
the shells. He even invented for her an amusement; after having picked
out the kernel, he placed his hand near his mouth and, with his powerful
blowing, he blew the shells to the ceiling. Danusia laughed so much, that
the princess fearing that the young girl would choke, was obliged to ask
him to stop the amusement; but perceiving how merry the girl was, she
asked her:

"Well, Danusia, is it good to have your own knight?"

"Oj! Very!" answered the girl.

And then she touched Zbyszko's white silk "_jaka_" with her pink finger,
and asked:

"And will he be mine to-morrow?"

"To-morrow, and Sunday, and until death," answered Zbyszko.

Supper lasted a long time, because after the nuts, sweet cakes with
raisins were served. Some of the courtiers wished to dance; others wished
to listen to the _rybalts_ or to Danusia's singing; but she was tired,
and having with great confidence put her little head on the knight's
shoulder, she fell asleep.

"Does she sleep?" asked the princess. "There you have your 'lady.'"

"She is dearer to me while she sleeps than the others are while they
dance," answered Zbyszko, sitting motionless so as not to awaken the
girl.

But she was awakened neither by the _rybalts_' music nor by the singing.
Some of the courtiers stamped, others rattled the dishes in time to the
music; but the greater the noise, the better she slept.

She awoke only when the roosters, beginning to crow, and the church bell
to ring, the company all rushed from the benches, shouting:

"To matins! To matins!"

"Let us go on foot for God's glory," said the princess.

She took the awakened Danusia by the hand and went out first, followed by
the whole court.

The night was beginning to whiten. In the east one could see a light
glare, green at the top, then pink below, and under all a golden red,
which extended while one looked at it. It seemed as though the moon was
retreating before that glare. The light grew pinker and brighter. Moist
with dew, the rested and joyous world was awakening.

"God has given us fair weather, but there will be great heat," said the
courtiers.

"No matter," answered the Pan of Dlugolas; "we will sleep in the abbey,
and will reach Krakow toward evening."

"Sure of a feast."

"There is a feast every day now, and after the confinement and
tournaments, there will be still greater ones."

"We shall see how Danusia's brave knight will acquit himself."

"Ej! They are of oak, those fellows! Did you hear what they said about
that fight for four knights on each side?"

"Perhaps they will join our court; they are consulting with each other
now."

In fact, they were talking earnestly with each other; old Macko was not
very much pleased with what had happened; therefore while walking in the
rear of the retinue, he said to his nephew:

"In truth, you don't need it. In some way I will reach the king and it
may be he will give us something. I would be very glad to get to some
castle or _grodek_[20]---- Well we shall see. We will redeem Bogdaniec
from our pledge anyhow, because we must hold that which our forefathers
held. But how can we get some peasants to work? The land is worth nothing
without peasants. Therefore listen to what I am going to tell you: if you
make vows or not to anyone you please, still you must go with the Pan of
Mielsztyn to Prince Witold against the Tartars. If they proclaim the
expedition by the sound of trumpets before the queen's confinement, then
do not wait either for the lying-in, or for the tournaments; only go,
because there will be found some profit. Prince Witold is munificent, as
you know; and he knows you. If you acquit yourself well, he will reward
you liberally. Above all, if God help you, you will secure many slaves.
The Tartars swarm in the world. In case of victory, every knight will
capture three-score of them."

At this, Macko being covetous for land and serfs, began to fancy:

"If I could only catch fifty peasants and settle them in Bogdaniec! One
would be able to clear up quite a piece of forest. You know that nowhere
can you get as many as there."

But Zbyszko began to twist his head.

"Owa! I will bring hostlers from the stables living on horse carrion and
not accustomed to working on the land! What use will they be in
Bogdaniec? Then I vowed to capture three German crests. Where will I find
them among the Tartars?"

"You made a vow because you were stupid; but your vow is not worth
anything."

"But my honor of _wlodyka_ and knight? What about that?"

"How was it with Ryngalla?"

"Ryngalla poisoned the prince, and the hermit gave me absolution."

"Then in Tyniec, the abbot will absolve you from this vow also. The abbot
is greater than a hermit."

"I don't want absolution!"

Macko stopped and asked with evident anger:

"Then how will it be?"

"Go to Witold yourself, because I shall not go."

"You knave! And who will bow to the king? Don't you pity my bones?"

"Even if a tree should fall on your bones, it would not crush them; and
even if I pity you, I will not go to Witold."

"What will you do then? Will you turn _rybalt_ or falconer at the
Mazowiecki court?"

"It's not a bad thing to be a falconer. But if you would rather grumble
than to listen to me, then grumble."

"Where will you go? Don't you care for Bogdaniec? Will you plow with your
nails without peasants?"

"Not true! You calculated cleverly about the Tartars! You have forgotten
what the Rusini[21] told us, that it is difficult to catch any prisoners
among the Tartars, because you cannot reach a Tartar on the steppes. On
what will I chase them? On those heavy stallions that we captured from
the Germans? Do you see? And what booty can I take? Scabby sheep-skin
coats but nothing else! How rich then I shall return to Bogdaniec! Then
they will call me _comes_!"

Macko was silent because there was a great deal of truth in Zbyszko's
words; but after a while he said:

"But Prince Witold will reward you."

"Bah, you know; to one he gives too much, to another nothing."

"Then tell me, where will you go?"

"To Jurand of Spychow."

Macko angrily twisted the belt of his leather jacket, and said:

"May you become a blind man!"

"Listen," answered Zbyszko quietly. "I had a talk with Mikolaj of
Dlugolas and he said that Jurand is seeking revenge on the Germans for
the death of his wife. I will go and help him. In the first place, you
said yourself that it was nothing strange for us to fight the Germans
because we know them and their ways so well. _Secundo_, I will thus more
easily capture those peacock's crests; and _tercio_, you know that
peacock's crests are not worn by knaves; therefore if the Lord Jesus will
help me to secure the crests, it will also bring booty. Finally: the
slaves from those parts are not like the Tartars. If you settle such
slaves in a forest, then you will accomplish something."

"Man, are you crazy? There is no war at present and God knows when there
will be!"

"How clever you are! The bears make peace with the bee-keepers and they
neither spoil the beehives, nor eat the honey! Ha! ha! ha! Then it is
news to you, that although the great armies are not fighting and although
the king and the grand master stamped the parchment with their seals,
still there is always great disturbance on the frontiers? If some cattle
are seized, they burn several villages for one cow's head and besiege the
castles. How about capturing peasants and their girls? About merchants on
the highways? Remember former times, about which you told me yourself.
That Nalencz, who captured forty knights going to join the Knights of the
Cross, and kept them in prison until the grand master sent him a cart
full of _grzywien_;[22] did he not do a good business? Jurand of Spychow
is doing the same and on the frontier the work is always ready."

For a while they walked along silently; in the meanwhile, it was broad
daylight and the bright rays of the sun lighted up the rocks on which the
abbey was built.

"God can give good luck in any place," Macko said, finally, with a calm
voice; "pray that he may bless you."

"Sure; all depends on his favor!"

"And think about Bogdaniec, because you cannot persuade me that you go to
Jurand of Spychow for the sake of Bogdaniec and not for that duck's
beak."

"Don't speak that way, because it makes me angry. I will see her gladly
and I do not deny it. Have you ever met a prettier girl?"

"What do I care for her beauty! Better marry her, when she is grown up;
she is the daughter of a mighty _comes_."

Zbyszko's face brightened with a pleasant smile.

"It must be. No other lady, no other wife! When your bones are old, you
shall play with the grandchildren born to her and myself."

Now Macko smiled also and said:

"Grady! Grady![23]---- May they be as numerous as hail. When one is old,
they are his joy; and after death, his salvation. Jesus, grant us this!"




CHAPTER III.

Princess Danuta, Macko and Zbyszko had been in Tyniec before; but in the
train of attendants there were some courtiers who now saw it for the
first time; these greatly admired the magnificent abbey which was
surrounded by high walls built over the rocks and precipices, and stood
on a lofty mountain now shining in the golden rays of the rising sun. The
stately walls and the buildings devoted to various purposes, the gardens
situated at the foot of the mountain and the carefully cultivated fields,
showed immediately the great wealth of the abbey. The people from poor
Mazowsze were amazed. It is true there were other mighty Benedictine
abbeys in other parts of the country; as for instance in Lubusz on Odra,
in Plock, in Wielkopolska, in Mogila and in several other places: but
none of them could compare with the abbey in Tyniec, which was richer
than many principalities, and had an income greater than even the kings
of those times possessed.

Therefore the astonishment increased among the courtiers and some of them
could scarcely believe their own eyes. In the meanwhile, the princess
wishing to make the journey pleasant, and to interest the young ladies,
begged one of the monks to relate the awful story about Walgierz Wdaly
which had been told to her in Krakow, although not very correctly.

Hearing this, the ladies surrounded the princess and walked slowly,
looking in the rays of the sun like moving flowers.

"Let Brother Hidulf tell about Walgierz, who appeared to him on a certain
night," said one of the monks, looking at one of the other monks who was
an old man.

"Pious father, have you seen him with your own eyes?" asked the princess.

"I have seen him," answered the monk gloomily; "there are certain moments
during which, by God's will, he is permitted to leave the underground
regions of hell and show himself to the world."

"When does it happen?"

The old monk looked at the other monks and became silent. There was a
tradition that the ghost of Walgierz appeared when the morals of the
monastic lives became corrupted, and when the monks thought more about
worldly riches and pleasures than was right.

None of them, however, wished to tell this; but it was also said that the
ghost's appearance portended war or some other calamity. Brother Hidulf,
after a short silence, said:

"His appearance does not foretell any good fortune."

"I would not care to see him," said the princess, making the sign of the
cross; "but why is he in hell, if it is true as I heard, that he only
avenged a wrong?"

"Had he been virtuous during his whole life," said the monk sternly, "he
would be damned just the same because he was a heathen, and original sin
was not washed out by baptism."

After those words the princess' brows contracted painfully because she
recollected that her father whom she loved dearly, had died in the
heathen's errors also.

"We are listening," said she, after a short silence.

Brother Hidulf began thus:

During the time of heathenism, there was a mighty _grabia_[24] whose name
was Walgierz, whom on account of his great beauty, they called Wdaly.[25]
This whole country, as far as one can see, belonged to him, and he lead
all the expeditions, the people on foot and a hundred spearmen who were
all _wlodykas_; the men to the east as far as Opole, and to the west as
far as Sandomierz, were his vassals. Nobody was able to count his herds,
and in Tyniec he had a towerful of money the same as the Knights of the
Cross have now in Marienburg."

"Yes, they have, I know it!" interrupted the princess.

"He was a giant," continued the monk. "He was so strong he could dig up
an oak tree by the roots, and nobody in the whole world could compare
with him for beauty, playing on the lute or singing. One time when he was
at the court of a French king, the king's daughter, Helgunda, fell in
love with him, and ran away with him to Tyniec, where they lived together
in sin. No priest would marry them with Christian rites, because
Helgunda's father had promised her to the cloister for the glory of God.
At the same time, there lived in Wislica, Wislaw Piekny,[26] who belonged
to King Popiel's family. He, while Walgierz Wdaly was absent, devastated
the county around Tyniec. Walgierz when he returned overpowered Wislaw
and imprisoned him in Tyniec. He did not take into consideration this
fact: that every woman as soon as she saw Wislaw, was ready immediately
to leave father, mother and even husband, if she could only satisfy her
passion. This happened to Helgunda. She immediately devised such fetters
for Walgierz, that that giant, although he could pluck an oak up by its
roots, was unable to break them. She gave him to Wislaw, who took and
imprisoned him in Wislica. There Rynga, Wislaw's sister, having heard
Walgierz singing in his underground cell, soon fell in love with him and
set him at liberty. He then killed Wislaw and Helgunda with the sword,
left their bodies for the crows, and returned to Tyniec with Rynga."

"Was it not right, what he did?" asked the princess.

Brother Hidulf answered:

"Had he received baptism and given Tyniec to the Benedictines, perhaps
God would have forgiven his sins; but he did not do this, therefore the
earth has devoured him."

"Were the Benedictines in this kingdom at that time?"

"No, the Benedictines were not here; only the heathen lived here then."

"How then could he receive baptism, or give up Tyniec?"

"He could not; and that is exactly why he was sent to hell to endure
eternal torture," answered the monk with authority.

"Sure! He speaks rightly!" several voices were heard to say.

In the meanwhile they approached the principal gate of the monastery,
where the abbot with numerous monks and noblemen, was awaiting the
princess. There were always many lay people in the cloister: land
stewards, barristers and procurators. Many noblemen, even powerful
_wlodykas_, held in fief from the monastery numerous estates; and these,
as "vassals," were glad to pass their time at the court of their
"suzerain," where near the main altar it was easy to obtain some gift and
many benefits. Therefore the "_abbas centum villarum_"[27] could greet
the princess with a numerous retinue.

He was a man of great stature, with a thin, intelligent face; his head
was shaved on the top with a fringe of grey hair beneath. He had a deep
scar on his forehead, which he had evidently received during his youth
when he performed knightly deeds. His eyes looked penetratingly from
beneath dark eyebrows. He wore a monk's dress similar to that worn by the
other monks, but over it he wore a black mantle, lined with purple;
around his neck was a gold chain from which was hanging a gold cross set
with precious stones. His whole figure betrayed a proud man, accustomed
to command and one who had confidence in himself.

But he greeted the princess affably and even humbly, because he
remembered that her husband belonged to the family of the princes of
Mazowsze, from which came the kings, Wladyslaw and Kazimierz; and that
her mother was the reigning queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms in
the world. Therefore he passed the threshold of the gate, bowed low, and
then having made the sign of the cross over Anna Danuta and over her
court, he said;

"Welcome, gracious lady, to the threshold of this poor monastery. May
Saint Benedictus of Nursja, Saint Maurus, Saint Bonifacius, Saint
Benedictus of Aniane and also Jean of Tolomeia--our patrons living in
eternal glory,--give you health and happiness, and bless you seven times
a day during the remainder of your life."

"They would be deaf, if they did not hear the words of such a great
abbot," said the princess affably; "we came here to hear mass, during
which we will place ourselves under their protection."

Having said this she stretched her hand toward him, which he falling upon
one knee, kissed in knightly manner. Then they passed through the gate.
The monks were waiting to celebrate mass, because immediately the bells
were rung; the trumpeters blew near the church door in honor of the
princess. Every church used to make a great impression on the princess
who had not been born in a Christian country. The church in Tyniec
impressed her greatly, because there were very few churches that could
rival it in magnificence. Darkness filled the church except at the main
altar where many lights were shining, brightening the carvings and
gildings. A monk, dressed in a chasuble, came from the vestry, bowed to
the princess and commenced mass. Then the smoke from the fragrant incense
arose, veiled the priest and the altar, and mounted in quiet clouds to
the vaulted ceiling, increasing the solemn beauty of the church. Anna
Danuta bent her head and prayed fervently. But when an organ, rare in
those times, began to shake the nave with majestic thunderings, filling
it with angelic voices, then the princess raised her eyes, and her face
expressed, beside devotion and fear, a boundless delight; and one looking
at her would take her for some saint, who sees in a marvelous vision, the
open heaven.

Thus prayed Kiejstut's daughter, who born in heathenism, in everyday life
mentioned God's name just as everybody else did in those times,
familiarly; but in the Lord's house she used to raise her eyes with fear
and humility, toward his secret and unmeasurable power.

The whole court, although with less humility, prayed devoutly. Zbyszko
knelt among the Mazurs, and committed himself to God's protection. From
time to time he glanced at Danusia who was sitting beside the princess;
he considered it an honor to be the knight of such a girl, and that his
vow was not a trifle. He had already girded his sides with a hempen rope,
but this was only half of his vow; now it was necessary to fulfill the
other half which was more difficult. Consequently now, when he was more
serious than when in the inn drinking beer, he was anxious to discover
how he could fulfill it. There was no war. But amidst the disturbances on
the frontier, it was possible to meet some Germans, and either kill them
or lay down his own life.

He had told this to Macko. But he thought: "Not every German wears
peacock or ostrich feathers on his helmet. Only a few among the guests of
the Knights of the Cross are counts, and the Knights of the Cross
themselves are only _comthurs_; and not every one of them is a _comthur_
either. If there be no war, then years may pass before I shall get those
three crests; I have not been knighted yet and can challenge only those
who are not knights like myself. It is true I expect to receive the
girdle of a knight from the king's hands during the tournaments, which
have been announced to take place during the christening, but what will
happen then? I will go to Jurand of Spychow; he will help me kill as many
_knechts_[28] as possible; but that will benefit me little. The _knechts_
are not knights, with peacock feathers on their heads."

Therefore in his uncertainty, seeing that without God's special favor, he
could do nothing, he began to pray:

"Jesus, grant a war between the Knights of the Cross and the Germans who
are the foes of this kingdom and of all other nations confessing Your
Holy Name. Bless us; but crush them who would rather serve the
_starosta_[29] of hell, than serve you; they have hatred in their hearts
against us, being angry because our king and queen, having baptized the
Lithuanians, forbade them cut your Christian servants with the sword. For
which anger punish them!"

"And I, Zbyszko a sinner, repent before you and from your five wounds
beseech for help, that in your mercy you permit me to kill as soon as
possible three Germans having peacock feathers on their morions. These
crests I promised upon my knightly honor to Panna Anna Danuta, Jurand's
daughter, and your servant."

"If I shall find any booty on those defeated Germans, I shall faithfully
pay to holy church the tithe, in order that you also, sweet Jesus, may
have some benefit and glory through me; and also that you may know, that
I promise to you with a sincere heart. As this is true, so help me,
amen!"

But as he prayed, his heart softened under the influence of his devotions
and he made another promise, which was that after having redeemed
Bogdaniec from its pledge, he would give to the church all the wax which
the bees could make during the whole year. He hoped that his Uncle Macko
would not make any opposition to this, and that the Lord Jesus would be
especially pleased with the wax for the candles, and wishing to get it,
would help him sooner. This thought seemed to him so right, that joy
filled his soul; and he was almost sure that his prayer would be heard
and that the war would soon come, so that he could accomplish his vow. He
felt such might in his legs and in his arms, that at that moment he would
have attacked a whole army. He even thought that having increased his
promises to God, he would also add for Danusia, a couple of Germans! His
youthful anger urged him to do it, but this time prudence prevailed, as
he was afraid to exhaust God's patience by asking too much.

His confidence increased, however, when after mass and a long rest, he
heard the conversation between the abbot and Anna Danuta.

The wives of the reigning kings and princes, both on account of devotion
as well as on account of the magnificent presents, sent them by the
Master of the Order, were very kindly disposed toward the Knights of the
Cross. Even the pious Jadwiga, as long as she lived, restrained her
husband's anger against them. Anna Danuta alone, having experienced
dreadful wrongs from the knights hated them with her whole soul.
Therefore when the abbot asked her about Mazowsze and its affairs, she
began to complain bitterly against the Order:

"Our affairs are in a bad condition and it cannot be otherwise with such
neighbors! Apparently it is the time of peace; they exchange ambassadors
and letters, but notwithstanding all that nobody can be sure of anything.
The one who lives on the borders of the kingdom, never knows when he goes
to bed in the evening, whether he will awaken in fetters, or with the
blade of a sword in his throat, or with a burning ceiling over his head.
Neither oaths, nor seals, nor parchment will protect from treachery. Thus
it happened at Zlotorja where during the time of peace, they seized the
prince and imprisoned him. The Knights of the Cross said that our castle
was a menace to them; but the castles are repaired for defence not for an
onset; and what prince has not the right to build and repair in his own
land? Neither the weak nor the powerful can agree with the Order, because
the knights despise the weak and try to ruin the mighty. Good deeds they
repay with evil ones. Is there anywhere in the world another order which
has received as many benefits from other kingdoms as the knights have
received from Polish princes? And how have they repaid? With threats,
with devastation of our lands, with war and with treachery. And it is
useless to complain, even to our apostolic capital, because they do not
listen to the Roman pope himself. Apparently they have sent an embassy
now for the queen's confinement and the expected christening, but only
because they wish to appease the anger of this mighty king for the evil
deeds they performed in Litwa. But in their hearts they are always
plotting means to annihilate this kingdom and the whole Polish nation."

The abbot listened attentively with approval and then said:

"I know that Comthur Lichtenstein came to Krakow at the head of the
embassy; he is very much respected in the Order for his bravery and
intelligence. Perhaps you will see him here soon, gracious lady, because
he sent me a message yesterday, saying that as he wished to pray to our
holy relics, he would pay a visit to Tyniec."

Having heard this, the princess began to complain again:

"The people say--and I am sure rightly--that there will soon be a great
war, in which on one side will be the kingdom of Poland and all the
nations speaking a language similar to the Polish tongue, and on the
other side will be all the Germans and the Order. There is a prophecy
about this war by some saint."

"Bridget," interrupted the scholarly abbot; "eight years ago she was
canonized. The pious Peter from Alvastra and Matthew from Linköping have
written her revelations, in which a great war has been predicted."

Zbyszko shuddered at these words, and not being able to restrain himself,
asked:

"How soon will it be?"

But the abbot being occupied with the princess, did not hear, or probably
did not wish to hear, the question.

The princess spoke further:

"Our young knights are glad that this war is coming, but the older and
prudent ones speak thus: 'We are not afraid of the Germans, although
their pride and power are great, but we are afraid of their relics,
because against those all human might is powerless.'"

Here Anna Danuta looked at the abbot with fear and added in a softer
voice:

"They say they have a true piece of the holy cross; how then can one
fight against them?"

"The French king sent it to them," answered the abbot.

There was a moment of silence, then Mikolaj of Dlugolas, called Obuch, a
man of great experience, said:

"I was in captivity among the Knights of the Cross; I saw a procession in
which they carried this great relic. But beside this, there are many
other relics in the monastery in Oliva without which the order would not
have acquired such power."

The Benedictines stretched their necks toward the speaker, and began to
ask with great curiosity:

"Tell us, what are they?"

"There is a piece of the dress of the Most Holy Virgin," answered the
_wlodyka_ of Dlugolas; "there is a molar tooth of Marya from Magdala and
branches from the bush in which God the Father revealed himself to Moses;
there is a hand of Saint Liberjus, and as for the bones of other saints,
I cannot count them on the fingers of both hands and the toes of both
feet."

"How can one fight them?" repeated the princess, sighing.

The abbot frowned, and having thought for awhile, said:

"It is difficult to fight them, for this reason; they are monks and they
wear the cross on their mantles; but if they have exceeded the measure of
their sins, then even those relics will refuse to remain with them; in
that case they will not strengthen the knights, but will take their
strength away, so that the relics can pass into more pious hands. May God
spare Christian blood; but, if a great war should come, there are some
relics in our kingdom also which will succor us."

"May God help us!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

The abbot turned toward the princess and said:

"Therefore have confidence in God, gracious lady, because their days are
numbered rather than yours. In the meanwhile, accept with grateful heart
this box, in which there is a finger of Saint Ptolomeus, one of our
patrons."

The princess extended her hand and kneeling, accepted the box, which she
immediately pressed to her lips. The courtiers shared the joy of the
lady. Zbyszko was happy because it seemed to him that war would come
immediately after the Krakowian festivals.




CHAPTER IV.

It was in the afternoon that the princess left hospitable Tyniec and went
toward Krakow. Often the knights of those times, coming into larger
cities or castles to visit some eminent person, used to put on their
entire battle armor. It is true it was customary to take it off
immediately after they arrived at the gates; in fact it was the custom
for the host himself to invite them to remove it in these words: "Take
off your armor, noble lord; you have come to friends!" This entrance was
considered to be more dignified and to increase the importance of the
knight. To conform with this ostentatious custom Macko and Zbyszko took
with them those excellent suits of armor and shoulder-bands--won from the
conquered Fryzjan knights,--bright, shining and ornamented on the edges
with a gold band. Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who had seen the world and many
knights, and was very expert in judging war things, immediately
recognized that the suits of armor had been made by a most famous armorer
of Milan; armor which only the richest knights could afford; each of them
being worth quite a fortune. He concluded that those Fryzes were mighty
lords among their own people, and he looked with more respect on Macko
and Zbyszko. Their helmets, although not common ones, were not so rich;
but their gigantic stallions, beautifully caparisoned, excited envy and
admiration among the courtiers. Macko and Zbyszko, sitting on very high
saddles, could look down proudly at the whole court. Each held in his
hand a long spear; each had a sword at at his side and an axe at the
saddlebow. For the sake of comfort they had left their shields in the
wagons, but even without them, both men looked as though they were going
to battle and not to the city.

Both were riding near the carriage, in which was seated the princess,
accompanied by Danusia, and in front of them a dignified court lady,
Ofka, the widow of Krystyn of Jarzombkow and the old Mikolaj of Dlugolas.
Danusia looked with great interest at the two iron knights, and the
princess, pulling from time to time the box with the relics of Saint
Ptolomeus from her bosom, raised it to her lips.

"I am very anxious to see what bones are inside," said she, "but I will
not open it myself, for I do not want to offend the saint; the bishop in
Krakow will open it."

To this the cautious Mikolaj of Dlugolas answered:

"Ej, it will be better not to let this go out of your hands; it is too
precious a thing."

"May be you are right," said the princess, after a moment of reflection;
then she added:

"For a long time nobody has given me such pleasure, as this worthy abbot
has by this present; and he also calmed my fears about the relics of the
Knights of the Cross."

"He spoke wisely and well," said Macko of Bogdaniec. "At Wilno they also
had different relics, and they wanted to persuade the guests that they
were at war with the heathen. And what? Our knights noticed that if they
could only make a blow with an axe, immediately the helmet gave way and
the head fell down. The saints help--it would be a sin to say
differently--but they only help the righteous, who go to war justly in
God's name. Therefore, gracious lady, I think that if there be another
war, even if all Germans help the Knights of the Cross, we will overcome
them, because our nation is greater and the Lord Jesus will give us more
strength in our bones. As for the relics,--have we not a true particle of
the holy cross in the monastery of Holy Cross?"

"It is true, as God is dear to me," said the princess. "But ours will
remain in the monastery, while if necessary they carry theirs."

"No matter! There is no limit to God's power."

"Is that true? Tell me; how is it?" asked the princess, turning to the
wise Mikolaj of Dlugolas; and he said:

"Every bishop will affirm it. Rome is distant too, and yet the pope rules
over the whole world; cannot God do more!"

These words soothed the princess so completely that she began to converse
about Tyniec and its magnificence. The Mazurs were astonished not only at
the riches of the abbey, but also at the wealth and beauty of the whole
country through which they were now riding. All around were many
flourishing villages; near them were orchards full of trees, linden
groves, storks' nests on the linden trees, and beneath the trees were
beehives with straw roofs. Along the highway on both sides, there were
fields of all kinds of grain. From time to time, the wind bent the still
greenish sea of grain, amidst which shone like the stars in the sky, the
blue heads of the flowers of the bachelor button, and the light red wild
poppies. Far beyond the fields appeared the woods, black in the distance
but bathed in sunlight; here and there appeared moist meadows, full of
grass and birds flying round the bushes; then appeared hills with houses;
again fields; and as far as one could see, the country appeared to flow
not only with milk and honey but also with quiet and happiness.

"That is King Kazimierz' rural economy," said the princess; "it must be a
pleasure to live here."

"Lord Jesus rejoices to see such a country," answered Mikolaj of
Dlugolas; "and God's blessing is over it; but how can it be different;
when they ring the bells here, there is no corner where they cannot be
heard! And it is known that no evil spirit can endure the ringing of the
bells, and they are obliged to escape to the forests on the Hungarian
frontier."

"I wonder," said Pani Ofka, the widow of Krystyn of Jarzombkow, "how
Walgierz Wdaly, about whom the monk was talking, can appear in Tyniec,
where they ring the bells seven times a day."

This remark embarrassed Mikolaj for a moment, who after thinking, quietly
said:

"In the first place, God's decrees are not well known; and then you must
remember that every time he appears he has had special permission."

"At any rate, I am glad that we shall not pass the night in the
monastery. I would die from fear if I saw such an infernal giant."

"Hej! I doubt it, because they say, he is very handsome."

"If he were very beautiful, I would not want a kiss from such a man, from
whose mouth one could smell sulphur."

"I see that when the conversation is even about devils, you are still
thinking about kisses."

At these words the princess, Pan Mikolaj and both _wlodykas_ of Bogdaniec
began to laugh. Danusia laughed also, following the example of the
others. But Ofka of Jarzombkow turned her angry face toward Mikolaj of
Dlugolas, and said:

"I should prefer him to you."

"Ej! Don't call the wolf out of the forest;" answered the merry Mazur;
"the ghost often wanders on the high road, between Krakow and Tyniec,
especially toward night; suppose he should hear you and appear to you in
the form of a giant!"

"Let the enchantment go on the dog!" answered Ofka.

But at that moment Macko of Bogdaniec, who being seated on a high
stallion, could see further than those who were in the carriage, reined
in his horse, and said:

"O, as God is dear to me, what is it?"

"What?"

"Some giant of the forest is coming!"

"And the word became flesh!" exclaimed the princess. "Don't say that!"

But Zbyszko arose in his stirrups and said:

"It is true; the giant Walgierz; nobody else!"

At this the coachman reined in the horses, but not dropping the reins,
began to make the sign of the cross, because he also perceived on an
opposite hill the gigantic figure of a horsemen.

The princess had risen; but now she sat down, her face changed with fear.
Danusia hid her face in the folds of the princess' dress. The courtiers,
ladies and _rybalts_, who were on horseback behind the carriage, having
heard the ill-omened name, began to surround the carriage. The men tried
to laugh, but there was fear in their eyes; the young girls were pale;
only Mikolaj of Dlugolas maintained his composure and wishing to
tranquilize the princess, said:

"Don't be frightened, gracious lady. The sun has not yet set; and even if
it were night, Saint Ptolomeus will manage Walgierz."

In the meanwhile, the unknown horseman, having mounted the top of the
hill, stopped his horse and stood motionless. In the rays of the setting
sun, one could see him very distinctly; his stature seemed greater than
ordinary human dimensions. The space separating him from the princess'
retinue was not more than three hundred steps.

"Why is he stopping?" asked one of the _rybalts_.

"Because we stopped," answered Macko.

"He is looking toward us as if he would like to choose somebody," said
another _rybalt_; "if I were sure he was a man and not an evil spirit, I
would go and give him a blow on the head with the lute."

The women began to pray aloud, but Zbyszko wishing to show his courage to
the princess and Danusia, said:

"I will go just the same. I am not afraid of Walgierz!"

Danusia began to scream: "Zbyszko! Zbyszko!" But he went forward and rode
swiftly, confident that even if he did meet the true Walgierz, he could
pierce him through and through with his spear.

Macko who had sharp sight, said:

"He appears like a giant because he is on the hill. It is some big man,
but an ordinary one, nothing else! Owa! I am going also, to see that he
does not quarrel with Zbyszko."

Zbyszko, while riding was debating whether he should immediately attack
with the spear, or whether first take a close view of the man standing on
the hill. He decided to view him first, and immediately persuaded himself
that it was the better thought, because as he approached, the stranger
began to lose his extraordinary size. He was a large man and was mounted
on a large horse, which was bigger than Zbyszko's stallion; yet he did
not exceed human size. Besides that he was without armor, with a velvet
cap shaped like a bell on his head; he wore a white linen dust cloak,
from beneath which a green dress could be seen. While standing on the
hill he was praying. Evidently he had stopped his horse to finish his
evening devotions.

"It is not Walgierz," thought the boy.

He had approached so close that he could touch the unknown man with his
spear. The man who evidently was a knight, smiled at him benevolently,
and said:

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"For ages and ages."

"Is that the court of the Princess of Mazowsze below?"

"Yes, it is!"

"Then you come from Tyniec?"

But he did not receive any answer, because Zbyszko was so much surprised
that he did not even hear the question. For a moment he stood like a
statue, scarcely believing his own eyes, for, behold! about half a
furlong behind the unknown man, he perceived several soldiers on
horseback, at the head of whom was riding a knight clad in full armor,
with a white cloth mantle with a red cross on it, and with a steel helmet
having a magnificent peacock tuft in the crest.

"A Knight of the Cross!" whispered Zbyszko. Now he thought that God had
heard his prayers; that he had sent him the German knight for whom he had
asked in Tyniec. Surely he must take advantage of God's kindness;
therefore without any hesitation,--before all these thoughts had hardly
passed through his head, before his astonishment had diminished,--he bent
low on the saddle, let down his spear and having uttered his family
shout: "Grady! Grady!" he rushed with the whole speed of his horse
against the Knight of the Cross.

That knight was astonished also; he stopped his horse, and without
lowering his spear, looked in front of him, uncertain whether the attack
was against him or not.

"Lower your spear!" shouted Zbyszko, pricking his horse with the iron
points of the stirrups.

"Grady! Grady!"

The distance separating them began to diminish. The Knight of the Cross
seeing that the attack was really against him, reined in his horse and
poised his spear. At the moment that Zbyszko's lance was nearly touching
his chest, a powerful hand broke it like a reed; then the same hand
reined in Zbyszko's horse with such force, that the charger stopped as
though rooted to the ground.

"You crazy man, what are you doing?" said a deep, threatening voice; "you
are attacking an envoy, you are insulting the king!"

Zbyszko glanced around and recognized the same gigantic man, whom he had
taken for Walgierz, and who had frightened the princess and her court.

"Let me go against the German! Who are you?" he cried, seizing his axe.

"Away with the axe! for God's sake! Away with the axe, I say! I will
throw you from your horse!" shouted the stranger more threateningly. "You
have offended the majesty of the king and you will be punished."

Then he turned toward the soldiers who were riding behind the Knight of
the Cross.

"Come here!"

"At this time Macko appeared and his face looked threatening. He
understood that Zbyszko had acted like a madman and that the consequences
of this affair might be very serious; but he was ready to defend him just
the same. The whole retinue of the stranger and of the Knight of the
Cross contained only fifteen men, armed with spears and crossbows;
therefore two knights in full armors could fight them with some hope of
being victorious. Macko also thought that as they were threatened with
punishment, it would be better perhaps to avoid it, by overcoming these
men, and then hiding somewhere until the storm had passed over. Therefore
his face immediately contracted, like the jaws of a wolf ready to bite,
and having pushed his horse between Zbyszko and the stranger's horse, he
began to ask, meanwhile handling his sword:

"Who are you? What right have you to interfere?"

"My right is this," said the stranger, "that the king has intrusted to me
the safety of the environs of Krakow, and they call me Powala of Taczew."

At these words, Macko and Zbyszko glanced at the knight, then returned to
their scabbards the half drawn swords and dropped their heads, not
because they were frightened but in respect for this famous and very
well-known name. Powala of Taczew, a nobleman of a powerful family and a
mighty lord, possessor of large estates round Radom, was at the same time
one of the most famous knights in the kingdom. _Rybalts_ sang about him
in their songs, citing him as an example of honor and gallantry, praising
his name as much as the names of Zawisza of Garbow and Farurej, Skarbek
of Gora, Dobek of Olesnica, Janko Nanszan, Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, and
Zandram of Maszkowic. At this moment he was the representative of the
king, therefore to attack him was to put one's head under the
executioner's axe.

Macko becoming cooler, said with deep respect:

"Honor and respect to you, sir, to your fame and to your gallantry."

"Honor to you also, sir," answered Powala; "but I would prefer to make
your acquaintance under less serious circumstances."

"Why?" asked Macko.

Powala turned toward Zbyszko.

"What have you done, you youngster? You attacked an envoy on the public
highway in the king's presence! Do you know the consequences of such an
act?"

"He attacked the envoy because he was young and stupid; therefore action
was easier for him than reflection," said Macko. "But you will not judge
him so severely, after I tell you the whole story."

"It is not I who will judge him. My business is only to put him in
fetters."

"How is that?" said Macko, looking gloomy again.

"According to the king's command."

Silence followed these words.

"He is a nobleman," said Macko finally.

"Let him swear then upon his knightly honor, that he will appear at the
court."

"I swear!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

"Very well. What do they call you?"

Macko mentioned the name and the coat of arms of his nephew.

"If you belong to Princess Janusz' court, beg her to intercede for you
with the king."

"We are not with her court. We are returning from Litwa, from Prince
Witold. Better for us if we had never met any court! This misfortune has
come from that."

Here Macko began to tell about what had happened in the inn; he spoke
about the meeting with the princess and about Zbyszko's vow. Then
suddenly he was filled with anger against Zbyszko, whose imprudence had
caused their present dreadful plight; therefore, turning toward him, he
exclaimed:

"I would have preferred to see you dead at Wilno! What have you done, you
young of a wild boar!"

"Well," said Zbyszko, "after the vow, I prayed to the Lord Jesus to give
me some Germans; I promised him a present; therefore when I perceived the
peacock feathers, and also a mantle embroidered with a cross, immediately
some voice cried within me: 'Strike the German! It is a miracle!' Well I
rushed forward then; who would not have done it?"

"Listen," interrupted Powala, "I do not wish you any evil. I see clearly
that this youngster sinned rather from youthful giddiness than from
malice. I will be only too glad to ignore his deed and go forward as if
nothing had happened. But I cannot do this unless that _comthur_ will
promise that he will not complain to the king. Beseech him; perhaps he
also will pity the lad."

"I prefer to go before the courts, than to bow to a _Krzyzak_!"[30]
exclaimed Zbyszko. "It would not be befitting my dignity as a _wlodyka_."

Powala of Taczew looked at him severely and said:

"You do not act wisely. Old people know better than you, what is right
and what is befitting a knight's dignity. People have heard about me; but
I tell you, that if I had acted as you have, I would not be ashamed to
ask forgiveness for such an offence."

Zbyszko felt ashamed; but having glanced around, answered:

"The ground is level here. Instead of asking him for forgiveness, I would
prefer to fight him on horseback or on foot, till death or slavery."

"You are stupid!" interrupted Macko. "You wish then to fight the envoy?"

Here he turned to Powala:

"You must excuse him, noble lord. He became wild during the war. It will
be better if he does not speak to the German, because he may insult him.
I will do it. I will entreat him to forgive. If this _comthur_ be willing
to settle it by combat, after his mission is over, I will meet him."

"He is a knight of a great family; he will not encounter everybody,"
answered Powala.

"What? Do I not wear a girdle and spurs? Even a prince may meet me."

"That is true; but do not tell him that, unless he mentions it himself; I
am afraid he will become angry if you do. Well, may God help you!"

"I am going to humiliate myself for your sake," said Macko to Zbyszko;
"wait awhile!"

He approached the Knight of the Cross who had remained motionless on his
enormous stallion, looking like an iron statue, and had listened with the
greatest indifference to the preceding conversation. Macko having learned
German during the long wars, began to explain to the _comthur_ in his own
language what had happened; he excused the boy on account of his youth
and violent temper, and said that it had seemed to the boy as though God
himself had sent the knight wearing a peacock tuft, and finally he begged
forgiveness for the offence.

The _comthur's_ face did not move. Calm and haughty he looked at Macko
with his steely eyes with great indifference, but also with great
contempt. The _wlodyka_ of Bogdaniec noticed this. His words continued to
be courteous but his soul began to rebel. He talked with increasing
constraint and his swarthy face flushed. It was evident that in the
presence of this haughty pride, Macko was endeavoring to restrain his
anger.

Powala having noticed this, and having a kind heart, determined to help
Macko. He had learned to speak German while seeking knightly adventures
at the Hungarian, Burgundian and Bohemian courts, when he was young.
Therefore he now said in that language in a conciliatory but jesting
tone:

"You see, sir, the noble _comthur_ thinks that the whole affair is
unimportant. Not only in our kingdom but in every country the youths are
slightly crazy; but such a noble knight does not fight children, neither
by sword nor by law."

Lichtenstein touched his yellow moustache and moved on without a word,
passing Macko and Zbyszko.

A dreadful wrath began to raise the hair under their helmets, and their
hands grasped their swords.

"Wait, you scoundrel!" said the elder _wlodyka_ through his set teeth;
"now I will make a vow to you. I will seek you as soon as you have
finished your mission."

But Powala, whose heart began to bleed also, said:

"Wait! Now the princess must speak in favor of the boy; otherwise, woe to
him!"

Having said this, he followed the Knight of the Cross, stopped him and
for a while they talked with great animation. Macko and Zbyszko noticed
that the German knight did not look at Powala so proudly as he had at
them; this made them still more angry. After a while, Powala returned and
said to them:

"I tried to intercede for you, but he is a hard man. He said that he
would not complain to the king if you would do what he requires."

"What?"

"He said thus: 'I will stop to greet the Princess of Mazowsze; let them
come, dismount, take off their helmets, and standing on the ground with
uncovered heads, ask my forgiveness.'"

Here Powala looked sharply at Zbyszko, and added:

"I know it will be hard for people of noble birth to do this; but I must
warn you, that if you refuse no one knows what you may expect,--perhaps
the executioner's sword."

The faces of Macko and Zbyszko became like stone. There was silence.

"What then?" asked Powala.

Zbyszko answered quietly and with great dignity as though during this
conversation he had grown twenty years older:

"Well, God's might is over all!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that even if I had two heads and the executioner was going to
cut off both, still I have only one honor which I will not stain."

Powala became grave and turning toward Macko, asked:

"And what do you say?"

"I say," answered Macko gloomily, "that I reared this youth from
childhood. On him depends our family, because I am old; but he cannot do
what the German asks, even if he must perish."

Here his grim face began to quiver and finally his love for his nephew
burst forth with such strength, that he seized the boy in his arms, and
began to shout:

"Zbyszku! Zbyszku!"[31]

The young knight was surprised and having returned his uncle's embrace,
said:

"Aj! I did not know that you loved me so much."

"I see that you are both true knights," said Powala; "and as the young
man has promised me upon his knightly honor, that he will appear at the
court, I will not imprison him; one can trust such people as you. No more
gloomy thoughts! The German intends to stay in Tyniec a day or two;
therefore I will have an opportunity to see the king first, and I will
try to tell him about this affair in such a way that his anger will not
be aroused. I am glad I succeeded in breaking the spear in time,--great
luck, I tell you!"

But Zbyszko said:

"Even if I had to lay down my life, I would like at least to have the
satisfaction of breaking his bones."

"It surprises me that you who know how to defend your own honor, do not
understand that you would thus disgrace our whole nation!" impatiently
answered Powala.

"I understand it very well," said Zbyszko; "but I regret my disability
just the same."

Powala turned toward Macko:

"Do you know, sir, that if this lad succeeds in escaping the penalty for
his offence, then you ought to put a cowl like a hawk's on his head!
Otherwise he will not die a natural death."

"He will escape if you, sir, will not say anything to the king about the
occurrence."

"And what shall we do with the German? We cannot tie his tongue."

"That is true! That is true!"

Talking thus, they went back toward the princess' retinue. Powala's
servants followed them. From afar one could see amidst the Mazovian caps,
the quivering peacock feathers of the Knight of the Cross and his bright
helmet shining in the sun.

"Strange is the nature of a _Krzyzak_," said the knight of Taczew. "When
a _Krzyzak_ is in a tight place, he will be as forbearing as a Franciscan
monk, as humble as a lamb and as sweet as honey; in fact, it would be
difficult to find a better man. But let him feel power behind him; then
nobody will be more arrogant and merciless. It is evident that God gave
them stones for hearts. I have seen many different nations and I have
often witnessed a true knight spare another who was weaker, saying to
himself; 'My fame will not increase if I trample this fallen foe.' But at
such a time a _Krzyzak_ is implacable. Hold him by the throat, otherwise
woe to you! Such a man is that envoy! He wanted not only an apology, but
also your humiliation. But I am glad he failed."

"He can wait!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

"Be careful not to show him that you are troubled, because then he would
rejoice."

After these words they approached the retinue and joined the princess'
court. The envoy of the _Krzyzaks_, having noticed them, immediately
assumed an expression of pride and disdain; but they ignored him. Zbyszko
stood at Danusia's side and began to tell her that from the hill one
could see Krakow; at the same time Macko was telling one of the _rybalts_
about the extraordinary strength of the Pan of Taczew, who had broken the
spear in Zbyszko's hand, as though it were a dry stem.

"And why did he break it?" asked the _rybalt_.

"Because the boy in fun attacked the German."

The _rybalt_, being a nobleman, did not consider such an attack a joke;
but seeing that Macko spoke about it lightly, did not take it seriously
either. The German was annoyed by such conduct. He glanced at Macko and
Zbyszko. Finally be realized that they did not intend to dismount and
that they did not propose to pay any attention to him. Then something
like steel shone in his eyes, and he immediately began to bid the
princess adieu.

The Lord of Taczew could not abstain from deriding him and at the moment
of departure he said to him:

"Go without fear, brave knight. The country is quiet and nobody will
attack you, except some careless child."

"Although the customs of this country are strange, I was seeking your
company and not your protection," answered Lichtenstein; "I expect to
meet you again at the court and elsewhere."

In the last words a hidden menace rang; therefore Powala answered
gravely:

"If God will permit."

Having said this, he saluted and turned away; then he shrugged his
shoulders and said in an undertone, but loud enough to be heard by those
who were near:

"Gaunt! I could lift you from the saddle with the point of my spear, and
hold you in the air during three _pater-nosters_."[32]

Then he began to talk with the princess with whom he was very well
acquainted. Anna Danuta asked him what he was doing on the highway. He
told her that the king had commanded him to keep order in the environs
while there were so many wealthy guests going to Krakow. Then he told her
about Zbyszko's foolish conduct. But having concluded that there would be
plenty of time to ask the princess to protect Zbyszko, he did not put any
stress on the incident, not wishing to spoil the gaiety. The princess
laughed at the boy, because he was so anxious to obtain the peacock tuft;
the others, having learned about the breaking of the spear, admired the
Lord of Taczew very much, especially as he did it with one hand only.

And he, being a little vain, was pleased because they praised him.
Finally he began to tell about some of the exploits which made his name
famous; especially those he performed in Burgundia, at the court of
Philip the Courageous. There one time, during a tournament, he seized an
Ardenian knight, pulled him out of the saddle and threw him in the air,
notwithstanding that the knight was in full armor. For that exploit,
Philip the Courageous presented him with a gold chain and the queen gave
him a velvet slipper, which he wore on his helmet.

Upon hearing this, all were very much amazed, except Mikolaj of Dlugolas,
who said:

"In these effeminate times, there are not such strong men as there were
when I was young. If a nobleman now happens to shatter a cuirass, to bend
a crossbow without the aid of the crank, or to bend a cutlass between his
fingers, he immediately considers himself a very strong man. But in times
of yore, girls could do such deeds."

"I don't deny that formerly there were stronger people," answered Powala;
"but even now there are some strong men. God did not stint me in
strength, but I do not consider myself the strongest in this kingdom.
Have you ever seen Zawisza of Garbow? He can surpass me."

"I have seen him. He has shoulders broad like a rampart."

"And Dobko of Olesnica? Once at the tournament given in Torun by the
Knights of the Cross, he defeated twelve knights for his own and our
nation's glory."

"But our Mazur, Staszko Ciolek, was stronger, sir, than you or your
Zawisza and Dobko. They say that he took a peg made from green wood in
his hand and pressed the sap out of it."[33]

"I can press the sap out myself," said Zbyszko. And before anyone could
ask him to prove it, he broke a branch which he pressed so strongly, that
really the sap began to ooze from it.

"Aj, Jesus!" exclaimed Ofka of Jarzombkow; "don't go to the war; it would
be a pity if such an one should perish before his marriage."

"It would indeed be a pity!" replied Macko, suddenly becoming sorrowful.

But Mikolaj of Dlugolas laughed as did also the princess. The others,
however, praised Zbyszko's strength, and as in those times might was
appreciated more than any other quality, the young girls cried to
Danusia: "Be glad!" She was glad although she could not then understand
what benefit she would receive from that piece of compressed wood.
Zbyszko having forgotten all about the _Krzyzak_ now looked so proud,
that Mikolaj of Dlugolas wishing to curb his pride, said:

"There are better men than you; therefore do not be so proud of your
strength. I did not see it, but my father was a witness of something more
difficult which happened at the court of Charles, the Roman emperor. King
Kazimierz went to pay him a visit and with him went many courtiers. Among
these courtiers was Staszko Ciolek, son of _Wojewoda_[34] Andrzej, who
was noted for his strength. The emperor began to boast that he had a
Czech who could strangle a bear. They had an exhibition and the Czech
strangled two bears in succession. Our king not wishing to be outdone,
said: 'But he cannot overcome my Ciolek.' They agreed that they should
fight in three days' time. Many ladies and famous knights came, and the
Czech and Ciolek grappled in the yard of the castle; but the contest did
not last long; hardly had they come together before Ciolek broke the
backbone of the Czech, crushed all his ribs, and left him dead to the
great glory of the king.[35] They have called him since then
Lomignat.[36] Once he placed without help, a bell which twelve men could
not move from its place."[37]

"How old was he?" asked Zbyszko.

"He was young!"

In the meantime, Powala of Taczew, while riding at the princess' right
hand, bent toward her and told her the truth about the importance of
Zbyszko's adventure, and asked her to speak to the king in Zbyszko's
behalf. The princess being fond of Zbyszko, received this news with
sadness and became very uneasy.

"The Bishop of Krakow is a friend of mine," said Powala; "I will ask him
and also the queen to intercede; but the more protectors he has, the
better it will be for the lad."

"If the queen will promise to say one word in his favor, not a hair will
fall from his head," said Anna Danuta; "the king worships her for her
piety and for her dowry, and especially now, when the shame of sterility
has been taken from her. But the king's beloved sister, Princess Ziemowit
lives in Krakow; you must go to her. For my part I will do anything I
can; but the princess is his own sister, and I am only his first cousin."

"The king loves you also, gracious lady."

"Ej, but not as much," she answered with a certain sadness; "for me a
link, for her a whole chain; for me a fox skin, for her a sable. He loves
none of his relations as dearly as he loves Alexandra."

Thus talking, they approached Krakow. The highway which was crowded on
the road from Tyniec, was still more crowded here. They met countrymen
going with their servants to the city, sometimes armed and sometimes in
summer clothing and straw hats. Some of them were on horseback; some
traveled in carriages, with their wives and daughters, who wished to see
the long looked for tournaments. In some places the whole road was
crowded with merchants' wagons which could not pass Krakow until the toll
was paid. They carried in these wagons wax, grain, salt, fish, skins,
hemp and wood. Others came from the city loaded with cloth, barrels of
beer and different merchandise. One could now see Krakow very well; the
king's gardens, lords' and burghers' houses surrounded the city; beyond
them were the walls and the towers of the churches. The nearer they came
to the city the greater was the traffic and at the gates it was almost
impossible to pass.

"What a city! There is no other like it in the world," said Macko.

"It is always like a fair," answered one of the _rybalts_; "how long
since you were here, sir?"

"A very long time ago. I wonder at it just as much as if I saw it now for
the first time, because we are returning from a wild country."

"They say that Krakow has grown very much since the time of King
Jagiello."

This was true; after the grand duke of Litwa ascended the throne,
enormous Lithuanian and Russian countries were opened for commerce;
because of this the city had increased in population, richness and
buildings, and had become one of the most important cities in the world.

"The cities of the Knights of the Cross are very beautiful also," said
the larger _rybalt_.

"If only we could capture one of them," said Macko. "Worthy booty we
could get!"

But Powala of Taczew was thinking about something else; namely, of
Zbyszko, who was in peril because of his stupid blind fury. The Pan of
Taczew, fierce and implacable in the time of war, had in his powerful
breast, however, the heart of a dove; he realized better than the others
what punishment awaited the offender; therefore he pitied him.

"I ponder and ponder," said he again to the princess, "whether to tell
the king of the incident or not. If the _Krzyzak_ does not complain,
there will be no case; but if he should complain, perhaps it would be
better to tell the king everything beforehand, so that he will not become
angry."

"If the _Krzyzak_ has an opportunity to ruin somebody, he will do it,"
answered the princess; "but I will tell that young man to join our court.
Perhaps the king will be more lenient to one of our courtiers."

She called Zbyszko, who having had his position explained to him, jumped
from his horse, kissed her hands and became with the greatest pleasure
one of her courtiers, not so much for greater safety, as because he could
now remain nearer Danusia.

Powala asked Macko:

"Where will you stay?"

"In an inn."

"There is no room in any inn now."

"Then we will go to merchant Amylej, he is an acquaintance of mine,
perhaps he will let us pass the night in his house."

"Accept hospitality in my house. Your nephew can stay with the princess'
courtiers in the castle; but it will be better for him not to be near the
king. What one does in the first paroxysm of anger, one would not do
afterward. You will be more comfortable and safe with me."

Macko had become uneasy because Powala thought so much about their
safety; he thanked Powala with gratitude and they entered the city. But
here they both as well as Zbyszko forgot for a while about danger in the
presence of the wonders they saw before them. In Lithuania and on the
frontier, they had only seen single castles, and the only city of any
importance which they knew was Wilno, a badly built and ruined town; but
here many of the merchants' houses were more magnificent than the grand
duke's palace in Lithuania. It is true that there were many wooden
houses; but even these astonished them by the loftiness of their walls
and roofs; also by the windows, made of glass balls, set in lead which so
reflected the rays of the setting sun, that one would imagine that there
was fire in the houses. In the streets near the market place, there were
many highly ornamented houses of red brick, or of stone. They stood side
by side like soldiers; some of them, broad; others, narrow; but all lofty
with vaulted halls, very often having the sign of the Passion of our Lord
Jesus Christ or an image of the Most Holy Virgin over the door. There
were some streets, on which one could see two rows of houses, over them a
stripe of blue sky, between them, a road paved with stones; and on both
sides as far as one could see stores and stores. These were full of the
best foreign goods, at which being accustomed to war and the capture of
booty, Macko looked with a longing eye. But both were still more
astonished at the sight of the public buildings; the church of Panna
Maryia on the square; the _sukiennice_;[38] the city hall with its
gigantic cellar, in which they were selling beer from Swidnica; other
churches, depots of broadcloth, the enormous "_mercatorium_," devoted to
the use of foreign merchants; then a building in which were the public
scales, bath houses, cooper works, wax works, silver works, gold works,
breweries, the mountains of barrels round the so-called Schrotamto,--in a
word, riches which a man not familiar with the city, even though a
well-to-do possessor of a _grodek_, could not even imagine.

Powala conducted Macko and Zbyszko to his house situated on Saint Anna
Street, assigned a large room to them, recommended them to his
shield-bearers, and then went to the castle, from which he returned for
supper quite late at night.

A few friends accompanied him, and they enjoyed the plentiful repast of
wine and meat. The host alone was sorrowful. When finally the guests
departed, he said to Macko:

"I spoke to a canon, able in writing and in the law, who says, that an
insult to an envoy is a capital offence. Therefore pray God, that the
_Krzyzak_ may not complain."

Hearing this, both knights, who, during the feast had exceeded the other
guests in mirth, retired with sorrowful hearts. Macko could not even
sleep and after a while when they were in bed, he said to his nephew:

"Zbyszku?"

"What?"

"I have considered everything and I do not think they will execute you."

"You do not think so?" asked Zbyszko, in a sleepy voice.

Having turned toward the wall, he fell sound asleep, because he was very
weary.

The next day, both _wlodykas_ of Bogdaniec, went with Powala to morning
mass in the cathedral, for devotion and also to see the court and the
guests who had arrived at the castle. In fact, on the way Powala met many
acquaintances, and among them several knights famous at home and abroad.
At these Zbyszko looked with admiration, promising himself that if he
escaped death for the insult to Lichtenstein, he would try to rival them
in gallantry and in all knightly virtues. One of these knights,
Toporczyk, a relative of the castellan of Krakow, told them that Wojciech
Jastrzembiec had returned from Rome, where he had been sent to Pope
Bonifacius IX. with the king's invitation to the christening at Krakow.
Bonifacius accepted the invitation; and although it was doubtful whether
he would be able to come personally, he authorized the envoy to stand
godfather for the coming child in his name; and he asked that the name
Bonifacius or Bonifacia be given to the child as a proof of his
particular love for the king and the queen.

They also spoke of the arrival of the Hungarian king, Sigismundus; they
expected him positively, because he always came, invited or not, whenever
there was an opportunity for feasts and tournaments. Of these he was very
fond, because he desired to be famous the world over as a ruler, a singer
and the first among knights. Powala, Zawisza of Garbow, Dobko of
Olesnica, Naszan and others of the same rank, recollected with a smile
that during Sigismundus' first visit, King Wladyslaw requested them
privately not to attack him very fiercely, but to spare "the Hungarian
guest," whose vanity, known throughout the world, used to make him cry in
case of defeat. But the most interest was excited among the knights by
Witold's affairs. They told marvelous tales about the magnificence of
that cradle, made of sterling silver, which the Lithuanian princes and
_bojars_[39] had brought as a present from Witold and his wife, Anna.
Macko told about the proposed enormous expedition against the Tartars.
The expedition was almost ready, and a great army had already gone
eastward toward Rus'. If it were successful, it would extend the king's
supremacy over almost half the world, to the unknown Asiatic countries,
to the frontier of Persia and to the shores of the Aral. Macko, who
formerly served under Witold and knew his plans, could tell about them so
accurately and even so eloquently, that before the bells were rung for
mass, a large circle of curious people had formed around him. He said
that the question was simply about a crusade. "Witold himself," he said,
"although they call him a grand duke, rules over Litwa by Jagiello's
authority; he is only viceroy, therefore the renown will be the king's.
What fame it will be for the newly baptized Lithuanians and for the might
of Poland, when the united armies carry the cross to those countries
where, if they mention the Saviour's name at all, it is only to
blaspheme! When the Polish and Lithuanian armies restore Tochtamysh to
the throne of Kapchak, he will acknowledge himself "the son" of King
Wladyslaw, and he has promised to bow to the cross with the whole Zlota
Orda."

The people listened to Macko with great attention; but many did not
thoroughly understand what people Witold intended to help nor against
whom he intended to fight; therefore some one asked:

"Tell exactly with whom is the war to be?"

"With whom? With Tymur the Lame!" replied Macko.

There was a moment of silence. It is true the eastern knights often heard
the names of Golden, of Blue, of Azovian and of other Ords; but they were
not familiar with the civil wars of the Tartars. Nevertheless there was
not one man in Europe, who had not heard about the terrible Tymur the
Lame, or Tamerlan. This name was heard with no less fear than of old was
the name of Attila. He was "lord of the world" and "lord of ages;" the
ruler over twenty-seven conquered states: the ruler of Moskiewskoy
Russia; ruler of Siberia and of China as far as the Indies; of Bagdad, of
Ispahan, of Alep, of Damascus--whose shadow was falling over the sands of
Arabia, on Egypt, and on Bosphorus in the Greek empire; he was the
exterminator of mankind; the terrible builder of pyramids composed of
human skulls; he was the conqueror in all battles, never conquered in
any, "lord of souls and of bodies."

Tochtamysh had been placed by him on the throne of the Golden and the
Blue Ords,[40] and acknowledged as "the son." But when his sovereign
authority extended from Aral to Crimea, over more lands than were in the
rest of Europe, "the son" wanted to be an independent ruler. For this he
was deposed from his throne with "one finger" of the terrible father; he
escaped to the Lithuanian governor and asked him for help. Witold decided
to restore him to his throne; but to do this it was necessary to vie with
the world-ruling Tymur the Lame.

For these reasons his name made a great impression on the audience, and
after a short silence, one of the oldest knights, Kazko of Jaglow, said:

"A difficult business!"

"And for a trifle," said the prudent Mikolaj of Dlugolas. "What
difference will it make to us, whether Tochtamysh or some Kutluk rules
over the sons of Belial who dwell beyond the tenth-land?"

"Tochtamysh will turn to the Christian faith," answered Macko.

"He will or he will not! Can you trust dog-brothers, who do not confess
Christ?"

"But we are ready to lay down our lives for Christ's name," answered
Powala.

"And for knightly honor," added Toporczyk, the relative of the castellan;
"there are some among us however who will not go. The Lord _Wojewoda,
Spytko of Melsztyn_ has a young and beloved wife, but he has already
joined _Kniaz_ Witold."

"No wonder," added Jasko Naszan; "no matter how hideous a sin you have on
your soul, pardon and salvation are sure for those who fight in such a
war."

"And fame for ages and ages," said Powala of Taczew. "Let us then have a
war, and it will be better if it be a great war. Tymur has conquered the
world and has twenty-seven states under him. It will be an honor for our
nation if we defeat him."

"Why not?" answered Toporczyk, "even if he possesses a hundred kingdoms,
let others be afraid of him--not us! You speak wisely! Let us gather
together ten thousand good spearmen, and we will pass round the world."

"And what nation should conquer The Lame, if not ours?"

Thus the knights conversed. Zbyszko was sorry now because he did not go
with Witold to the wild steppes. But when he was in Wilno, he wanted to
see Krakow and its court and take part in the tournaments; but now he
fears that he will find disgrace here at the court, while there on the
steppes even at the worst, he would have found a glorious death.

But the aged Kazko of Jaglow, who was a hundred years old, and whose
common sense corresponded to his age, discouraged the zealous knights.

"You are stupid!" said he. "Is it possible that none of you have beard
that Christ's image spoke to the queen? If the Saviour himself condescend
to such familiarity, then why will the Holy Ghost, who is the third
person of the Trinity, be less kind to her. Therefore she sees future
events, as if they were passing before her, and she has thus spoken:"

Here he stopped for a while, shook his head, and then said:

"I have forgotten what she prophesied, but I will soon recollect."

He began to think, and they waited silently, because the popular belief
was that the queen could see the future.

"Aha!" said he, finally, "I remember now! The queen said, that if every
knight went with Witold against The Lame-Man, then heathenish power would
be destroyed. But all cannot go because of the dishonesty of Christian
lords. We are obliged to guard the boundaries from the attacks of the
Czechs and the Hungarians and also from the attacks of the Order, because
we cannot trust any of them. Therefore if Witold go with only a handful
of Polish warriors, then Tymur the Lame, or his _wojewodas_, coming with
innumerable hosts, will defeat him."

"But we are at peace now," said Toporczyk, "and the Order will give some
assistance to Witold. The Knights of the Cross cannot act otherwise, if
only for the sake of appearances, and to show to the holy father that
they are ready to fight the pagans. The courtiers say that Kuno von
Lichtenstein came not entirely for the christening, but also to consult
with the king."

"Here he is!" exclaimed the astonished Macko.

"True!" said Powala, turning his head. "So help me God, it is he! He did
not stay long with the abbot."

"He is in a hurry," answered Macko, gloomily.

Kuno von Lichtenstein passed them. Macko and Zbyszko recognized him by
the cross embroidered on his mantle; but he did not recognize either of
them because he had seen them before with their helmets on. Passing by,
he nodded to Powala of Taczew, and to Toporczyk; then with his
shield-bearers, he ascended the stairs of the cathedral, in a majestic
and stately manner.

At that moment the bells resounded, frightening flocks of doves and
jackdaws, and announcing that mass would soon begin. Macko and Zbyszko
entered the church with the others, feeling troubled about Lichtenstein's
quick return. The older _wlodyka_ was very uneasy, but the young one's
attention was attracted by the king's court. He was surrounded by noted
men, famous in war and in counsel. Many of those by whose wisdom the
marriage of the grand duke of Lithuania with the young and beautiful
queen of Poland, had been planned and accomplished, were now dead; but a
few of them were still living, and at these, all looked with the greatest
respect. The young knight could not admire enough the magnificent figure
of Jasko of Tenczyn, castellan of Krakow, in which sternness was united
with dignity and honesty; he admired the wise countenances of the
counsellors and the powerful faces of the knights whose hair was cut
evenly on their foreheads, and fell in long curls on their sides and
backs. Some of them wore nets, others wore bands to keep the hair in
order. The foreign guests, Hungarian and Austrian, and their attendants,
were amazed at the great elegance of the costumes; the Lithuanian princes
and _bojars_, notwithstanding the summer heat, were dressed for the sake
of pompous display in costly furs; the Russian princes wore large stiff
dresses, and in the background they looked like Byzantine pictures. With
the greatest curiosity Zbyszko awaited the appearance of the king and the
queen. He advanced toward the stalls behind which he could see the red
velvet cushions near the altar, on which the king and the queen kneeled
during mass.

He did not wait long; the king entered first, through the vestry door,
and before he reached the altar one could have a good look at him. He had
long, dark, disheveled hair; his face was thin and clean shaven; he had a
large pointed nose and some wrinkles around his mouth. His eyes were
small, dark, and shining. His face had a kind but cautious look, like
that of a man who having risen by good luck to a position far beyond his
expectations, is obliged to think continually whether his actions
correspond to his dignity and who is afraid of malicious criticism. This
also was the reason why in his face and in his movements there was a
certain impatience. It was very easy to understand that his anger would
be sudden and dreadful. He was that prince, who being angered at the
frauds of the Knights of the Cross, shouted after their envoy: "Thou
comest to me with a parchment, but I will come to thee with a spear!"

But now this natural vehemence was restrained by great and sincere piety.
He set a good example, not only to the recently converted Lithuanian
princes, but even to the Polish lords, pious for generations. Often the
king kneeled, for the greater mortification of the flesh, on bare stones;
often having raised his hands, he held them uplifted until they dropped
with fatigue. He attended at least three masses every day. After mass he
left the church as if just awakened from slumber, soothed and gentle. The
courtiers knew that it was the best time to ask him either for pardon, or
for a gift.

Jadwiga entered through the vestry door also. Seeing her enter, the
knights standing near the stalls, immediately kneeled, although mass had
not begun, voluntarily paying her homage as to a saint. Zbyszko did the
same; nobody in this assembly doubted that he really saw a saint, whose
image would some time adorn the church altars. Besides the respect due to
a queen, they almost worshipped her on account of her religious and holy
life. It was reported that the queen could perform miracles. They said
that she could cure the sick by touching them with her hand; that people
who could not move their legs nor their arms, were able to do it, after
they put on a dress which the queen had worn. Trustworthy witnesses
affirmed that they had heard with their own ears, Christ speak to her
from the altar. Foreign monarchs worshipped her on their knees and even
the Order of the Knights of the Cross respected her and feared to offend
her. Pope Bonifacius IX. called her the pious and chosen daughter of the
church. The world looked at her deeds and remembered that this child of
the Andegavian[41] house and Polish Piasts[42], this daughter of the
powerful Louis, a pupil of the most fastidious of courts, and also one of
the most beautiful women on earth, renounced happiness, renounced her
first love and being a queen married a "wild" prince of Lithuania, in
order to bring to the cross, by his help, the last pagan nation in
Europe. That which could not be accomplished by the forces of all the
Germans, by a sea of poured out blood, was done with one word from her.
Never did the glory of an apostle shine over a younger and more charming
forehead; never was the apostleship united with equal self-denial; never
was the beauty of a woman lighted with such angelic kindness and such
quiet sadness.

Therefore minstrels sang about her in all the European courts; knights
from the remotest countries came to Krakow to see this "Queen of Poland;"
her own people loved her, as the pupil of the eye and their power and
glory had increased by her marriage with Jagiello. Only one great sorrow
hung over her and the nation; for long years this child of God had had no
issue.

But now this sorrow had passed away and the joyful news of God's blessing
on the queen sped like lightning from the Baltic to the Black Sea, also
to Karpaty[43] and filled with joy all peoples of this powerful kingdom.
In all foreign courts, except in the capital of the Knights of the Cross,
the news was received with pleasure. In Rome "Te Deum" was sung. In the
provinces of Poland the belief was firmly established, that anything the
"Saint lady" asked of God, would be granted.

Therefore there came to her people to beseech her, that she ask health
for them; there came envoys from the provinces and from other countries,
to ask that she pray according to their need, either for rain, or for
fair weather for harvesting; for lucky moving time; for abundant fishing
in the lakes or for game in the forests.

Those knights, living in castles and _grodeks_ on the frontier, who
according to the custom learned from the Germans, had become robbers or
waged war among themselves, at the command of the queen, put their swords
in their scabbards, released their prisoners without ransom, restored
stolen herds and clasped hands in friendship. All kinds of misery, all
kinds of poverty crowded the gates of her castle in Krakow. Her pure
spirit penetrated human hearts, softened the hard lot of the serfs, the
great pride of the lords, the unjust severity of the judges, and hovered
like a dove of happiness, like an angel of justice and peace, over the
whole country.

No wonder then that all were awaiting with anxious hearts for the day of
blessing.

The knights looked closely at the figure of the queen, to see if they
could ascertain how long they would be obliged to wait for the future
heir to the throne. The _ksiondz_[44] bishop of Krakow, Wysz, who was
also the ablest physician in the country, and famous even abroad, had not
announced when the delivery would occur. They were making some
preparation; but it was the custom at that time to begin all festivals as
early as possible, and to prolong them for weeks. In fact the figure of
the lady, although a little rounded, had retained until now its former
grandeur. She was dressed with excessive simplicity. Formerly, having
been brought up at a brilliant court, and being more beautiful than any
of the contemporary princesses, she was fond of costly fabrics, of
chains, pearls, gold bracelets and rings; but now and even for several
years past, she not only wore the dress of a nun, but she even covered
her face, fearing that the thoughts of her beauty might arouse in her
worldly vanity. In vain Jagiello, having learned of her condition, in a
rapture of joy ordered her sleeping apartment to be decorated with
brocade and jewels. Having renounced all luxury, and remembering that the
time of confinement is often the time of death, she decided that not
among jewels, but in quiet humility she ought to receive the blessing
which God had promised to send her.

Meanwhile the gold and jewels went to establish a college and to send the
newly converted Lithuanian youths to foreign universities.

The queen agreed only to change her monastical dress, and from the time
that the hope of maternity was changed to positive certainty, she did not
veil her face, thinking that the dress of a penitent was no longer
proper.

Consequently everybody was now looking with love at that beautiful face,
to which neither gold, nor precious stones could add any charm. The queen
walked slowly from the vestry door toward the altar, with uplifted eyes,
holding in one hand a book, in the other a rosary. Zbyszko saw the
lily-like face, the blue eyes, and the angelic features full of peace,
kindness and mercy, and his heart began to throb with emotion. He knew
that according to God's command he ought to love the king and the queen,
and he did in his way; but now his heart overflowed with a great love,
which did not come by command, but burst forth like a flame; his heart
was also filled with the greatest worship, humility and desire for
sacrifice. The young _wlodyka_ Zbyszko was impetuous; therefore a desire
immediately seized him, to show in some way that love and the
faithfulness of a knight; to accomplish some deed for her; to rush
somewhere, to conquer some one and to risk his own life for it all. "I
had better go with _Kniaz_ Witold," he said to himself, "because how can
I serve the holy lady, if there is no war here." He did not stop to think
that one can serve in other ways as well as with sword or spear or axe;
he was ready to attack alone the whole power of Tymur the Lame. He wanted
to jump on his charger immediately after mass and begin something. What?
He did not know himself. He only knew, that he could not hold anything,
that his hands were burning and his whole soul was on fire.

He forgot all about the danger which threatened him. He even forgot about
Danusia, and when he remembered her, having heard the children singing in
the church, he felt that this love was something different. He had
promised Danusia fidelity; he had promised her three Germans and he would
keep his promise. But the queen is above all women. While he was thinking
how many people he would like to kill for the queen, he perceived
regiments of armors, helmets, ostrich feathers, peacocks' crests, and he
felt that even that would be small in proportion to his desire.

He looked at her constantly, pondering with overflowing heart, how he
could honor her by prayer, because he thought that one could not make an
ordinary prayer for a queen. He could say: _Pater noster, qui es in
coelis, sanctificetur nomen Tuum_, because a certain Franciscan monk
taught him this in Wilno; but it may be that the Franciscan himself did
not know more; it may be that Zbyszko had forgotten; but it is certain
that he could not recite the whole "Our Father." But now he began to
repeat these few words which in his soul had the following meaning: "Give
our beloved lady good health, long life and great happiness; care for her
more than for anyone else."

As this was repeated by a man over whose head punishment was suspended,
therefore there was no more sincere prayer in the whole church.




CHAPTER V.

After mass Zbyszko thought that if he could only fall upon his knees
before the queen and kiss her feet, then he did not care what happened
afterward. But after the first mass, the queen went to her apartments.
Usually she did not take any nourishment until noontime, and was not
present at the merry breakfast, during which jugglers and fools appeared
for the amusement of the king. The old _wlodyka_ of Dlugolas came and
summoned Zbyszko to the princess.

"You will serve Danusia and me at the table as my courtier," said the
princess. "It may happen that you will please the king by some facetious
word or deed, and the Krzyzak if he recognize you, will not complain to
the king, seeing that you serve me at the king's table."

Zbyszko kissed the princess' hand. Then he turned to Danusia; and
although he was more accustomed to battles than to the manners of the
court, still he evidently knew what was befitting a knight, when he sees
the lady of his thoughts in the morning; he retreated, and assuming an
expression of surprise, and making the sign of the cross, exclaimed:

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost!"

Danusia, looking at him with her blue eyes, asked:

"Why do you make the sign of the cross, Zbyszko, after mass is ended?"

"Because your beauty increased so much, during last night, that I am
astonished!"

Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who did not like the new, foreign customs of
chivalry, shrugged his shoulders and said:

"Don't lose time talking to her about her beauty! She is only a bush
hardly grown up from the soil."

At this Zbyszko looked at him with rancor.

"You must be careful about calling her a 'bush,'" said he, turning pale
with anger; "if you were younger, I would challenge you immediately and
would fight until either you or I were dead!"

"Keep quiet, you beardless boy! I can manage you even to-day!"

"Be quiet!" said the princess. "Instead of thinking about your own
danger, you are seeking a quarrel! I would prefer to find a more steady
knight for Danusia. If you wish to foam, go where you please; but we do
not need you here."

Zbyszko felt abashed at the princess' words and began to apologize. But
he thought to himself that if Pan Mikolaj of Dlugolas had a grown-up son,
then sometime he would challenge the son and would not forgive Mikolaj
for calling her "bush." Now he determined to be quiet while in the king's
castle and not to provoke anybody, only in case of absolute necessity.

The blowing of horns announced that breakfast was ready; therefore the
Princess Anna taking Danusia by the hand, went to the king's apartments,
where the lay-dignitaries and the knights, stood awaiting her arrival.
Princess Ziemowita entered first, because being the king's sister, she
occupied a higher seat at the table. Soon the hall was filled with
guests, dignitaries and knights. The king was seated at the upper end of
the table, having near him Wojciech Jastrzembiec, bishop of Krakow, the
bishop, although inferior in rank to the other priests wearing mitres,
was seated at the right hand of the king because he was the pope's envoy.
The two princesses took the next places. Near Anna Danuta, the former
archbishop of Gniezno, Jan, was comfortably seated in a large chair. He
was a descendant of the Piasts of Szlonsk and the son of Bolko, Prince of
Opole. Zbyszko had heard of him at the court of Witold; and now while
standing behind the princess and Danusia, he recognized the archbishop by
his abundant hair which being curled, made his head look like a
_kropidlo_.[45] At the courts of the Polish princes, they called him
"Kropidlo," for this reason; and the Knights of the Cross gave him the
name of "Grapidla." He was noted for his gaiety and giddy manners. Having
received the nomination for the archbishopric of Gniezno, against the
king's wish, he took possession of it by military force; for this act he
was deprived of his rank. He then joined the Knights of the Cross who
gave him the poor bishopric of Kamieniec in Pomorze. Then he concluded
that it was better to be friendly with the mighty king; he craved his
pardon, returned to the country and was now waiting for a vacancy to
occur, hoping that the good hearted lord would let him fill it. He was
not mistaken as the future proved. In the meantime he was trying to win
the king's heart by merry frolics. But he still liked the Knights of the
Cross. Even now, at the court of Jagiello where he was not greatly
welcomed by the dignitaries and knights, he sought Lichtenstein's company
and gladly sat beside him at the table.

Zbyszko, standing behind the princess' chair, was so near to the Krzyzak,
Lichtenstein, that he could have touched him with his hand. In fact, his
fingers began to twitch, but he overcame his impetuosity and did not
permit himself any evil thoughts. But he could not refrain from looking
eagerly at Lichtenstein's head and shoulders, trying to decide whether he
would have a hard fight with him, if they met either during the war, or
in single combat. He concluded that it would not be difficult to conquer
the German. The Krzyzak's shoulder bones appeared quite large under his
dress of grey broadcloth; but he was only a weakling compared with Powala
or with Paszko Zlodziej of Biskupice, or with both of the most famous
Sulimczyks, or with Krzon of Kozieglowy or with many of the other
knights, sitting at the king's table.

At these knights Zbyszko looked with admiration and envy; but his
attention was also attracted by the actions of the king, who at this
moment gathered his hair with his fingers and pushed it behind his ears,
as if he was impatient because breakfast was not served. His eyes rested
for a moment on Zbyszko, and at that the young knight felt afraid,
fearing that perhaps he would be obliged to face the angry king. This was
the first time he had thought seriously about the consequences of his
rash action. Until now it had seemed to him to be something remote,
therefore not worthy of sorrow.

The German did not know that that youth who dad attacked him so boldly on
the highway, was so near. The breakfast began. They brought in caudle,
seasoned so strongly with eggs, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and saffron,
that the fragrance filled the whole room. In the meanwhile the fool
Ciaruszek, sitting on a chair in the doorway, began to imitate the
singing of a nightingale, of which the king was very fond. Then another
jester went around the table, stopped behind the guests and imitated the
buzzing of a bee so well, that some of them began to defend their heads.
Seeing this, the others burst with laughter. Zbyszko had served the
princess and Danusia diligently; but when Lichtenstein began to clap his
baldhead, he again forgot about his danger and began to laugh. The young
Lithuanian _kniaz_, Jamut, who was standing beside him, also laughed at
this very heartily. The Krzyzak having finally noticed his mistake, put
his hand in his pocket, and turning to the bishop, Kropidlo, said a few
words to him in German; the bishop immediately repeated them in Polish.

"The noble lord says to you," said he, turning toward the fool, "that you
will receive two _skojce_; but do not buzz too near, because the bee is
driven away, but the drones are killed."

The fool took the two _skojce_ given to him by the Krzyzak, and taking
advantage of the license granted at all courts to the fools, answered:

"There is plenty of honey in the province of Dobrzyn;[46] that is why it
is beset with the drones. Drive them, King Wladyslaw!"

"Here is a penny from me, because you have said a clever thing," said
Kropidlo, "but remember that if the rope break, the beehive keeper break
his neck.[47] Those drones from Malborg, by whom Dobrzyn is beset, have
stings, and it is dangerous to climb to the beehives."

"Owa!" exclaimed Zyndram of Maszkow, the sword bearer of Krakow, "one can
smoke them out!"

"With what?"

"With powder."

"Or cut the beehive with an axe," added the gigantic Paszko Zlodziej of
Biskupice.

Zbyszko's heart was ready to leap with joy, because he thought that such
words betokened war. Kuno von Lichtenstein understood what was said,
because during his long sojourn in Torun and Chelmno, he learned the
Polish language; but he would not use it on account of pride. But now,
being irritated by the words of Zyndram of Maszkow, he looked at him
sharply with his grey eyes and said:

"We shall see."

"Our fathers saw at Plowce[48] and at Wilno," answered Zyndram.

"_Pax vobiscum!_" exclaimed Kropidlo. "_Pax, pax!_ If only the
_ksiondz_[49] Mikolaj of Kurow, will give up his Kujawian bishopric, and
the gracious king appoint me in his place, I will preach you such a
beautiful sermon about the love between Christian nations, that you will
sincerely repent. Hatred is nothing but _ignis_ and _ignis infernalis_ at
that; such a dreadful fire that one cannot extinguish it with water, but
is obliged to pour wine on it. Give us some wine! We will go on
_ops_,[50] as the late Bishop Zawisza of Kurozwenki used to say!"

"And from _ops_ to hell, the devil says," added the fool Ciaruszek.

"Let him take you!"

"It would be more amusing for him to take you. They have not yet seen the
devil with Kropidlo, but I think we shall all have that pleasure."

"I will sprinkle you first. Give us some wine and may love blossom among
the Christians!"

"Among true Christians!" added Kuno von Lichtenstein, emphatically.

"What?" exclaimed the Krakowian bishop Wysz, raising his head; "are you
not in an old Christian kingdom? Are not our churches older than yours in
Malborg?"[51]

"I don't know," answered the Krzyzak. The king was especially sensitive
where any question about Christianity arose. It seemed to him that the
Krzyzak wished to make an allusion to him; therefore his cheeks flamed
immediately and his eyes began to shine.

"What!" said he, in a deep voice, "am I not a Christian king?"

"The kingdom calls itself a Christian one," coolly answered the Krzyzak;
"but its customs are pagan."

At this many angry knights arose; Marcin of Wrocimowice, whose coat of
arms was Polkoza, Florian of Korytnica, Bartosz of Wodzinek, Domarat of
Kobylany, Zyndram of Maszkow, Powala of Taczew, Paszko Zlodziej of
Biskupice, Jaxa of Targowisko, Krzon of Kozieglowy, Zygmunt of Bobowa and
Staszko of Charbimowice, powerful and famous knights, victorious in many
battles and in many tournaments. Alternately blushing and turning pale
from anger, gnashing their teeth, they began to shout:

"Woe to us! He is a guest and we cannot challenge him!"

Zawisza Czarny, Sulimczyk, the most famous among the famous, "the model
of knighthood," turned to Lichtenstein with a frown on his forehead and
said:

"I do not recognize you, Kuno. How can you, a knight, insult a mighty
nation, when you know that, being an envoy, you cannot be punished for
it."

But Kuno quietly sustained the threatening look, and answered slowly and
precisely:

"Our Order, before it came to Prussia, fought in Palestine; even there
the Saracens respected the envoys. But you do not respect them; that is
the reason I called your customs pagan."

At these words the uproar increased. Round the table again were heard
shouts: "Woe! Woe!"

But they subsided when the king, who was furious, clasped his hands in
the Lithuanian fashion. Then the old Jasko Topor of Tenczyn, castellan of
Krakow, venerable, grave and dreaded on account of the importance of his
office, arose and said:

"Noble Knight of Lichtenstein, if you, an envoy, have been insulted,
speak, and severe punishment will be given quickly."

"It would not have happened to me in any other Christian country,"
answered Kuno. "Yesterday on the road to Tyniec I was attacked by one of
your knights, and although he could very easily recognize by the cross on
my mantle who I was, he attempted my life."

Zbyszko, having heard these words, became very pale and involuntarily
glanced at the king, whose anger was terrible. Jasko of Tenczyn was
surprised, and said:

"Can it be possible?"

"Ask the Pan of Taczew, who was a witness of the incident."

"All eyes turned toward Powala, who stood for a while gloomy, and with
lowered eyelids; then he said:

"Yes, it is so!"

Hearing this the knights began to shout: "Shame! Shame! The earth will
devour such a man!" Because of this disgrace some of them began to strike
their chests with their hands, and others to rap the silver dishes, not
knowing what to do.

"Why did you not kill him?" shouted the king.

"Because his head belongs to the court," answered Powala.

"Have you put him in prison?" asked the castellan, Topor of Tenczyn.

"No. He is a _wlodyka_, who swore on his knightly honor, that he would
appear."

"But he will not appear!" ironically exclaimed Kuno, raising his head.

At that moment a young voice resounded behind the Krzyzak:

"I did it; I, Zbyszko of Bogdaniec!"

After these words the knights rushed toward the unhappy Zbyszko; but they
were stopped by a threatening nod from the king who began to shout in an
angry voice, similar to the rattling of a carriage rolling over the
stones:

"Cut his head off! Cut his head off! Let the Krzyzak send it to Malborg
to the grand master!"

Then he cried to the young Lithuanian prince standing near.

"Hold him, Jamont!"

The frightened Jamont put his trembling hands on Zbyszko's shoulders.

But the white-bearded castellan of Krakow, Topor of Tenczyn, raised his
hand as a sign that he wished to speak; when everybody was quiet, he
said:

"Gracious king! Let this _comthur_ be convinced that not only your
impetuous anger, but our laws will punish with death any who insult an
envoy. Otherwise he will think that there are no Christian laws in this
country. To-morrow I will judge the offender."

The last words he said quietly and as though no one could change his
decision. Then he said to Jamont:

"Shut him in the tower. As for you, Pan of Taczew, you will be a
witness."

"I will tell about the offence of this lad," answered Powala, looking at
Lichtenstein.

"He is right!" immediately said some knights. "He is only a lad! Why
should the shame be put on us all!"

There was a moment of silence, and angry looks were cast at the Krzyzak.
In the meanwhile Jamont conducted Zbyszko to the court-yard of the castle
and intrusted him to the archers. In his young heart he pitied the
prisoner, and this pity was increased by his natural hatred of the
Germans. But he was a Lithuanian, accustomed to fulfill blindly the
orders of the grand duke; being himself afraid of the king's wrath, he
began to whisper to the young knight, with kindly persuasion:

"Do you know, what I would do if in your place? Hang myself! It will be
the best! The _korol_[52] is angry; they will cut off your head. Why
should you not make him joyful? Hang yourself, _druh_.[53] Such is the
custom in my country."

Zbyszko, half dazed with shame and fear, at first did not seem to
understand the words of the _kniazik_;[54] but finally he understood them
and then he was amazed:

"What do you say?"

"Hang yourself! Why should they judge you. You will only afford pleasure
for the king!" repeated Jamont.

"Hang your own self!" exclaimed the young _wlodyka_. "They have baptized
you but your heathen skin remains on you. Do you not know that it is a
sin for a Christian to kill himself?"

The _kniaz_ shrugged his shoulders:

"It will not be according to your will. They will cut off your head just
the same."

These words angered Zbyszko, and he wondered if it would be proper to
challenge the _bojarzynek_[55] for a fight either on horseback or on
foot, with swords or with axes; but he stifled this desire. He dropped
his head sadly and surrounded by the archers, went silently to the tower.

In the meanwhile everybody's attention in the dining hall was turned to
Danusia, who became pale with fright. She stood motionless like a wax
figure in a church. But when she heard that they were going to execute
Zbyszko, then she was seized with great fear; her mouth quivered and at
once she began to cry so loudly and so pitifully, that all faces turned
toward her and the king himself asked her:

"What is the matter with thee?"

"Gracious king!" said the Princess Anna, "she is the daughter of Jurand
of Spychow and this unhappy knight made a vow to her. He promised her to
tear three peacock tufts from the helmets of the Germans, and having
noticed such a tuft on the helmet of this _comthur_, he thought that God
himself had sent the Krzyzak. He did not attack him, lord, through
malice, but through stupidity; therefore be merciful and do not punish
him, we beseech you on our knees!"

Having said this she arose, seized Danusia by the hand, and rushed with
her toward the king, who seeing this began to retire. But both kneeled
before him and Danusia began to cry;

"Forgive Zbyszko, king, forgive Zbyszko!"

Because she was afraid, she hid her fair head between the folds of the
king's dress, kissed his knees and trembled like a leaf. Anna Ziemowitowa
kneeled on the other side and having clasped her hands, looked at the
king on whose face there was visible great perplexity. He retired toward
the chair, but did not push Danusia back, only waved his hands.

"Do not trouble me!" he cried. "The youth is guilty; he has brought
disgrace on the country! They must execute him!"

But the little hands clung closer and closer to his knees and the child
cried more and more pitifully:

"Forgive Zbyszko, king, forgive Zbyszko!"

Now the voices of some knights were heard to exclaim:

"Jurand of Spychow is a famous knight, and the cause of awe to the
Germans."

"And that youth fought bravely at Wilno!" added Powala.

But the king excused himself further, although he pitied Danusia.

"He is not guilty toward me and it is not I who can forgive him. Let the
envoy of the Order pardon him, then I will pardon him also; but if the
envoy will not, then he must die."

"Forgive him, sir!" exclaimed both of the princesses.

"Forgive, forgive!" repeated the voices of the knights.

Kuno closed his eyes and sat with uplifted forehead, as if he was
delighted to see both princesses and such famous knights entreating him.
Then his appearance changed; he dropped his head, crossed his hands on
his breast and from a proud man became a humble one, and said with a
soft, mild voice:

"Christ, our Saviour, forgave his enemies and even the malefactor on the
cross."

"He is a true knight!" said Bishop Wysz.

"He is, he is!"

"How can I refuse to forgive," continued Kuno, "being not only a
Christian, but also a monk? Therefore I forgive him with all my heart, as
Christ's servant and friar!"

"Honor to him!" shouted Powala of Taczew.

"Honor!" repeated the others.

"But," said the Krzyzak, "I am here among you as an envoy and I carry in
me the majesty of the whole Order which is Christ's Order. Whosoever
offends me, therefore, offends the Order; and whosoever offends the
Order, offends Christ himself; and such an offence, I, in the presence of
God and the people, cannot forgive; and if your law does not punish it,
let all Christian lords know."

After these words, there was a profound silence. Then after a while there
could be heard here and there the gnashing of teeth, the heavy breathing
of suppressed wrath and Danusia's sobbings.

By evening all hearts were in sympathy with Zbyszko. The same knights who
in the morning were ready to cut him into pieces, were now considering
how they could help him. The princesses determined to see the queen, and
beseech her to prevail upon Lichtenstein to withdraw his complaint; or if
necessary to write to the grand master of the Order, and ask him to
command Kuno to give up the case. This plan seemed to be the best because
Jadwiga was regarded with such unusual respect that if the grand master
refused her request, it would make the pope angry and also all Christian
lords. It was not likely that he would refuse because Konrad von
Jungingen was a peaceable man. Unfortunately Bishop Wysz of Krakow, who
was also the queen's physician, forbade them to mention even a word about
this affair to the queen. "She never likes to hear about death
sentences," he said, "and she takes even the question of a simple
robber's death too seriously; she will worry much more if she hear about
this young man who hopes to obtain mercy from her. But such anxiety will
make her seriously ill, and her health is worth more to the whole kingdom
than ten knightly heads." He finally said that if anyone should dare,
notwithstanding what he had said, to disturb the queen, on that one he
would cause the king's anger to rest and then he threatened such an one
with excommunication.

Both princesses were frightened at such menace and determined to be
silent before the queen; but instead to beseech the king until he showed
some mercy. The whole court and all the knights sympathized with Zbyszko.
Powala of Taczew declared that he would tell the whole truth; but that he
would also speak in favor of the young man, because the whole affair was
only an instance of childish impetuousness. But notwithstanding all this,
everybody could see, and the castellan, Jasko of Tenczyn made it known,
that if the Krzyzak was unrelenting, then the severe law must be
fulfilled.

Therefore the knights were still more indignant against Lichtenstein and
they all thought and even said frankly: "He is an envoy and cannot be
called to the lists; but when he returns to Malborg, God will not permit
that he die a natural death." They were not talking in vain, because a
knight who wore the girdle was not permitted to say even one word without
meaning it, and the knight who vowed anything, was obliged to accomplish
his vow or perish. Powala was the most implacably angry because he had a
beloved daughter of Danusia's age in Taczew, and Danusia's tears made his
heart tender.

Consequently, that same day, he went to see Zbyszko, in his underground
cell, commanded him to have hope, and told him about the princesses'
prayers and about Danusia's tears. Zbyszko having learned that the girl
threw herself at the king's feet for his sake, was moved to tears, and
wishing to express his gratitude, said, wiping his tears with his hand:

"Hej! may God bless her, and permit me as soon as possible to engage in a
combat, either on horseback or on foot, for her sake! I did not promise
Germans enough to her! To such a lady, I ought to vow as many as she has
years. If the Lord Jesus will only release me from this tower, I will not
be niggardly with her!" He raised his eyes, full of gratitude.

"First promise something to some church," advised the _Pan_ of Taczew;
"if your promise is pleasing, you will surely soon be free. Now listen;
your uncle went to see Lichtenstein, and I will go see him also. It will
be no shame for you to ask his pardon, because you are guilty; and then
you do not ask for pardon of Lichtenstein, but an envoy. Are you ready?"

"As soon as such a knight as your grace tells me it is proper, I will do
it. But if he require me to ask him for pardon in the same way he asked
us to do it, on the road from Tyniec, then let them cut off my head. My
uncle will remain and he will avenge me when the envoy's mission is
ended."

"We shall hear first what he says to Macko," answered Powala.

And Macko really went to see the German; but he returned as gloomy as the
night and went directly to the king, to whom he was presented by the
castellan, himself. The king received Macko kindly because he had been
appeased; when Macko kneeled, he immediately told him to arise, asking
what he wished.

"Gracious lord," said Macko, "there was an offence, there must be a
punishment; otherwise, there would be no law in the world. But I am also
guilty because I did not try to restrain the natural impetuosity of that
youth; I even praised him for it. It is my fault, gracious king, because
I often told him: 'First cut, and then look to see whom you have hurt.'
That was right in war, but wrong at the court! But he is a man, pure as
gold, the last of our family!"

"He has brought shame upon me and upon my kingdom," said the king; "shall
I be gracious to him for that?"

Macko was silent, because when he thought about Zbyszko, grief
overpowered him; after a long silence, he began to talk in a broken
voice:

"I did not know that I loved him so well; I only know it now when
misfortune has come. I am old and he is last of the family. If he
perish--we perish! Merciful king and lord, have pity on our family!"

Here Macko kneeled again and having stretched out his arms wasted by war,
he spoke with tears:

"We defended Wilno; God gave us honest booty; to whom shall I leave it?
If the Krzyzak requires punishment, let punishment come; but permit me to
suffer it. What do I care for life without Zbyszko! He is young; let him
redeem the land and beget children, as God ordered man to do. The Krzyzak
will not ask whose head was cut off, if there is one cut. There will be
no shame on the family. It is difficult for a man to die; but it is
better that one man perish than that a family should be destroyed."

Speaking thus he clasped the king's legs; the king began to wink his
eyes, which was a sign of emotion with him; finally he said:

"It can not be! I cannot condemn to death a belted knight! It cannot be!
It cannot be!"

"And there would be no justice in it," added the castellan. "The law will
crush the guilty one; but it is not a monster, which does not look to see
whose blood is being shed. And you must consider what shame would fall on
your family, if your nephew agreed to your proposal. It would be
considered a disgrace, not only to him, but to his children also."

To this Macko replied:

"He would not agree. But if it were done without his knowledge, he would
avenge me, even as I also will avenge him."

"Ha!" said Tenczynski, "persuade the Krzyzak to withdraw the complaint."

"I have asked him."

"And what?" asked the king, stretching his neck; "what did he say?"

"He answered me thus: 'You ought to have asked me for pardon on the road
to Tyniec; you would not then; now I will not.'"

"And why didn't you do it?"

"Because he required us to dismount and apologize on foot."

The king having put his hair behind his ears, commenced to say something
when a courtier entered to announce that the Knight of Lichtenstein was
asking for an audience.

Having heard this, Jagiello looked at Jasko of Tenczyn, then at Macko. He
ordered them to remain, perhaps with the hope that he would be able to
take advantage of this opportunity and using his kingly authority, bring
the affair to an end.

Meanwhile the Krzyzak entered, bowed to the king, and said:

"Gracious lord! Here is the written complaint about the insult which I
suffered in your kingdom."

"Complain to him," answered the king, pointing to Jasko of Tenczyn.

The Krzyzak, looking directly into the king's face, said:

"I know neither your laws nor your courts; I only know, that an envoy of
the Order can complain only to the king."

Jagiello's small eyes flashed with impatience; he stretched out his hand
however, and accepted the complaint which he handed to Tenczynski.

The castellan unfolded it and began to read; but the further he read, the
more sorrowful and sad his face became.

"Sir," said he, finally, "you are seeking the life of that lad, as though
he were dangerous to the whole Order. Is it possible that the Knights of
the Cross are afraid even of the children?"

"The Knights of the Cross are not afraid of anyone," answered the
_comthur_, proudly.

And the old castellan added:

"And especially of God."

The next day Powala of Taczew testified to everything he could before the
court of the castellan, that would lessen the enormity of Zbyszko's
offence. But in vain did he attribute the deed to childishness and lack
of experience; in vain he said that even some one older, if he had made
the same vow, prayed for its fulfillment and then had suddenly perceived
in front of him such a crest, would also have believed that it was God's
providence. But one thing, the worthy knight could not deny; had it not
been for him, Zbyszko's spear would have pierced the Krzyzak's chest.
Kuno had brought to the court the armor which he wore that day; it
appeared that it was so thin that Zbyszko with his great strength, would
have pierced it and killed the envoy, if Powala of Taczew had not
prevented him. Then they asked Zbyszko if he intended to kill the
Krzyzak, and he could not deny it. "I warned him from afar," said he, "to
point his lance, and had he shouted in reply that he was an envoy, I
would not have attacked him."

These words pleased the knights who, on account of their sympathy for the
lad, were present in great numbers, and immediately numerous voices were
heard to say: "True! Why did he not reply!" But the castellan's face
remained gloomy and severe. Having ordered those present to be silent, he
meditated for a while, then looked sharply at Zbyszko, and asked:

"Can you swear by the Passion of our Lord that you saw neither the mantle
nor the cross?"

"No!" answered Zbyszko. "Had I not seen the cross, I would have thought
he was one of our knights, and I would not have attacked one of ours."

"And how was it possible to find any Krzyzak near Krakow, except an
envoy, or some one from his retinue?"

To this Zbyszko did not reply, because there was nothing to be said. To
everybody it was clear, that if the _Pan_ of Taczanow had not interposed,
at the present moment there would lie before them not the armor of the
envoy, but the envoy himself, with pierced breast--an eternal disgrace to
the Polish nation;--therefore even those who sympathized with Zbyszko,
with their whole souls, understood that he could not expect a mild
sentence.

In fact, after a while the castellan said:

"As you did not stop to think whom you were attacking, and you did it
without anger, therefore our Saviour will forgive you; but you had better
commit yourself to the care of the Most Holy Lady, because the law cannot
condone your offence."

Having heard this, Zbyszko, although he expected such words, became
somewhat pale; but he soon shook his long hair, made the sign of the
cross, and said:

"God's will! I cannot help it!"

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!"

Then he arose and threw himself in Macko's arms, who began to kiss his
head and eyes.

In the evening of the same day, a herald announced at the four corners of
the market place with the sound of trumpets, to the knights, guests and
burghers assembled, that the noble Zbyszko of Bogdaniec was sentenced by
the castellan's court to be decapitated by the sword.

But Macko obtained a delay of the execution; this was readily granted,
because in those days they used to allow prisoners plenty of time to
dispose of their property, as well as to be reconciled to God.
Lichtenstein himself did not wish to insist upon an early execution of
the sentence, because he understood, that as long as he obtained
satisfaction for the offended majesty of the Order, it would be bad
policy to estrange the powerful monarch, to whom he was sent not only to
take part in the solemnity of the christening, but also to attend to the
negotiations about the province of Dobrzyn. But the chief reason for the
delay was the queen's health. Bishop Wysz did not wish even to hear about
the execution before her delivery, rightly thinking, that it would be
difficult to conceal such an affair from the lady. She would feel such
sorrow and distress that it would be very injurious to her health. For
these reasons, they granted Zbyszko several weeks, and perhaps more, of
life, to make his final arrangements and to bid his friends farewell.

Macko visited him every day and tried to console him. They spoke
sorrowfully about Zbyszko's inevitable death, and still more sorrowfully
about the fact that the family would become extinct.

"It cannot be otherwise, unless you marry," Zbyszko said once.

"I would prefer to find some distant relative," answered the sorrowful
Macko. "How can I think about women, when they are going to behead you.
And even if I am obliged to marry, I will not do it, until I send a
knightly challenge to Lichtenstein, and seek to avenge your death. Do not
fear!"

"God will reward you. I have at least that joy! But I know that you will
not forgive him. How will you avenge me?"

"When his duty as an envoy has ended, there may be a war! If there be
war, I will send him a challenge for single combat before the battle."

"On the leveled ground?"

"On the leveled ground, on horseback or on foot, but only for death, not
for captivity. If there be peace, then I will go to Malborg and will
strike the door of the castle gates with my spear, and will order the
trumpeter to proclaim that I challenge Kuno to fight until death. He
cannot avoid the contest!"

"Surely he will not refuse. And you will defeat him."

"Defeat? I could not defeat Zawisza, Paszko, nor Powala; but without
boasting, I can take care of two like him. That scoundrel Krzyzak shall
see! That Fryzjan knight, was he not stronger? And how I cut him through
the helmet, until the axe stopped! Did I not?"

Zbyszko breathed with relief and said:

"I will perish with some consolation."

They both began to sigh, and the old nobleman spoke with emotion:

"You mustn't break down with sorrow. Your bones will not search for one
another at the day of judgment. I have ordered an honest coffin of oak
planks for you. Even the canons of the church of Panna Marya could not
have any better. You will not perish like a peasant. I will not permit
them to decapitate you on the same cloth on which they behead burghers. I
have made an agreement with Amylej, that he furnish a new cloth, so
handsome that it would be good enough to cover king's fur. I will not be
miserly with prayers, either; don't be afraid!"

Zbyszko's heart rejoiced, and bending toward his uncle's hand, he
repeated:

"God will reward you!"

Sometimes, however, notwithstanding all this consolation he was seized
with a feeling of dreadful loneliness; therefore, another time when Macko
came to see him, as soon as he had welcomed him, he asked him, looking
through the grate in the wall:

"How is it outside?"

"Beautiful weather, like gold, and the sun warms so that all the world is
pleased."

Hearing this, Zbyszko put both his hands on his neck, and raising his
head, said:

"Hej, Mighty God! To have a horse and to ride on fields, on large ones!
It is dreadful for a young man to perish! It is dreadful!"

"People perish on horseback!" answered Macko.

"Bah! But how many they kill before!"

And he began to ask about the knights whom he had seen at the king's
court; about Zawisza, Farurej, Powala of Taczew, about Lis of Targowisko
and about all the others; what they were doing; how they amused
themselves; in what honest exercises they passed the time? And he
listened with avidity to Macko who told him that in the morning, the
knights dressed in their armor, jumped over horses, broke ropes, tried
one another's skill with swords and with axes having sharp ends made of
lead; finally, he told how they feasted and what songs they sang. Zbyszko
longed with heart and soul to be with them, and when he learned that
Zawisza, immediately after the christening, intended to go somewhere
beyond Hungary, against the Turks, he could not refrain from exclaiming:

"If they would only let me go! It would be better to perish among the
pagans!"

But this could not be done. In the meanwhile something else happened.
Both princesses of Mazowsze had not ceased to think about Zbyszko, who
had captivated them by his youth and beauty. Finally the Princess
Alexandra Ziemowitowna decided to send a letter to the grand master. It
was true that the grand master could not alter the sentence, pronounced
by the castellan; but he could intercede with the king in favor of the
youth. It was not right for Jagiello to show any clemency, because the
offence was an attempt on the life of the envoy; but if the grand master
besought the king, then the king would pardon the lad. Therefore hope
entered the hearts of both princesses. Princess Alexandra being fond of
the polished monk-knights, was a great favorite with them also. Very
often they sent her from Marienburg, rich presents and letters in which
the master called her venerable, pious benefactress and the particular
protectress of the Order. Her words could do much; it was probable that
her wishes would not be denied. The question now was to find a messenger,
who would be zealous enough to carry the letter as soon as possible and
return immediately with the answer. Having heard this, the old Macko
determined without any hesitation to do it.

The castellan promised to delay the execution. Full of hope, Macko set
himself to work the same day to prepare for the journey. Then he went to
see Zbyszko, to tell him the good news.

At first Zbyszko was filled with as great joy, as if they had already
opened the door of the tower for him. But afterward he became thoughtful
and gloomy, and said:

"Who can expect anything from the Germans! Lichtenstein also could ask
the king for clemency; and he could get some benefit from it because he
would thus avoid your vengeance; but he will not do anything."

"He is angry because we would not apologize on the road to Tyniec. The
people speak well about the master, Konrad. At any rate you will not lose
anything by it."

"Sure," said Zbyszko, "but do not bow too low to him."

"I shall not. I am going with the letter from Princess Alexandra; that is
all."

"Well, as you are so kind, may God help you!"

Suddenly he looked sharply at his uncle and said:

"But If the king pardon me, Lichtenstein shall be mine, not yours.
Remember!"

"You are not yet sure about your neck, therefore don't make any promises.
You have enough of those stupid vows!" said the angry old man.

Then they threw themselves into each other's arms. Zbyszko remained
alone. Hope and uncertainty tossed his soul by turns; but when night
came, and with it a storm, when the uncovered window was lighted by
ill-omened lightnings and the walls shook with the thunder, when finally
the whistling wind rushed into the tower, Zbyszko plunged, into darkness,
again lost confidence; all night he could not close his eyes.

"I shall not escape death," he thought; "nothing can help me!"

But the next day, the worthy Princess Anna Januszowna came to see him,
and brought Danusia who wore her little lute at her belt. Zbyszko fell at
their feet; then, although he was in great distress, after a sleepless
night, in woe and uncertainty, he did not forget his duty as a knight and
expressed his surprise about Danusia's beauty.

But the princess looked at him sadly and said:

"You must not wonder at her; if Macko does not bring a favorable answer,
or if he does not return at all, you will wonder at better things in
heaven!"

Then she began to weep as she thought of the uncertain future of the
little knight. Danusia wept also. Zbyszko kneeled again at their feet,
because his heart became soft like heated wax in the presence of such
grief. He did not love Danusia as a man loves a woman; but he felt that
he loved her dearly. The sight of her had such an effect on him that he
became like another man, less severe, less impetuous, less warlike.
Finally great grief filled him because he must leave her before he could
accomplish the vow which he had made to her.

"Poor child, I cannot put at your feet those peacock crests," said he.
"But when I stand in the presence of God, I will say: 'Lord, forgive me
my sins, and give _Panna_ Jurandowna of Spychow all riches on earth.'"

"You met only a short time ago," said the princess. "God will not grant
it!"

Zbyszko began to recollect the incident which occurred in Tyniec and his
heart was melted. Finally he asked Danusia to sing for him the same song
which she was singing when he seized her from the falling bench and
carried her to the princess.

Therefore Danusia, although she did not feel like singing, raised her
closed eyes toward the vault and began:

  "If I only could get
  The wings like a birdie,
  I would fly quickly
  To my dearest Jasiek!
  I would then be seated
  On the high enclosure:
  Look my dear Jasiulku----"

But suddenly the tears began to flow down her face, and she was unable to
sing any more. Zbyszko seized her in his arms, as he had done in the inn
at Tyniec and began to walk with her around the room, repeating in
ecstasy:

"If God release me from this prison, when you grow up, if your father
give his consent, I will take you for my wife! Hej!"

Danusia embraced him and hid her face on his shoulder. His grief which
became greater and greater, flowed from a rustic Slavonic nature, and
changed in that simple soul almost to a rustic song:

  "I will take you, girl!
  I will take you!"




CHAPTER VI.

An event now happened, compared with which all other affairs lost their
importance. Toward evening of the twenty-first of June, the news of the
queen's sudden illness spread throughout the castle. Bishop Wysz and the
other doctors remained in her room the whole night. It was known that the
queen was threatened with premature confinement. The castellan of Krakow,
Jasko Topor of Tenczyn, sent a messenger to the absent king that same
night. The next day the news spread throughout the entire city and its
environs. It was Sunday, therefore the churches were crowded. All doubt
ceased. After mass the guests and the knights, who had come to be present
at the festivals, the nobles and the burghers, went to the castle; the
guilds and the fraternities came out with their banners. From noontide
numberless crowds of people surrounded Wawel, but order was kept by the
king's archers. The city was almost deserted; crowds of peasants moved
toward the castle to learn some news about the health of their beloved
queen. Finally there appeared in the principal gate, the bishops and the
castellan, and with them other canons, king's counselors and knights.
They mingled with the people telling them the news, but forbidding any
loud manifestation of joy, because it would be injurious to the sick
queen. They announced to all, that the queen was delivered of a daughter.
This news filled the hearts of all with joy, especially when they
learned, that, although the confinement was premature, there was now no
danger, neither for the mother nor for the child. The people began to
disperse because it was forbidden to shout near the castle and everybody
wished to manifest his joy. Therefore, the streets of the city were
filled immediately, and exulting songs and exclamations resounded in
every corner. They were not disappointed because a girl had been born.
"Was it unfortunate that King Louis had no sons and that Jadwiga became
our queen? By her marriage with Jagiello, the strength of the kingdom was
doubled. The same will happen again. Where can one find a richer heiress
than our queen. Neither the Roman emperor nor any king possesses such
dominion, nor so numerous a knighthood! There will be great competition
among the monarchs for her hand; the most powerful of them will bow to
our king and queen; they will come to Krakow, and we merchants will
profit by it; perhaps some new domains, Bohemian or Hungarian, will be
added to our kingdom."

Thus spoke the merchants among themselves, and their joy increased every
moment. They feasted in the private houses and in the inns. The market
place was filled with lanterns and torches. Almost till daybreak, there
was great life and animation throughout the city.

During the morning, they heard more news from the castle.

They heard that the _ksiondz_ Bishop Peter, had baptized the child during
the night. On account of this, they feared that the little girl was not
very strong. But the experienced townswomen quoted some similar cases, in
which the infants had grown stronger immediately after baptism. Therefore
they comforted themselves with this hope; their confidence was greatly
increased by the name given to the princess.

"Neither Bonifacius nor Bonifacia can die immediately after baptism; the
child so named is destined to accomplish something great," they said.
"During the first years, especially during the first weeks, the child
cannot do anything good or bad."

The next day, however, there came bad news from the castle concerning the
infant and the mother, and the city was excited. During the whole day,
the churches were as crowded as they were during the time of absolution.
Votive offerings were very numerous for the queen's and princess' health.
One could see poor peasants offering some grain, lambs, chickens, ropes
of dried mushrooms or baskets of nuts. There came rich offerings from the
knights, from the merchants and from the artisans. They sent messengers
to the places where miracles were performed. Astrologers consulted the
stars. In Krakow itself, they ordered numerous processions. All guilds
and fraternities took part in them. There was also a children's
procession because the people thought that these innocent beings would be
more apt to obtain God's favor. Through the gates new crowds were coming.

Thus day after day passed, with continual ringing of bells, with the
noise of the crowds in the churches, with processions and with prayers.
But when at the end of a week, the beloved queen and the child were still
living, hope began to enter the hearts of the people. It seemed to them
impossible, that God would take from the kingdom the queen who, having
done so much for it, would thus be obliged to leave so much unfinished.
The scholars told how much she had done for the schools; the clergy, how
much for God's glory; the statesmen, how much for peace among Christian
monarchs; the jurisconsults, how much for justice; the poor people, how
much for poverty. None of them could believe that the life so necessary
to the kingdom and to the whole world, would be ended prematurely.

In the meanwhile on July thirteenth, the tolling bells announced the
death of the child. The people again swarmed through the streets of the
city, and uneasiness seized them. The crowd surrounded Wawel again,
inquiring about the queen's health. But now nobody came out with good
news. On the contrary, the faces of the lords entering the castle, or
returning to the city, were gloomy, and every day became sadder. They
said that the _ksiondz_ Stanislaw of Skarbimierz, the master of liberal
sciences in Krakow, did not leave the queen, who every day received holy
communion. They said also, that after every communion, her room was
filled with celestial light. Some had seen it through the windows; but
such a sight frightened the hearts devoted to the lady; they feared that
it was a sign that celestial life had already begun for her.

But everybody did not believe that such a dreadful thing could happen;
they reassured themselves with the hope that the justice of heaven would
be satisfied with one victim. But on Friday morning, July seventeenth,
the news spread among the people that the queen was in agony. Everybody
rushed toward Wawel. The city was deserted; even mothers with their
infants rushed toward the gates of the castle. The stores were closed;
they did not cook any food. All business was suspended; but around Wawel,
there was a sea of uneasy, frightened but silent people.

At last at the thirteenth hour from noontime, the bell on the tower of
the cathedral resounded. They did not immediately understand what it
meant; but the people became uneasy. All heads and all eyes turned toward
the tower in which was hung the tolling bell; its mournful tones were
soon repeated by other bells in the city: by those at Franciscans, at
Trinity, and at Panna Marya. Finally the people understood; then their
souls were filled with dread and with great grief. At last a large black
flag embroidered with a death's head, appeared on the tower. Then all
doubt vanished: the queen had rendered her soul to God.

Beneath the castle walls resounded the roar and the cries of a hundred
thousand people and mingled with the gloomy voices of the bells. Some of
the people threw themselves on the ground; others tore their clothing or
lacerated their faces; while others looked at the walls with silent
stupefaction. Some of them were moaning; some, stretching their hands
toward the church and toward the queen's room, asked for a miracle and
God's mercy. But there were also heard some angry voices, which on
account of despair were verging toward blasphemy:

"Why have they taken our dear queen? For what then were our processions,
our prayers and our entreaties? Our gold and silver offerings were
accepted and we have nothing in return for them! They took but they gave
us nothing in return!" Many others weeping, repeated: "Jesus! Jesus!
Jesus!" The crowds wanted to enter the castle, to look once more on the
face of their queen.

This they were not permitted to do; but were promised that the body would
soon be placed in the church where everyone would be allowed to view it
and to pray beside it. Consequently toward evening, the sorrowing people
began to return to the city, talking about the queen's last moments,
about the future funeral and the miracles, which would be performed near
her body and around her tomb. Some also said that immediately after her
burial, the queen would be canonized, and when others said that they
doubted if it could be done, many began to be angry and to threaten to go
to the pope in Avignon.

A gloomy sorrow fell upon the city, and upon the whole country, not only
on the common people, but on everybody; the lucky star of the kingdom was
extinguished. Even to many among the lords, everything looked black. They
began to ask themselves and others, what would happen now? whether the
king had the right to remain after the queen's death and rule over the
country; or whether he would return to Lithuania and be satisfied with
the throne of the viceroy? Some of them supposed--and the future proved
that they thought correctly--that the king himself would be willing to
withdraw; and that, in such an event the large provinces would separate
from the crown, and the Lithuanians would again begin their attacks
against the inhabitants of the kingdom. The Knights of the Cross would
become stronger; mightier would become the Roman emperor and the
Hungarian king; and the Polish kingdom, one of the mightiest until
yesterday, would be ruined and disgraced.

The merchants, for whom waste territories in Lithuania and in Russia had
been opened, forseeing great losses, made pious vows, hoping that
Jagiello might remain on the throne. But in that event, they predicted a
war with the Order. It was known that the queen only could restrain his
anger. The people recollected a previous occasion, when being indignant
at the avidity and rapacity of the Knights of the Cross, she spoke to
them in a prophetic vision: "As long as I live, I will restrain my
husband's hand and his righteous anger; but remember that after my death,
there will fall upon you the punishment for your sins."

In their pride and folly, they were not afraid of a war, calculating,
that after the queen's death, the charm of her piety would no longer
restrain the wish for affluence of volunteers from eastern countries, and
that then thousands of warriors from Germany, Burgundia, France and other
countries, would join the Knights of the Cross.

The death of Jadwiga was an event of such importance, that the envoy
Lichtenstein, could wait no longer for the answer of the absent king; but
started immediately for Marienburg, in order to communicate as soon as
possible to the grand master and to the chapter the important, and in
some ways, threatening news.

The Hungarian, the Austrian and the Bohemian envoys followed him or sent
messengers to their monarchs. Jagiello returned to Krakow in great
despair. At first he declared to the lords, that he did not wish to rule
without the queen and that he would return to Litwa. Afterward, on
account of his grief, he fell into such a stupor, that he could not
attend to any affairs of state, and could not answer any questions.
Sometimes he was very angry with himself, because he had gone away, and
had not been present at the queen's death to bid her farewell and to hear
her last words and wishes. In vain Stanislaw of Skarbimierz and Bishop
Wysz explained to him that the queen's illness came suddenly, and that
according to human calculations he would have had plenty of time to go
and return if the confinement had occurred at the expected time. These
words did not bring him any consolation; did not assuage his grief. "I am
no king without her," he answered the bishop; "only a repentant sinner,
who can receive no consolation!" After that he looked at the ground and
no one could induce him to speak even one word.

Meanwhile preparations for the queen's funeral occupied all minds. From
all over the country, great crowds of lords, nobles and peasants were
going to Krakow. The body of the queen was placed in the cathedral on an
elevation, so arranged that the end of the coffin in which the queen's
head rested, was much higher than the other end. It was so arranged
purposely, to enable the people to see the queen's face. In the cathedral
continual prayers were offered; around the catafalque thousands of wax
candles were burning. In the glare of the candles and among the flowers,
she lay quiet and smiling, looking like a mystic rose. The people saw in
her a saint; they brought to her those possessed with devils, the
crippled and the sick children. From time to time there was heard in the
church, the exclamation of some mother who perceived the color return to
the face of her sick child; or the joyful voice of some paralytic man who
at once was cured. Then human hearts trembled and the news spread
throughout the church, the castle, and the city, and attracted more and
more of such human wretchedness as only from a miracle could expect help.




CHAPTER VII.

During this time Zbyszko was entirely forgotten. Who in the time of such
sorrow and misfortune, could remember about the noble lad or about his
imprisonment in the tower of the castle? Zbyszko had heard, however, from
the guards, about the queen's illness. He had heard the noise of the
people around the castle; when he heard their weeping and the tolling of
the bells, he threw himself on his knees, and having forgotten about his
own lot, began to mourn the death of the worshipped lady. It seemed to
him, that with her, something died within him and that after her death,
there was nothing worth living for in this world.

The echo of the funeral--the church bells, the processional songs and the
lamenting of the crowd,--was heard for several weeks. During that time,
he grew gloomier, lost his appetite, could not sleep and walked in his
underground cell like a wild beast in a cage. He suffered in solitude;
there were often days during which the jailer did not bring him food nor
water. So much was everybody engaged with the queen's funeral, that after
her death nobody came to see him: neither the princess, nor Danusia, nor
Powala of Taczew, nor the merchant Amylej. Zbyszko thought with
bitterness, that as soon as Macko left the city, everybody forgot about
him. Sometimes he thought that perhaps the law would forget about him
also, and that he would putrefy in the prison till death. Then he prayed
for death.

Finally, when after the queen's funeral one month passed, and the second
commenced, he began to doubt if Macko would ever return. Macko had
promised to ride quickly and not to spare his horse. Marienburg was not
at the other end of the world. One could reach it and return in twelve
weeks, especially if one were in haste. "But perhaps he has not hurried!"
thought Zbyszko, bitterly; "perhaps he has found some woman whom he will
gladly conduct to Bogdaniec, and beget his own progeny while I must wait
here centuries for God's mercy."

Finally he lost all trace of time, and ceased altogether to talk with the
jailer. Only by the spider web thickly covering the iron grating of the
window, did he know that fall was near at hand. Whole hours he sat on his
bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers in his long hair. Half
dreaming and stiff, he did not raise his head even when the warden
bringing him food, spoke to him. But at last one day the bolts of the
door creaked, and a familiar voice called him from the threshold;

"Zbyszku!"

"Uncle!" exclaimed Zbyszko, rushing from the bed.

Macko seized him in his arms, and began to kiss his fair head. Grief,
bitterness and loneliness had so filled the heart of the youth, that he
began to cry on his uncle's breast like a little child.

"I thought you would never come back," said he, sobbing.

"That came near being true," answered Macko.

Now Zbyszko raised his head and having looked at him, exclaimed:

"What was the matter with you?"

He looked with amazement at the emaciated and pallid face of the old
warrior, at his bent figure and his gray hair.

"What was the matter with you?" he repeated.

Macko sat on the bed and for a while breathed heavily.

"What was the matter?" said he, finally.

"Hardly had I passed the frontier, before the Germans whom I met in the
forest, wounded me with a crossbow. _Raubritters!_ You know! I cannot
breathe! God sent me help, otherwise you would not see me here."

"Who rescued you?"

"Jurand of Spychow," answered Macko.

There was a moment of silence.

"They attacked me; but half a day later he attacked them and hardly half
of them escaped. He took me with him to the _grodek_ and then to Spychow.
I fought with death for three weeks. God did not let me die and although
I am not well yet, I have returned."

"Then you have not been in Malborg?"

"On what would I ride? They robbed me of everything and they took the
letter with the other things. I returned to ask Princess Ziemowitowa for
another; but I have not met her yet, and whether I will see her or not, I
do not know. I must prepare for the other world!"

Having said this, he spit on the palm of his hand and stretching it
toward Zbyszko, showed him blood on it, saying:

"Do you see?"

After a while he added:

"It must be God's will."

They were both silent for a time under the burden of their gloomy
thoughts; then Zbyszko said:

"Then you spit blood continually?"

"How can I help it; there is a spear head half a span long between my
ribs. You would spit also! I was a little better before I left Jurand of
Spychow; but now I am very tired, because the way was long and I
hastened."

"He; I why did you hasten?"

"Because I wished to see Princess Alexandra and get another letter from
her. Jurand of Spychow said 'Go and bring the letter to Spychow. I have a
few Germans imprisoned here. I will free one of them if he promise upon
his knightly word to carry the letter to the gland master.' For vengeance
for his wife's death, he always keeps several German captives and listens
joyfully when they moan and their chains rattle. He is a man full of
hatred. Understand?"

"I understand. But I wonder that you did not recover the lost letter, if
Jurand captured those who attacked you."

"He did not capture all of them. Five or six escaped. Such is our lot!"

"How did they attack you? From ambush?"

"From behind such thick bushes that one could see nothing. I was riding
without armor, because the merchants told me that the country was safe,
and it was warm."

"Who was at the head of the robbers? A Krzyzak?"

"Not a friar, but a German. Chelminczyk of Lentz, famous for his
robberies on the highway."

"What became of him?"

"Jurand chained him. But he has in his dungeons two noblemen, Mazurs,
whom he wishes to exchange for himself."

There was a moment of silence.

"Dear Jesus," Zbyszko said, finally; "Lichtenstein is alive, and also
that robber from Lentz; but we must perish without vengeance. They will
behead me and you will not be able to live through the winter."

"Bah! I will not live even until winter. If I could only help you in some
way to escape."

"Have you seen anybody here?"

"I went to see the castellan of Krakow. When I learned that Lichtenstein
had departed, I thought perhaps the castellan would be less severe."

"Then Lichtenstein went away?"

"Immediately after the queen's death, he went to Marienburg. I went to
see the castellan; but he answered me thus: 'They will execute your
nephew, not to please Lichtenstein, but because that is his sentence. It
will make no difference whether Lichtenstein be here or not. Even if he
die, nothing will be changed; the law is according to justice and not
like a jacket, which you can turn inside out. The king can show clemency;
but no one else.'"

"And where is the king?"

"After the funeral he went to Rus'."

"Well, then there is no hope at all."

"No." The castellan said still further: "I pity him, because the Princess
Anna begs for his pardon, but I cannot, I cannot!"

"Then Princess Anna is still here?"

"May God reward her! She is a good lady. She is still here, because
Jurandowna is sick, and the princess loves her as her own child."

"For God's sake! Then Danusia is sick! What is the matter with her?"

"I don't know! The princess says that somebody has thrown a spell over
her."

"I am sure it is Lichtenstein! Nobody else,--only Lichtenstein--a
dog-brother!"

"It may be he. But what can you do to him? Nothing!"

"That is why they all seemed to have forgotten me here; she was sick."

Having said this, Zbyszko began to walk up and down the room; finally he
seized Macko's hand, kissed it, and said:

"May God reward you for everything! If you die, I will be the cause of
your death. Before you get any worse, you must do one thing more. Go to
the castellan and beg him to release me, on my knightly word, for twelve
weeks. After that time I will return, and they may behead me. But it must
not be that we both die without vengeance. You know! I will go to
Marienburg, and immediately send a challenge to Lichtenstein. It cannot
be otherwise. One of us must die!"

Macko began to rub his forehead.

"I will go; but will the castellan permit?"

"I will give my knightly word. For twelve weeks--I do not need more."

"No use to talk; twelve weeks! And if you are wounded, you cannot return;
what will they think then?"

"I will return if I have to crawl. But don't be afraid! In the meanwhile
the king may return and one will be able to beseech him for clemency."

"That is true," answered Macko.

But after awhile he added:

"The castellan also told me this: 'On account of the queen's death, we
forgot about your nephew; but now his sentence must be executed.'"

"Ej, he will permit," answered Zbyszko, hopefully. "He knows that a
nobleman will keep his word, and it is just the same to him, whether they
behead me now, or after St. Michael's day."

"Ha! I will go to-day."

"You better go to Amylej to-day, and rest awhile. He will bandage your
wound, and to-morrow you can go to the castellan."

"Well, with God then!"

"With God!"

They hugged each other and Macko turned toward the door; but he stopped
on the threshold and frowned as if he remembered something unpleasant.

"Bah, but you do not yet wear the girdle of a knight; Lichtenstein will
tell you that he will not fight with you; what can you do then?"

Zbyszko was filled with sorrow, but only for a moment, then he said:

"How is it during war? Is it necessary that a knight choose only
knights?"

"War is war; a single combat is quite different."

"True, but wait. You must find some way. Well, there is a way! Prince
Janusz will dub me a knight. If the princess and Danusia ask him, he will
do it. In the meantime I will fight in Mazowsze with the son of Mikolaj
of Dlugolas."

"What for?"

"Because Mikolaj, the same who is with the princess and whom they call
Obuch, called Danusia, 'bush.'"

Macko looked at him in amazement. Zbyszko, wishing to explain better
about what had occurred, said further:

"I cannot forgive that, but I cannot fight with Mikolaj, because he must
be nearly eighty years old."

To this Macko said:

"Listen! It is a pity that you should lose your head; but there will not
be a great loss of brains, because you are stupid like a goat."

"Why are you angry?"

Macko did not answer, but started to leave. Zbyszko sprang toward him and
said:

"How is Danusia? Is she well yet? Don't be angry for a trifle. You have
been absent so long!"

Again he bent toward the old man who shrugged his shoulders and said
mildly:

"Jurandowna is well, only they will not let her go out of her room yet.
Good-bye!"

Zbyszko remained alone, but he felt as if he had been regenerated. He
rejoiced to think that he might be allowed to live three months more. He
could go to remote lands; he could find Lichtenstein, and engage in
deadly combat with him. Even the thought about that filled him with joy.
He would be fortunate, to be able to ride a horse, even for twelve weeks;
to be able to fight and not perish without vengeance. And then--let
happen what would happen--it would be a long time anyhow! The king might
return and forgive him. War might break out, and the castellan himself
when he saw the victor of the proud Lichtenstein, might say: "Go now into
the woods and the fields!"

Therefore a great hope entered his heart. He did not think that they
would refuse to grant him those three months. He thought that perhaps
they would grant hem more. The old _Pan_ of Tenczyn would never admit
that a nobleman could not keep his word.

Therefore when Macko came to the prison, the next day toward evening,
Zbyszko, who could hardly sit quiet, sprang toward him and asked:

"Granted?"

Macko sat on the truckle-bed, because he could not stand on account of
his feebleness; for a while he breathed heavily and finally said:

"The castellan said: 'If you wish to divide your land, or attend to your
household, then I will release your nephew for a week or two on his
knightly word, but for no longer.'"

Zbyszko was so much surprised, that for a while he could not say a word.

"For two weeks?" asked he, finally. "But I could not even reach the
frontier in two weeks! How is it? You did not tell the castellan why I
wished to go to Marienburg?"

"Not only I, but the Princess Anna begged for you."

"And what then?"

"What? The old man told her that he did not want your head, and that he
pitied you. 'If I could find,' said he, 'some law in his favor, or only a
pretext, I would release him altogether; but I cannot. There would be no
order in a country in which the people shut their eyes to the law, and
acted according to friendship; I will not do it; even if it were
Toporczyk, who is a relative of mine, or even my own brother, I would
not. Such hard people are here!' And he said still further; 'We do not
care about the Knights of the Cross; but we cannot bring reproach on
ourselves. What would they think of us, and all our guests, coming from
all parts of the world, if I release a nobleman sentenced to death, in
order to give him a chance to fight? Would they believe that he will be
punished, and that there is some law in our country? I prefer to order
one head cut off, than to bring contempt on the king and the kingdom.'
The princess told him that that was strange justice, from which even a
king's relative could not obtain anything by her prayer; but the old man
answered: 'The king may use clemency; but he will not tolerate
lawlessness.' Then they began to quarrel because the princess grew very
angry: 'Then,' said she, 'don't keep him in the prison!' And the
castellan replied to this: 'Very well! To-morrow I will order a scaffold
built on the market square.' Then they departed. Only the Lord Jesus can
help you."

There was a long moment of silence.

"What?" he said, gloomily. "Then it will be immediately?"

"In two or three days. There is no help. I have done what I could. I fell
at the castellan's knees; I implored him for mercy, but he repeated:
'Find a law, or a pretext.' But what can I find? I went to see the
_ksiondz_ Stanislaw of Skarbimierz, and I begged him to come to you. At
least you will have this honor, that the same priest who heard the
queen's confession will hear yours. But I did not find him home; he had
gone to Princess Anna."

"Perhaps for Danusia!"

"Not at all. The girl is better. I will go see him to-morrow early in the
morning. They say that if he bears one's confession, salvation is as sure
as if you had it in your pocket."

Zbyszko put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head so that his hair
covered his face entirely. The old man looked at him a long time and
finally began to call him softly:

"Zbyszku! Zbyszku!"

The boy raised his head. His face had an expression of anger and of cold
hatred, but not of weakness.

"What?"

"Listen carefully; perhaps I have found a way of escape."

Having said this, he approached and began to whisper:

"Have your heard about Prince Witold, who at one time, being imprisoned
by our king in Krewo, went out from the prison disguised in a woman's
dress. There is no woman who will remain here instead of you, but take my
_kubrak_.[57] Take my cowl and go--understand? They will not notice. It
is dark behind the door. They will not flash a light into your eyes. They
saw me yesterday going out; but they did not look at me closely. Be quiet
and listen. They will find me here to-morrow--and what then? Will they
cut my head off? That will be no satisfaction, because I will die anyhow
in three or four weeks. And you, as soon as you are out of here, to
horse, and go straight to Prince Witold. You will present yourself to
him; you will bow before him; he will receive you and you will be as safe
with him as if you were sitting at God's right hand. They say here that
the _kniaz_'s armies have been defeated by the Tartars, because the late
queen prophesied defeat. If it be true, the _kniaz_ will need soldiers
and he will welcome you. You must remain with him, because there is no
better service in the world. If our king were defeated in a war, it would
be his end; but there is such an amount of shrewdness in _Kniaz_ Witold,
that after a defeat he grows still more powerful. And he is liberal also,
and he loves our family. Tell him everything that happened. Tell him that
you wanted to go with him against the Tartars; but you could not because
you were imprisoned in the tower. If God permit, he will give you some
land and peasants; he will dub you a knight and he will intercede for you
with the king. He is a good protector--you will see!--What?"

Zbyszko listened silently, and Macko, as if he was excited by his own
words, spoke further:

"You must not perish young, but return to Bogdaniec. And when you return,
you must immediately take a wife so that our family does not perish. Only
when you have children, may you challenge Lichtenstein to fight until
death; but before that, you must abstain from seeking vengeance. Take my
_kubrak_ now, take my cowl and go, in God's name."

Having said this, Macko stood up and began to undress; but Zbyszko arose
also, stopped him and said:

"I will not do it, so help me God and Holy Cross."

"Why?" asked Macko, astonished.

"Because I will not!"

Macko became pale with anger.

"I wish you had never been born!"

"You told the castellan," said Zbyszko, "that you would give your head in
exchange for mine."

"How do you know that?"

"The _Pan_ of Taczew told me."

"What of it?"

"What of it? The castellan told you that disgrace would fall on me and on
all my family Would it not be a still greater disgrace, if I escaped from
here, and left you to the vengeance of the law?"

"What vengeance? What can the law do to me, when I must die just the
same? Have common sense, for God's mercy!"

"May God punish me if I abandon you now when you are old and sick. Tfu!
shame!"

There was silence; one could only hear the heavy, hoarse breathing of
Macko, and the archers' calls.

"Listen," Macko said, finally, in broken tones, "it was not shameful for
_Kniaz_ Witold to escape from Krewo; it would not be for you, either."

"Hej!"' answered Zbyszko, with sadness "You know! _Kniaz_ Witold is a
great _kniaz_; he received a crown from the king's hand, also riches and
dominion; but I, a poor nobleman, have only my honor."

After a while he exclaimed in a sudden burst of anger:

"Then you do not understand that I love you, and that I will not give
your head instead of mine?"

At this, Macko stood on his trembling feet, stretched out his hands, and
although the nature of the people of those days, was hard, as if forged
of iron, he cried suddenly in a heartbroken voice:

"Zbyszku!"




CHAPTER VIII.

The next day, the court servants began to make preparations in the market
square, to build the scaffold which was to be erected opposite the
principal gate of the city hall.

The princess, however, was still consulting with Wojciech Jastrzembiec,
Stanislaw of Skarbimierz and other learned canons, who were familiar with
the written laws and also with the laws sanctioned by custom.

She was encouraged in these efforts by the castellan's words, when he
said, that if they showed him "law or pretext," he would free Zbyszko.
Therefore they consulted earnestly, to ascertain if there were any law or
custom that would do. Although the _ksiondz_ Stanislaw, had prepared
Zbyszko for death and administered the last sacraments, he went directly
from the prison to the consultation, which lasted almost till daybreak.

The day of execution arrived. From early morning, crowds of people had
begun to gather on the market square, because the decapitation of a
nobleman excited more curiosity than that of a common criminal. The
weather was beautiful. News of the youth and great beauty of the
sentenced man, spread among the women. Therefore the whole road leading
to the castle, was filled with crowds of townswomen, dressed in their
best; in the windows on the market square, and on the balconies, could be
seen velvet bonnets, or the fair heads of young girls, ornamented only
with wreaths of lilies and roses. The city councilors, although the
affair did not belong in their jurisdiction, all appeared, in order to
show their importance and placed themselves near the scaffold. The
knights, wishing to show their sympathy for the young man, gathered in
great numbers around the elevation. Behind them swarmed the gayly dressed
crowd, composed of small merchants and artisans dressed in their guild
costumes. Over this compact mass of human heads, one could see the
scaffold which was covered with new broadcloth. On the elevation stood
the executioner, a German, with broad shoulders, dressed in a red
_kubrak_ and on his head a cowl of the same color; he carried a heavy
two-edged sword; with him were two of his assistants with naked arms and
ropes at their girdles. There were also a block and a coffin covered with
broadcloth. In Panna Maryia's tower, the bells were ringing, filling the
town with metallic sounds and scaring the flocks of doves and jackdaws.
The people looked at the scaffold, and at the executioner's sword
protruding from it and shining in the sun. They also looked at the
knights, on whom the burghers always gazed with respect and eagerness.
This time it was worth while looking at them. The most famous knights
were standing round the elevation. They admired the broad shoulders and
dark hair, falling in abundant curls of Zawisza Czarny; they admired the
short square figure of Zyndram of Maszkow as well as the gigantic stature
of Paszko Zlodziej of Biskupice; the threatening face of Wojciech of
Wodzinek and the great beauty of Dobko of Olesnica, who at the tournament
in Torun had defeated twelve knights; they looked admiringly at Zygmunt
of Bobowa, who became equally famous in Koszyce in a fight with the
Hungarians, at Krzon of Kozieglowy, at Lis of Targowisko, who was
victorious in duels, and at Staszko of Charbimowice who was able to catch
a running horse.

General attention was also attracted by the pale face of Macko of
Bogdanice; he was supported by Floryan of Korytnica and Marcin of
Wrocimowice. It was generally thought that he was the sentenced man's
father.

But the greatest curiosity was aroused by Powala of Taczew who, standing
in front, was holding Danusia, dressed in white, with a wreath of green
rue resting on her fair hair. The people did not understand what it
meant, nor why this young girl was present to look at the execution. Some
of them thought she was a sister; others, that she was the knight's lady;
but none were able to explain the meaning of her dress or of her presence
at the scaffold. The sight of her fair face covered with tears, aroused
commiseration and emotion. The people began to criticise the castellan's
stubbornness, and the severity of the laws. Those criticisms gradually
changed to threats. Finally, here and there, some voices were heard to
say, that if the scaffold were destroyed, then the execution would be
postponed.

The crowd became eager and excited. They said that if the king were
present, he would surely pardon the youth.

But all became quiet when distant shoutings announced the approach of the
king's archers, escorting the prisoner. The procession soon appeared in
the market square. It was preceded by a funeral fraternity, the members
of which were dressed in long black cloaks, and were covered with veils
of the same color, which had openings cut for the eyes. The people were
afraid of these gloomy figures and became silent. They were followed by a
detachment of soldiers, armed with crossbows, and dressed in elk-skin
jerkins; these were the king's Lithuanian guards. Behind them one could
see the halberds of another detachment of soldiers. In the centre,
between the clerk of the court, who was going to read the sentence, and
the _ksiondz_ Stanislaw of Skarbimierz who was carrying a crucifix,
walked Zbyszko.

All eyes now turned toward him, and at all the windows and from all the
balconies, women's heads protruded. Zbyszko was dressed in his white
"_jaka_," embroidered with golden griffins and ornamented with gold
galoon; in these magnificent clothes he looked like a young prince, or
the page of a wealthy court. His broad shoulders and chest and his
powerful haunches indicated that he was already a full-grown man; but
above that strong figure of a man, appeared a childish face with down on
the upper lip. It was a beautiful face like that of a king's page, with
golden hair cut evenly over the eyebrows and falling on the shoulders. He
walked erect, but was very pale. From time to time he looked at the crowd
as if he was dreaming; he looked at the church towers, toward the flocks
of jackdaws, and at the bells, ringing his last hour; then his face
expressed amazement when he realized that the sobbing of the women, and
all this solemnity was for him. Finally, he perceived the scaffold and
the executioner's red figure standing on it. Then he shivered and made
the sign of the Cross; the priest gave him the crucifix to kiss. A few
steps further, a bouquet of roses thrown by a young girl, fell at his
feet. Zbyszko stooped, picked up the bouquet and smiled at the girl who
began to cry. But evidently he thought that, amidst these crowds and in
the presence of these women, waving their kerchiefs from the windows, he
must die courageously and at least leave behind him the reputation of "a
brave man;" therefore he strained his courage and will to the utmost.
With a sudden movement, he threw his hair back, raised his head still
higher and walked proudly, almost like a conqueror, whom, according to
knightly custom, they conduct to get the prize. The procession advanced
slowly, because the crowd was dense and unwillingly made way. In vain the
Lithuanian guard, marching in front, shouted: "_Eyk szalin! Eyk szalin!_
go away!" The people did not wish to understand these words, and
surrounded the soldiers more closely. Although about one-third of the
burghers of Krakow were Germans, still there were heard on all sides,
threats against the Knights of the Cross: "Shame! Shame! May they perish,
those wolves! Must they cut off children's heads for them! Shame on the
king and on the kingdom!" The Lithuanians seeing the resistance, took
their crossbows from their shoulders, and menaced the crowd; but they did
not dare to attack without orders. The captain sent some men to open the
way with their halberds and in that manner they reached the knights
standing around the scaffold.

They stepped aside without any resistance. The men with halberds entered
first, and were followed by Zbyszko, accompanied by the priest and the
clerk of the court. At that moment something happened which nobody had
expected. From among the knights, Powala stepped forward with Danusia in
his arms and shouted: "Stop!" with such a powerful voice, that the
retinue stopped at once, as if rooted to the ground. Neither the captain,
nor any of the soldiers dared to oppose the lord and knight, whom they
were accustomed to see every day in the castle and often in confidential
conversation with the king. Finally, other knights, equally
distinguished, also began to shout with commanding voices:

"Stop! Stop!" In the meantime, the _Pan_ of Taczew approached Zbyszko and
handed Danusia to him.

Zbyszko caught her in his arms and pressed her to his chest, bidding her
farewell; but Danusia instead of nestling to him and embracing him,
immediately took her white veil from her head and wrapped it around
Zbyszko's head, and began to cry in her tearful, childish voice:

"He is mine! He is mine!"

"He is hers!" shouted the powerful voices of the knights. "To the
castellan!"

A shout, like the roar of thunder, answered: "To the castellan! To the
castellan!" The priest raised his eyes, the clerk looked confused, the
captain and his soldiers dropped their arms; everybody understood what
had happened.

There was an old Polish and Slavonic custom, as strong as the law, known
in Podhale, around Krakow, and even further. If a young girl threw her
veil on a man conducted to death, as a sign that she wished to marry him,
by so doing she saved his life. The knights, farmers, villagers and
townsmen all knew this custom; and the Germans living in the old cities
and towns, had heard about it. The old man, Macko, almost fainted with
emotion; the knights having pushed away the guards, surrounded Zbyszko
and Danusia; the joyful people shouted again and again: "To the
castellan! To the castellan!"

The crowd moved suddenly, like the waves of the sea. The executioner and
his assistants rushed down from the scaffold. Everybody understood that
if Jasko of Tenczyn resisted the custom, there would be a riot in the
city. In fact the people now rushed to the scaffold. In the twinkling of
an eye, they pulled off the cloth and tore it into pieces; then the beams
and planks, pulled by strong arms, or cut with axes, began to crack, then
a crash, and a few moments later there was not a trace left of the
scaffold.

Zbyszko, holding Danusia in his arms, was going to the castle, but this
time like a true victor,--triumphant. With him were marching joyfully the
most noted knights in the kingdom; thousands of men, women and children
were shouting and singing, stretching their arms toward Danusia and
praising the beauty and courage of both. At the windows the townswomen
were clasping their hands, and everywhere one could see faces covered
with tears of joy. A shower of roses, lilies, ribbons and even gold rings
were thrown to the lucky youth; he, beaming like the sun, with his heart
full of gratitude, embraced his sweet lady from time to time and
sometimes kissed her hands. This sight made the townswomen feel so
tender, that some of them threw themselves into the arms of their lovers,
telling them that if they encountered death, they also would be freed.
Zbyszko and Danusia became the beloved children of the knights, burghers
and common people. Macko, whom Floryan of Korytnica and Marcin of
Wrocimowice were assisting to walk, was almost beside himself with joy.
He wondered why he had not even thought about this means of assistance.
Amidst the general bustle, Powala of Taczew told the knights that this
remedy had been discovered by Wojciech Jastrzembiec and Stanislaw of
Skarbimierz, both experts in the written laws and customs. The knights
were all amazed at its simplicity, saying among themselves, that nobody
else would have thought about that custom, because the city was inhabited
by Germans, and it had not been used for a long time.

Everything, however, still depended on the castellan. The knights and the
people went to the castle, which was occupied by _Pan_ Krakowski during
the king's absence. The clerk of the court, the _ksiondz_ Stanislaw of
Skarbimierz, Zawisza, Farurej, Zyndram of Maszkow and Powala of Taczew
explained to him the power of the custom and reminded him of what he had
said himself, that if he found "law or pretext," then he would release
the prisoner immediately. And could there be any better law, than the old
custom which had never been abolished?

The _Pan_ of Tenczyn answered that this custom applied more to the common
people and to robbers, than to the nobles; but he knew the law very well,
and could not deny its validity. Meanwhile he covered his silvery beard
with his hand and smiled, because he was very much pleased. Finally he
went to the low portico, accompanied by Princess Anna Danuta, a few
priests and the knights.

Zbyszko having perceived him, lifted Danusia again; the old castellan
placed his hand on her golden hair, and gravely and benevolently inclined
his hoary head. The assembled people understood this sign and shouted so
that the walls of the castle were shaken: "May God preserve you! Long
life, just lord! Live and judge us!"

Then the people cheered Zbyszko and Danusia when a moment later, they
both went to the portico, fell at the feet of the good Princess Anna
Danuta, who had saved Zbyszko's life, because she, together with the
scholars, had found the remedy and had taught Danusia how to act.

"Long life to the young couple!" shouted Powala of Taczew.

"Long life!" repeated the others. The castellan, hoary with age, turned
toward the princess and said:

"Gracious princess, the betrothal must be performed immediately, because
the custom requires it!"

"The betrothal will take place immediately," answered the good lady,
whose face was irradiated with joy; "but for the wedding, they must have
the consent of Jurand of Spychow."


END OF PART FIRST.




PART SECOND.




CHAPTER I.

In merchant Amylej's house, Macko and Zbyszko were deliberating what to
do. The old knight expected to die soon, and Father Cybek, a Franciscan
friar who had experience in treating wounds, predicted the same;
therefore he wanted to return to Bogdaniec to die and be buried beside
his forefathers in the cemetery in Ostrow.

But not all of his forefathers were buried there. In days of yore it had
been a numerous family of _wlodykas_. During the war their cry was:
"Grady!" On their shields, because they claimed to be better _wlodykas_
than the others who had no right to a coat of arms, they had emblazoned a
Tempa Podkowa. In 1331, in the battle of Plowce, seventy warriors from
Bogdaniec were killed in the marshes by German archers. Only one
Wojciech, called Tur, escaped. After this defeat by the Germans, the
king, Wladyslaw Lokietek, granted him a coat of arms and the estate of
Bogdaniec as a special privilege. Wojciech returned home, only to
discover the complete annihilation of his family.

While the men of Bogdaniec were perishing from German arrows, the
_Raubritters_ of Szlonsk fell upon their homes, burned their buildings,
and slaughtered or took into slavery the peasants. Wojciech remained
alone, the heir of a large but devastated tract of land, which formerly
belonged to the whole family of _wlodykas_. Five years afterward he
married and he begot two sons, Jasko and Macko. Afterward he was killed
in a forest by an urus.[58]

The sons grew up under the mother's care. Her maiden name was Kachna of
Spalenica. She was so brave that she conducted two successful expeditions
against the Germans of Szlonsk to avenge former wrongs; but in the third
expedition she was killed. Before that, however, she built with the help
of the slaves, a _grodek_[59] in Bogdaniec; on account of that, Jasko and
Macko, although from their former estates of _wlodykas_ were called
_wlodykas_, now became men of importance. When Jasko became of age, he
married Jagienka of Mocarzew, and begot Zbyszko; Macko remained
unmarried. He took care of his nephew's property as far as his war
expeditions permitted.

But when during the civil war between Grzymalits and Nalenczs, Bogdaniec
was again burned and the peasants scattered, Macko could not restore it,
although he toiled for several years. Finally he pledged the land to his
relative, the abbot, and with Zbyszko who was small, he went to Lithuania
to fight against the Germans.

But he had never forgotten about Bogdaniec. He went to Litwa hoping to
become rich from booty so as to return to Bogdaniec, redeem the land from
his pledge, colonize it with slaves, rebuild the _grodek_ and settle
Zbyszko on it. Therefore now, after Zbyszko's lucky deliverance, they
were discussing this matter at the house of the merchant, Amylej.

They had money enough to redeem the land they possessed quite a fortune
gathered from the booty, from the ransoms paid by the knights captured by
them, and from Witold's presents. They had received great benefit from
that fight with the two Fryzjan knights. The suits of armor alone, were
worth what was considered in those times quite a fortune; beside the
armor, they had captured wagons, people, clothes, money and rich
implements of war. The merchant Amylej had just purchased many of these
things, and among them two pieces of beautiful Flemish broadcloth. Macko
sold the splendid armor, because he thought that he would have no use for
it. The merchant sold it the next day to Marcin of Wrocimowice, whose
coat of arms was Polkoza. He sold it for a large sum, because in those
times the suits of armor made in Milan were considered the best in the
world and were expensive. Zbyszko regretted very much that they sold it.

"If God give you back your health," said he, to his uncle, "where will
you find another like it?"

"There, where I found this one; on some German," answered Macko. "But I
shall not escape death. The head of the spear will not come out from my
body. When I tried to pull it out with my hands, I pushed it in further.
And now there is no help."

"You must drink two or three pots of bear's grease."

"Bah! Father Cybek also said that would be a good thing. But where can I
get it here? In Bogdaniec one could very easily kill a bear!"

"Then we must go to Bogdaniec! Only you must not die on the road."

Old Macko looked at his nephew with tenderness.

"I know where you would like to go; to the Prince Janusz's court, or to
Jurand of Spychow, and fight the Germans of Chelminsko."

"I will not deny it. I would be glad to go to Warszawa with the princess'
court, or to go to Ciechanow; and I would remain as long as possible with
Danusia, because now she is not only my lady, but my love also. I tremble
when I think of her! I shall follow her even to the end of the world; but
now you are first. You did not desert me, therefore I will never abandon
you. We must go to Bogdaniec."

"You are a good man," said Macko.

"God would punish me, if I were not mindful of you. Look, they are
getting ready! I ordered one wagon to be filled with hay. Amylejowna has
made us a present of a feather bed, but I am afraid it will be too warm
for you. We will travel slowly, in company with the princess' court, so
that you may have good care. When they turn toward Mazowsze, we will turn
toward home; may God help us!"

"If I can only live long enough to rebuild the _grodek_!" exclaimed
Macko. "I know that after my death, you will not think anything more
about Bogdaniec."

"Why will I not?"

"Because your head will be filled with thoughts of battles and of love."

"Did you not think yourself about war? I have planned what I must do; in
the first place, I will rebuild the _grodek_."

"Do you mean to do that?" asked Macko, "Well, and when the _grodek_ is
finished?"

"When the _grodek_ is rebuilt, then I will go to Warszawa to the prince's
court, or to Ciechanow."

"After my death?"

"If you die soon, then after your death; but before I go, I will bury you
properly; if the Lord Jesus restore your health, then you will remain in
Bogdaniec. The princess promised me that I should receive my knightly
girdle from the prince. Otherwise Lichtenstein will not fight with me."

"Then afterward you will go to Marienburg?"

"To Marienburg, or even to the end of the world to reach Lichtenstein."

"I do not blame you for it! Either he or you must die!"

"I will bring his girdle and his gloves to Bogdaniec; do not be
frightened!"

"You must look out for treachery. There is plenty among them."

"I will bow to Prince Janusz and ask him to send to the grand master for
a safe conduct. There is peace now. I will go to Marienburg, where there
are always many knights. Then you know? In the first place, Lichtenstein;
then I will look for those who wear peacock's tufts, and I will challenge
them in turn. If the Lord Jesus grant me victory, then I will fulfill my
vow."

Speaking thus, Zbyszko smiled at his own thoughts; his face was like that
of a lad who tells what knightly deeds he will perform when he is a man.

"Hej!" said Macko; "if you defeat three knights belonging to great
families, then you will not only fulfill your vow, but you will bring
some booty!"

"Three!" exclaimed Zbyszko. "In the prison I promised myself, that I
would not be selfish with Danusia. As many knights as I have fingers on
both hands!"

Macko shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you surprised?" said Zbyszko. "From Marienburg I shall go to Jurand
of Spychow. Why should I not bow to him, he is Danusia's father? With him
I shall attack the Germans of Chelminsko. You told me yourself that in
the whole of Mazowsze there was no greater ware-wolf against the
Germans."

"And if he will not give you Danusia?"

"Why not? He is seeking his vengeance. I am searching for mine. Can he
find a better man? And then, the princess has given her consent for the
betrothal; he will not refuse."

"I see one thing," said Macko, "you will take all the people from
Bogdaniec in order to have a retinue, as is proper for a knight, and the
land will remain without hands to till it. As long as I live, I will not
let you do it; but after my death, I see, you will take them."

"The Lord God will help me to get a retinue; Janko of Tulcza is a
relation of ours and he will help me also."

At that moment the door opened, and as though to prove that the Lord God
would help Zbyszko get a retinue, two men entered. They were
dark-complexioned, short, dressed in Jewish-like yellow caftans, red caps
and very wide trousers. They stopped in the doorway and touched their
fingers to their foreheads, to their mouths, and then to their chests;
then they bowed to the ground.

"Who are these devils?" asked Macko. "Who are you?"

"Your slaves," answered the newcomers in broken Polish.

"For what reason? Where from? Who sent you here?"

"_Pan_ Zawisza sent us here as a present to the young knight, to be his
slaves."

"O for God's sake! two men more!" exclaimed Macko, joyfully.

"Of what nationality are you?"

"We are Turks!"

"Turks?" repeated Zbyszko. "I shall have two Turks in my retinue. Have
you ever seen Turks?"

And having jumped toward them, he began to turn them around and to look
at them curiously. Macko said:

"I have never seen them; but I have heard, that the _Pan_ of Garbow has
Turks in his service whom he captured while fighting on the Danube with
the Roman emperor, Zygmunt. How is it? Are you heathens, your
dog-brothers?"

"The lord ordered us to be baptized," said one of the slaves.

"Did you have no money for ransom?"

"We are from far lands, from Asiatic shores, from Brussa."

Zbyszko, who always listened gladly to war stories, and especially when
there was anything told about the deeds of the famous Zawisza of Garbow,
began to inquire how they were captured. But there was nothing
extraordinary in their narration; Zawisza attacked them in a ravine, part
of them perished and part were captured; and he sent the prisoners as
presents to his different friends. Zbyszko and Macko's hearts were
throbing at the sight of such a noble gift, especially as it was
difficult to get men in those days and the possession of them constituted
true wealth.

In the meanwhile, Zawisza himself accompanied by Powala and Paszko
Zlodzie; of Biskupice arrived. As they had all worked hard to free
Zbyszko, they were pleased when they succeeded; therefore everyone of
them gave him some present as a souvenir. The liberal _Pan_ of Taczew
gave him a beautiful large caparison embroidered with gold; Paszko, a
Hungarian sword and ten _grzywiens_.[60] Then came Lis of Targowisko,
Farurej and Krzon of Kozieglowy, with Marcin of Wrocimowice and finally
Zyndram of Maszkow; everyone brought rich presents.

Zbyszko welcomed them with a joyful heart, feeling very happy on account
of the presents and because the most famous knights in the kingdom were
showing him their friendship. They asked him about his departure and
Macko's health, recommending to the latter, different remedies which
would miraculously heal wounds.

But Macko recommended Zbyszko to their care, being ready himself for the
other world. He said that it was impossible to live with an iron spear
head between the ribs. He complained also that he spit blood and could
not eat. A quart of shelled nuts, a sausage two spans long and a dish of
boiled eggs were all he could eat at once. Father Cybek had bled him
several times, hoping in that way to draw out the fever from around his
heart, and restore his appetite; but it had not helped him any.

But he was so pleased with the presents given to his nephew, that at that
moment he was feeling better, and when the merchant, Amylej, ordered a
barrel of wine brought in honor of such famous guests, Macko drank with
them. They began to talk about Zbyszko's deliverance and about his
betrothal with Danusia. The knights did not doubt that Jurand of Spychow
would give his consent, especially if Zbyszko avenged the death of
Danusia's mother and captured the peacock tufts.

"But as for Lichtenstein," said Zawisza, "I do not think he will accept
your challenge, because he is a friar, and also one of the officers in
the Order. Bah! The people of his retinue told me that perhaps he would
be elected grand master!"

"If he refuse to fight, he will lose his honor," said Lis of Targowisko.

"No," answered Zawisza, "because he is not a lay knight; and a friar is
not permitted to fight in single combat."

"But it often happens that they do fight."

"Because the Order has become corrupt. The knights make different vows;
but they often break them, thus setting a bad example to the whole
Christian world. But a Krzyzak, especially a _comthur_, is not obliged to
accept a challenge."

"Ha! Then only in war can you reach him."

"But they say, that there will be no war," said Zbyszko, "because the
Knights of the Cross are afraid of our nation."

To this Zyndram of Maszkow said:

"This peace will not last long. There cannot be a good understanding with
the wolf, because he must live on the goods of others."

"In the meantime, perhaps we will be obliged to fight with Tymur the
Lame," said Powala. "Prince Witold was defeated by Edyga; that is
certain."

"Certain. _Wojewoda_ Spytko will not return," said Paszko Zlodziej of
Biskupice.

"The late queen prophesied it would be so," said the _Pan_ of Taczew.

"Ha! Then perhaps we will be obliged to go against Tymur."

Here the conversation was tunned to the Lithuanian expedition against the
Tartars. There was no doubt that Prince Witold, that able commander being
rather impetuous, had been badly defeated at Worskla, where a great
number of the Lithuanian _bojars_ and also a few Polish knights were
killed. The knights now gathered in Amylej's house, pitied especially
Spytek of Melsztyn, the greatest lord in the kingdom, who went with the
expedition as a volunteer; and after the battle he was lost--nobody knew
where. They praised his chivalrous deed, and told how he, having received
from the commander of the enemy a protective _kolpak_,[61] would not wear
it during the battle, preferring honorable death to life granted him by
the ruler of a heathen nation. But it was not certain yet, whether he had
perished, or was in captivity. If he were a prisoner, he could pay his
ransom himself, because his riches were enormous, and he also held in
fief the whole Podole from King Wladyslaw.

But the defeat of Witold's army might prove ruinous to the whole of
Jagiello's empire. Nobody knew when the Tartars, encouraged by the
victory over Witold, might now invade the lands and cities belonging to
the grand dukedom. In that case the kingdom of Poland would be involved
in a war. Therefore many knights, who like Zawisza, Farurej, Dobko and
even Powala, were accustomed to seek adventures and fights in foreign
countries, remained in Krakow not knowing what might soon happen. In case
Tamerlan, who was the ruler of twenty-seven states, moved the whole
Mongolian world, then the peril to the kingdom would be great.

"If it be necessary, then we will measure our swords with the Lame. With
us it will not be such an easy matter as it was with those other nations,
which he conquered and exterminated. Then the other Christian princes
will help us."

To this Zyndram of Maszkow, who especially hated the Order, said
bitterly:

"I do not know about the princes; but the Knights of the Cross are ready
to become friends even with the Tartars and attack us from the other
side."

"Then we shall have a war!" exclaimed Zbyszko. "I am against the
Krzyzaks!"

But the other knights began to contradict Zyndram. "The Knights of the
Cross have no fear of God, and they seek only their own advantage; but
they will not help the pagans against Christian people. And then Tymur is
at war somewhere in Asia, and the commander of the Tartars, Edyga, lost
so heavily in the battle, that he is afraid even of victory. Prince
Witold is a man full of expedients, and you may be sure he took
precautions; and even if this time the Lithuanians were not successful,
at any rate it is not a new thing for them to overcome the Tartars."

"We have to fight for life and death; not with the Tartars but with the
Germans," said Zyndram of Maszkow, "and if we do not crush them, our
peril will come from them."

Then he turned toward Zbyszko:

"And in the first place Mazowsze will perish. You will always find plenty
to do there; be not afraid!"

"Hej! if my uncle were well, I would go there immediately."

"God help you!" said Powala, raising a glass.

"Yours and Danusia's health!"

"To the destruction of the Germans!" added Zyndram of Maszkow.

Then they began to say farewell. At that moment one of the princess'
courtiers entered with a falcon on his arm; and having bowed to the
knights who were present, he turned with a peculiar smile to Zbyszko:

"The lady princess wished me to tell you," said he, "that she will stay
in Krakow over night, and will start on the journey to-morrow."

"That is well," said Zbyszko; "but why? Is anybody sick?"

"No. But the princess has a visitor from Mazowsze."

"The prince himself?"

"Not the prince, but Jurand of Spychow," answered the courtier.

Having heard this, Zbyszko became very much confused, and his heart began
to throb as it did when they read the sentence of death to him.




CHAPTER II.

Princess Anna was not much surprised at the arrival of Jurand of Spychow.
It used to happen, that during the continual attacks and fights with
neighboring German knights, a sudden longing for Danusia seized him. Then
he would appear unexpectedly in Warszawa, in Ciechanow, or wherever
Prince Janusz's court was situated for the time being.

Every time he saw the child, his grief burst forth anew because Danusia
looked like her mother. The people thought that his iron heart filled
with feelings of vengeance, would become softer through such grief. The
princess often tried to persuade him to abandon his bloody Spychow, and
remain at the court near Danusia. The prince himself, appreciating his
bravery and importance, and at the same time wishing to spare him the
fatigue inevitable in the quarrels on the frontier, offered him the
office of sword bearer. It was always in vain. The sight of Danusia
opened the old wounds in his heart. After a few days he always lost his
appetite, could not sleep, and became silent. Evidently his heart began
to bleed, and finally he would disappear from the court and returned to
the marshes of Spychow, in order to drown in blood his grief and anger.
Then the people used to say: "Woe to the Germans! It is true they are not
sheep; but they are sheep to Jurand, because he is a wolf to them." In
fact, after a time, the news would spread about the volunteers who, going
to join the Knights of the Cross, were captured on their journey; about
burned towns, and captured peasants; or about deadly fights from which
the terrible Jurand always emerged victorious. On account of the
rapacious disposition of the Mazurs and of the German knights who were
holding the land and the strongholds from the Order, even during the
greatest peace between the prince of Mazowsze and the Order, continual
fighting was going on near the frontier. Even when cutting wood in the
forests or harvesting in the fields, the inhabitants used to carry their
arms. The people living there felt no certainty for the morrow; were in
continual readiness for war, and were hard-hearted. Nobody was satisfied
with defence only; but for pillage repaid with pillage; for
conflagration, with conflagration; for invasion, with invasion. It often
happened that while the Germans were stealing through the forest, to
attack some stronghold and to seize the peasants or the cattle, at the
same time, the Mazurs were doing the same. Sometimes they met, then they
fought; but often only the leaders challenged each other for a deadly
fight, after which the conqueror took the retinue of his defeated
adversary. Therefore, when complaints were received at the Warsavian
court about Jurand, the prince used to reply with complaints about the
attacks made by the Germans. Thus both sides asked for justice, but
neither was willing to grant it; all robberies, conflagrations and
invasions went unpunished.

But Jurand dwelling in Spychow, surrounded by marshes overgrown with
rushes, and being filled with an unquenchable desire for vengeance, was
so dreaded by his German neighbors, that finally their fear became
greater than their courage. The lands bordering upon Spychow, were lying
fallow; the forests were overgrown with wild hops and the meadows with
reeds. Several German knights tried to settle in the neighborhood of
Spychow; but everyone of them after a time, preferred to abandon his
estate held in fief, his herds and his peasants, rather than live near
this implacable man. Very often the knights planned a common expedition
against Spychow; but everyone ended in defeat. They tried different
means. One time they brought from the province of Mein, a knight noted
for his strength and cruelty, and who had always been victorious in all
fights. He challenged Jurand. But as soon as they entered the lists, the
German was so frightened at the sight of the dreadful Mazur, that he
wheeled his horse intending to flee; Jurand pierced his defenceless back
with a spear, and in that way dishonored him forever. After that still
greater fear filled the neighbors, and if a German perceived even from
afar Spychowian smoke, he immediately crossed himself and began to pray
to his patron in heaven. It was generally believed that Jurand had sold
his soul to the evil one for the sake of vengeance.

The people told dreadful tales about Spychow: they said that the path
leading to it through the quaggy marshes which were overgrown with duck
weed and had bottomless depths, was so narrow that two men on horseback
could not ride abreast; that on each side there were many Germans' bones,
and that during the night, the heads of drowned men were seen walking on
spiders' legs, howling and drawing travelers on horses into the depths.
They also said that the gate in the _grodek_ was ornamented with
skeletons. These stories were not true. But in the barred pits dug under
the house in Spychow, there were always many groaning prisoners; and
Jurand's name was more dreadful than those tales about the skeletons and
drowned people.

Zbyszko having learned of Jurand's arrival, hastened to him, but with a
certain uneasiness in his heart because he was Danusia's father. Nobody
could forbid him choose Danusia for the lady of his thoughts; but
afterward the princess had betrothed them. What will Jurand say to that?
Will he consent? What will happen if he refuse his consent? These
questions filled his heart with fear, because he now cared for Danusia
more than for anything else in the world. He was only encouraged by the
thought that perhaps Jurand would praise him for having attacked
Lichtenstein, because he had done it to avenge Danusia's mother; and in
consequence had nearly lost his own head.

In the meantime he began to question the courtier, who had come to
Amylej's for him:

"Where are you conducting me?" asked he; "to the castle?"

"Yes, to the castle. Jurand is with the princess' court."

"Tell me, what kind of a man he is, so that I may know how to talk with
him!"

"What can I tell you! He is a man entirely different from other men. They
say that he was mirthful before his blood became seared in his heart!"

"Is he clever?"

"He is cunning; he robs others but he does not let others rob him. Hej!
He has only one eye, because the other was destroyed by the thrust of a
German crossbow; but with that one, he can look a man through and
through. He loves no one except the princess, our lady; and he loves her
because his wife was a lady from her court, and now his daughter is with
her."

Zbyszko breathed.

"Then you think that he will not oppose the princess' will?"

"I know what you would like to learn, and therefore I will tell you what
I heard. The princess spoke to him about your betrothment, because it
would not be proper to conceal it from him; but it is not known what he
said in reply."

While thus speaking, they arrived at the gate. The captain of the
archers, the same who had conducted Zbyszko to the scaffold, now saluted
them. After having passed the guards, they entered the court-yard and
turned to the left toward the part of the castle occupied by the
princess.

The courtier meeting a servant in the doorway, asked:

"Where is Jurand of Spychow?"

"In the '_krzywy_[62] room' with his daughter."

"It is there," said the courtier, pointing at the door.

Zbyszko crossed himself, raised the curtain in the doorway, and entered
with throbbing heart. But he did not perceive Jurand and Danusia at once,
because the room was not only "crooked" but dark also. But after a while
he saw the fair head of the girl, who was sitting on her father's lap.
They did not hear him when he entered; therefore e stopped near the door,
and finally he said:

"May He be blessed!"

"For ages and ages," answered Jurand, rising.

At that moment Danusia sprang toward the young knight and having seized
him with both hands, began to scream:

"Zbyszku! _Tatus_[63] is here!"

Zbyszko kissed her hands; then he approached Jurand, and said:

"I came to bow to you; you know who I am."

And he bent slightly, making a movement with his hands as if he wished to
seize Jurand by his knees. But Jurand grasped his hand, turned him toward
the light and began to look at him.

Zbyszko had already regained his self-possession; therefore he looked
with curiosity at Jurand. He beheld before him a gigantic man with fallow
hair and moustache, with a face pitted with smallpox and one eye of
iron-like color. It seemed to him as if this eye would pierce him, and he
again became confused. Finally, not knowing what to say, but wishing to
say something to break the embarrassing silence, he asked:

"Then you are Jurand of Spychow, Danusia's father?"

But the other only pointed to an oaken bench, standing beside the chair
on which he sat himself and continued to look at Zbyszko, who finally
became impatient, and said:

"It is not pleasant for me to sit as though I were in a court."

Then Jurand said:

"You wanted to fight with Lichtenstein?"

"Yes!" answered Zbyszko.

In the eye of the Lord of Spychow shone a strange light and his stern
face began to brighten. After awhile he looked at Danusia and asked;

"And was it for her?"

"For no other! My uncle told you that I made a vow to her to tear the
peacock tufts from German heads. But now there shall be not only three of
them, but at least as many as I have fingers on both hands. In that way I
will help you to avenge the death of Danusia's mother."

"Woe to them!" answered Jurand.

Then there was silence again. But Zbyszko, having noticed that by showing
his hatred of the Germans, he would capture Jurand's heart, said:

"I will not forgive them! They nearly caused my death."

Here he turned to Danusia and added:

"She saved me."

"I know," said Jurand.

"Are you angry?"

"Since you made a vow to her, you must serve her, because such is the
knightly custom."

Zbyszko hesitated; but after awhile, he began to say with evident
uneasiness:

"Do you know that she covered my head with her veil? All the knights and
also the Franciscan who was with me holding the cross, heard her say: 'He
is mine!' Therefore I will be loyal to her until death, so help me God!"

Having said this, he kneeled, and wishing to show that he was familiar
with the customs of chivalry, he kissed both of Danusia's shoes with
great reverence. Then he arose and having turned to Jurand, asked him:

"Have you ever seen another as fair as she?"

Jurand suddenly put his hands behind his head, and having closed his
eyes, he said loudly:

"I have seen one other; but the Germans killed her."

"Then listen," said Zbyszko, enthusiastically; "we have the same wrong
and the same vengeance. Those dog-brothers also killed my people from
Bogdaniec. You cannot find a better man for your work. It is no new thing
for me! Ask my uncle. I can fight either with spear or axe, short sword
or long sword! Did my uncle tell you about those Fryzjans? I will
slaughter the Germans for you like sheep; and as for the girl, I vow to
you on my knees that I will fight for her even with the _starosta_ of
hell himself, and that I will give her up neither for lands nor for
herds, nor for any other thing! Even if some one offered me a castle with
glass windows in it but without her, I would refuse the castle and follow
her to the end of the world."

Jurand sat for awhile with his head between his hands; but finally he
awakened as from a dream, and said with sadness and grief:

"I like you, young man, but I cannot give her to you; she is not destined
for you, my poor boy."

Zbyszko hearing this, grew dumb and began to look at Jurand with
wondering eyes.

But Danusia came to his help. Zbyszko was dear to her, and she was
pleased to be considered not "a bush" but "a grown-up girl." She also
liked the betrothal and the dainties which the knight used to bring her
every day; therefore when she understood that she was likely to lose all
this, she slipped down from the arm chair and having put her head on her
father's lap, she began to cry:

"_Tatulu, Tatulu!_"[64] He evidently loved her better than anything else,
for he put his hand softly on her head, while from his face disappeared
all trace of deadly grudge and anger; only sadness remained.

In the meantime Zbyszko recovered his composure, and now said:

"How is it? Do you wish to oppose God's will?"

To this Jurand replied:

"If it be God's will, then you will get her; but I cannot give you my
consent. Bah! I would be glad to do it, but I cannot."

Having said this, he arose, took Danusia in his arms, and went toward the
door. When Zbyszko tried to detain him, he stopped for a moment and said:

"I will not be angry with you if you render her knightly services; but do
not ask me any questions, because I cannot tell you anything."

And he went out.




CHAPTER III.

The next day Jurand did not avoid Zbyszko at all; and he did not prevent
him from performing for Danusia, during the journey, those different
services which, being her knight, he was obliged to render her. On the
contrary, Zbyszko noticed that the gloomy _Pan_ of Spychow looked at him
kindly, as if he were regretting that he had been obliged to refuse his
request. The young _wlodyka_ tried several times to have some
conversation with him. After they started from Krakow, there were plenty
of opportunities during the journey, because both accompanied the
princess on horseback; but as soon as Zbyszko endeavored to learn
something about the secret difficulties separating him from Danusia, the
conversation was suddenly ended.

Jurand's face became gloomy, and he looked at Zbyszko uneasily as if he
were afraid he would betray himself.

Zbyszko thought that perhaps the princess knew what the obstacle was; so
having an opportunity to speak to her privately, he inquired; but she
could not tell him anything.

"Certainly there is some secret," she said. "Jurand himself told me that;
but he begged me not to question him further, because he not only did not
wish to tell what it was, but he could not. Surely he must be bound by
some oath, as so often happens among the knights. But God will help us
and everything will turn out well."

"Without Danusia I will be as unhappy as a chained dog or a bear in a
ditch," answered Zbyszko. "There will be neither joy nor pleasure,
nothing but sorrow and sighing; I will go against the Tartars with Prince
Witold and may they kill me there. But first I must accompany uncle to
Bogdaniec, and then tear from German heads the peacock's tufts as I
promised. Perhaps the Germans will kill me; and I prefer such a death
rather than to live and see some one else take Danusia."

The princess looked at him with her kind blue eyes, and asked him, with a
certain degree of astonishment:

"Then you would permit it?"

"I? As long I have breath in my nostrils, it will not happen, unless my
hand be paralyzed, and I be unable to hold my axe!"

"Then you see!"

"Bah! But how can I take her against her father's will?"

To this the princess said, as to herself:

"Does it not happen that way sometimes?"

Then to Zbyszko:

"God's will is stronger than a father's will. What did Jurand say to you?
He said to me 'If it be God's will, then he will get her.'"

"He said the same to me!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

"Do you not see?"

"It is my only consolation, gracious lady."

"I will help you, and you can be sure of Danusia's constancy. Only
yesterday I said to her: 'Danusia, will you always love Zbyszko?' And she
answered: 'I will be Zbyszko's and no one else's.' She is still a green
berry, but when she promises anything, she keeps her word, because she is
the daughter of a knight. Her mother was like her."

"Thank God!" said Zbyszko.

"Only remember to be faithful to her also; man is inconstant; he promises
to love one faithfully, and afterward he promises another."

"May Lord Jesus punish me if I prove such!" exclaimed Zbyszko
energetically.

"Well, remember then. And after you have conveyed your uncle to
Bogdaniec, come to our court; there will be some opportunity then for you
to win your spurs; then we will see what can be done. In the meanwhile
Danusia will mature, and she will feel God's will; although she loves you
very much even now, it is not the same love a woman feels. Perhaps Jurand
will give his consent, because I see he likes you. You can go to Spychow
and from there can go with Jurand against the Germans; it may happen that
you will render him some great service and thus gain his affection."

"Gracious princess, I have thought the same; but with your sanction it
will be easier."

This conversation cheered Zbyszko. Meanwhile at the first baiting place,
old Macko became worse, and it was necessary to remain until he became
better. The good princess, Anna Danuta, left him all the medicine she had
with her; but she was obliged to continue her journey; therefore both
_wlodykas_ of Bogdaniec bid those belonging to the Mazovian court
farewell. Zbyszko prostrated himself at the princess' feet, then at
Danusia's; he promised her once more to be faithful and to meet her soon
at Ciechanow or at Warszawa; finally he seized her in his strong arms,
and having lifted her, he repeated with a voice full of emotion:

"Remember me, my sweetest flower! Remember me, my little golden fish!"

Danusia embraced him as though he were a beloved brother, put her little
cheek to his face and wept copiously.

"I do not want to go to Ciechanow without Zbyszko; I do not want to go to
Ciechanow!"

Jurand saw her grief, but he was not angry. On the contrary, he bid the
young man good-bye kindly; and after he had mounted, he turned toward him
once more, and said:

"God be with you; do not bear ill will toward me."

"How can I feel ill will toward you; you are Danusia's father!" answered
Zbyszko cordially; then he bent to his stirrup, and the old man shook
hands with him, and said:

"May God help you in everything! Understand?"

Then he rode away. But Zbyszko understood that in his last words, he
wished him success; and when he went back to the wagon on which Macko was
lying, he said:

"Do you know I believe he is willing; but something hinders him from
giving his consent. You were in Spychow and you have good common sense,
try to guess what it is."

But Macko was too ill. The fever increased so much toward evening, that
he became delirious. Therefore instead of answering Zbyszko, he looked at
him as if he were astonished; then he asked:

"Why do they ring the bells?"

Zbyszko was frightened. He feared that if the sick man heard the sound of
bells, it was a sign that death would soon come. He feared also that the
old man might die without a priest and without confession, and therefore
go, if not to hell, then at least for long centuries to purgatory;
therefore he determined to resume their journey, in order to reach, as
soon as possible, some parish in which Macko could receive the last
sacraments.

Consequently they started and traveled during the night. Zbyszko sat in
the wagon on the hay, beside the sick man and watched him till day-break.
From time to time he gave him wine to drink. Macko drank it eagerly,
because it relieved him greatly. After the second quart he recovered from
his delirium; and after the third, he fell asleep; he slept so well that
Zbyszko bent toward him from time to time, to ascertain if he was still
alive.

Until the time of his imprisonment in Krakow, he did not realize how
dearly he loved this uncle who replaced, for him, father and mother. But
now he realized it very well; and he felt that after his uncle's death,
life would be very lonesome for him, alone, without relatives, except the
abbot who held Bogdaniec in pledge, without friends and without anyone to
help him. The thought came to him that if Macko died, it would be one
more reason for vengeance on the Germans, by whose means he had nearly
lost his head, by whom all his forefathers had been killed, also
Danusia's mother and many other innocent people, whom he knew or about
whom he had heard from his acquaintances--and he began to say to himself:

"In this whole kingdom, there is no man who has not suffered some wrong
from them, and who would not like to avenge those wrongs." Here he
remembered the Germans with whom he fought at Wilno, and he knew that
even the Tartars were less cruel.

The coming dawn interrupted his thoughts. The day was bright but cold.
Evidently Macko felt better, because he was breathing more regularly and
more quietly. He did not awaken until the sun was quite warm; then he
opened his eyes and said:

"I am better. Where are we?"

"We are approaching Olkusk. You know, where they dig silver."

"If one could get that which is in the earth, then one could rebuild
Bogdaniec!"

"I see you are better," answered Zbyszko laughing. "Hej! it would be
enough even for a stone castle! We will go to the _fara_,[65] because
there the priests will offer us hospitality and you will be able to make
your confession. Everything is in God's hands; but it is better to have
one's conscience clear."

"I am a sinner and will willingly repent," answered Macko. "I dreamed
last night that the devils were taking my skin off. They were talking
German. Thanks be to God that I am better. Have you slept any?"

"How could I sleep, when I was watching you?"

"Then lie down for a while. When we arrive, I will awaken you."

"I cannot sleep!"

"What prevents you?"

Zbyszko looked at his uncle and said:

"What else can it be, if not love? I have pain in my heart; but I will
ride on horseback for a while, that will help me."

He got down from the wagon, and mounted the horse, which his servant
brought for him; meanwhile, Macko touched his sore side; but he was
evidently thinking about something else and not about his illness,
because he tossed his head, smacked his lips and finally said:

"I wonder and wonder, and I cannot wonder enough, why you are so eager
for love, because your father was not that way, and neither am I."

But Zbyszko, instead of answering, stretched himself on the saddle, put
his hands on his hips, gave his head a toss and sang:

  "I cried the whole night, cried in the morning,
  Where have you been, my sweet girl, my darling!
  It will not help me, if I mourn for thee,
  Because I am quite sure, you will not see me."

"Hej!"

This "hej" resounded in the forest, reverberated against the trunks of
the trees, finally reëchoed in the far distance and then was lost in the
thickets.

Again Macko felt his side, in which the German spearhead had lodged and
said, moaning a little:

"Formerly the people were wiser!"

Then he became thoughtful, as if recollecting the old times; and he
added:

"Although even then some of them were stupid also."

But, in the meantime, they emerged from the forest, behind which they
perceived the miners' sheds, and further walls, built by King Kazimierz,
and the tower of the _fara_ erected by Wladyslaw Lokietek.

The canon of the _fara_ beard Macko's confession and offered them
hospitality; they remained there over night, and started the next
morning. Beyond Olkusk, they turned toward Szlonsk,[66] and on its
boundaries, they proposed to ride toward Wielkopolska. The road was laid
out through a large forest, in which there was heard toward sunset, the
roaring of the urus and of the bison, and during the night the eyes of
wolves were seen shining behind the thick hazelnut trees. But the
greatest danger which threatened the traveler on this road, was from the
German and Germanized knights of Szlonsk, whose castles were erected here
and there near the boundaries. It is true, that because of the war with
the Opolczyk, Naderspraw, whom the Silesians were helping against King
Wladyslaw, the majority of these castles had been destroyed by Polish
hands; it was necessary, however, to be watchful, and especially after
sunset, and to have one's weapons ready.

They were riding so quietly, however, that Zbyszko found the journey
tedious; when they were about one day's journey from Bogdaniec, they
heard the snorting and trampling of horses behind them.

"Some people are following us," said Zbyszko.

Macko, who was awake, looked at the stars and answered like an
experienced traveler:

"Day-break is near. Robbers do not attack toward the end of the night."

Zbyszko stopped the wagon; however, placed the men across the road,
facing the advancing horses, and waited.

In fact, after a certain time he perceived in the dusk, several horsemen.
One of them was riding ahead, and it was evident that he did not wish to
hide, because he was singing. Zbyszko could not hear the words of the
song; but the gay "hoc! hoc!" with which the stranger ended each refrain,
reached his ears.

"Our people!" he said to himself.

After a while he shouted, however:

"Stop!"

"And you sit down!" answered a joyous voice.

"Who are you?"

"And you?"

"Why do you follow us?"

"And why do you obstruct the road?"

"Answer, our crossbows are bent."

"And ours,--thrust out,--aimed!"

"Answer like a man, otherwise woe to you!"

To this a merry song was given, as an answer to Zbyszko.

  "One misery with another
  They are dancing on the crossway.
      Hoc! Hoc! Hoc!
  What use have they of dancing?
  It's a good thing, anyhow.
      Hoc! Hoc! Hoc!"

Zbyszko was amazed at hearing such an answer; meantime, the song stopped
and the same voice asked:

"And how is the old man Macko? Does he still breathe?"

Macko rose in the wagon and said:

"For God's sake, they are some of our people!"

Zbyszko rushed forward.

"Who asks about Macko?"

"A neighbor. Zych of Zgorzelice. I have looked for you for a week and
inquired about you from all on the road."

"_Rety!_[67] Uncle! Zych of Zgorzelice is here!" shouted Zbyszko.

They began to greet each other joyfully because Zych was really their
neighbor, and also a good man of whom everybody was very fond on account
of his mirth.

"Well, how are you?" asked he, shaking hands with Macko. "Still _hoc_, or
no more _hoc_!"[68]

"Hej, no more _hoc_!" answered Macko. "But I see you gladly. Gracious
God, it is as if I were already in Bogdaniec."

"What is the matter with you; I heard that the Germans had wounded you?"

"They did, dog-brothers! I A head of a spear stuck between my ribs."

"You see!" said Zbyszko, "everybody advises the grease of a bear. As soon
as we reach Bogdaniec, I will go with an axe to the _barcie_."[69]

"Perhaps Jagienka has some."

"What Jagienka? Your wife's name was Malgochna," said Macko.

"O! Malgochna is no more! It will be three years on St. Michael's day
since Malgochna was buried in the priests' field. She was a sturdy woman;
may the Lord make his face shine upon her soul! Jagienka is exactly like
her, only younger."

  "Behind a ravine, there is a mount,
  As was mother, such is daughter.
      Hoc! Hoc!"

"I told Malgochna not to climb the pine tree because she was no longer
young. But she would climb it. The branch broke; she fell and was badly
hurt; within three days, she died."

"Lord, make your face shine upon her soul!" said Macko. "I remember, I
remember! When she was angry, the farm boys used to hide in the hay. But
she was clever. So she fell from a pine tree!"

"She fell down like a cone. Do you know, after the funeral I was so
stupefied with grief, that for three days they could not arouse me. They
thought I was dead. Afterward, I wept for a long time. But Jagienka is
also clever. She takes care of everything."

"I can scarcely remember her. She was not as large as the helve of an axe
when I went away. She could pass under a horse without touching its body.
Bah! that is a long time ago, and she must have grown."

"She was fifteen the day of St. Agnes; but I have not seen her for more
than a year."

"Why have you not seen her? Where have you been?"

"To the war. I do not need to stay home; Jagienka takes care of
everything."

Macko, although ill, began to listen attentively when the war was
mentioned, and asked:

"Perhaps you were with _Kniaz_ Witold at Worskla?"

"Yes, I was there," answered Zych of Zgorzelice gaily. "Well, the Lord
God did not send him good luck; we were dreadfully defeated by Edyga.
First they killed our horses. A Tartar will not attack you openly like a
Christian knight, but throws his arrows from afar. You attack him and he
flees, and then again throws his arrows. What can you do with such a man?
In our army the knights boasted and said: 'We do not need to lower our
spears, nor draw our swords; we will crush the vermin under our horses'
feet.' So they boasted; but when the arrows began to twange, it grew dark
they were so numerous, and the battle was soon over. Hardly one out of
ten survived. Will you believe it? More than half of the army were slain;
seventy Lithuanian and Russian princes lay dead on the battlefield; and
one could not count in two weeks' time, the _bojars_ and other courtiers,
whom they call _otroks_, that were killed."

"I heard about it," interrupted Macko. "Many of our knights perished
also."

"Bah! even ten Knights of the Cross were killed, because they were
obliged to serve in Witold's army. Many of our people perished, because
they, you know, never run away. _Kniaz_ Witold had the greatest
confidence in our knights and he wanted a guard of them round him during
the battle, exclusively Poles. Hi! Hi! Great havoc was made among them;
but he was not touched! _Pan_ Spytko of Mielsztyn was killed, also the
sword bearer, Bernat, Judge Mikolaj, Prokop, Przeclaw, Dobrogost, Jasko
of Lazewice, Pilik Mazur, Warsz of Michow, _Wojewoda_ Socha, Jasko of
Dombrowa, Pietrko of Miloslaw, Szczepiecki, Oderski and Tomko Lagoda. Who
can enumerate all of them! Some of them had been hit with so many arrows,
that after death they looked like porcupines; it was awful to look at
them!"

Here he laughed as if he were telling a most amusing story, and at once
he began to sing:

  "You have learned what is a Tartar,
  When he beat you and flew afar!"

"Well, and what then?" asked Zbyszko.

"Then the grand duke escaped; but he was as courageous as he usually is.
The more you press him, the farther he jumps, like a hazelnut stick. We
rushed to the Tavanian ford to defend those crossing over. There were
with us a few knights from Poland. The second day, Edyga came with a
swarm of Tartars; but he could not do a thing. Hej! When he wanted to
pass the ford, we fought him so hard he could not do it. We killed and
caught many of them. I myself caught five Tartars, and I sent them to
Zgorzelice. You will see what dogheads they have."

"In Krakow, they say that the war may reach Poland also."

"Do they think Edyga is a fool! He knows well what kind of knights we
have; and he also knows that the greatest knights remained home, because
the queen was not pleased when Witold began the war on his own authority.
Ej, he is cunning, that old Edyga! He understood at Tavania that the
prince's army had increased and had gone far beyond the tenth-land!"

"But you returned?"

"Yes, I returned. There is nothing to do there. In Krakow I heard about
you, and that you had started a little ahead of me."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"Hej! my lord, the last time I saw you, you were a small boy; and now,
although there is no light, I suppose you are large like an urus. And you
had your crossbows ready! One can see you have been in the war."

"War has nurtured me since childhood. Let my uncle tell you if I am
lacking in experience."

"It is not necessary for your uncle to tell me anything; in Krakow, I saw
the _Pan_ of Taczew who told me about you. But I understand that the
Mazur does not want to give you his daughter. I have nothing against you;
but I like you. You will forget about that one when you see my Jagienka.
She is a wonder!"

"I shall not forget, even if I see ten such as your Jagna."

"She will get the estate of Moczydoly for her dowry. Many will ask me for
Jagna, do not fear?"

Zbyszko wanted to answer: "But not I!" But Zych of Zgorzelice began to
sing:

  "I will bend to your knees
  And you for that, will give me the girl,
    Give me the girl!"

"You are always happy and singing," said Macko.

"Well, and what do the blessed do in heaven."

"They sing."

"Well, then! And the damned cry. I prefer to go to those who sing rather
than to those who cry; and St. Peter will say thus: 'We must let him into
paradise; otherwise he will sing in hell, and that will not be right.'
Look, the day breaks!"

In fact, daylight was coming. After awhile they arrived at a large glade.
By the lake covering the greater part of the glade, some people were
fishing; but seeing the armed men, they left their nets and immediately
seized their picks and staffs and stood ready for battle.

"They thought we were robbers," said Zych, laughing. "Hej, fishermen! To
whom do you belong?"

They stood for a while silently, looking distrustfully; but finally one
of them having recognized that they were knights, answered:

"To the _ksiondz_, the abbot of Tulcza."

"Our relative," said Macko, "the same who holds Bogdaniec in pledge.
These must be his forests; but he must have purchased them a short time
ago."

"He did not buy them," answered Zych. "He was fighting about them with
Wilk of Brzozowa and it seems that the abbot defeated Wilk. A year ago
they were going to fight on horseback with spears and long swords for
this part of the forest; but I do not know how it ended because I went
away."

"Well, we are relatives," said Macko, "he will not quarrel with us."

"Perhaps; he is a chivalrous abbot who knows how to wear a helmet; but he
is pious and he sings the mass beautifully. Don't you remember? When he
shouts at mass, the swallows nested under the ceiling, fall from their
nests. In that way God's glory increases."

"Certainly I remember! At ten steps he could blow the candles at the
altar out. Has he been in Bogdaniec?"

"Yes, he was there. He settled five peasants on the land. He has also
been at my house at Zgorzelice, because, as you know, he baptized
Jagienka, of whom he is very fond and calls her little daughter."

"God will bless him if he be willing to leave me the peasants," said
Macko.

"_Owa!_ what will five peasants amount to! Then Jagienka will ask him and
he will not refuse her."

Here the conversation stopped for a while, because over the dark forest
and from the pink down, the bright sun had risen and lighted the
environs. The knights greeted it with the customary: "May it be blessed!"
and then having made the sign of the cross, they began their morning
prayers.

Zych finished first and said to his companions:

"I hope to see you well soon. Hej! you have both changed. You, Macko,
must regain your health. Jagienka will take care of you, because there is
no woman in your house. One can see that you have a piece of iron between
your ribs."

Here he turned toward Zbyszko:

"Show yourself also. Well, mighty God! I remember you when you were small
and used to climb on the colts by the help of their tails; and now, what
a knight! The face looks like that of a little lord; but the body like
that of a sturdy man. Such can wrestle even with a bear."

"A bear is nothing for him!" said Macko. "He was younger than he is
to-day, when that Fryzjan called him a beardless youth; and he resenting
it, immediately pulled out the Fryzjan's mustaches."

"I know," interrupted Zych, "and you fought afterward, and captured their
retinue. _Pan_ of Taczew told me all about it:"

  "There came a German very proud,
  He was buried with sore snout;
      Hoc! Hoc!"

Zbyszko wondered at Zych's long thin figure, at his thin face with its
enormous nose and at his laughing round eyes.

"O!" said he, "with such a neighbor there will be no sadness, if God only
restore my uncle's health."

"It is good to have a joyful neighbor, because with a jolly fellow there
will be no quarrel," answered Zych. "Now listen to what I tell you. You
have been away from home a long time, and you will not find much comfort
in Bogdaniec. I do not say in the farming, because the abbot has taken
care of that; he dug up a large piece of the forest and settled new
peasants. But as he went there very often, you will find the larder
empty; even in the house, there is hardly a bench or a bunch of straw to
sleep on; and a sick man needs some comforts. You had better come with me
to Zgorzelice. I will be glad to have you stay a month or two. During
that time, Jagienka will take care of Bogdaniec. Rely on her and do not
bother yourselves with anything. Zbyszko can go there, from time to time,
to inspect the farming; I will bring the abbot to Zgorzelice, and you can
settle your account with him. The girl will take good care of you, as of
a father, and during illness, a woman's care is the best. Well, my dear
friends, will you do as I ask you?"

"We know that you are a good man and you always were," answered Macko
with emotion; "but don't you see, if I must die on account of this wound,
I prefer to die in my own home. Then when one is home, although he is
old, he can inquire about different things, can inspect and do many other
things. If God order me to go to the other world, well, then I cannot
help it! I cannot escape it even with better care. As for inconvenience,
we are accustomed to that at the war. Even a bunch of straw is pleasant
to that one who, during several years, has slept on the bare ground. But
I thank you for your kind heart and if I be not able to show you my
gratitude, God will permit Zbyszko to do it."

Zych of Zgorzelice, who was noted for his kind heart and readiness to
oblige, began to insist: but Macko was firm: "If I must die, it will be
better to die in my own courtyard!"

He had longed to see Bogdaniec for several years, therefore now, when he
was so near it, he must go there, even if it were his last night. God was
merciful, having permitted him who was so ill, to reach here.

He brushed away the tears gathered under his eyelids, with his hand,
looked around and said:

"If these are the woods of Wilk of Bizozowa we will be home this
afternoon."

"They do not belong to Wilk of Bizozowa any longer; but to the abbot,"
said Zych.

Macko smiled and said after awhile:

"If they belong to the abbot, then sometime, they may belong to us."

"Bah! awhile ago you were talking about death," said Zych joyfully, "and
now you wish to outlive the abbot."

"No, I will not outlive him; but Zbyszko may."

Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of horns in the forest.
Zych stopped his horse and began to listen.

"Somebody is hunting," said he. "Wait."

"Perhaps it is the abbot. It would be pleasant to meet him here."

"Keep quiet!"

Here he turned to his retinue.

"Stop!"

They halted. The horns resounded nearer, and soon afterward the baying of
dogs was heard.

"Stop!" repeated Zych. "They are coming toward us."

Zbyszko jumped from his horse and began to shout:

"Give me the crossbow! The beast may attack us! Hasten! Hasten!"

Having seized the crossbow from the servant's hands, he rested it against
the ground, pressed it against his abdomen, bent, stretched his back like
a bow, and having seized the string with the fingers of both hands, he
pulled it on to the iron hook; then placed an arrow and sprang into the
woods.

"He stretched it without a crank!" whispered Zych, astonished at such
great strength.

"Ho, he is a strong boy!" answered Macko, proudly.

Meanwhile, the sound of horns and the barking of dogs stole nearer; all
at once, at the right side of the forest, a heavy trampling resounded,
accompanied by the crackling of broken branches and bushes--then out of
the thicket rushed an old bearded urus, with his gigantic head lowered,
with bloody eyes and panting tongue, breathless and terrible. Coming to a
small ravine, he leaped it, but fell on his forelegs; but immediately he
arose, and a few seconds later he would have disappeared in the thicket
on the other side of the road, when the string of the crossbow twanged,
the whistling of the arrow resounded, the beast reared, turned, roared
dreadfully and fell on the ground as if he were struck by a thunderbolt.

Zbyszko leaped from behind a tree, again stretched the crossbow, and
approached the bull who was pawing the ground with his hind feet.

But having glanced at it, he turned quietly toward the retinue, and began
to shout from afar:

"I hit him so hard that he is severely wounded!"

"You are a strong boy!" said Zych, riding toward him, "with one arrow
only!"

"Bah, it was near, and the speed was great. Come and see; not only the
iron, but even the shaft has disappeared under the left shoulder bone."

"The huntsmen must be near; they will claim the beast."

"I will not give it to them!" answered Zbyszko. "It was killed on the
road, and the road is not private property."

"But if it belong to the abbot?"

"Well, then he may have it."

Meanwhile, several dogs came out of the forest. Having perceived the
animal, they rushed on him.

"Soon the huntsmen will appear," said Zych. "Look! There they are, but
they do not see the beast yet. Stop! Stop! Here, here! Killed! Killed!"

Then he became silent, and sheltered his eyes with one hand; after a
while, he said:

"For God's sake! what has happened? Have I become blind, or does it only
seem so to me?"

"There is some one on a piebald horse in the front," said Zbyszko.

Then Zych exclaimed at once:

"Dear Jesus! It must be Jagienka!"

And he began to shout:

"Jagna! Jagna!"

Then he rushed forward; but before he could make his horse gallop,
Zbyszko perceived a most wonderful spectacle; he beheld a girl sitting
like a man, on a swift piebald horse, rushing toward them; she had a
crossbow in one hand and a boar-spear on her shoulders. Her floating hair
was full of hop strobiles; her face was bright like the dawn. Her shirt
was opened on the bosom, and she wore a _serdak_.[70] Having reached
them, she reined in her horse; for a while, her face expressed surprise,
hesitation, joy; finally, being scarcely able to believe her own eyes,
she began to cry in a childish voice:

"_Tatulo_,[71] _tatus_[71] dearest!"

In the twinkling of an eye, she jumped from her horse, and Zych
dismounted also to welcome her; she threw her arms around his neck. Fora
long time, Zbyszko heard only the sounds of kisses and these two words:
"_Tatulo!_ Jagula! _Tatulo!_ Jagula!" repeated in a joyful outburst.

Both retinues now approached, and Macko arrived also; they continued to
repeat: "_Tatulo!_ Jagula!" and still kissed each other. Finally Jagienka
asked:

"Then you decided to return from the war? Are you well?"

"From the war. Why should I not be well? And you? And the boys? Are they
well also? Yes, otherwise you would not run in the forest. But, my girl,
what are you doing here?"

"Don't you see that I am hunting?" answered Jagienka, laughing.

"In somebody else's woods?"

"The abbot gave me permission. He even sent me experienced huntsmen and a
pack of hounds."

Here she turned to the servants:

"Chase the dogs away, they will tear the skin!"

Then to Zych:

"Oj, how glad I am to see you!" And they again kissed each other. When
they were through, Jagna said:

"We are far from home; we followed the beast. I am sure it must be more
than ten miles; the horses are exhausted. What a large urus! Did you
notice? He must have at least three of my arrows in him; the last one
killed him."

"He was killed by the last, but it was not yours; this knight killed
him."

Jagienka threw her hair back and looked at Zbyszko sharply, but not very
friendly.

"Do you know who he is?" asked Zych.

"I do not know."

"No wonder you do not recognize him, because he has grown. Perhaps you
will recognize old Macko of Bogdaniec?"

"For God's sake! is that Macko of Bogdaniec?" exclaimed Jagienka.

Having approached the wagon, she kissed Macko's hand.

"It is you?"

"Yes, it is I; but I am obliged to ride in the wagon, because the Germans
wounded me."

"What Germans? The war was with the Tartars?"

"There was a war with the Tartars, but we were not in that war; we fought
in the war in Lithuania, Zbyszko and I."

"Where is Zbyszko?"

"Then you did not recognize Zbyszko?" said Macko smiling.

"Is that man Zbyszko?" exclaimed the girl, looking again at the young
knight.

"Yes, it is he."

"You must give him a kiss, because he is an old acquaintance of yours,"
said Zych, mirthfully.

Jagienka turned gaily toward Zbyszko; but suddenly she retreated, and
having covered her eyes with her hand, she said:

"I am bashful."

"But we have known each other since we were children," said Zbyszko.

"Aha! we know each other well. I remember when you made us a visit with
Macko about eight years ago, and my _matula_[72] gave us some nuts with
honey; you being the elder, struck me with your fist and then ate all the
nuts yourself."

"He will not act like that now!" said Macko. "He has been with _Kniaz_
Witold, and with the court in Krakow, and he has learned courtly
manners."

But Jagienka was now thinking about something else; turning toward
Zbyszko, she asked:

"Then you killed the urus?"

"Yes."

"We must see where the arrow is."

"You cannot see it; it disappeared under the shoulder bone."

"Be quiet; do not dispute," said Zych. "We all saw him shoot the urus,
and we saw something still better; he bent the bow without a crank."

Jagienka looked at Zbyszko for the third time, but now with astonishment.

"You bent the crossbow without a crank?"

Zbyszko, detecting some doubt in her voice, rested the crossbow on the
ground, and bent it in the twinkling of an eye; then wishing to show that
he was familiar with knightly manners, he kneeled on one knee and handed
the bow to Jagienka. But the girl, instead of taking it from him,
suddenly blushed--she did not know why herself, and began to fasten the
shirt, which, during the swift riding, had become opened on her bosom.




CHAPTER IV.

The next day after their arrival at Bogdaniec, Macko and Zbyszko began to
look around their old home; they soon realized that Zych of Zgorzelice
was right when he told them that at first they would be uncomfortable.

With the farming they could get along quite well. There were several
fields cultivated by the peasants whom the abbot had settled there.
Formerly there had been much cultivated land in Bogdaniec; but after the
battle at Plowce[73] where the family Grady perished, there was a
scarcity of working hands; and after the invasion of the Germans from
Szlonsk and after the war of Nalenczs with Grzymalits, the formerly rich
fields became overgrown with trees. Macko could not help it. In vain he
tried for several years to bring farmers from Krzesnia and rent the land
to them; they refused to come, preferring to remain on their own strips
of land rather than to cultivate some one else's. His offer however
attracted some shelterless men; in the different wars, he captured
several slaves whom he married and settled in the houses; and in that way
he populated the village. But it was hard work for him; therefore as soon
as he had an opportunity, Macko pledged the whole of Bogdaniec, thinking
that it would be easier for the powerful abbot to settle the land with
peasants, and that the war would bring to him and to Zbyszko some people
and money. In fact, the abbot was energetic. He had increased the working
force of Bogdaniec with five peasant families; he increased the stock of
cattle and horses; then he built a barn, a stable and a cow house. But as
he did not live in Bogdaniec, he did not repair the house. Macko, who had
hoped to find the _grodek_ surrounded with a ditch and hedge when he
returned, found everything just as he had left it, with this difference
only, that the walls were more crooked and seemed to be lower, because
they had settled deeper in the earth.

The house contained an enormous hall, two large rooms with alcoves, and a
kitchen. In the rooms there were windows made of bladders; and in the
centre of each room, there was a fireplace made of lime, and the smoke
escaped through a hole in the ceiling. From the ceilings now blackened
from smoke, during former times used to hang the hams of boars, bears and
deer, rumps of roes, sides of beef and rolls of sausages. But now the
hooks were empty as well as the shelves fastened to the walls, on which
they used to put the tin and earthen dishes. The walls beneath the
shelves were no longer empty, however, because Zbyszko had ordered his
servants to hang helmets, cuirasses, long swords and short swords on
them; and further along boar-spears and forks, caparisons and saddles.
The smoke blackened the weapons, and it was necessary to clean them very
often. But Macko, who was careful, ordered the servants to put the costly
clothes in the alcove in which his bed stood.

In the front rooms there stood near the windows, pine tables and benches
of the same, on which the lords used to sit during the meals, with all
their servants. People accustomed to war were easily satisfied; but in
Bogdaniec there was neither bread nor flour and no dishes. The peasants
brought what they could; Macko expected that the neighbors, as was then
customary, would help him; and he was not mistaken, at least as far as
Zych of Zgorzelice was concerned.

The second day, when the old _wlodyka_ was sitting on a log in front of
the house, delighted with the bright autumn day, Jagienka came, riding a
black horse; she dismounted and approached Macko, out of breath on
account of fast riding, and rosy as an apple; she said:

"May you be blessed! _Tatulo_ sent me to inquire about your health."

"I am no worse," answered Macko; "and at least I have slept in my own
house."

"But you cannot be comfortable at all, and a sick person needs some
care."

"We are hardened people. It is true that at first there was no comfort;
but we were not hungry. We ordered an ox and two sheep killed, so there
is plenty of meat. The women brought some flour and eggs; the worst is
that we have no dishes."

"Well, I ordered my servants to load two wagons. On one there are two
beds and dishes, and on the other different provisions. There are some
cakes and flour, some salt pork and dried mushrooms; there is a barrel of
beer and one of mead; in fact a little of everything we had in the
house."

Macko, who was grateful for this kindness, caressed Jagienka's head, and
said:

"May God reward your father and you. When our housekeeping improves, we
will return the provisions."

"How clever you are! We are not like the Germans, who take back what they
give."

"Well, so much more may God reward you. Your father told us what a good
housekeeper you are, and that you had taken care of Zgorzelice the whole
year?"

"Yes! If you need anything else, send somebody; but send some one who
will know what is needed, because a stupid servant never knows what he
has been sent for."

Here Jagienka began to look round, and Macko having noticed it, smiled
and asked:

"For whom are you looking?"

"I am looking for no one!"

"I will send Zbyszko to thank you and your father. Do you like Zbyszko?"

"I have not looked at him."

"Then look at him now, because he is just coming."

In fact Zbyszko was coming from the stable. He was dressed in a reindeer
jacket and round felt cap like those worn under the helmets; his hair was
without a net, cut evenly over his eyebrows and hung in golden curls on
his shoulders; he walked swiftly, having noticed the girl; he was tall
and graceful, looking like the shield-bearer of a rich nobleman.

Jagienka turned toward Macko as if to show that she came only to see him;
but Zbyszko welcomed her joyfully, and having taken hold of her hand,
raised it to his mouth, notwithstanding her resistance.

"Why do you kiss my hand?" asked she. "Am I a priest?"

"Such is the custom; you must not resist."

"Even if he had kissed both your hands," said Macko, "it would not be
enough for all that you have brought us."

"What have you brought?" asked Zbyszko, looking around the court-yard;
but he did not see anything except the black horse tied to the post.

"The wagons have not come yet; but they will soon be here," answered
Jagienka.

Macko began to enumerate what she had brought; but when he mentioned the
two beds, Zbyszko said:

"I am satisfied to sleep on the urus' skin; but I thank you because you
thought about me also."

"It was not I; it was _Tatulo_," answered the girl, blushing. "If you
prefer to sleep on the skin, you can do it."

"I prefer to sleep on what I can. Sometimes after a battle, I slept with
a dead Krzyzak instead of a pillow under my head."

"You do not mean to tell me that you have ever killed a Krzyzak? I am
sure you have not."

Zbyszko, instead of answering, began to laugh. But Macko exclaimed:

"For heaven's sake, girl, you do not know him yet! He has never done
anything else, but kill the Germans. He can fight with an axe, a spear or
with any weapon; and when he sees a German from afar, one must tie him
with a rope, or else he will rush against him. In Krakow he wanted to
kill the envoy, Lichtenstein, and for that he barely escaped execution.
Such a man! I will tell you also about the two Fryzes, from whom we took
their retinues and so much rich booty, that one could redeem Bogdaniec
with half of it."

Here Macko began to tell about his duel with the Fryzjans; also about
other adventures which had happened to them, and about the deeds they had
performed. How they had fought from behind the walls and in the open
fields, with the greatest knights living in foreign lands; how they had
fought Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Burgundians. He also told her
what they had seen! They had seen German castles of red brick, Lithuanian
wooden _grodzce_[74] and churches, more beautiful than one could see
around Bogdaniec; also large cities and the dreadful wilderness in which
during the nights Lithuanian gods cried, and many different, marvelous
things; and everywhere, in any fight, Zbyszko was victorious, so that
even the greatest knights were astonished at him.

Jagienka, who was sitting on the log beside Macko, listened with open
mouth to that narrative, tossing her head and looking at the young knight
with increasing admiration and amazement. Finally when Macko was through,
she sighed and said:

"I am sorry I was not born a boy!"

But Zbyszko, who during the narration had been looking at her
attentively, evidently was thinking about something else, because he
suddenly said:

"What a beautiful girl you are now!"

Jagienka answered, half in displeasure and half in sadness:

"You have seen many more beautiful than I am."

But Zbyszko could truly answer her that he had not seen many as pretty as
she, because Jagienka was beaming with health, youth and strength. The
old abbot used to say that she looked like a pine tree. Everything was
beautiful in her; a slender figure, a broad bosom that looked as if it
were cut out of marble, a red mouth, and intelligent blue eyes. She was
also dressed with more care than when in the forest with the hunting
party. Around her neck she had a necklace of red beads; she wore a fur
jacket opened in front and covered with green cloth, a homespun skirt and
new boots. Even old Macko noticed this beautiful attire, and having
looked at her for a moment, asked:

"Why are you dressed as if you were going to church?"

But instead of answering, she exclaimed:

"The wagons are coming!"

In fact the wagons now appeared and she sprang toward them, followed by
Zbyszko. The unloading lasted quite a long time to the great satisfaction
of Macko who looked at everything, and praised Jagienka all the time. It
was dusk when the girl started home. While she was getting ready to mount
her horse, Zbyszko suddenly caught her, and before she was able to say a
word, lifted her into the saddle. Then she blushed like the dawn and
turning her head toward him, said with emotion in her voice:

"What a strong boy you are!"

But he, not having noticed her confusion nor her blushes because it was
dark, laughed and said:

"Are you not afraid of wild beasts? It is night!"

"There is a boar-spear in the wagon. Give it to me."

Zbyszko went to the wagon, took the boar-spear and handed it to Jagienka;
then he said:

"Be in good health!"

"Be in good health!" she answered.

"May God reward you! To-morrow, or the day after, I will be in Zgorzelice
to thank Zych and you for your kindness."

"Come! You will be welcome!"

Having touched her horse, she disappeared among the bushes growing on the
sides of the road.

Zbyszko returned to his uncle.

"You must go inside."

But Macko answered, without moving from the log:

"Hej! I what a girl! I She made the court-yard brighter!"

"That is true!"

There was a moment of silence. Macko seemed to be thinking about
something while looking at the stars; then he said, as if he were
speaking to himself:

"She is pretty and a good housekeeper, although she is not more than
fifteen years old."

"Yes!" answered Zbyszko. "Therefore old Zych loves her dearly."

"And he said that the estate of Moczydoly will be her dowry; and there on
the pastures is a herd of mares with many colts."

"Are there not a great many marshes in the Moczydlowski estate?"

"Yes; but in those marshes there are plenty of beavers."

There was silence again. Macko looked intently at Zbyszko for a while,
and finally he asked, "About what are you thinking?"

"Seeing Jagienka reminded me of Danusia, and something pricked me in the
heart."

"Let us go into the house," answered the old _wlodyka_. "It is getting
late."

Having risen with difficulty, he leaned on Zbyszko, who conducted him to
the alcove.

The next day Zbyszko went to Zgorzelice, because Macko urged him. He also
insisted that he take two servants with him for ostentation, and that he
dress in his best clothes, to show respect and gratitude to Zych. Zbyszko
did as he was asked and went attired as if for a wedding, in his _jaka_
made of white satin, bordered with gold fringe and embroidered with gold
griffins. Zych received him with open arms, with joy and with singing; as
for Jagienka, when she entered, she stopped as if she were rooted to the
ground and almost dropped the bucket of wine which she was carrying; she
thought that a son of some king had arrived. She became timid and sat
silently, rubbing her eyes from time to time as if she would like to
awaken from a dream. The inexperienced Zbyszko thought that, for some
reason unknown to him, she did not wish to talk to him; therefore he
conversed only with Zych, praising his munificence and admiring the house
at Zgorzelice, which in fact was quite different from that in Bogdaniec.

Everywhere comfort and wealth were evident. In the rooms there were
windows with panes made of horn, cut in thin slices and polished so that
it was as transparent as glass. Instead of fireplaces in the centre,
there were large chimneys in the corners. The floors were made of larch
tree planks, while on the walls were hung suits of armor and many
polished dishes, also silver spoons. Here and there were costly rugs
brought from the wars. Under the tables there were enormous urus' skins.
Zych showed his riches willingly, saying that it was Jagienka's
household. He conducted Zbyszko to the alcove, fragrant with rosin and
peppermint, in which were hanging from the ceiling, large bunches of wolf
skins, fox skins, beaver skins and marten skins. He showed to him the
provisions of cheese, honey, wax, barrels of flour, pails of dried bread,
hemp and dried mushrooms. Then he went with him to the granaries, barns,
stables, cow houses, and to the sheds filled with plenty of hunting
implements and nets. Zbyszko was so dazzled by all this wealth that
during supper, he could not refrain from admiration.

"What a pleasure to live in Zgorzelice!" exclaimed he.

"In Moczydoly, there is almost the same wealth," answered Zych. "Do you
remember Moczydoly? It is not far from Bogdaniec. Formerly our
forefathers quarreled about the boundaries and challenged each other; but
I shall not quarrel."

Here he filled Zbyszko's goblet with mead and said:

"Perhaps you would like to sing?"

"No," answered Zbyszko; "but I shall listen to you with pleasure."

"Zgorzelice will belong to the young bears."

"What do you mean by 'young bears?'"

"Why, Jagienka's brothers."

"Hej! they will not have to suck their paws during the winter."

"No; but Jagienka will also have plenty in Moczydoly."

"That is true!"

"Why don't you eat and drink? Jagienka, pour for him and for me."

"I am drinking and eating as much as I can."

"Ungird your belt; then you will be able to eat and drink more. What a
beautiful girdle you have! Yon must have taken rich booty in Lithuania!"

"We cannot complain," answered Zbyszko, gladly seizing the opportunity to
explain that the heirs of Bogdaniec were no longer _wlodykas_. "A part of
our booty, we sold in Krakow and received forty silver _grzywiens_ for
it."

"You don't say so! Why, one can buy an estate for that."

"Yes. There was one Milanese armor which my uncle, expecting to die, sold
for a good price."

"I know! Well, it is worth while to go to Lithuania. I wanted to go there
also; but I was afraid."

"Of what? Of the Knights of the Cross?"

"Ej, who would be afraid of Germans? I was afraid of those heathenish
gods or devils. It seems there are plenty of them in the woods."

"They do not have any other place for shelter, because their temples have
been burned. Formerly they were well-to-do; but now they live on
mushrooms and ants."

"Did you see them?"

"No, I did not see any myself; but I heard of people who had seen them.
Sometimes one of them sticks out a hairy paw from behind a tree and
shakes it, begging for something."

"Macko told me the same," answered Jagienka.

"Yes! He told me about it on the road," said Zych. "Well, no wonder! In
our country also, although it has been a Christian country for a long
time, one can hear laughter in the marshes; and although the priests
scold about it in the churches, it is always good policy to put a dish
filled with something to eat, for the little devils; otherwise they will
scratch on the walls so much that one can hardly sleep. Jagienka, my
dearest! put a dish at the threshold."

Jagienka took an earthen porringer full of noodles and cheese, and placed
it at the threshold. Zych said:

"The priests scold! But the Lord Jesus will not be angry about a dish of
noodles; and a god, as soon as his hunger is satisfied, will protect one
from fire and from thieves."

Then he turned to Zbyszko:

"But will you not ungird yourself and sing a little?"

"You had better sing, or perhaps _Panna_[75] Jagienka will sing."

"We will sing by turns," exclaimed Zych. "We have a servant who will
accompany us on a wooden fife. Call the boy!"

They called the servant who sat down on the bench and put the fife to his
mouth, waiting to learn whom he was to accompany.

None of them wanted to be first. Finally Zych told Jagienka to begin;
therefore Jagienka, although bashful because Zbyszko was present, rose
from the bench and having put her hands under her apron, began:

  "If I only could get
  The wings like a birdie,
  I would fly quickly
  To my dearest Jasiek."

Zbyszko opened his eyes wide; then he jumped up and shouted:

"Where did you learn that song?"

Jagienka looked at him astonished.

"Everybody sings that. What is the matter with you?"

Zych thinking that Zbyszko was a little intoxicated, turned his jovial
face toward him and said:

"Ungird! It will relieve you!"

But Zbyszko stood for a while with astonishment on his face; then, having
recovered from his emotion, said to Jagienka:

"Excuse me, I suddenly remembered something. Sing further."

"Perhaps it makes you sad?"

"Ej, not at all!" he answered, with a quivering voice. "I could listen to
it the whole night."

Then he sat down, covered his face with his hand, and listened.

Jagienka sang another couplet; but when she finished, she noticed a big
tear rolling down Zbyszko's fingers.

Then she sat down beside him, and began to touch him with her elbow.

"What is the matter with you? I do not want to make you cry. Tell me what
is the matter with you?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" answered Zbyszko, sighing. "I could tell you much.
But it is over. I feel merry now."

"Perhaps you would like to have some sweet wine?"

"Good girl!" exclaimed Zych. "Call him 'Zbyszko,' and you call her
'Jagienka.' You have known each other since you were children."

Then he turned toward his daughter:

"Do not mind because he struck you when you were children. He will not do
it now."

"I will not!" answered Zbyszko, mirthfully. "If she wishes, she may beat
me now for it."

Then Jagienka, wishing to cheer him up, began to play that she was
striking him with her little fist.

"Give us some wine!" shouted the merry _Pan_ of Zgorzelice.

Jagienka sprang to the closet and brought out a jug of wine, two
beautiful silver goblets, engraved by a silversmith of Wroclaw[76] and a
couple of cheese.

Zych, being a little intoxicated, began to hug the jug and said to it as
if he were talking to his daughter:

"Oj, my dear girl! What shall I do, poor man, when they take you from
Zgorzelice; what shall I do?"

"And you must give her up soon!" said Zbyszko.

Zych began to laugh.

"Chy! Chy! The girl is only fifteen; but she is already fond of boys!
When she sees one of them, she begins immediately to rub knee with knee!"

"_Tatusiu_[77] if you don't stop, I will leave you," said Jagienka.

"Don't go! It's better with you here." Then he continued to say to
Zbyszko:

"Two of them visit us. One of them is young Wilk, the son of old Wilk of
Bizozowa; the other is Cztan[78] of Rogow. If they meet you here, they
will gnash their teeth, as they do at each other."

"Owa!" said Zbyszko. Then he turned to Jagienka and asked:

"Which do you prefer?"

"Neither of them."

"Wilk is a great boy," said Zych.

"Let him go in another direction!"

"And Cztan?"

Jagienka began to laugh:

"Cztan," said she, turning toward Zbyszko, "he has hair on his face like
a goat; one can hardly see his eyes; and he has as much grease on him as
a bear."

Zbyszko now touched his head with his hand as if he had just remembered
something important, and said:

"I must ask you for one thing more; have you any bear's grease? I want to
use it for medicine for my uncle; and I could not find any in Bogdaniec."

"We used to have some," answered Jagienka; "but the boys have used some
to grease their bows, and the dogs have eaten the rest."

"Is there none left?"

"Not a bit!"

"Well, then, I must find some in the forest."

"Have a hunting party for bears; there are plenty of them; and if you
want some hunting implements, we will lend you some."

"I cannot wait. I will go some night to a _barcie_."

"Take a few men with you."

"No, I shall not do that, for they will frighten the beast."

"But you will take a crossbow!"

"What can I do with a crossbow during the night? There is no moon now! I
will take a fork and a strong axe, and I will go alone to-morrow."

Jagienka was silent for awhile; but great uneasiness was reflected on her
face.

"Last year," said she, "the huntsman, Bezduch, was killed by a bear. It
is dangerous, because as soon as the bear sees a man near the _barcie_,
he immediately stands up on his hind feet."

"If he ran away, I could not get him," answered Zbyszko.

At that moment Zych who had been dozing, suddenly awakened and began to
sing:

  "Thou Kuba, of toil
  I Maciek of pleasure,
  Go then in the morning with the yoke in the field,
  While I amuse myself with Kasia."

Then he said to Zbyszko:

"You know? There are two of them, Wilk of Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogow;
and you?"

But Jagienka being afraid that Zych would say too much, swiftly
approached Zbyszko, and began to inquire:

"When are you going? To-morrow?"

"To-morrow after sunset."

"And to which _barcie_?"

"To ours in Bogdaniec, not far from your boundaries, near the marshes of
Radzikow. They tell me it is very easy to get a bear there."




CHAPTER V.

Zbyszko went for the bear as he proposed, because Macko became worse. At
first when he reached Bogdaniec, he was sustained by joy and the first
cares about the house; but on the third day, the fever returned, and the
pain was so great that he was obliged to go to bed. Zbyszko went to the
_barcie_ during the day, and while there he perceived that there were the
footprints of a bear in the mud. He spoke to the beehive keeper, Wawrek,
who slept in a shed not far away, with his two faithful Podhalan[79]
dogs; but he intended to return to the village on account of the cold.

They destroyed the shed, and Wawrek took the dogs with him. But first
they smeared the trees here and there with honey, so that the smell of it
would attract the animal. Zbyszko returned home and began to prepare for
the expedition. He dressed himself in a warm reindeer jacket without
sleeves; on the top of his head, he put a bonnet made of iron wire;
finally he took a strong fork and a steel axe. Before sunset he had taken
his position; and having made the sign of the cross, he sat down and
waited.

The red beams of the setting sun were still shining between the branches
of the gigantic pines. In the tops of the trees, the crows were flying,
croaking and beating the air with their wings; here and there the hares
were leaping toward the water, making a noise on the dried leaves; some
times a swift marten passed by. In the thickets, the chirping of the
birds was at first heard--but gradually ceased.

After sunset the noises of the forest began. Immediately a pack of boars
passed near Zbyszko with a great bustle and snorting; then elks galloped
in a long row, each holding his head on the tail of the one in front of
him. The dried branches crackled under their feet and the forest
resounded; but on they rushed toward the marshes where during the night,
they were cool and safe. Finally the twilight was reflected on the sky,
and the tops of the pine trees illuminated by it seemed to burn, as if on
fire; then little by little everything began to be quieted. The forest
was still. Dusk was rising from earth toward the gleaming twilight, which
began finally to grow fainter, then gloomy, blacker and then was
quenched.

"Now, everything will be quiet, until the wolves begin to howl," thought
Zbyszko.

He regretted that he had not taken his crossbow, because he could easily
have killed a boar or an elk. In the meanwhile, from the marshes came
muffled sounds similar to heavy panting and whistling. Zbyszko looked
toward that marsh with some apprehension, because the peasant, Radzik,
who used to live here in an earth-hut, disappeared with his whole family,
as if devoured by the earth. Some people said they were seized by
robbers; but there were others who saw some strange footprints, neither
human nor of beasts, round the cabin. The people shook their heads very
much about that, and they even spoke about bringing a priest from
Krzesnia, to bless the hut. But they did not do it because nobody was
willing to live in that hut, which from that time, had an evil
reputation. It is true that the beehive keeper, Wawrek, did not pay any
attention to these reports.

Zbyszko being armed with the fork and axe, was not afraid of the wild
beasts; but he thought with some uneasiness about the evil forces, and he
was glad when that noise stopped.

The last reverberation ceased, and there was complete silence. The wind
stopped blowing and there was not even the usual whispering in the tops
of the pine trees. From time to time, a pine cone fell, making quite a
noise amidst the deep silence; but in general, everything was so quiet
that Zbyszko heard his own respirations.

Thus he sat quietly for a long time, thinking first about the bear, and
then about Danusia. He recollected how he seized her in his arms when
bidding the princess farewell, and how she cried; he remembered her fair
head and bright face, her wreaths of bachelor buttons, her singing, her
red shoes with long tips, and finally everything that happened from the
moment he first saw her. Such a longing to see her, filled his heart,
that he forgot that he was in the forest waiting for the bear; instead of
that he began to talk to himself:

"I will go to see you, because I cannot live without you."

He felt that he must go to Mazowsze; that if he remained in Bogdaniec, he
would become good for nothing. He recollected Jurand and his strange
opposition; then he thought that it was even more necessary he should go,
and learn what that obstacle was, and if a challenge to combat could not
remove it. Finally it seemed to him that Danusia stretched her bands
toward him and cried:

"Come, Zbyszku! Come!" How could he refuse?

He was not sleeping, but he saw her as distinctly as in a dream. There
she was, riding beside the princess, thrumming on her little lute,
humming and thinking of him. Thinking that she would soon see him, and
perhaps looking back.

Hero Zbyszko aroused himself and listened, because he heard a rustling
behind him. Then he grasped the fork in his hand more tightly, stretched
his neck and listened again.

The rustling approached and then it became very distinct. Under some
careful foot, the dried branches were crackling, the fallen leaves were
rustling. Something was coming.

From time to time the rustling ceased, as if the beast halted beneath the
trees; then there was such quietude that Zbyszko's ears began to ring;
then again slow, careful steps were heard. That approach was so cautious
that Zbyszko was surprised.

"I am sure 'the old'[80] must be afraid of the dogs which were here in
the shed," said he to himself; "but it may be a wolf that has scented
me."

Now the footsteps were no longer heard. Zbyszko, however, was sure that
something had stopped twenty or thirty feet behind him.

He turned around once or twice; but although he could see the trunks of
the trees quite well, he could not perceive anything else. He was obliged
to wait.

He waited so long, that he was surprised a second time.

"A bear would not come here to stop under the _barcie_; and a wolf would
not wait until morning."

Suddenly a shiver ran through his body as he thought:

"Suppose it is something dreadful that comes from the marshes and is
trying to surprise me from the rear! Suppose the slippery arms of a
drowned man seize me, or the green eyes of a ghost look into my face;
suppose a blue head on spider's legs comes out from behind the tree and
begins to laugh!"

He felt his hair begin to rise under his iron bonnet.

But after a while, a rustling sounded in front of him, more distinct this
time than formerly. Zbyszko breathed more freely; he thought that the
same "wonder" had gone around him, and now approached from the front; but
he preferred that. He seized his fork firmly, arose quietly and waited.

Now he noticed over his head the rustling of the pine trees, and he felt
the wind blow in his face, coming from the marsh, and he smelt the bear.

There was not the slightest doubt that a _mys_[81] was coming!

Zbyszko was afraid no longer, and having bent his head, he strained to
the utmost his hearing and his sight. Heavy, distinct steps were coming;
the smell grew stronger; soon the snore and groaning were heard.

"I hope there are not two of them!" thought Zbyszko.

But at that moment, he perceived in front of him the large, dark form of
the animal, which was walking in the same direction from which the wind
was blowing, and could not get the scent of him; its attention was also
attracted by the smell of the honey on the trees.

"Come, uncle!" exclaimed Zbyszko, coming out from beneath the pine tree.

The bear roared shortly as if frightened by an unexpected apparition; but
he was too near to seek safety in flight; therefore, in a moment he
reared and separated his forelegs as if for a hug. This was exactly what
Zbyszko was waiting for; he gathered himself together, jumped like
lightning and with all the strength of his powerful arms and of his
weight, he drove the fork into the animal's chest.

The whole forest resounded now with the fearful roaring. The bear seized
the fork with his paws, and tried to pull it out, but the incisions made
by the points were too deep; therefore, feeling the pain, he roared still
more fearfully. Wishing to reach Zbyszko, he leaned on the fork and thus
drove it into his body still further. Zbyszko, not knowing that the
points had entered so deeply, held on to the handle. The man and the
animal began to struggle. The forest again resounded with the roaring in
which wrath and despair were mingled.

Zbyszko could not use his axe until after he could drive the sharpened
end of the fork into the ground. The bear having seized the handle, was
shaking it as well as Zbyszko, and notwithstanding the pain caused by
every movement of the points imbedded in his breast, he would not let it
be "underpropped." In this way the terrible struggle continued, and
Zbyszko finally felt that his strength would soon be exhausted. If he
fell, then he would be lost; therefore, he gathered all his strength,
strained his arms to the utmost, set his feet firmly and bent his back
like a bow, so as not to be thrown backward; and in his enthusiasm he
repeated through set teeth:

"You or I will die!"

Such anger filled him that he really preferred at that moment to die,
rather than to let the beast go. Finally his foot caught in the root of a
tree; he tottered and would have fallen, if at that moment a dark figure
had not appeared before him, and another fork "underpropped" the beast;
and in the meanwhile, a voice shouted near his ear:

"Use your axe!"

Zbyszko, being excited by the fight, did not wonder even for a moment
from whence came the unexpected help; but he seized the axe and cut with
all his might. The fork cracked, broken by the weight and by the last
convulsion of the beast, as it fell. There was a long silence broken only
by Zbyszko's loud respirations. But after a while, he lifted his head,
looked at the form standing beside him and was afraid, thinking that it
might not be a man.

"Who are you?" asked he, with uneasiness.

"Jagienka!" answered a thin, womanly voice.

Zbyszko became dumb from astonishment; he could not believe his own eyes.
But his doubts did not last long, because Jagienka's voice again
resounded:

"I will build a fire."

Immediately the clatter of a fire steel against a flint sounded and the
sparks began to fall; by their glittering light, Zbyszko beheld the white
forehead, the dark eyebrows and the red lips of the girl who was blowing
on the tinder which began to burn. Not until then did he realize that she
had come to the forest to help him, and that without her aid, he would
have perished. He felt such gratitude toward her, that he impulsively
seized her around the waist and kissed her on both cheeks.

The tinder and the steel fell to the ground.

"Let me be!" she began to repeat in a muffled voice; but she allowed him
to kiss her and even, as if by accident, touched Zbyszko's lips with her
mouth. He released her and said:

"May God reward you. I do not know what would have happened without your
help."

Then Jagienka, while searching for the tinder and fire steel, began to
excuse herself:

"I was worried about you, because Bezduch also went with a fork and an
axe, but the bear tore him to pieces. If you met with such a misfortune,
Macko would be very desolate, and he hardly breathes now. So I took a
fork and came."

"Then it was you whom I heard there behind the pines?"

"Yes."

"And I thought it was an evil spirit."

"I was very much frightened, because it is dangerous to be without fire
here around the Radzikowski marshes."

"Then why did you not speak to me?"

"Because I was afraid you would send me away."

Having said this, she again began to strike sparks from the steel, and
put on the tinder a bundle of hemp which began to burn.

"I have two resinous pieces of wood," said she; "you bring some dried
branches quickly, and we will soon have a fire."

In fact, after a while a bright fire was burning, and lighted the
enormous, brown body of the bear which was lying in a pool of blood.

"Hej, a dreadful beast!" said Zbyszko, boastfully.

"You split his head entirely open! O, Jesus!"

Then she leaned over and felt of the bear's body, to ascertain whether
the beast was fat; then she arose with a bright face, and said:

"There will be plenty of grease for two years."

"But the fork is broken, look!"

"That is too bad; what shall I tell them at home?"

"About what?"

"_Tatus_ would not let me come into the forest, therefore I was obliged
to wait until everybody had retired."

After a moment she added:

"You must not tell that I was here, because they will laugh at me."

"But I will go with you to your house, because I am afraid the wolves
will attack you, and you have no fork."

"Very well!"

Thus they sat talking for a while beside the bright fire, looking like
two young forest creatures.

Zbyszko looked at the girl's pretty face, lighted by the flames, and said
with involuntary admiration:

"There is not another girl in this world as brave as you are. You ought
to go to the war!"

She looked into his face and then she answered, almost sadly:

"I know; but you must not laugh at me."




CHAPTER VI.

Jagienka herself melted a large pot of bear's grease. Macko drank the
first quart willingly, because it was fresh, and smelt good. Jagienka put
the rest of it in a pot. Macko's hope increased; he was sure he would be
cured.

"That is what I needed," said he. "When all parts inside of me become
greasy, then that dog's splinter will slip out."

But the next quarts did not taste as well as the first; but he continued
to drink it and Jagienka encouraged him, saying:

"You will get well. Zbilud of Ostrog had the links of a coat of mail
driven into his neck; but they slipped out because he drank grease. But
when your wound opens, you must put some grease of a beaver on it."

"Have you some?"

"Yes, we have. But if it be necessary to have it fresh, we will go with
Zbyszko and get a beaver. Meanwhile it would not do any harm, if you
promised something to some saint, who is the patron for wounds."

"I was thinking about that, but I do not know to whom I should make the
promise. Saint George is the patron of knights; he protects the warrior
from any accident and always gives him victory, and it is said that
sometimes he fights personally for the one who is right. But a saint who
fights willingly, does not heal willingly; and for that, there must be
another saint with whom he would not want to interfere. It is known that
every saint has his specialty. But they will not interfere with one
another; because that would cause quarrels, and it is not proper to fight
in heaven. There are Kosma and Damian to whom all doctors pray, that
illness may exist; otherwise the doctors would not have anything to eat.
There is Saint Apolonia for the teeth and Saint Liborius for stone; but
they will not do for me. The abbot, when he comes, will tell me whom I
must ask. Every _clericus_ does not know all celestial secrets and
everyone of them is not familiar with such things, but the abbot is."

"Suppose you make a vow to the Lord Jesus himself?"

"Of course he is over all of them. But suppose your father had injured my
servant, and I went to Krakow to complain to the king; what would the
king tell me? He would say thus: 'I am monarch over all the country, and
you complain to me about one of your peasants! Do you not have my
officials in your part of the country; why did you not go to the
castellan?' So the Lord Jesus is the ruler over the whole universe; but
for smaller affairs, he employs the saints."

"Then I will tell you what to do," said Zbyszko, who entered just now;
"make a vow to our late queen, that if she intercede for you, you will
make a pilgrimage to Krakow. Why should you search after strange saints,
when we have our own lady, who is better than they?"

"Bah! if I only knew that she would intercede for wounds!"

"No matter! There is no saint who would dare to show her an angry face;
or if he dared, Lord God would punish him for it, because she was not an
ordinary woman, but a Polish queen."

"Who converted the last heathen country to the Christian faith! That is
right," said Macko. "She must have a high place in God's council and
surely none would dare to oppose her. Therefore I will do as you say."

This advice pleased Jagienka, who admired Zbyszko's common sense very
much. That same evening, Macko made a vow and drank with still greater
hope, the bear's grease. But after a week, he began to lose hope. He said
that the grease was fermenting in his stomach, and that a lump was
growing on his side near the last rib. At the end of ten days Macko was
worse, and the lump grew larger and became inflamed. The sick man again
had fever and began to make preparations for death.

But one night he awakened Zbyszko, and said:

"Light a piece of resinous wood; there is something the matter with me,
but I do not know what."

Zbyszko jumped up and lighted a piece of pine wood.

"What is it?"

"What is it! Something has pierced the lump on my side. It must be the
head of the spear! I had hold of it, but I cannot pull it out."

"It must be the spearhead! Nothing else. Grasp it well and pull."

Macko began to turn and to twist with pain; but he pushed his fingers
deeper and deeper, until he seized a hard substance which finally he
pulled out.

"O, Jesus!"

"Have you pulled it out?" asked Zbyszko.

"Yes. I am in a cold perspiration all over; but I have it; look!"

Having said this, he showed to Zbyszko a long splinter, which had
separated from the spear and remained in his body for several months.

"Glory be to God and to Queen Jadwiga! Now you will get well."

"Perhaps; I am better, but it pains me greatly," said Macko, pressing the
wound from which blood and pus began to flow. "Jagienka said that now I
ought to dress the wound with the grease of a beaver."

"We will go to-morrow and get a beaver."

Macko felt considerably better the next day. He slept till morning, and
when he awoke, immediately asked for something to eat. He would not even
look at the bear's grease; but they cooked twenty eggs for him. He ate
them voraciously, also a big loaf of bread, and drank about four quarts
of beer; then he demanded that they call Zych, because he felt jovial.

Zbyszko sent one of the Turks, given to him by Zawisza, after Zych who
mounted a horse and came in the afternoon when the young people were
ready to go to the Odstajny lake to catch a beaver. At first there was
plenty of laughter and singing, while they drank mead; but afterward the
old _wlodykas_ began to talk about the children, each praising his own.

"What a man Zbyszko is!" said Macko; "there is no other like him in the
world. He is brave and as agile as a wild-cat. Do you know that when they
conducted him to the scaffold in Krakow, all the girls standing at the
windows were crying, and such girls;--daughters of knights and of
castellans, and also the beautiful townswomen."

"They may be beautiful and the daughters of castellans, but they are not
better than my Jagienka!" answered Zych of Zgorzelice.

"Did I say they were better? It will be difficult to find a better girl
than Jagienka."

"I do not say anything against Zbyszko either; he can stretch a crossbow
without a crank."

"He can underprop a bear also. Did you see how he cut the bear? He cut
the head and one paw off."

"He cut the head off, but he did not underprop it alone. Jagienka helped
him."

"Did she? He did not tell me about that."

"Because he promised her not to tell anyone. The girl was ashamed because
she went into the forest alone at night. She told me all about it; she
never hides the truth. Frankly speaking, I was not pleased because who
knows what might have happened. I wanted to scold her, but she said, 'If
I be not able to preserve my wreath myself, how can you preserve it, you
_tatulu_; but do not fear, Zbyszko knows what knightly honor is.'"

"That is true. They have gone alone to-day also."

"They will be back in the evening. But during the night, the devil is
worse and the girl does not feel ashamed because of the darkness."

Macko thought for a while; then he said as if to himself:

"But they are fond of each other."

"Bah! it is a pity he made a vow to another!"

"That is, as you know, a knightly custom. They consider the one who has
no lady, a churl. He also made a vow to capture some peacocks' tufts, and
those he must get because he swore by his knightly honor; he must also
challenge Lichtenstein; but from the other vows, the abbot can release
him."

"The abbot is coming soon."

"Do you expect him?" asked Macko; then he said again: "And what does such
a vow amount to; Jurand told him positively that he could not give the
girl to him! I do not know whether he had promised her to some one else,
or whether he had destined her for God."

"Have I told you that the abbot loves Jagienka as much as if she were his
own? The last time I saw him he said: 'I have no relations except those
from my mother's side; and they will receive nothing from me.'"

Here Macko looked at Zych suspiciously and after awhile he answered:

"Would you wrong us?"

"Jagienka will get Moczydoly," said Zych evasively.

"Immediately?"

"Immediately. I would not give it to another; but I will do it for her."

"Half of Bogdaniec belongs to Zbyszko, and if God restore my health, I
will improve the estate. Do you love Zbyszko?"

Zych began to wink and said:

"When anybody mentions Zbyszko's name in the presence of Jagienka, she
immediately turns away."

"And when you mention another?"

"When I mention another, she only laughs and says: 'What then?'"

"Well, do you not see. God will help us and Zbyszko will forget about the
other girl. I am old and I will forget also. Will you have some more
mead?"

"Yes, I will."

"Well, the abbot is a wise man! You know that some of the abbots are
laymen; but this abbot, although he does not sit among the friars, is a
priest just the same; and a priest can always give better advice than an
ordinary man, because he knows how to read, and he communes with the Holy
Ghost. I am glad that Jagienka is going to have the estate of Moczydoly.
As for me, as soon as the Lord Jesus restores my health, I will try to
induce some of the peasants living on the estate of Wilk of Brzozowa, to
settle on my land. I will offer them more land, I have plenty of it in
Bogdaniec. They can come if they wish to, for they are free. In time, I
will build a _grodek_ in Bogdaniec, a worthy castle of oaks with a ditch
around it. Let Zbyszko and Jagienka hunt together. I think we shall soon
have snow. They will become accustomed to each other, and the boy will
forget that other girl. Let them be together. Speak frankly; would you
give Jagienka to him or not?"

"I would. Did we not decide a long time ago that they should marry, and
that Moczydoly and Bogdaniec would be our grandchildren's?"

"_Grady!_" exclaimed Macko, joyfully. "God will bless us and their
children will be as numerous as hail. The abbot shall baptize them."

"If he will only be quick enough!" exclaimed Zych. "I have not seen you
so jolly as you are to-day for a long time."

"Because I am glad in my heart. Do not fear about Zbyszko. Yesterday when
Jagienka mounted her horse, the wind blew. I asked Zbyszko then: 'Did you
see?' and his eyes shone. I have also noticed that although at first they
did not speak much to each other, now when they go together, they are
continually turning their heads toward each other, and they talk--talk!
Have some more mead?"

"Yes, I will."

"To Zbyszko and Jagienka's health!"




CHAPTER VII.

The old _wlodyka_ was not mistaken when he said that Zbyszko and Jagienka
were fond of each other, and even that they longed for each other.
Jagienka pretending that she wanted to visit the sick Macko, went very
often to Bogdaniec, either alone or with her father. Zbyszko also went
often to Zgorzelice. In that way, after a few days a familiarity and
friendship originated between them. They grew fond of each other and
talked about everything that interested them. There was much mutual
admiration in that friendship also. The young and handsome Zbyszko, who
had already distinguished himself in the war, had participated in
tournaments and had been in the presence of kings, was considered by the
girl, when she compared him with Cztan of Rogow or Wilk of Brzozowa, a
true courtly knight and almost a prince; as for him, he was astonished at
the great beauty of the girl. He was loyal to Danusia; but very often
when he looked suddenly at Jagienka, either in the forest or at home, he
said involuntarily to himself: "Hej! what a girl!" When, helping her to
mount her horse, he felt her elastic flesh under his hands, disquietude
filled him and he shivered, and a torpor began to steal over him.

Jagienka, although naturally proud, inclined to raillery, and even
aggressive, grew more and more gentle with him, often looking in his eyes
to discover how she could please him; he understood her affection; he was
grateful for it and he liked to be with her more and more. Finally,
especially after Macko began to drink the bear's grease, they saw each
other almost every day; when the splinter came out of the wound, they
went together to get some fresh beaver's grease, necessary for the
healing of the wound.

They took their crossbows, mounted their horses and went first to
Moczydoly, destined for Jagienka's dowry, then to the edge of the forest,
where they entrusted the horses to a servant and went on foot, because it
was impossible to pass through the thicket on horseback. While walking,
Jagienka pointed to the large meadow covered with reeds and to the blue
ribbon of forest and said:

"Those woods belong to Cztan of Rogow."

"The same man who would like to take you?"

She began to laugh:

"He would if he could!"

"You can defend yourself very easily, having for your defence the
Wilk[82] who, as I understand, gnashes his teeth at Cztan. I wonder that
they have not challenged each other to fight until death."

"They have not because _tatulo_ before he went to the war said to them:
'If you fight about Jagienka I do not want to see you any more.' How
could they fight then? When they are in Zgorzelice they scowl at each
other; but afterward they drink together in an inn in Krzesnia until they
are drunk."

"Stupid boys!"

"Why?"

"Because while Zych was away one of them should have taken you by force.
What could Zych do, if when he returned he had found you with a baby on
your lap?"

At this Jagienka's blue eyes flashed immediately.

"Do you think I would let them take me? Have we not people in Zgorzelice,
and do I not know how to manage a crossbow or a boar-spear? Let them try!
I would chase them back home and even attack them in Rogow or Brzozowa.
Father knew very well that he could go to the war and leave me home
alone."

Speaking thus, she frowned, and shook the crossbow threateningly, so that
Zbyszko began to laugh, and said:

"You ought to have been a knight and not a girl."

She becoming calmer, answered:

"Cztan guarded me from Wilk and Wilk from Cztan. Then I was also under
the abbot's tutelage, and it is well for everyone to let the abbot
alone."

"Owa!" answered Zbyszko. "They are all afraid of the abbot! But I, may
Saint George help me to speak the truth to you, I would neither be afraid
of the abbot, nor of your peasants, nor of yourself; I would take you!"

At this Jagienka stopped on the spot, and fixing her eyes on Zbyszko,
asked in a strange, soft, low voice:

"You would take me?"

Then her lips parted and blushing like the dawn, she waited for his
answer.

But he evidently was only thinking what he would do, were he in Cztan or
Wilk's position; because after a while, he shook his golden hair and said
further:

"A girl must marry and not fight with the boys. Unless you have a third
one, you must choose one of these two."

"You must not tell me that," answered the girl, sadly.

"Why not? I have been away from home for a long time, therefore I do not
know whether there is somebody around Zgorzelice, of whom you are fond or
not."

"Hej!" answered Jagienka. "Let it be!"

They walked along silently, trying to make their way through the thicket
which was now much denser because the bushes and the trees were covered
with wild hop vines. Zbyszko walked first, tearing down the green vines,
and breaking the branches here and there; Jagienka followed him with a
crossbow on her shoulder, looking like a hunting goddess.

"Beyond that thicket," said she, "there is a deep brook; but I know where
the ford is."

"I have long boots on, reaching above my knees; we can cross it,"
answered Zbyszko.

Shortly afterward, they reached the brook. Jagienka being familiar with
the Moczydlowski forests, very easily found the ford; but the water was
deeper than usual, the little brook being swollen by the rains. Then
Zbyszko without asking her permission, seized the girl in his arms.

"I can cross by myself," said Jagienka.

"Put your arms around my neck!" answered Zbyszko.

He walked slowly through the water, while the girl nestled to him.
Finally when they were near the other shore, she said:

"Zbyszku!"

"What?"

"I care neither for Cztan, nor for Wilk."

As he placed her on the shore, he answered excitedly:

"May God give you the best I He will not be wronged."

The Odstajny lake was not far away now. Jagienka walking in front, turned
from time to time, and putting a finger on her lips, ordered Zbyszko to
be silent. They were walking amidst the osiers and gray willows, on low,
damp ground. From the left side, were heard the voices of birds, and
Zbyszko was surprised at that, because it was time for the birds to
migrate.

"We are near a morass which is never frozen," whispered Jagienka; "the
ducks pass the winter there; even in the lake the water freezes only near
the shores. See how it is steaming."

Zbyszko looked through the willows and noticed in front of him, something
like a bank of fog; it was the Odstajny lake.

Jagienka again put a finger to her lips, and after a while they reached
the lake. The girl climbed on an old willow and bent over the water.
Zbyszko followed her example; and for a long time they remained quiet,
seeing nothing in front of them, on account of the fog; hearing nothing
but the mournful puling of lapwings. Finally the wind blew, rustled the
osiers and the yellow leaves of the willows, and disclosed the waters of
the lake which were slightly ruffled by the wind.

"Do you see anything?" whispered Zbyszko.

"No. Keep quiet!"

After a while, the wind ceased and complete silence followed. Then on the
surface of the lake appeared one head, then another; finally near them a
big beaver entered the water from the shore, carrying in his mouth a
newly cut branch, and began to swim amidst the duck-weed and marigold
holding his mouth out of the water and pushing the branch before him.
Zbyszko lying on the trunk beneath Jagienka, noticed that her elbow moved
quietly and that her head was bent forward; evidently she had aimed at
the animal which, not suspecting any danger, was swimming close by,
toward the clear water.

Finally the string of the crossbow twanged and at the same moment
Jagienka cried:

"I hit him! I hit him!"

Zbyszko instantly climbed higher and looked through the thicket toward
the water; the beaver plunged into the water, then reappeared on the
surface, turning somersets.

"I hit him hard! He will soon be quiet!" said Jagienka.

The movements of the animal grew slower, and then before one had time
sufficient to recite one "_Ave Maria_," he was floating on his back on
the surface of the water.

"I will go and get him," said Zbyszko.

"No, do not go. Here, near the shore, there is, deep slime. Anyone who
does not know how to manage, will surely drown."

"Then how will we get him?"

"He will be in Bogdaniec this evening, do not worry about that; now we
must go home."

"You hit him hard!"

"Bah! It is not the first one!"

"Other girls are afraid to even look at a crossbow; but with you, one can
go to the forest all his life."

Jagienka smiled at such praise, but she did not answer; they returned the
same way they came. Zbyszko asked her about the beavers and she told him
how many of them there were in Moczydoly, and how many in Zgorzelice.

Suddenly she struck her hip with her hand and exclaimed:

"Well, I left my arrows on the willow. Wait!"

Before he could say that he would return for them, she jumped back like a
roe and disappeared. Zbyszko waited and waited; at last he began to
wonder what detained her so long.

"She must have lost the arrows and is searching for them," he said to
himself; "but I will go and see whether anything has happened to her."

He had hardly started to return before the girl appeared with her bow in
her hand, her face smiling and blushing, and with the beaver on her
shoulders.

"For God's sake!" cried Zbyszko, "how did you get him?"

"How? I went into the water, that is all! It is nothing new for me; but I
did not want you to go, because the mud drags anyone down who does not
know how to swim in it."

"And I waited here like a fool! You are a sly girl."

"Well, could I undress before you?"

"Bah! If I had followed you, then I would have seen a wonder!"

"Be silent!"

"I was just starting, so help me God!"

"Be silent!"

After a while, wishing to turn the conversation, she said:

"Wring my tress; it makes my back wet."

Zbyszko caught the tress in one hand and began to wring with the other,
saying:

"The best way will be to unbraid it, then the wind will soon dry it."

But she did not wish to do that on account of the thicket through which
they were obliged to make their way. Zbyszko now put the beaver on his
shoulders. Jagienka walking in front of him, said:

"Now Macko will soon be well, because there is no better medicine for a
wound than the grease of a bear inside, and the grease of a beaver
outside. In about two weeks, he will be able to ride a horse."

"May God grant that!" answered Zbyszko. "I am waiting for it as for
salvation, because I cannot leave the sick man, and it is hard for me to
stay here."

"Why is it hard for you to stay here?" she asked him.

"Has Zych told you nothing about Danusia?"

"He did tell me something. I know that she covered you with her veil. I
know that! He told me also that every knight makes some vow, to serve his
lady. But he said that such a vow did not amount to anything; that some
of the knights were married, but they served their ladies just the same.
But Danusia, Zbyszko; tell me about her!"

Having come very close to him, she began to look at his face with great
anxiety; he did not pay any attention to her frightened voice and looks,
but said:

"She is my lady, and at the same time she is my sweetest love. I have not
spoken about her to anybody; but I am going to tell you, because we have
been acquainted since we were children. I will follow her beyond the
tenth river and beyond the tenth sea, to the Germans and to the Tartars,
because there is no other girl like her. Let my uncle remain in
Bogdaniec, and I will go to her. What do I care about Bogdaniec, the
household, the herds, or the abbot's wealth, without her! I will mount my
horse and I will go, so help me God; I will fulfill that which I promised
her, or I will die."

"I did not know," answered Jagienka, in a hollow voice.

Zbyszko began to tell her about all that had happened; how he had met
Danusia in Tyniec; how he had made a vow to her; about everything that
happened afterward; about his imprisonment, and how Danusia rescued him;
about Jurand's refusal, their farewell and his loneliness; finally about
his joy, because as soon as Macko became well, he would go to his beloved
girl. His story was interrupted at last by the sight of the servant with
the horses, waiting on the edge of the forest.

Jagienka immediately mounted her horse and began to bid Zbyszko good-bye.

"Let the servant follow you with the beaver; I am going to Zgorzelice."

"Then you will not go to Bogdaniec? Zych is there."

"No. _Tatulo_ said he would return and told me to go home."

"Well, may God reward you for the beaver."

"With God."

Then Jagienka was alone. Going home through the heaths, she looked back
for a while after Zbyszko; when he disappeared beyond the trees, she
covered her eyes with her hands as if sheltering them from the sunlight.
But soon large tears began to flow down her cheeks and drop one after
another on the horse's mane.




CHAPTER VIII.

After the conversation with Zbyszko, Jagienka did not appear in Bogdaniec
for three days; but on the third day she hurried in with the news that
the abbot had arrived at Zgorzelice. Macko received the news with
emotion. It is true he had money enough to pay the amount for which the
estate was pledged, and he calculated that he would have enough to induce
settlers to come, to buy herds and to make other improvements; but in the
whole transaction, much depended on the disposition of the rich relation,
who, for instance, could take or leave the peasants settled by him on the
land, and in that way increase or diminish the value of the estate.

Therefore Macko asked Jagienka about the abbot; how he was; if he was in
a good humor or gloomy; what he had said about them; when he was coming
to Bogdaniec? She gave him sensible answers, trying to encourage and
tranquillize him in every respect.

She said that the abbot was in good health and gay; that he was
accompanied by a considerable retinue in which, besides the armed
servants, there were several seminarists and _rybalts_; that he sang with
Zych and that he listened gladly not only to the spiritual but to the
worldly songs also. She had noticed also that he asked carefully about
Macko, and that he listened eagerly to Zych's narration of Zbyszko's
adventure in Krakow.

"You know best what you ought to do," finally the clever girl said; "but
I think that Zbyszko ought to go immediately and greet his elder
relative, and not wait until the abbot comes to Bogdaniec."

Macko liked the advice; therefore he called Zbyszko and said to him:

"Dress yourself beautifully; then go and bow to the abbot, and pay him
respect; perhaps he will take a fancy to you."

Then he turned to Jagienka:

"I would not be surprised if you were stupid, because you are a woman;
but I am astonished to find that you have such good sense. Tell me then,
the best way to receive the abbot when he comes here."

"As for food, he will tell you himself what he wishes to have; he likes
to feast well, but if there be a great deal of saffron in the food, he
will eat anything."

Macko hearing this, said:

"How can I get saffron for him!"

"I brought some," said Jagienka.

"Give us more such girls!" exclaimed the overjoyed Macko. "She is pretty,
a good housekeeper, intelligent and good-hearted! Hej! if I were only
younger I would take her immediately!"

Here Jagienka glanced at Zbyszko, and having sighed slightly, she said
further:

"I brought also the dice, the goblet and the cloth, because after his
meal, the abbot likes to play dice."

"He had the same habit formerly, and he used to get very angry."

"He gets angry sometimes now; then he throws the goblet on the ground and
rushes from the room into the fields. Then he comes back smiling, and
laughs at his anger. You know him! If one does not contradict him, you
cannot find a better man in the world."

"And who would contradict him; is he not wiser and mightier than others?"

Thus they talked while Zbyszko was dressing in the alcove. Finally he
came out, looking so beautiful that he dazzled Jagienka, as much as he
did the first time he went to Zgorzelice in his white _jaka_. She
regretted that this handsome knight was not hers, and that he was in love
with another girl.

Macko was pleased because he thought that the abbot could not help liking
Zbyszko and would be more lenient during their business transaction. He
was so much pleased with this idea, that he determined to go also.

"Order the servants to prepare a wagon," said he to Zbyszko. "If I could
travel from Krakow to Bogdaniec with an iron in my side, surely I can go
now to Zgorzelice."

"If you only will not faint," said Jagienka.

"Ej! I will be all right, because I feel stronger already. And even if I
faint, the abbot will see that I hastened to meet him, and will be more
generous."

"I prefer your health to his generosity!" said Zbyszko.

But Macko was persistent and started for Zgorzelice. On the road he
moaned a little, but he continued to give Zbyszko advice; he told him how
to act in Zgorzelice, and especially recommended him to be obedient and
humble in the presence of their mighty relative, who never would suffer
the slightest opposition.

When they came to Zgorzelice, they found Zych and the abbot sitting in
front of the house, looking at the beautiful country, and drinking wine.
Behind them, near the wall, sat six men of the abbot's retinue; two of
them were _rybalts_; one was a pilgrim, who could easily be distinguished
by his curved stick and dark mantle; the others looked like seminarists
because their heads were shaved, but they wore lay clothing, girdles of
ox leather, and swords.

When Zych perceived Macko coming in the wagon, he rushed toward him; but
the abbot, evidently remembering his spiritual dignity, remained seated,
and began to say something to his seminarists. Zbyszko and Zych conducted
the sick Macko toward the house.

"I am not well yet," said Macko, kissing the abbot's hand, "but I came to
bow to you, my benefactor; to thank you for your care of Bogdaniec, and
to beg you for a benediction, which is most necessary for a sinful man."

"I heard you were better," said the abbot, placing his hand on Macko's
head; "and that you had promised to go to the grave of our late queen."

"Not knowing which saint's protection to ask for, I made a vow to her."

"You did well!" said the abbot, enthusiastically; "she is better than all
the others, if one only dare beseech her!"

In a moment his face became flushed with anger, his cheeks filled with
blood, his eyes began to sparkle.

They were so used to his impetuosity, that Zych began to laugh and
exclaimed:

"Strike, who believes in God!"

As for the abbot, he puffed loudly, and looked at those present; then
laughed suddenly, and having looked at Zbyszko, he asked:

"Is that your nephew and my relation?"

Zbyszko bent and kissed his hand.

"I saw him when he was a small boy; I did not recognize him," said the
abbot. "Show yourself!" And he began to look at him from head to foot,
and finally said:

"He is too handsome! It is a girl, not a knight!"

"To this Macko replied:

"That girl used to go to dancing parties with the Germans; but those who
took her, fell down and did not rise again."

"And he can stretch a crossbow without a crank!" exclaimed Jagienka.

The abbot turned toward her:

"Ah! Are you here?"

She blushed so much that her neck and ears became red, and answered:

"I saw him do it."

"Look out then, that he does not shoot you, because you will be obliged
to nurse yourself for a long time."

At this the _rybalts_, the pilgrim and the seminarists broke out with
great laughter, which confused Jagienka still more; the abbot took pity
on her, and having raised his arm, he showed her his enormous sleeve, and
said:

"Hide here, my dear girl!"

Meanwhile Zych assisted Macko to the bench and ordered some wine for him.
Jagienka went to get it. The abbot turned to Zbyszko and began to talk
thus:

"Enough of joking! I compared you to a girl, not to humiliate you, but to
praise your beauty, of which many girls would be proud. But I know that
you are a man! I have heard about your deeds at Wilno, about the Fryzes,
and about Krakow. Zych has told me all about it, understand!"

Here he began to look intently into Zbyszko's eyes, and after a while he
said:

"If you have promised three peacocks' tufts, then search for them! It is
praiseworthy and pleasing to God to persecute the foes of our nation.
But, if you have promised something else, I will release you from the
vow."

"Hej!" said Zbyszko; "when a man promises something in his soul to the
Lord Jesus, who has the power to release him?"

Macko looked with fear at the abbot; but evidently he was in an excellent
humor, because instead of becoming angry, he threatened Zbyszko with his
finger and said:

"How clever you are! But you must be careful that you do not meet the
same fate that the German, Beyhard, did."

"What happened to him?" asked Zych.

"They burned him on a pile."

"What for?"

"Because he used to say that a layman could understand God's secrets as
well as the clergy."

"They punished him severely!"

"But righteously!" shouted the abbot, "because he had blasphemed against
the Holy Ghost. What do you think? Is a layman able to interpret any of
God's secrets?"

"He cannot by any means!" exclaimed the wandering seminarists, together.

"Keep quiet, you _shpilmen_!" said the abbot; "you are not ecclesiastics,
although your heads are shaved."

"We are not '_shpilmen_,' but courtiers of Your Grace," answered one of
them, looking toward a large bucket from which the smell of hops and malt
was filling the air.

"Look! He is talking from a barrel!" exclaimed the abbot. "Hej, you
shaggy one! Why do you look at the bucket? You will not find any Latin at
the bottom of that."

"I am not looking for Latin, but for beer; but I cannot find any."

The abbot turned toward Zbyszko, who was looking with astonishment at
such courtiers as these, and said:

"They are _clerici scholares_;[83] but every one of them prefers to throw
his books aside, and taking his lute, wander through the world. I shelter
and nourish them; what else can I do? They are good for nothing, but they
know how to sing and they are familiar with God's service; therefore I
have some benefit out of them in my church, and in case of need, they
will defend me, because some of them are fierce fellows! This pilgrim
says that he was in the Holy Land; but I have asked him in vain about
some of the seas and countries; he does not know even the name of the
Greek emperor nor in what city he lives."

"I did know," said the pilgrim, in a hoarse voice; "but the fever I
caught at the Danube, shook everything out of me."

"What surprises me most is, that they wear swords, being wandering
seminarists," said Zbyszko.

"They are allowed to wear them," said the abbot, "because they have not
received orders yet; and there is no occasion for anyone to wonder
because I wear a sword even though I am an abbot. A year ago I challenged
Wilk of Brzozowa to fight for the forests which you passed; but he did
not appear."

"How could he fight with one of the clergy?" interrupted Zych.

At this the abbot became angry, struck the table with his fist, and
exclaimed:

"When I wear armor, then I am not a priest, but a nobleman! He did not
come because he preferred to have his servants attack me in Tulcza. That
is why I wear a sword: _Omnes leges, omniaque iura vim vi repellere
cunctisque sese defensare permittunt!_ That is why I gave them their
swords."

Hearing the Latin, Zych, Macko and Zbyszko became silent and bent their
heads before the abbot's wisdom, because they did not understand a word
of it; as for the abbot, he looked very angry for a while, and then he
said:

"Who knows but what he will attack me even here?"

"Owa! Let him come!" exclaimed the wandering seminarists, seizing the
hilts of their swords.

"I would like to have him attack me! I am longing for a fight."

"He will not do that," said Zych. "It is more likely that he will come to
bow to you. He gave up the forests, and now he is anxious about his son.
You know! But he can wait a long time!"

Meanwhile the abbot became quieted and said:

"I saw young Wilk drinking with Cztan of Rogow in an inn in Krzesnia.
They did not recognize us at once, because it was dark; they were talking
about Jagienka."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"And about you, too."

"What do they want from me?"

"They do not want anything from you; but they do not like it that there
is a third young man near Zgorzelice. Cztan said to Wilk: 'After I tan
his skin, he will not be so smooth.' And Wilk said: 'Perhaps he will be
afraid of us; if not, I will break his bones!' Then they assured each
other that you would be afraid of them."

Hearing this Macko looked at Zych, and Zych looked at him; their faces
expressed great cunning and joy. Neither of them was sure whether the
abbot had really heard such a conversation, or whether he was only saying
this to excite Zbyszko; but they both knew, and Macko especially, that
there was no better way to incite Zbyszko to try to win Jagienka.

The abbot added deliberately:

"It is true, they are fierce fellows!"

Zbyszko did not show any excitement; but he asked in a strange tone that
did not sound like his voice:

"To-morrow is Sunday?"

"Yes, Sunday."

"You will go to church?"

"Yes!"

"Where? to Krzesnia?"

"That is the nearest!"

"Well, all right then!"




CHAPTER IX.

Zybszko, having joined Zych and Jagienka, who were accompanying the abbot
and his retinue to Krzesnia, rode with them, because he wanted to show
the abbot that he was afraid neither of Wilk of Brzozowa, nor of Cztan of
Rogow. He was again surprised at Jagienka's beauty. He had often seen her
in Zgorzelice and Bogdaniec, dressed beautifully; but never had she
looked as she did now when going to church. Her cloak was made of red
broadcloth, lined with ermine; she wore red gloves, and on her head was a
little hood embroidered with gold, from beneath which two braids fell
down on her shoulders. She was not sitting on the horse astride, but on a
high saddle which had an arm and a little bench for her feet, which
scarcely showed from beneath her long skirt. Zych permitted the girl to
dress in a sheepskin overcoat and high-legged boots when at home, but
required that for church she should be dressed not like the daughter of a
poor _wlodyczka_,[84] but like the _panna_ of a mighty nobleman. Two
boys, dressed like pages, conducted her horse. Four servants were riding
behind with the abbot's seminarists, who were armed with swords and
carried their lutes. Zbyszko admired all the retinue, but especially
Jagienka, who looked like a picture. The abbot, who was dressed in a red
cloak, having enormous sleeves, resembled a traveling prince. The most
modest dress was worn by Zych, who requiring magnificent display for the
others, for himself cared only for singing and joy.

Zych, Zbyszko, Jagienka and the abbot rode together. At first the abbot
ordered his _shpilmen_ to sing some church songs; afterward, when he was
tired of their songs, he began to talk with Zbyszko, who smiled at his
enormous sword, which was as large as a two-handed German sword.

"I see," said he gravely, "that you wonder at my sword; the synod permits
a clergyman to wear a sword during a journey, and I am traveling. When
the holy father forbade the ecclesiastics to wear swords and red dresses,
most assuredly he meant the men of low birth, because God intended that
noblemen should wear arms; and he who would dare to take this right from
a nobleman, would oppose His eternal will."

"I saw the Mazovian Prince Henryk, when he fought in the lists," said
Zbyszko.

"We do not censure him, because he fought," answered the abbot, raising
his finger, "but because he married and married unhappily; _fornicarium_
and _bibulam_ had taken _mulierem_, whom _Bachum_ since she was young
_adorabat_, and besides that she was _adultera_, from whom no one could
expect any good." He stopped his horse and began to expound with still
greater gravity:

"Whoever wishes to marry, or to choose _uxorem_ must ascertain if she is
pious, moral, a good housekeeper and cleanly. This is recommended not
only by the fathers of the church, but also by a certain pagan sage,
called Seneca. And how can you know whether you have chosen well, if you
do not know the nest from which you take your life companion? Because
another sage has said: _Pomus nam cadit absque arbore._ As is the ox, so
is the skin; as is the mother, so is the girl. Prom which you, a sinner,
must draw this moral,--that you must look for your wife not far away, but
near; because if you get a bad one, you will cry as did the philosopher,
when his quarrelsome wife poured _aquam sordidam_ on his head."

"_In saecula saeculorum_, amen!" exclaimed in unison the wandering
seminarists, who when responding to the abbot, did not always answer
properly.

They were all listening very attentively to the abbot's words, admiring
his eloquence and his knowledge of the Scriptures; he apparently did not
speak directly to Zbyszko; but on the contrary, he turned more toward
Zych and Jagienka, as if he wished to edify them. But evidently Jagienka
understood what he was trying to do, because from beneath her long
eyelashes, she looked at Zbyszko, who frowned and dropped his head as if
he were seriously thinking about what the abbot had said.

After this the retinue moved on silently; but when they came near
Krzesnia, the abbot touched his girdle and then turned it so that he
could seize the hilt of his sword more easily, and said:

"I am sure that old Wilk of Brzozowa will come with a good retinue."

"Perhaps," replied Zych, "but I heard that he was not well."

"One of my seminarists heard that he intends to attack us in front of the
inn after the service is over."

"He will not do that without a challenge, and especially after holy
mass."

"May God, bring him to reason. I do not seek a quarrel with anybody and I
bear my wrongs patiently."

Here he looked at the _shpilmen_, and said:

"Do not draw your swords, and remember that you are spiritual servants;
but if they attack us first, then strike them!"

Zbyszko, while riding beside Jagienka, said to her:

"I am sure that in Krzesnia we will meet young Wilk and Cztan. Show me
them from afar, so that I may know them."

"Very well, Zbyszku," answered Jagienka.

"Do they not meet you before the service and after the service? What do
they do then?"

"They serve me."

"They will not serve you now, understand?" And she answered again, almost
with humility:

"Very well, Zbyszku."

Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of the wooden knockers,
there being no bells in Krzesnia. After a few moments they arrived at the
church. From the crowd in front, waiting for mass, young Wilk and Cztan
of Rogow came forward immediately; but Zbyszko jumped from his horse, and
before they could reach her, seized Jagienka and lifted her down from her
horse; then he took her by the hand, and looking at them threateningly,
conducted her to the church.

In the vestibule of the church, they were again disappointed. Both rushed
to the font of holy water, plunged their hands in, and then stretched
them toward the girl. But Zbyszko did the same, and she touched his
fingers; then having made the sign of the cross, she entered the church
with him. Then not only young Wilk, but Cztan of Rogow also,
notwithstanding his stupidity, understood that this had been done
purposely, and both were very angry. Wilk rushed out of the vestibule and
ran like a madman, not knowing where he was going. Cztan rushed after
him, although not knowing why.

They stopped at the corner of the inclosure where there were some large
stones ready for the foundation of the tower which was to be built in
Krzesnia. Then, Wilk wishing to assuage the wrath which raged in his
breast, seized one of these stones, and began to shake it; Cztan seeing
him do this, seized it also, and both began to roll it toward the church
gate.

The people looked at them with amazement, thinking that they had made
some vow, and that in this way they wished to contribute to the building
of the tower. This effort gave them relief and they came to their senses;
then they stood, pale from their exertion, puffing and looking at each
other.

Cztan of Rogow was the first to break the silence.

"What now?" asked he.

"What?" answered Wilk.

"Shall we attack him immediately?"

"How can we do that in the church?"

"Not in the church, but after mass."

"He is with Zych and the abbot. And have you forgotten that Zych said
that if there were a fight, he would refuse to let either of us visit at
Zgorzelice. But for that, I would have broken your ribs long ago."

"Or I, yours!" answered Cztan, clinching his powerful fists.

And their eyes began to sparkle threateningly; but soon they both
realized that now, more than ever, they needed to have a good
understanding. They often fought together; but after each fight, they
always became reconciled, because although they were divided by their
love for Jagienka, they could not live without each other. Now they had a
common foe and they understood that the enemy was a dangerous one.

After a while Cztan asked:

"What shall we do? Shall we send him a challenge?"

Wilk, although he was wiser, did not know what to do. Fortunately the
knockers resounded to notify the people that mass would begin. When he
heard them he said:

"What shall we do? Go to church now and after that, we will do whatever
pleases God."

Cztan of Rogow was pleased with this answer.

"Perhaps the Lord Jesus will send us an inspiration," said he.

"And will bless us," added Wilk.

"According to justice."

They went to church, and having listened devoutly to the mass, they grew
more hopeful. They did not lose their temper after mass, when Jagienka
again accepted holy water from Zbyszko. In the church-yard they bowed to
Zych, to Jagienka and even to the abbot, although he was an enemy of Wilk
of Brzozowa. They scowled at Zbyszko, but did not attempt to touch him,
although their hearts were throbbing with grief, anger and jealousy;
never before had Jagienka seemed to them to be as beautiful as she was
then. When the brilliant retinue moved on and when from afar they heard
the merry song of the ambulant seminarists, Cztan began to wipe the
perspiration from his hairy cheeks and to snort like a horse; as for
Wilk, he said, gnashing his teeth:

"To the inn! To the inn! Woe to me!" Afterward remembering what had
relieved them before, they again seized the stone and rolled it back to
its former place.

Zbyszko rode beside Jagienka, listening to the abbot's _shpilmen_ singing
merry songs; but when they had traveled five or six furlongs, he suddenly
reined in his horse, and said:

"Oh! I intended to pay for a mass to be said for uncle's health and I
forgot it; I must return."

"Do not go back!" exclaimed Jagienka; "we will send from Zgorzelice."

"No, I will return, and you must not wait for me. With God!"

"With God," said the abbot. "Go!" And his face brightened; when Zbyszko
disappeared, he touched Zych with his elbow and said:

"Do you understand?"

"What?"

"He will surely fight in Krzesnia with Wilk and Cztan; but I wished for
it and I am glad."

"They are dreadful boys! If they wound him, then what of it?"

"What of it? If he fight for Jagienka, then how can he afterward think
about that other girl, Jurandowna? From this time, Jagienka will be his
lady, not the other girl; and I wish it because he is my relative and I
like him."

"Bah! What about his vow?"

"I will give him absolution in the twinkling of an eye! Have you not
heard that I promised to absolve him?"

"Your head is wise about everything," answered Zych.

The abbot was pleased with this praise; then he approached nearer
Jagienka and asked:

"Why are you so sad?"

She leaned on the saddle, seized the abbot's hand and lifted it to her
mouth:

"Godfather, could you not send your _shpilmen_ to Krzesnia?"

"What for? They will get drunk in the inn--that's all."

"But they may prevent a quarrel."

The abbot looked into her eyes and then said sharply:

"Let them even kill him."

"Then they must kill me also!" exclaimed Jagienka.

The bitterness which had accumulated in her bosom since that conversation
about Danusia with Zbyszko, mingled with grief, now gushed forth in a
stream of tears. Seeing this, the abbot encircled her with his arm,
almost covering her with his enormous sleeve, and began to talk:

"Do not be afraid, my dear little girl. They may quarrel, but the other
boys are noblemen; they will attack him only in a chivalrous manner; they
will call him up on the field, and then he can manage for himself, even
if he be obliged to fight with both of them at once. As for Jurandowna,
about whom you have heard, I will tell you this: there is no wood growing
for a bed for the other girl."

"If he prefers the other girl, then I do not care about him," answered
Jagienka, through her tears.

"Then why do you, weep?"

"Because I am afraid for him."

"Woman's sense!" said the abbot, laughing.

Then having bent toward Jagienka's ear, he said:

"You must remember, dear girl, that even if he take you, he will be
obliged to fight just the same; a nobleman must be a knight." Here he
bent still closer and added:

"And he will take you, and before long, as God is in heaven!"

"I do not know about that!" answered Jagienka.

But she began to smile through her tears, and to look at the abbot as if
she wished to ask him how he knew it.

Meanwhile, Zbyszko having returned to Krzesnia, went directly to the
priest, because he really wished to have a mass read for Macko's health;
after having settled about that, he went to the inn, where he expected to
find young Wilk of Brzozowa, and Cztan of Rogow.

He found both of them there, and also many other people, noblemen,
farmers and a few "madcap fellows" showing different German tricks. At
first he could not recognize anybody, because the windows of the inn
being made of ox bladders, did not let in a good light; but when the
servant put some resinous wood on the fire, he noticed in the corner
behind the beer buckets, Cztan's hairy cheeks, and Wilk's furious face.

Then he walked slowly toward them, pushing aside the people; when he
reached them, he struck the table so heavily with his fist that the noise
resounded throughout the whole inn.

They arose immediately and began to turn their girdles; but before they
could grasp the hilts of their swords, Zbyszko threw down a glove, and
speaking through his nose, as the knights used to speak while
challenging, he said these words which were unexpected by everybody:

"If either of you, or any other knightly person here present, deny that
the most beautiful and most virtuous girl in the world is _Panna_ Danuta
Jurandowna of Spychow, that one I will challenge to combat, on horseback
or on foot, until the first kneeling, or until the last breath."

Wilk and Cztan were astonished as much as the abbot would have been, had
he heard Zbyszko's words; and for a while they could not say a word. Who
was this _panna_? They cared about Jagienka and not about her; and if
this youth did not care for Jagienka, then what did he wish? Why had he
made them angry in the church-yard? What did he return for, and why did
he wish to quarrel with them? These questions produced such confusion in
their minds, that they opened their mouths widely and stared at Zbyszko
as if he were not a man, but some German wonder.

But the more intelligent Wilk, who was a little familiar with chivalrous
customs and knew that often a knight served one lady, but married
another, thought that this must be a similar case, and that he must seize
the opportunity, to defend Jagienka.

Therefore he came out from behind the table, and coming close to Zbyszko,
asked threateningly:

"Then, you dog-brother, you mean to say that Jagienka Zychowna is not the
most beautiful girl in the world?"

Cztan followed him; and the people surrounded them, because they
understood that it would not end in words.




CHAPTER X.

When Jagienka reached home, she immediately sent a servant to Krzesnia to
learn whether there had been a fight in the inn, or whether there had
been a challenge. But the servant having received a _skojec_,[85] began
to drink with the priest's servants, and did not hasten. Another servant
who had been sent to Bogdaniec to inform Macko that the abbot was going
to pay him a visit, returned, having fulfilled the commission and
reported that he had seen Zbyszko playing dice with the old man. This
partly soothed Jagienka, because knowing by experience how dexterous
Zbyszko was, she was not so much afraid about a regular duel, as she was
about some unexpected accident in the inn. She wanted to accompany the
abbot to Bogdaniec, but he was not willing. He wished to talk with Macko
about the pledge and about some other important business; and then he
wanted to go there toward night. Having learned that Zbyszko had returned
home safe, he became very jovial and ordered his wandering seminarists to
sing and shout. They obeyed him so well that the forest resounded with
the noise, and in Bogdaniec, the farmers came out from their houses, and
looked to see whether there was a fire or an invasion of the enemy. The
pilgrim riding ahead, quieted them by telling them that a high
ecclesiastical dignitary was coming; therefore when they saw the abbot,
they bowed to him, and some of them even made the sign of the cross on
their chests; he seeing how they respected him, rode along with joyful
pride, pleased with the world and full of kindness toward the people.

Macko and Zbyszko having heard the singing, came to the gate to meet him.
Some of the seminarists had been in Bogdaniec before with the abbot; but
others of them having joined the retinue lately, had never seen it until
now. They were disappointed when they saw the miserable house which could
not be compared with the large mansion in Zgorzelice. But they were
reassured when they saw the smoke coming out from the thatched roof of
the house; and they were greatly pleased when upon entering the room,
they smelt saffron and different kinds of meats, and noticed two tables
full of tin dishes, empty as yet, but enormous. On the smaller table
which was prepared for the abbot, shone a silver dish and also a
beautifully engraved silver cup, both taken with the other treasures from
the Fryzes.

Macko and Zbyszko invited them to the table immediately; but the abbot
who had eaten plentifully in Zgorzelice, refused because he had something
else on his mind. Since his arrival he had looked at Zbyszko attentively
and uneasily, as if he desired to see on him some traces of the fight;
but seeing the quiet face of the youth, he began to be impatient; finally
he was unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

"Let us go into the chamber," said he, "to speak about the pledge. Do not
refuse me; that will make me angry!"

Here he turned to the seminarists and shouted:

"You keep quiet and do not listen at the door!"

Having said this, he opened the door to the chamber and entered, followed
by Zbyszko and Macko. As soon as they were seated on the chests, the
abbot turned toward the young knight:

"Did you go back to Krzesnia?" asked he.

"Yes, I was there."

"And what?"

"Well, I paid for a mass for my uncle's health, that's all."

The abbot moved on the chest impatiently.

"Ha!" thought he, "he did not meet Cztan and Wilk; perhaps they were not
there, and perhaps he did not look for them. I was mistaken."

But he was angry because he was mistaken, and because his plans had not
been realized; therefore immediately his face grew red and he began to
breathe loudly.

"Let us speak about the pledge!" said he. "Have you the money? If not,
then the estate is mine!"

Macko, who knew how to act with him, rose silently, opened the chest on
which he was sitting, and took out of it a bag of _grzywien_, evidently
prepared for this occasion, and said:

"We are poor people, but we have the money; we will pay what is right, as
it is written in the 'letter' which I signed with the mark of the holy
cross. If you want to be paid for the improvements, we will not quarrel
about that either; we will pay the amount you say, and we will bow to
you, our benefactor."

Having said this, he kneeled at the abbot's knee and Zbyszko did the
same. The abbot, who expected some quarrels and arguing, was very much
surprised at such a proceeding, and not very much pleased with it; he
wanted to dictate some conditions and he saw that he would have no
opportunity to do so.

Therefore returning the "letter" or rather the mortgage which Macko had
signed with a cross, he said:

"Why are you talking to me about an additional payment?"

"Because we do not want to receive any presents," answered Macko
cunningly, knowing well that the more he quarreled in that matter the
more he would get.

At this the abbot reddened with anger:

"Did you ever see such people? They do not wish to accept anything from a
relative! You have too much bread! I did not take waste land and I do not
return it waste; and if I want to give you this bag, I will do it!"

"You would not do that!" exclaimed Macko.

"I will not do it! Here is your pledge! Here is your money! I give it
because I want to, and had I even thrown it into the road, it would be
none of your affairs. You shall see if I will not do as I wish!"

Having said this, he seized the bag and threw it on the floor so hard
that it burst, and the money was scattered.

"May God reward you! May God reward you, father and benefactor!"
exclaimed Macko, who had been waiting for this; "I would not accept it
from anyone else, but from a relation and a spiritual father, I will
accept it."

The abbot looked threateningly at both of them, and finally he said:

"Although I am angry, I know what I am doing; therefore hold what you
have, because I assure you that you shall not have one _skojeo_ more."

"We did not expect even this."

"You know that Jagienka will inherit everything I have."

"The land also?" asked Macko, simply.

"The land also!" shouted the abbot.

At this Macko's face grew long, but he recovered himself and said:

"Ej, why should you think about death! May the Lord Jesus grant you a
hundred years or more of life, and an important bishopric soon."

"Certainly! Am I worse than others?" said the abbot.

"Not worse, but better!"

These words appeased the abbot, for his anger never lasted long.

"Well," said he, "you are my relations, and she is only my goddaughter;
but I love her, and Zych also. There is no better man in the world than
Zych and no better girl than Jagienka, also! Who can say anything against
them?"

He began to look angry, but Macko did not contradict; he quickly affirmed
that there was no worthier neighbor in the whole kingdom.

"And as for the girl," said he, "I could not love my own daughter any
more than I love her. With her help, I recovered my health and I shall
never forget it until my death."

"You will both be punished if you forget it," said the abbot, "and I will
curse you. But I do not wish to wrong you, therefore I have found a way
by which, what I will leave after my death, can belong to you and to
Jagienka; do you understand?"

"May God help us to realize that!" answered Macko. "Sweet Jesus! I would
go on foot to the grave of the queen in Krakow or to Lysa Gora[86] to bow
to the Holy Cross."

The abbot was very much pleased with such sincerity; he smiled and said:

"The girl is perfectly right to be particular in her choice, because she
is pretty, rich and of good family! Of what account are Cztan or Wilk,
when the son of a _wojewoda_ would not be too good for her! But if
somebody, as myself for instance, spoke in favor of any particular one,
then she would marry him, because she loves me and knows that I will
advise her well."

"The one whom you advise her to marry, will be very lucky," said Macko.

But the abbot turned to Zbyszko:

"What do you say to this?"

"Well, I think the same as my uncle does."

The face of the abbot became still more serene; he struck Zbyszko's
shoulder with his hand so hard that the blow resounded in the chamber,
and asked:

"Why did you not let Cztan or Wilk approach Jagienka at church?"

"Because I did not want them to think that I was afraid of them, and I
did not want you to think so."

"But you gave the holy water to her."

"Yes, I did."

The abbot gave him another blow.

"Then, take her!"

"Take her!" exclaimed Macko, like an echo.

At this Zbyszko gathered up his hair, put it in the net, and answered
quietly:

"How can I take her, when before the altar in Tyniec, I made a vow to
Danusia Jurandowna?"

"You made a vow about the peacock's tufts, and you must get them, but
take Jagienka immediately."

"No," answered Zbyszko; "afterward when Danusia covered me with her veil,
I promised that I would marry her."

The blood began to rush to the abbot's face; his ears turned blue, and
his eyes bulged; he approached Zbyszko and said, in a voice muffled with
anger:

"Your vows are the chaff and I am the wind; understand! Ot!"

And he blew on Zbyszko's head so powerfully, that the net fell off and
the hair was scattered on his shoulders. Then Zbyszko frowned, and
looking into the abbot's eyes, he said:

"In my vows is my honor, and over my honor, I alone am the guardian!"

At this, the abbot not being accustomed to opposition, lost his breath to
such a degree, that for a time he could not speak. There was an
ill-omened silence, which finally was broken by Macko:

"Zbyszku!" exclaimed he, "come to your wits again! What is the matter
with you?"

Meanwhile the abbot raised his hand and pointing toward the youth, began
to shout:

"What is the matter with him? I know what is the matter; he has not the
heart of a nobleman, nor of a knight, but of a hare! That is the matter
with him; he is afraid of Cztan and Wilk!"

But Zbyszko, who had remained cool and calm, carelessly shrugged his
shoulders and answered:

"Owa! I broke their heads when I was in Krzesnia."

"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed Macko.

The abbot stared for a while at Zbyszko. Anger was struggling with
admiration in him, and his reason told him that from that fight, he might
derive some benefit for his plans.

Therefore having become cooler, he shouted to Zbyszko:

"Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"Because I was ashamed. I thought they would challenge me, as it is
customary for knights to do, to fight on horseback or on foot; but they
are bandits, not knights. Wilk first took a board from the table, Cztan
seized another and they both rushed against me! What could I do? I seized
a bench; well--you know!"

"Are they still alive?" asked Macko.

"Yes, they are alive, but they were hurt. They breathed when I left."

The abbot, rubbing his forehead, listened; then he suddenly jumped from
the chest, on which he had seated himself to be more comfortable and to
think the matter over, and exclaimed:

"Wait! I want to tell you something!"

"What?" asked Zbyszko.

"If you fought for Jagienka and injured them for her sake, then you are
really her knight, not Danusia's; and you must take Jagienka."

Having said this, he put his hands on his hips and looked at Zbyszko
triumphantly; but Zbyszko smiled and said:

"Hej! I knew very well why you wanted me to fight with them; but you have
not succeeded in your plans."

"Why? Speak!"

"Because I challenged them to deny that Danusia Jurandowna is the
prettiest and the most virtuous girl in the world; they took Jagienka's
part, and that is why there was a fight."

Having heard this, the abbot stood amazed, and only the frequent movement
of his eyes indicated that he was still alive. Finally he turned, opened
the door with his foot, and rushed into the other room; there he seized
the curved stick from the pilgrim's hands and began to strike the
_shpilmen_ with it, roaring like a wounded urus.

"To horse, you rascals! To horse, you dog-faiths! I will not put my foot
in this house again! To horse, he who believes in God, to horse!"

Then he opened the outer door and went into the court-yard, followed by
the frightened seminarists. They rushed to the stable and began to saddle
the horses. In vain Macko followed the abbot, and entreated him to
remain; swore that it was not his fault. The abbot cursed the house, the
people and the fields; when they brought him a horse, he jumped in the
saddle without touching the stirrups and galloped away looking, with his
large sleeves filled by the wind, like an enormous red bird. The
seminarists rushed after him, like a herd following its leader.

Macko stood looking after them for some time; but when they disappeared
in the forest, he returned slowly to the room and said to Zbyszko,
shaking his head sadly:

"See what you have done?"

"It would not have happened if I had gone away; and it is your fault that
I did not."

"Why?"

"Because I did not wish to leave you when you were sick."

"And what will you do now?"

"Now I shall go."

"Where?"

"To Mazowsze to see Danusia; and after that to search for peacock's tufts
among the Germans."

Macko was silent for a moment, then he said:

"He returned the 'letter,' but the mortgage is recorded in the
mortgage-book at the court. Now the abbot will not give us even a
_skojec_."

"I do not care. You have money, and I do not need anything for my
journey. I will be received everywhere and my horses will be fed; if I
only had a suit of armor on my back and a sword in my hand, I would need
nothing else."

Macko began to think about everything that had happened. All his plans
and wishes had been frustrated. He had wished with his whole heart that
Zbyszko would marry Jagienka; but he now realized that this wish would
never be fulfilled; and considering the abbot's anger, the behavior of
Zbyszko toward Jagienka and finally the fight with Cztan and Wilk, he
concluded it would be better to allow Zbyszko to go.

"Ha!" said he, finally, "if you must seek for the peacock's feathers on
the heads of the Knights of the Cross, go then. Let the Lord Jesus' will
be accomplished. But I must go immediately to Zgorzelice; perhaps I will
succeed in appeasing their wrath if I implore pardon of the abbot and of
Zych; I care especially for the friendship of Zych."

Here he looked into Zbyszko's eyes and asked:

"Do you not regret Jagienka?"

"May God give her health and the best of everything!" answered Zbyszko.


END OF PART SECOND.




PART THIRD.




CHAPTER I.

Macko waited patiently for several days, hoping to receive some news from
Zgorzelice, or to hear that the abbot's anger had been appeased; finally
he became impatient and determined to go personally to see Zych.
Everything had happened contrary to his wishes, and now he was anxious to
know whether Zych was angry with him. He was afraid that the abbot would
never be reconciled with Zbyszko and him. He wanted, however, to do
everything he could, to soften that anger; therefore while riding, he was
thinking what he would say in Zgorzelice, to palliate the offence and
preserve the old friendship with his neighbor. His thoughts, however,
were not clear, therefore he was glad to find Jagienka alone; the girl
received him as usual with a bow and kissed his hand,--in a word, she was
friendly, but a little sad.

"Is your father home?" asked he.

"He went out hunting with the abbot. They may be back at any moment."

Having said this, she conducted him into the house, where they both sat
in silence for a long time; the girl spoke first, and said:

"Are you lonely now in Bogdaniec?"

"Very lonely," answered Macko. "Then you knew that Zbyszko had gone
away?"

Jagienka sighed softly:

"Yes, I knew it the very same day; I thought he would come here to bid me
good-bye, but he did not."

"How could he come!" said Macko. "The abbot would have torn him to
pieces; neither would your father have welcomed him."

She shook her head and said:

"Ej! I would not allow anybody to injure him."

Upon this Macko hugged the girl and said:

"God be with you, girl! You are sad, but I also am sad. Let me tell you
that neither the abbot nor your own father loves you more than I do. I
wish that Zbyszko had chosen you, and not another."

There came upon Jagienka such a moment of grief and longing, that she
could not conceal her feelings, but said:

"I shall never see him again, or if I see him, it will be with
Jurandowna, and then I will cry my eyes out."

She raised her apron and covered her eyes, which were filled with tears.

Macko said:

"Stop crying! He has gone, but with God's grace, he will not come back
with Jurandowna."

"Why not?" said Jagienka, from behind her apron.

"Because Jurand does not want to give him the girl."

Then Jagienka suddenly uncovered her face, and having turned toward
Macko, said to him:

"Zbyszko told me that; but is it true?"

"As true as that God is in heaven."

"But why?"

"Who knows why. Some vow, or something like that, and there is no
remission for vows! He liked Zbyszko, because the boy promised to help
him in his vengeance; but even that was useless. Jurand would listen
neither to persuasion, nor to command, nor to prayers. He said he could
not. Well, there must be some reason why he could not do it, and he will
not change his mind, because he is stern and unyielding. Don't lose hope
but cheer up. Rightly speaking, the boy was obliged to go, because he had
sworn in the church to secure three peacocks' crests. Then, also, the
girl covered him with her veil, which was a sign that she would take him
for her husband; otherwise they would have beheaded him; for that, he
must be grateful to her--one cannot deny it. With God's help, she will
not be his; but according to the law, he is hers. Zych is angry with him;
the abbot has sent a plague upon him, so that his skin shivers; I am
angry also, but if one thinks carefully, what else could he do? Since he
belonged to the other girl, he was obliged to go. He is a nobleman. But I
tell you this; if the Germans do not kill him, then he will come back;
and he will come back not only to me an old man, not only to Bogdaniec,
but to you, because he was very fond of you."

"I don't believe he was!" said Jagienka.

But she drew near Macko, and having touched him with her elbow, she
asked:

"How do you know it? I am sure that is not true."

"How do I know?" answered Macko. "I saw how difficult it was for him to
go away. When it was decided that he must go, I asked him: 'Do you not
regret Jagienka?' and he said: 'May God give her health and the best of
everything.' Then immediately he began to sigh."

"I am sure that it is not true!" said Jagienka, softly; "but tell me
again."

"As God is dear to me, it is true! After seeing you, he will not care for
the other girl, because you know yourself that there is no girl more
beautiful than you in the whole world. He has felt God's will toward
you--do not fear--perhaps even more than you have felt it toward him."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Jagienka. Then she again covered her face, which
was as rosy as an apple, with her sleeve; Macko smiled, passed his hand
over his moustache and said:

"Hej! if I were only younger; but you must comfort yourself, because I
see how it will be. He will get his spurs at the Mazowiecki court,
because that is near the boundary and it is not difficult to kill a
Krzyzak there. I know that there are good knights among the Germans; but
I think that it will take a very good one to defeat Zbyszko. See how he
routed Cztan of Rogow and Wilk of Brzozowa, although they are said to be
dreadful boys and as strong as bears. He will bring his crests, but he
will not bring Jurandowna."

"But when will he return?"

"Bah I if you are not willing to wait, then you will not be wronged.
Repeat what I have told you to the abbot and to Zych; perhaps they will
not be so angry with Zbyszko."

"How can I tell them anything? _Tatus_ is more sorrowful than angry; but
it is dangerous even to mention Zbyszko's name to the abbot. He scolded
me because I sent Zbyszko a servant."

"What servant?"

"We had a Czech, whom _tatus_ captured at Boleslawiec, a good, faithful
boy. His name was Hlawa. _Tatus_ gave him to my service, because he was a
_wlodyka_; I gave him a worthy armor and sent him to Zbyszko, to serve
and protect him. I also gave him a bag of money for the journey. He
promised me that he would serve Zbyszko faithfully until death."

"My dear girl! may God reward you! Was Zych opposed to your doing it?"

"Yes, at first _tatus_ did not want to let me do it; but when I began to
coax him, then he consented. When the abbot heard about it from his
seminarists, he immediately rushed out of the room swearing; there was
such a disturbance, that _tatus_ escaped to the barn. Toward evening, the
abbot took pity on my tears and even made me a present of some beads."

"As God is dear to me, I do not know whether I love Zbyszko any better
than I love you; but he had a worthy retinue. I also gave him money,
although he did not want to take it. Well, the Mazurs are not beyond the
seas."

The conversation was interrupted by the barking of dogs, by shouting and
by the sounds of brass trumpets in front of the house. Having heard this,
Jagienka said:

"_Tatus_ and the abbot have returned from hunting. Let us go outside; it
will be better for the abbot to see you there, and not to meet you
unexpectedly in the house."

Having said this, she conducted Macko out-of-doors; in the courtyard, on
the snow they perceived a throng of men, horses and dogs, also elks and
wolves pierced with spears or shot with crossbows. The abbot saw Macko
before he dismounted, and hurled a spear toward him, not to strike him,
but to show in that way, his great anger against the inhabitants of
Bogdaniec. But Macko uncovered and bowed to him as if he noticed nothing
unusual; Jagienka, however, had not noticed the abbot's action, because
she was very much surprised to see her two wooers in the retinue.

"Cztan and Wilk are here!" she exclaimed; "I presume they met _tatus_ in
the forest."

Immediately the thought ran through Macko's mind, that perhaps one of
them would get Jagienka, and with her Moczydoly, the abbot's lands,
forests and money. Then grief and anger filled his heart, especially when
he perceived what occurred. Behold, Wilk of Brzozowa, although only a
short time before the abbot wanted to fight with his father, sprang to
the abbot's stirrups, and helped him to dismount; and the abbot leaned in
a friendly manner on the young nobleman's shoulder.

"In that way, the abbot will become reconciled with old Wilk," thought
Macko, "and he will give the forests and the lands with the girl."

His sad thoughts were interrupted by Jagienka who said:

"They are soon cured after Zbyszko's beating; but even if they come here
every day, it will not benefit them!"

Macko looked and saw that the girl's face was red with anger, and that
her blue eyes sparkled with indignation, although she knew very well that
Cztan and Wilk had taken her part in the inn, and had been beaten on her
account.

Therefore Macko said:

"Bah! you will do as the abbot commands."

She immediately retorted:

"The abbot will do what I wish."

"Gracious Lord!" thought Macko, "and that stupid Zbyszko left such a
girl!"




CHAPTER II.

Zbyszko had left Bogdaniec with a sad heart indeed. In the first place he
felt strange without his uncle, from whom he had never been separated
before, and to whom he was so accustomed, that he did not know how he
would get along without him during the journey, as well as in the war.
Then he regretted Jagienka. Although he was going to Danusia whom he
loved dearly, still he had been so comfortable and happy with Jagienka,
that now he felt sad without her. He was surprised himself at his grief,
and even somewhat alarmed about it. He would not have minded if he longed
for Jagienka only as a brother longs for a sister; but he noticed that he
longed to embrace her, to put her on horseback, to carry her over the
brooks, to wring the water from her tress, to wander with her in the
forest, to gaze at her, and to converse with her. He was so accustomed to
doing all this and it was so pleasant, that when he began to think about
it, he forgot that he was going on a long journey to Mazury; instead of
that, he remembered the moment when Jagienka helped him in the forest,
when he was struggling with the bear. It seemed to him as though it
happened only yesterday; also as though it were only yesterday when they
went to the Odstajny lake for beavers. Then he recalled how beautifully
she was dressed when going to church in Krzesnia, and how surprised he
was that such a simple girl should appear like the daughter of a mighty
lord. All these thoughts filled his heart with uneasiness, sweetness, and
sadness.

"Had I only bid her good-bye," he said to himself, "perhaps I would feel
easier now."

Finally he became afraid of these reminiscences, and he shook them from
his mind like dry snow from his mantle.

"I am going to Danusia, to my dearest," he said to himself.

He noticed that this was a more holy love. Gradually his feet grew colder
in the stirrups, and the cold wind cooled his blood. All his thoughts now
turned to Danusia Jurandowna. He belonged to her without any doubt; but
for her, he would have been beheaded on the Krakowski square. When she
said in the presence of the knights and burghers: "He is mine!" she
rescued him from the hands of the executioners; from that time, he
belonged to her, as a slave to his master. Jurand's opposition was
useless. She alone could drive him away; and even then he would not go
far, because he was bound by his vow. He imagined, however, that she
would not drive him away; but rather that she would follow him from the
Mazowiecki court, even to the end of the world. Then he began to praise
her to himself to Jagienka's disadvantage, as if it were her fault, that
temptations assailed him and his heart was divided. Now he forgot that
Jagienka cured old Macko; he forgot that without her help, the bear would
have torn him to pieces; and he became enraged with her, hoping in this
way to please Danusia and to justify himself in his own eyes.

At this moment the Czech, Hlawa, sent by Jagienka, arrived, leading a
horse.

"Be blessed!" said he, with a low bow.

Zbyszko had seen him once or twice in Zgorzelice, but he did not
recognize him; therefore he said:

"Be blessed for ages and ages! Who are you?"

"Your servant, famous lord."

"What do you mean? These are my servants," said Zbyszko, pointing to the
two Turks, given to him by Sulimczyk Zawisza, and to two sturdy men who
sitting on horseback, were leading the knight's stallions; "these are
mine; who sent you?"

"_Panna_ Jagienka Zychowna of Zgorzelice."

"_Panna_ Jagienka?"

A while ago, Zbyszko had been angry with her and his heart was still full
of wrath; therefore he said:

"Return home and thank the _panna_ for the favor; I do not want you."

But the Czech shook his head.

"I cannot return. They have given me to you; besides that, I have sworn
to serve you until death."

"If they gave you to me, then you are my servant."

"Yours, sir."

"Then I command you to return."

"I have sworn; although I am a prisoner from Boleslawiec and a poor boy,
still I am a _wlodyczka_."[87]

Zbyszko became angry:

"Go away! What; are you going to serve me against my will? Go away,
before I order my servants to bend their crossbows."

But the Czech quietly untied a broadcloth mantle, lined with wolf-skins,
handed it to Zbyszko and said:

"_Panna_ Jagienka sent you this, also, sir."

"Do you wish me to break your bones?" asked Zbyszko, taking a spear from
an attendant.

"Here is also a bag of money for your disposal," answered the Czech.

Zbyszko was ready to strike him with the lance, but he recollected that
the boy, although a prisoner, was by birth a _wlodyka_, who had remained
with Zych only because he did not have money to pay his ransom;
consequently Zbyszko dropped the spear.

Then the Czech bent to his stirrups and said:

"Be not angry, sir. If you do not wish me to accompany you, I will follow
you at a distance of one or two furlongs; but I must go, because I have
sworn to do so upon the salvation of my soul."

"If I order my servants to kill you or to bind you?"

"If you order them to kill me, that will not be my sin; and if you order
them to bind me, then I will remain until some good people untie me, or
until the wolves devour me."

Zbyszko did not reply; he urged his horse forward and his attendants
followed him. The Czech with a crossbow and an axe on his shoulder,
followed them, shielding himself with a shaggy bison skin, because a
sharp wind carrying flakes of snow, began to blow. The storm grew worse
and worse. The Turks, although dressed in sheepskin coats, were chilled
with cold; Zbyszko himself, not being dressed very warmly, glanced
several times at the mantle lined with wolf-fur, which Hlawa had brought
him; after a while, he told one of the Turks to give it to him.

Having wrapped himself with it carefully, he felt a warmth spreading all
over his body. He covered his eyes and the greater part of his face with
the hood of the mantle, so that the wind did not annoy him any more.
Then, involuntarily, he thought how good Jagienka had been to him. He
reined in his horse, called the Czech, and asked him about her, and about
everything that had happened in Zgorzelice.

"Does Zych know that the _panna_ sent you to me?" he said.

"He knows it," answered Hlawa.

"Was he not opposed to it?"

"He was."

"Tell me then all about it."

"The _pan_ was walking in the room and the _panna_ followed him. He
shouted, but the _panienka_ said nothing; but when he turned toward her,
she kneeled but did not utter one word. Finally the _panisko_[88] said:
'Have you become deaf, that you do not answer my questions? Speak then;
perhaps I will consent.' Then the _panna_ understood that she could do as
she wished and began to thank him. The _pan_ reproached her, because she
had persuaded him, and complained that he must always do as she wished;
finally he said: 'Promise me that you will not go secretly to bid him
good-bye; then I will consent, but not otherwise.' Then the _panienka_
became very sorrowful, but she promised; the _pan_ was satisfied, because
the abbot and he were both afraid that she would see you. Well, that was
not the end of it; afterward the _panna_ wanted to send two horses, but
the _pan_ would not consent; the _panna_ wanted to send a wolf-skin and a
bag of money, but the _pan_ refused. His refusal did not amount to
anything, however! If she wanted to set the house on fire, the _panisko_
would finally consent. Therefore I brought two horses, a wolf-skin and a
bag of money."

"Good girl!" thought Zbyszko. After a while he asked:

"Was there no trouble with the abbot?" The Czech, an intelligent
attendant, who understood what happened around him, smiled and answered:

"They were both careful to keep everything secret from the abbot; I do
not know what happened when he learned about it, after I left Zgorzelice.
Sometimes he shouts at the _panienka_; but afterward he watches her to
see if he did not wrong her. I saw him myself one time after he had
scolded her, go to his chest and bring out such a beautiful chain that
one could not get a better one even in Krakow, and give it to her. She
will manage the abbot also, because her own father does not love her any
more than he does."

"That is certainly true."

"As God is in heaven!"

Then they became silent and rode along amidst wind and snow. Suddenly
Zbyszko reined in his horse; from the forest beside the road, there was
heard a plaintive voice, half stifled by the roar of the wind:

"Christians, help God's servant in his misfortune!"

Thereupon a man who was dressed partly in clerical clothing, rushed to
the road and began to cry to Zbyszko:

"Whoever you are, sir, help a fellow-creature who has met with a dreadful
accident!"

"What has happened to you, and who are you?" asked the young knight.

"I am God's servant, although not yet ordained; this morning the horse
which was carrying my chests containing holy things, ran away. I remained
alone, without weapons; evening is approaching, and soon the wild beasts
will begin to roar in the forest. I shall perish, unless you succor me."

"If I let you perish," answered Zbyszko, "I will be accountable for your
sins; but how can I believe that you are speaking the truth. You may be a
highway robber, like many others wandering on the roads!"

"You may believe me, sir, for I will show you the chests. Many a man
would give a purse full of gold for what is in them; but I will give you
some of it for nothing, if you take me and the chests with you."

"You told me that you were God's servant, and yet you do not know that
one must give help, not for earthly recompense, but for spiritual reward.
But how is it that you have the chests now if the horse carried them
away?"

"The wolves devoured the horse in the forest, but the chests remained; I
brought them to the road, and then waited for mercy and help."

Wishing to prove that he was speaking the truth, he pointed to two chests
made of leather, lying under a pine tree. Zbyszko still looked at him
suspiciously, because the man did not look honest, and his speech
indicated that he came from a distant part of the country. He did not
refuse to help him, however, but permitted him to ride the horse led by
the Czech and take the chests, which proved to be very light.

"May God multiply your victories, valiant knight!" said the stranger.

Then, seeing Zbyszko's youthful face, he added softly:

"And the hairs of your beard, also."

He rode beside the Czech. For a time they could not talk, because a
strong wind was blowing, and roaring in the forest; but when it
decreased, Zbyszko heard the following conversation behind him.

"I don't deny that you were in Rome; but you look like a beer drunkard,"
said the Czech.

"Look out for eternal damnation," answered the stranger; "you are talking
to a man who last Easter ate hard boiled eggs with the holy father. Don't
speak to me in such cold weather about beer; but if you have a flask of
wine with you, then give me two or three swallows of it, and I will
pardon you a month of purgatory."

"You have not been ordained; I heard you say you had not. How then can
you grant me pardon for a month of purgatory?"

"I have not received ordination, but I have my head shaved, because I
received permission for that; beside, I am carrying indulgences and
relics."

"In the chests?" asked the Czech.

"Yes, in the chests. If you saw all I have there, you would fall on your
face, not only you, but all the pines in the forest and all the wild
beasts."

But the Czech, being an intelligent and experienced attendant, looked
suspiciously at this peddler of indulgences, and said:

"The wolves devoured your horse?"

"Yes, they devoured him, because they are the devil's relatives. If you
have any wine, give me some; although the wind has ceased, yet I am
frozen, having sat by the road so long."

The Czech would not give him any wine; and they rode along silently,
until the stranger began to ask:

"Where are you going?"

"Far. At first to Sieradz. Are you going with us?"

"I must. I will sleep in the stable, and perhaps to-morrow this pious
knight will give me a present of a horse; then I will go further."

"Where are you from?"

"From under Prussian lords, not far from Marienburg."

Having heard this, Zbyszko turned and motioned to the stranger to come
nearer to him.

"Did you come from Marienburg?" said he

"Yes, sir."

"But are you a German? You speak our language very well. What is your
name?"

"I am a German, and they call me Sanderus; I speak your language well,
because I was born in Torun, where everybody speaks that language; then I
lived in Marienburg, and there it is the same. Bah! even the brothers of
the Order understand your language."

"How long since you left Marienburg?"

"I was in the Holy Land, then in Constantinople, and in Rome; thence
through France I came to Marienburg and from there I was going to
Mazowsze, carrying the holy relics which pious Christians buy willingly,
for the salvation of their souls."

"Have you been in Plock or in Warszawa?"

"I was in both cities. May God give good health to both of the
princesses! Princess Alexandra is greatly esteemed even by the Prussian
lords, because she is a pious lady; the princess Anna Januszowna is also
pious."

"Did you see the court in Warszawa?"

"I did not see it in Warszawa but in Ciechanow, where both the princesses
received me hospitably, and gave me munificent presents, as God's servant
deserves to receive. I left them relics, which will bring them God's
blessing."

Zbyszko wanted to ask about Danusia; but he understood that it would be
unwise to make a confidant of this stranger, a man of low origin.
Therefore, after a short silence, he asked:

"What kind of relics are you carrying?"

"I carry indulgences and relics; the indulgences are different kinds;
there are total indulgences, some for five hundred years, some for three
hundred, some for two hundred and some for less time, which are cheaper,
so that even poor people can buy them and shorten the torments of
purgatory. I have indulgences for future and for past sins; but don't
think, sir, that I keep the money I receive for them. I am satisfied with
a piece of black bread and a glass of water--that is all for me; the rest
I carry to Rome, to accumulate enough for a new crusade. It is true,
there are many swindlers who carry false indulgences, false relics, false
seals and false testimonials; and they are righteously pursued by the
holy father's letters; but I was wronged by the prior of Sieradz, because
my seals are authentic. Look, sir, at the wax and tell me what you think
of them."

"What about the prior of Sieradz?"

"Ah, sir! I fear that he is infected with Wiklef's heresy. If, as your
shield-bearer told me, you are going to Sieradz, it will be better for me
not to show myself to him, because I do not want to lead him into the sin
of blasphemy against holy things."

"This means, speaking frankly, that he thinks that you are a swindler."

"If the question were about myself, I would pardon him for the sake of
brotherly love; but he has blasphemed against my holy wares, for which, I
am very much afraid, he will be eternally damned."

"What kind of holy wares have you?"

"It is not right to talk about them with covered head; but this time,
having many indulgences ready, I give you, sir, permission to keep your
cowl on, because the wind is blowing again. For that you will buy an
indulgence and the sin will not be counted against you. What have I not?
I have a hoof of the ass on which the Holy Family rode during the flight
into Egypt; it was found near the pyramids. The king of Aragon offered me
fifty ducats for it. I have a feather from the wings of the archangel
Gabriel, which he dropped during the annunciation; I have the heads of
two quails, sent to the Israelites in the desert; I have the oil in which
the heathen wanted to fry St. John; a step of the ladder about which
Jacob dreamed; the tears of St. Mary of Egypt and some rust of St.
Peter's keys. But I cannot mention any more. I am very cold and your
shield-bearer would not give me any wine."

"Those are great relics, if they are authentic!" said Zbyszko.

"If they are authentic? Take the spear from your attendant and aim it,
because the devil is near and brings such thoughts to you. Hold him, sir,
at the length of the spear. If you do not wish to bring some misfortune
on yourself, then buy an indulgence from me; otherwise within three weeks
somebody whom you love, will die."

Zbyszko was frightened at this threat, because he thought about Danusia,
and said:

"It is not I, but the prior of the Dominicans in Sieradz who does not
believe."

"Look, sir, for yourself, at the wax on the seals; as for the prior, I do
not know whether he is still living, because God's justice is quick."

But when they came to Sieradz they found the prior alive. Zbyszko went to
see him, and purchased two masses; one of which was to be read to insure
success for Macko's vow, and the other to insure success for his vow to
obtain three peacocks' crests. The prior was a foreigner, having been
born in Cylia; but during his forty years' residence in Sieradz, he had
learned the Polish language very well, and was a great enemy of the
Knights of the Cross. Therefore, having learned about Zbyszko's
enterprise, he said:

"A still greater punishment will fall upon them; but I shall not dissuade
you, because you promised it upon your knightly honor; neither can there
be punishment enough administered by Polish hands for the wrongs they
hare perpetrated in this land."

"What have they done?" asked Zbyszko, who was anxious to hear about the
iniquities of the Knights of the Cross.




CHAPTER III.

The old prior crossed his hands and began to recite aloud "The eternal
rest;"[89] then he sat down on a bench and kept his eyes closed for a
while as if to collect his thoughts; finally he began to talk:

"Wincenty of Szamotul brought them here. I was twenty years old then, and
I had just come from Cylia with my uncle Petzoldt. The Krzyzaks attacked
the town and set it on fire. We could see from the walls, how in the
market square they cut men and women's heads off, and how they threw
little children into the fire. They even killed the priests, because in
their fury they spared nobody. The prior Mikolaj, having been born in
Elblong, was acquainted with _Comthur_ Herman, the chief of their army.
Therefore he went accompanied by the senior brothers, to that dreadful
knight, and having kneeled before him, entreated him in German, to have
pity on Christian blood. _Comthur_ Herman replied: "I do not understand,"
and ordered his soldiers to continue killing the people. They slaughtered
the monks also, among them my uncle Petzoldt; the prior Mikolaj was tied
to a horse's tail. The next morning there was no man alive in this town
except the Krzyzaks and myself. I hid on a beam in the belfry. God
punished them at Plowce;[90] but they still want to destroy this
Christian kingdom, and nothing will deter them unless God's arm crush
them."

"At Plowce," said Zbyszko, "almost all the men of my family perished; but
I do not regret it, for God granted a great victory to the king
Lokietek,[91] and twenty thousand Germans were destroyed.

"You will see a still greater war and a greater victory," said the prior.

"Amen!" answered Zbyszko.

Then they began to talk about other matters. The young knight asked about
the peddler of relics whom he met on the road. He learned that many
similar swindlers were wandering on the roads, cheating credulous people.
The prior also told him that there were papal bulls ordering the bishops
to examine such peddlers and immediately punish those who did not have
authentic letters and seals. The testimonials of the stranger seemed
spurious to the prior; therefore he wanted to deliver him to the bishop's
jurisdiction. If he proved that he was sent by the pope, then no harm
would be done him. He escaped, however. Perhaps he was afraid of the
delay in his journey; but on account of this flight, he had drawn on
himself still greater suspicion.

The prior invited Zbyszko to remain and pass the night in the monastery;
but he would not, because he wanted to hang in front of the inn an
inscription challenging all knights who denied that _Panna_ Danuta
Jurandowna was the most beautiful and the most virtuous girl in the
kingdom, to a combat on horseback or on foot. It was not proper to hang
such a challenge over the gate of the monastery. When he arrived at the
inn, he asked for Sanderus.

"The prior thinks you are a scoundrel," said Zbyszko, "because he said:
'Why should he be afraid of the bishop's judgment, if he had good
testimonials?'"

"I am not afraid of the bishop," answered Sanderus; "I am afraid of the
monks, who do not know anything about seals. I wanted to go to Krakow,
but I have no horse; therefore I must wait until somebody makes me a
present of one. Meanwhile, I will send a letter, and I will put my own
seal on it."

"If you show that you know how to write, that will prove that you are not
a churl; but how will you send the letter?"

"By some pilgrim, or wandering monk. There are many people going on a
pilgrimage to the queen's tomb."

"Can you write a card for me?"

"I will write, sir, even on a board, anything you wish."

"I think it will be better on a board," said Zbyszko, "because it will
not tear and I can use it again later on."

In fact, after awhile the attendants brought a new board and Sanderus
wrote on it. Zbyszko could not read what was written on the board; but he
ordered it fastened with nails on the door of the inn, under it to be
hung a shield, which was watched by the Turks alternately. Whoever struck
the shield would declare that he wished to fight. But neither that day
nor the following day, did the shield resound from a blow; and in the
afternoon the sorrowful knight was ready to pursue his journey.

Before that, however, Sanderus came to Zbyszko and said to him:

"Sir, if you hang your shield in the land of the Prussian lords, I am
sure your shield-bearer will buckle your armor."

"What do you mean! Don't you know that a Krzyzak, being a monk, cannot
have a lady nor be in love with one, because it is forbidden him."

"I do not know whether it is forbidden them or not; but I know that they
have them. It is true that a Krzyzak cannot fight a duel without bringing
reproach on himself, because he swore that he would fight only for the
faith; but besides the monks, there are many secular knights from distant
countries, who came to help the Prussian lords. They are looking for some
one to fight with, and especially the French knights."

"_Owa!_ I saw them at Wilno, and with God's permission I shall see them
in Marienburg. I need the peacocks' crests from their helmets, because I
made a vow--do you understand?"

"Sir, I will sell you two or three drops of the perspiration, which St.
George shed while fighting with the dragon. There is no relic, which
could be more useful to a knight. Give me the horse for it, on which you
permitted me to ride; then I will also give you an indulgence for the
Christian blood which you will shed in the fight."

"Let me be, or I shall become angry. I shall not buy your wares until I
know they are genuine."

"You are going, sir, so you have said, to the Mazowiecki court. Ask there
how many relics they bought from me, the princess herself, the knights
and the girls for their weddings, at which I was present."

"For what weddings?" asked Zbyszko.

"As is customary before advent, the knights were marrying as soon as they
could, because the people are expecting that there will be a war between
the Polish king and the Prussian lords about the province of Dobrzyn.
Therefore some of them say: 'God knows whether I shall return.'"

Zbyszko was very anxious to hear about the war, but still more anxious to
hear about the weddings, of which Sanderus was talking; therefore he
asked:

"Which girls were married there?"

"The princess' ladies-in-waiting. I do not know whether even one
remained, because I heard the princess say that she would be obliged to
look for other attendants."

Having heard this, Zbyszko was silent for awhile; then he asked in an
altered voice:

"Was _Panna_ Danuta Jurandówna, whose name is on the board, married
also?"

Sanderus hesitated before he answered. He did not know anything correctly
himself; then he thought that if he kept the knight anxious and
perplexed, he would have more influence over him. He wanted to retain his
power over this knight who had a goodly retinue, and was well provided
with everything.

Zbyszko's youth led him to suppose that he would be a generous lord,
without forethought and careless of money. He had noticed already the
costly armor made in Milan, and the enormous stallions, which everybody
could not possess; then he assured himself that if he traveled with such
a knight, he would receive hospitality in noblemen's houses, and a good
opportunity to sell his indulgences; he would be safe during the journey,
and have abundance of food and drink, about which he cared greatly.

Therefore having heard Zbyszko's question, he frowned, lifted his eyes as
if he were trying to recollect, and answered:

"_Panna_ Danuta Jurandowna? Where is she from?"

"Jurandowna Danuta of Spychow."

"I saw all of them, but I cannot remember their names."

"She is very young; she plays the lute, and amuses the princess with her
singing."

"Aha--young--plays the lute--there were some young ones married also. Is
she dark like an agate?"

Zbyszko breathed more freely.

"No, that was not she! Danusia is as white as snow, but has pink cheeks."

To this Sanderus replied:

"One of them, dark as an agate, remained with the princess; the others
were almost all married."

"You say 'almost all,' therefore not all. For God's sake, if you wish to
get anything from me, then try to recollect."

"In two or three days I could recollect; the best way will be to give me
a horse, on which I can carry my holy wares."

"You will get it if you only tell me the truth."

At that moment the Czech, who was listening to the conversation, smiled
and said:

"The truth will be known at the Mazowiecki court."

Sanderus looked at him for a while; then he said:

"Do you think that I am afraid of the Mazowiecki court?"

"I do not say you are afraid of the Mazowiecki court; but neither now,
nor after three days will you go away with the horse. If it prove that
you were lying, then you will not be able to go on your feet either,
because my lord will order me to break them."

"Be sure of that!" answered Zbyszko.

Sanderus now thought that it would be wiser to be more careful, and said:

"If I wanted to lie, I would have said immediately whether she was
married or not; but I said: 'I don't remember.' If you had common sense,
you would recognize my virtue by that answer."

"My common sense is not a brother of your virtue, because that is the
sister of a dog."

"My virtue does not bark, as your common sense does; and the one who
barks when alive, may howl after death."

"That is sure! Your virtue will not howl after your death; it will gnash
its teeth, provided it does not lose its teeth in the service of the
devil while living." Thus they quarreled; the Czech's tongue was ready,
and for every word of the German, he answered two. Zbyszko having asked
about the road to Lenczyca, ordered the retinue to move forward. Beyond
Sieradz, they entered thick forests which covered the greater part of the
country; but the highways through these forests, had been paved with logs
and ditches dug along the sides, by the order of King Kazimierz. It is
true that after his death, during the disturbances of the war aroused by
Nalenczs and Grzymalits, the roads were neglected; but during Jadwiga's
reign, when peace was restored to the kingdom, shovels were again busy in
the marshes, and axes in the forests; soon everywhere between the
important cities, merchants could conduct their loaded wagons in safety.
The only danger was from wild beasts and robbers; but against the beasts,
they had lanterns for night, and crossbows for defence during the day;
then there were fewer highway robbers than in other countries, and one
who traveled with an armed retinue, need fear nothing.

Zbyszko was not afraid of robbers nor of armed knights; he did not even
think about them. But he was filled with great anxiety, and longed with
his whole soul to be at the Mazowiecki court. Would he find Danusia still
a lady-in-waiting of the princess, or the wife of some Mazowiecki knight?
Sometimes it seemed to him impossible that she should forget him; then
sometimes he thought that perhaps Jurand went to the court from Spychow
and married the girl to some neighbor or friend. Jurand had told him in
Krakow, that he could not give Danusia to him; therefore it was evident
that he had promised her to somebody else; evidently he was bound by an
oath, and now he had fulfilled his promise. Zbyszko called Sanderus and
questioned him again; but the German prevaricated more and more.

Therefore, Zbyszko was riding along, sad and unhappy. He did not think
about Bogdaniec, nor about Zgorzelice, but only how he should act. First,
it was necessary to ascertain the truth at the Mazowiecki court;
therefore, he rode hastily, only stopping for a short time at the houses
of noblemen, in the inns and in the cities to rest the horses. He had
never ceased to love Danusia; but while in Bogdaniec and Zgorzelice,
chatting almost every day with Jagienka and admiring her beauty, he had
not thought about Danusia often. Now she was constantly in his thoughts,
day and night. Even in his sleep, he saw her standing before him, with a
lute in her hands and a garland on her head. She stretched her hands
toward him, and Jurand drew her away. In the morning, when the dreams
disappeared, a greater longing came, and he loved this girl more than
ever now, when he was uncertain whether they had taken her from him or
not.

Sometimes he feared that they had married her against her will;
therefore, he was not angry with her, as she was only a child and could
not have her own will. But he was angry with Jurand and with Princess
Januszowna. He determined that he would not cease to serve her; even if
he found her somebody else's wife, he would deposit the peacocks' crests
at her feet.

Sometimes he was consoled by the thought of a great war. He felt that
during the war, he would forget about everything and that he would escape
all sorrows and griefs. The great war seemed suspended in the air. It was
not known whence the news came, because there was peace between the king
and the Order; nevertheless, wherever Zbyszko went, nothing else was
talked about. The people had a presentiment that it would come, and some
of them said openly: "Why were we united with Litwa, if not against those
wolves, the Knights of the Cross? Therefore we must finish with them once
for all, or they will destroy us." Others said: "Crazy monks! They are
not satisfied with Plowce! Death is over them, and still they have taken
the land of Dobrzyn."

In all parts of the kingdom, they were making preparations, gravely,
without boasting, as was customary for a fight for life or death; but
with the silent, deadly grudge of a mighty nation, which had suffered
wrongs for a long time, and finally was ready to administer a terrible
punishment. In all the houses of the nobility, Zbyszko met people who
were convinced that at any moment one might be obliged to mount his
horse. Zbyszko was pleased to see these hasty preparations which he met
at every step. Everywhere other cares gave way to thoughts about horses
and armor. Everywhere the people were gravely inspecting spears, swords,
axes, helmets and javelins. The blacksmiths were busy day and night,
hammering iron sheets and making heavy armor, which could hardly be
lifted by the refined western knights, but which the strong noblemen of
Wielko and Malopolska could wear very easily. The old people were pulling
out musty bags full of _grzywns_[92] from their chests, for the war
expedition of their children. Once Zbyszko passed the night in the house
of a wealthy nobleman, Bartosz of Bielaw, who having twenty-two sturdy
sons, pledged his numerous estates to the monastery in Lowicz, to
purchase twenty-two suits of armor, the same number of helmets and
weapons of war. Zbyszko now realized that it would be necessary to go to
Prussia, and he thanked God that he was so well provided.

Many thought that he was the son of a _wojewoda_; and when he told the
people that he was a simple nobleman, and that armor such as he wore,
could be bought from the Germans by paying for it with a good blow of an
axe, their hearts were filled with enthusiasm for war. Many a knight
seeing that armor, and desiring to possess it, followed Zbyszko, and
said: "Will you not fight for it?"

In Mazowsze, the people did not talk so much about the war. They also
believed that it would come, but they did not know when. In Warszawa
there was peace. The court was in Ciechanow, which Prince Janusz rebuilt
after the Lithuanian invasion; nothing of the old town remained, only the
castle.

In the city of Warszawa, Zbyszko was received by Jasko Socha, the
_starosta_[93] of the castle, and the son of the _wojewoda_ Abraham, who
was killed at Worskla. Jasko knew Zbyszko, because he was with the
princess in Krakow; therefore he received him hospitably and with joy;
but the young man, before he began to eat or drink, asked Jasko about
Danusia. But he did not know anything about her, because the prince and
the princess had been in Ciechanow since fall. In Warszawa there were
only a few archers and himself, to guard the castle. He had heard that
there had been feasts and weddings in Ciechanow; but he did not know
which girls were married.

"But I think," said he, "that Jurandowna is not married; it could not be
done without Jurand, and I have not heard of his arrival. There are two
brothers of the Order, _comthurs_, with the prince; one from Jansbork and
the other from Szczytno, and also some foreign guests; on such occasions,
Jurand never goes to the court, because the sight of a white mantle
enrages him. If Jurand were not there, there would be no wedding! If you
wish, I will send a messenger to ascertain and tell him to return,
immediately; but I firmly believe that you will find Jurandowna still a
girl."

"I am going there to-morrow myself; but may God reward you for your
kindness. As soon as the horses are rested, I will go, because I shall
have no peace, until I know the truth."

But Socha was not satisfied with that, and inquired among the nobles and
the soldiers if they had heard about Jurandowna's wedding. But nobody had
heard anything, although there were several among them who had been in
Ciechanow.

Meanwhile Zbyszko retired greatly relieved. While lying in bed he decided
to get rid of Sanderus; but afterward he thought that the scoundrel might
be useful to him because he could speak German. Sanderus had not told him
a falsehood; and although he was a costly acquisition, because he ate and
drank as much as four men would in the inns, still he was serviceable,
and showed some attachment for the young knight. Then he possessed the
art of writing, and that gave him a superiority over the shield-bearer,
the Czech, and even over Zbyszko himself. Consequently Zbyszko permitted
him to accompany his retinue to Ciechanow. Sanderus was glad of this,
because he noticed that being in respectable company, he won confidence
and found purchasers for his wares more easily. After stopping one night
in Nasielsk, riding neither too swiftly nor too slowly, they perceived
next day toward evening, the walls of the castle of Ciechanow. Zbyszko
stopped in an inn to don his armor, so as to enter the castle according
to knightly custom, with his helmet on his head and his spear in his
hand; then he mounted his enormous stallion, and having made the sign of
the cross in the air, he rushed forward. He had gone only a short
distance, when the Czech who was riding behind him, drew near and said:

"Your Grace, some knights are coming behind us; they must be Krzyzaks."

Zbyszko turned and saw about half a furlong behind him, a splendid
retinue at the head of which there were riding two knights on fine
Pomeranian horses, both in full armor, each of them wearing a white
mantle with a black cross, and a helmet having a high crest of peacock's
feathers.

"For God's sake, Krzyzacy!" said Zbyszko.

Involuntarily he leaned forward in his saddle and aimed his spear; seeing
this the Czech seized his axe. The other attendants being experienced in
war, were also ready, not for a fight, because the servants did not
participate in single combat, but to measure the space for the fight on
horseback, or to level the ground for the fight on foot. The Czech alone,
being a nobleman, was ready to fight; but he expected that Zbyszko would
challenge before he attacked, and he was surprised to see the young
knight aim his spear before the challenge.

But Zbyszko came to his senses in time. He remembered how he attacked
Lichtenstein near Krakow, and all the misfortunes which followed;
therefore he raised the spear and handed it to the Czech. Without drawing
his sword, he galloped toward the Krzyzaks. When he came near them, he
noticed that there was a third knight, also with a peacock's crest on his
helmet, and a fourth, without armor, but having long hair, who seemed to
be a Mazur. Seeing them, he concluded that they must be some envoys to
the prince of Mazowiecki; therefore he said aloud:

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"For ages and ages!" answered the long-haired knight.

"May God speed you!"

"And you also, sir!"

"Glory be to St. George!"

"He is our patron. You are welcome, sir."

Then they began to bow; Zbyszko told his name, who he was, what his coat
of arms was, what his war-cry was and whence he was going to the
Mazowiecki court. The long-haired knight said that his name was Jendrek
of Kropiwnica and that he was conducting some guests to the prince;
Brother Godfried, Brother Rotgier, also Sir Fulko de Lorche of
Lotaringen, who being with the Knights of the Cross, wished to see the
prince and especially the princess, the daughter of the famous
"Kiejstut."

While they were conversing, the foreign knights sat erect on their
horses, occasionally bending their heads which were covered with iron
helmets ornamented with peacocks' tufts. Judging from Zbyszko's splendid
armor, they thought that the prince had sent some important personage,
perhaps his own son, to meet them. Jendrek of Kropiwnica said further:

"The _comthur_, or as we would say the _starosta_ from Jansbork is at our
prince's castle; he told the prince about these knights; that they
desired to visit him, but that they did not dare, especially this knight
from Lotaringen, who being from a far country, thought that the Saracens
lived right beyond the frontier of the Knights of the Cross, and that
there was continual war with them. The prince immediately sent me to the
boundary, to conduct them safely to his castle."

"Could they not come without your help!"

"Our nation is very angry with the Krzyzaks, because of their great
treacherousness; a Krzyzak will hug and kiss you, but he is ready in the
same moment to stab you with a knife from behind; and such conduct is
odious to us Mazurs. Nevertheless anyone will receive even a German in
his house, and will not wrong his guest; but he would stop him on the
road. There are many who do this for vengeance, or for glory."

"Who among you is the most famous?"

"There is one whom all Germans fear to meet; his name is Jurand of
Spychow."

The heart of the young knight throbbed when he heard that name;
immediately he determined to question Jendrek of Kropiwnica.

"I know!" said he; "I heard about him; his daughter Danuta was
girl-in-waiting with the princess; afterward she was married."

Having said this, he looked sharply into the eyes of the Mazowiecki
knight, who answered with great astonishment:

"Who told you that? She is very young yet. It is true that it sometimes
happens that very young girls are married, but Jurandowna is not married.
I left Ciechanow six days ago and I saw her then with the princess. How
could she marry during advent?"

Zbyszko having heard this, wanted to seize the knight by the neck and
shout: "May God reward you for the news!" but he controlled himself, and
said:

"I heard that Jurand gave her to some one."

"It was the princess who wished to give her, but she could not do it
against Jurand's will. She wanted to give her to a knight in Krakow, who
made a vow to the girl, and whom she loves."

"Does she love him?" exclaimed Zbyszko.

At this Jendrek looked sharply at him, smiled and said:

"Do you know, you are too inquisitive about that girl."

"I am asking about my friend to whom I am going."

One could hardly see Zbyszko's face under the helmet; but his nose and
cheeks were so red that the Mazur, who was fond of joking, said:

"I am afraid that the cold makes your face red!"

Then the young man grew still more confused, and answered:

"It must be that."

They moved forward and rode silently for some time; but after a while
Jendrek of Kropiwnica asked:

"What do they call you? I did not hear distinctly?"

"Zbyszko of Bogdaniec."

"For heaven's sake! The knight who made a vow to Jurandowna, had the same
name."

"Do you think that I shall deny that I am he?" answered Zbyszko, proudly.

"There is no reason for doing so. Gracious Lord, then you are that
Zbyszko whom the girl covered with her veil! After the retinue returned
from Krakow, the women of the court talked about nothing else, and many
of them cried while listening to the story. Then you are he! Hej! how
happy they will be to see you at the court; even the princess is very
fond of you."

"May the Lord bless her, and you also for the good news. I suffered
greatly when I heard that Danusia was married."

"She is not married! Although she will inherit Spychow, and there are
many handsome youths at the court, yet not one of them looks into her
eyes, because all respect your vow; then the princess would not permit
it. Hej! there will be great joy. Sometimes they teased the girl! Some
one would tell her: 'Your knight will not come back!' Then she would
reply: 'He will be back! He will be back!' Sometimes they told her that
you had married another; then she cried."

These words made Zbyszko feel very tender; he also felt angry because
Danusia had been vexed; therefore he said:

"I shall challenge those who said such things about me!"

Jendrek of Kropiwnica began to laugh and said:

"The women teased her! Will you challenge a woman? You cannot do anything
with a sword against a distaff."

Zbyszko was pleased that he had met such a cheerful companion; he began
to ask Jendrek about Danusia. He also inquired about the customs of the
Mazowiecki court, about Prince Janusz, and about the princess. Finally he
told what he had heard about the war during his journey, and how the
people were making preparations for it, and were expecting it every day.
He asked whether the people in the principalities of Mazowsze, thought it
would soon come.

The heir of Kropiwnica did not think that the war was near. The people
said that it could not be avoided; but he had heard the prince himself
say to Mikolaj of Dlugolas, that the Knights of the Cross were very
peaceable now, and if the king only insisted, they would restore the
province of Dobrzyn to Poland; or they would try to delay the whole
affair, until they were well prepared,

"The prince went to Malborg a short time ago," said he, "where during the
absence of the grand master, the grand marshal received him and
entertained him with great hospitality; now there are some _comthurs_
here, and other guests are coming."

Here he stopped for a while, and then added:

"The people say that the Krzyzaks have a purpose in coming here and in
going to Plock to the court of Prince Ziemowit. They would like to have
the princes pledge themselves not to help the king but to aid them; or if
they do not agree to help the Krzyzaks, that at least they will remain
neutral; but the princes will not do that."

"God will not permit it. Would you stay home? Your princes belong to the
kingdom of Poland!"

"No, we would not stay home," answered Jendrek of Kropiwnica.

Zbyszko again glanced at the foreign knights, and at their peacocks'
tufts, and asked:

"Are these knights going for that purpose?"

"They are brothers of the Order and perhaps that is their motive. Who
understands them?"

"And that third one?"

"He is going because he is inquisitive."

"He must be some famous knight."

"Bah! three heavily laden wagons follow him, and he has nine men in his
escort. I would like to fight with such a man!"

"Can you not do it?"

"Of course not! The prince commanded me to guard them. Not one hair shall
fall from their heads until they reach Ciechanow."

"Suppose I challenge them? Perhaps they would desire to fight with me?"

"Then you would be obliged to fight with me first, because I will not
permit you to fight with them while I live."

Zbyszko looked at the young nobleman in a friendly way, and said:

"You understand what knightly honor is. I shall not fight with you,
because I am your friend; but in Ciechanow, God will help me to find some
pretext for a challenge to the Germans."

"In Ciechanow you can do what you please. I am sure there will be
tournaments; then you can fight, if the prince and the _comthurs_ give
permission."

"I have a board on which is written a challenge for anyone who will not
affirm that _Panna_ Danuta Jurandowna is the most virtuous and the most
beautiful girl in the world; but everywhere the people shrugged their
shoulders and laughed."

"Because it is a foreign custom; and speaking frankly, a stupid one which
is not known in our country, except near the boundaries. That Lotaringer
tried to pick a quarrel with some noblemen, asking them to praise some
lady of his; but nobody could understand him, and I would not let them
fight."

"What? He wanted to praise his lady? For God's sake!"

He looked closely at the foreign knight, and saw that his young face was
full of sadness, he also perceived with astonishment that the knight had
a rope made of hairs round his neck.

"Why does he wear that rope?" asked Zbyszko.

"I could not find out, because they do not understand our language,
Brother Rotgier can say a few words, but not very well either. But I
think that this young knight has made a vow to wear that rope until he
has accomplished some knightly deed. During the day, he wears it outside
of his armor, but during the night, on the bare flesh."

"Sanderus!" called Zbyszko, suddenly

"At your service," answered the German, approaching

"Ask this knight, who is the most virtuous and the most beautiful girl in
the world."

Sanderus repeated the question in German.

"Ulryka von Elner!" answered Fulko de Lorche.

Then he raised his eyes and began to sigh. Zbyszko hearing this answer,
was indignant, and reined in his stallion; but before he could reply,
Jendrek of Kropiwnica, pushed his horse between him and the foreigner,
and said:

"You shall not quarrel here!"

Zbyszko turned to Sanderus and said:

"Tell him that I say that he is in love with an owl."

"Noble knight, my master says that you are in love with an owl!" repeated
Sanderus, like an echo.

At this Sir de Lorche dropped his reins, drew the iron gauntlet from his
right hand and threw it in the snow in front of Zbyszko, who motioned to
the Czech to lift it with the point of his spear.

Jendrek of Kropiwnica, turned toward Zbyszko with a threatening face, and
said:

"You shall not fight; I shall permit neither of you."

"I did not challenge him; he challenged me."

"But you called his lady an owl. Enough of this! I also know how to use a
sword."

"But I do not wish to fight with you."

"You will be obliged to, because I have sworn to defend the other
knight."

"Then what shall I do?" asked Zbyszko.

"Wait; we are near Ciechanow."

"But what will the German think?"

"Your servant must explain to him that he cannot fight here; that first
you must receive the prince's permission, and he, the _comthur's_."

"Bah! suppose they will not give permission."

"Then you will find each other. Enough of this talk."

Zbyszko, seeing that he could not do otherwise, because Jendrek of
Kropiwnica would not permit them to fight, called Sanderus, and told him
to explain to the Lotaringer knight, that they could fight only in
Ciechanow. De Lorche having listened, nodded to signify that he
understood; then having stretched his hand toward Zbyszko, he pressed the
palm three times, which according to the knightly custom, meant that they
must fight, no matter when or where. Then in an apparent good
understanding, they moved on toward the castle of Ciechanow, whose towers
one could see reflected on the pink sky.

It was daylight when they arrived; but after they announced themselves at
the gate, it was dark before the bridge was lowered. They were received
by Zbyszko's former acquaintance, Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who commanded the
garrison consisting of a few knights and three hundred of the famous
archers of Kurpie.[94] To his great sorrow, Zbyszko learned that the
court was absent. The prince wishing to honor the _comthurs_ of Szczytno
and Jansbork, arranged for them a great hunting party in the Krupiecka
wilderness; the princess, with her ladies-in-waiting went also, to give
more importance to the occasion. Ofka, the widow of Krzych[95] of
Jarzombkow, was key-keeper, and the only woman in the castle whom Zbyszko
knew. She was very glad to see him. Since her return from Krakow, she had
told everybody about his love for Danusia, and the incident about
Lichtenstein. These stories made her very popular among the younger
ladies and girls of the court; therefore she was fond of Zbyszko. She now
tried to console the young man in his sorrow, caused by Danusia's
absence.

"You will not recognize her," she said. "She is growing older, and is a
little girl no longer; she loves you differently, also. You say your
uncle is well? Why did he not come with you?"

"I will let my horses rest for a while and then I will go to Danusia. I
will go during the night," answered Zbyszko.

"Do so, but take a guide from the castle, or you will be lost in the
wilderness."

In fact after supper, which Mikolaj of Dlugolas ordered to be served to
the guests, Zbyszko expressed his desire to go after the prince, and he
asked for a guide. The brothers of the Order, wearied by the journey,
approached the enormous fireplaces in which were burning the entire
trunks of pine trees, and said that they would go the next day. But de
Lorche expressed his desire to go with Zbyszko, saying that otherwise he
might miss the hunting party, and he wished to see them very much. Then
he approached Zbyszko, and having extended his hand, he again pressed his
fingers three times.




CHAPTER IV.

Mikolaj of Dlugolas having learned from Jendrek of Kropiwnica about the
challenge, required both Zbyszko and the other knight to give him their
knightly word that they would not fight without the prince and the
_comthur's_ permission; if they refused, he said he would shut the gates
and not permit them to leave the castle. Zbyszko wished to see Danusia as
soon as possible, consequently he did not resist; de Lorche, although
willing to fight when necessary, was not a bloodthirsty man, therefore he
swore upon his knightly honor, to wait for the prince's consent. He did
it willingly, because having heard so many songs about tournaments and
being fond of pompous feasts, he preferred to fight in the presence of
the court, the dignitaries and the ladies; he believed that such a
victory would bring greater renown, and he would win the golden spurs
more easily. Then he was also anxious to become acquainted with the
country and the people, therefore he preferred a delay. Mikolaj of
Dlugolas, who had been in captivity among the Germans a long time, and
could speak the language easily, began to tell him marvelous tales about
the prince's hunting parties for different kinds of beasts not known in
the western countries. Therefore Zbyszko and he left the castle about
midnight, and went toward Przasnysz, having with them their armed
retinues, and men with lanterns to protect them against the wolves, which
gathering during the winter in innumerable packs, it was dangerous even
for several well armed cavaliers to meet. On this side of Ciechanow there
were deep forests, which a short distance beyond Przasnysz were merged
into the enormous Kurpiecka wilderness, which on the west joined the
impassable forest of Podlasie, and further on Lithuania. Through these
forests the Lithuanian barbarians came to Mazowsze, and in 1337 reached
Ciechanow, which they burned. De Lorche listened with the greatest
interest to the stories, told him by the old guide, Macko of Turoboje. He
desired to fight with the Lithuanians, whom as many other western knights
did, he had thought were Saracens. In fact he had come on a crusade,
wishing to gain fame and salvation. He thought that a war with the
Mazurs, half heathenish people, would secure for him entire pardon.
Therefore he could scarcely believe his own eyes, when having reached
Mazowsze, he saw churches in the towns, crosses on the towers, priests,
knights with holy signs on their armor and the people, very daring
indeed, and ready for a fight, but Christian and not more rapacious than
the Germans, among whom the young knight had traveled. Therefore, when he
was told that these people had confessed Christ for centuries, he did not
know what to think about the Knights of the Cross; and when he learned
that Lithuania was baptized by the command of the late queen, his
surprise and sorrow were boundless.

He began to inquire from Macko of Turoboje, if in the forest toward which
they were riding, there were any dragons to whom the people were obliged
to sacrifice young girls, and with whom one could fight. But Macko's
answer greatly disappointed him.

"In the forest, there are many beasts, wolves, bisons and bears with
which there is plenty of work," answered the Mazur. "Perhaps in the
swamps there are some unclean spirits; but I never heard about dragons,
and even if they were there, we would not give them girls, but we would
destroy them. Bah! had there been any, the Kurpie would have worn belts
of their skins long ago."

"What kind of people are they; is it possible to fight with them?" asked
de Lorche.

"One can fight with them, but it is not desirable," answered Macko; "and
then it is not proper for a knight, because they are peasants."

"The Swiss are peasants also. Do they confess Christ?"

"There are no such people in Mazowsze. They are our people. Did you see
the archers in the castles? They are all the Kurpie, because there are no
better archers than they are."

"They cannot be better than the Englishmen and the Scotch, whom I saw at
the Burgundian court."

"I have seen them also in Malborg," interrupted the Mazur. "They are
strong, but they cannot compare with the Kurpie, among whom a boy seven
years old, will not be allowed to eat, until he has knocked the food with
an arrow from the summit of a pine."

"About what are you talking?" suddenly asked Zbyszko, who had heard the
word "Kurpie" several times.

"About the English and the Kurpiecki archers. This knight says that the
English and the Scotch are the best."

"I saw them at Wilno. Owa! I heard their darts passing my ears. There
were knights there from all countries, and they announced that they would
eat us up without salt; but after they tried once or twice, they lost
their appetite."

Macko laughed and repeated Zbyszko's words to Sir de Lorche.

"I have heard about that at different courts," answered the Lotaringer;
"they praised your knights' bravery, but they blamed them because they
helped the heathen against the Knights of the Cross."

"We defended the nation which wished to be baptized, against invasion and
wrong. The Germans wished to keep them in idolatry, so as to have a
pretext for war."

"God shall judge them," answered de Lorche.

"Perhaps He will judge them soon," answered Macko of Turoboje.

But the Lotaringer having heard that Zbyszko had been at Wilno, began to
question Macko, because the fame of the knightly combats fought there,
had spread widely throughout the world. That duel, fought by four Polish
and four French knights, especially excited the imagination of western
warriors. The consequence was that de Lorche began to look at Zbyszko
with more respect, as upon a man who had participated in such a famous
battle; he also rejoiced that he was going to fight with such a knight.

Therefore they rode along apparently good friends, rendering each other
small services during the time for refreshment on the journey and
treating each other with wine. But when it appeared from the conversation
between de Lorche and Macko of Turoboje, that Ulryka von Elner was not a
young girl, but a married woman forty years old and having six children,
Zbyszko became indignant, because this foreigner dared not only to
compare an old woman with Danusia, but even asked him to acknowledge her
to be the first among women.

"Do you not think," said he to Macko, "that an evil spirit has turned his
brain? Perhaps the devil is sitting in his head like a worm in a nut and
is ready to jump on one of us during the night. We must be on our guard."

Macko of Turoboje began to look at the Lotaringer with a certain
uneasiness and finally said:

"Sometimes it happens that there are hundreds of devils in a possessed
man, and if they are crowded, they are glad to go in other people. The
worst devil is the one sent by a woman."

Then he turned suddenly to the knight:

"May Jesus Christ be praised!"

"I praise him also," answered de Lorche, with some astonishment.

Macko was completely reassured.

"No, don't you see," said he, "if the devil were dwelling in him, he
would have foamed immediately, or he would have been thrown to the earth,
because I asked him suddenly. We can go."

In fact, they proceeded quietly. The distance between Ciechanow and
Przasnysz is not great, and during the summer a cavalier riding a good
horse can travel from one city to the other in two hours; but they were
riding very slowly on account of the darkness and the drifts of snow.
They started after midnight and did not arrive at the prince's hunting
house, situated near the woods, beyond Przasnysz, until daybreak. The
wooden mansion was large and the panes of the windows were made of glass
balls. In front of the house were the well-sweeps and two barns for
horses, and round the mansion were many tents made of skins and booths
hastily built of the branches of pine trees. The fires shone brightly in
front of the tents, and round them were standing the huntsmen who were
dressed in coats made of sheepskins, foxskins, wolfskins and bearskins,
and having the hair turned outside. It seemed to Sir de Lorche that he
saw some wild beasts standing on two legs, because the majority of these
men had caps made of the heads of animals. Some of them were standing,
leaning on their spears or crossbows; others were busy winding enormous
nets made of ropes; others were turning large pieces of urus and elk meat
which was hanging over the fire, evidently preparing for breakfast.
Behind them were the trunks of enormous pines and more people; the great
number of people astonished the Lotaringer who was not accustomed to see
such large hunting parties.

"Your princes," said he, "go to a hunt as if to a war."

"To be sure," answered Macko of Turoboje; "they lack neither hunting
implements nor people."

"What are we going to do?" interrupted Zbyszko; "they are still asleep in
the mansion."

"Well, we must wait until they get up," answered Macko; "we cannot knock
at the door and awaken the prince, our lord."

Having said this, he conducted them to a fire, near which the Kurpie
threw some wolfskins and urusskins, and then offered them some roasted
meat. Hearing a foreign speech, the people began to gather round to see
the German. Soon the news was spread by Zbyszko's attendants that there
was a knight "from beyond the seas," and the crowd became so great that
the lord of Turoboje was obliged to use his authority to shield the
foreigner from their curiosity. De Lorche noticed some women in the crowd
also dressed in skins, but very beautiful; he inquired whether they also
participated in the hunt.

Macko explained to him that they did not take part in the hunting, but
only came to satisfy their womanly curiosity, or to purchase the products
of the towns and to sell the riches of the forest. The court of the
prince was like a fireplace, round which were concentrated two
elements--rural and civic. The Kurpie disliked to leave their wilderness,
because they felt uneasy without the rustling of the trees above their
heads; therefore the inhabitants of Przasnysz brought their famous beer,
their flour ground in wind mills or water mills built on the river
Wengierka, salt which was very rare in the wilderness, iron, leather and
other fruits of human industry, taking in exchange skins, costly furs,
dried mushrooms, nuts, herbs, good in case of sickness, or clods of amber
which were plentiful among the Kurpie. Therefore round the prince's court
there was the noise of a continual market, increased during the hunting
parties, because duty and curiosity attracted the inhabitants from the
depths of the forests.

De Lorche listened to Macko, looking with curiosity at the people, who,
living in the healthy resinous air and eating much meat as was the custom
with the majority of the peasants in those days, astonished the foreign
travelers by their strength and size. Zbyszko was continually looking at
the doors and windows of the mansion, hardly able to remain quiet. There
was light in one window only, evidently in the kitchen, because steam was
coming out through the gapes between the panes.

In the small doors, situated in the side of the house, servants in the
prince's livery appeared from time to time, hurrying to the wells for
water. These men being asked if everybody was still sleeping, answered
that the court, wearied by the previous day's hunting, was still resting,
but that breakfast was being prepared. In fact through the window of the
kitchen, there now issued the smell of roasted meat and saffron,
spreading far among the fires. Finally the principal door was opened,
showing the interior of a brightly lighted hall, and on the piazza
appeared a man whom Zbyszko immediately recognized as one of the
_rybalts_, whom he had seen with the princess in Krakow. Having perceived
him, and waiting neither for Macko of Turoboje, nor for de Lorche,
Zbyszko rushed with such an impetus toward the mansion, that the
astonished Lotaringer asked:

"What is the matter with the young knight?"

"There is nothing the matter with him," answered Macko of Turoboje; "he
is in love with a girl of the princess' court and he wants to see her as
soon as possible."

"Ah!" answered de Lorche, putting both of his hands on his heart. He
began to sigh so deeply that Macko shrugged his shoulders and said to
himself:

"Is it possible that he is sighing for that old woman? It may be that his
senses are impaired!"

In the meanwhile he conducted de Lorche into the large hall of the
mansion which was ornamented with the horns of bisons, elks and deer, and
was lighted by the large logs burning in the fireplace. In the middle of
the hall stood a table covered with _kilimek_[96] and dishes for
breakfast; there were only a few courtiers present, with whom Zbyszko was
talking. Macko of Turoboje introduced Sir de Lorche to them. More
courtiers were coming at every moment; the majority of them were fine
looking men, with broad shoulders and fallow hair; all were dressed for
hunting. Those who were acquainted with Zbyszko and were familiar with
his adventure in Krakow, greeted him as an old friend--it was evident
that they liked him. One of them said to him:

"The princess is here and Jurandowna also; you will see her soon, my dear
boy; then you will go with us to the hunting party."

At this moment the two guests of the prince, the Knights of the Cross,
entered: brother Hugo von Danveld, _starosta_ of Ortelsburg,[97] and
Zygfried von Löve, bailiff of Jansbork. The first was quite a young man,
but stout, having a face like a beer drunkard, with thick, moist lips;
the other was tall with stern but noble features. It seemed to Zbyszko
that he had seen Danveld before at the court of Prince Witold and that
Henryk, bishop of Plock, had thrown him from his horse during the combat
in the lists. These reminiscences were disturbed by the entrance of
Prince Janusz, whom the Knights of the Cross and the courtiers saluted.
De Lorche, the _comthurs_ and Zbyszko also approached him, and he
welcomed them cordially but with dignity. Immediately the trumpets
resounded, announcing that the prince was going to breakfast; they
resounded three times; and the third time, a large door to the right was
opened and Princess Anna appeared, accompanied by the beautiful blonde
girl who had a lute hanging on her shoulder.

Zbyszko immediately stepped forward and kneeled on both knees in a
position full of worship and admiration. Seeing this, those present began
to whisper, because Zbyszko's action surprised the Mazurs and some of
them were even scandalized. Some of the older ones said: "Surely he
learned such customs from some knights living beyond the sea, or perhaps
even from the heathen themselves, because there is no custom like it even
among the Germans." But the younger ones said: "No wonder, she saved his
life." But the princess and Jurandowna did not recognize Zbyszko at once,
because he kneeled with his back toward the fire and his face was in the
shadow. The princess thought that it was some courtier, who, having been
guilty of some offence, besought her intervention with the prince; but
Danusia having keener sight, advanced one step, and having bent her fair
head, cried suddenly:

"Zbyszko!"

Then forgetting that the whole court and the foreign guests were looking
at her, she sprang like a roe toward the young knight and encircling his
neck with her arms, began to kiss his mouth and his cheeks, nestling to
him and caressing him so long that the Mazurs laughed and the princess
drew her back.

Then Zbyszko embraced the feet of the princess; she welcomed him, and
asked about Macko, whether he was alive or not, and if alive whether he
had accompanied Zbyszko. Finally when the servants brought in warm
dishes, she said to Zbyszko:

"Serve us, dear little knight, and perhaps not only now at the table, but
forever."

Danusia was blushing and confused, but was so beautiful, that not only
Zbyszko but all the knights present were filled with pleasure; the
_starosta_ of Szczytno, put the palm of his hands to his thick, moist
lips; de Lorche was amazed, and asked:

"By Saint Jacob of Compostella, who is that girl?"

To this the _starosta_ of Szczytno, who was short, stood on his toes and
whispered in the ear of the Lotaringer:

"The devil's daughter."

De Lorche looked at him; then he frowned and began to say through his
nose:

"A knight who talks against beauty is not gallant."

"I wear golden spurs, and I am a monk," answered Hugo von Danveld,
proudly.

The Lotaringer dropped his head; but after awhile he said:

"I am a relative of the princess of Brabant."

"_Pax! Pax!_" answered the Knight of the Cross. "Honor to the mighty
knights and friends of the Order from whom, sir, you shall soon receive
your golden spurs. I do not disparage the beauty of that girl; but
listen, I will tell you who is her father."

But he did not have time to tell him, because at that moment, Prince
Janusz seated himself at the table; and having learned before from the
bailiff of Jansbork about the mighty relatives of Sir de Lorche, he
invited him to sit beside him. The princess and Danusia were seated
opposite. Zbyszko stood as he did in Krakow, behind their chairs, to
serve them. Danusia held her head as low as possible over the plate,
because she was ashamed. Zbyszko looked with ecstasy at her little head
and pink cheeks; and he felt his love, like a river, overflowing his
whole breast. He could also feel her sweet kisses on his face, his eyes
and his mouth. Formerly she used to kiss him as a sister kisses a
brother, and he received the kisses as from a child. Now Danusia seemed
to him older and more mature--in fact she had grown and blossomed. Love
was so much talked about in her presence, that as a flower bud warmed by
the sun, takes color and expands, so her eyes were opened to love;
consequently there was a certain charm in her now, which formerly she
lacked, and a strong intoxicating attraction beamed from her like the
warm beams from the sun, or the fragrance from the rose.

Zbyszko felt it, but he could not explain it to himself. He even forgot
that at the table one must serve. He did not see that the courtiers were
laughing at him and Danusia. Neither did he notice Sir de Lorche's face,
which expressed great astonishment, nor the covetous eyes of the
_starosta_ from Szczytno, who was gazing constantly at Danusia. He
awakened only when the trumpets again sounded giving notice that it was
time to go into the wilderness, and when the princess Anna Danuta,
turning toward him said:

"You will accompany us; you will then have an opportunity to speak to
Danusia about your love."

Having said this, she went out with Danusia to dress for the ride on
horseback. Zbyszko rushed to the court-yard, where the horses covered
with frost were standing. There was no longer a great crowd, because the
men whose duty it was to hem in the beasts, had already gone forward into
the wilderness with the nets. The fires were quenched; the day was bright
but cold. Soon the prince appeared and mounted his horse; behind him was
an attendant with a crossbow and a spear so long and heavy, that very few
could handle it; but the prince used it very easily, because like the
other Mazovian Piasts, he was very strong. There were even women in that
family so strong that they could roll iron axes,[98] between their
fingers. The prince was also attended by two men, who were prepared to
help him in any emergency: they had been chosen from among the landowners
of the provinces of Warszawa and Ciechanow; they had shoulders like the
trunks of oak trees. Sir de Lorche gazed at them with amazement.

In the meanwhile, the princess and Danusia came out; both wore hoods made
of the skins of white weasels. This worthy daughter of Kiejstut could
_stitch_ with a bow better than with a needle; therefore her attendants
carried a crossbow behind her. Zbyszko having kneeled on the snow,
extended the palm of his hand, on which the princess rested her foot
while mounting her horse; then he lifted Danusia into her saddle and they
all started. The retinue stretched in a long column, turned to the right
from the mansion, and then began slowly to enter the forest.

Then the princess turned to Zbyszko and said:

"Why don't you talk? Speak to her."

Zbyszko, although thus encouraged, was still silent for a moment; but,
after quite a long silence, he said:

"Danuska!"

"What, Zbyszku?"

"I love you!"

Here he again stopped, searching for words which he could not find;
although he kneeled before the girl like a foreign knight, and showed her
his respect in every way, still he could not express his love in words.
Therefore he said:

"My love for you is so great that it stops my breathing."

"I also love you, Zbyszku!" said she, hastily.

"Hej, my dearest! hej, my sweet girl" exclaimed Zbyszko. "Hej!" Then he
was silent, full of blissful emotion; but the good-hearted and curious
princess helped them again.

"Tell her," said she, "how lonesome you were without her, and when we
come to a thicket, you may kiss her; that will be the best proof of your
love."

Therefore he began to tell how lonesome he was without her in Bogdaniec,
while taking care of Macko and visiting among the neighbors. But the
cunning fellow did not say a word about Jagienka. When the first thicket
separated them from the courtiers and the guests, he bent toward her and
kissed her.

During the winter there are no leaves on the hazel bushes, therefore Hugo
von Danveld and Sir de Lorche saw him kiss the girl; some of the
courtiers also saw him and they began to say among themselves:

"He kissed her in the presence of the princess! The lady will surely
prepare the wedding for them soon."

"He is a daring boy, but Jurand's blood is warm also!"

"They are flint-stone and fire-steel, although the girl looks so quiet.
Do not be afraid, there will be some sparks from them!"

Thus they talked and laughed; but the _starosta_ of Szczytno turned his
evil face toward Sir de Lorche and asked:

"Sir, would you like some Merlin to change you by his magic power into
that knight?"[99]

"Would you, sir?" asked de Lorche.

To this the Knight of the Cross, who evidently was filled with jealousy,
drew the reins of his horse impatiently, and exclaimed:

"Upon my soul!"

But at that moment he recovered his composure, and having bent his head,
he said:

"I am a monk and have made a vow of chastity."

He glanced quickly at the Lotaringer, fearing he would perceive a smile
on his face, because in that respect the Order had a bad reputation among
the people; and of all among the monks, Hugo von Danveld had the worst. A
few years previous he had been vice-bailiff of Sambia. There were so many
complaints against him there that, notwithstanding the tolerance with
which the Order looked upon similar cases in Marienburg, the grand master
was obliged to remove him and appoint him _starosta_ of the garrison in
Szczytno. Afterward he was sent to the prince's court on some secret
mission, and having perceived the beautiful Jurandowna, he conceived a
violent passion for her, to which even Danusia's extreme youth was no
check. But Danveld also knew to what family the girl belonged, and
Jurand's name was united in his memory with a painful reminiscence.

De Lorche began to question him:

"Sir, you called that beautiful girl the devil's daughter; why did you
call her that?"

Danveld began to relate the story of Zlotorja: how during the restoration
of the castle, they captured the prince with the court, and how during
that fight Jurandowna's mother died; how since that time Jurand avenged
himself on all the Knights of the Cross. Danveld's hatred was apparent
during the narration, because he also had some personal reasons for
hating Jurand. Two years before, during an encounter, he met Jurand; but
the mere sight of that dreadful "Boar of Spychow" so terrified him for
the first time in his life that he deserted two of his relatives and his
retinue, and fled to Szczytno. For this cowardly act the grand marshal of
the Order brought a knightly suit against him; he swore that his horse
had become unmanageable and had carried him away from the battlefield;
but that incident shut his way to all higher positions in the Order. Of
course Danveld did not say anything to Sir de Lorche about that
occurrence, but instead he complained so bitterly about Jurand's
atrocities and the audacity of the whole Polish nation, that the
Lotaringer could not comprehend all he was saying, and said:

"But we are in the country of the Mazurs and not of the Polaks."

"It is an independent principality but the same nation," answered the
_starosta_; "they feel the same hatred against the Order. May God permit
the German swords to exterminate all this race!"

"You are right, sir; I never heard even among the heathen of such an
unlawful deed, as the building of a castle on somebody else's land, as
this prince tried to do," said de Lorche.

"He built the castle against us, but Zlotorja is situated on his land,
not on ours."

"Then glory be to Christ that he granted you the victory! What was the
result of the war?"

"There was no war then?"

"What was the meaning of your victory at Zlotorja?"

"God favored us; the prince had no army with him, only his court and the
women."

Here de Lorche looked at the Knight of the Cross with amazement.

"What? During the time of peace you attacked the women and the prince,
who was building a castle on his own land?"

"For the glory of the Order and of Christendom."

"And that dreadful knight is seeking vengeance only for the death of his
young wife, killed by you during the time of peace?"

"Whosoever raises his hand against a Knight of the Cross, is a son of
darkness."

Hearing this, Sir de Lorche became thoughtful; but he did not have time
to answer Danveld, because they arrived at a large, snow-covered glade in
the woods, on which the prince and his courtiers dismounted.




CHAPTER V.

The foresters under the direction of the head huntsman, placed the
hunters in a long row at the edge of the forest, in such a way that being
hidden themselves, they faced the glade. Nets were fastened along two
sides of the glade, and behind these were the men whose duty it was to
turn the beasts toward the hunters, or to kill them with spears if they
became entangled in the nets. Many of the Kurpie were sent to drive every
living thing from the depths of the forest into the glade. Behind the
hunters there was another net stretched; if an animal passed the row of
hunters, he would be entangled in it and easily killed.

The prince was standing in the middle in a small ravine, which extended
through the entire width of the glade. The head huntsman, Mrokota of
Mocarzew, had chosen that position for the prince because he knew that
the largest beasts would pass through this ravine. The prince had a
crossbow, and leaning on a tree beside him was a heavy spear; a little
behind him stood two gigantic "defenders" with axes on their shoulders,
and holding crossbows ready to be handed to the prince. The princess and
Jurandowna did not dismount, because the prince would not allow them to
do so, on account of the peril from urus and bisons; it was easier to
escape the fury of these fierce beasts on horseback than on foot. De
Lorche, although invited by the prince to take a position at his right
hand, asked permission to remain with the ladies for their defence.
Zbyszko drove his spear into the snow, put his crossbow on his back and
stood by Danusia's horse, whispering to her and sometimes kissing her. He
became quiet only when Mrokota of Mocarzew, who in the forest scolded
even the prince himself, ordered him to be silent.

In the meanwhile, far in the depths of the wilderness, the horns of the
Kurpie were heard, and the noisy sound of a _krzywula_[100] answered from
the glade; then perfect silence followed. From time to time the chatter
of the squirrels was heard in the tops of the pines. The hunters looked
at the snow-covered glade, where only the wind moved the bushes, and
asked themselves what kind of animals would first appear. They expected
abundant game, because the wilderness was swarming with urus, bisons and
boars. The Kurpie had smoked out a few bears which were wandering in the
thickets, angry, hungry and watchful.

But the hunters were obliged to wait a long time, because the men who
were driving the animals toward the glade, had taken a very large space
of the forest, and therefore they were so far away that the hunters did
not even hear the baying of the dogs, that had been freed from the
leashes immediately after the horns resounded.

After a while some wolves appeared on the edge of the forest, but having
noticed the people, they again plunged into the forest, evidently
searching for another pass. Then some boars having emerged from the
wilderness, began to run in a long black line through the snowy space,
looking from afar like domestic swine. They stopped and listened--turned
and listened again: turned toward the nets, but having smelt the men,
went in the direction of the hunters, snorting and approaching more and
more carefully; finally there resounded the clatter of the iron cranks of
the crossbows, the snarl of the bolts and then the first blood spotted
the white snow.

Then a dreadful squealing resounded and the whole pack dispersed as if
struck by a thunderbolt; some of them rushed blindly straight ahead,
others ran toward the nets, while still others ran among the other
animals, with which the glade was soon covered. The sounds of the horns
were heard distinctly, mingled with the howling of the dogs and the
bustle of the people coming from the depths of the forest. The wild
beasts of the forest driven by the huntsmen soon filled the glade. It was
impossible to see anything like it in foreign countries or even in the
other Polish provinces; nowhere else was there such a wilderness as there
was in Mazowsze. The Knights of the Cross, although they had visited
Lithuania, where bisons attacked[101] and brought confusion to the army,
were very much astonished at the great number of beasts, and Sir de
Lorche was more astonished than they. He beheld in front of him herds of
yellow deer and elks with heavy antlers, mingled together and running on
the glade, blinded by fear and searching in vain for a safe passage. The
princess, in whom Kiejstut's blood began to play, seeing this, shot arrow
after arrow, shouting with joy when a deer or an elk which was struck,
reared and then fell heavily plowing the snow with his feet. Some of the
ladies-in-waiting were also shooting, because all were filled with
enthusiasm for the sport. Zbyszko alone did not think about hunting; but
having leaned his elbows on Danusia's knees and his head on the palms of
his hands, he looked into her eyes, and she smiling and blushing, tried
to close his eyelids with her fingers, as if she could not stand such
looks.

Sir de Lorche's attention was attracted by an enormous bear, gray on the
back and shoulders, which jumped out unexpectedly from the thicket near
the huntsmen. The prince shot at it with his crossbow, and then rushed
forward with his boar-spear; when the animal roaring frightfully, reared,
he pierced it with his spear in the presence of the whole court so deftly
and so quickly, that neither of the "defenders" needed to use his axe.
The young Lotaringer doubted that few of the other lords, at whose courts
he had visited during his travels, would dare to amuse themselves in such
a way, and believed that the Order would have hard work to conquer such
princes and such people. Later on he saw the other hunters pierce in the
same way, many boars much larger and fiercer than any that could be found
in the forest of Lower Lotaringen or in the German wilderness. Such
expert hunters and those so sure of their strength, Sir de Lorche had
never before seen; he concluded, being a man of some experience, that
these people living in the boundless forests, had been accustomed from
childhood to use the crossbow and the spear; consequently they were very
dexterous in using them.

The glade of the wood was finally covered with the dead bodies of many
different kinds of animals; but the hunt was not finished. In fact, the
most interesting and also the most perilous moment was coming, because
the huntsmen had met a herd of urus and bisons. The bearded bulls
marching in advance of the herd, holding their heads near the ground,
often stopped, as if calculating where to attack. From their enormous
lungs came a muffled bellowing, similar to the rolling of thunder, and
perspiration steamed from their nostrils; while pawing the snow with
their forefeet, they seemed to watch the enemy with their bloody eyes
hidden beneath their manes. Then the huntsmen shouted, and their cries
were followed by similar shoutings from all sides; the horns and fifes
resounded; the wilderness reverberated from its remotest parts; meantime
the dogs of the Kurpie rushed to the glade with tremendous noise. The
appearance of the dogs enraged the females of the herd who were
accompanied by their young. The herd which had been walking up to this
moment, now scattered in a mad rush all over the glade. One of the
bisons, an enormous old yellow bull, rushed toward the huntsmen standing
at one side, then seeing horses in the bushes, stopped, and bellowing,
began to plow the earth with his horns, as if inciting himself to fight.

Seeing this, the men began to shout still more, but among the hunters
there were heard frightened voices exclaiming: "The princess! The
princess! Save the princess!" Zbyszko seized his spear which had been
driven into the ground behind him and rushed to the edge of the forest;
he was followed by a few Litwins who were ready to die in defence of
Kiejstut's daughter; but all at once the crossbow creaked in the hands of
the lady, the bolt whistled and, having passed over the animal's head,
struck him in his neck.

"He is hit!" exclaimed the princess; "he will not escape."

But suddenly, with such a dreadful bellowing that the frightened horses
reared, the bison rushed directly toward the lady; at the same moment
with no less impetus, Sir de Lorche rushed from beneath the trees and
leaning on his horse, with his spear extended as in a knightly
tournament, attacked the animal.

Those near by perceived during one moment, the spear plunged into the
animal's neck, immediately bend like a bow, and break into small pieces;
then the enormous horned head disappeared entirely under the belly of Sir
de Lorche's horse, and the charger and his rider were tossed into the
air.

From the forest the huntsmen rushed to help the foreign knight. Zbyszko
who cared most about the princess and Danusia's safety, arrived first and
drove his spear under the bison's shoulder blade. He gave the blow with
such force, that the spear by a sudden turn of the bison, broke in his
hands, and he himself fell with his face on the ground. "He is dead! He
is dead!" cried the Mazurs who were rushing to help him. The bull's head
covered Zbyszko and pressed him to the ground. The two powerful
"defenders" of the prince arrived; but they were too late; fortunately
the Czech Hlawa, given to Zbyszko by Jagienka, outstripped them, and
having seized his broad-axe with both hands he cut the bison's bent neck,
near the horns.

The blow was so powerful that the animal fell, as though struck by a
thunderbolt, with his head almost severed from his neck; this enormous
body fell on top of Zbyszko. Both "defenders" pulled it away quickly. The
princess and Danusia having dismounted, arrived at the side of the
wounded youth.

Zbyszko, pale and covered with his own and the animal's blood, tried to
rise; but he staggered, fell on his knees and leaning on his hands, could
only pronounce one word:

"Danuska."

Then the blood gushed from his mouth. Danusia grasped him by his
shoulders, but being unable to hold him, began to cry for help. The
huntsmen rubbed him with snow and poured wine in his mouth; finally the
head huntsman, Mrokota of Mocarzew ordered them to put him on a mantle
and to stop the blood with soft spunk from the trees.

"He will live if his ribs and his backbone are not broken," said he,
turning toward the princess. In the meanwhile some ladies of the court
with the help of other huntsmen, were attending to Sir de Lorche. They
turned him over, searching in his armor for holes or dents made by the
horns of the bull; but besides traces of the snow, which had entered
between the joints of the iron plates, they could find nothing. The urus
had avenged himself especially on the horse, which was lying dead beside
the knight; as for Sir de Lorche, he was not seriously injured. He had
fainted and his right hand was sprained. When they took off his helmet
and poured some wine in his mouth, he opened his eyes, and seeing the
sorrowful faces of two pretty young ladies bent over him, said in German:

"I am sure I am in paradise already and the angels are over me."

The ladies did not understand what he said; but being glad to see him
open his eyes and speak, they smiled, and with the huntsmen's help raised
him from the ground; feeling the pain in his right hand, he moaned and
leaned with the left on the shoulder of one of the "angels"; for a while
he stood motionless, fearing to make a step, because he felt weak. Then
he glanced around and perceived the yellow body of the urus, he also saw
Danusia wringing her hands and Zbyszko lying on a mantle.

"Is that the knight who rushed to help me?" he asked. "Is he alive?"

"He is very severely injured," answered a courtier who could speak
German.

"From this time, I am going to fight not with him, but for him!" said the
Lotaringer.

At this time, the prince who was near Zbyszko, approached Sir de Lorche
and began to praise him because he had defended the princess and the
other ladies, and perhaps saved their lives by his bold deed; for which,
besides the knightly reward, he would be renowned not only then but in
all future generations.

"In these effeminate times," said he, "there are few true knights
traveling through the world; therefore pray be my guest as long as
possible or if you can, remain forever in Mazowsze, where you have
already won my favor, and by honest deeds will easily win the love of the
people."

Sir de Lorche's heart was filled with joy when he heard the prince's
words and realized that he had accomplished such a famous knightly deed
and deserved such praise in these remote Polish lands, about which so
many strange things were told in the East. He knew that a knight who
could tell at the Burgundian court or at the court of Brabant, that when
on a hunting party, he had saved the life of the Mazowiecka princess,
would be forever famous.

Zbyszko became conscious and smiled at Danusia; then he fainted again.
The huntsmen seeing how his hands closed and his mouth remained open,
said to one another that he would not live; but the more experienced
Kurpie, among whom many an one had on him the traces of a bear's paws, a
boar's tusks or an urus' horns, affirmed that the urus' horn had slipped
between the knight's ribs, that perhaps one or two of his ribs were
broken, but that the backbone was not, because if it were, he could not
rise. They pointed out also, that Zbyszko had fallen in a snow-drift and
that had saved him, because on account of the softness the animal when
pressing him with his horns, could not entirely crush his chest, nor his
backbone.

Unfortunately the prince's physician, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek of
Dziewanna, was not with the hunting party, being busy in the chateau
making wafers.[102] The Czech rushed to bring him immediately, and
meanwhile the Kurpie carried Zbyszko to the prince's mansion. The Knight
of the Cross, Hugo von Danveld, helped Danusia mount her horse and then,
riding beside her and closely following the men who were carrying
Zbyszko, said in Polish in a muffled voice, so that she alone could hear
him:

"In Szczytno I have a marvelous balm, which I received from a hermit
living in the Hercynski forest; I can bring it for you in three days."

"God will reward you," answered Danusia.

"God records every charitable deed; but will you reward me also?"

"What reward can I give you?"

The Krzyzak approached and evidently wished to say something else but
hesitated; after a while he said:

"In the Order, besides the brothers there are also sisters. One of them
will bring the healing balm, and then I will speak about the reward."




CHAPTER VI.

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek dressed Zbyszko's wounds and he stated that only
one rib was broken; but the first day he could not affirm that the sick
man would live, because he could not ascertain whether the heart had been
injured or not. Sir de Lorche was so ill toward morning that he was
obliged to go to bed, and on the following day he could not move his hand
nor his foot, without great pain in all the bones. The princess Danusia
and some other ladies of the court nursed the sick men and prepared for
them, according to the prescriptions of the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek,
different ointments and potions. But Zbyszko was very severely injured,
and from time to time blood gushed from his mouth, and this alarmed the
_ksiondz_ Wyszoniek very much. He was conscious however, and on the
second day, although very weak, having learned from Danusia to whom he
owed his life, called Hlawa to thank and reward him. He remembered that
he had received the Czech from Jagienka and that had it not been for her
kind heart, he would have perished. He feared that he never would be able
to repay the good-hearted girl for her kindness, but that he would only
be the cause of her sorrow.

"I swore to my _panienka_," said Hlawa, "on my honor of a _wlodyka_, that
I would protect you; therefore I will do it without any reward. You are
indebted to her for your life."

Zbyszko did not answer, but began to breathe heavily; the Czech was
silent for a while, then he said:

"If you wish me to hasten to Bogdaniec, I will go. Perhaps you will be
glad to see the old lord, because God only knows whether you will
recover."

"What does the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek say?" asked Zbyszko.

"The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek says that he will know when the new moon comes.
There are four days before the new moon."

"Hej! then you need not go to Bogdaniec, because I will either die, or I
will be well before my uncle could come."

"Could you not send a letter to Bogdaniec? Sanderus will write one. Then
they will know about you, and will engage a mass for you."

"Let me rest now, because I am very ill. If I die, you will return to
Zgorzelice and tell how everything happened; then they can engage a mass.
I suppose they will bury me here or in Ciechanow."

"I think they will bury you in Ciechanow or in Przasnysz, because only
the Kurpie are buried in the forest, and the wolves howl over their
graves. I heard that the prince intends to return with the court to
Ciechanow in two days' time, and then to Warszawa."

"They would not leave me here alone," answered Zbyszko.

He guessed correctly, because that same day the princess asked the
prince's permission to remain in the house in the wilderness, with
Danusia and the ladies-in-waiting, and also with the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek,
who was opposed to carrying Zbyszko to Przasnysz. Sir de Lorche at the
end of two days felt better, and he was able to leave his bed; but having
learned that the ladies intended to remain, he stayed also, in order to
accompany them on their journey and defend them in case the "Saracens"
attacked them. Whence the "Saracens" could come, the Lotaringer did not
know. It is true that the people in the East used thus to call the
Litwins; but from them no danger could threaten Kiejstut's daughter,
Witold's sister and the first cousin of the mighty "Krakowski king,"
Jagiello. But Sir de Lorche had been among the Knights of the Cross for
so long a time, that notwithstanding all he had heard in Mazowsze about
the baptism of the Litwa, and about the union of the two crowns on the
head of one ruler, he could not believe that any one could expect any
good from the Litwins. Thus the Knights of the Cross had made him
believe, and he had not yet entirely lost all faith in their words.

In the meantime an incident occurred which cast a shadow between Prince
Janusz and his guests. One day, before the departure of the court,
Brother Godfried and Brother Rotgier, who had remained in Ciechanow, came
accompanied by Sir de Fourcy, who was a messenger of bad news to the
Knights of the Cross. There were some foreign guests at the court of the
Krzyzacki _starosta_ in Lubowa; they were Sir de Fourcy and also Herr von
Bergow and Herr Meineger, both belonging to families which had rendered
great services to the Order. They having heard many stories about Jurand
of Spychow, determined, to draw the famous warrior into an open field,
and ascertain for themselves whether he really was as dreadful as
represented. The _starosta_ opposed the plan, giving as a reason that
there was peace between the Order and the Mazowiecki princes; but
finally, perhaps hoping thus to get rid of his terrible neighbor, not
only connived at the expedition but even furnished the armed _knechts_.
The knights sent a challenge to Jurand, who immediately accepted it under
the condition that they would send away the soldiers and that three of
them would fight with him and two of his companions on the boundaries of
Szlonsk and Spychow. But when they refused to send away the _knechts_ or
to retire from the land belonging to Spychow, he suddenly fell upon them,
exterminated the _knechts_, pierced Herr Meineger dreadfully with a
spear, took Herr von Bergow into captivity and put him into the
Spychowski dungeon. De Fourcy alone escaped and after three days'
wandering in the Mazowiecki forests, having learned from some
pitch-burners that there were some brothers of the Order in Ciechanow, he
succeeded in reaching them. He and the brothers of the Order made a
complaint to the prince, and asked for the punishment of Jurand, and for
an order for the deliverance of Herr von Bergow.

This news disturbed the good understanding between the prince and his
guests, because not only the two newly arrived brothers but also Hugo von
Danveld and Zygfried von Löve, began to beseech the prince to render
justice to the Order, to free the boundaries from the plunderer and to
punish him once for all his offences. Hugo von Danveld, having his own
grievance against Jurand, the remembrance of which burned him with shame
and grief, asked for vengeance almost threateningly.

"The complaint will go to the grand master," he said; "and if we be not
able to get justice from Your Grace, he will obtain it himself, even if
the whole Mazowsze help that robber."

But the prince, although naturally good-tempered, became angry and said.

"What kind of justice do you ask for? If Jurand had attacked you first,
then I would surely punish him. But your people were the first to
commence hostilities. Your _starosta_ gave the _knechts_, permission to
go on that expedition. Jurand only accepted the challenge and asked that
the soldiers be sent away. Shall I punish him for that? You attacked that
dreadful man, of whom everybody is afraid, and voluntarily brought
calamity upon yourselves--what do you want then? Shall I order him not to
defend himself, when it pleases you to attack him?"

"It was not the Order that attacked him, but its guests, foreign
knights," answered Hugo.

"The Order is responsible for its guests, and then the _knechts_, from
the Lubowski garrison were there."

"Could the _starosta_ allow his guests to be slaughtered?"

Here the prince turned to Zygfried and said.

"You must take heed lest your wiles offend God."

But the stern Zygfried answered:

"Heir von Bergow must be released from captivity, because the men of his
family were high dignitaries in the Order and they rendered important
services to the Cross."

"And Meineger's death must be avenged," added Hugo von Danveld.

Thereupon the prince arose and walked threateningly toward the Germans;
but after a while, evidently having remembered that they were his guests,
he restrained his anger, put his hand on Zygfried's shoulder, and said:

"Listen: you wear a cross on your mantle, therefore answer according to
your conscience--upon that cross! Was Jurand right or was he not?"

"Herr von Bergow must be released from prison," answered Zygfried von
Löve.

There was as a moment of silence; then the prince said:

"God grant me patience!"

Zygfried continued sharply, his words cutting like a sword:

"The wrong which was done to us in the persons of our guests, is only one
more occasion for complaint. From the time the Order was founded, neither
in Palestine, nor in Siedmiogrod,[103] nor among the heathenish Litwa,
has any man wronged us so much as that robber from Spychow. Your
Highness! we ask for justice and vengeance not for one wrong, but for
thousands; not for the blood shed once, but for years of such deeds, for
which fire from heaven ought to burn that nest of wickedness and cruelty.
Whose moanings entreat God for vengeance? Ours! Whose tears? Ours! We
have complained in vain. Justice has never been given us!"

Having heard this, Prince Janusz began to nod his head and said:

"Hej! formerly the Krzyzaks were received hospitably in Spychow, and
Jurand was not your foe, until after his dear wife died on your rope; and
how many times have you attacked him first, wishing to kill him, as in
this last case, because he challenged and defeated your knights? How many
times have you sent assassins after him, or shot at him with a crossbow
from the forest? He attacked you, it is true, because vengeance burns
within him; but have you not attacked peaceful people in Mazowsze? Have
you not taken their herds, burned their houses and murdered the men,
women and children? And when I complained to the grand master, he sent me
this reply from Marienburg: 'Customary frolic of the boundaries' Let me
be in peace! Was it not you who captured me when I was without arms,
during the time of peace, on my own land? Had it not been for your fear
of the mighty Krakowski king, probably I would have had to moan until now
in captivity. Who ought to complain? With such gratitude you repaid me,
who belonged to the family of your benefactors. Let me be in peace; it is
not you who have the right to talk about justice!"

Having heard this, the Knights of the Cross looked at each other
impatiently, angry because the prince mentioned the occurrence at
Zlotorja, in the presence of Sir de Fourcy; therefore Hugo von Danveld,
wishing to finish the conversation about it, said:

"That was a mistake, Your Highness, and we made amends for it, not on
account of fear of the Krakowski king, but for the sake of justice; and
with regard to the frolics on the boundaries, the grand master cannot be
held responsible, because on every frontier there are some restless
spirits."

"Then you say this yourself, and still you ask for the punishment of
Jurand. What do you wish then?"

"Justice and punishment!"

The prince clenched his bony fists and repeated:

"God grant me patience!"

"Your Princely Majesty must also remember," said Danveld, further, "that
our wantons only wrong lay people who do not belong to the German race,
but your men raise their hand against the German Order, and for this
reason they offend our Saviour Himself."

"Listen!" said the prince. "Do not talk about God; you cannot deceive
Him!"

Then having placed his hands on the Krzyzak's shoulders, he shook him so
strongly, that he frightened him. He relented immediately and said,
mildly:

"If it be true that our guests attacked Jurand first and did not send
away the soldiers, I will not blame him; but had Jurand really accepted
the challenge?"

Having said this, he looked at Sir de Fourcy, winking at him, to deny it;
but the latter, not wishing to lie, answered:

"He asked us to send our soldiers away, and to fight three against
three."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Upon my honor! Herr von Bergow and I agreed, but Meineger did not
consent."

Here the prince interrupted:

"_Starosta_ from Szczytno! you know better than anybody else that Jurand
would not miss a challenge."

Then he turned to all present and said:

"If one of you will challenge Jurand to a fight on horseback or on foot,
I give my permission. If he be taken prisoner or killed, then Herr von
Bergow will be released without paying any ransom. Do not ask me for
anything else, because I will not grant it."

After these words, there was a profound silence. Hugo von Danveld,
Zygfried von Löve, Brother Rotgier and Brother Godfried, although brave,
knew the dreadful lord of Spychow too well to dare to challenge him for
life or death. Only a foreigner from a far distant country, like de
Lorche or de Fourcy, would do it; but de Lorche was not present during
the conversation, and Sir de Fourcy was still too frightened.

"I have seen him once," he muttered, "and I do not wish to see him any
more."

Zygfried von Löve said:

"It is forbidden the monks to fight in single combat, except by special
permission from the grand master and the grand marshal; but I do not ask
for permission for a combat, but for the release of von Bergow and the
punishment by death of Jurand."

"You do not make the laws in this country."

"Our grand master will know how to administer justice."

"Your grand master has nothing to do with Mazowsze!"

"The emperor and the whole German nation will help him."

"The king of Poland will help me, and he is more powerful than the German
emperor."

"Does Your Highness wish for a war with the Order?"

"If I wanted a war, I would not wait for you to come to Mazowsze, but
would go toward you; you need not threaten me, because I am not afraid of
you."

"What shall I say to the grand master?"

"He has not asked you anything. Tell him what you please."

"Then we will avenge ourselves."

Thereupon the prince stretched forth his arm and began to shake his
finger close to the Krzyzak's face.

"Keep quiet!" said he, angrily; "keep quiet! I gave you permission to
challenge Jurand; but if you dare to invade this country with the army of
the Order, then I will attack you, and you will stay here not as a guest
but as a prisoner."

Evidently his patience was entirely exhausted, because he threw a cap
violently on the table and left the room, slamming the door. The Knights
of the Cross became pale and Sir de Fourcy looked at them askance.

"What will happen now?" asked Brother Rotgier, who was the first to break
the silence.

Hugo von Danveld turned to Sir de Fourcy and menacing him with his fists,
said:

"Why did you tell him that you attacked Jurand?"

"Because it is true!"

"You should have lied."

"I came here to fight and not to lie."

"Well, you fought well, indeed!"

"And you! did you not run away from Jurand of Spychow?"

"_Pax!_" said von Löve. "This knight is a guest of the Order."

"It is immaterial what he said," added Brother Godfried. "They would not
punish Jurand without a trial, and in the court, the truth would come
out."

"What will be done now?" repeated Brother Rotgier.

There was a moment of silence; then the sturdy and virulent Zygfried von
Löve spoke:

"We must finish once for all with that bloody dog!" said he. "Herr von
Bergow must be released from his fetters. We will gather the garrisons
from Szczytno, Insburk and Lubowa; we will summon the Chelminsk nobility
and attack Jurand. It is time to settle with him!"

"We cannot do it without permission from the grand master."

"If we succeed, the grand master will be pleased!" said Brother Godfried.

"But if we do not succeed? If the prince go against us?"

"He will not do that if there is peace between him and the Order."

"There is peace, but we are going to violate it. Our garrisons will not
be sufficient to fight against the Mazurs."

"Then the grand master will help us and there will be a war."

Danveld frowned again and became thoughtful.

"No! no!" said he after a while. "If we be successful, the grand master
will be pleased. Envoys will be sent to the prince, there will be
negotiations and we will go scot-free. But in case of defeat, the Order
will not intercede for us and will not declare war. Another grand master
is necessary for that. The Polski king is behind the prince, and the
grand master will not quarrel with him."

"But we have taken the Dobrzynska province; it is evident that we are not
afraid of Krakow."

"There was some pretext--Opolczyk. We took it apparently in pledge, and
then----" Here he looked around and said quietly:

"I heard in Marienburg, that if they threaten us with war, we will return
the province."

"Ah!" said Brother Rotgier, "if we had Markward Salzbach with us, or
Shomberg who killed Witold's whelps, he would find some remedy against
Jurand. Witold was the king's viceroy and a grand duke! Notwithstanding
that, Shomberg was not punished. He killed Witold's children, and went
scot-free! Verily, there is great lack among us of people who can find a
remedy for everything."

Having heard this, Hugo von Danveld put his elbows on the table, leaned
his head on his hands and plunged into deep thought. Then his eyes became
bright, he wiped, according to his custom, his moist, thick lips with the
upper part of his hand and said:

"May the moment in which you mentioned, pious brother, the name of the
valiant Shomberg be blessed."

"Why? Have you found a remedy?" asked Zygfried von Löve.

"Speak quickly!" exclaimed Brother Godfried.

"Listen," said Hugo. "Jurand has a daughter here, his only child, whom he
loves dearly."

"Yes, so he has. We know her. The princess Anna Danuta loves her also."

"Yes. Listen then: if you capture this girl, Jurand will give as a ransom
for her, not only, Bergow, but all his prisoners, himself and Spychow!"

"By Saint Bonifacius' blood shed in Duchum!" exclaimed Brother Godfried;
"it would be as you say!"

Then they were silent, as if frightened by the boldness and the
difficulties of the enterprise. But after a while Brother Rotgier turned
toward Zygfried von Löve, and said:

"Your judgment and experience are equal to your bravery: what do you
think about this plan?"

"I think that the matter is worthy of consideration."

"Because," said Rotgier further, "the girl is a lady-in-waiting with the
princess--the princess loves her as if she were her own daughter. Think,
pious brother, what an uproar will arise."

But Hugo von Danveld began to laugh:

"You said yourself, that Shomberg poisoned or strangled Witold's whelps,
and what happened to him? They will raise an uproar about anything we do;
but if we sent Jurand in chains to the grand master, then it is certain
that we could expect reward rather than punishment."

"Yes," said von Löve, "there is a good opportunity for an attack. The
prince is going away and Anna Danuta will remain here alone with her
court. However it is a serious matter to invade the prince's house during
the time of peace. The prince's house is not Spychow. It will be the same
thing that happened in Zlotorja! Again complaints against the Order will
go to all kings and to the pope; again that cursed Jagiello will threaten
us, and the grand master; you know him: he is glad to take hold of
anything he can, but he does not wish for war with Jagiello. Yes! there
will be a great uproar in all the provinces of Mazowsze and of Polska."

"In the meanwhile Jurand's bones will whiten on a hook," answered Brother
Hugo. "Then we do not need to take his daughter from the prince's
mansion."

"But we cannot do it from Ciechanow either, because there, besides the
noblemen, there are three hundred archers."

"No. But Jurand can become ill and send for his daughter. Then the
princess would not prevent her going, and if the girl be lost on the
road, who will accuse you or me and say to us: 'You captured her!'"

"Bah!" answered von Löve, impatiently. "You must first make Jurand sick
and then make him summon the girl."

At this Hugo smiled triumphantly and answered:

"I have a goldsmith, who having been driven from Marienburg for theft,
settled in Szczytno and who is able to make a seal; I also have people,
who although our bondmen, came from the Mazurski country. Do you
understand me yet?"

"I understand," shouted Brother Godfried.

And Rotgier raised his hands and said:

"May God bless you, pious brother, because neither Markward Salzbach, nor
Shomberg could find better means."

Then he half closed his eyes, as if he saw something afar.

"I see Jurand," said he, "with a rope around his neck, standing at the
Gdansk gate in Marienburg and our _knechts_ are kicking him."

"And the girl will become a servant of the Order," said Hugo.

Having heard this, von Löve turned his severe eyes on Danveld; but the
latter again rubbed his lips with the upper part of his hand and said:

"And now to Szczytno as soon as we can!"

Before starting on the journey to Szczytno, the four brothers of the
Order and de Fourcy went to bid the prince and the princess adieu. It was
not a very friendly farewell; but the prince, not wishing to act contrary
to the old Polish custom which did not permit the guests to depart with
empty hands, made each brother a present of some beautiful marten-fur and
of one _grzywna_ of silver; they received the presents with great
pleasure, assuring the prince that being brothers of an order, and having
made a solemn promise to live in poverty, they would not retain the money
for themselves, but would distribute it among the poor, whom they would
recommend to pray for the prince's health, fame and future salvation.

The Mazurs laughed in their sleeves at such an assurance, because they
knew very well how rapacious the Order was, and still better what liars
the Knights of the Cross were.

It was a popular saying in Mazowsze: "As the skunk smells, so the Krzyzak
lies." The prince waved his hand to such thanks, and after they went out
he said that by the intervention of the Knights of the Cross, one would
go to heaven as swiftly as the craw-fish walks.

But before that, while taking leave of the princess, at the moment that
Zygfried von Löve kissed her hand, Hugo von Danveld approached Danusia,
put his hand on her head and caressing her, said:

"Our commandment is to return good for evil, and even to love our enemy;
therefore I will send a sister of the Order here, and she will bring you
the healing balm."

"How can I thank you for it?" answered Danusia.

"Be a friend of the Order and of the monks."

De Fourcy noticed this conversation, and in the meantime he was struck by
the beauty of the young girl; therefore as they traveled toward Szczytno,
he asked:

"Who is that beautiful lady of the court with whom you were talking while
taking leave of the princess?"

"Jurand's daughter!" answered the Krzyzak.

Sir de Fourcy was surprised.

"The same whom you propose to capture?"

"Yes. And when we capture her, Jurand is ours."

"Evidently everything is not bad that comes from Jurand. It will be worth
while to guard such a prisoner."

"Do you think it will be easier to fight with her than with Jurand?"

"I mean that I think the same as you do. The father is a foe of the
Order; but you spoke words as sweet as honey to the daughter, and besides
you promised to send her the balm."

Evidently Hugo von Danveld felt the need of justification before Zygfried
von Löve who, although not better than the others, observed the austere
laws of the Order, and very often scolded the other brothers.

"I promised her the balm," said Hugo, "for that young knight, who was
injured by the bison and to whom she is betrothed. If they make an outcry
when the girl is captured, then we will tell them that we did not wish to
harm her any, and the best proof of it will be that on account of
Christian mercy we sent her some medicine."

"Very well," said von Löve. "Only we must send somebody whom we can
trust."

"I will send a pious woman, entirely faithful to the Order. I will
command her to look and to listen. When our people, apparently sent by
Jurand, arrive, they will find the road already prepared."

"It will be difficult to get such people."

"No! In our province the people speak the same language. There are in our
city, bah! even among the _knechts_ of the garrison, some men who left
Mazowsze because they were pursued by the law; it is true they are
thieves and robbers; but they do not fear anybody and they are ready to
do anything. To those men, I will promise, in case they succeed, a large
reward; if they fail, a rope."

"Bah! Suppose they betray us?"

"They will not betray us, because in Mazowsze every one of them deserves
to be hanged. Only we must give them decent clothes so that they will be
taken for Jurand's servants; and we must get the principal thing: a
letter with Jurand's seal."

"We must foresee everything," said Brother Rotgier. "It is probable that
Jurand will go to see the prince, and justify himself on account of the
last war. If he is in Ciechanow, he will go to see his daughter. It may
happen that our men when they go to capture Jurandowna, will come in
contact with Jurand himself."

"The men whom I am going to choose are sharp. They will know that they
will be hanged if they come in contact with Jurand. It will be to their
own interest not to meet him."

"But they may be captured."

"Then we will deny them and the letter. Who can prove that we sent them?
And then if there be no outrage, there will be no outcry, and it will not
harm the Order, if Mazury cut several scoundrels into pieces."

Brother Godfried, the youngest of the monks, said:

"I do not understand your policy, nor your fear that it may be known that
the girl was carried off by our command. Because if we have her in our
possession, we will be obliged to send some one to Jurand to tell him:
'Your daughter is with us; if you wish her to be set at liberty, give von
Bergow and yourself in exchange for her.' You cannot do otherwise, and
then it will be known that we ordered the girl to be carried off."

"That is true!" said Sir de Fourcy, who did not like the whole affair.
"Why should we hide that which must come out?"

But Hugo von Danveld began to laugh, and turning to Brother Godfried,
asked:

"How long have you worn the white mantle?"

"It will be six years the first week after the day of the Holy Trinity."

"When you have worn it six years longer, you will understand the affairs
of the Order better. Jurand knows us better than you do. We will tell
him: 'Your daughter is watched by Brother Shomberg; if you say a word,
remember what happened to Witold's children!'"

"And then?"

"Then von Bergow will be free and the Order also will be free from
Jurand."

"No!" exclaimed Brother Rotgier; "everything is planned so cleverly that
God ought to bless our enterprise."

"God blesses all deeds whose purpose is the good of the Order," said the
gloomy Zygfried von Löve.

Then they rode silently, and before them went their retinue, to open the
way, because the road was covered with a heavy snow, which had fallen
during the night. The day was cloudy, but warm; therefore the horses were
steaming. From the forest flocks of crows were flying toward the
villages, filling the air with their gloomy cawing.

Sir de Fourcy remained a little bit behind the Knights of the Cross and
rode along in deep thought. He had been the guest of the Order for
several years, and had participated in the expeditions against the Zmudz,
where he distinguished himself by great bravery. Everywhere he had been
received as the Knights of the Cross knew how to receive the knights from
remote countries; he became attached to them very strongly, and not being
rich, he planned to join their ranks. In the meanwhile he either lived in
Marienburg, or visited the commanderies, searching in his travels for
distractions and adventures. Having just arrived at Lubowa with the rich
von Bergow, and having heard about Jnrand, he desired very much to fight
with the man who was regarded with general dread. The arrival of
Meineger, who was always victorious, precipitated the expedition. The
_comthur_ of Lubowa furnished the men for it, but in the meanwhile he
told them so much not only about Jurand's cruelty, but also about his
cunning and treachery, that when Juvand asked them to send away the
soldiers, they refused to do it, fearing that if they did, he would
surround and exterminate them or else capture and put them into the
Spychowski dungeons. Then Jurand thinking that they cared less about a
knightly fight than about plunder, attacked them and defeated them. De
Fourcy saw von Bergow overthrown with his horse; he saw Meineger with a
piece of a spear in his body, and he saw the men asking in vain for
mercy. He escaped with great difficulty, and wandered for several days in
the forests, where he would have died of hunger or been destroyed by wild
beasts, if by chance he had not reached Ciechanow, where he found
Brothers Godfried and Rotgier. From the expedition he emerged with a
feeling of humiliation and shame, and with a desire for vengeance and a
longing after Bergow, who was his dear friend. Therefore he joined with
his whole soul in the complaint of the Knights of the Cross, when they
asked for the punishment of the Polish knight and the freedom of his
unhappy companion. When their complaint had no effect whatever, in the
first moment he was ready to approve of any plan for vengeance against
Jurand. But now some scruples were aroused in him. Listening to the
conversation of the monks, and especially to what Hugo von Danveld said,
he could not refrain from astonishment. It is true, that having become
well acquainted during the past few years with the Knights of the Cross,
he knew that they were not what they were represented to be in Germany
and in the West. In Marienburg, he knew, however, a few honest and
upright knights who often complained of the corruption of the brothers,
of their lasciviousness and lack of discipline; de Fourcy felt that they
were right, but being himself dissolute and lacking in discipline, he did
not criticise them for those faults, especially because all knights of
the Order redeemed them with bravery. He had seen them at Wilno, fighting
breast to breast with the Polish knights; at the taking of castles,
defended with superhuman stubbornness by Polish garrisons; he had seen
them perishing under the blows of axes and swords, in general assaults or
in single combats. They were merciless and cruel toward the Litwa, but at
the same time, they were as brave as lions.

But now it seemed to Sir de Fourcy, that Hugo von Danveld advised such
actions from which every knight's soul should recoil; and the other
brothers not only were not angry with him, but approved of his words.
Therefore astonishment seized him more and more; finally he became deeply
thoughtful, pondering whether it was proper to join in the performance of
such deeds.

If it were only a question of carrying off the girl and then exchanging
her for Bergow, he would perhaps consent to that, although his heart had
been moved by Danusia's beauty. But evidently the Knights of the Cross
wished for something else. Through her they wished to capture Jurand, and
then murder him, and together with him,--in order to hide the fraud and
the crime--must assuredly murder the girl also.

They had threatened her already with the same fate that Witold's children
met, in case Jurand should dare to complain. "They do not intend to keep
any promise, but to cheat both and kill both," said de Fourcy, to
himself, "although they wear the cross, and ought to guard their honor
more than anybody else."

He became more and more indignant at such effrontery, and he determined
to verify his suspicions; therefore he rode near Danveld and asked:

"If Jurand give himself up to you, will you set the girl at liberty?"

"If we let her go free, the whole world would immediately say that we had
captured both of them," answered Danveld.

"Then, what do you propose to do with her?"

At this Danveld bent toward the knight, and laughing, showed his rotten
teeth from beneath his thick lips.

"Do you mean what will be done with her, before or after?"

But Fourcy, surmising already that which he wished to know, became
silent; for a while he seemed to struggle with himself; then he raised
himself in his stirrups and said so loudly that he could be heard by all
four of the monks:

"The pious brother, Ulrych von Jungingen, who is an example and an
ornament of knighthood, said to me: 'Among the old knights in Marienburg,
one can still find worthy Knights of the Cross; but those who control the
commanderies near the frontier, only bring shame upon the Order.'"

"We are all sinful, but we serve the Saviour," answered Hugo.

"Where is your knightly honor? One cannot serve the Saviour by shameful
deeds. You must know that I will not put my hand to anything like that,
and that I also will prevent you."

"What will you prevent?"

"The artifice, the treachery, the shame!"

"How can you do it? In the fight with Jurand, you lost your retinue and
wagons. You are obliged to live on the generosity of the Order, and you
will die from hunger if we do not throw you a piece of bread; and then,
you are alone, we are four--how could you prevent us?"

"How can I prevent you?" repeated de Fourcy. "I can return to the mansion
and warn the prince; I can divulge your plans to the whole world."

Here the brothers of the Order looked at one another, and their faces
changed in the twinkling of an eye. Hugo von Danveld, especially, looked
questioningly into Zygfried von Löve's eyes; then he turned to Sir de
Fourcy:

"Your ancestors," said he, "used to serve in the Order, and you wished to
join it also; but we do not receive traitors."

"And I do not wish to serve with traitors."

"Ej! you shall not fulfill your threat. The Order knows how to punish not
only the monks----"

Sir de Fourcy being excited by these words, drew his sword, and seized
the blade with his left hand; his right hand he put on the hilt and said:

"On this hilt which is in the form of the cross, on St. Denis, my
patron's head, and on my knightly honor, I swear that I will warn the
Mazowiecki prince and the grand master."

Hugo von Danveld again looked inquiringly at Zygfried von Löve, who
closed his eyelids, as if consenting to something.

Then Danveld said in a strangely muffled and changed voice:

"St. Denis could carry his head after he was beheaded, but when yours
once falls down----"

"Are you threatening me?" interrupted de Fourcy.

"No, but I kill!" answered Danveld. And he thrust his knife into de
Fourcy's side with such strength, that the blade disappeared up to the
hilt. De Fourcy screamed dreadfully; for a while he tried to seize his
sword which he held in his left hand, with his right, but he dropped it;
at the same time, the other three brothers began to pierce him
mercilessly with their knives, in the neck, in the back, and in the
stomach, until he fell from his horse.

Then there was silence. De Fourcy bleeding dreadfully from several
wounds, quivered on the snow. From beneath the leaden sky, there came
only the cawing of the crows, which were flying from the silent
wilderness, toward human habitations.

Then there began a hurried conversation between the murderers:

"Our servants did not see anything!" said Danveld, panting.

"No. The retinues are in front; we cannot see them," answered von Löve.

"Listen: we will have cause for a new complaint. We will publish the
statement that the Mazowiecki knights fell upon us and killed our
companion. We will shout aloud--they will hear us in Marienburg--that the
prince sent murderers even after his guests. Listen! we must say that
Janusz did not wish to listen to our complaints against Jurand, but that
he ordered the accuser to be murdered."

In the meanwhile, de Fourcy turned in the last convulsion on his back and
then remained motionless, with a bloody froth on his lips and with dread
pictured in his widely-opened dead eyes. Brother Rotgier looked at him
and said:

"Notice, pious brothers, how God punishes even the thought of treachery."

"What we have done, was done for the good of the Order," answered
Godfried. "Glory to those----"

But he stopped, because at that moment, behind them, at the turn of the
snowy road, there appeared a horseman, who rushed forward as fast as his
horse could go. Having perceived him, Hugo von Danveld quickly exclaimed:

"Whoever this man is--he must die." And von Löve, who although the oldest
among the brothers, had very keen eyesight, said:

"I recognize him; it is that shield-bearer who killed the bison with an
axe. Yes; it is he!"

"Hide your knives, so that he may not become frightened," said Danveld.
"I will attack him first, you shall follow me."

In the meanwhile, the Bohemian arrived and reined in his horse at a
distance of eight or ten steps. He noticed the corpse lying in the pool
of blood, the horse without a rider, and astonishment appeared on his
face; but it lasted only for the twinkling of an eye. After a while, he
turned to the brothers as if nothing had happened and said:

"I bow to you, brave knights!"

"We recognize you," answered Danveld, approaching slowly. "Have you
anything for us?"

"The knight Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, after whom I carry the spear, sent me,
because being injured by the bison, he could not come himself."

"What does your master wish from us?"

"My master commanded me to tell you that because you unrighteously
accused Jurand of Spychow, to the detriment of his knightly honor, you
did not act like honest knights, but howled like dogs; and if any one of
you feels insulted by these words, he challenges him to a combat on
horseback or on foot, to the last breath; he will be ready for the duel
as soon as with God's help and mercy he is released from his present
indisposition."

"Tell your master, that the Knights of the Order bear insults patiently
for the Saviour's sake, and they cannot fight, without special permission
from the grand master or from the grand marshal; for which permission
they will write to Malborg."

The Czech again looked at de Fourcy's corpse, because he had been sent
especially to that knight. Zbyszko knew that the monks could not fight in
single combat: but having heard that there was a secular knight with
them, he wanted to challenge him especially, thinking that by doing so he
would win Jurand's favor. But that knight was lying slaughtered like an
ox, by the four Knights of the Cross.

It is true that the Czech did not understand what had happened; but being
accustomed from childhood to different kinds of danger, he suspected some
treachery. He was also surprised to see Danveld, while talking with him,
approach him closer and closer; the others began to ride to his sides, as
if to surround him. Consequently he was upon the alert, especially as he
did not have any weapons; he had not brought any, being in great haste.

In the meanwhile Danveld who was near him, said:

"I promised your master some healing balm; he repays me badly for my good
deed. But no wonder, that is the usual thing among the Polaks. But as he
is severely injured and may soon be called to God, tell him then----"

Here he leaned his left hand on the Czech's shoulder.

"Tell him then, that I--well--I answer this way!----"

And at the same moment, his knife gleamed near the throat of the
shield-bearer; but before he could thrust, the Czech who had been
watching his movements closely, seized Danveld's right hand, with his
iron-like hands, bent and twisted it so that the bones cracked; then
hearing a dreadful roaring of pain, he pricked his horse and rushed away
like an arrow, before the others could stop him.

Brothers Rotgier and Godfried pursued him, but they soon returned,
frightened by a dreadful cry from Danveld. Von Löve supported him with
his shoulders, while he cried so loudly that the retinue, riding with the
wagons in front at quite a distance, stopped their horses.

"What is the matter with you?" asked the brothers.

But von Löve ordered them to ride forward as fast as they could, and
bring a wagon, because Danveld could not remain in his saddle. After a
moment, a cold perspiration covered his forehead and he fainted.

When they brought the wagon, they put him on some straw in the bottom and
hurried toward the frontier. Von Löve urged them forward because he
realized that after what had happened, they could not lose time in
nursing Danveld. Having seated himself beside him in the wagon, he rubbed
his face with snow from time to time; but he could not resuscitate him.
At last when near the frontier, Danveld opened his eyes and began to look
around.

"How do you feel?" asked Löve.

"I do not feel any pain, but neither can I feel my hand," answered
Danveld.

"Because it has grown stiff already; that is why you do not feel any
pain. It will come back in a warm room. In the meanwhile, thank God even
for a moment of relief."

Rotgier and Godfried approached the wagon.

"What a misfortune!" said the first. "What shall we do now?"

"We will declare," said Danveld in a feeble voice, "that the
shield-bearer murdered de Fourcy."

"It is their latest crime and the culprit is known!" added Rotgier.




CHAPTER VII

In the meanwhile, the Czech rushed as fast as he could to the prince's
hunting residence, and finding the prince still there, he told him first,
what had happened. Happily there were some courtiers who had seen the
shield-bearer go without any arms. One of them had even shouted after
him, half in jest, to take some old iron, because otherwise the Germans
would get the best of him; but he, fearing that the knights would pass
the frontier, jumped on horseback as he stood, in a sheepskin overcoat
only and hurried after them. These testimonies dispelled all possible
doubts from the prince's mind as to the fact who had murdered de Fourcy;
but they filled him with uneasiness and with such anger, that at first he
wanted to pursue the Knights of the Cross, capture them and send them to
the grand master in chains. After a while, however, he came to the
conclusion, that it was impossible to reach them on this side of the
boundary and he said:

"I will send, instead, a letter to the grand master, so that he may know
what they are doing here. God will punish them for it!"

Then he became thoughtful and after a while he began to say to the
courtiers:

"I cannot understand why they killed their guest; I would suspect the
shield-bearer if I did not know that he went there without weapons."

"Bah!" said the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, "why should the boy kill him? He had
not seen him before. Then suppose he had had arms, how could he attack
five of them and their armed retinues?"

"That is true," said the prince. "That guest must have opposed them in
something, or perhaps he did not wish to lie as was necessary for them. I
saw them wink at him, to induce him to say that Jurand was the first to
begin the fight."

Then Mrokota of Mocarzew said:

"He is a strong boy, if he could crush the arm of that dog Danveld."

"He said that he heard the bones of the German crack," answered the
prince; "and taking into consideration what he did in the forest, one
must admit it is true! The master and the servant are both strong boys.
But for Zbyszko, the bison would have rushed against the horses. Both the
Lotaringer and he contributed very much to the rescue of the princess."

"To be sure they are great boys," affirmed the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek. "Even
now when he can hardly breathe, he has taken Jurand's part and challenged
those knights. Jurand needs exactly such a son-in-law."

"In Krakow, Jurand said differently; but now, I think he will not oppose
it," said the prince.

"The Lord Jesus will help," said the princess, who entered just now and
heard the end of the conversation.

"Jurand cannot oppose it now, if only God will restore Zbyszko's health;
but we must reward him also."

"The best reward for him will be Danusia, and I think he will get her,
for when the women resolve to accomplish some object, then even Jurand
himself could not prevent them."

"Am I not right, to wish for that marriage?" asked the princess.

"I would not say a word if Zbyszko were not constant; but I think there
is no other in the world as faithful as he. And the girl also. She does
not leave him now for a moment; she caresses him and he smiles at her,
although he is very ill. I cry myself when I see this! I am speaking
righteously! It is worth while to help such a love, because the Holy
Mother looks gladly on human happiness."

"If it be God's will," said the prince, "the happiness will come. But it
is true that he nearly lost his head for that girl and now the bison has
injured him."

"Do not say it was for that girl," said the princess, quickly, "because
in Krakow Danusia saved him."

"True! But for her sake he attacked Lichtenstein, in order to tear from
his head the feathers, and he would not have risked his life for de
Lorche. As for the reward, I said before that they both deserve one, and
I will think about it in Ciechanow."

"Nothing will please Zbyszko more than to receive the knightly girdle and
the golden spurs."

The prince smiled benevolently and answered:

"Let the girl carry them to him; and when the illness leaves him, then we
will see that everything is accomplished according to the custom. Let her
carry them to him immediately, because quick joy is the best!"

The princess having heard that, hugged her lord in the presence of the
courtiers, and kissed his hands; he smiled continually and said:

"You see--A good idea! I see that the Holy Ghost has granted the woman
some sense also! Now call the girl."

"Danuska! Danuska!" called the princess.

And in a moment in the side door Danusia appeared; her eyes were red on
account of sleepless nights; and she held a pot of steaming gruel, which
the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had ordered to be put on Zbyszko's fractured
bones.

"Come to me, my dear girl!" said Prince Janusz. "Put aside the pot and
come."

When she approached with some timidity, because "the lord" always excited
some fear in her, he embraced her kindly and began to caress her face,
saying:

"Well, the poor child is unhappy--_hein_?"

"Yes!" answered Danusia.

And having sadness in her heart, she began to cry but very quietly, in
order not to hurt the prince; he asked again:

"Why do you cry?"

"Because Zbyszko is ill," answered she, putting her little hands to her
eyes.

"Do not be afraid, there is no danger for him. Is that not true, Father
Wyszoniek?"

"Hej! by God's will, he is nearer to the wedding than to the coffin,"
answered the good-hearted _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek.

The prince said:

"Wait! In the meanwhile, I will give you a medicine for him, and I trust
it will relieve him or cure him entirely."

"Have the Krzyzaks sent the balm?" asked Danusia quickly, taking her
little hands from her eyes.

"With that balm which the Krzyzaks will send, you had better smear a dog
than a knight whom you love. I will give you something else."

Then he turned to the courtiers and said:

"Hurry and bring the spurs and the girdle."

After a while, when they had brought them to him, he said to Danusia:

"Take these to Zbyszko--and tell him that from this time he is a belted
knight. If he die, then he will appear before God as _miles cinctus_; if
he live, then the rest will be accomplished in Ciechanow or in Warszawa."

Having heard this, Danusia seized "the lord" by his knees; then caught
the knightly insignia with one hand and the pot of porridge with the
other, and rushed to the room where Zbyszko was lying. The princess, not
wishing to lose the sight of their joy, followed her.

Zbyszko was very ill, but having perceived Danusia, he turned his pale
face toward her and asked:

"Has the Czech returned?"

"No matter about the Czech!" answered the girl. "I bring you better news
than that. The lord has made you a knight and has sent you this by me."

Having said this, she put beside him the girdle and the spurs. Zbyszko's
pale cheeks flushed with joy and astonishment, he glanced at Danusia and
then at the spurs; then he closed his eyes and began to repeat:

"How could he dub me a knight?"

At that moment the princess entered, and he raised himself a little and
began to thank her, because he guessed that her intervention had brought
such a great favor and bliss to him. But she ordered him to be quiet and
helped Danusia to put his head on the pillows again. In the meanwhile,
the prince, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, Mrokota and several other courtiers
entered.

Prince Janusz waved his hand to signify that Zbyszko must not move; then
having seated himself beside the bed, he said:

"You know! The people must not wonder that there is reward for good
deeds, because if virtue remained without any reward, human iniquities
would walk without punishment. You did not spare your life, but with
peril to yourself defended us from dreadful mourning; therefore we permit
you to don the knightly girdle, and from this moment to walk in glory and
fame."

"Gracious lord," answered Zbyszko. "I would not spare even ten lives----"

But he could not say anything more, on account of his emotion; and the
princess put her hand on his mouth because the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek did
not permit him to talk. The prince continued further:

"I think that you know the knightly duties and that you will wear the
insignia with honor. You must serve our Saviour, and fight with the
_starosta_ of hell. You must be faithful to the anointed lord, avoid
unrighteous war and defend innocence against oppression; may God and His
Holy Passion help you!"

"Amen!" answered the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek.

The prince arose, made the sign of the cross over Zbyszko and added:

"And when you recover, go immediately to Ciechanow, where I will summon
Jurand."




CHAPTER VIII.

Three days afterward, a woman arrived with the Hercynski balm and with
her came the captain of the archers from Szczytno, with a letter, signed
by the brothers and sealed with Danveld's seal; in that letter the
Knights of the Cross called on heaven and earth as witnesses of the
wrongs committed against them in Mazowsze, and with a threat of God's
vengeance, they asked for punishment for the murder of their "beloved
comrade and guest." Danveld added to the letter his personal complaint,
asking humbly but also threateningly for remuneration for his crippled
hand and a sentence of death against the Czech. The prince tore the
letter into pieces in the presence of the captain, threw it under his
feet and said:

"The grand master sent those scoundrels of Krzyzaks to win me over, but
they have incited me to wrath. Tell them from me that they killed their
guest themselves and they wanted to murder the Czech. I will write to the
grand master about that and I will request him to send different envoys,
if he wishes me to be neutral in case of a war between the Order and the
Krakowski king."

"Gracious lord," answered the captain, "must I carry such an answer to
the mighty and pious brothers?"

"If it is not enough, tell them then, that I consider them dog-brothers
and not honest knights."

This was the end of the audience. The captain went away, because the
prince departed the same day for Ciechanow. Only the "sister" remained
with the balm, but the mistrustful _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek did not wish to
use it, especially as the sick man had slept well the preceding night and
had awakened without any fever, although still very weak. After the
prince's departure, the sister immediately sent a servant for a new
medicine apparently--for the "egg of a basilisk"--which she affirmed had
the power to restore strength even to people in agony; as for herself,
she wandered about the mansion; she was humble and was dressed in a lay
dress, but similar to that worn by members of the Order; she carried a
rosary and a small pilgrim's gourd at her belt. She could not move one of
her hands. As she could speak Polish well, she inquired from the servants
about Zbyszko and Danusia, to whom she made a present of a rose of
Jericho; on the second day during Zbyszko's slumber, while Danusia was
sitting in the dining-room, she approached her and said:

"May God-bless you, _panienko_. Last night after my prayers I dreamed
that there were two knights walking during the fall of the snow; one of
them came first and wrapped you in a white mantle, and the other said: 'I
see only the snow, and she is not here,' and he returned."

Danusia who was sleepy, immediately opened her blue eyes curiously, and
asked:

"What does it mean?"

"It means that the one who loves you the best, will get you."

"That is Zbyszko!" said the girl.

"I do not know, because I did not see his face; I only saw the white
mantle and then I awakened; the Lord Jesus sends me pain every night in
my feet and I cannot move my hand."

"It is strange that the balm has not helped you any!"

"It cannot help me, _panienko_, because the pain is a punishment for a
sin; if you wish to know what the sin was, I will tell you."

Danusia nodded her little head in sign that she wished to know; therefore
the "sister" continued:

"There are also servants, women, in the Order, who, although they do not
make any vows, and are allowed to marry, are obliged to perform certain
duties for the Order, according to the brothers' commands. The one who
meets such favor and honor, receives a pious kiss from a brother-knight
as a sign that from that moment she is to serve the Order with words and
deeds. Ah! _panienko_!--I was going to receive that great favor, but in
sinful obduracy instead of receiving it with gratitude, I committed a
great sin and was punished for it."

"What did you do?"

"Brother Danveld came to me and gave me the kiss of the Order; but I,
thinking that he was doing it from pure license, raised my wicked hand
against him----"

Here she began to strike her breast and repeated several times:

"God, be merciful to me, a sinner!"

"What happened then?" asked Danusia.

"Immediately my hand became motionless, and from that moment I have been
crippled. I was young and stupid--I did not know! But I was punished. If
a woman fears that a brother of the Order wishes to do something wicked,
she must leave the judgment to God, but she must not resist herself,
because whosoever contradicts the Order or a brother of the Order, that
one will feel God's anger!"

Danusia listened to these words with fright and uneasiness; the sister
began to sigh and to complain.

"I am not old yet," said she; "I am only thirty years old, but besides
the hand, God has taken from me my youth and beauty."

"If it were not for the hand," said Danusia, "you need not complain."

Then there was silence. Suddenly the sister, as if she had just
remembered something, said:

"I dreamed that some knight wrapped you with a white mantle on the snow.
Perhaps it was a Krzyzak! They wear white mantles."

"I want neither Krzyzaks nor their mantles," answered the girl.

But further conversation was interrupted by the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek, who
entering the room, nodded to Danusia and said:

"Praise God and come to Zbyszko! He has awakened and has asked for
something to eat. He is much better."

In fact it was so. Zbyszko was a great deal better, and the _ksiondz_
Wyszoniek was almost sure that he would recover, when an unexpected
accident upset all his expectations. There came envoys from Jurand with a
letter to the princess, containing dreadful news. In Spychow, half of
Jurand's _grodek_ had been burned, and he himself during the rescue was
struck by a beam. It is true that the _ksiondz_ Kaleb, who wrote the
letter, said that Jurand, would recover, but that the sparks had burned
his remaining eye so badly that there was very little sight left in it,
and he was likely to become blind.

For that reason, Jurand asked his daughter to come to Spychow as soon as
possible, because he wished to see her once more, before he was entirely
encompassed by darkness. He also said that she was to remain with him,
because even the blind, begging on the roads, had some one to lead them
by the hand and show them the way; why should he be deprived of that
pleasure and die among strangers? There were also humble thanks for the
princess, who had taken care of the girl like a mother, and finally
Jurand promised that, although blind, he would go to Warszawa once more,
in order to fall at the lady's feet and beg her for further favor for
Danusia.

The princess, when the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek had finished reading the
letter, could not say a word for some time. She had hoped that when
Jurand came to see his daughter and her, she would be able by the
prince's and her own influence to obtain his consent for the wedding of
the young couple. But this letter, not only destroyed her plans, but in
the meanwhile deprived her of Danusia whom she loved as well as she did
her own children. She feared that Jurand would marry the girl to some
neighbor of his, so as to spend the rest of his life among his own
people. It was no use to think about Zbyszko--he could not go to Spychow,
and then who knew how he would be received there. The lady knew that
Jurand had refused to give him Danusia; and he had said to the princess
herself that on account of some secret reason, he would never consent to
their marriage. Therefore in great grief she ordered the principal
messenger to be brought to her, as she desired to ask him about the
Spychowski misfortune, and also to learn something about Jurand's plans.

She was very much surprised when a stranger came instead of the old
Tolima, who used to bear the shield after Jurand and usually carried his
messages; but the stranger told her that Tolima had been seriously
injured in the last fight with the Germans and that he was dying in
Spychow; Jurand being very ill himself, asked her to send his daughter
immediately, because every day he saw less and less, and perhaps in a few
days he would become blind. The messenger begged the princess to permit
him to take the girl immediately after the horses were rested, but as it
was already dusk she refused; especially as she did not wish to distress
Zbyszko and Danusia by such a sudden separation.

Zbyszko already knew all about it, and he was lying like one stricken by
a heavy blow; when the princess entered, and wringing her hands, said
from the threshold:

"We cannot help it; he is her father!" he repeated after her like an
echo: "We cannot help it----" then closed his eyes, like a man who
expects death immediately.

But death did not come; but in his breast there gathered a still greater
grief and through his head ran sad thoughts, like the clouds which driven
by the wind, obstruct the sun and quench all joy in the world. Zbyszko
understood as well as the princess did, that if Danusia were once in
Spychow, she would be lost to him forever. Here everybody was his friend;
there Jurand might even refuse to receive him, or listen to him,
especially if he were bound by a vow, or some other unknown reason as
strong as a religious vow. Then how could he go to Spychow, when he was
sick and hardly able to move in bed. A few days ago, when the prince
rewarded him with the golden spurs, he had thought that his joy would
conquer his illness, and he had prayed fervently to God to be permitted
to soon rise and fight with the Krzyzaks; but now he had again lost all
hope, because he felt that if Danusia were not at his bedside, then with
her would go his desire for life and the strength to fight with death.
What a pleasure and joy it had been to ask her several times a day: "Do
you love me?" and to see how she covered her smiling and bashful eyes, or
bent and answered: "Yes, Zbyszko."

But now only illness, loneliness and grief would remain, and the
happiness would depart and not return.

Tears shone in Zbyszko's eyes and rolled slowly down on his cheeks; then
he turned to the princess and said:

"Gracious lady, I fear that I shall never see Danusia again."

And the lady being sorrowful herself, answered:

"I would not be surprised if you died from grief; but the Lord Jesus is
merciful."

After a while, however, wishing to comfort him, she added:

"But if Jurand die first, then the tutelage will be the prince's and
mine, and we will give you the girl immediately."

"He will not die!" answered Zbyszko.

But at once, evidently some new thought came to his mind, because he
arose, sat on the bed and said in a changed voice:

"Gracious lady----"

At that moment Danusia interrupted him; she came crying and said from the
threshold:

"Zbyszku! Do you know about it already! I pity _tatus_, but I pity you
also, poor boy!"

When she approached, Zbyszko encircled his love with his well arm, and
began to speak:

"How can I live without you, my dearest? I did not travel through rivers
and forest, I did not make the vow to serve you, that I might lose you.
Hej! sorrow will not help, crying will not help, bah! even death itself,
because even if the grass grow over me, my soul will not forget you, even
if I am in the presence of the Lord Jesus or of God the Father--I say,
there must be a remedy! I feel a terrible pain in my bones, but you must
fall at the lady's feet, I cannot--and ask her to have mercy upon us."

Danusia hearing this, ran quickly to the princess' feet, and having
seized them in her arms, she hid her face in the folds of the heavy
dress; the lady turned her compassionate but also astonished eyes to
Zbyszko, and said:

"How can I show you mercy? If I do not let the child go to her sick
father, I will draw God's anger on myself."

Zbyszko who had been sitting on the bed, slipped down on the pillows and
did not answer for a time because he was exhausted. Slowly, however, he
began to move one hand toward the other on his breast until he joined
them as in prayer.

"Rest," said the princess; "then you may tell me what you wish; and you,
Danusia, arise and release my knees."

"Relax, but do not rise; beg with me," said Zbyszko.

Then he began to speak in a feeble and broken voice:

"Gracious lady--Jurand was against me in Krakow--he will be here also,
but if the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek married me to Danusia, then--afterward she
may go to Spychow because there is no human power that could take her
away from me----"

These words were so unexpected to the princess, that she jumped from the
bench; then she sat down again and as if she had not thoroughly
understood about what he was talking, she said:

"For heaven's sake! the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek."

"Gracious lady! Gracious lady!" begged Zbyszko.

"Gracious lady!" repeated Danusia, embracing the princess' knees.

"How could it be done without her father's permission?"

"God's law is the stronger!" answered Zbyszko.

"For heaven's sake!"

"Who is the father, if not the prince? Who is the mother, if not you,
gracious lady?"

And Danusia added:

"Dearest _matuchna_!"[104]

"It is true, that I have been and am still like a mother to her," said
the princess, "and Jurand received his wife from my hand. It is true! And
if you are once married--everything is ended. Perhaps Jurand will be
angry, but he must be obedient to the commands of the prince, his lord.
Then, no one need tell him immediately, only if he wanted to give the
girl to another, or to make her a nun; and if he has made some vow, it
will not be his fault that he cannot fulfill it. Nobody can act against
God's will--perhaps it is God's will!"

"It cannot be otherwise!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

But the princess, still very much excited, said:

"Wait, I must collect my thoughts. If the prince were here, I would go to
him immediately and would ask him: 'May I give Danusia to Zbyszko or
not?' But I am afraid without him, and there is not much time to spare,
because the girl must go to-morrow! Oh, sweet Jesus, let her go
married--then there will be peace. But I cannot recover my senses
again--and then I am afraid of something. And you Danusia, are you not
afraid?--Speak!"

"I will die without that!" interrupted Zbyszko.

Danusia arose from the princess' knees; she was not only really on
confidential terms with the good lady, but also much spoiled by her;
therefore she seized her around the neck, and began to hug her.

But the princess said:

"I will not promise you anything without Father Wyszoniek. Run for him
immediately!"

Danusia went after Father Wyszoniek; Zbyszko turned his pale face toward
the princess, and said:

"What the Lord Jesus has destined for me will happen; but for this
consolation, may God reward you, gracious lady."

"Do not bless me yet," answered the princess, "because we do not know
what will happen. You must swear to me upon you honor, that if you are
married, you will not prevent the girl from going to her father, or else
you will draw his curse upon her and yourself.

"Upon my honor!" said Zbyszko.

"Remember then! And the girl must not tell Jurand immediately. We will
send for him from Ciechanow, and make him come with Danusia, and then I
will tell him myself, or I will ask the prince to do it. When he sees
that there is no remedy, he will consent. He did not dislike you?"

"No," said Zbyszko, "he did not dislike me; perhaps he will be pleased
when Danusia is mine. If he made a vow, it will not be his fault that he
could not keep it."

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Danusia and the
_ksiondz_ Wyszoniek. The princess immediately asked his advice and began
to tell him with great enthusiasm about Zbyszko's plan; but as soon as he
heard about it, he made the sign of the cross from astonishment and said:

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost! How can
I do it? It is advent!"

"For God's sake! That is true!" exclaimed the princess.

Then there was silence; only their sorrowful faces showed what a blow
those words of the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek were to all of them.

Then he said after a while:

"If you had a dispensation, then I would not oppose it, because I pity
you. I would not ask for Jurand's permission, because our gracious lady
consents and, vouches for the prince's consent--well! they are the mother
and the father for the whole of Mazowsze. But without a bishop's
dispensation, I cannot. Bah! if the _ksiondz_ bishop of Kurdwanow were
with us, he would not refuse a dispensation, although he is a severe
priest, not like his predecessor, Bishop Mamphiolus, who used always to
answer: _Bene! Bene!_"

"Bishop Jacob of Kurdwanow loves the prince and myself very much," said
the lady.

"Therefore I say he would not refuse a dispensation, more so because
there are some reasons for one: the girl must go to her father and that
young man is ill and may die--Hm! _in articulo mortis!_ But without a
dispensation I cannot."

"I could obtain it afterward from Bishop Jacob; no matter how severe he
may be, he will not refuse me this favor. I guarantee, he will not
refuse," said the princess.

To this the _ksiondz_ Wjszoniek who was a good and easy man, replied:

"A word of the Lord's anointed is a great word. I am afraid of the
_ksiondz_ bishop, but that great word! Then the youth could promise
something to the cathedral in Plock. Well, as long as the dispensation
will not come, there will be a sin--and nobody's but mine. Hm! It is
true that the Lord Jesus is merciful and if any one sin not for his own
benefit, but on account of mercy for human misery, he forgives more
easily! But there will be a sin, and suppose the bishop should refuse,
who will grant me pardon?"

"The bishop will not refuse!" exclaimed Princess Anna.

And Zbyszko said:

"That man Sanderus, who came with me, has pardons ready for everything."

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek probably did not believe entirely in Sanderus'
pardons; but he was glad to have even a pretext so that he could help
Danusia and Zbyszko, because he loved the girl, whom he had known from
childhood. Then he remembered that at the worst, he would be punished
with church penitence, therefore turning toward the princess he said:

"It is true, I am a priest, but I am also the prince's servant. What do
you command, gracious lady?"

"I do not wish to command but to beg," answered the lady. "If that
Sanderus has pardons----"

"Sanderus has. But there is the question about the bishop. He is very
severe with the canons in Plock."

"Do not be afraid of the bishop. I have heard that he has forbidden the
priest to carry swords and crossbows and has forbidden different
licenses, but he has not forbidden them to do good."

The _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek raised his eyes and his hands, and said:

"Let it be according to your wish!"

At this word, joy filled their hearts. Zbyszko again sat on the bed and
the princess, Danusia and Father Wyszoniek sat round it and began to plan
how they should act.

They decided to keep it secret so that not a soul in the house should
know anything about it; they also decided that Jurand must not know until
the princess herself told him in Ciechanow about everything.

In the meanwhile, the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek was to write a letter from the
princess to Jurand and ask him to come to Ciechanow, where he could find
better medicine and where he will not weary. Finally, they decided, that
Zbyszko and Danusia will go to confession, that the wedding ceremony will
be performed during the night, when everybody will retire.

The thought came to Zbyszko to have his shield-bearer, the Czech, as a
witness of the wedding; but he gave up the idea when he remembered that
he had received him from Jagienka. For a moment she stood in his memory
as though present, so that it seemed to him that he saw her blushing face
and her eyes full of tears, and heard her pleading voice say: "Do not do
that! Do not repay me with evil for good, nor with misery for love!" Then
at once great compassion for her seized him, because he felt that a great
wrong would be done her, after which she would find no consolation under
the roof of Zgorzelice, nor in the depths of the forest, nor in the
fields, nor in the abbot's gifts, nor in Cztan and Wilk's courtship.
Therefore he said inwardly: "Girl, may God give you the best of
everything, for although I am willing to bend the sky for you, I cannot."
In fact, the thought that he could not help it, immediately brought him
relief, and tranquillity returned, so that immediately he began to think
only about Danusia and the wedding.

But he was obliged to call the Czech to help him; therefore although he
determined not to say a word to him about what was going to happen, he
summoned him and said:

"To-day I am going to confession as well as to the Lord's table;
therefore you must dress me in my best clothing as if I were going to the
king's palace."

The Czech was a little afraid and began to look into his face; Zbyszko
having noticed this, said:

"Do not be alarmed, people do not go to confession only when they expect
to die; the holy days are coming, Father Wyszoniek and the princess are
going to Ciechanow, and then there will be no priest nearer than in
Przasnysz."

"And are you not going?" asked the shield-bearer.

"If I recover my health, then I will go; but that is in God's hands."

Therefore the Czech was quieted; he hurried to the chests, and brought
that white _jaka_ embroidered with gold, in which the knight used to
dress for great occasions, and also a beautiful rug to cover the bed;
then having lifted Zbyszko, with the help of the two Turks, he washed
him, and combed his long hair on which he put a scarlet zone; finally he
placed him on red cushions, and satisfied with his own work, said:

"If Your Grace were able to dance, you could celebrate even a wedding!"

"It will be necessary to celebrate it without dancing," answered Zbyszko,
smiling.

In the meanwhile the princess was also thinking how to dress Danusia,
because for her womanly nature it was a question of great importance, and
under no consideration would she consent to have her beloved foster child
married in her everyday dress. The servants who were also told that the
girl must dress in the color of innocence for confession, very easily
found a white dress, but there was great trouble about the wreath for the
head. While thinking of it, the lady became so sad that she began to
complain:

"My poor orphan, where shall I find a wreath of rue for you in this
wilderness? There is none here, neither a flower, nor a leaf; only some
green moss under the snow."

And Danusia, standing with loosened hair, also became sorrowful, because
she wanted a wreath; after awhile, however, she pointed to the garlands
of immortelles, hanging on the walls of the room, and said:

"We must weave a wreath of those flowers, because we will not find
anything else, and Zbyszko will take me even with such a wreath."

The princess would not consent at first, being afraid of a bad omen; but
as in this mansion, to which they came only for hunting, there were no
flowers, finally the immortelles were taken. In the meanwhile, Father
Wyszoniek came, and received Zbyszko's confession; afterwards he listened
to the girl's confession and then the gloomy night fell. The servants
retired after supper, according to the princess' order. Some of Jurand's
men lay down in the servants' room, and others slept in the stables with
the horses. Soon the fires in the servants' room became covered with
ashes and were quenched; finally everything became absolutely quiet in
the forest house, only from time to time the dogs were heard howling at
the wolves in the direction of the wilderness.

But in the princess', Father Wyszoniek's and Zbyszko's rooms, the windows
were shining, throwing red lights on the snow which covered the
court-yard. They were waiting in silence, listening to the throbbing of
their own hearts--uneasy and affected by the solemnity of the moment
which was coming. In fact, after midnight, the princess took Danusia by
the hand and conducted her to Zbyszko's room, where Father Wyszoniek was
waiting for them. In the room there was a great blaze in the fireplace,
and by its abundant but unsteady light, Zbyszko perceived Danusia; she
looked a little pale on account of sleepless nights; she was dressed in a
long, stiff, white dress, with a wreath of immortelles on her brow. On
account of emotion, she closed her eyes; her little hands were hanging
against the dress, and thus she appeared like some painting on a church
window; there was something spiritual about her; Zbyszko was surprised
when he saw her, and thought that he was going to marry not an earthly,
but a heavenly being. He still thought this when she kneeled with crossed
hands to receive the communion, and having bent her head, closed her eyes
entirely. In that moment she even seemed to him as if dead, and fear
seized his heart. But it did not last long because, having heard the
priest's voice repeat: "_Ecce Agnus Dei_," his thoughts went toward God.
In the room there were heard only the solemn voice of Father Wyszoniek:
"_Domine, non sum dignus_," and with it the crackling of the logs in the
fireplace and the sound of crickets playing obstinately, but sadly, in
the chinks of the chimney. Outdoors the wind arose and rustled in the
snowy forest, but soon stopped.

Zbyszko and Danusia remained sometime in silence; the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek
took the chalice and carried it to the chapel of the mansion. After a
while he returned accompanied by Sir de Lorche, and seeing astonishment
on the faces of those present, he placed his finger on his mouth, as if
to stop the cry of surprise, then he said:

"I understand; it will be better to have two witnesses of the marriage; I
warned this knight who swore to me on his honor and on the relics of
Aguisgranum to keep the secret as long as necessary."

Then Sir de Lorche first kneeled before the princess, then before
Danusia; then he arose and stood silently, clad in his armor, on which
the red light of the fire was playing. He stood motionless, as if plunged
in ecstasy, because for him also, that white girl with a wreath of
immortelles on her brow seemed like the picture of an angel, seen on the
window of a Gothic cathedral.

The priest put her near Zbyszko's bed and having put the stole round
their hands, began the customary rite. On the princess' honest face the
tears were dropping one after another; but she was not uneasy within,
because she believed she was doing well, uniting these two lovely and
innocent children. Sir de Lorche kneeled again, and leaning with both
hands on the hilt of his sword, looked like a knight who beholds a
vision. The young people repeated the priest's words: "I ... take you
..." and those sweet quiet words were accompanied again by the singing of
the crickets in the chimney and the crackling in the fireplace. When the
ceremony was finished, Danusia fell at the feet of the princess who
blessed them both, and finally intrusted them to the tutelage of heavenly
might; she said to Zbyszko:

"Now be merry, because she is yours, and you are hers."

Then Zbyszko extended his well arm to Danusia, and she put her little
arms round his neck; for a while one could hear them repeat to each
other:

"Danuska, you are mine!"

"Zbyszku, you are mine!"

But soon Zbyszko became weak, because there were too many emotions for
his strength, and having slipped on the pillow, he began to breathe
heavily. But he did not faint, nor did he cease to smile at Danusia, who
was wiping his face which was covered with a cold perspiration, and he
did not stop repeating:

"Danuska, you are mine!" to which every time she nodded her fair head in
assent.

This sight greatly moved Sir de Lorche, who declared that in no other
country had he seen such loving and tender hearts; therefore he solemnly
swore that he was ready to fight on foot or on horseback with any knight,
magician or dragon, who would try to prevent their happiness. The
princess and Father Wyszoniek were witnesses of his oath.

But the lady, being unable to conceive of a marriage without some
merriment, brought some wine which they drank. The hours of night were
passing on. Zbyszko having overcome his weakness, drew Danusia to him and
said:

"Since the Lord Jesus has given you to me, nobody can take you from me;
but I am sorry that you must leave me, my sweetest berry."

"We will come with _tatulo_ to Ciechanow," answered Danusia.

"If only you do not become sick--or--God may preserve you from some bad
accident.--You must go to Spychow--I know! Hej! I must be thankful to God
and to our gracious lady, that you are already mine--because we are
married and no human force can break our marriage."

But as this marriage was performed secretly during the night and
separation was necessary immediately afterward, therefore from time to
time, not only Zbyszko, but everybody was filled with sadness. The
conversation was broken. From time to time, also the fire was quenched
and plunged all heads in obscurity. Then the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek threw
fresh logs on the charcoal and when something whined in the wood, as
happens very often when the wood is fresh, he said:

"Penitent soul, what do you wish?"

The crickets answered him and the increasing flames which brought out
from the shadow the sleepless faces, were reflected in Sir de Lorche's
armor, lighting in the meanwhile Danusia's white dress and the
immortelles on her head.

The dogs outside again began to howl in the direction of the forest, as
they usually do, when they scent wolves.

As the hours of the night flew on, oftener there was silence; finally the
princess said:

"Sweet Jesus! We had better go to bed if we are going to sit like this
after a wedding, but as it was determined to watch until morning, then
play for us, my little flower, for the last time before your departure,
on the little lute--for me and for Zbyszko."

"What shall I play?" asked she.

"What?" said the princess. "What else if not the same song which you sang
in Tyniec, when Zbyszko saw you for the first time."

"Hej! I remember--and shall never forget it," said Zbyszko. "When I heard
that song somewhere else--I cried."

"Then I will sing it!" said Danusia.

And immediately she began to thrum on the lute; then, having raised her
little head, she sang:

  "If I only could get
  The wings like a birdie,
  I would fly quickly
  To my dearest Jasiek!
  I would then be seated
  On the high enclosure;
  Look, my dear Jasiulku,
  Look on me, poor orphan."

But at once her voice broke, her mouth began to tremble and from beneath
the closed eyelids the tears began to flow down her cheeks. For a moment
she tried not to let them pass the eyelashes, but she could not keep them
back and finally she began to cry, exactly as she did the last time she
sang that song to Zbyszko in the prison in Krakow.

"Danuska! what is the matter, Danuska?" asked Zbyszko.

"Why are you crying? Such a wedding!" exclaimed the princess. "Why?"

"I do not know," answered Danusia, sobbing. "I am so sad! I regret
Zbyszko and you so much."

Then all became very sorrowful; they began to console her, and to explain
to her that she was not going to remain in Spychow a long time, but that
they would surely be with Jurand in Ciechanow for the holy days. Zbyszko
again encircled her with his arm, drew her to his breast and kissed the
tears from her eyes; but the oppression remained in all hearts, and thus
the hours of night passed.

Finally from the court-yard there resounded such a sudden and dreadful
noise, that all shivered. The princess, having rushed from the bench,
exclaimed:

"For God's sake. The sweeps of the wells! They are watering the horses!"

And the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek looked through the window, in which the glass
balls were growing gray and said:

"The night grows white and the day is coming. _Ave Maria, gratia
plena_----"

Then he left the room but having returned after a while, he said:

"The day breaks, but the day will be dark. Jurand's people are watering
their horses. Poor girl, you must be ready!"

The princess and Danusia began to cry very loudly and both, together with
Zbyszko, began to lament, as simple people do when they have to separate;
it was half lamenting and half singing, which flowed from full souls, in
a natural way, as the tears flow from the eyes.

  "Hej! there is no use of lamenting,
  We must separate, my darling,
             Farewell--hej!"

Zbyszko nestled Danusia for the last time on his breast and kept her for
a long time, as long as he could breathe and until the princess drew her
from him, in order to dress her for the journey.

In the meanwhile it was broad daylight.

In the mansion everybody was up and moving round. The Czech came to
Zbyszko to ask about his health and to ascertain what were his orders.

"Draw the bed to the window," said the knight to him.

The Czech drew the bed to the window, very easily; but he was surprised
when Zbyszko told him to open it. He obeyed, however, only he covered his
master with his own fur coat, because it was cold outside, although
cloudy, and snow was falling.

Zbyszko began to look; in the court-yard, through the flakes of the
falling snow, one could see lights, and round them, on steaming horses,
Jurand's people were standing. All were armed. The forest was entirely
covered with the snow; one could hardly see the enclosures and the gate.

Danusia, all wrapped up in furs, rushed once more into Zbyszko's room;
once more she put her arms around his neck and bade him farewell:

"Although I am going, still I am yours."

He kissed her hands, her cheeks and her eyes, and said:

"May God protect you! May God lead you! You are mine, mine until death!"

When they again separated them, he raised himself as much as he could,
leaned his head on the window and looked out; consequently, through the
flakes of the snow, as through a veil, he saw Danusia sitting in the
sleigh, the princess holding her a long time in her arms, the ladies of
the court kissing her and the _ksiondz_ Wyszoniek making the sign of the
cross for the journey. Before the departure, she turned once more toward
him, stretched out her arms and exclaimed:

"Zbyszku, remain with God!"

"May God permit me to see you in Ciechanow!"

But the snow was falling abundantly, as though to deaden every sound, and
to cover everything; therefore those last words came muffled to their
ears, so that it seemed to each of them that they were already calling to
each other from afar.


END OF PART THIRD.




PART FOURTH.




CHAPTER I.

After abundant snowfalls, heavy frost and dry, clear days set in. By day
the wood sparkled in the rays of the sun, the ice fettered the rivers and
hardened the marshes; serene nights followed in which the frost was
intensified to such a degree that the wood in the forest cracked loudly.
The birds approached the dwelling-places. Wolves rendered the roads
unsafe, gathering in packs and attacking not only solitary people, but
also villages. The people however enjoyed themselves at the firesides in
their smoky shanties, presaging from the intensely cold winter an
abundant year, and they waited gladly for the approaching holidays. The
princely Forest Court was deserted. The princess with the court and
priest Wyszoniek left for Ciechanow. Zbyszko, who, though considerably
improved, was not yet strong enough to ride on horseback, remained in the
Forest Court together with Sanderus, his Bohemian armor-bearer and the
servants of the place, who were under the superintendence of a
noble-woman fulfilling the household duties.

But the knight greatly yearned after his young wife. It is true, it was
an immensely consoling thought to him that Danusia was already his, and
that no human power could take her from him; but, on the other hand, that
same thought intensified his longing. For whole days he hoped for that
moment when he should be able to leave the court, and pondered on what he
should then do, where to go, and how to appease Jurand. He had, likewise,
bad and restless moments. But on the whole the future appeared joyful to
him. To love Danusia and pluck peacock plumes from helmets--such a life
would he lead. Many a time he desired to speak of it to his Bohemian whom
he loved, but he reflected, since the Bohemian, he thought, was with his
whole soul Jagienka's, it would be imprudent to speak to him about
Danusia, but he, bound to secrecy, could not tell everything that
happened.

However, his health improved daily. A week before Vigil (Christmas Eve)
he mounted his horse for the first time, and although he felt that he
could not do this in his armor, nevertheless he gathered confidence.
Besides, he did not expect soon to be obliged to put on the coat of mail
and helmet. At the worst he hoped soon to be strong enough to do that
too. Indoors, in order to kill time, he attempted to lift up the sword,
which he accomplished well, but the wielding of the axe seemed to him yet
a difficult task. Nevertheless, he believed that if he grasped the axe
with both hands he would be able to wield it effectively.

Finally, two days before the Vigil, he gave orders to repair the
carriage, saddle the horses, and notified the Bohemian that they were
going to Ciechanow. The faithful armor-bearer was somewhat anxious, the
more so on account of the intense frost out-of-doors. But Zbyszko said to
him:

"Glowacz,[105] it concerns not your head, there is nothing for us in this
court, and even should I happen to be sick, I would not miss seeing the
old gentleman in Ciechanow. Moreover, I shall not ride on horseback, but
in a sleigh, up to the neck in hay and under furs, and only when quite
near Ciechanow shall I mount my horse."

And so it happened. The Bohemian knew his young master and was aware that
it was not good to oppose him, and still worse not to attend scrupulously
to his orders. Therefore they started at an early hour. At the moment of
departure, Zbyszko seeing Sanderus placing himself and his boxes in the
sleigh, said to him: "Why are you sticking to me like burs to sheep's
wool?... You told me you wished to go to Prussia."

"Yes, I said so," Sanderus replied. "But can I get there alone in such
snows? The wolves would devour me before the first star made its
appearance, and I have nothing to stay here for. I prefer the town, to
edify the people in godliness, and bestow upon them my holy wares and
rescue them from the devil's grasp, as I have sworn to the father of all
Christendom in Rome. Besides this, I am exceedingly attached to your
grace, whom I shall not leave before my return to Rome, for it may happen
that I may be enabled to render you some service."

"He is always for you, sir! He is ready to eat and drink for you," said
the Bohemian. "Such service he would be too glad to render, but if a pack
of wolves should happen to attack us in the forests near Przasnysz then I
shall feed the wolves with him, for he is unfit for anything else."

"Better take care that the sinful words don't freeze to your moustache,"
replied Sanderus, "for such icicles can only melt in hellfire."

"Owa!" replied Glowacz, reaching with his gauntlet to his incipient
moustache, "I shall first try to warm some beer for refreshment, but I'll
give none to you."

"But it is forbidden there to give drink to the thirsty,--another sin."

"I shall give you a pail full of water, but meanwhile take what I have in
my hand!" Thus saying he gathered as much snow as he could hold with both
gauntlets and threw it at Sanderus' beard, but the latter bent aside and
said:

"There is nothing for _you_ in Ciechanow, for there is already a grown-up
bear that plays with snow."

Thus they loved to tease each other. But Zbyszko did not forbid Sanderus
to ride with him because that strange man amused him, and at the same
time it seemed to him that the man was really attached to him.

They moved from the Forest Court in the bright morning. The frost was so
intense that they had to cover the horses. The whole landscape was under
snow. The roofs of the cottages were covered and hardly visible. Smoke
seemed to issue directly from white hills, shooting up skyward, red-hued
in the morning, widening out on the roof like a brush, and looking like
the plumes on helmets.

Zbyszko sat in the sleigh, first to gather strength, secondly on account
of the severe cold, against which it was easy to protect oneself; he
commanded Glowacz to sit down beside him so as to be ready with the
crossbow against an attack of wolves, meanwhile he chatted with him
merrily.

"In Przasnysz, we shall only feed the horses and warm ourselves a little
and then immediately continue our journey."

"To Ciechanow?"

"First to Ciechanow, to pay homage to the court and attend worship."

"After that?" inquired Glowacz.

Zbyszko smiled and replied,

"Afterward, who knows, may be to Bogdaniec."

The Bohemian looked at him with astonishment, the thought crossed his
mind: Maybe he has quarrelled with Jurandowna, and this seemed to him
most likely, because she had gone away. The Bohemian had also heard in
the Forest Court that the lord of Spychow was opposed to the young
knight, therefore the honest armor-bearer was glad although he loved
Jagienka, but he looked upon her as upon a star in heaven for whose
happiness he was willing even to shed his blood. He therefore loved
Zbyszko, and from his very soul he longed to serve both of them even unto
death.

"Then your grace thinks to settle down on the estate," he exultingly
said.

"How can I settle down on my estate," replied Zbyszko, "when I challenged
those Knights of the Cross, and even before that, I challenged
Lichtenstein. De Lorche said that the Master would invite the king to
visit Torun. I shall attach myself to the king's retinue, and I think
that at Torun, either _Pan_ Zawisza of Garbow or Powala of Taczew will
ask permission from our lord to allow me to fight those monks. They will
certainly come to fight accompanied by their armor-bearers; in that case
you will also have to meet them."

"If I were to kill any one, I should like him to be a monk," said the
Bohemian.

Zbyszko looked at him with satisfaction. "Well, he will not fare well who
happens to feel your steel. God has given you great strength, but you
would act badly if you were to push it to excess, because humility is
becoming in the worthy armor-bearer."

The Bohemian shook his head as a sign that he would not waste his
strength, but would not spare it against the Germans.

Zbyszko smiled, not on account of what the armor bearer had said, but at
his own thoughts.

"The old gentleman will be glad when we return, and in Zgorzelice there
will also be joy."

Jagienka stood before Zbyszko's eyes as though she were sitting with him
in the sleigh. That always happened, whenever he thought of her he saw
her very distinctly.

"Well," he said to himself, "she will not be glad, for when I shall
return to Bogdaniec it will be with Danusia. Let her take somebody
else...." Here, the figures of Wills of Brzozowa, and young Cztan of
Rogow passed through his mind, and suddenly a disagreeable feeling crept
over him, because the girl might fall into the hands of one of them, and
he said to himself: "I wish I could find some better man, for those
fellows are beer-gulpers and gourmands, and the girl is upright." And he
thought of this and of that; of his uncle when he should learn what had
happened, it would be irksome, no matter how it turned out; but he
immediately consoled himself with the thought that with his uncle,
matters concerning kinship and wealth were always paramount, and these
could advance the interest of the family. Jagienka was indeed nearer, but
Jurand was a greater land owner than Zych of Zgorzelice. Moreover the
former could easily foresee that Macko could not be long opposed to such
a liaison, the more so when he should behold his nephew's love for
Danusia and her requital. He would grumble for a while, then he would be
glad and begin to love Danuska as his own daughter.

Suddenly his heart was moved with tenderness and yearning toward that
uncle who although a severe man, loved him like the pupil of his own eye;
that uncle cared for him on the battlefield more than for himself, he
took booty for him, and for his sake he was driven out from his estate.
Both of them were lonely in the world without near relatives, with only
distant ones like the abbot. Moreover, when the time arrived to separate
from each other, neither of them knew what to do, particularly the older
one, who no more desired anything for himself.

"Hej! he will be glad, he will be glad!" repeated Zbyszko to himself.
"Only one thing I should like,--that he should receive Jurand and me as
well as he would receive me by myself."

Then he attempted to imagine what Jurand would say and do when he learned
of the marriage. There was some alarm in this thought, but not too much
of it, for the simple reason that it was an accomplished fact. It would
not do for Jurand to challenge him to fight, and even should Jurand
oppose, Zbyszko could answer him thus: "Forbear, I ask you; your right to
Danuska is human, but mine is divine; she is therefore no more yours, but
mine." He once heard from a certain clergyman who was versed in the
Scriptures that the woman must leave her father and mother and go with
her husband. He felt therefore that the greater part of strength was in
his favor; nevertheless he did not expect that intense strife and passion
would arise between Jurand and himself, for he counted upon Danusia's
petition which would be granted, and quite as much, if not more, upon
that which would be obtained by the intercession of the prince under whom
Jurand was serving and that of the princess whom Jurand loved as the
protectress of his child.

Owing to the severe frosts, wolves appeared in such great packs, that
they even attacked people traveling together. Zbyszko was advised to
remain over night at Przasnysz, but he took no notice of it, because it
happened that, at the inn, they met some Mazovian knights with their
trains who were also on their way to meet the prince at Ciechanow, and
some armed merchants from that very place convoying loaded wagons from
Prussia. There was no danger to travel with such a great crowd; they
therefore started toward evening, although a sudden wind arose after
nightfall which chased the clouds, and snow began to fall. They traveled
keeping close to one another, but they advanced so slowly that it
occurred to Zbyszko that they would not arrive in time for the Vigil.
They were obliged to dig through the drift in some places where it was
impossible for the horses to pass through. Fortunately the road in the
woods was not obliterated. It was already dusk when they saw Ciechanow.

Were it not for the fire on the heights where the new castle stood, they
would not have known that they were so close to town, and would have
strayed much longer in the midst of the blinding snowstorm and gust of
wind. They were not sure whether fire was burning there in honor of the
guests at Christmas Eve, or whether it was put there according to some
ancient custom. But none of Zbyszko's companions thought about it, for
all were anxious to find a place of shelter in town as quickly as
possible.

Meanwhile the snowstorm constantly increased, the keen, freezing wind
carried immense snowclouds; it dragged at the trees, it howled, maddened,
it tore whole snowdrifts, carrying them upward, it shifted, heaved up,
and almost covered the sleighs and horses and struck the faces of the
occupants like sharp gravel; it stifled their breath and speech. The
sound of the bells fastened to the poles of the sleighs could not be
heard at all, but instead of it there were audible, in the midst of the
howling and whistling of the whirlwind, plaintive voices like the howling
of wolves, like distant neighing of horses, and at times like human
voices in great distress, calling for help. The exhausted horses began to
pant, and gradually slacken their pace.

"Hej! what a blizzard! what a blizzard!" said the Bohemian in a choking
voice. "It is fortunate, sir, that we are already near the town, and that
yonder fires are burning; if it were not for that we should fare badly."

"There is death for those who are in the field," answered Zbyszko, "but
even the fire I don't see there any more. The gloom is so thick that even
the fire is invisible; perhaps the wood and coal were swept away by the
wind."

The merchants and knights in the other wagons were saying: that should
the snowstorm carry off anybody from the seat, that one would never hear
the morning bell. But Zbyszko became suddenly alarmed and said:

"God forbid that Jurand should be anywhere on the road!"

The Bohemian, although entirely occupied in looking toward the fire, on
hearing the words of Zbyszko, turned his head and asked:

"Is the knight of Spychow expected?"

"Yes."

"With the young lady?"

"And the fire is really gone," answered Zbyszko.

And indeed the fire was extinguished, but, instead, several horsemen
appeared immediately in front of the horses and sleighs.

"Why dost thou follow?" cried the watchful Bohemian, grasping his
crossbow; "Who are you?"

"The prince's people, sent to assist the travelers."

"Jesus Christ be praised!"

"Forever and ever."

"Lead us to town," said Zbyszko.

"Is there nobody left behind?"

"Nobody."

"Whence do you come?"

"From Przasnysz."

"Did you not meet other travelers on the road?"

"We met nobody, but they may be on other roads."

"People are searching on all roads, come with us, you lost your route! To
the right."

They turned the horses, and for some time nothing was perceptible but the
blast of the storm.

"Are there many guests in the castle?" asked Zbyszko, after a while.

The nearest horseman, who did not hear the question bent toward him.

"What did you say, sir?"

"I asked whether there were many guests at the prince's?"

"As customary: there are enough."

"But is the lord of Spychow there?"

"He is not there, but they expect him. People ware dispatched to meet him
too."

"With torches?"

"If the weather permits."

They were unable to continue their conversation, for the boisterous
snowstorm was increasing in force.

"Quite a devil's marriage," said the Bohemian. Zbyszko, however, told him
to keep quiet, and not to conjure up the evil name.

"Dost thou not know," he said, "that on such a Holy Day, the devil's
power is subdued, and the devils hide themselves in the ice-holes? Once
the fishermen near Sandomierz on Christmas Eve found him in their net, he
had a pike in his mouth, but when the sound of the bells reached his
ears, he immediately fainted; they pounded him with their clubs till the
evening. The tempest is certainly vehement, but it is with the permission
of the Lord Jesus, who desires that the morrow shall be the more joyful."

"Bah! we were quite near the city," said Glowacz. "Yet if it were not for
these people, we should have strayed till midnight, since we had deviated
from the right path."

"Because the fire was extinguished."

Meanwhile they arrived in town. The snowdrifts in the streets were
larger, so big that in some places they even covered the windows, so much
so that the wayfarers could not see the light from within. But the storm
was not so much felt here. The streets were deserted. The inhabitants
were already celebrating the Christmas Eve festival. In front of some
houses, boys with small cribs and goats, in spite of the snowstorm, were
singing Christmas hymns. In the market-place there were seen men wrapped
up in pease straw imitating bears; otherwise the streets were deserted.
The merchants who accompanied Zbyszko and the noblemen on the road,
remained in town, but they continued their journey toward the prince's
residence in the old castle, and, as the windows of the castle were made
of glass, the bright light, notwithstanding the blizzard, cast its rays
upon the advancing party.

The drawbridge over the moat was lowered, because the Lithuanian
incursions of old had diminished, and the Knights of the Cross, who
carried on war against the King of Poland, were now themselves seeking
the friendship of the Prince of Mazowsze. One of the prince's men blew
the horn and immediately the gate was opened. There were in it several
archers, but upon the walls and palisades there was not a living soul
when the prince permitted the guard to go out. Old Mrokota, who had
arrived two days before, went out to meet the guests, and greeted them in
the name of the prince and brought them into the house where they could
prepare themselves properly for table.

Zbyszko immediately asked him for news of Jurand of Spychow, but he
replied that he had not arrived, but was expected because he promised to
come, and that if he were very ill he would send word. Nevertheless
several horsemen were sent out to meet him, for even the oldest men did
not remember such a blizzard.

"Then he may soon be here."

"I believe he will soon be here. The princess ordered dishes for them
near the common table."

But Zbyszko, although he was somewhat anxious about Jurand, was
nevertheless glad in his heart, and said to himself: "Though I do not
know what to do, yet one thing is certain, my wife is coming, my woman,
my most beloved Danuska." When he repeated those words to himself, he
could hardly believe his own happiness. Why, he reflected, it may be that
she has already confessed all to her father, she may have moved him to
pity and begged him to give her up at once. "In truth, what else could he
do? Jurand is a clever fellow, he knows, that although he keeps her from
me, I shall nevertheless take her away, for my right is stronger."

Whilst he was dressing himself he conversed with Mrokota, inquiring after
the prince's health and specially that of the princess, whom he loved
like his mother since that time when he sojourned in Krakow. He was glad
to learn that everybody in the castle was well and cheerful, although the
princess greatly yearned after her beloved songstress. Jagienka now
played the lute for her and the princess loved her much, but not as much
as the songstress.

"Which Jagienka?" inquired Zbyszko with astonishment.

"Jagienka of Wielgolasu, the granddaughter of the old lord of Wielgolasu.
She is a fine girl. The Lotarynczyk[106] fell in love with her."

"Then is Sir de Lorche here?"

"Where then should he be? He has been here since he arrived from the
Forest Court, for it is well to be here. Our prince never lacks guests."

"I shall be glad to see him, he is a knight with whom none can find
fault."

"And he also loves you. But let us go, their Highnesses will soon be at
the table."

They went into the dining hall where big fires burned in the two
fireplaces and they were taken care of by the servants.

The room was already filled with guests and courtiers. The prince entered
first accompanied by the Voyevode and several life guards. Zbyszko knelt
and kissed his hands.

The prince pressed Zbyszko's head, then he took him aside and said:

"I know it all already, I was displeased at first, because it was done
without my permission, but there was no time, for I was then in Warsaw
where I intended to spend the holidays. It is a well-known fact that, if
a woman desires anything, opposition is useless, and you gain nothing by
it. The princess wishes you well like a mother, and I always desire to
please rather than to oppose her wishes, in order to spare her trouble
and tears."

Zbyszko bowed again to the prince's knees.

"God grant that I may requite your princely love."

"Praise His name that you are already well. Tell the princess how I
received you with good wishes, so that she may be pleased. As I fear God,
her joy is my joy! I shall also say a good word in your behalf to Jurand,
and I think that he will consent, for he too loves the princess."

"Even if he refused to give her to me, my right stands first."

"Your right stands first and must be acknowledged, but a blessing might
fail you. Nobody can forcibly wrest her from you, but without a father's
blessing God's is also lacking."

Zbyszko felt uneasy on hearing these words, for he had never before
thought about it; but at that moment the princess entered, accompanied by
Jagienka of Wielgolasu and other court ladies; he hastened to bow before
her, but she greeted him even more graciously than the prince had done,
and at once began to tell him of the expectation of Jurand's arrival.
"Here are the covers ready for him, and people have been dispatched to
guide them through the snowdrifts. We shall not wait any longer for them
with the Christmas Eve supper, for the prince does not approve of it, but
they will be here before supper is over."

"As far as Jurand is concerned," continued the princess, "he will be here
in God's good time. But I shall tell him all to-day or to-morrow after
the shepherd service (pasterce), and the prince also promised to say a
word in your behalf. Jurand is obstinate but not with those whom he
loves, nor those to whom he owes obedience."

Then she began to instruct Zbyszko how he should act with his
father-in-law, and that God forbid he should anger him or rouse his
obstinacy. It was apparently good advice, but an experienced eye looking
at Zbyszko and then at her could discern in her words and looks a certain
alarm. It may be because the lord of Spychow was not an accommodating
man, and it may also be that the princess was somewhat uneasy at his
non-appearance. The storm increased in strength, and all declared that if
any one were caught in the open country he would not survive. The
princess, however, concluded that Danuska had confessed to her father her
marriage to Zbyszko, and he being offended, was resolved not to proceed
to Ciechanow. The princess however, did not desire to reveal her thoughts
to Zbyszko; there was not even time to do so, for the servants brought in
the viands and placed them on the table. Nevertheless Zbyszko endeavored
to follow her up and make further inquiries.

"And if they arrive, what will happen then, beloved lady? Mrokota told me
that there are special quarters set apart for Jurand; there will be hay
enough for bedding for the chilled horses. How then will it be?"

The princess laughed and tapped him lightly on the face with her glove
and said: "Be quiet, do you see him?"

And she went toward the prince and was assisted to a chair. One of the
attendants placed before the prince a flat dish with thin slices of cake,
and wafers, which he was to distribute among the guests, courtiers and
servants. Another attendant held before the prince a beautiful boy, the
son of the castellan of Sokhochova. On the other side of the table stood
Father Wyszoniek who was to pronounce a benediction upon the fragrant
supper.

At this moment, a man covered with snow entered and cried: "Most Gracious
Prince!"

"What is it?" said the prince. "Is there no reverence; they have
interrupted him in his religious ceremonies."

"Some travelers are snowbound on the road to Radzanow, we need people to
help us to dig them out."

On hearing this all were seized with fear--the prince was alarmed, and
turning toward the castellan of Sokhochova, he commanded:

"Horses and spades! Hasten!"

Then he said to the man who brought the news: "Are there many under the
snow?"

"I could not tell, it blew terribly; there are a considerable number of
horses and wagons."

"Do you not know who they are?"

"People say that they belong to Jurand of Spychow."




CHAPTER II.

When Zbyszko heard the ill tidings, he did not even ask the prince's
permission, but hastened to the stable and ordered his horse to be
saddled. The Bohemian, being a noble-born armor-bearer, met Zbyszko in
the hall before he returned to the house, and brought him a warm fur
coat, yet he did not attempt to detain his young master, for he possessed
strong natural sense; he knew that detention would be of no avail, and
only loss of time, he therefore mounted the second horse and seized some
torches from the guard at the gate, and started at once together with the
prince's men who were under the management of the old castellan.
Impenetrable darkness enveloped them beyond the gate, but the storm
seemed to them to have moderated; were it not for the man who notified
them of the accident, they would have lost their way at once; but he had
a trained dog with him which being acquainted with the road, enabled him
to proceed safely and quickly. In the open field the storm again
increased and began to cut their faces. It may be because they galloped.
The road was filled with snow, so much so that in some places they were
obliged to slacken their speed, for the horses sank up to their bellies
in snow. The prince's people lighted their torches and fire-pots and
moved on amid smoke and flames; the wind blew with such force as though
it endeavored to tear the flames from the torches and carry them over the
field and forest. It was a long journey. They passed the settlement near
Ciechanow, then they passed Niedzborz, then they turned toward Radzanow.

The storm began really to subside beyond Niedzborz; the gusts of wind
were less frequent and no longer carried immense snowclouds. The sky
cleared. Some snow yet drifted from the hills, but it soon ceased. The
stars appeared here and there between the broken clouds. The horses began
to snort, the horsemen breathed freely. The stars came out by degrees and
it began to freeze. In a short time the storm subsided entirely.

Sir de Lorche who rode beside Zbyszko began to comfort him, saying, that
Jurand undoubtedly in moments of peril thought of his daughter's safety
above everything, and although all those buried in the snow should be
found dead, she undoubtedly would be discovered alive, probably sleeping
in her fur robes. But Zbyszko understood him not, in fact he had no time
to listen to him. When, after a little while, the guide who was riding in
front of them turned from the road, the young knight moved in front and
inquired:

"Why do we deviate from the road?"

"Because they are not covered up on the road, but yonder! Do you observe
that clump of alders?"

And he pointed with his hand to the darkening in the distant thicket
which could be seen plainly on the white snow-covered expanse, when the
clouds unveiled the moon's disk and the night became clear.

"They have apparently wandered from the road; they turned aside and moved
in a small circle along the river; in the wind and drifting snow, it is
quite easy to go astray. They moved on and on as long as the horses did
not give out."

"How did you find them?"

"The dog led us."

"Are there any huts near here?"

"Yes, but they are on the other side of the river. Close here is Wkra."

"Whip up the horses," commanded Zbyszko.

But the command was easier than the execution of the order. The piled up
snow upon the meadow was not yet frozen firm, and the horses sank
knee-deep in the drifts; they were therefore obliged to move slowly.
Suddenly they heard the barking of a dog; directly in front of them there
was the deformed thick stump of a willow-tree upon which glistened in the
light of the moon a crown of leafless twigs.

"They are farther off," said the guide, "they are near the alder clump,
but it seems that here also there might be something."

"There is much drift under the willow-tree. Bring a light."

Several attendants dismounted and lit up the place with their torches.
One of them soon exclaimed:

"There is a man under the snow, his head is visible. Here!"

"There is also a horse," said another.

"Dig them out!"

They began to remove the snow with their spades and throw it aside.

In a moment they observed a human being under the tree, his head upon his
chest, and his cap pulled down over his face. One hand held the reins of
the horse that lay beside him with its nostrils buried in the snow. It
was obvious that the man must have left the company, probably with the
object of reaching a human habitation as quickly as possible in order to
secure help, and when the horse fell he had then taken refuge under the
lee of the willow-tree.

"Light!" shouted Zbyszko.

The attendant brought the torch near the face of the frozen man, but his
features could not be distinguished. Only when a second attendant lifted
the head from the chest, they all exclaimed with one accord:

"It is the lord of Spychow!"

Zbyszko ordered two of his men to carry him to the nearest hut and try to
resuscitate him, but himself lost no time but hastened with the rest of
the attendants and the guide to rescue the rest of the retinue. On the
way it crossed Zbyszko's mind that perhaps he might find his wife Danuska
dead, and he urged on his horse who waded up to his breast in snow, to
his last breath.

Fortunately it was not distant, a few furlongs at most. In the darkness
voices were heard exclaiming: "_Byway_."[107] They were those who had
been left with the snow-covered people.

Zbyszko rushed in and jumped from his horse and shouted:

"To the spades!"

Two sleighs were dug out before they reached those in the rear. The
horses and the people in the sleighs were frozen to death, and past all
hope of reviving. The place where the other teams were could be
recognized by the heaps of snow, though not all the sleighs were entirely
covered with snow; in front of some of the sleighs were the horses up to
their bellies, in the posture of their last effort to run. In front of
one team there stood a man up to his belt in snow, holding a lance and
motionless as a post; in front of the others were dead attendants holding
the horses by their muzzles. Death had apparently overtaken them at the
moment when they attempted to extricate the horses from the drifts. One
team, at the very end of the train, was not at all in the drift. The
driver sat in front bent, his hands protecting his ears, but in the rear
lay two people, who, owing to the continuous, long snow-fall, were
completely covered. On their breasts, to escape the drift, they lay
closely side by side, and the snow covered them like a blanket. They
seemed to be sleeping peacefully. But others perished, struggling hard
with the snow-drift to the last moment, their benumbed position
demonstrated the fact. A few sleighs were upset, others had their poles
broken. The spades now and then uncovered horses' backs, bent like bows,
and jaws biting the snow. People were within and beside the sleighs. But
there was no woman in any of the sleighs. At times even Zbyszko labored
with the spade till his brow was covered with perspiration, and at others
he looked with palpitating heart into the eyes of the corpses, perchance
to discover the face of his beloved. But all in vain. The faces which the
torchlight revealed were those of whiskered soldiers of Spychow. Neither
Danusia nor any other woman was there.

"What does it mean?" the young knight asked himself with astonishment.

He hailed those working at a distance and inquired whether they had come
across anything else, but they too only found the corpses of men. At last
the work was finished. The servants hitched their own horses to the
sleighs, placed the corpses in them and drove to Niedzborz, to make an
attempt there in the warm mansion, to restore some of the dead to life.
Zbyszko, the Bohemian and two attendants remained. It crossed his mind
that the sleigh containing Danusia might have separated from the train,
or that Jurand's sleigh, as might be supposed, was drawn by his best
horses and had been ordered to drive in front; and it might also be that
Jurand had left her somewhere in one of the huts along the road. Zbyszko
did not know what to do. In any case he desired to examine closely the
drifts and grove, and then return and search along the road.

But nothing was found in the drifts. In the grove he only saw several
glistening wolves' eyes, but nowhere discovered any traces of people or
horses. The meadow between the woods and road now sparkled in the shiny
light of the moon, and upon its white mournful cover he really espied
dark spots, but those were only wolves that quickly vanished at the
approach of people.

"Your grace!" finally said the Bohemian. "Our search is in vain, for the
young lady of Spychow was not in the train."

"To the road!" replied Zbyszko.

"We shall not find her there either. I looked well in the sleighs for any
baskets containing ladies' finery, but I discovered none. The young lady
remained in Spychow."

This supposition struck Zbyszko as correct, he therefore said:

"God grant it to be as you say!"

But the Bohemian penetrated further into his thoughts, and proceeded with
his reasoning.

"If she were in one of the sleighs the old gentleman would not have
separated from her, or when he left the train he would have taken her
with him on horseback, and we should have found her with him."

"Come, let us go there once more," said Zbyszko, in a restless voice. It
struck him that the Bohemian might be right, perhaps they had not
searched enough where the old man was discovered, perhaps Jurand had
taken Danusia with him on horseback, and when the horse fell, she had
left her father in search of assistance, in that case she might be
somewhere under the snow in the neighborhood.

But Glowacz as though divining his thoughts, said:

"In such a case ladies' apparel would have been found in the sleighs,
because she would not have left for the court with only her traveling
dress."

In spite of these reasonable suppositions they returned to the
willow-tree, but neither there nor for a furlong around did they discover
anything. The prince's people had already taken Jurand to Niedzborz, and
the whole neighborhood was a complete desolation. The Bohemian observed
further, that the dog that ran ahead of the guide and found Jurand would
also have discovered the young lady. Then Zbyszko breathed freely, for he
was almost sure that Danusia had remained at home. He was even able to
explain why she did so. Danusia had confessed all to her father, and he
was not satisfied with the marriage, and so purposely left her at home,
and went by himself to see the prince and bring an action, and ask for
his intercession with the bishop. At this thought Zbyszko could not help
feeling a certain sense of relief, and even gladness, when he
comprehended that by reason of Jurand's death all hindrances had
vanished. "Jurand was unwilling, but the Lord Jesus wants it," said the
young knight to himself, "and God's will is always the strongest." Now,
he had only to go to Spychow and fetch Danuska as his own and then
complete the nuptials. It is even easier to marry her on the frontier
than there in the distant Bogdaniec. "God's will! God's will!" he
repeated in his soul. But suddenly he felt ashamed of this premature joy
and turned to the Bohemian and said:

"Certainly I am sorry for him and I proclaim it aloud."

"They say that the Germans feared him like death," replied the Bohemian.

Presently he inquired:

"Shall we now return to the castle?"

"By way of Niedzborz," answered Zbyszko. When they called at Niedzborz
and then left for the court, where the old proprietor Zelech received
them, they did not find Jurand, but Zelech told them good news.

"They first rubbed him with snow almost to the bones, then poured wine
into his mouth and then put him in a scalding bath where he began to
breathe."

"Is he alive?" joyfully asked Zbyszko, who on hearing the news forgot his
own interests.

"He lives, but as to his continuing to live God only knows, for the soul
that has arrived half way is unwilling to return."

"Why did they remove him?"

"The prince sent for him, and they have wrapped him up in as many feather
blankets as they could find in the house and carried him away."

"Did he say anything about his daughter?"

"He only began to breathe but did not recover speech."

"And the others?"

"They are already with God, and the poor fellows will no more be able to
attend the _pasterce_ (Christmas Eve feast) unless at that which the Lord
Jesus Himself will prepare in heaven."

"None else survived?"

"None. Come into the entrance hall, the place to converse, and if you
wish to see them, they lie along the fireside in the servants' room. Come
inside."

But they were in a hurry and did not wish to enter, although old Zelech
insisted, for he was glad to get hold of people in order to chat with
them. There was yet, quite a considerable distance from Niedzborz to
Ciechanow, and Zbyszko was burning like fire to see Jurand as soon as
possible and learn something from him.

They therefore rode as fast as they could along the snow-covered road.
When they arrived it was already after midnight, and the Christmas feast
(lit-Shepherd ceremony) was just ended in the castle chapel. Zbyszko
heard the lowing of oxen and the bleating of goats, which voices were
produced in accordance with the ancient religious custom, in remembrance
that the nativity took place in a stable. After the mass, the princess
came to Zbyszko. She looked distressed and frightened, and began to
question him:

"And Danuska?"

"Is she not here, has Jurand said nothing, for according to what I
gathered she lives?"

"Merciful Jesus!... God's punishment and woe to us! Jurand has not spoken
and he lies like a log."

"Fear not, gracious lady. Danuska remained in Spychow."

"How do you know?"

"Because there is no trace of ladies' apparel found in any of the
sleighs; she could not have left with only her traveling dress."

"True, as God is dear to me!"

Her eyes immediately were lit up with joy and after a while she
exclaimed:

"Hej! It seems that Christ the Infant, who was born to-day is not angry
with you, but has a blessing upon us!"

The only thing which surprised her was the presence of Jurand without his
daughter. Then she continued questioning him:

"What caused him to leave her at home?"

Zbyszko explained to her his own reason, which seemed to her just, but
she did not comprehend it sufficiently.

"Jurand will now be thankful to us for his life," she said, "and forsooth
he owes it to you because you went to dig him out. His heart would be of
stone if he were still to continue his opposition to you. In this there
is also God's warning to him not to oppose the holy sacrament. I shall
tell him so as soon as he comes to his senses and is able to speak."

"It is necessary for him first to recover consciousness, because we do
not yet know why he has not brought Danuska with him. Perhaps she is
sick?"

"Do not say that something has happened I I feel so much troubled that
she is not here. If she were sick he would not have left her."

"True!" said Zbyszko.

They went to Jurand. The heat in the room was intense, as in a bath. It
was light, because there were big pine logs in the fireplace. Father
Wyszoniek kept watch over the patient, who lay in bed, covered with a
bear-skin; his face was pale, his hair matted with perspiration, and his
eyes closed. His mouth was open, and his chest laboring with difficulty,
but with such force that his breathing moved the bear-skin covering up
and down.

"How is he doing?" inquired the princess.

"I poured a mug of hot wine into his mouth," replied the priest, "and
perspiration ensued."

"Is he asleep, or not?"

"Probably not, for he labors heavily."

"Did you try to speak to him?"

"We tried, but he did not answer, and I believe that he will not speak
before dawn."

"We will wait till the dawn," said the princess.

The priest insisted that she should retire but she paid no attention, for
she always in everything wished not to fall short of the late Queen
Jadwiga, in Christian virtues, in caring for the sick and to redeem with
her merits her father's soul; she therefore did not omit any opportunity
to make the old Christian country appear no worse than others, and by
this means to obliterate the remembrance that she was born in a heathen
land.

Besides that, she was burning with desire to hear from Jurand's own lips
about Danusia, for she was much concerned about her. She therefore sat by
his bedside and began to tell her beads, and then dozed. Zbyszko who had
not yet entirely recovered and was moreover greatly fatigued by the night
journey, followed her example; and as the hours passed on, both fell
asleep, so soundly that they might have slept on till daylight, if they
had not awakened by the ringing of the bell of the castle chapel.

But the same sound also awoke Jurand, who opened his eyes and suddenly
sat up in bed and began to stare about him with blinking eyes.

"Praised be Jesus Christ!... How do you feel?" said the princess.

But he apparently had not yet regained consciousness, for he looked at
her as though he knew her not, and after awhile he exclaimed:

"Hurry! Be quick! Dig open the snowdrift."

"In the name of God, you are already in Ciechanow!" again replied the
princess.

Jurand wrinkled his brow like one who with difficulty tries to collect
his thoughts, and replied:

"In Ciechanow?... The child is waiting ... and ... principality ...
Danuska! Danuska!"

Suddenly, he closed his eyes and again fell back on the pillow. Zbyszko
and the princess feared lest he was dead, but at the same moment his
breast began to heave and he breathed deeply like one who is fast asleep.

Father Wyszoniek put his finger to his lips and motioned not to awake
him, then he whispered:

"He may sleep thus a whole day."

"So, but what did he say?" asked the princess.

"He said that the child waits in Ciechanow," Zbyszko replied.

"Because he does not remember," explained the priest.




CHAPTER III.

Father Wyszoniek feared that even at Jurand's next awakening, he might be
stupefied and might not recover consciousness for a long time. Meanwhile
he promised the princess and Zbyszko to let them know when the old knight
could speak, and himself retired after they left. In fact Jurand first
awoke on the second Holy Day just before noon, but fully conscious. The
princess and Zbyszko were present. Therefore, sitting on the bed, he
looked at and recognized her and said:

"Your Highness ... for God's sake, am I in Ciechanow?"

"And you overslept the Holy Day," replied the lady.

"The snows covered me. Who saved me?"

"This knight: Zbyszko of Bogdaniec. You remember him in Krakow...."

And Jurand gazed with his sound eye at the youth for a moment and said:

"I remember ... but where is Danusia?"

"She did not ride with you?" anxiously inquired the princess.

"How could she ride with me, when I did not go to her?"

Zbyszko and the princess looked at each other, believing him to be still
speaking under the influence of the fever. Then the lady said: "Wake up,
for God's sake! There was no girl with, you?"

"Girl? With me?" inquired Jurand in amazement.

"Because your people perished, but she could not be found among them."

"Why did you leave her in Spychow?"

He then again repeated, but now with alarm in his voice:

"In Spychow? Why, she is with you, Your Highness, not with me!"

"However you sent a letter for her to the Forest Court."

"In the name of the Father and Son!" replied Jurand. "I did not send for
her at all."

Then the princess suddenly became pale:

"What is that?" she said, "are you positive that you are speaking in your
right senses?"

"For God's mercy, where is the child?" exclaimed Jurand, starting up.

Father Wyszoniek, on hearing this, quickly left the room, while the
princess continued:

"Listen: There arrived an armed retinue and a letter from you to the
Forest Court, for Danusia. The letter stated that you were knocked down
in a conflagration by a falling beam ... that you were half blinded and
that you wished to see the child.... They took Danusia and rode away...."

"My head swims!" exclaimed Jurand. "As there is a God in Heaven, there
was no fire in Spychow, nor did I send for her!"

At that moment Father Wyszoniek returned with the letter, which he handed
to Jurand and inquired: "Is not this your clerkly writing?"

"I do not know."

"And the seal?"

"It is mine."

"What does the letter say?"

Father Wyszoniek read the letter while Jurand listened, tearing his hair
and finally saying: "The writing is counterfeited! ... the seal is
false!... my soul! They have captured my child and will destroy her!"

"Who are they?"

"The Teutons!"

"For God's sake! The prince must be informed! He shall send messengers to
the master!" exclaimed the princess. "Merciful Jesus, save her and help!"
... and she left the room screaming.

Jurand jumped out of bed and began hurriedly to clothe his gigantic
frame. Zbyszko sat as if petrified, but in a few moments his tightly set
teeth began to gnash with rage.

"How do you know that the Teutons captured her?" asked Father Wyszoniek.

"By the Passion of our Lord, I'll swear!"

"Wait! ... It may be so. They came to complain about you to the Forest
Court."

"They wanted to take revenge on you..."

"And they captured her!" suddenly exclaimed Zbyszko. Then he hurried out
of the room, and running to the stables he ordered horses to be saddled
and harnessed to wagons, not knowing well himself why he did so. He only
knew that it was necessary to go to Danusia's assistance--at once--and
as far as Prussia--and there to tear her out of the foe's hands or
perish.

He then returned to the room to tell Jurand that the weapons and horses
would soon be ready. He was sure that Jurand would accompany him. His
heart was burning with rage, pain and sorrow,--but at the same time he
did not lose hope; it seemed to him that he and the formidable knight of
Spychow together would be able to accomplish everything--and that they
were equal to attacking the whole Teutonic force.

In the room, besides Jurand, he met Father Wyszoniek and the princess,
also the prince and de Lorche, as well as the old knight of Dlugolas,
whom the prince, having heard of the affair, summoned also to council on
account of his wisdom and extensive knowledge of the Teutons, who had
kept him for a number of years in slavery.

"It is necessary to set about it prudently, so as not to commit a sin in
blind fury and so lose the girl," said the knight of Dlugolas.

"A complaint must be instantly filed with the master and I will ride
thither, if His Highness will give me a letter to him."

"I will give the letter, and go with it," said the prince. "We will not
allow the child to be lost, so help me God and Holy Cross! The master
dreads war with the Polish king, and he is anxious to win over Semka, my
brother and myself.... They did not capture her at his command--and he
will order her return."

"And if it was by his orders?" inquired Father Wyszoniek.

"Although he is a Teuton, there is more honesty in him than in the
others," replied the prince; "and, as I told you, he would rather
accommodate me than make me angry now. The Jagiellonian power is no
laughter. Hej! They poured hog's grease under our skin as long as they
could, but they did not perceive that if also we Mazurs should assist
Jagiello, then it would be bad...."

But the knight of Dlugolas said, "That is true. The Teutons do nothing
foolishly; therefore, I think that if they have captured the girl, it is
either to disarm Jurand, or to demand a ransom, or to exchange her." Here
he turned to the knight of Spychow:

"Whom have you now among your prisoners of war?"

"Herr von Bergow," replied Jurand.

"Is he important?"

"It seems so."

De Lorche, hearing the name von Bergow, began to inquire about him, and,
having found out, said: "He is a relative of the Duke of Geldryi, a great
benefactor of the Order, and devoted to the Order from his birth."

"Yes," said the knight of Dlugolas, translating his words to those
present. "Von Bergow held high rank in the Order."

"Danveld and von Löve strongly demanded him," remarked the prince.

"Whenever they opened their mouths, they said that von Bergow must be
free. As God is in Heaven they undoubtedly captured the girl, in order to
liberate von Bergow."

"Hence they will return her," said the prince.

"But it would be better to know where she is," replied the knight of
Dlugolas. "But suppose the master asks: 'Whom shall I order to return
her?' what shall we say then?"

"Where is she?" said Jurand, in a hollow voice. "They certainly are not
keeping her on the border, for fear that I might recover her, but they
have taken her somewhere to a far secret hold or to the sea."

But Zbyszko said: "I will find and recover her."

The prince now suddenly burst out with suppressed anger: "Villains
carried her off from my court, disgracing me as well, and this shall not
be forgiven as long as I live. I have had enough of their treacheries!
enough of their assaults! I would rather have wolves for neighbors! But
now the master must punish these lords and return the girl, and send
messengers with apologies to me, otherwise I will send out a call to
arms!"

Here he struck the table with his fist and added:

"Owa! The lord of Plock will follow me, and Witold and King Jagiello's
forces! Following enough! Even a saint would snort away his patience. I
have had enough!"

All were silent, waiting until his anger had quieted down; but Anna
Danuta rejoiced that the prince took Danusia's affair so to heart; she
knew that he was long-suffering, but stubborn also, and when he once
undertook anything he never relinquished it until he attained his object.

Then Father Wyszoniek rose to speak. "There was of old a rule in the
Order," he said, "that no lord was permitted to do anything on his own
responsibility without the permission of the assembly or the master.
Therefore God gave them such extensive territories that they almost
exceed all other earthly powers. But now they know neither obedience,
truth, honesty, nor belief. Nothing but greed and such ravage as if they
were wolves and not human beings. How can they obey the master's commands
or those of the assembly, if they do not even obey God's commandments?
Each one resides in his castle like an independent prince--and one
assists another in doing evil. I shall complain to the master--but they
will deny it. The master will order them to restore the girl, but they
will refuse to do so, or they will say: 'She is not here, because we have
not captured her.' He will command them to take oath and they will do so.
What shall we do then?"

"What to do?" rejoined the knight of Dlugolas. "Let Jurand go to Spychow.
If they did carry her off for ransom, or to exchange her for von Bergow,
then they must and will inform no one but Jurand."

"Those who used to visit the Forest Court captured her," said the priest.

"Then the master will submit them to trial, or order them to give Jurand
the field."

"They must give me the field," exclaimed Zbyszko, "because I challenged
them first!"

And Jurand removed his hands from his face and inquired: "Which of them
were in the Forest Court?"

"There were Danveld, old von Löve, and two brethren, Godfried and
Rotgier," replied the priest.

"They made complaint and wished the prince to order you to release von
Bergow from imprisonment. But the prince, being informed by de Fourcy
that the Germans were the first to attack you, rebuked and dismissed them
without satisfaction."

"Go to Spychow," said the prince, "because they will apply to you there.
They failed to do it till now, because this young knight's follower
crushed Danveld's arm when bearing the challenge to them. Go to Spychow,
and if they apply, inform me. They will send your daughter back in
exchange for von Bergow, but I shall nevertheless take vengeance, because
they disgraced me also by carrying her off from my court."

Here the prince began to get angry again, for the Teutons had entirely
exhausted his patience, and after a moment he added:

"Hej! They blew and blew the fire, but they will end by burning their
mouths."

"They will deny it," repeated the priest Wyszoniek.

"If they once inform Jurand that the girl is with them, then they will
not be able to deny it," somewhat impatiently replied Mikolaj of
Dlugolas. "He believes that they are not keeping her on the border, and
that, as Jurand has justly pointed out, they have carried her to some
distant castle or to the seashore, but if there be proof that they are
the perpetrators, then they will not disclaim it before the master."

But Jurand said in a strange and, at the same time, terrible tone:
"Danveld, von Löve, Godfried and Rotgier."

Mikolaj of Dlugolas also recommended that experienced and shrewd people
be sent to Prussia, to find out whether Jurand's daughter was there, and
if not, whither she had been taken; then the prince took the staff in his
hand and went out to give the necessary orders; the princess again turned
to Jurand to speak encouraging words:

"How are you?" she inquired.

He did not reply for a moment, as if he had not heard the question, but
then he suddenly said:

"As if one had struck me in an old wound."

"But trust in God's mercy; Danusia will come back as soon as you return
von Bergow to them. I would willingly sacrifice my own blood."

The princess hesitated whether to say anything about the marriage now,
but, considering a little, she did not wish to add new worries to
Jurand's already great misfortunes, and at the same time she was seized
with a certain fear. "They will look for her with Zbyszko; may he find an
occasion to tell him," she said to herself, "otherwise he may entirely
lose his mind." She therefore preferred to discuss other matters.

"Do not blame us," she said. "People wearing your livery arrived with a
writing under your seal, informing us that you were ill, that your eyes
were closing, and that you wished to look once more upon your child. How
could we oppose it and not obey a father's command?"

But Jurand embraced her feet. "I do not blame anybody, gracious lady."

"And know also that God will return her to you, because His eye is upon
her. He will send her succor, as He did at the last hunt, when a fierce
wild bull attacked us--and Jesus inspired Zbyszko to defend us. He almost
lost his own life, and was ill for a long time afterward, but he saved
Danusia and me, for which he received a girdle and spurs from the prince.
You see!... God's hand is over her. Surely, the child is to be pitied! I,
myself, am greatly grieved. I thought she would arrive with you, and that
I should see the dear child, but meanwhile" ... and her voice trembled,
tears fell from her eyes, and Jurand's long repressed despair burst out
for a moment, sudden and terrible as a tempest. He took hold of his long
hair, and began to beat his head against the wall, groaning and repeating
in husky tones: "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

But Zbyszko sprang to his side, and shaking him by the shoulders with all
his might, exclaimed:

"We must go! To Spychow!"




CHAPTER IV.

"Whose retinue is this?" inquired Jurand, suddenly starting from musing,
as if from sleep, beyond Radzanow.

"Mine," replied Zbyszko.

"And did all my people perish?"

"I saw them dead in Niedzborz."

"Have you no old comrades?"

Zbyszko made no reply, and they traveled on in silence, but hurriedly,
because they wanted to get to Spychow as quickly as possible, hoping
possibly to meet some Teutonic messengers there. To their good fortune
the frosts set in again, and the highways were firm, so that they could
make haste.

Toward evening Jurand spoke again, and began to inquire about those
brethren of the Order who were at the Forest Court, and Zbyszko narrated
everything--their complaints, their departure, the death of de Fourcy,
his follower's action in crushing Danveld's arm so terribly, and, as he
spoke, one circumstance recurred strikingly to his mind, namely the
presence in the Forest Court of that woman who brought the healing
balsams from Danveld. During the bait, he commenced therefore to inquire
of the Bohemian and Sanderus about her, but neither knew exactly what had
become of her. It seemed to them, that she had left either in company
with those people, who came for Danusia, or soon after them. It now
occurred to Zbyszko's mind, that this might have been some one sent for
the purpose of warning the people in case Jurand should happen to be at
the court in person. In that case they would not claim to have come from
Spychow, but could have prepared another missive to give to the princess
instead of Jurand's fictitious letter. All this had been arranged with
hellish dexterity, and the young knight, who so far had known the Teutons
only from the battlefield, thought for the first time, that the fist was
not sufficient for them, but that they must be overcome with the head as
well. This was a sullen thought for him, because his great sorrow and
pain had become concentrated into a desire for fight and blood. Even help
for Danusia in his mind took the form of a series of battles either in
troops or singly; and now he perceived that it might be necessary to
restrain his desire for revenge and splitting of heads, like a bear on a
chain, and seek new means of saving and recovering Danusia. While
thinking of this, he felt sorry that Macko was not with him. Macko was as
cunning as he was brave. He secretly determined to send Sanderus from
Spychow to Szczytno, in order to find that woman and to try to learn from
her what had happened to Danusia. He said to himself that, even if
Sanderus wished to betray him, he could do little harm in the matter, and
on the contrary might render great service, because his trade gained
admittance for him everywhere. However, he wished to consult Jurand
first, but postponed it until their arrival in Spychow, the more so
because night came on, and it seemed to him, that Jurand, sitting on a
knight's high saddle, had fallen asleep from fatigue, exhaustion and
great anxiety. But Jurand rode with a bowed head only because misfortune
weighed it down. And it was apparent that he was constantly thinking of
it, with a heart full of terrible dread, because he finally said:

"I would rather be frozen under Niedzborz! It was you that dug me out?"

"I, with others."

"And at the hunt, you saved my child?"

"What should I have done?"

"Will you help me now, too?"

And there burst forth in Zbyszko at the same time such love for Danusia
and such great hatred toward the Teuton wrongdoers, that he rose in his
saddle and began to speak through tightly set teeth, as though with
difficulty:

"Listen to what I say: even if I have to bite the Prussian castles with
my teeth, I will do it and get her."

Then followed a moment's silence.

The vengeful and uncontrollable nature of Jurand also seemed to awake in
full force under the influence of Zbyszko's words, because he began to
gnash his teeth in the darkness and after a while to repeat again the
names: Danveld, von Löve, Rotgier and Godfried! And he thought in his
soul that if they wanted him to restore von Bergow, he would do so; if
they demanded an additional payment he would give it, even if he had to
throw into the price Spychow entire; but then, woe to those who had
raised their hands against this his only child!

Throughout the whole night, sleep did not close their eyelids for a
moment. At dawn, they scarcely recognized each other, to such an extent
had their faces changed during this single night. At length Jurand was
struck by that pain and inveterate hatred on Zbyszko's face and therefore
said: "She saved you and snatched you from death--I know. But you also
love her?"

Zbyszko looked directly into his eyes with an almost defiant expression
and replied: "She is my wife."

Upon that, Jurand stopped his horse and looked at Zbyszko, blinking his
eyes with astonishment.

"What do you say?" he inquired.

"I say that she is my wife and I am her husband."

The knight of Spychow brushed his eyes with his sleeve, as if he were
dazed by a sudden thunder-stroke, and after awhile, without a word of
reply, he urged his horse forward to the head of the troop and rode on
silently.




CHAPTER V.

But Zbyszko, riding behind him, could not stand it very long, and said to
himself: "I would rather have him burst forth in anger, than become
embittered." He therefore rode up to him and jogging his stirrup against
his, he commenced to speak: "Listen how it happened. You know what
Danusia did for me in Krakow, but you do not know that they proposed to
me Jagienka of Bogdaniec, the daughter of Zych of Zgorzelice. My uncle,
Macko, was in favor of it, also her parents and Zych; a relative, an
abbot, a wealthy man as well.... What is the use of many words?--an
honest girl and a beautiful woman and the dowry respectable also. But it
could not be. I felt sorry for Jagienka, but still more so for
Danusia--and I set out to her to Mazowsze, because, I tell you frankly, I
could not live any longer without her. Recollect the time when you
yourself loved--recollect it! and it will not seem strange to you."

Here Zbyszko broke off, waiting for a word from Jurand, but as the latter
remained silent, he continued:

"God gave me an opportunity at the Forest Court to save the princess and
Danusia from a wild bull while hunting. And the princess immediately
said: 'Now Jurand will not object any more, because how could he refuse
to reward such a deed?' But I did not wish to take her even then without
your parental consent. Yet! I was weak,... because the terrible animal
injured me so much, that it almost killed me. But then, as you know,
those people came for Danusia, in order to take her, as it seemed, to
Spychow, and I was still unable to leave my bed. I thought I should never
see her again. I thought that you would take her to Spychow and give her
to some one else. You objected to me at Krakow ... and I already thought
that I should die. Ah! great God, what a night I passed. Nothing but
worry; nothing but grief! I thought that if she also left me, the sun
would rise no more. Consider human love and human grief!"

And, for a moment, tears almost choked Zbyszko's voice, but, having a
courageous heart, he controlled himself and said:

"The people arrived for her in the evening and wanted to take her
immediately, but the princess ordered them to wait until morning. Just
then Jesus inspired me with the idea of presenting the princess with my
compliments and asking her for Danusia. I thought that if I died I should
have that consolation at least. Remember that the girl had to leave,
while I remained ill and nearly dying. There was also no time to ask for
your permission. The prince was no longer in the Forest Court, the
princess therefore weighed both sides because she had nobody to take
counsel with. But they, together with Father Wyszoniek at last took pity
upon me, and Father Wyszoniek performed the ceremony.... God's power,
God's right!..."

But Jurand interrupted, gloomily: "And God's punishment!"

"Why should there be punishment?" inquired Zbyszko. "Consider only, they
had sent for her before the ceremony, and whether it had been performed
or not, they would have carried her off nevertheless."

But Jurand again replied nothing, and rode on alone, gloomy, and with
such a stony face, that though Zbyszko at first felt the relief that
confession of a long concealed thing always produces, at length he was
seized with fear and said to himself, with constantly increasing fear,
that the old knight was bitterly angered, and that thenceforth they would
be strangers and foes to each other. And there came upon him a moment of
great depression. He had never felt so badly since his departure from
Bogdaniec. It seemed to him now that there was no hope of reconciliation
with Jurand, nor, what was far worse, of saving Danusia, that all was of
no avail, and that in the future still greater misfortunes and miseries
would befall him. But this depression of spirits lasted a short while
only, and, in accordance with his nature, it soon changed into anger, and
a desire for quarreling and fight. "He does not want peace," he said to
himself, thinking of Jurand, "then let there be discord, let come what
will!" And he was ready to fly at Jurand's face. He also longed for a
fight with anybody for anything, merely to do something, merely to give
vent to his grief, bitterness and anger, and so find some relief.

Meanwhile they arrived at an inn at a ford called Swietlik, where Jurand,
on his return from the prince's court, usually allowed his people and
horses to rest. He did so now also involuntarily. After a while he and
Zbyszko found themselves alone in a separate chamber. Suddenly Jurand
stopped before the young knight and, fixing his eyes upon him, inquired:

"Did you wander about for her sake?"

The other almost harshly retorted:

"Do you suppose that I shall deny it?" And he looked straight into
Jurand's eyes, ready to meet anger with anger. But there was no
indignation in the old warrior's face; there was only almost boundless
grief.

"And you saved my child?" he inquired, after a moment, "and dug me out?"

But Zbyszko looked at him in astonishment and fear that his mind was
wandering, because Jurand repeated exactly the same questions that he had
already asked.

"Be seated," he said, "because it seems to me that you are still weak."

But Jurand raised his hands, placed them on Zbyszko's shoulders, and so
drew him suddenly with all his strength to his breast; the other,
recovering from a momentary amazement, clasped him round the waist and
they embraced each other for a long time, because mutual anxiety and
mutual woe united them.

After relaxing their hold, Zbyszko again embraced the older knight's
knees, and began to kiss his hands with tears in his eyes.

"Will you not object to me?" he asked.

To that Jurand replied: "I did oppose you, because in my soul I
consecrated her to God."

"You devoted her to God, and God to me. His will!"

"His will!" repeated Jurand. "But now we need mercy also."

"Whom will God help, if not a father who seeks his daughter; if not a
husband who seeks his wife? He will certainly not assist robbers."

"But they captured her nevertheless," answered Jurand.

"Then you will return von Bergow to them."

"I shall return all they wish."

But at the thought of the Teutons, the old passion soon awoke in him and
enfolded him like a flame, because he added after a moment through his
clenched teeth:

"I shall also add to it what they do not want."

"I also swore their ruin," replied Zbyszko, "but now we must make haste
to Spychow."

And he commenced to hasten the saddling of the horses. Accordingly, after
they had eaten their oats, and the men had warmed themselves in the
rooms, they started out, although it was growing dark outside. As the way
was long, and a severe frost had set in for the night, Jurand and
Zbyszko, who had not yet regained their strength, traveled in sledges.
Zbyszko told about Uncle Macko, for whom his heart yearned, and regretted
that he was not present, because his courage as well as craft might be of
use, the latter qualification being more necessary against such foes than
courage. At last he turned to Jurand and inquired:

"And are you cunning?... Because I am not."

"Neither am I," retorted Jurand. "I did not fight them with craft, but
with this hand and that which remained in me."

"I understand that," said the young knight. "I understand it because I
love Danusia and because they carried her off. If, God forbid...."

And he did not finish, because the mere thought made him feel not a human
but a wolfs heart in his breast. For some time they rode silently over a
white, moonlight-flooded road; then Jurand commenced to speak as if to
himself:

"If they only had any reason to take revenge on me--I would not say! But
gracious God! they had none.... I waged war with them in the field, when
sent on an embassy by our prince to Witold, but here I was like a
neighbor to neighbors.... Bartosz Natecz captured, chained and imprisoned
under ground in Kozmin forty knights who attacked him. The Teutons were
compelled to pay half a wagonful of money for them. While I, when a
German guest happened to come on his way to the Teutons, received and
rewarded him like one knight another. Frequently also, the Teutons came
against me across the swamps. I was not hard on them then, and they did
to me what I would not do even to-day to my greatest foe...."

And terrible recollections began to tear him with increasing force, his
voice died away for an instant in his breast, then he said, half
groaning: "I had only one, like a ewe lamb, like the heart in my breast,
and they captured her like a dog on a rope, and she died there.... Now
again, the child ... Jesus, Jesus!"

And again there was silence. Zbyszko raised his youthful, perplexed face
toward the moon, then again looked at Jurand and inquired:

"Father!... It would be far better for them to earn men's esteem than
their vengeance. Why do they commit so much wrong on all nations and all
people?"

But Jurand spread his hands apart as if in despair, and replied with a
choked voice: "I do not know...."

Zbyszko meditated for a time over his own question, presently however his
thoughts turned to Jurand.

"People say that you wreaked a worthy vengeance," he said.

Jurand meanwhile controlled his anguish, bethought himself and said:

"But I swore their ruin ... and I also swore to God that if He would
permit me to glut my vengeance I would surrender to Him the child that
was left to me. This is the reason why I objected to you. But now I do
not know: was it His will, or did you awaken His anger by your action?"

"No," said Zbyszko. "I told you once before that even if the ceremony had
not been performed, yet the scoundrels would have carried her off. God
accepted your vow, and presented me with Danusia, because without His
will we could accomplish nothing."

"Every sin is against God's will."

"A sin is, but not the sacrament. Because the sacrament is God's matter."

"Therefore there is no help."

"And God be blessed there is not! Therefore do not complain, because
nobody would help you against the robbers so well as I will. You will
see! In any case I shall pay them for Danusia, but even if one of those
who captured your deceased be still alive, leave him to me and you shall
see!"

But Jurand shook his head.

"No," he answered, gloomily, "none of those will be alive...."

For a time only the snorting of horses and the smothered echo of the
hoofs striking against the beaten road was audible.

"Once at night," continued Jurand, "I heard a voice, as if coming from a
wall, saying to me: 'Enough vengeance!' but I did not obey, because it
was not the voice of the deceased."

"And whose voice could that be?" inquired Zbyszko, anxiously.

"I do not know. In Spychow frequently something talks in the walls, and
sometimes moans, because many have died there in chains underground."

"And what does the priest tell you?"

"The priest sanctified the castle and also ordered me to relinquish
vengeance, but that could not be. I became too hard on them, and then
they themselves sought revenge. They lay in ambush and challenged me in
the field.... And so it was this time. Meineger and von Bergow were the
first to challenge me."

"Did you ever accept ransom?"

"Never! Of those I have captured, von Bergow will be the first to come
out alive."

The conversation ceased, because they now turned from the broad highway
into a narrower road, on which they traveled for a long time in silence
on account of its tortuous course, and because in some places the snow
formed drifts difficult to traverse. In the spring or summer, on rainy
days, this road must have been almost impassable.

"Are we approaching Spychow already?" asked Zbyszko.

"Yes," answered Jurand. "There is a good deal of forest yet, and then
begin the morasses, in the centre of which is the castle.... Beyond the
morasses are the marshes and dry fields, while the castle can be
approached only by the dike. The Germans wished to capture me repeatedly,
but they could not, and their bones rot among the forest weeds."

"And it is hard to find," said Zbyszko. "If the Teutons send messengers
with letters, how will they find us?"

"They have sent out several times already, and they have people who know
the way."

"If we could only meet them at Spychow," said Zbyszko.

This wish was realized sooner than the young knight thought, for issuing
from the forest into the open country, where lay Spychow among the
swamps, they perceived before them two riders and a low sledge, in which
were sitting three dark figures.

The night was very bright, therefore the whole group was perfectly
visible against the white background of snow. Jurand's and Zbyszko's
heart began to beat faster at this sight, because who else would be
riding to Spychow in the middle of the night, but the messengers from the
Teutons?

Zbyszko ordered the driver to go faster, and so they soon came so near
each other, that they could be heard, and two riders, who apparently
watched over the safety of the sledge, turned to them, and, unslinging
their crossbows, cried:

"Who is there?"

"Germans!" whispered Jurand to Zbyszko.

Then he raised his voice and said:

"It is my right to ask, and yours to reply!"

"Who are you?"

"Travelers."

"What sort of travelers?"

"Pilgrims."

"Where from?"

"From Szczytno."

"It is they!" again whispered Jurand.

Meanwhile the sledges had come together, and at the same time six
horsemen appeared before them. This was the guard of Spychow, which
watched the dike leading to the castle day and night. With the horses
were very large and savage dogs, exactly resembling wolves.

The guardsmen, having recognized Jurand, began to utter cries of welcome
mingled with astonishment that the master had returned so soon and
unexpectedly; but he was entirely engaged with the messengers, and
therefore turned to them again:

"Where are you traveling to?" he asked.

"To Spychow."

"What do you want there?"

"We can tell that only to the lord himself."

Jurand was about to say: "I am the lord of Spychow;" but he restrained
himself, feeling that conversation could not be carried on in the
presence of others. He asked them instead, whether they had any letters,
and, when they replied that they were ordered to communicate verbally, he
gave orders to drive as fast as the horses could go. Zbyszko was equally
anxious to hear news of Danusia, and could not turn his attention to
anything else. He became impatient when the guards on the dike stopped
them twice; and when the bridge was lowered over the moat, behind which
rose on the mound a gigantic palisade, and although he had previously
often desired to see that castle of ominous fame, at the mention of which
the Germans made the sign of a cross, now he saw nothing but the Teuton
messengers, from whom he might hear where Danusia was and when she would
be set at liberty. He did not foresee though, that a great disappointment
was awaiting him. Besides the horsemen, who were given for defence, and
the driver, the embassy from Szczytno was composed of two persons: one of
these was the same woman who had once brought the healing balsam to the
Forest Court; the other was a young _pontnik_.[108] Zbyszko did not
recognize the woman, because he had not seen her at the Forest Court; the
_pontnik_ at once seemed to him to be a disguised warrior. Jurand soon
led both into the neighboring room, and halted before them, huge, and
almost terrible in the glow of the fire, which fell upon him from the
logs burning in the chimney.

"Where is the child?" he asked.

But they were frightened, standing face to face with a menacing man.
Although the _pontnik_ had an insolent face, he simply trembled like a
leaf, and the woman's legs trembled also. She glanced from Jurand to
Zbyszko, and then at the shining bald head of the priest Kaleb, and then
again at Jurand, as if inquiring what the other two were doing there.

"Sir," she said, finally, "we do not know what you are asking, but we
were sent to you on important matters. Yet, the one who sent us ordered
us explicitly, that the conversation should be held without witnesses."

"I have no secrets from these!" said Jurand.

"But we have, noble lord," replied the woman, "and if you order them to
remain, then we shall ask for nothing but that you allow us to leave
to-morrow."

Anger appeared in Jurand's face as he was not used to opposition. For a
moment his tawny moustache worked ominously, but he reflected, "For
Danusia's sake!" and restrained himself. Moreover, Zbyszko, who wanted
above all things that the conversation might be concluded as soon as
possible, and felt sure that Jurand would repeat it to him, said:

"If it must be so, then remain alone." And he left, together with the
priest Kaleb; but he scarcely found himself in the main hall, in which
were hanging targets and weapons, captured by Jurand, when Glowacz
approached him.

"Sir," he said, "that is the same woman!"

"What woman?"

"From the Teutons, who brought the balsam. I recognized her at once, and
so did Sanderus. She came, at it seems, to spy, and she certainly knows
now where the lady is."

"And we shall know," said Zbyszko.

"Do you also know that _pontnik_?"

"No," replied Sanderus; "but do not buy, sir, any remissions from him,
because he is a false _pontnik_,"

"If you put him to the torture, you might obtain a lot of information."

"Wait!" said Zbyszko.

Meanwhile, in the next room hardly had the doors closed behind Zbyszko
and the priest Kaleb, when the sister of the Order quickly approached
Jurand and whispered:

"Robbers captured your daughter."

"With crosses on their robes?"

"No. But God blessed the pious brethren, so that they recovered her, and
now she is with them."

"Where is she, I ask."

"Under the care of the religious Brother Shomberg," she answered,
crossing her hands on her breast and bowing humbly.

But Jurand, hearing the dreadful name of the hangman of Witold's
children, turned as pale as linen; after a moment he sat on a bench, shut
his eyes, and began to wipe away the cold perspiration, which collected
in beads on his forehead.

Seeing this, the _pontnik_, although he had not hitherto been able to
restrain his fear, now put his hands on his hips, lounged on the bench,
stretched out his legs and looked at Jurand, with eyes full of pride and
scorn. A long silence followed.

"Brother Markward also assists Brother Shomberg in guarding her," again
said the woman; "it is a vigilant watch and no harm will happen to the
lady."

"What am I to do in order to get her back?" inquired Jurand.

"To humble yourself before the Order!" proudly said the _pontnik_.

At this Jurand arose, went up to him, and bending down over him, said in
concentrated, terrible tones:

"Be silent!"

And the _pontnik_ was again terror-stricken. He knew, that he could
threaten and say what would tame and overwhelm Jurand, but he was
terrified lest, before saying a word, something dreadful would happen to
him; he therefore remained silent, with dilated eyes, as if petrified
with fear, fixed on the threatening face of the lord of Spychow, and sat
motionless, only his beard began to quiver with agitation.

Jurand again turned to the sister of the Order:

"Have you a letter?"

"No, sir. We have no letter. What we have to say, we were ordered to say
verbally."

"Then speak!"

And she repeated again, as if wishing that Jurand should impress it well
in his memory:

"Brother Shomberg and Brother Markward watch over the lady; therefore,
you sir, restrain your anger.... But no evil will happen to her, because
although you have gravely injured the Order for many years, nevertheless
the brethren wish to repay you good for evil if you comply with their
just demands."

"What do they wish?"

"They wish you to release Herr von Bergow."

Jurand breathed heavily.

"I will return von Bergow to them," he said.

"And the other prisoners that you have in Spychow."

"There are two retainers of Meineger and von Bergow, besides their boys."

"You must release them, sir, and make amends for the imprisonment."

"God forbid that I should bargain for my child."

"The religious friars expected that from you," said the woman, "but this
is not all that I was ordered to say. Your daughter, sir, was captured by
some men, undoubtedly robbers, and certainly for the purpose of demanding
a rich ransom. God permitted the brethren to recapture her, and now they
demand nothing but the return of their brother and associate. But the
brethren know, and you, too, sir, what hatred there is in this country
against them, and how unfairly even their most righteous actions are
judged. For this reason the brethren are sure that, if the people here
found out that your daughter was with them, they would at once begin to
suspect that they had captured her, and would consequently utter only
slander and complaints.... O yes, evil and malicious people here have
frequently repaid them so, and the reputation of the holy Order has
suffered greatly by it, and the brethren are greatly concerned about it,
and therefore they add this sole condition that you alone assure the
prince of this country and all the mighty knights that it is true, that
not the Teutonic knights, but robbers carried off your daughter, and that
you had to ransom her from robbers."

"It is true," said Jurand, "that bandits have captured my child, and that
I have to buy her back from bandits...."

"You shall tell nobody otherwise, because if only one person should find
out that you come to terms with the brethren, if only one living soul or
only one complaint were sent to the master, or the assembly, great
complications would ensue."

Jurand's face exhibited great alarm. At the first moment it seemed to him
quite natural that the knights required secrecy, fearing responsibility
and disgrace, but now a suspicion arose in his mind that there might be
another reason, but, not being able to account for it, he was seized with
such terror as sometimes happens to the most courageous when danger does
not threaten them alone, but also their relatives and loved ones.

He determined however to find out more from the Order's servant.

"The knights wish secrecy," he said, "but how can it be kept, when I
release von Bergow and the others in return for my child?"

"You will say that you accepted ransom for von Bergow in order to be able
to pay the robbers."

"People will not believe it, because I never accepted ransom," gloomily
replied Jurand.

"But your child was never in question," hissed the messenger in reply.

And again silence followed, after which the _pontnik_, who, in the
meanwhile had gained courage, and judged that Jurand must now restrain
himself more, said:

"Such is the will of the brethren Shomberg and Markward."

The messenger continued:

"You will say, that this _pontnik_ who came with me, brought you the
ransom, we also will leave here with the noble von Bergow and the
prisoners."

"How so?" said Jurand, frowning, "do you think that I will give up the
prisoners before you return my child?"

"You can act, sir, still differently. You can call personally for your
daughter at Szczytno, whither the brethren will bring her to you."

"I? at Szczytno?"

"Because, should the bandits capture her again on the way, your and your
people's suspicion would again fall upon the pious knights, and therefore
they prefer to give her into your own hands."

"And who will pledge himself for my return, if I walk alone into a wolf's
throat?"

"The virtue of the brethren, their justice and godliness!"

Jurand began to walk up and down the room. He began to suspect treason
and feared it, but he felt at the same time that the Teutons could impose
any conditions they pleased upon him, and that he was powerless before
them.

However, an idea struck him, and suddenly halting before the _pontnik_,
he gazed at him with a piercing look, and then turned to the messenger
and said;

"Well, I will go to Szczytno. You and this man, who is wearing _pontnik_
garb, will remain here until my return, after which you will leave with
von Bergow and the prisoners."

"Do you refuse, sir, to believe friars." said the _pontnik_; "how then
can they trust you to liberate us and von Bergow on your return?"

Jurand's face turned pale with fury, and a critical moment followed, in
which it almost seemed that he would catch the _pontnik_ by the throat
and dash him to the floor; but he suppressed his anger, drew a deep
breath and commenced to speak slowly but emphatically.

"Whoever you are, do not strain my patience to the breaking point!"

But the _pontnik_ turned to the sister: "Speak! what you were ordered."

"Lord," she said: "we would not dare distrust your oath upon your sword
and knightly honor, but it is not proper for you to swear before people
of low rank. And we were not sent for your oath."

"What were you sent for?"

"The brethren told us that, without saying anything to anybody, you must
appear at Szczytno with von Bergow and the prisoners."

At that, Jurand's shoulders began to draw together, and his fingers to
extend like the claws of a bird of prey; at last, stopping before the
woman, he bent down, as if to speak into her ear, and said:

"Did they not tell you that I should order you and von Bergow to be
broken on the wheel in Spychow?"

"Your daughter is in the power of the brethren, and under the care of
Shomberg and Markward," replied the sister, meaningly.

"Robbers, poisoners, hangmen!" burst forth Jurand.

"Who are able to avenge us and who said at our departure: 'Should he not
comply with all our orders, it would be far better that the girl should
die, as Witold's children died.' Choose!"

"And understand that you are in the power of the knights," remarked the
_pontnik_. "They do not wish to do you any harm, and the _starosta_ of
Szczytno sends you his word by us that you shall go free from his castle;
but they want you, for the wrong done to them, to present your respects
to the Teuton, and beg for the victor's mercy. They want to forgive you,
but they first wish to bend your stubborn neck. You denounced them as
traitors and perjurers.--therefore they want you to acknowledge their
good faith. They will restore you and your daughter to liberty--but you
must beg for it. You trampled upon them--now you must swear that your
hand will never, be raised against the white robe."

"The knights wish it so," added the woman, "and Markward and Shomberg
with them."

A moment of deathlike silence followed. It seemed only that somewhere
among the beams of the ceiling some smothered echo repeated as if in
terror: "Markward ... Shomberg."

Outside the windows could be heard the voices of Jurand's archers keeping
watch on the mounds near the palisade of the castle.

The _pontnik_ and the servant of the Order looked for a long time at each
other and Jurand, who sat leaning against the wall, motionless, and with
a face deeply shadowed by furs suspended by the window. His brain
contained only one thought, that, if he did not do what the Teutons
demanded, they would destroy his child; again, if he should do it, he
might perhaps even then not save Danusia nor himself. And he saw no help,
no way of escape. He felt a pitiless superior force over him which was
crushing him. He saw in his soul already the iron hands of a Teuton on
Danusia's throat; knowing them thoroughly, he did not doubt for a moment
that they would kill her, bury her in the castle yard, and then deny
it,--and who would then be able to prove that they had captured her?

It was true that Jurand had the messengers in his power; he could bring
them to the prince and get a confession by means of torture, but the
Teutons had Danusia, and they might not care about their agents' torture.
And for a moment he seemed to see his child stretching out her hands from
afar, asking for assistance.... If he at least knew that she was really
at Szczytno, then he could go that very night to the border, attack the
unsuspecting Germans, capture the castle, destroy the garrison and
liberate the child--but she might not be and positively was not in
Szczytno. It flashed like lightning through his head, that if he were to
seize the woman and the _pontnik_, and take them directly to the grand
master, then perhaps the master could draw confessions from them and
might order the return of his daughter; but that gleam was extinguished
almost as quickly as it took fire.

These people could tell the master that they came to ransom von Bergow
and that they knew nothing about a girl. No! that way led to nothing, but
what did? He thought, that should he go to Szczytno they would chain him
and cast him under ground, while Danusia would not be released, lest it
should transpire that they had captured her, if for no other reason. And
meanwhile death hung over his only child, death over the last dear
head!... And finally his thoughts grew confused, and the pain became so
great, that it overpowered itself and became numbness. He sat motionless,
for his body became as dead as if cut out of stone. If he wanted to rise
now, he would not be able to do so.

Meanwhile the others grew tired of the long waiting, therefore the
servant of the Order arose and said:

"It will be soon daylight, therefore permit us, sir, to retire, because
we need a rest."

"And refreshment after the long journey," added the _pontnik_. Then they
both bowed to Jurand and went out.

But he continued to sit motionless, as if seized by sleep or death.

Presently, however, the door opened and Zbyszko appeared, followed by the
priest Kaleb.

"Who are the messengers? What do they want?" inquired the young knight,
approaching Jurand.

Jurand quivered, but at first answered nothing; he only began to blink
like a man awakened from a sound sleep.

"Sir, are you not ill?" said the priest Kaleb, who, knowing Jurand
better, noticed that something curious was taking place within him.

"No!" replied Jurand.

"And Danusia?" further inquired Zbyszko; "where is she and what did they
say to you?"

"What did they bring?"

"The ransom," slowly replied Jurand.

"The ransom for von Bergow?"

"For von Bergow...."

"How so, for von Bergow? what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

But in his voice there was something so strange and listless that a
sudden fear seized those two, especially because Jurand spoke of the
ransom and not the exchange of von Bergow for Danusia.

"Gracious God!" exclaimed Zbyszko: "where is Danusia?"

"She is not with the Teutons,--no!" replied Jurand, in a sleepy tone; and
suddenly he fell from the bench upon the floor as if dead.




CHAPTER VI.

The following day at noon the messengers saw Jurand, and soon afterward
they rode away taking with them von Bergow, two esquires and a number of
other prisoners. Jurand then summoned Father Kaleb and dictated a letter
to the prince, stating that Danusia had not been carried off by the
Knights of the Order, but that he had succeeded in discovering her
refuge, and hoped to recover her in a few days. He repeated the same to
Zbyszko, who had been wild with astonishment, dread and perplexity since
the night before.

The old knight refused to answer any of his questions, telling him
instead to wait patiently and not to undertake anything for the
liberation of Danusia, because it was unnecessary.

Toward evening he shut himself in again with Father Kaleb, whom he had
ordered to write down his last will; then he confessed himself, and after
receiving the sacrament, he summoned Zbyszko, and the old taciturn
Tolima, who used to accompany him in all his expeditions and fights, and
in times of peace administered the affairs of Spychow.

"Here," he said, turning to the old warrior and raising his voice, as if
he was speaking to a man who could not hear well, "is the husband of my
daughter whom he married at the prince's court, for which he had my
entire consent. Therefore, after my death, he will be the master and
owner of the castle, the soil, forests, waters, people and all the craft
in Spychow...."

Hearing this, Tolima was greatly surprised and began to turn his square
head to Jurand and to Zbyszko alternately, he said nothing, however,
because he scarcely ever did say anything, he only bowed to Zbyszko and
lightly embraced his knees. And Jurand continued:

"This is my will, written by Father Kaleb, and below is my seal in wax;
you must testify that you have heard this from me, and that I ordered
that the young knight should be obeyed here even as I am. Furthermore,
what is in the treasury in booty and money, you will show him, and you
will serve him faithfully in peace as well as in war till death. Did you
hear?"

Tolima raised his hands to his ears and nodded his head, then, at a sign
from Jurand, he bowed and went out; the knight again turned to Zbyszko
and said impressively:

"There is enough in the treasury to satisfy the greatest greed and to
ransom not one but a hundred captives. Remember!"

But Zbyszko inquired:

"And why are you giving me Spychow already?"

"I give you more than Spychow, in the child."

"And we know not the hour of death," said Father Kaleb.

"Yes, unknown," repeated Jurand, sadly, "a short time ago, the snow
covered me up, and, although God saved me, I have no more my old
strength...."

"Gracious God!" exclaimed Zbyszko, "something his changed within you
since yesterday, and you prefer to speak of death than of Danusia.
Gracious God!"

"Danusia will return, she will," replied Jurand; "she is under God's
protection. But if she returns ... listen ... take her to Bogdaniec and
leave Spychow with Tolima.... He is a faithful man, and this is a wild
neighborhood.... There they cannot capture her with a rope ... there she
is safer...."

"Hej!" cried Zbyszko, "and you talk already as if from the other world.
What is that?"

"Because I went half-way to the other world, and now I seem to be ill.
And I also care for my child ... because I have only her. And, you too,
although I know that you love her...."

Here he interrupted, and drawing a short weapon from its sheath, called
the _misericordia_, he held the handle toward Zbyszko.

"Swear to me now upon this little cross that you will never harm her and
that you will love her constantly...."

And tears suddenly started in Zbyszko's eyes; in a moment he fell upon
his knees and, putting a finger on the hilt, exclaimed:

"Upon the Holy Passion, I will never harm, and will love her constantly!"

"Amen," said Father Kaleb.

Jurand again put the "dagger of mercy" back into the sheath and extended
his arms:

"Then you are my child too!..."

They separated then, because it was late, and they had had no good rest
for several days. However, Zbyszko got up the following morning at
daybreak, because the previous day he had been frightened, lest Jurand
were really falling ill, and he wished to learn how the older knight had
spent the night. Before the door to Jurand's room he met Tolima, who had
just left it.

"How is the lord? well?" he inquired.

The other again bowed, and then, putting his hand to his ear, said:

"What orders, your grace?"

"I am asking how the lord is?" repeated Zbyszko, louder.

"The lord has departed."

"Where to?"

"I do not know.... In arms!"




CHAPTER VII.

The dawn was just beginning to whiten the trees, bushes and boulders
scattered in the fields, when the hired guide, walking beside Jurand's
horse, stopped and said:

"Permit me to rest, knight, for I am out of breath. It is thawing and
foggy, but it is not far now."

"You will conduct me to the road, and then return," replied Jurand.

"The road will be to the right behind the forest, and you will soon see
the castle from the hill."

Then the peasant commenced to strike his hands against his armpits,
because he was chilled with the morning dampness; he then sat on a stone,
because this exercise made him still more breathless.

"Do you know whether the count is in the castle?" inquired Jurand.

"Where else could he be, since he is ill?"

"What ails him?"

"People say that the Polish knights gave him a beating," replied the old
peasant. And there was a feeling of satisfaction in his voice. He was a
Teuton subject, but his Mazovian heart rejoiced over the superiority of
the Polish knights.

He presently added:

"Hej! our lords are strong, but they have a hard task with them."

But immediately after saying this, he looked sharply at the knight, as if
to convince himself that nothing bad would happen to him for the words
which he had heedlessly let slip and said:

"You, lord, speak our language; you are no German?"

"No," replied Jurand; "but lead on."

The peasant arose, and again began to walk beside the horse. On the way,
he now and then put his hand into a leathern pouch, pulled out a handful
of unground corn, and put it into his mouth, and when he had thus
satisfied his first hunger, he began to explain why he ate raw grains,
although Jurand was too much occupied with his own misfortune and his own
thoughts, to heed him.

"God be blessed for that," he said. "A hard life under our German lords!
They lay such taxes upon grist, that a poor man must eat the grain with
the chaff, like an ox. And when they find a hand-mill in a cottage, they
execute the peasant, take whatever he has, bah! they do not pardon even
women and children.... They fear neither God nor the priests. They even
put the priest in chains for blaming them for it. Oh, it is hard under
the Germans! If a man does grind some grains between two stones, then he
keeps that handful of flour for the holy Sunday, and must eat like birds
on Friday. But God be blessed for even that, because two or three months
before the harvest there will not be even that much. It is not permitted
to catch fish ... nor kill animals ... It is not as it is in Mazowsze."

The Teutonic peasant complained, speaking partly to himself, and partly
to Jurand, and meanwhile they passed through a waste country, covered
with limestone boulders, heaped with snow, and entered a forest, which
looked grey in the morning light, and from which came a sharp, damp
coolness. It became broad daylight; otherwise it would have been
difficult for Jurand to travel along the forest road, which ran somewhat
up hill, and was so narrow that his gigantic battle-horse could, in some
places, hardly pass between the trunks. But the forest soon ended, and in
a few "_Paters_," they reached the summit of a white hill, across the
middle of which ran a beaten road.

"This is the road, lord," said the peasant; "you will find the way alone,
now."

"I shall," replied Jurand. "Return home, man." And putting his hand into
a leather bag, fastened in front of the saddle, he took from it a silver
coin and handed it to the guide. The peasant, accustomed more to blows
than to gifts from the local Teutonic knights, could scarcely believe his
eyes, and catching the money, dropped his head to Jurand's stirrup and
embraced it.

"O Jesus, Mary!" he exclaimed: "God reward your honor!"

"God be with you!"

"God's grace be with you! Szczytno is before you."

Then he once more bent down to the stirrup and disappeared. Jurand
remained on the hill alone and looked in the direction indicated by the
peasant, at a grey, moist veil of fog, which concealed the world before
him. Behind this fog was hidden that ominous castle, to which he was
driven by superior force and misery. It is already near, then, and what
must happen, must happen.... As that thought came into Jurand's heart, in
addition to his fear and anxiety about Danusia, and his readiness to
redeem her from a foe's hands even with his own blood, he experienced a
new, exceedingly bitter, and hitherto unknown feeling of humiliation. And
now Jurand, at the mere mention of whose name the neighboring counts
trembled, was riding to their command with a bowed head. He who had
defeated and trampled under foot so many of them, now felt himself
defeated and trampled upon. It is true, they had not overcome him in the
field with courage and knightly strength, nevertheless he felt himself
subdued. And it was to him something so unusual, that it seemed as if the
entire order of the world were subverted. He was going to submit himself
to the Teutons, he, who would rather meet single-handed the entire Teuton
force, if it were not for Danusia's sake. Had it not happened already,
that a single knight, having to choose between disgrace and death had
attacked whole armies? But he felt that he might meet disgrace, and, at
that thought, his heart groaned with agony as a wolf howls when it feels
the dart within it.

But he was a man with not only a body, but also a soul, of iron. He knew
how to subdue others, he knew also how to subdue himself.

"I will not move," he said to himself, "until I have overcome this anger
with which I should rather lose than deliver my child."

And he wrestled with his hard heart, his inveterate hatred and his desire
to fight. Whoever had seen him on that hill, in armor, on a gigantic
horse, would have said that he was some giant, wrought out of iron, and
would not have recognized that that motionless knight at that moment was
waging the hottest of all the battles of his life. But he fought with
himself until he had entirely overcome and felt that his will would not
fail him. Meanwhile the mist thinned, although it did not disappear
entirely, but finally something darker loomed through it.

Jurand guessed that these were the walls of the castle of Szczytno. At
the sight of it he still did not move from the place, but began to pray
so fervidly and ardently as a man prays, when nothing is left for him in
the world but God's mercy. And when his horse did finally move, he felt
that some sort of confidence was beginning to enter his heart. He was now
prepared to suffer everything that could befall him. There came back to
his memory Saint George, a descendant of the greatest race in Cappadocia,
who suffered various shameful tortures, and nevertheless not only did not
lose any honor, but is placed on the right hand of God and appointed
patron of all knighthood. Jurand had sometimes heard tales of his
exploits from the abbots, who came from distant countries, and now he
strengthened his heart with these recollections.

Slowly even, hope began to awaken in him. The Teutons were indeed famous
for their desire of revenge, therefore he did not doubt that they would
take vengeance on him for all the defeats which he had inflicted upon
them, for the disgrace which had fallen upon them after each encounter,
and for the dread in which they had lived for so many years.

But that very consideration increased his courage. He thought that they
had captured Danusia only in order to get him; therefore of what use
would she be to them, after they had gotten him? Yes! They would
undoubtedly seize him, and, not daring to keep him near Mazowsze, they
would send him to some distant castle, where perhaps he would have to
groan until his life's end under ground, but they would liberate Danusia.
Even if it should prove that they had got him insidiously and by
oppression, neither the grand master nor the assembly would blame them
very much for that, because Jurand was actually very hard on the Teutons,
and shed more of their blood than did any other knight in the world. But
that same grand master would perhaps punish them for the imprisonment of
the innocent girl, who was moreover a foster-daughter of the prince,
whose favor he was seeking on account of the threatening war with the
Polish king.

And his hope constantly increased. At times it seemed to him almost
certain that Danusia would return to Spychow, under Zbyszko's powerful
protection.... "He is a strong man," he thought; "he will not permit
anybody to injure her." And he began to recall with affection all he knew
of Zbyszko: "He defeated the Germans at Wilno, fought single-handed
against the Fryzjans whom he challenged with his uncle and quartered, he
also beat Lichtenstein, saved the child from the wild bull, and he
challenged those four, whom he will surely not pardon." Here Jurand
raised his eyes toward heaven and said: "I gave her to you, O Lord, and
you to Zbyszko!"

And he gained still more confidence, judging that if God had given her to
the youth, then He would certainly not allow the Germans to mock him but
snatch her out of their hands, even if the entire Teuton power should
oppose it. But then he commenced to think again about Zbyszko: "Bah! he
is not only a mighty man but also as true as gold. He will guard her,
love her, and Jesus! be good to her; but it seems to me, that, by his
side she will neither miss the princely court nor paternal love...." At
that thought his eyelids became suddenly moist, and a great yearning
filled us heart. He would like to see his child once more at least in his
life, and at some future time die in Spychow near those two, and not in
the dark Teuton cells. "But God's will be done!" Szczytno was already
visible. The walls became more distinct in the mist, the hour of
sacrifice was approaching; he therefore began to comfort himself, and
said to himself: "Surely, it is God's will! but the end of life is near.
A few years more or less, the result will be the same. Hej! I would like
to see both children yet, but, justly speaking, I have lived long enough.
Whatever I had to experience, I did; whomever to revenge, I revenged. And
what now? Rather to God, than to the world; and since it is necessary to
suffer, then it is necessary. Danusia with Zbyszko, even when most
prosperous, will not forget. Surely, they will sometimes recollect and
ask: where is he? is he alive yet, or already in God's court of justice?
They will inquire and perhaps find out. The Teutons are very revengeful,
but also very greedy for ransom. Zbyszko would not grudge ransoming the
bones at least. And they will surely order more than one mass. The hearts
of both are honest and loving, for which may God and the Most Holy Mother
bless them!"

The road became not only broader but also more frequented. Wagons laden
with lumber and straw were on the way to the town. Herders were driving
cattle. Frozen fish were carried on sledges from the lakes. In one place
four archers led a peasant on a chain to court for some offence, for he
had his hands tied behind him, and on his feet were fetters which,
dragging in the snow, hardly enabled him to move. From his panting
nostrils and mouth escaped breath in the shape of wreaths of vapor, while
they sang as they urged him on. Or seeing Jurand, they began to look at
him inquisitively, apparently marvelling at the huge proportions of the
rider and horse; but, at the sight of the golden spurs and knightly belt,
they lowered then crossbows as a sign of welcome and respect. The town
was still more populous and noisy, but everybody hastily got out of the
armed man's way, while he, traversing the main street, turned toward the
castle which, wrapped in clouds, seemed to sleep yet.

Not everything around slept, at least not the crows and ravens, whole
flights of which were stirring on the elevation, which constituted the
entrance to the castle, flapping their wings and crowing. On coming
nearer, Jurand understood the cause of their gathering. Beside the road
leading to the gate of the castle, stood wide gallows, on which were
hanging the bodies of four Mazovian peasants. There was not the least
breath of wind, therefore the corpses, which seemed to be looking at
their own feet, did not sway at all, except when the black buds perched
upon their shoulders and heads, jostling one another, striking the ropes
and pecking the bowed heads. Some of the hanged men must have been there
for a long time, because their skulls were entirely naked, and their legs
very much lengthened. At Jurand's approach, the flock arose with a great
noise, but they soon turned in the air and began to settle on the
crossbeam of the gallows. Jurand passed them, crossing himself,
approached the moat, and, stopping at the place where the drawbridge was
raised before the gate, sounded the horn.

He sounded it a second and a third time and waited. There was no living
soul upon the walls, nor could a voice be heard within the gates. After a
while though, a heavy flap, visible behind a grate built in stone near
the castle gate, was raised with a crash, and in the opening appeared the
bearded head of a German servant.

"_Wer da?_" inquired a harsh voice.

"Jurand of Spychow!" replied the knight.

Immediately the flap was closed again and deep silence followed.

Time passed. No movement was heard behind the gate, only the cawing of
birds reached his ear from the direction of the gallows.

Jurand stood yet a long time before he raised the horn and sounded it
again. But silence again was the sole response.

Now he understood that he was kept before the gate by Teuton pride, which
knew no bounds before the defeated, in order to humiliate him like a
beggar. He also guessed that he would have to wait thus until evening, or
even longer. Consequently his blood began to boil in the first moments;
he was suddenly seized with the desire to dismount, pick up one of the
rocks which lay near the moat, and cast it at the grate. He and every
other Mazovian or Polish knight would have done so, under other
circumstances, and let them come then from behind the gate and fight him.
But recollecting for what purpose he had come, he bethought himself and
desisted.

"Have I not sacrificed myself for my child?" he said in his soul.

And he waited.

Meanwhile something black appeared in the loopholes of the wall. There
appeared heads covered with fur, dark hoods and even iron bars, from
behind which curious eyes gazed at the knight. More came every moment,
because the terrible Jurand, waiting solitarily before the Teuton gate,
was an unusual sight for the garrison. Whoever had seen him hitherto, had
seen death, but now he could be looked at in safety. The heads constantly
multiplied till at last all the loopholes near the gate were occupied by
servants. Jurand thought that also the superiors must be looking at him
through the grates of the windows in the adjacent tower, and he turned
his eyes in that direction, but there the windows were cut in deep walls,
and it was impossible to see through them. But in the apertures, the
group of people who at first looked at him silently, began to talk. One
after another repeated his name, here and there laughter was heard, gruff
voices shouted as if at a wolf, louder and more insolently, and when,
apparently, nobody among them interfered, they finally began to throw
snow at the standing knight. He moved his horse as if involuntarily and
then for a moment the throwing of snow ceased, voices quieted down, and
even some heads disappeared behind the walls. Surely, Jurand's name must
have been very menacing! Soon, however, even the most cowardly bethought
themselves that a moat and a wall separated them from that terrible
Mazovian, therefore the rough soldiery again commenced to throw not only
small lumps of snow, but also ice, and even shards and stones, which
rebounded with a clang from the armor which covered the horse.

"I have sacrificed myself for the child," repeated Jurand to himself.

And he waited. Noontime arrived, the walls were deserted, because the
retainers were called to dinner. A few, those that had to be on guard,
ate their meal on the wall, and, after having eaten, entertained
themselves with throwing the picked bones at the hungry knight. They also
began to tease and question each other who would dare to descend and
strike him with the fist in the neck, or with the handle of the lance.
Others, returning from their meal, called to him that if he disliked
waiting he could hang himself, because there was a vacant hook on the
gallows with a ready rope. And amidst such mockery, cries, bursts of
laughter and cursing, the afternoon hours passed. The short wintry day
gradually drew toward evening, and the drawbridge was still up and the
gate remained closed.

But toward evening a wind arose, dispersed the mist, cleared the sky and
revealed the sunset glow.

The snow became dark-blue, and then violet. There was no frost, but the
night promised to be fair. The walls were again deserted by all but the
guard; the rooks and crows departed from the gallows to the forests.
Finally the sky darkened and complete silence followed.

"They will not open the gate before nightfall," thought Jurand.

And for a moment he thought to return to the city, but he soon gave up
that idea. "They want me to stand here," he said to himself. "If I
return, they will certainly not let me go home, but surround and capture
me, and then they will say that they owe me nothing, because they took me
by force, and if I should ride over them, even then I must return...."

The great endurance of the Polish knights for cold, hunger and hardships,
so admired by foreign chroniclers, frequently enabled them to perform
deeds which the less hardy people from the west could not undertake.
Jurand possessed that endurance to a still greater degree than others;
therefore, although hunger had long since began to gripe him, and the
evening frost penetrated his fur, which was covered with iron plates, he
determined to wait, even if he had to die before this gate.

But suddenly, before it became entirely dark, he heard behind him the
sound of footsteps in the snow.

He looked back: there were coming toward him, from the direction of the
city, six men, armed with lances and halberds; in their midst walked a
seventh man supporting himself on a weapon.

"They will perhaps open the gate for them and then I shall ride in with
them," thought Jurand. "They will not try to take me by force, nor kill
me, because there are too few; should they attack me, however, it will
prove that they do not mean to keep their promise, and then--woe to
them!"

Thus thinking, he raised the steel axe hanging at his saddle, so heavy,
that its weight was too great for the two hands of an ordinary man, and
moved toward them.

But they did not think of attacking him. On the contrary, the servants
planted their lances and halberds in the snow, and as the night was not
entirely dark yet, Jurand saw that the handles somewhat trembled in their
hands.

The seventh, who appeared to be the superior, put out his left arm
quickly, and turning his hand upward, said:

"Are you the knight Jurand of Spychow?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish to hear my message?"

"I listen."

"The powerful and religious Count von Danveld ordered me to tell you,
lord, that until you dismount, the gate will not be opened for you."

Jurand remained motionless for a while, then he dismounted, the horse
being instantly taken away by one of the archers.

"The arms must be surrendered to us," again said the man with the weapon.

The lord of Spychow hesitated. Perhaps they would attack him unarmed, and
kill him like a beast; or capture and cast him under ground? But after a
moment he thought that if it were to be so, they would have sent more
men. But should they throw themselves on him, they would not destroy his
armor at once, and then he could wrench a weapon from the nearest and
kill them all before assistance could arrive. They knew him well.

"And even if they should wish to shed my blood," he said to himself, "I
came for no other purpose than that."

Thus thinking, he threw down first the axe, then the sword, and finally
the _misericordia_, and waited. They took everything, and then the man
who had addressed him previously, withdrawing several steps, stopped and
began to speak in an insolent, loud voice:

"For all the wrongs you have done to the Order, you must, by the count's
orders, put on this sack cloth which I leave here, tie around your neck
the scabbard of your sword with a rope, and wait humbly at the gate until
the count's grace orders it to be opened for you."

And the next moment Jurand remained alone in the darkness and silence. In
the snow before him the penitential robe and rope showed black while he
stood long, feeling something in his soul dissolving, breaking,
agonizing, dying, and that shortly he would be a knight no more, Jurand
of Spychow no more, but a beggar, a slave without a name, without fame,
without respect.

Therefore, a long time passed before he approached the penitential robe,
and said:

"How can I do otherwise? Christ, Thou knowest they will kill the innocent
child, if I do not do all they order. And Thou also knowest that I would
not do that for the sake of my own life! Disgrace is a distasteful
thing!... distasteful!--but Thou also wast disgraced of old. Well then,
in the name of the Father and of the Son...."

He then bent down, put on the robe in which were cut the openings for the
head and hands, then he tied around his neck the scabbard of his sword,
and dragged himself to the gate.

He did not find it open; but now it was immaterial to him whether they
opened it sooner or later. The castle sank into nocturnal silence, only
the guards called now and then to each other on the bastions. In the
tower near the gate there was light in one window high up; the others
were dark.

The night hours flew one after another, on the sky appeared the crescent
moon and threw light upon the gloomy walls of the castle. It became so
quiet that Jurand was able to hear his own heart-beats. But he stiffened
and became entirely petrified, as if his soul were taken from him, and
took no account of anything. One thought remained with him, that he had
ceased to be a knight, Jurand of Spychow, but what he was he did not
know.... Sometimes it also seemed to him that in the middle of the night
death was coming to him across the snow from those hanged men that he had
seen in the morning....

Suddenly he quivered and awoke entirely.

"O gracious Christ! what is that?"

From the high window in the adjacent tower, the sounds of a lute, hardly
heard at first, reached his ear. Jurand, while on the way to Szczytno,
was sure that Danusia was not in the castle, and yet this sound of the
lute at night aroused his heart in an instant. It seemed to him that he
knew those sounds, and that nobody else was playing but she--his child!
his darling.... He therefore fell upon his knees, clasped his hands to
pray, and listened shivering, as in a fever.

Just then a half-childish and as if ardently longing voice began to sing:

  "Had I the dear little wings
    Of a gosling,
  I would fly
    To Jasiek at Szlonsk."

Jurand wished to reply, to utter the dear name, but his words were
imprisoned in his throat, as if an iron band squeezed them. A sudden wave
of pain, tears, longing, suffering, collected in his breast; he therefore
cast himself down with his face in the snow and began in ecstasy to call
upon heaven in his soul, as if in thankful prayer:

"O Jesus! I hear my child once again! O Jesus!" ...

And weeping began to tear his gigantic body. Above, the longing voice
continued to sing amid the undisturbed silence of the night:

  "Would that I might sit
    In the little Szlonsk garden
  To gaze upon little Jasiek
    The poor orphan!"

In the morning a stout, bearded German retainer began to prod the ribs of
the knight lying at the gate.

"Upon your feet, dog!... The gate is open, and the count orders you to
appear before him."

Jurand awoke, as if from sleep. He did not catch the man by the throat,
he did not crush him in his iron hands, he had a quiet and almost humble
face; he arose, and, without saying a word, followed the soldier through
the gate.

He had hardly crossed, when a clang of chains was heard, and the bridge
began to be drawn up again, while in the gateway itself fell a heavy iron
grating.


END OF PART FOURTH.




PART FIFTH.




CHAPTER I.

Jurand, finding himself in the castleyard, did not know at first where to
go, because the servant, who had led him through the gate, had left him
and gone toward the stables. It is true, the soldiers stood near the
palisades, either singly or in groups, but their faces were so insolent,
and their looks so derisive, that the knight could easily guess that they
would not show him the way, and even if they were to make a reply to his
question, it would be a brutal or an indignant one.

Some laughed, pointing at him with their fingers, others commenced to
throw snow at him, like yesterday. But he, noticing a door larger than
the others, over which was cut out in stone Christ on a cross, turned to
it, thinking that if the count and the elders were in another part of the
castle or in other rooms, somebody must set him right.

And so it happened. The instant Jurand approached that particular door,
both halves of it opened suddenly, and there stood before it a youth with
a head shaven like the clericals, but dressed in a worldly dress, who
inquired:

"Are you Sir Jurand of Spychow?"

"I am."

"The pious count ordered me to guide you. Follow me."

And he commenced to lead him through a great vaulted vestibule toward a
staircase. At the stairs though he halted, and casting a glance at
Jurand, again inquired:

"But have you no weapon with you? I was ordered to search you."

Jurand threw up his arms, so that his guide might be able to view his
whole figure, and replied:

"Yesterday I gave up everything."

Then the guide lowered his voice and said almost in a whisper:

"Be careful then not to break out into anger, because you are under might
and superior force."

"But also under God's will," returned Jurand.

Then he looked more carefully at his guide, and observing in his face
something in the nature of mercy and sympathy, said:

"Honesty looks through your eyes, young man! Will you answer sincerely to
what I question?"

"Make haste, sir," said the guide.

"Will they return the child to me?"

And the youth raised his brows wonderingly.

"Is your child here?"

"My daughter."

"That lady in the tower near the gate?"

"Yes. They promised to send her away if I surrendered to them."

The guide waved his hand to signify that he knew nothing, but his face
expressed trouble and doubt.

Then Jurand further asked:

"Is it true, that Shomberg and Markward are watching her?"

"Those brethren are not in the castle. Take her away though, sir, ere the
nobleman Danveld regains his health."

Hearing that, Jurand shivered, but there was no time to ask any more
questions, because they had arrived at the hall on the upper floor in
which Jurand was to face the chief Shchycienski. The youth, after having
opened the door, retreated toward the stairs.

The knight of Spychow entered and found himself in a roomy apartment,
very dark, because the lead-framed, oval-shaped panes transmitted very
little light; furthermore the day was wintry and cloudy. There was, it is
true, a fire burning in a large chimney at the other end of the
apartment, but the green logs produced little flame. Only after a time,
when Jurand's eyes became used to the darkness, he distinguished a table
behind which were knights sitting, and behind them a whole group of armed
warriors and servants also armed, among whom the castle fool held a tame
bear by a chain.

Jurand had frequently met Danveld some time before, and afterward had
seen him twice at the court of the prince of Mazowsze, as delegate, but
several years had passed since that time; yet, notwithstanding the
darkness, he recognized him instantly, because of his obesity, his face,
and finally because he sat in the centre behind the table in an armchair,
his hand being circled by wooden splints and resting upon the arm of the
chair. To his right sat the old Zygfried von Löve of Insburk, an
inexorable foe of the Polish race in general, and particularly of Jurand
of Spychow; to his left were the younger brethren, Godfried and Rotgier.
Danveld had invited them purposely, to witness his triumph over a
threatening foe, and at the same time to enjoy the fruits of the treason
which they had plotted together, and in the accomplishment of which they
had assisted. They sat now comfortably dressed in soft dark cloth, with
light swords at their sides. They were joyous and self-confident, and
looking upon Jurand with that pride and extreme contempt which they
always bore in their hearts toward the weaker and vanquished.

The silence lasted a long while, because they wished to satiate
themselves with the sight of the man whom they had previously dreaded,
and who stood before them now with his head bowed upon his breast, and
dressed like a penitent in sackcloth, and with a rope around his neck,
upon which was suspended the scabbard of his sword.

They also apparently wanted as great a number of people as possible to
witness his humiliation, for through a side door, leading into other
rooms, whoever pleased entered, and the hall was nearly half filled with
armed men. They all looked with extreme eagerness at Jurand, conversing
loudly and making remarks about him.

But he gained confidence, at the sight of them, because he thought to
himself:

"If Danveld did not wish to keep his promise, he would not have ordered
so many witnesses."

Meanwhile Danveld raised his hand, and stopped the conversation; he then
made a sign to one of the warriors, who approached Jurand, and catching
the rope which encircled his neck, dragged him a few steps nearer the
table.

And Danveld looked triumphantly at those present and said:

"Look, how the power of religion defeats anger and pride."

"May God always grant it so!" answered those present.

Then again followed a moment of silence, after which Danveld turned to
the prisoner:

"You were biting the faith like a mad dog, therefore God has caused you
to stand before us, with a rope around your neck, looking for charity and
mercy."

"Do not compare me with a dog, count," replied Jurand, "because you thus
lower the honor of those who met me and fell under my hand."

At these words the armed Germans commenced to murmur: it was not known
whether the daring answer aroused their anger or whether they were struck
by its justice.

But the count, dissatisfied at such a turn of the conversation, said:

"Look, even now he spits into our eyes with arrogance and pride!"

Jurand then raised his hands, like a man who calls heaven to witness, and
shaking his head, answered:

"God sees that my arrogance remained outside your gate; God sees and will
judge, whether in dishonoring my knighthood, you did not dishonor
yourself. There is the honor of a nobleman, which every one who has a
belt around him, should respect."

Danveld wrinkled his brows, but at that moment the castle fool started to
rattle the chain to which he had fastened the bear, and called out:

"Sermon! sermon! the preacher from Mazowsze has arrived! Listen! to the
sermon!"

Then turning to Danveld, he said:

"Sir! Duke Rosenheim ordered his sexton to eat the bell-rope from knot to
knot whenever the latter awakened him too early for the sermon. This
preacher has also a rope around his neck--make him also eat it up before
he finishes his sermon."

And, having said this, he gazed at the count in some alarm, being
uncertain whether the count would laugh or whether his inappropriate
remark would result in an order for a flogging for him. But the religious
brethren, gentle, well-behaved, and even humble, whenever they felt they
were not in power, did not know any limits before the defeated;
therefore, Danveld not only nodded his head at the bear-leader as a sign
that he permitted the mockery, but he himself burst out with such
unheard-of roughness that the faces of the younger warriors expressed
astonishment.

"Don't complain that you were put to shame," he said, "because even if I
had made you a dogcatcher, a religious dogcatcher is better than you,
knight!"

And the encouraged fool commenced to shout: "Bring the currycomb, comb
the bear, and he in turn will comb your shags with his paws."

At that, laughter was heard here and there, and a voice exclaimed from
behind the religious brethren:

"You will cut reeds on the lake in the summer!"

"And catch crabs with your carcass!" exclaimed another.

A third added: "And now begin to drive away the crows from the hanging
thief! There will always be plenty of work for you."

Thus they made fun of the once terrible Jurand. The assembly gradually
became joyous. Some, leaving the table, began to approach the prisoner
and look at him closely, saying:

"This is the wild boar of Spychow, whose tusks our count has knocked out;
his snout is surely foaming; he would gladly tear somebody, but he
cannot!"

Danveld and others of the religious brethren, who at first had wished to
give the hearing the solemn appearance of a court, seeing that the affair
had turned out differently, also arose from their benches and mingled
with those who approached Jurand.

The old Zygfried of Insburk was dissatisfied at that, but the count
himself said:

"Be cheerful, there will be a greater joy yet!"

And they also commenced to look at Jurand, for this was a rare
opportunity, because when any of the knights or servants had seen him
before from so near, they had usually closed their eyes forever. Some of
them also remarked:

"He is broad shouldered, although he has a fur beneath his sack; he could
be wrapped up with pease straw, and exhibited in country fairs."

Others again commenced to ask for beer in order to make the day a still
pleasanter one.

And so in a few moments flowing pitchers began to clink and the dark hall
became covered with the foam escaping from under the covers. The
good-humored count said:

"That is just right, let him not think that his disgrace is of great
importance!"

So they again approached him, and touching his chin with their pewters,
said:

"You would like to drink, Mazovian snout!" and others, pouring the beer
into their palms, cast it into his eyes, while he stood among them
stunned and abused, until at last he moved toward the old Zygfried, and
apparently feeling that he could not stand it any longer, he began to cry
so loudly as to deafen the noise in the hall:

"By the torture of the Saviour and the salvation of the soul, restore to
me my child, as you promised!"

And he attempted to seize the right hand of the old count who quickly
withdrew and said:

"Avaunt, prisoner! what dost thou want?"

"I released Bergow from prison, and came myself, because in return you
promised to restore my child who is here."

"Who promised you that?" inquired Danveld.

"By the soul and faith, you, count!"

"You will not find any witnesses, but they amount to nothing, if honor
and word are in question."

"Upon your honor, upon that of the Order," exclaimed Jurand.

"Then your daughter will be returned to you!" replied Danveld, and,
turning to the others, remarked: "All that has happened to him here is an
innocent trifle in comparison with his violence and crimes. But since we
promised to return his daughter if he should appear and submit himself to
us, then know, that the word of a Knight of the Cross is, like God's
word, irreproachable, and that that girl, whom we saved from the hands of
robbers, shall now be given her liberty, and after an exemplary penance
for his sins against the Order, he also shall be allowed to go back to
his home."

Such a speech astounded some, because, knowing Danveld and his old hatred
for Jurand, they did not expect such honesty from him. Therefore old
Zygfried, together with Rotgier and Brother Godfried, looked at him,
raising and wrinkling their brows with astonishment, but he pretended not
to observe their inquiring looks and said:

"I'll send your daughter back under guard, but you must remain here until
our guard returns safely and until you have paid your ransom."

Jurand himself was somewhat astonished, because he had ceased to hope
that his sacrifice would be of any use to Danusia; he therefore looked at
Danveld, almost with thankfulness and replied:

"May God reward you, count!"

"Recognize the Knights of the Cross," said Danveld.

"All mercy from Him!" replied Jurand; "but, since it is long since I saw
my child, permit me to see and bless my girl."

"Bah, and not otherwise than before all of us, so that there may be
witnesses of our good faith and mercy."

Then he ordered the warriors standing near to bring Danusia, while he
himself approached von Löve, Rotgier and Godfried, who surrounded him and
commenced a quick and animated conversation.

"I do not oppose you, although this was not your object," said old
Zygfried.

And the hot Rotgier, famous for his courage and cruelties, said: "How is
this? not only the girl but also that devilish dog is going to be
liberated, that he may bite again?"

"He will bite not that way only!" exclaimed Godfried.

"Bah! he will pay ransom!" lazily replied Danveld.

"Even if he should return everything, in a year he will have robbed twice
as much."

"I shall not object as to the girl," repeated Zygfried; "but this wolf
will yet make the sheep of the Order weep more than once."

"And our word?" queried Danveld, laughingly.

"You spoke differently...."

Danveld shrugged his shoulders. "Did you not have enough pleasure?" he
inquired. "Do you wish more?"

Others surrounded Jurand again and commenced to brag before him, praising
the upright conduct of Danveld, and the impression it made upon the
members of the Order.

"And what bone breaker!" said the captain of the castle-archers. "Your
heathen brethren would not have treated our Christian knights so!"

"You drank our blood?"

"And we give you bread for stones."

But Jurand paid no attention either to the pride or to the contempt which
their words contained: his heart swelled and his eyelashes were moist. He
thought that he would see Danusia in a moment, and that he would see her
actually by their favor; he therefore gazed at the speakers almost with
humility, and finally said:

"True! true! I used to be hard on you but ... not treacherous."

That instant a voice at the other end of the hall suddenly cried: "They
are bringing the girl;" and immediately silence reigned throughout the
hall. The soldiers scattered to both sides, because none of them had ever
seen Jurand's daughter, and the majority of them did not even know of her
presence in the castle on account of the secrecy with which Danveld
surrounded his actions; but those who knew, whispered to one another
about her admirable grace. All eyes turned with extreme curiosity toward
the door through which she was to appear.

Meanwhile a warrior appeared in front followed by the well-known servant
of the Order, the same woman that rode to the court in the forest. After
her entered a girl dressed in white, with loose hair tied with a ribbon
on the forehead.

And suddenly one great outburst of laughter, like the roaring of thunder,
rang through the entire hall. Jurand, who at the first moment had sprung
toward his daughter, suddenly recoiled and stood as pale as linen,
looking with surprise at the ill-shaped head, the bluish lips, and the
expressionless eyes of the wench who was restored to him as Danusia.

"This is not my daughter!" he said, in a terrifying voice.

"Not your daughter?" exclaimed Danveld. "By the holy Liboryusz of
Paderborn! Then either we did not rescue your daughter from the murderers
or some wizard has changed her, because there is no other in Szczytno."

Old Zygfried, Rotgier and Godfried exchanged quick glances with each
other, full of admiration at the shrewdness of Danveld, but none of them
had time enough to speak, because Jurand began to shout with a terrible
voice:

"She is, she is in Szczytno! I heard her sing, I heard the voice of dear
Danusia!"

Upon that Danveld turned to those assembled and said quietly but
pointedly:

"I take you all present as witnesses and especially you, Zygfried of
Insburk, and you pious brothers, Rotgier and Godfried, that, according to
my word and given promise, I restore that girl, who was said by the
robbers whom we defeated, to be the daughter of Jurand of Spychow. If she
is not--it is not our fault, but rather the will of our Lord, who in that
manner wished to deliver Jurand into our hands."

Zygfried and the two younger brethren bowed to signify that they heard
and would testify in case of necessity. Then again they glanced quickly
at each other, because it was more than they ever could have expected to
capture Jurand, not to restore his daughter, and still ostensibly to keep
a promise; who else could do that?

But Jurand threw himself upon his knees and commenced to conjure Danveld
by all the relics in Malborg, then by the ashes and heads of his parents,
to restore to him his true child and not proceed like a swindler and
traitor, breaking oaths and promises. His voice contained so much despair
and truth, that some began to suspect treason; others again thought that
some wizard had actually changed the appearance of the girl.

"God looks upon your treason!" exclaimed Jurand. "By the Saviour's
wounds, by the hour of your death, return my child!"

And arising, he went bent double toward Danveld, as if he wished to
embrace his knees; and his eyes glittered with madness, and his voice
broke alternately with pain, fear, and dread. Danveld, hearing the
accusations of treason and deceit in presence of all, commenced to snort,
and at length his features worked with rage; so that like a flame in his
desire utterly to crush the unfortunate, he advanced and bending down to
his ear, whispered through his set teeth: "If I ever give her up, it will
be with my bastard...."

But at that very moment Jurand roared like a bull, and with both hands he
caught Danveld and raised him high in the air.

The hall still resounded with the terrible cry: "Save me!" when the body
of the count struck the stone floor with such terrible force that the
brains from the shattered skull bespattered Zygfried and Rotgier who
stood by. Jurand sprang to the wall, near which stood the arms, and
snatching a large two-handed weapon, ran like a storm at the Germans, who
were petrified with terror. The people were used to battles, butchery and
blood, and yet their hearts sank to such an extent that even after the
panic had passed, they commenced to retreat and escape like a flock of
sheep before a wolf who kills with one stroke of his claws. The hall
resounded with the cry of terror, with the sound of human footsteps, the
clang of the overturned vessels, the howling of the servants, the
growling of the bear, who, tearing himself out of the hands of the
trainer, started to climb on a high window, and a terror-stricken cry for
arms and targets, weapons and crossbows. Finally weapons gleamed, and a
number of sharp points were directed toward Jurand, but he, not caring
for anything, half crazed, sprang toward them, and there commenced an
unheard-of wild fight, resembling a butchery more than a contest of arms.
The young and fiery Brother Godfried was the first to intercept Jurand's
way, but he severed his head, hand and shoulder-blade with a lightning
swing of his weapon; after him fell by Jurand's hand the captain of the
archers, and the castle administrator, von Bracht and the Englishman
Hugues, who, although he did not very well understand the cause, pitied
Jurand and his sufferings, and only drew his weapon when Danveld was
killed. Others, seeing the terrible force and the fury of the man,
gathered closely together, so as to offer combined resistance, but this
plan brought about a still greater defeat, because he, with his hair
standing upright on his head, with maddened eyes, covered all over with
blood, panting, raging and furious, broke, tore and cut with terrible
strokes of his sword that battered group, casting men to the floor,
splashed all over with clotted blood, as a storm overturns bushes and
trees. Then followed a moment of terrific fright, in which it seemed that
this terrible Mazovian, all by himself, would hew and slay all these
people. Like a pack of barking hounds that cannot overpower a fierce boar
without the assistance of the hunters, so were those armed Germans; they
could not match his might and fierceness in that fight which resulted
only in their death and discomfiture.

"Scatter! surround him! strike from behind!" shrieked old Zygfried von
Löve.

They consequently dispersed through the hall like a flock of starlings in
the field upon which a hawk with crooked beak swoops from a height, but
they could not surround him, because, in the heat of the fight, instead
of looking for a place of defence, he commenced to chase them around the
walls and whoever was overtaken died as if thunderstruck. Humiliation,
despair, disappointed hope, changed into one thirst for blood, seemed to
multiply tenfold his terrific natural strength. A weapon, for which the
most powerful of the Knights of the Cross needed both hands, he managed
to wield with one as if it were a feather. He did not care for his life,
nor look for escape; he did not even crave for victory; he sought
revenge, and like a fire, or like a river, which breaking a dam, blindly
destroys everything obstructing its flow, so he, a terrible, blindfolded
destroyer, tore, broke, trampled, killed and extinguished human beings.
They could not hurt him in his back, because, in the beginning they were
unable to overtake him; moreover the common soldiers feared to come near
him even from behind; they knew that if he happened to turn no human
power could save them from death. Others were simply terror-stricken at
the thought, that an ordinary man could cause so much havoc, and that
they were dealing with a man who was aided by some superhuman power.

But old Zygfried, and with him Brother Rotgier, rushed to the gallery
which extended above the large windows of the hall, and commenced to call
others to take shelter after them; these did so in haste, so that, on the
narrow stairs, they pushed each other in their desire to get up as
quickly as possible and thence to strike the strong knight, with whom any
hand to hand struggle appeared to them impossible.

Finally, the last one banged the door leading to the gallery and Jurand
remained alone below. From the gallery the sounds of joy and triumph
reached him, and soon heavy oak benches and iron collars of torches began
to fall upon the nobleman. One of the missiles struck him on the forehead
and bathed his face with blood. At the same time the large entrance door
opened, and through the upper windows the summoned servants rushed into
the hall in a body, armed with pikes, halberds, axes, crossbows,
palisades, poles, ropes and all varieties of weapons, which they could
hurriedly get hold of. And with his left hand the mad Jurand wiped the
blood from his face, so as not to obstruct his sight, gathered himself
together, and threw himself at the entire throng. In the hall again
resounded groans, the clash of iron, the gnashing of teeth and the
piercing voices of the slain men.

In the same hall, behind the table that evening, sat old Zygfried von
Löve, who, after the bailiff Danveld, temporarily took command of
Szczytno, and near him were Brother Rotgier, and the knight von Bergow, a
former prisoner of Jurand's and two noble youths, novices, who were soon
to put on white mantles. The wintry storm was howling outside the
windows, shaking the leaden window-frames; the torchlights, which were
burning in iron frames, wavered, and now and then the wind drove clouds
of smoke from the chimney into the hall. Silence reigned among the
brethren, although they were assembled for a consultation, because they
were waiting for the word from Zygfried, who, again resting his elbows on
the table and running his hands over his grey and bowed head, sat gloomy
with his face in the shadow and with sullen thoughts in his soul.

"About what are we to deliberate?" finally asked Brother Rotgier.

Zygfried raised his head, looked at the speaker, and, awakening from
thought, said:

"About the defeat, about what the master and the assembly will say, and
about this, that our actions may not cause any loss to the Order." He was
silent again, but after a while he looked around and moved his nostrils:
"There is still a smell of blood here."

"No, count," replied Rotgier; "I ordered the floor to be scrubbed and the
place to be fumigated with sulphur. It is the odor of sulphur."

And Zygfried looked at those present with a strange glance, and said:
"God have mercy upon the soul of our brothers Danveld and Godfried!"

They again understood that he implored God's mercy upon their souls,
because, at the mention of sulphur, he thought of hell; therefore a chill
ran through their bones and all at once replied: "Amen! amen! amen!"
After a moment the howling of the wind and the rattling of the
window-frames were heard again.

"Where are the bodies of the count and Brother Godfried?" inquired the
old man.

"In the chapel: the priests are chanting the litany over them."

"Are they already in coffins?"

"In coffins, only the count's head is covered, because his skull and face
are crushed."

"Where are the other corpses, and where are the wounded?"

"The corpses are in the snow so as to stiffen whilst the coffins are
being made, and the wounded are being attended to in the hospital."

Zygfried again ran his hands over his head.

"And one man did that!... God, have the Order under Thy care, when it
comes to a great war with this wolfish race!"

Upon that Rotgier turned up his eyes, as if recollecting something, and
said: "I heard in Wilno, how the bailiff of Samboz spoke to his brother
the master: 'If you do not make a great war and get rid of them, so that
even their name shall not remain, then woe to us and our nation.'"

"May God give such a war and a meeting with them!" said one of the noble
novices.

Zygfried looked at him for some time, as if he wanted to say: "You could
have met one of them to-day," but seeing the small and youthful figure of
the novice, and perhaps remembering that he himself, although famous for
his courage, did not care to expose himself to a sure destruction,
refrained and inquired:

"Who saw Jurand?"

"I," replied von Bergow.

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, he lies in the same net in which we entrapped him. When he awoke
the servants wanted to kill him, but the chaplain would not allow it."

"He cannot be executed. He is too great a man among his people, and there
would be a terrible clamor," replied Zygfried. "It will be also
impossible to hide what has happened, because there were too many
witnesses."

"What then are we to say and do?" inquired Rotgier.

Zygfried meditated, and finally said:

"You, noble Count von Bergow go to Malborg to the master. You were
groaning in Jurand's slavery, and are now a guest of the Order; therefore
as such, and because you need not necessarily speak in favor of the
monks, they will rather believe you. Tell, then, what you saw, that
Danveld, having recovered from a band of rogues a certain girl and
thinking her to be Jurand's daughter, informed the latter, who also came
to Szczytno, and what happened further you know yourself."

"Pardon me, pious count," said von Bergow. "I suffered great hardships as
a slave in Spychow, and as your guest, I would gladly testify for you;
but tell me, for the sake of quieting my soul, whether there was not a
real daughter of Jurand's in Szczytno, and whether it was not Danveld's
treason that drove her father to madness?"

Zygfried von Löve hesitated for a moment with his answer; in his nature
lay deep hatred toward the Polish nation, and barbarity in which he
exceeded even Danveld, and rapacity, and, when the Order was in question,
pride and avarice, but there was no falsehood. It was the greatest
bitterness and grief of his life, that lately, through insubordination
and riot, the affairs of the Order had turned in such a manner that
falsehood had become one of the most general and unavoidable factors of
the life of the Order. Therefore von Bergow's inquiry touched the most
painful string of his soul, and, after a long silence, he said:

"Danveld stands before God, and God will judge him, while you, duke,
should they ask you for conjectures, answer what you please; should they
again ask you about what you saw, then say that before we coiled a wild
man in a net you saw nine corpses, besides the wounded, on this floor,
and among them the bodies of Danveld, Brother Godfried, von Bracht and
Hugues, and two noble youths.... God, give them eternal peace. Amen!"

"Amen! Amen!" again repeated the novices.

"And say also," added Zygfried, "that although Danveld wished to subdue
the foe of the Order, yet nobody here raised the first weapon against
Jurand."

"I shall say only what my eyes saw," replied von Bergow.

"Be in the chapel before midnight; we shall also go there to pray for the
souls of the dead," answered Zygfried.

He then extended his hand to him as a sign of gratitude and farewell; he
wished to remain for a further consultation alone with Brother Rotgier,
whom he loved and had great confidence in. After the withdrawal of von
Bergow, he also dismissed the two novices, under the pretence that they
might watch the work of the coffins for the common servants killed by
Jurand, and after the doors had closed behind them he turned with
animation to Rotgier, and said:

"Listen to what I am going to say: there is only one remedy: that no
living soul should ever find out that the real daughter of Jurand was
with us."

"It will not be difficult," replied Rotgier, "because nobody knew that
she was here except Danveld, Godfried, we two, and those servants of the
Order who watched her. Danveld ordered the people who brought her here to
be made intoxicated and hanged. There were some among the garrison who
suspected something, but that affair confused them, and they do not know
now themselves whether an error happened on our part, or whether some
wizard really exchanged Jurand's daughter."

"This is good," said Zygfried.

"I have been thinking again, noble count, whether, since Danveld lives no
longer, we should not cast all the guilt upon him...."

"And so admit before the whole world that we, in a time of peace and
concord with the prince of Mazowsze, ravished from his court the pupil of
the princess and her beloved courtlady? No, for God's sake! this cannot
be!... We were seen at the court together with Danveld; and the grand
master, his relative, knows that we always undertook everything
together.... If we accuse Danveld, he may desire to avenge his
memory...."

"Let us consult on that," said Rotgier. "Let us consult and find good
advice, because otherwise woe to us! If we return Jurand's daughter, then
she will say herself that we did not capture her from robbers, but that
the people who caught her carried her directly to Szczytno."

"That is so."

"And God is witness that I do not care for the responsibility alone. The
prince will complain to the Polish king, and their delegates will not
fail to clamor at all courts against our outrages, our treason, and our
crime. God alone knows how much loss the Order may suffer from it. The
master himself, if he knew the truth, ought to order that girl to be
hidden."

"And even if so, when that girl is lost, will they not accuse us?"
inquired Rotgier.

"No! Brother Danveld was a shrewd man. Do you remember, that he imposed
the condition on Jurand, that he should not only appear in Szczytno
personally, but also previously proclaim and write to the prince, that he
is going to ransom his daughter from the robbers, and that he knows that
she is not with us."

"True! but in that case how shall we justify what happened in Szczytno?"

"We shall say that knowing that Jurand was looking for his child, and
having captured some girl from the robbers and not being able to tell who
she was, we informed Jurand, thinking that this might possibly be his
daughter; on his arrival he fell into a fit at the sight of her, and,
being possessed with the devil, shed so much innocent blood that more
than one battle does not cost so much."

"That is true," replied Rotgier, "wisdom and the experience of age speak
through you. The bad deeds of Danveld, even if we should throw the guilt
on him, would always go to the account of the Order, therefore, to the
account of all of us, the assembly and the master himself; so again our
innocence will become apparent, and all will fall upon Jurand, the
iniquity of the Poles and their connection with infernal powers...."

"And then whoever wishes may judge us; the Pope, or the Roman Emperor!"

"Yes!" Then followed a moment of silence, after which Brother Rotgier
questioned:

"What shall we do then with Jurand's daughter?"

"Let us consult."

"Give her to me."

And Zygfried looked at him and replied:

"No I Listen, young brother! When the Order is in question, do not trust
a man, woman nor even your own self. Danveld was reached by God's hand,
because he not only wished to revenge the wrongs of the Order, but also
to satisfy his own desires."

"You misjudge me!" said Rotgier.

"Do not trust yourself," interrupted Zygfried, "because your body and
soul will become effeminate, and the knee of that hard race will some day
bear heavily upon your breast, so that you will not be able to arise any
more." And he the third time rested his gloomy head on his hand, but he
apparently conversed with his own conscience only, and thought of himself
only, because he said after a while:

"Much human blood, much pain, many tears weigh heavily on me also ...
moreover I did not hesitate to seek other means, when the Order was in
question, and when I saw I should not succeed by mere force; but when I
stand before the Almighty, I shall tell Him: 'I did that for the Order,
and for myself--what I chose.'"

And having said this, he put his hands to his breast and opened a dark
cloth garment, beneath which appealed a sackcloth. He then pressed his
temples with his hands, raised his head and eyes, and exclaimed:

"Give up pleasures and profligacy, harden your bodies and hearts, because
even now I see the whiteness of the eagle's feathers in the air and its
claws reddened with Teutonic blood!..."

Further speech was interrupted by such a terrible knock of the gate that
one window above the gallery opened with a crash, and the entire hall was
filled with a howling and whistling of the storm and with snowflakes.

"In the name of God, His Son and the Holy Ghost! this is a bad night,"
remarked the old Teuton.

"A night of unclean powers," answered Rotgier.

"Are there priests with Danveld's body?"

"Yes.... He departed without absolution.... God have mercy upon him!"

And both ceased speaking. Rotgier presently called some boys, and ordered
them to shut the window and light the torches, and after they had gone
away, he again inquired:

"What will you do with Jurand's daughter? Will you take her away from
here to Insburk?"

"I shall take her to Insburk and do with her what the good of the Order
demands."

"What am I to do then?"

"Have you courage in your heart?"

"What have I done to make you doubt it?"

"I doubt not because I know you and love you as my own son for your
courage. Go then to the court of the prince of Mazowsze and narrate
everything that has happened here, according to our arrangement."

"Can I expose myself to certain destruction?"

"You ought, if your destruction will bring glory to the Cross and Order.
But no! Destruction does not await you. They do no harm to a guest:
unless somebody should challenge you, as that young knight did who
challenged us all ... he, or somebody else, but that is not terrible...."

"May God grant it! they can seize me though and cast me under ground."

"They will not do that. Remember that there is Jurand's letter to the
prince, and besides that you will go to accuse Jurand. Narrate faithfully
what he did in Szczytno, and they must believe you.... We were even the
first to inform him that there was a certain girl; we were the first to
invite him to come to see her, and he came, went mad, killed the count
and slew our people. Thus you will speak, and what can they say to you?
Danveld's death will certainly resound throughout the whole Mazowsze. On
that account they will fail to bring charges. They will actually look for
Jurand's daughter, but, since Jurand himself wrote that she is not here,
no suspicion will fall upon us. It is necessary to face them boldly and
close their mouths, because they will also think that if we were guilty,
none of us would dare to go there."

"True! I will set out on the journey immediately after Danveld's
funeral."

"May God bless you, my dear son! If you do all properly, they not only
will not detain you, but they will have to disavow Jurand, so that we may
not be able to say: 'Look how they treat us!'"

"And so we must sue at all courts."

"The grand master will attend to that for the benefit of the Order,
besides being Danveld's relative."

"But if that devil of Spychow should survive and regain his liberty!..."

A dark look came into Zygfried's eyes and he replied slowly and
emphatically:

"Even if he should regain his liberty, he will never utter a word of
accusation against the Order."

He then commenced again to instruct Rotgier, what to say and demand at
the court in Mazowsze.




CHAPTER II.

The rumor of the occurrence in Szczytno arrived in Warsaw however before
Brother Rotgier, and there excited amazement and concern. Neither the
king himself, nor anybody else at the court, could understand what had
happened. Shortly before, just when Mikolaj of Dlugolas was starting for
Malborg with the prince's letter, in which he bitterly complained of the
capture of Danusia by turbulent border counts and almost threateningly
demanded her instant restoration, a letter had arrived from the owner of
Spychow stating that his daughter was not captured by the Teutons, but by
ordinary border bandits, and that she would be soon released for a
ransom. On that account the messenger did not leave; nobody ever dreamed
of the Teutons extorting such a letter from Jurand by the threat of his
daughter's death. It was difficult to understand what had happened,
because the border chiefs, who were subjects of the prince as well as of
the Order, attacked one another in the summer, but not in the winter when
the snows betrayed their trail. They also usually attacked merchants, or
perpetrated robberies in the villages, capturing people and seizing their
herds, but to dare to attack the prince himself and to capture his
protégée, who was at the same time the daughter of a powerful and
universally feared knight, this seemed entirely to exceed human belief.
This, as well as other doubts, was answered by Jurand's letter under his
own seal, brought this time by a man who was known to come from Spychow;
under such circumstances all suspicions became impossible; the prince
only became more enraged than he had ever been seen before, and he
ordered a pursuit of the ravishers throughout the border of his
principality, at the same time ordering the prince of Plock to do the
same and not fail to punish the insolent fellows.

Just then arrived the news of what had happened at Szczytno.

And as it passed from mouth to mouth, it was multiplied tenfold. It was
said that Jurand, having arrived all alone in the castle, ran in through
the open gate and there committed such slaughter that the garrison was so
terrified that it had to send for help to the neighboring castles, to
summon the superior knighthood and armed foot-soldiers, who only after a
two days' siege succeeded in reentering the castle and there slaying
Jurand as well as his associates. It was also said that those forces
would probably cross the border, and that a great war would undoubtedly
begin. The prince, who knew of how great consequence it was to the grand
master in case of war with the Polish king for the powers of both
principalities of Mazowsze to remain neutral, did not believe these
stories, because it was no secret to him, that should the Teutons declare
war on him or the principality of Plock, no human power could keep the
Poles back; the master therefore dreaded that war. He knew that it must
come, but he wished to postpone it, firstly, because he was of a peaceful
disposition, and secondly, because, in order to meet Jagiello's power, it
was necessary to gather a strength which the Order until now had never
yet possessed, and at the same time to secure the assistance of the
princes and knighthood, not only in Germany, but also in the entire West.

The prince, therefore, did not fear the war, but he wished to know what
had happened, what he really was to think of the occurrence in Szczytno,
of the disappearance of Danusia, and all those stories which arrived from
the border; he was also glad, although he hated the Teutons, when on a
certain evening the captain of the archers informed him that a knight of
the Order had arrived and begged for an audience.

He received him proudly, nevertheless, and although he recognized him
instantly as one of the brethren who were in the Forest Court, he
pretended not to recollect him and inquired who he was, whence he came,
and what caused his arrival in Warsaw.

"I am Brother Rotgier," replied the Teuton, "and a short time ago I had
the honor to bow before your Highness."

"Why then, being a brother, do you not wear the insignia of the Order?"

The knight commenced to explain that he did not wear a white cloak,
because by so doing he would be undoubtedly captured or killed by the
knighthood of Mazowsze: throughout the whole world, in all kingdoms and
principalities, the sign of the cross on the cloak is a protection and
gains human good-will and hospitality, and only in the principality of
Mazowsze does the cross expose the man who wears it to certain death.

But the prince interrupted him angrily:

"Not the cross," he said, "because we also kiss it, but your vices and if
they receive you better elsewhere it is, because they do not know you so
well."

Then, seeing that the knight was greatly troubled at these words, he
inquired: "Were you in Szczytno, do you know what happened there?"

"I was in Szczytno and know what happened there," replied Rotgier, "and I
came here not as any one's messenger, but only because the experienced
and pious count of Insburk told me: 'Our master loves the pious prince
and trusts in his justice, therefore while I hasten to Malborg, you go to
Mazowsze and state our grievance, our disgrace, our misery. The just lord
will surely not praise a violator of peace and a cruel aggressor, who has
shed so much Christian blood, as though he were not Christ's servant but
Satan's.'" And then he commenced to narrate everything that had occurred
in Szczytno: How Jurand, who had been summoned by them to see whether the
girl whom they had taken away from the robbers was not his daughter,
instead of repaying that with thankfulness, had fallen into a fit; how he
had killed Danveld, Brother Godfried, the Englishmen Hugues, von Bracht
and two noble warriors, not counting the servants; how they, remembering
God's commandment and not wishing to kill, had finally been compelled to
coil the terrible man in a net, who had then turned his sword against
himself and wounded himself terribly; how lastly, not only in the castle
but also in the tower, there were people, who, in the midst of a wintry
gale during the night after the fight, had heard terrible laughter and
voices in the air calling: "Our Jurand! Wrongdoer of the cross! Shedder
of innocent blood! Our Jurand!"

And the whole story, especially the last words of the Teuton, made a
great impression upon all present. Terror fell upon them all. They were
simply overwhelmed with fear lest Jurand had actually summoned unclean
powers to his assistance, and deep silence followed. But the princess,
who was present at the audience, and who, loving Danusia, had a heart
full of inconsolable sorrow for her, turned with an unexpected question
to Rotgier: "You say, knight," she remarked, "that, after capturing the
girl, you thought her to be Jurand's daughter, and therefore summoned him
to Szczytno?"

"Yes, beloved lady," replied Rotgier.

"How could you have thought so, since you saw the real daughter of Jurand
with me in the Forest Court?"

At that Brother Rotgier became embarrassed, because he was not prepared
for such a question. The prince arose and fixed a severe look on the
Teuton, while Mikolaj of Dlugolas, Mrokota of Mocarzew, Jasko of
Jagielnica and other knights of Mazowsze instantly sprang toward the
brother, inquiring alternately with threatening voices:

"How could you have thought so? Speak, German I How could that be?"

And Brother Rotgier recovered himself and said: "We brethren do not raise
our eyes to women. In the Forest Court with the beloved princess there
were many court ladies, but which among them was Jurand's daughter, none
of us knew."

"Danveld knew," said Mikolaj of Dlugolas. "He even talked to her during
the hunt."

"Danveld stands before God," replied Rotgier, "and of him I shall only
say that the following morning blooming roses were found on his coffin,
which, in this wintry weather, could not come there by human hands."

Then again followed silence.

"How did you know of the capture of Jurand's daughter?" inquired the
prince.

"Only the wickedness and audacity of the deed made it known to us.
Therefore on hearing about it, we ordered thanksgiving masses because
only a plain court lady, and not one of the children born of your
Highness, was captured from the Forest Court."

"But I still wonder, how you could mistake a wench for Jurand's
daughter."

"Danveld said: 'Often Satan betrayed his servants, so perhaps he changed
Jurand's daughter.'"

"The robbers though, as vulgar men, could not counterfeit Kaleb's writing
and Jurand's seal. Who could have done it?"

"The Evil Spirit."

And again nobody could find an answer.

Rotgier glanced searchingly into the prince's eyes and said: "Indeed,
these questions are like weapons in my breast, because they contain doubt
and suspicion. But I trust in God's justice and the power of truth. I ask
of your majesty: even Jurand himself suspected us of that action, and
when suspecting, before we summoned him to Szczytno, why did he search
for robbers through the whole border in order to buy his daughter back
from them?"

"It is true!" said the prince. "Even if you were hiding something from
men, you cannot hide it from God. He suspected you in the first moment
but then ... then he thought differently."

"Behold how the brightness of truth conquers the darkness," said Rotgier,
and he glanced triumphantly around the hall; he thought that Teutonic
heads had more adroitness and sense than the Polish, and that the latter
race would always be the prey and food of the Order, as a fly is the prey
and food of the spider.

Therefore, throwing off his previous disguise, he approached the prince
and commenced to speak in loud and impetuous tones:

"Requite us, lord, our losses, our grievances, our tears, and our blood!
That hell-hound was your subject; therefore, in the name of God from whom
the power of kings and princes is derived, in the name of justice and the
cross, requite us for our grievances and blood!"

But the prince looked at him in astonishment.

"For God's sake!" he said, "what do you want? if Jurand shed your blood
in madness, am I to answer for his frenzy?"

"He was your subject, lord," said the Teuton, "in your principality lie
his possessions, his villages and his castle, in which he imprisoned the
servants of the Order; at least let these possessions, this domain and
that wicked castle, become henceforth the property of the Order. Truly
this will not be an adequate payment for the noble blood shed! truly it
will not revive the dead, but perhaps it will partly appease God's anger
and wipe away the disgrace, which will otherwise fall upon this entire
principality. O, lord! The Order possesses grounds and castles
everywhere, which were given to it by the favor and piety of the
Christian princes, and only here in your territory have we no particle of
land. Let our grievance, which calls to God for vengeance, be at least so
rewarded that we may say that here also live people, who have the fear of
God in their hearts!" Hearing this, the prince was still more amazed, and
then, after a long silence, replied:

"For God's sake! And through whose clemency, if not through that of my
ancestors, does your Order even exist here? The lands, estates and
towers, which once upon a time belonged to us and our nation, and which
now are your property, do these not suffice for you yet? Jurand's girl is
yet alive because nobody has informed you of her death, while you already
want to seize the orphan's dower, and requite your grievances with an
orphan's bread?"

"Lord, you admit the wrong," said Rotgier, "consequently right it
according to what your princely conscience and your honest soul
dictates." And he was again glad in his heart, because he thought: "Now,
they not only will not sue but they will even consider how to wash their
hands and to evade the whole matter. Nobody will blame us for anything,
and our fame will be as spotless as the white cloak of the Order."

Just then the voice of old Mikolaj of Dlugolas was heard: "They suspect
you of being avaricious and God knows whether justly or no, because even
in this matter, you care more for the profits than the honor of the
Order."

"True!" cried the Mazovian knights in chorus. Then the Teuton advanced a
few steps, proudly raised his head, and measuring them with a haughty
look, said:

"I do not come here as a messenger, but merely as a witness of the affair
and a knight of the Order who is ready to defend the honor of the Order
with his own blood to the last gasp! Who, then, in contradiction to
Jurand's own words, dares to suspect the Order of having captured his
daughter--let him raise this knightly pledge and submit to God's
judgment!"

Having said this, he cast before them his knightly glove, which fell upon
the floor; they again stood in deep silence, because, although more than
one of them would have liked to break his weapon on the Teuton's back,
they all feared God's judgment. Every one knew that Jurand had expressly
stated that the knights of the Order had not captured his child; so they
all thought to themselves, "It is a just cause; consequently Rotgier will
be victorious."

He again became so much the more insolent, and leaning upon his loins,
inquired:

"If it is so, who will raise that glove?"

Just then, a knight, whose entrance nobody had yet observed, and who for
some time had listened at the door to the conversation, advanced to the
centre, raised the gauntlet and said:

"I will!" and so saying, he stared directly into Rotgier's face, and then
began to speak with a voice which in that universal silence resounded
like thunder through the hall:

"Before God, before the august prince and all the honorable knighthood of
this land, I tell you, Teuton, that you bark like a dog against justice
and truth--and I challenge you to a combat on foot, or horseback, with
lance or axe, short or long weapons, and not unto imprisonment but unto
the last gasp, unto death!"

A fly could be heard in the hall. All eyes were turned upon Rotgier and
the challenging knight, whom nobody recognized, because he had a helmet
covering his head, although without a steel cap, but with a circular
visor descending below the ear entirely covering the upper part of the
face, and casting a deep shadow over the lower part. The Teuton was no
less astonished than the rest. Confusion, pallor and raging anger chased
each other over his face, as lightning flashes across a mighty heaven.

He caught the gauntlet and attached it to the hook of his armlet, and
said:

"Who are you that challenge God's justice?"

The other then unbuckled his gorget, removed the helmet, beneath which
appeared a fair, youthful head, and said:

"Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, the husband of Jurand's daughter."

They were all amazed, and Rotgier, with the others, because none of them,
except the prince and his wife, Father Wyszoniek and de Lorche, knew of
Danusia's marriage; the Teutons moreover were confident that Jurand's
daughter had no other natural defender besides her father; but at that
moment de Lorche stood up and said:

"Upon my knightly honor I vouch for the truthfulness of his words; should
anybody dare to doubt it, here is my guage."

Rotgier, who did not know what fear meant, and whose heart swelled with
anger at this moment, would have perhaps accepted even this challenge,
but remembering that the man who cast it was powerful, and moreover a
relative of Duke Geldryi, he refrained, and the more readily, because the
prince himself arose and, wrinkling his brows, said:

"It is forbidden to accept this challenge, because I also declare that
this knight has told the truth."

The Teuton, on hearing this, bowed, and then said to Zbyszko:

"If you wish it, then on foot, in closed lists with axes."

"I have already challenged you in all ways," replied Zbyszko.

"May God give the victory to justice!" exclaimed the Mazovian knights.




CHAPTER III.

There was anxiety about Zbyszko in the whole court, among the knights as
well as among the ladies, because he was universally liked; but,
according to Jurand's letter, nobody doubted that the right was on the
side of the Teuton. On the other hand it was known that Rotgier was one
of the more famous brethren of the Order. The squire van Krist narrated
among the Mazovian nobility, perhaps on purpose, that his lord before
becoming an armed monk, once sat at the Honor-Table of the Teutons, to
which table only world-famous knights were admitted, those who had
accomplished an expedition to the Holy Land, or fought victoriously
against giants, dragons, or mighty magicians. Hearing van Krist tell such
tales, and, at the same time, boast that his lord had repeatedly met five
opponents single-handed with his "dagger of mercy" in one hand and an axe
or sword in the other, the Mazurs were disquieted, and some said: "Oh, if
only Jurand were here, he could give an account of himself with even two;
no German ever escaped him yet, but the youth--bah!--for the other
exceeds him in strength, years and experience."

Therefore others regretted that they had not accepted the challenge,
asserting that they would undoubtedly have done so, if it had not been
for the news from Jurand. "But fear of the judgment of God...." On this
occasion, and for mutual entertainment, they recalled the names of
Mazovian and more often of Polish knights, who, either in courtly jousts
or hunting, had gained numerous victories over the western knights; above
all they mentioned Zawisza of Garbow, with whom no knight of the
Christian kingdom could cope. But there were also those who cherished
great hopes of Zbyszko: "He is not to be despised!" they said "and
according to common report he once admirably broke the heads of Germans
in fair field." But their hearts were particularly strengthened by the
action of Zbyszko's follower, the Bohemian Hlawa, who, on the eve of the
combat, hearing how van Krist was talking about Rotgier's unheard-of
victories, and being a hasty youth, caught van Krist by the beard, pulled
his head up, and said:

"If it is no shame to lie before men, then look up, so that God also may
hear you!"

And he kept him long enough to say a "Pater"; while the other, when at
length liberated, began to ask him about his lineage, and, having heard
that he sprang from the _wlodykas_, challenged him also to fight with
axes.

The Mazovians were delighted at such conduct, and again several said:

"Indeed these fellows will not hobble on the barn-floor; even if truth
and God be on their side these Teutonic women will not carry away sound
bones with them!"

But Rotgier succeeded in throwing dust in the eyes of all, so that many
were disquieted as to which had the truth on his side, and the prince
himself partook of that fear.

Therefore, on the evening before the combat, he summoned Zbyszko to a
consultation at which was present the princess only, and asked:

"Are you positive that God will be with you? How do you know that they
captured Danusia? Did Jurand perchance tell you any thing? Because, you
see, here is Jurand's letter, by the hand of the priest Kaleb, and his
seal, and in this letter Jurand says that he knows that it was not the
Teutons. What did he tell you?"

"He said that it was not the Teutons."

"How then can you risk your life and appeal to the judgment of God?"

Then Zbyszko was silent, and only his jaws worked for some time and tears
gathered in his eyes.

"I know nothing, gracious lord," he said. "We left here together with
Jurand, and on the way I admitted our marriage. He then began to lament
that this might be a sin against God, but when I told him it was God's
will, he quieted down and forgave me. Along the whole way he said that
nobody captured Danusia but the Teutons, and what happened afterward I do
not know myself! That woman who brought certain medicines for me to the
Forest Court, came to Spychow, accompanied by another messenger. They
shut themselves up with Jurand and deliberated. Neither do I know what
they said, only after the interview his own servants could not recognize
Jurand, because he looked as if he had risen from the grave. He told us:
'Not the Teutons,' but he released von Bergow and all the prisoners he
had underground, God knows why! he himself again rode away without any
warrior or servant.... He said that he was riding after robbers to ransom
Danusia, and ordered me to wait. And I waited until the news from
Szczytno arrived, that Jurand had slain Germans and fallen himself. Oh!
gracious lord! The soil in Spychow almost scorched me and I nearly ran
mad. I made people mount horses in order to revenge Jurand's death, and
then the priest Kaleb said: 'You will not be able to take the castle, and
do not commence war. Go to the prince, perhaps they know something about
Danusia there.' Hlawa and I arrived, and just heard how that dog was
barking about Teutonic grievances and Jurand's frenzy.... My lord, I
accepted his challenge, because I had challenged him before, and although
I know nothing, this much I know, that they are hellish liars--without
shame, without honor and without belief! Look, gracious lord, they
stabbed de Fourcy to death and tried to cast the guilt upon my follower!
By God! they stabbed him like an ox, and then they came to you, lord, for
vengeance and retribution! Who will swear then, that they did not lie to
Jurand before, and now do the same to you, lord?... I know not, I know
not where Danusia is but I challenged him, because, even if I were to
lose my life, I prefer death to life without my love, without the one who
is clearest to me in the whole world."

Saying this in rapture, he tore off a band from his head, so that his
hair fell about his shoulders, and clutching it, he began to weep
bitterly, until the princess Anna Danuta was moved to the bottom of her
soul for the loss of Danusia, and, pitying him for his sufferings, laid
her hands upon his head, and said:

"May God help you, console and bless you!"




CHAPTER IV.

The prince did not object to the duel, because, according to the customs
of that time, he had no power to do so. He only prevailed upon Rotgier to
write a letter to the master and to Zygfried von Löve, stating that he
was the first to throw down the gauntlet to the Mazovian knights, in
consequence of which he appeared at a combat with the husband of Jurand's
daughter, who had already challenged him once before.

The Teuton also explained to the grand master, that if he appeared at the
duel without permission, he did it for the sake of the honor of the
Order, and to avert ugly suspicions, which might entail disgrace, and
which he, Rotgier, was always prepared to redeem with his own blood. This
letter was sent instantly to the border by one of the knight's footmen,
to be sent thence to Malborg by mail, which the Teutons, some years
before others, invented and introduced into their possessions.

Meanwhile the snow in the courtyard was leveled and strewn with ashes, so
that the feet of the fighters should neither clog nor slip upon the
smooth surface. There was unusual excitement in the whole castle.

The knights and court ladies were so agitated that on the night preceding
the fight nobody slept. They said, that a fight on horseback with spears,
and even with swords, frequently terminates in wounds; on foot on the
contrary, and particularly with terrible axes, it always terminates in
death. All hearts were with Zbyszko, but the very ones who felt most
friendly toward him or Danusia recollected with so much more fear the
stories about the fame and dexterity of the Teuton. Many ladies spent the
night in church, where also Zbyszko confessed to the priest Wyszoniek,
They said one to another as they looked at his almost boyish face: "Why,
he is a child yet! how can he expose his head to the German axe?" And
they prayed the more fervently for aid for him. But when he arose at
daybreak and walked through the chapel, in order to put on his arms in
the hall, they again gained courage, because, although Zbyszko's features
were indeed boyish, his body was of an extraordinary size, and strong, so
that he seemed to them to be a picked man, who could take care of himself
against even the most powerful.

The fight was to take place in the castle yard, which was surrounded by a
porch. When it was broad daylight, the prince and princess arrived
together with their children and took their seats in the centre between
the pillars, from where the whole yard could best be overlooked. Next to
them were the principal courtiers, noble ladies, and the knighthood. All
the corners of the vestibule were filled: the domestics gathered behind
the wall which was made from the swept snow, some clung to the posts, and
even to the roof. There the vulgar muttered among themselves: "God grant
that our champion may not be subdued!"

The day was cold, moist, but clear; the sky swarmed with daws, which
inhabited the roofs and summits of the bastions, and which, scared by the
unusual bustle, moved in circles, with great clapping of wings, over the
castle. Notwithstanding the cold, the people perspired with excitement,
and when the first horn sounded to announce the entrance of the
combatants, all hearts began to beat like hammers.

They entered from opposite sides of the arena and halted at the barriers.
Every one of the onlookers then held his breath, every one thought, that
very soon two souls would escape to the threshold of the Divine Court and
two dead bodies remain on the snow, and the lips, as well as the cheeks
of the women turned pale and livid at that thought; the eyes of the men
again gazed steadfastly at the opponents as at a rainbow, because every
one was trying to forecast, from their postures and armament alone, which
side would be victorious.

The Teuton was dressed in an enameled blue cuirass, with similar armor
for the thighs, as also the helmet with raised visor, and with a
magnificent bunch of peacock feathers on the crest. Zbyszko's breast,
sides and back were encased in splendid Milanese mail, which he had once
captured from the Fryzjans. He had on his head a helmet with an open
visor, and without feathers; on his legs was bull's hide. On their left
shoulders, they carried shields with coat of arms; on the Teuton's at the
top was a chessboard, at the bottom, three lions rampant; on Zbyszko's, a
blunt horseshoe. In the right hand they carried broad, huge, terrible
axes, set in oaken, blackened helves, longer than the arm of a grown man.
The warriors who seconded them were: Hlawa, called by Zbyszko, Glowacz,
and van Krist, both dressed in dark iron mail, both equally with axes and
shields: van Krist had on his shield a St. John's wort; the shield of the
Bohemian resembled that of the _Pomian_, with this difference, that
instead of an axe stuck in a bull's head, it had a short weapon half sunk
in the eye.

The horn sounded the second time, and, at the third, the opponents,
according to agreement, were to advance against each other. A small space
strewn with grey ashes now only separated them; over that space hovered
in the air like an ominous bird--death. But before the third signal was
given, Rotgier approached the pillars between which sat the prince's
family, raised his steel-encased head, and began to speak in such a loud
voice that he was heard in all corners of the vestibule:

"I take God, you, worthy lord, and the whole knighthood of this soil, as
witness that I am not guilty of the blood that is about to be shed."

At these words their hearts were again ready to break with grief, seeing
that the Teuton was so confident of himself and his victory. But Zbyszko,
having a simple soul, turned to his Bohemian, and said:

"That Teutonic boasting stinks; it would be more appropriate after my
death than while I am alive. That boaster moreover has a peacock's plume
on his helmet, and at the very outset I made a vow to obtain three of
them and afterward as many fingers of the hand. God grant it!"

"Lord ..." said the Bohemian, bending down and picking up in his hands
some ashes from the snow, to prevent the axe-handle from slipping in his
hand; "perhaps Christ will permit me quickly to despatch that vile
Prussian, and then perhaps, if not to defeat this Teuton, at least put
the handle of the axe between his knees and upset him."

"God save you!" hastily exclaimed Zbyszko; "you would cover me and
yourself with disgrace."

But at that moment the horn sounded the third time. On hearing it, the
seconds sprang quickly and furiously at each other, while the knights
moved slowly and deliberately, as their dignity and gravity demanded, for
the first bout.

Very few paid attention to the seconds, but those of the experienced men
and of the domestics who looked at them understood at once how great were
the odds on Hlawa's side. The German wielded the heavier axe and his
shield was cumbersome. Below the shield were visible his legs which were
longer, though not so strong nor active as the sturdy and tightly covered
legs of the Bohemian.

Hlawa moreover pressed so vigorously that van Krist, almost from the
first moment, was compelled to retreat. It was instantly understood that
one of the adversaries would fall upon the other like a tempest; that he
would attack and strike like lightning, while the other, under the
conviction that death was already upon him, would merely defend himself
so as to postpone the terrible moment as long as possible.

And so it actually was. That boaster, who generally stood up to fight
only when he could not do otherwise, now recognized that his insolent and
heedless words had led him into a fight with a terrible giant whom he
ought to have avoided like a perdition; and so, when he now felt that
every one of these blows could kill an ox, his heart began to fail
entirely. He almost forgot that it is not sufficient to catch the blows
on the shield, but that it was also necessary to return them. He saw
above him the lightning of the axe and thought that every gleam was the
last. Holding up the shield, he involuntarily half closed his eyes with a
feeling of terror and doubt whether he would ever open them again. Very
rarely he gave a blow himself, but without any hope of reaching his
opponent, and raised the shield constantly higher over his head, so as to
save it yet for a little.

Finally he began to tire, but the Bohemian struck on constantly more
powerfully. Just as from a tall pine-tree great chips fly under the
peasant's axe, so under the Bohemian's strokes fragments began to scale
off and fly from the German warrior's armor. The upper edge of the shield
was bent and shattered, the mail from the right shoulder rolled to the
ground, together with the cut and already bloody strap of leather. This
made van Krist's hair stand on end--and a deadly fear seized him. He
struck with all the force of his arm once and again at the Bohemian's
shield; finally, seeing that he had no chance against his adversary's
terrible strength and that only some extraordinary exertion could save
him, he threw himself suddenly with all the weight of his armor and body
against Hlawa's legs. Both fell to the ground and tried to overcome each
other, rolling and struggling in the snow. But the Bohemian soon appeared
on top; for a moment he still checked the desperate efforts of his
opponent; finally he pressed his knee upon the chain-armor covering his
belly, and took from the back of his belt a short three-edged "dagger of
mercy."[109]

"Spare me!" faintly gasped van Krist, raising his eyes toward those of
the Bohemian.

But the latter, instead of answering, stretched himself upon him the
easier to reach his neck, and, cutting through the leather fastening of
the helmet under the chin, stabbed the unfortunate man twice in the
throat, directing the sharp edge downward toward the centre of the
breast.

Then van Krist's pupils sank in their sockets, his hands and legs began
to beat the snow, as if trying to clean it of the ashes, but after a
moment he stiffened out and lay motionless, breathing only with red,
foam-covered lips, and bleeding profusely.

But the Bohemian arose, wiped the "dagger of mercy" on the German's
clothing, then raised the axe, and, leaning against it, he began to look
at the harder and more stubborn fight between his knight and Brother
Rotgier.

The western knights were already accustomed to comforts and luxuries,
while the landowners in Little Poland and Great Poland, as also in
Mazowsze, led a rigorous and hardy life, wherefore they awoke admiration
by their bodily strength and endurance of all hardships, whether constant
or occasional, even among strangers and foes. Now also it was
demonstrated that Zbyszko was as superior to the Teuton in bodily
strength as his squire was superior to van Krist, but it was also proven
that his youth rendered him the inferior in knightly training.

It was in some measure favorable for Zbyszko that he had chosen a combat
with axes, because fencing with that kind of weapon was impossible. With
long and short swords, with which it was necessary to know the strokes,
thrusts, and how to ward off blows, the German would have had a
considerable superiority. But even so, Zbyszko, as well as the
spectators, recognized from his motions and management of the shield,
that they had before them an experienced and formidable man, who
apparently was not entering a combat of this kind for the first time. To
each of Zbyszko's blows Rotgier offered his shield, slightly withdrawing
it at the concussion, by which means even the most powerful swing lost
its force, and could neither cleave nor crush the smooth surface. He at
times retreated and at times became aggressive, doing it quietly, though
so quickly that the eyes could hardly follow his motions.

The prince was seized with fear for Zbyszko, and the faces of the men
looked gloomy; it seemed that the German was purposely trifling with his
opponent. Sometimes he did not even interpose the shield, but at the
moment when Zbyszko struck, he turned half aside, so that the sharp edge
of the axe cut the empty air. This was the most terrifying thing, because
Zbyszko might thereby lose his balance and fall, and then his destruction
would be inevitable. Seeing this, the Bohemian, standing over the slain
van Krist, also became alarmed, and said to himself: "My God! if my
master falls, I will strike him with the hook of my axe between the
shoulder-blades, and overthrow him also."

However, Zbyszko did not fall, because, being very strong upon his legs
and separating them widely, he was able to support the entire weight of
his body on either as he swung.

Rotgier observed that instantly, and the onlookers were mistaken in
supposing that he underestimated his opponent. On the contrary, after the
first strokes, when, in spite of his utmost skill in withdrawing the
shield, his hand almost stiffened under it, he understood that he would
have a hard time with this youth, and that, if he did not knock him down
by some clever manoeuvre, the combat would prove long and dangerous. He
expected Zbyszko to fall upon the snow after a vain stroke in the air,
and as that did not happen, he immediately became uneasy. He saw, beneath
the steel visor, the closely-drawn nostrils and mouth of his opponent,
and occasionally his gleaming eyes, and he said to himself that the other
would fly into a blind rage and forget himself, lose his head, and madly
think more of striking than of defending himself. But he was mistaken in
this also. Zbyszko did not know how to avoid a stroke by a half-turn, but
he did not forget his shield, and, while raising the axe, did not expose
himself more than was necessary. His attention was apparently redoubled,
and having recognized the experience and skill of his opponent, instead
of forgetting himself he collected his thoughts and became more cautious;
and there was that premeditation in his blows which not hot but cool
anger only can conquer.

Rotgier, who had fought in many wars and battles, either in troop or
singly, knew by experience that there are some people, like birds of
prey, who are born to fight, being specially gifted by Nature, who
bestows all things, with what others only attain after years of training,
and he at the same time observed that he was now dealing with one of
those. He understood from the very first strokes that there was in this
youth something as in a hawk, who sees in his opponent only his prey, and
thinks of nothing but getting him in his claws. Notwithstanding his own
strength, he also noticed that it was not equal to Zbyszko's, and should
he get exhausted before succeeding in giving a final stroke, the combat
with this formidable, although less experienced, stripling, might result
in his ruin. Thus reflecting, he determined to fight with the least
possible effort, drew the shield closer to him, did not move much either
forward or backward, restricted his motions, and gathered all the power
of his soul and arm for one decisive stroke, and awaited his opportunity.

The terrible fight lasted longer than usual. A deathlike silence reigned
in the porches. The only sounds heard were the sometimes ringing and
sometimes hollow blows of the sharp points and edges of the axes against
the shields. Such sights were not strange to the princes, knights and
courtiers; and nevertheless a feeling, resembling terror, seemed to
clutch all hearts as if with tongs. It was understood that this was not a
mere exhibition of strength, skill and courage, but that in this fight
there was a greater fury and despair, a greater and more inexorable
stubbornness, a deeper vengeance. On one side terrible wrongs, love and
fathomless sorrow; on the other, the honor of the entire Order and deep
hatred, met on this field of battle for the Judgment of God.

Meanwhile the wintry, pale morning brightened, the grey fog cleared away,
and the sunrays shone upon the blue cuirass of the Teuton and the silver
Milanese armor of Zbyszko. The bell rang in the chapel for early mass,
and at the sounds of the bell flights of crows again flew from the castle
roofs, flapping their wings and crowing noisily, as if in joy at the
sight of blood and the corpse lying motionless in the snow. Rotgier
looked at it once and again during the fight, and suddenly began to feel
very lonesome. All the eyes that were turned upon him were those of
enemies. All the prayers, wishes and silent vows which the women were
offering were in Zbyszko's favor. Moreover, although the Teuton was fully
convinced that the squire would not cast himself upon him from behind,
nor strike him treacherously, nevertheless, the presence and nearness of
that terrifying figure involuntarily inspired him with such fear as
people are subject to at the sight of a wolf, a bear or a buffalo, from
which they are not separated by bars. And he could not shake off this
feeling, especially as the Bohemian, in his desire to follow closely the
course of the battle, constantly changed his place, stepping in between
the fighters from the side, from behind, from the front--bending his head
at the same time, and looking at him fiercely through the visor of the
helmet, and sometimes slightly raising his bloody weapon, as if
involuntarily.

At last the Teuton began to tire. One after another, he gave two blows,
short but terrible, directing them at Zbyszko's right arm, but they were
met by the shield with such force that the axe trembled in Rotgier's
hand, and he himself was compelled to retreat suddenly to save himself
from falling; and from that moment, he retreated steadily. Finally, not
only his strength but also his coolness and patience began to be
exhausted. At the sight of his retreating, a few triumphant shouts
escaped from the breasts of the spectators, awakening in him anger and
despair. The strokes of the axes became more frequent. Perspiration
flowed from the brows of both fighters, and panting breath escaped from
their breasts through their clenched teeth. The spectators ceased keeping
silence, and now every moment voices, male or female, cried: "Strike! At
him!... God's judgment! God's punishment! God help you!"

The prince motioned with his hand several times to silence them, but he
could not restrain them! Every moment the noise increased, because
children here and there began to cry on the porches, and finally, at the
very side of the princess, a youthful, sobbing, female voice called out:

"For Danusia, Zbyszko! for Danusia!"

Zbyszko knew well that it was for Danusia's sake. He was sure that this
Teuton had assisted in her capture, and in fighting him, he fought for
her wrongs. But being young and eager for battles, during the combat he
had thought of that only. But suddenly, that cry brought back to his mind
her loss and her sufferings. Love, sorrow and vengeance poured fire into
his veins. His heart began to call out with suddenly awakened pain, and
he was plainly seized with a fighting frenzy. The Teuton could not any
longer catch nor avoid the terrible strokes, resembling thunderbolts.
Zbyszko struck his shield against his with such superhuman force, that
the German's arm stiffened suddenly and fell.... He retreated in terror
and half crouched, but that instant there flashed in his eyes the gleam
of the axe, and the sharp edge fell like a thunderbolt upon his right
shoulder.

Only a rending cry reached the ears of the onlookers: "Jesus!"--then
Rotgier retreated one more step and fell upon his back on the ground.
Immediately there was a noise and buzz on the porches, as in a bee-garden
in which the bees, warmed by the sun, commence to move and swarm. The
knights ran down the stairs in whole throngs, the servants jumped over
the snow-walls, to take a look at the corpses. Everywhere resounded the
shouts: "This is God's judgment ... Jurand has an heir! Glory to him and
thanksgiving! This is a man for the axe!" Others again cried: "Look and
marvel! Jurand himself could not strike more nobly." A whole group of
curious ones stood around Rotgier's corpse, and he lay on his back with a
face as white as snow, with gaping mouth and with a bloody arm so
terribly shorn from the neck down to the armpit, that it scarcely held by
a few shreds.

Therefore, others again said: "He was alive just now and walked upon the
earth with arrogance, but now he cannot even move a finger." And thus
speaking, some admired his stature, because he took up a large space on
the battlefield, and appeared even larger in death; others again admired
his peacock plume, changing colors beautifully in the snow; others again
his armor, which was valued at a good village. But the Bohemian, Hlawa,
now approached with two of Zbyszko's retainers in order to take it off
from the deceased, therefore the curious surrounded Zbyszko, praising and
extolling him to the skies, because they justly thought that his fame
would redound to the credit of the whole Mazovian and Polish knighthood.
Meanwhile the shield and axe were taken from him, to lighten his burden,
and Mrokota of Mocarzew unbuckled his helmet and covered his hair, wet
with perspiration, with a cap of scarlet cloth.

Zbyszko stood, as if petrified, breathing heavily, with the fire not
fully extinguished yet in his eyes, and a face pale with exhaustion and
determination and trembling somewhat with excitement and fatigue. But he
was taken by the hand and led to the princely family, who were waiting
for him in a warm room, by the fireside. There Zbyszko kneeled down
before them and when Father Wyszoniek gave him a blessing and said a
prayer for the eternal rest of the souls of the dead, the prince embraced
the young knight and said:

"God Almighty decided between you two and guided your hand, for which His
name be blessed. Amen!"

Then turning to the knight de Lorche and others, he added:

"You, foreign knight and all present I take as witnesses to what I
testify myself, that they met according to law and custom, and as the
'Judgment of God' is everywhere performed, this also was conducted in a
knightly and devout manner."

The local warriors cried out affirmatively in chorus; when again the
prince's words were translated to de Lorche, he arose and announced that
he not only testified that all was conducted in knightly and devout
style, but should anybody in Malborg or any other princely court dare to
question it, he, de Lorche, would challenge him instantly to fight either
on foot or horseback, even if he should not merely be a common knight,
but a giant or wizard, exceeding even Merlin's magical power.

Meanwhile, the princess Anna Danuta, at the moment when Zbyszko embraced
her knees, said as she bent down to him:

"Why do you not feel happy? Be happy and thank God, because if He in His
mercy has granted you this suit, then He will not leave you in the
future, and will lead you to happiness."

But Zbyszko replied:

"How can I be happy, gracious lady? God gave me victory and vengeance
over that Teuton, but Danusia was not and still is not here, and I am no
nearer to her now than I was before."

"The most stubborn foes, Danveld, Godfried and Rotgier live no longer,"
replied the princess, "and they say that Zygfried is more just than they,
although cruel. Praise God's mercy at least for that. Also de Lorche said
that if the Teuton fell he would carry his body away, and go instantly to
Malborg and demand Danusia from the grand master himself. They will
certainly not dare to disobey the grand master."

"May God give health to de Lorche," said Zbyszko, "and I will go with him
to Malborg."

But these words frightened the princess, who felt it was as if Zbyszko
said he would go unarmed among the wolves that assembled in the winter in
packs in the deep Mazovian forests.

"What for?" she exclaimed. "For sure destruction? On your arrival,
neither de Lorche nor those letters, written by Rotgier before the fight,
will help you. You will save nobody and only ruin yourself."

But he arose, crossed his hands and said: "So may God help me, that I
shall go to Malborg and even across oceans. So may Christ bless me, that
I shall look for her until the last breath of my nostrils, and that I
shall not cease until I perish. It is easier for me to fight the Germans,
and meet them in arms, than for this orphan to moan under ground. Oh,
easier! easier!"

And he said that, as always when he mentioned Danusia, with such rapture,
with such pain, that his words broke off as if some one had clutched him
by the throat.

The princess recognized that it would be useless to turn him aside, and
that if anybody wanted to detain him it must be by chaining him and
casting him under ground.

But Zbyszko could not leave at once. Knights of that day were not allowed
to heed any obstacles, but he was not permitted to break the knightly
custom that required the winner in a duel to spend a whole day on the
field of combat, until the following midnight, and this in order to show
that he remained master of the field of battle and to show his readiness
for another fight, should any of the relatives or friends of the defeated
wish to challenge him to such.

This custom was even observed by whole armies, which thus sometimes lost
advantages which might accrue from haste after the victory. Zbyszko did
not even attempt to evade that inexorable law, and refreshing himself,
and afterward putting on his armor, he lingered until midnight in the
castle yard, under the clouded wintry sky, awaiting the foe that could
not come from anywhere.

At midnight, when the heralds finally announced his victory by sound of
trumpet, Mikolaj of Dlugolas invited him to supper and at the same time
to a council with the prince.




CHAPTER V.

The prince was the first to take the floor at the consultation and spoke
as follows:

"It is bad that we have no writing nor testimony against the counts.
Although our suspicions may be justified, and I myself think that they
and nobody else captured Jurand's daughter, still what of it? They will
deny it. And if the grand master asks for proofs, what shall I show him?
Bah! even Jurand's letter speaks in their favor."

Here he turned to Zbyszko:

"You say that they forced this letter from him with threats. It is
possible, and undoubtedly it is so, because if justice were on their
side, God would not have helped you against Rotgier. But since they
extorted one, then they could extort also two. And perhaps they have
evidence from Jurand, that they are not guilty of the capture of this
unfortunate girl. And if so, they will show it to the master and what
will happen then?"

"Why, they admitted themselves, gracious lord, that they recaptured her
from bandits and that she is with them now."

"I know that. But they say now that they were mistaken, and that this is
another girl, and the best proof is that Jurand himself disclaimed her."

"He disclaimed her because they showed him another girl, and that is what
exasperated him."

"Surely it was so, but they can say that these are only our ideas."

"Their lies," said Mikolaj of Dlugolas, "are like a pine forest. From the
edge a little way is visible, but the deeper one goes the greater is the
density, so that a man goes astray and loses his way entirely."

He then repeated his words in German to de Lorche, who said:

"The grand master himself is better than they are, also his brother,
although he has a daring soul, but it guards knightly honor."

"Yes," replied Mikolaj. "The master is humane. He cannot restrain the
counts, nor the assembly, and it is not his fault that everything in the
Order is based upon human wrongs, but he cannot help it. Go, go, Sir de
Lorche, and tell him what has happened here. They are more ashamed before
strangers than before us, lest they should tell of their outrages and
dishonest actions at foreign courts. And should the master ask for
proofs, then tell him this: 'To know the truth is divine, to seek it is
human, therefore if you wish proofs, lord, then seek them.' Order the
castles to be summoned and the people to be questioned, allow us to
search, because it is foolishness and a lie that this orphan was stolen
by bandits of the woods."

"Folly and lies!" repeated de Lorche.

"Because bandits would not dare to attack the princely court, nor
Jurand's child. And even if they should have captured her, it would be
only for ransom, and they alone would inform us that they had her."

"I shall narrate all that," said the Lotaringen, "and also find von
Bergow. We are from the same country, and although I don't know him, they
say that he is a relative of Duke Geldryi's. He was at Szczytno and
should tell the master what he saw."

Zbyszko understood a few of his words, and whatever he did not, Mikolaj
explained to him; he then embraced de Lorche so tightly that the knight
almost groaned.

The prince again said to Zbyszko:

"And are you also absolutely determined to go?"

"Absolutely, gracious lord. What else am I to do? I vowed to seize
Szczytno, even if I had to bite the walls with my teeth, but how can I
declare war without permission?"

"Whoever began war without permission, would rue it under the
executioner's sword," said the prince.

"It is certainly the law of laws," replied Zbyszko. "Bah! I wished then
to challenge all who were in Szczytno, but people said that Jurand
slaughtered them like cattle, and I did not know who was alive and who
dead.... Because, may God and the Holy Cross help me, I will not desert
Jurand till the last moment!"

"You speak nobly and worthily," said Mikolaj of Dlugolas. "And it proves
that you were sensible not to go alone to Szczytno, because even a fool
would have known that they would keep neither Jurand nor his daughter
there, but undoubtedly would carry them away to some other castle. God
rewarded your arrival here with Rotgier."

"And now!" said the prince, "as we heard from Rotgier, of those four only
old Zygfried is alive, and the others God has punished already either by
your hand or Jurand's. As for Zygfried, he is less of a rascal than the
others, but perhaps the more ruthless tyrant. It is bad that Jurand and
Danusia are in his power, and they must be saved quickly. In order that
no accident may happen to you, I will give you a letter to the grand
master. Listen and understand me well, that you do not go as a messenger,
but as a delegate, and write to the master as follows: Since they had
once made an attempt upon our person, in carrying off a descendant of
their benefactors, it is most likely now, that they have also carried off
Jurand's daughter, especially having a grudge against Jurand. I ask
therefore of the master to order a diligent search, and if he is anxious
to have my friendship, to restore her instantly to your hands."

Zbyszko, hearing this, fell at the prince's feet, and, embracing them,
said:

"But Jurand, gracious lord, Jurand? Will you intercede also in his
behalf! If he has mortal wounds, let him at least die in his own home and
with his children."

"There is also mention made of Jurand," said the prince, kindly. "He is
to appoint two judges and I two also to investigate the counts' and
Jurand's actions, according to the rules of knightly honor. And they
again will select a fifth to preside over them, and it will be as they
decide."

With this, the council terminated, after which Zbyszko took leave of the
prince, because they were soon to start on their journey. But before
their departure, Mikolaj of Dlugolas, who had experience and knew the
Teutons well, called Zbyszko aside and inquired:

"And will you take that Bohemian fellow along with you to the Germans?"

"Surely, he will not leave me. But why?"

"Because I feel sorry for him. He is a worthy fellow, but mark what I
say: you will return from Malborg safe and sound, unless you meet a
better man in combat, but his destruction is sure."

"But why?"

"Because the dog-brothers accused him of having stabbed de Fourcy to
death. They must have informed the master of his death, and they
doubtless said that the Bohemian shed his blood. They will not forgive
that in Malborg. A trial and vengeance await him because, how can his
innocence be proven to the master. Why, he even crushed Danveld's arm,
who is a relative of the grand master. I am sorry for him, I repeat, if
he goes it is to his death."

"He will not go to his death, because I shall leave him in Spychow."

But it happened otherwise, as reasons arose whereby the Bohemian did not
remain in Spychow. Zbyszko and de Lorche started with their suites the
following morning. De Lorche, whose marriage to Ulryka von Elner, Father
Wyszoniek dissolved, rode away happy and, with his mind entirely occupied
with the comeliness of Jagienka of Dlugolas, was silent. Zbyszko, not
being able to talk with him about Danusia also, because they could not
understand each other very well, conversed with Hlawa, who until now had
known nothing about the intended expedition into the Teutonic regions.

"I am going to Malborg," he said, "but God knows when I shall return....
Perhaps soon, in the spring, in a year, and perhaps not at all, do you
understand?"

"I do. Your honor also is surely going to challenge the knights there.
And God grant that with every knight there is a shield-bearer!"

"No," replied Zbyszko. "I am not going for the purpose of challenging
them, unless it comes of itself; but you will not go with me at all, but
remain at home in Spychow."

Hearing this, the Bohemian at first fretted and began to complain
sorrowfully, and then he begged his young lord not to leave him behind.

"I swore that I would not leave you. I swore upon the cross and my honor.
And if your honor should meet with an accident, how could I appear before
the lady in Zgorzelice! I swore to her, lord! Therefore have mercy upon
me, and not disgrace me before her."

"And did you not swear to her to obey me?" asked Zbyszko.

"Certainly! In everything, but not that I should leave you. If your honor
drives me away, I shall go ahead, so as to be at hand in case of
necessity."

"I do not, nor will I drive you away," replied Zbyszko; "but it would be
a bondage to me if I could not send you anywhere, even the least way, nor
separate from you for even one day. You would not stand constantly over
me, like a hangman over a good soul! And as to the combat, how will you
help me? I do not speak of war, because these people fight in troops,
and, in a single combat, you certainly will not fight for me. If Rotgier
were stronger than I, his armor would not lie on my wagon, but mine on
his. And besides, know that I should have greater difficulties there if
with you, and that you might expose me to dangers."

"How so, your honor?"

Then Zbyszko began to tell him what he had heard from Mikolaj of
Dlugolas, that the counts, not being able to account for de Fourcy's
murder, would accuse him and prosecute him revengefully.

"And if they catch you," he said, finally, "then I certainly cannot leave
you with them as in dogs' jaws, and may lose my head."

The Bohemian became gloomy when he heard these words, because he felt the
truth in them; he nevertheless endeavored to alter the arrangement
according to his desire.

"But those who saw me are not alive any more, because some, as they say,
were killed by the old lord, while you slew Rotgier."

"The footmen who followed at a distance saw you, and the old Teuton is
alive, and is surely now in Malborg, and if he is not there yet he will
arrive, because the master, with God's permission, will summon him."

He could not reply to that, they therefore rode on in silence to Spychow.
They found there complete readiness for war, because old Tolima expected
that either the Teutons would attack the small castle, or that Zbyszko,
on his return, would lead them to the succor of the old lord. Guards were
on watch everywhere, on the paths through the marshes and in the castle
itself. The peasants were armed, and, as war was nothing new to them,
they awaited the Germans with eagerness, promising themselves excellent
booty.

Father Kaleb received Zbyszko and de Lorche in the castle, and,
immediately after supper, showed them the parchment with Jurand's seal,
in which he had written with his own hand the last will of the knight of
Spychow.

"He dictated it to me," he said, "the night he went to Szczytno". And--he
did not expect to return."

"But why did you say nothing?"

"I said nothing, because he admitted his intentions to me under the seal
of confession."

"May God give him eternal peace, and may the light of glory shine upon
him...."

"Do not say prayers for him. He is still alive. I know it from the Teuton
Rotgier, with whom I had a combat at the prince's court. There was God's
judgment between us and I killed him."

"Then Jurand will undoubtedly not return ... unless with God's help!..."

"I go with this knight to tear him from their hands."

"Then you know not, it seems, Teutonic hands, but I know them, because,
before Jurand took me to Spychow, I was priest for fifteen years in their
country. God alone can save Jurand."

"And He can help us too."

"Amen!"

He then unfolded the document and began to read. Jurand bequeathed all
his estates and his entire possessions to Danusia and her offspring, but,
in case of her death without issue, to her husband Zbyszko of Bogdaniec.
He finally recommended his will to the prince's care; so that, in case it
contained anything unlawful, the prince's grace might make it lawful.
This clause was added because Father Kaleb knew only the canon law, and
Jurand himself, engaged exclusively in war, only knew the knightly. After
having read the document to Zbyszko, the priest read it to the officers
of the Spychow garrison, who at once recognized the young knight as their
lord, and promised obedience.

They also thought that Zbyszko would soon lead them to the assistance of
the old lord, and they were glad, because their hearts were fierce and
anxious for war, and attached to Jurand. They were seized with grief when
they heard that they would remain at home, and that the lord with a small
following was going to Malborg, not to fight, but to formulate
complaints.

The Bohemian Glowacz, shared their grief, although on the other hand, he
was glad on account of such a large increase of Zbyszko's wealth.

"Hej! who would be delighted," he said, "if not the old lord of
Bogdaniec! And he could govern here! What is Bogdaniec in comparison with
such a possession!"

But Zbyszko was suddenly seized with yearning for his uncle, as it
frequently happened to him, especially in hard and difficult questions in
life; therefore, turning to the warrior, he said on the impulse:

"Why should you sit here in idleness! Go to Bogdaniec, you shall carry a
letter for me."

"If I am not to go with your honor, then I would rather go there!"
replied the delighted squire.

"Call Father Kaleb to write in a proper manner all that has happened
here, and the letter will be read to my uncle by the priest of Krzesnia,
or the abbot, if he is in Zgorzelice."

But as he said this, he struck his moustache with his hand and added, as
if to himself:

"Bah! the abbot!..."

And instantly Jagienka arose before his eyes, blue-eyed, dark-haired,
tall and beautiful, with tears on her eyelashes! He became embarrassed
and rubbed his forehead for a time, but finally he said:

"You will feel sad, girl, but not worse than I."

Meanwhile Father Kaleb arrived and immediately began to write. Zbyszko
dictated to him at length everything that had happened from the moment he
had arrived at the Forest Court. He did not conceal anything, because he
knew that old Macko, when he had a clear view of the matter, would be
glad in the end. Bogdaniec could not be compared with Spychow, which was
a large and rich estate, and Zbyszko knew that Macko cared a great deal
for such things.

But when the letter, after great toil, was written and sealed, Zbyszko
again called his squire, and handed him the letter, saying:

"You will perhaps return with my uncle, which would delight me very
much."

But the Bohemian seemed to be embarrassed; he tarried, shifted from one
foot to another, and did not depart, until the young knight remarked:

"Have you anything to say yet, then do so."

"I should like, your honor ..." replied the Bohemian, "I should like to
inquire yet, what to tell the people?"

"Which people?"

"Not those in Bogdaniec, but in the neighborhood.... Because they will
surely like to find out!"

At that Zbyszko, who determined not to conceal anything, looked at him
sharply and said:

"You do not care for the people, but for Jagienka of Zgorzelice."

And the Bohemian flushed, and then turned somewhat pale and replied:

"For her, lord!"

"And how do you know that she has not got married to Cztan of Rogow, or
to Wilk of Brzozowa?"

"The lady has not got married at all," firmly answered the warrior.

"The abbot may have ordered her."

"The abbot obeys the lady, not she him."

"What do you wish then? Tell the truth to her as well as to all."

The Bohemian bowed and left somewhat angry.

"May God grant," he said to himself, thinking of Zbyszko, "that she may
forget you. May God give her a better man than you are. But if she has
not forgotten you, then I shall tell her that you are married, but
without a wife, and that you may become a widower before you have entered
the bedchamber."

But the warrior was attached to Zbyszko and pitied Danusia, though he
loved Jagienka above all in this world, and from the time before the last
battle in Ciechanow, when he had heard of Zbyszko's marriage, he bore
pain and bitterness in his heart.

"That you may first become a widower!" he repeated.

But then other, and apparently gentler, thoughts began to enter his head,
because, while going down to the horses, he said:

"God be blessed that I shall at least embrace her feet!"

Meanwhile Zbyszko was impatient to start, because feverishness consumed
him,--and the affairs of necessity that occupied his attention increased
his tortures, thinking constantly of Danusia and Jurand. It was
necessary, however, to remain in Spychow for one night at least, for the
sake of de Lorche, and the preparations which such a long journey
required. He was finally utterly worn out from the fight, watch, journey,
sleeplessness and worry. Late in the evening, therefore, he threw himself
upon Jurand's hard bed, in the hope of falling into a short sleep at
least. But before he fell asleep, Sanderus knocked at his door, entered,
and bowing, said:

"Lord, you saved me from death, and I was well off with you, as scarcely
ever before. God has given you now a large estate, so that you are
wealthier than before, and moreover the Spychow treasury is not empty.
Give me, lord, some kind of a moneybag, and I will go to Prussia, from
castle to castle, and although it may not be very safe there, I may
possibly do you some service."

Zbyszko, who at the first moment had wished to throw him out of the room,
reflected upon his words, and after a moment, pulled from his traveling
bag near his bed, a fair-sized bag, threw it to him and said:

"Take it, and go! If you are a rogue you will cheat, if honest--you will
serve."

"I shall cheat as a rogue, sir," said Sanderus, "but not you, and I will
honestly serve you."

Zygfried von Löve was just about to depart for Malborg when the postman
unexpectedly brought him a letter from Rotgier with news from the
Mazovian court. This news moved the old Knight of the Cross to the quick.
First of all, it was obvious from the letter that Rotgier had perfectly
conducted and represented the Jurand affair before Prince Janusz.
Zygfried smiled on reading that Rotgier had further requested the prince
to deliver up Spychow to the Order as a recompense for the wrong done.
But the other part of the letter contained unexpected and less
advantageous tidings. Rotgier further informed him that in order better
to demonstrate the guiltlessness of the Order in the abduction of the
Jurands, the gauntlet was thrown down to the Mazovian knights,
challenging everybody who doubted, to God's judgment, i.e., to fight in
the presence of the whole court. "None has taken it up," Rotgier
continued, "because all saw that in his letter Jurand himself bears
testimony for us, moreover they feared God's judgment, but a youth, the
same we saw in the forest court, came forward and picked up the gauntlet.
Do not wonder then, O pious and wise brother, for that is the cause of my
delay in returning. Since I have challenged, I am obliged to stand. And
since I have done it for the glory of the Order, I trust that neither the
grand master nor you whom I honor and heartily love with filial affection
will count it ill. The adversary is quite a child, and as you know, I am
not a novice in fighting, it will then be an easy matter for me to shed
his blood for the glory of the Order, especially with the help of Christ,
who cares more for those who bear His cross than for a certain Jurand or
for the wrong done to a Mazovian girl!" Zygfried was most surprised at
the news that Jurand's daughter was a married woman. The thought that
there was a possibility of a fresh menacing and revengeful enemy settling
at Spychow inspired even the old count with alarm. "It is clear," he said
to himself, "that he will not neglect to avenge himself, and much more so
when he shall have received his wife and she tells him that we carried
her off from the forest court! Yes, it would be at once evident that we
brought Jurand here for the purpose of destroying him, and that nobody
ever thought of restoring his daughter to him." At this thought it struck
Zygfried that owing to the prince's letters, the grand master would most
likely institute an investigation in Szczytno so that he might at least
clear himself in the eyes of the prince, since it was important for the
grand master and the chapter to have the Mazovian prince on their side in
case of war with the powerful king of Poland. To disregard the strength
of the prince in face of the multitude of the Mazovian nobility was not
to be lightly undertaken. To be at peace with them fully insured the
knights' frontiers and permitted them better to concentrate their
strength. They had often spoken about it in the presence of Zygfried at
Malborg, and often entertained the hope, that after having subdued the
king, a pretext would be found later against the Mazovians and then no
power could wrest that land from their hands. That was a great and sure
calculation. It was therefore certain that the master would at present do
everything to avoid irritating Prince Janusz, because that prince who was
married to Kiejstut's daughter was more difficult to reconcile than
Ziemowit of Plock, whose wife, for some unknown reason, was entirely
devoted to the Order.

In the face of these thoughts, old Zygfried, who was ready to commit all
kinds of crimes, treachery and cruelty, only for the sake of the Order
and its fame, began to calculate conscientiously:

"Would it not be better to let Jurand and his daughter go? The crime and
infamy weigh heavily on Danveld's name, and he is dead; even if the
master should punish Rotgier and myself severely because we were the
accomplices in Danveld's deeds, would it not be better for the Order?"
But here his revengeful and cruel heart began to rebel at the thought of
Jurand.

To let him go, this oppressor and executioner of members of the Order,
this conqueror in so many encounters, the cause of so many infamies,
calamities and defeats, then the murderer of Danveld, the conqueror of
von Bergow, the murderer of Meineger, Godfried and Hugue, he who even in
Szczytno itself shed more German blood than one good fight in war. "No, I
cannot! I cannot!" Zygfried repeated vehemently, and at this thought his
rapacious fingers closed spasmodically, and the old lean breast heaved
heavily. Still, if it were for the great benefit and glory of the Order?
If the punishment should fall in that case upon the still living
perpetrators of the crimes, Prince Janusz ought to be by this time
reconciled with the foe and remove the difficulty by an arrangement, or
even an alliance. "They are furious," further thought the old count; "but
he ought to show them some kindness, it is easy to forget a grievance.
Why, the prince himself in his own country was an abductor; then there is
fear of revenge...."

Then he began to pace in the hall in mental distraction, and then stopped
in front of the Crucifix, opposite the entrance, which occupied almost
the whole height of wall between the two windows, and kneeling at its
feet he said: "Enlighten me, O Lord, teach me, for I know not! If I give
up Jurand and his daughter then all our actions will be truly revealed,
and the world will not say Danveld or Zygfried have done it but they will
lay the blame upon the Knights of the Cross, and disgrace will fall upon
the whole Order, and the hatred of that prince will be greater than ever.
If I do not give them up but keep them or suppress the matter, then the
Order will be suspected and I shall be obliged to pollute my mouth with
lying before the grand master. Which is better, Lord? Teach and enlighten
me. If I must endure vengeance, then ordain it according to Thy justice;
but teach me now, enlighten me, for Thy religion is concerned, and
whatever Thou commandest I will do, even if it should result in my
imprisonment and even if I were awaiting death and deliverance in
fetters."

And resting his brow upon the wooden cross he prayed for a long time; it
did not even for a moment cross his mind that it was a crooked and
blasphemous prayer. Then he got up, calmed, thinking that the grace of
the wooden cross sent him a righteous and enlightened thought, and that a
voice from on high said to him: "Arise and wait for the return of
Rotgier." "So! I must wait. Rotgier will undoubtedly kill the young man;
it will then be necessary to hide Jurand and his daughter, or give them
up. In the first instance, it is true, the prince will not forget them,
but not being sure who abducted the girl he will search for her, he will
send letters to the grand master, not accusing him but inquiring, and the
affair will be greatly prolonged. In the second instance, the joy at the
return of Jurand's daughter will be greater than the desire to avenge her
abduction. Surely we can always say that we have found her after Jurand's
outrage." The last thought entirely calmed Zygfried. As to Jurand himself
there was no fear; for he and Rotgier had long before come to an
understanding that in case Jurand were to be set free, he could neither
avenge himself nor harm them. Zygfried was glad in his terrible heart. He
rejoiced also at the thought of God's judgment which was to take place in
the castle at Ciechanow. And as to the result of the mortal combat he was
not in the least alarmed. He recollected a certain tournament in
Königsberg when Rotgier overcame two powerful knights, who passed in
their Andecave country as unconquerable fighters. He also remembered the
combat near Wilno, with a certain Polish knight, the courtier Spytko of
Melsztyn, whom Rotgier killed. And his face brightened, and his heart
exulted, for when Rotgier to a certain extent was already a celebrated
knight, he first had led an expedition to Lithuania and had taught him
the best way to carry on a war with that tribe; for this reason he loved
him like a son, with such deep love, that only those who must have strong
affections locked up in their hearts are able to do. Now that "little
son" will once more shed hated Polish blood, and return covered with
glory. Well, it is God's judgment, and the Order will at the same time be
cleared of suspicion. "God's judgment...." In the twinkling of an eye, a
feeling akin to alarm oppressed his old heart. Behold, Rotgier must
engage in mortal combat in defence of the innocence of the Order of the
Knights of the Cross. Yet, they are guilty; he will therefore fight for
that falsehood.... What then if misfortune happen? But in a moment it
occurred to him again that this was impossible. Yes! Rotgier justly
writes: "That by the help of Christ who cares more for those who bear the
cross than for a certain Jurand or the wrong done to one Mazovian girl."
Yes, Rotgier will return in three days, and return a conqueror.

Thus the old Knight of the Cross calmed himself, but at the same time he
wondered whether it would not be advisable to send Danusia to some out of
the way, distant castle, from which in no possible manner the stratagems
of the Mazovians could rescue her. But after hesitating for a moment he
gave up that idea. To take overt action and accuse the Order, only
Jurandowna's husband could do that. But he will perish by Rotgier's hand.
After that, there will only be investigations, inquiries, correspondence,
and accusations from the prince. But this very procedure will greatly
retard the affair, and it will be confused and obscured, and it goes
without saying, it will be infinitely delayed. "Before it comes to
anything," said Zygfried to himself, "I shall die, and it may also be
that Jurandowna will grow old in the prison of the Knights of the Cross.
Nevertheless, I shall order that everything in the castle be prepared for
defence, and at the same time to make ready for the road, because I do
not exactly know what will be the result of the meeting with Rotgier:
Therefore I shall wait."

Meanwhile two of the three days, in which Rotgier had promised to return,
passed by; then three and four, yet no retinue made its appearance at the
gates of Szczytno. Only on the fifth day, well-nigh toward dark, the
blast of the horn resounded in front of the bastion at the gate of the
fortress. Zygfried, who was just finishing his vesper prayer, immediately
dispatched a page to see who had arrived.

After a while the page returned with a troubled face. This Zygfried did
not observe on account of the darkness, for the fire in the stove was too
far back to illuminate the room sufficiently.

"Have they returned?" inquired the old Knight of the Cross.

"Yes!" replied the page.

But there was something in his voice which alarmed the old knight, and he
said:

"And Brother Rotgier?"

"They have brought Brother Rotgier."

Then Zygfried got up and for a long while he held on to the arm of the
chair to prevent himself from falling, then in a stifled voice he said:

"Give me the cloak."

The page placed the cloak on his shoulders. He had apparently regained
his strength, for he put on the cowl himself without assistance, then he
went out.

In a moment he found himself in the courtyard of the castle, where it was
already quite dark; he walked slowly upon the cracking snow toward the
retinue which was coming through the gate. He stopped near it where a
crowd had already gathered, and several torches, which the soldiers of
the guard brought, illuminated the scene. At the sight of the old knight
the servants opened a way for him. By the light of the torches could be
seen the terrified faces, and the whispering of the people could be heard
in the dark background:

"Brother Rotgier...."

"Brother Rotgier has been killed...."

Zygfried drew near the sleigh, upon which the corpse was stretched on
straw and covered with a cloak; he lifted one end of it.

"Bring a light," he said, whilst drawing aside the cowl.

One of the servants brought a torch which he held toward the corpse and
by its light the old knight observed the head of Rotgier; the face was
white as if frozen and bandaged with a black kerchief fastened under the
beard, evidently for the purpose of keeping the mouth closed. The whole
face was drawn and so much altered that it might be mistaken for somebody
else's. The eyes were closed, and around them and near the temples were
blue patches, and the cheeks were scaly with frost. The old knight gazed
at it for a long while amid complete silence. Others looked at him, for
it was known that he was like a father to Rotgier, and that he loved him.
But he did not shed even a single tear, only his face looked more severe
than usual, but there was depicted in it a kind of torpid calm.

"They sent him back thus!" he said at last.

But he immediately turned toward the steward of the castle and said:

"Let a coffin be prepared by midnight, and place the body in the chapel."

"There is one coffin left of those which were made for those Jurand
killed; it wants only to be covered with cloth, which I shall order to be
done."

"And cover him with a cloak," said Zygfried, whilst covering the face of
Rotgier, "not with one like this but with one of the Order."

After a while he added:

"Do not close the lid."

The people approached the sleigh. Zygfried again pulled the cowl over his
head, but he recollected something before leaving, and he asked:

"Where is van Krist?"

"He also was killed," replied one of the servants, "but they were obliged
to bury him in Ciechanow because putrefaction set in."

"Very well."

Then he left, walking slowly, entered the room and sat down upon the same
chair where he was when the tidings reached him; his face was as if
petrified and motionless and he sat there so long that the page began to
be alarmed; he put his head halfway in the door now and then. Hour after
hour passed by. The customary stir ceased within the castle, but from the
direction of the chapel came a dull indistinct hammering; then nothing
disturbed the silence but the calls of the watchmen.

It was already about midnight when the old knight awoke as from sleep,
and called the servant.

"Where is Brother Rotgier?" he asked.

But the servant, unnerved by the silence, events and sleeplessness,
apparently did not understand him, but looked at him with fear and
replied in a trembling voice:

"I do not know, sir...."

The old man burst out into laughter and said mildly:

"Child, I asked whether he is already in the chapel."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well then. Tell Diedrich to come here with a lantern and wait until
my return; let him also have a small kettle of coals. Is there already a
light in the chapel?"

"There are candles burning about the coffin."

Zygfried put on his cloak and left.

When he entered the chapel, he looked around to see whether anybody else
was present; then he closed the door carefully, approached the coffin,
put aside two of the six candles burning in large brazen candlesticks in
front of him, and knelt down before it.

As his lips did not move, it showed that he was not praying. For some
time he only looked at the drawn yet still handsome face of Rotgier as
though he were trying to discover in it traces of life.

Then amid the dead silence in the chapel he began to call in suppressed
tones:

"Dear little son! Dear little son!"

Then he remained silent; it seemed as though he were expecting an answer.

Then he stretched out his hand and pushed his emaciated talon-like
fingers under the cloak, uncovered Rotgier's breast and began to feel
about it, looking everywhere at the middle and sides below the ribs and
along the shoulder-blades: at last he touched the rent in the clothing
which extended from the top of the right shoulder down to the armpit, his
fingers penetrated and felt along the whole length of the wound, then he
cried with a loud voice which sounded like a complaint:

"Oh!... What merciless thing is this!... Yet thou saidst that fellow was
quite a child!... The whole arm! The whole arm? So many times thou hast
raised it against the Pagans in defence of the Order.... In the name of
the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Thou foughtest falsely, and so
succumbed in a false cause; be absolved and may thy soul...."

The words were cut short on his lips which began to tremble, and deep
silence reigned once more in the chapel.

"Dear little son! Dear little son!"

Now there was something like a petition in Zygfried's voice, and at the
same time it seemed as he lowered his voice as though his petition
contained some important and terrible secret.

"Merciful Christ!... If thou art not condemned, give a sign, move thy
hand, or give one twitch of the eye, for my old heart is groaning within
my breast.... Give a sign, I loved thee, say one word!..."

And supporting himself with his hands upon the edge of the coffin, he
fastened his vulture-like eyes upon the closed eyelids of Rotgier and
waited.

"Bah! How couldst thou speak?" said he, at last, "when frost and evil
odor emanate from thee. But as thou art silent, then I will tell thee
something, and let thy soul, flying about here among the flaming candles,
listen!"

Then he bent down to the face of the corpse.

"Dost thou remember how the chaplain would not permit us to kill Jurand
and how we took an oath. Well, I will keep that oath, but I will cause
thee to rejoice wherever thou art, even at the cost of my own damnation."

Then he retreated from the coffin, replaced the candlesticks, covered the
corpse with the cloak, and left the chapel.

At the door of the room, overpowered with deep sleep, slept the servant,
and according to Zygfried's orders Diedrich was already waiting inside.
He was of low stature thickly set, with bowed legs and a square face
which was concealed by a dark cowl falling to his arm. He was dressed in
an untanned buffalo jacket, also a buffalo belt upon his hips from which
was hanging a bunch of keys and a short knife. In his right hand he held
a membrane-covered lantern; in the other, a small kettle and a torch.

"Are you ready?" inquired Zygfried.

Diedrich bowed silently.

"I gave orders for you to bring with you a kettle with coal in it."

The short fellow was still silent; he only pointed to the burning wood in
the fireplace and took the iron shovel standing at the fireside, and
filled the kettle with the burning coal, then he lit the lantern and
waited.

"Now listen, dog," said Zygfried; "you have never revealed what Count
Danveld commanded you to do; the count also ordered the cutting out of
your tongue. But you can still motion to the chaplain with your fingers.
I therefore forewarn you, if you show him even with the slightest motion
of your hand what you are to do now by my command, I shall order you to
be hanged."

Diedrich again bowed in silence, but his face was drawn on account of the
terrible, ominous recollection; for his tongue was torn out for quite
another reason than what Zygfried said.

"Now proceed, and lead to the underground cell where Jurand is."

The executioner grasped the handle of the kettle with his gigantic hand,
picked up the lantern and then left. At the door they passed by the guard
who was asleep, descended the stairs, and turned, not toward the
principal entrance, but directed their steps to the small corridor in the
rear of the stairs, extending through the whole width of the edifice, and
terminating in a heavy iron door which was concealed in a niche in the
wall. Diedrich opened it and they found themselves again in the open air
in a small courtyard surrounded on its four sides by high walled
granaries where they kept their stores in case the castle should be
besieged. Underneath one of these stores, on the right, was an
underground prison. There was not a single guard standing there, because
even if a prisoner should succeed in breaking through from the
underground prison, he would then find himself in the courtyard which
only gave exit through the door in the niche.

"Wait," said Zygfried, and leaning against the wall, he rested, for he
felt that something was the matter with him; he was short of breath, as
though his breast was too much tightened under the straight coat of mail.
In plain terms, considering what had happened, he felt his old age, and
his brow under the cowl was covered with drops of perspiration; he
therefore stopped for a moment to recover breath.

The night following the gloomy day became extraordinarily clear and the
little courtyard was brightly illuminated by the rays of the moon which
caused the snow to glisten with a yellowish tint. Zygfried inhaled with
pleasure the cool invigorating air, but he forgot that on a similar
bright night Rotgier left for Ciechanow whence he did not return alive.

"And now thou liest in the chapel," he murmured to himself.

Diedrich thought that the count was talking to him; he therefore lifted
up his lantern and threw its light upon his face which had a terrible and
cadaverous appearance, but at the same time it looked like the head of an
old vulture.

"Lead on," said Zygfried.

Diedrich lowered the lantern again which cast upon the snow a yellow
circle of light and they proceeded. In the thick wall of the storehouse
there was a recess in which several steps led to a large iron door.
Diedrich opened it and went down the stairs in the deep dark aperture,
raising the lantern so as to show the way to the count. At the end of the
stairs there was a corridor in which, to the right and left, were
exceedingly low doors leading to the cells of the prisoners.

"To Jurand!" said Zygfried.

And in a moment the bars creaked and they entered, but there was perfect
darkness in the cell. But Zygfried, who could not see well in the dim
light from the lantern, ordered the torch to be lighted, and in a moment
he was enabled by its bright light to see Jurand lying on the straw. The
prisoner's feet were fettered, but the chains on the hands were somewhat
longer so as to enable him to carry food to his mouth. Upon his body was
the same coarse sackcloth which he had on when he was arraigned before
the court, but now it was covered with dark blood-stains, because, that
day when the fight ended, only when maddened with pain the frantic knight
was entangled in the net, the soldiers then tried to kill him, struck him
with their halberds and inflicted upon him numerous wounds. The chaplain
interfered and Jurand was not killed outright, but he lost so much blood
that he was carried to prison half dead. In the castle they expected his
death hourly. But owing to his immense strength he prevailed over death,
although they did not attend to his wounds, and he was cast into the
terrible subterranean prison, in which during the daytime when it thawed
drops fell from the roof, but when there was frost the walls were thickly
covered with snow and icicles.

On the ground on the straw lay the powerless man in chains, but he looked
like a piece of flint shaped in human form. Zygfried commanded Diedrich
to throw the light directly upon Jurand's face, then he gazed at it for a
while in silence. Then he turned to Diedrich and said:

"Observe, he has only one eye--destroy it."

There was something in his voice like sickness and decrepitude, and for
that very reason, the horrible order sounded more terrible, so that the
torch began somewhat to tremble in the hand of the executioner. Yet he
inclined it toward Jurand's face, and in a moment big drops of burning
tar began to fall upon the eye of Jurand, covering it entirely from the
brow down to the projecting cheek bone.

Jurand's face twitched, his grey mustachios moved, but he did not utter a
single word of complaint. Whether it was from exhaustion, or the grand
fortitude of his terrible nature, he did not even groan.

Zygfried said:

"It has been promised that you shall be freed, and you shall be, but you
shall not be able to accuse the Order, for your tongue, which you might
use against it, shall be torn out."

Then he again signaled to the executioner who replied with a strange
guttural sound and showed by signs that for this he roust employ both
hands, and therefore wanted the count to hold the light.

Then the old count took the torch and held it in his outstretched,
trembling hand, but when Diedrich pressed Jurand's chest with his knees
Zygfried turned his head and looked at the hoarfrost covered wall.

For a while resounded the clank of the chains, followed by the suppressed
panting of a human breast which sounded like one dull, deep groan--and
then all was still.

Finally Zygfried said:

"Jurand, the punishment which you have suffered you have deserved; but I
have promised to Brother Rotgier, whom your son-in-law has killed, to
place your right hand in his coffin."

Diedrich, who had just got up from his last deed, bent again upon the
prostrate form of Jurand, when he heard Zygfried's words.

After a little while, the old count and Diedrich found themselves again
in that open courtyard which was illuminated by the bright moon. When
they reëntered the corridor, Zygfried took the lantern from Diedrich,
also a dark object wrapped up in a rag, and said to himself in a loud
voice,

"Now to the chapel and then to the tower."

Diedrich looked keenly at the count, but the count commanded him to go to
sleep; he covered himself, hanging the lantern near the lighted window of
the chapel and left. On his way he meditated upon what had just taken
place. He was almost sure that his own end had also arrived and that
these were his last deeds in this world, and that he would have to
account for them before God. But his soul, the soul of a "Knight of the
Cross," although naturally more cruel than mendacious, had in the course
of inexorable necessity got accustomed to fraud, assassination and
concealing the sanguinary deeds of the Order, he now involuntarily sought
to cast off the ignominy and responsibility for Jurand's tortures, from
both himself and the Order. Diedrich was dumb and could not confess, and,
although he could make himself understood with the chaplain, he would be
afraid to do so. What then? Nobody would know. Jurand might well have
received all his wounds during the fight. He might have easily lost his
tongue by the thrust of a lance between his teeth. An axe or a sword
might have easily cut off his right hand. He had only one eye; would it
be strange therefore that the other eye was lost in the fracas, for he
threw himself madly upon the whole garrison of Szczytno. Alas! Jurand!
His last joy in life trembled for a moment in the heart of the old Knight
of the Cross. So, should Jurand survive, he ought to be set free. At
this, Zygfried remembered a conversation he had had once with Rotgier
about this, when that young brother laughingly remarked: "Then let him go
where _his eyes will carry him_, and if he does not happen to strike
Spychow, then let him _make inquiries_ on the road." For that which had
now happened was a part of the prearranged programme between them. But
now Zygfried reentered the chapel and, kneeling in front of the coffin,
he laid at Rotgier's feet Jurand's bleeding hand; that last joy which
startled him was only for a moment and quickly disappeared, for the last
time, from his face.

"You see," he said, "I have done more than we agreed to do. For King John
of Luxemburg, although he was blind, kept on fighting and perished
gloriously. But Jurand can stand no more and will perish like a dog
behind the fence."

At this he again felt that shortness of breath that had seized him on his
way to Jurand, also a weight on his head as of a heavy iron helmet, but
this only lasted a second. Then he drew a deep breath and said:

"Ah! My time has also come. You were the only one I had; but now I have
none. But if I lived longer, I vow to you, O little son, that I would
also place upon your grave that hand which killed you, or perish myself.
The murderer who killed you is still alive...."

Here his teeth clinched and such an intense cramp seized him that he
could not speak for some time. Then he began again, but in a broken
voice:

"Yes, your murderer still lives, but I will cut him to pieces ... and
others with him, and I will inflict upon them tortures even worse than
death itself...."

Then he ceased.

In a moment he rose again and approaching the coffin, he began to speak
in quiet tones,

"Now I take leave of you ... and look into your face for the last time;
perhaps I shall be able to see in your face whether you are pleased with
my promises.... The last time."

Then he uncovered Rotgier's face, but suddenly he retreated.

"You are smiling, ..." he said, "but you are smiling terribly...."

In fact, the frozen corpse, which was covered with the mantle, had
thawed. It may be from the heat of the burning candles, it had begun to
decompose with extraordinary rapidity, and the face of the young count
looked indeed terrible. The enormously swollen, and livid mouth looked
something monstrous, the blue and swollen curled lips had the appearance
of a grinning smile.

Zygfried covered that terrible human mask as quickly as possible.

Then he took the lantern and left the chapel. Here again, for the third
time, he felt shortness of breath; he entered the house and threw himself
upon his hard bed of the Order and lay for a time motionless. He thought
he would fall asleep, when suddenly a strange feeling overpowered him; it
seemed to him that he would never again be able to sleep, and that if he
remained in that house death would soon follow.

Zygfried, in his extreme weariness, and without hope of sleep, was not
afraid of death; on the contrary he regarded it as an exceedingly great
relief. But he had no wish to submit himself to it that evening. So he
sat up in his bed and cried:

"Give me time till to-morrow."

Then he distinctly heard a voice whispering in his ear:

"Leave this house. It will be too late to-morrow and you will not be able
to accomplish your promise. Leave this house!"

The count got up with difficulty and went out. The guards were calling to
one another from the bastions upon the palisades. The light emanating
from the windows of the chapel illuminated the snow in front with a
yellow gleam. In the middle of the court near the stone wall were two
black dogs playing and tugging at a black rag. Beyond this the courtyard
was empty and silent.

"It is yet necessary this night!" said Zygfried. "I am exceedingly tired,
but I must go.... All are asleep. Jurand, overcome by torture, might also
be asleep. I only am unable to sleep. I will go. I will go, for there is
death within, and I have promised you.... Let death come afterward; sleep
will not come. You are smiling there, but my strength is failing me. You
are smiling, you are apparently glad. But you see that my fingers are
benumbed, my hands have lost their strength, and I cannot accomplish it
by myself ... the servant with whom she sleeps will accomplish it...."

Then he moved on with heavy steps toward the tower situated near the
gate. Meanwhile the dogs which were playing near the stone wall came
running up and began to fawn upon him. In one of them Zygfried recognized
the bulldog which was so much attached to Diedrich that it was said in
the castle that it served him as a pillow at night.

The dog greeted the count, it barked low once or twice; and then returned
toward the gate acting as though it had divined his thoughts.

After a while Zygfried found himself in front of the narrow little doors
of the tower, which at night were barred on the outside. Removing the
bars, he felt for the balustrade of the stairs which commenced quite near
the doors and began to ascend. In his absentmindedness he forgot the
lantern; he therefore went up gropingly, stepping carefully and feeling
with his feet for the steps.

Having advanced a few steps, he suddenly halted, when below quite near
him he heard something like the breathing of a man, or beast.

"Who is there?"

But there was no answer, only the breathing grew quicker.

Zygfried was not a timid man; he was not afraid of death. But the
preceding terrible night had quite exhausted his courage and
self-control. It crossed his mind that Rotgier or the evil spirit was
barring his way, and his hair stood up on his head and his brow was
covered with cold sweat.

He retreated to the very entrance.

"Who is there?" he asked, with a choked voice.

But at that moment something struck him a powerful blow on his chest, so
terrible that the old man fell through the door upon his back and
swooned. He did not even groan.

Silence followed, after which there could be seen a dark form, stealthily
issuing from the tower and making off toward the stable which was
situated on the left side of the courtyard near the arsenal. Diedrich's
big bulldog followed that figure silently. The other dog also ran after
him and disappeared in the shadow of the wall, but shortly appeared again
with its head to the ground, scenting as it were the trail of the other
dog. In this manner the dog approached the prostrate and lifeless body of
Zygfried, which it smelled carefully, then crouched near the head of the
prostrate man and began to howl.

The howling continued for a long while, filling the air of that sombre
night with a new kind of dolefulness and horror. Finally the small door
concealed in the middle of the gate creaked and a guard armed with a
halberd appeared in the courtyard.

"Death upon that dog," he said, "I'll teach you to howl during the
night."

And he aimed the sharp end of the halberd so as to hit the animal with
it, but at that moment he observed something lying near the little open
door of the bastion.

"Lord Jesus! what is that?..."

He bent his head so as to look in the face of the prostrate man, and
began to shout:

"Help! Help! Help!"

Then he rushed to the gate and pulled with all his strength at the
bell-rope.


END OF PART FIFTH.




PART SIXTH.




CHAPTER I.

Although Glowacz was somewhat anxious to hasten to Zgorzelice, he could
not make the progress he wished, because the road was exceedingly bad. A
general thaw had followed the severe winter, keen frost, and immense
snowdrifts which covered whole villages.

Luty (February), in spite of its name,[110] by no means showed itself
formidable. First there were thick, continuous fogs, succeeded by
torrential rains, which melted the white snowdrifts before one's eyes;
and in the intervals there were very high winds as is usual in the month
of March; then the tempestuous clouds were suddenly torn asunder by the
wind which now drove them together, and now scattered them, whilst on the
earth the wind howled in the thickets, whistled in the forests and
dispersed the snow beneath which only a short time before the boughs and
trunks had slept their silent, wintry sleep.

The woods assumed a dark color. The meadows were inundated with broad
sheets of water. The rivers and streams overflowed. Only the fishermen
were glad at the abundance of the watery element, but the rest of
humanity were confined as within a prison, sheltering themselves within
their houses and huts. In many places communication between village and
village could only be effected by means of boats. There was no lack of
dams, dykes and roads through the forests and swamps, constructed of
trunks, of trees and logs, but now the dykes became soft and the stumps
in the low, wet places endangered travel, or the roads were rendered
altogether impracticable. The most difficult part for the Bohemian to
traverse was the lake-land region of Wielkopolska, where every spring the
thaw was greater than in any other part of Poland. Consequently the road
was specially difficult for horses.

He was therefore obliged to wait whole weeks, sometimes in small towns,
sometimes in villages and farms, where he and his men were hospitably
received, according to custom, by the people, who were willing listeners
to the tale of the "Knights of the Cross," and paid for it with bread and
salt. For this reason spring was already far advanced, and the greater
part of March had already passed before he found himself in the
neighborhood of Zgorzelice and Bogdaniec.

He longed to see his mistress as soon as possible, although he knew that
he could never gain her, even as he could not gain the stars of heaven;
nevertheless he adored and loved her with his whole soul. Yet he resolved
first to go and see Macko; first, because he was sent to him; secondly,
because he was bringing men with him who were to be left at Bogdanice.
Zbyszko, having killed Rotgier, according to established rules, became
the owner of his following, which consisted of ten men and as many
horses. Two of them had been sent back with the body of Rotgier to
Szczytno. Knowing how anxious his uncle was to obtain colonists, he sent
the remaining eight men by Glowacz as a present to old Macko.

The Bohemian, on his arrival at Bogdaniec, did not find Macko at home; he
was informed that Macko had gone with his dogs and crossbow to the
forest; but he returned the same day, and having heard that an important
retinue was waiting for him, he hastened to salute the guests and offer
them hospitality. He did not recognize Glowacz at first, but when he gave
his name, Macko was greatly agitated, and throwing down his hat and
crossbow he cried:

"For God's sake! tell me, have they killed him? Tell what you know."

"They have not killed him," replied the Bohemian. "He is enjoying good
health."

On hearing this, Macko was somewhat ashamed of himself, and began to
puff; at last he drew a deep breath.

"Praised be the Lord Christ," he said. "Where is he now?"

"He left for Malborg and sent me here with news."

"And why did he go to Malborg?"

"To fetch his wife."

"Be careful, boy, in the name of God what wife did he go for?"

"For Jurand's daughter. There is much to be told about it, enough for a
whole night, but, honored sir, allow me to rest a little, for I have been
constantly traveling since midnight."

Macko ceased questioning for a little while, for his great surprise
deprived him of speech. When he had somewhat recovered, he shouted to the
servant to throw some wood on the fire and bring food for the Bohemian;
then he began to pace up and down, gesticulating and talking to himself:

"I cannot believe mine own ears.... Jurand's daughter.... Zbyszko
married...."

"He is married and not married," said the Bohemian.

Then he began slowly to relate what had happened, while Macko listened
eagerly, only interrupting with questions when what the Bohemian related
was not quite clear to him. For instance, Glowacz could not give the
exact time when Zbyszko had got married, as there had been no public
marriage. Nevertheless he affirmed that that marriage had surely taken
place, and that it had come to pass owing to the instigation of Princess
Anna Danuta, and had been made public only after the arrival of the
Knight of the Cross, Rotgier, when Zbyszko had challenged him to the
judgment of God, in the presence of the entire Mazovian court.

"Ah! He fought?" Macko exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with intense
curiosity. "What followed?"

"He cut the German in two, and God also made me happy by delivering the
armor-bearer into my hands."

Macko again began to puff, but this time with an air of satisfaction.

"Well!" he said. "He is a fellow not to be trifled with. He is the last
of the Gradys, but so help me God, not the least. He was that already in
the fight with the Fryzjans ... when he was a mere stripling...."

Here he glanced sharply once and again at the Bohemian, then he
continued:

"And so you tried to imitate him, and it seems you tell the truth. I
doubted your words, but, as you yourself say, you had little work with
the armor-bearer. But if he chopped off the arm of that dog-brother after
killing the Aurochs, those are valiant deeds."

Then he suddenly asked:

"Is there rich spoil?"

"We have taken the arms, horses and ten men, eight of whom, the young
lord sends you."

"What has he done with the other two?"

"He sent them back with the corpse."

"Why did not the prince send two of his own servants? Those two will not
return."

The Bohemian smiled at Macko's greed which often betrayed him.

"The young lord need not consider such trifles now," he said, "Spychow is
a large estate."

"It is a large estate; what of it, it is not yet his."

"Then whose is it?"

Macko rose from his seat.

"Speak! and Jurand?"

"Jurand is a prisoner, and dying, in the hands of the Knights of the
Cross. God knows whether he will survive, and even if he survives and
returns, what of it? Did not Father Caleb read Jurand's testament,
announcing to all that the young lord is to be their master?"

The last words obviously made a great impression upon Macko; because he
was too much amazed to thoroughly grasp the news. That Zbyszko had got
married was painful to him at the first moment, for he loved Jagienka
with a fatherly love, and heartily wished to see Zbyszko united to her.
But, on the other hand, he had already grown accustomed to regard the
affair as lost; moreover Jurandowna brought with her so much that
Jagienka could never bring; the prince's favor, and being an only
daughter her dower was many times greater. Macko already saw Zbyszko, as
the prince's friend, the master of Bogdaniec and of Spychow; nay, in the
near future, a castellan. That was not at all unlikely. For it was told
in those days of a certain poor nobleman who had twelve sons, six fell in
battle and the other six became castellans and were advancing toward
greatness; only a reputation could assist Zbyszko in this career, so that
Macko's ambition and greed for a pedigree might be realized according to
his wishes. The old man, however, had much cause for alarm. He, himself,
had once gone to the Knights of the Cross, to save Zbyszko and brought
back with him an iron splinter between the ribs; now Zbyszko had gone to
Malborg, into the very throat of the wolf. Was it to get his wife there
or death? They would not look upon him there with a favorable eye,
thought Macko. He had just destroyed one of their famous knights and
before that he had killed Lichtenstein. Those dog-blooded men loved
vengeance. That thought made the old knight very uneasy. It also occurred
to him that Zbyszko, being quick tempered, would engage in a fight with
some German; or what he most feared was that they would kidnap him as
they had old Jurand and his daughter. At Zlotorja they did not scruple to
kidnap even the prince himself. Why then should they be scrupulous with
Zbyszko?

Then he asked himself what would happen if the youngster should escape
the knights, but not find his wife? This thought pleased him, because
even if Zbyszko should not recover her, he would still be the owner of
Spychow, but that pleasure only lasted for a moment. For while the old
man was much concerned about the property, yet Zbyszko's offspring
interested him quite as much. If Danusia were to be lost, like a stone in
the water and nobody knew whether she were alive or dead, Zbyszko could
not marry another, and then there would be no heir to the Gradys of
Bogdaniec. Ah! It would be quite another thing if he were married to
Jagienka!... Moczydoly was not to be scorned; it was spacious and well
stocked. Such a girl, like an apple-tree in the orchard, would bring
forth every year without fail. Thus Macko's regret was greater than his
joy at the prospect of the possession of the new estate. His regret and
agitation caused him to renew his questions, and he again inquired of the
Bohemian how and when the marriage had taken place.

But the Bohemian replied:

"I have told you already, honored sir, that I do not know when it
happened, and what I conjecture I cannot confirm with an oath."

"What do you conjecture?"

"I have never left my young master and we slept together. On one evening
only, he ordered me to leave him when I saw them all visit him: the
princess accompanied by the lady Jurandowna, (Danusia,) Lord de Lorche
and Father Wyszoniek. I was even surprised to see the young lady with a
wreath on her head; but I thought they had come to administer the
sacrament to my master.... It may be that the marriage took place
then.... I recollect that the master commanded me to attire myself as for
a wedding ceremony, but then I also thought that that was to receive the
eucharist."

"And after that, did they remain by themselves?"

"They did not remain alone; and even if they had remained by themselves
the master was then so feeble that he could not even eat without
assistance. And there were already people sent by Jurand waiting for the
young lady, and she left the following morning...."

"Then Zbyszko has not seen her since?"

"No human eye has seen her."

Then silence reigned for a while.

"What do you think?" asked Macko, presently. "Will the Knights of the
Cross give her up, or not?"

The Bohemian shook his head, then he waved his hand discouragingly.

"I think," he said, slowly, "she is lost forever."

"Why?" asked Macko in terror.

"Because, when they said they had her there was yet hope, one could yet
contend with them, either to ransom her, or take her from them by force.
'But,' they said, 'we had a girl retaken from robbers and we notified
Jurand; he did not recognize her, and he killed of our people, in our
very presence, more than fall in one good fight in war.'"

"Then they showed Jurand some other girl."

"So it is said. God knows the truth. It may not be true, and it may be
that they showed him some other girl. But it is a fact that he killed
people, and the Knights of the Cross are ready to swear that they never
abducted Panna Jurandowna, and that is an exceedingly difficult affair.
Even should the grand master order an investigation, they would reply
that she was not in their hands; especially since the courtiers of
Ciechanow spoke of Jurand's letter in which he said that she was not with
the Knights of the Cross."

"It may be she is not with them."

"I beg your pardon, sir!... If they had recaptured her from the robbers,
it would have been for no other motive than for ransom. The robbers,
before that happened could neither write a letter nor imitate the
signature of the lord of Spychow, nor send an honorable messenger."

"That is true; but what do the Knights of the Cross want her for?"

"Revenge on Jurand's race. They prefer vengeance to mead and wine; and if
they want a pretext, they have one. The lord of Spychow was terrible to
them, and his last deed completely finished them.... My master, I also
heard, had lifted up his hand against Lichtenstein; he killed Rotgier....
God helped me, too, to shatter that dog-brother's arm. Wait, I pray, let
us consider. There were four of them to be exterminated; now hardly one
is alive, and that one is an old man, and your grace must bear in mind
that we yet have our teeth."

There was again silence for a moment.

"You are a discreet armor-bearer," said Macko, at last; "but what do you
think they are going to do with her?"

"Prince Witold, they say, is a powerful prince, even the German emperor
bows to him; and what did they do to his children? Have they but few
castles? Few underground prisons? Few wells? Few ropes and halters for
the neck?"

"For the living God's sake!" exclaimed Macko.

"God grant that they may not also detain the young lord, although he went
there with a letter from the prince, and accompanied by de Lorche who is
a powerful lord and related to the prince. Ah, I did not want to set out
for this place. But he commanded me to go. I heard him once say to the
old lord of Spychow: 'It is to be regretted that you are not cunning, for
I shall get nothing by craft, and with them that is a necessary thing. O
Uncle Macko! he would be useful here;' and for that reason he dispatched
me. But as for Jurandowna, even you, sir, will not find her, for probably
she is already in the other world, and where death is concerned, even the
greatest cunning cannot prevail."

Macko was absorbed in thought for a long while, after which he said:

"Ha! Then there is no counsel. Cunning cannot prevail against death. But
if I were to go there and only get assurance that she has been removed,
then in that case Spychow as well as Zbyszko remain. He will be able to
return here and marry another maiden."

Here Macko breathed freely, as though a burden were removed from his
heart, and Glowacz asked in a bashful, subdued voice:

"Do you mean the young lady of Zgorzelice?"

"Well!" replied Macko, "especially as she is an orphan, and Cztan of
Rogow and Wilk of Brzozowa continually press their court to her."

At that the Bohemian straightened himself up.

"Is the young lady an orphan?... The knight Zych?..."

"Then you do not know."

"For the love of God! What has happened?"

"Well you are right. How could you know, since you have just arrived; and
our only conversation has been about Zbyszko. She is an orphan. Unless he
had guests, Zych of Zgorzelice never remained at home; otherwise he
avoided Zgorzelice. He wrote about you to his abbot that he was going to
visit Prince Przemka of Oswiecemia and ask him to give you to him. Zych
did it because he was well acquainted with the prince and they have often
frolicked together. Consequently Zych called upon me and said as follows:
'I am going to Oswiecemia, then to Glewic; keep your eye on Zgorzelice.'
I at once suspected something wrong and said: 'Don't go! I will keep good
watch over Jagienka and the estate,' for I know that Cztan and Wilk
intend to do you some wrong, and you ought to know that the abbot out of
spite against Zbyszko, preferred Cztan or Wilk for the girl. But he
subsequently learned to know them better and rejected both of them, and
turned them out of Zgorzelice; but not effectually, for they obstinately
persisted. Now they have quieted down for a while, for they have wounded
each other and are laid up, but before that occurred there was not a
moment of security. Everything is upon my head, protection and
guardianship. Now Zbyszko wishes me to come.... What will happen here to
Jagienka--I don't know, but now I will tell you about Zych; he did not
follow my advice--he went. Well, they feasted and frolicked together.
From Glewic they went to see old Nosak, Prince Przemka's father, who
rules in Cieszyn; till Jasko, the prince of Racibor, out of hatred for
Prince Przemka, set upon them the robber band under the leadership of the
Bohemian Chrzan; Prince Przemka and Zych of Zgorzelice perished in the
affray. The robbers stunned the abbot with an iron flail, so that even
now his head shakes and he knows nothing of what is going on in the world
and has lost his speech, God help him, forever! Now old Prince Nosak
bought Chrzan from the owner of Zampach, and tortured him so much that
even the oldest inhabitants never heard of such cruelty,--but the cruelty
did not lessen the sorrow of the old man for his son; neither did it
resuscitate Zych, nor wipe away the tears of Jagienka. This is the result
of the frolic.... Six weeks ago they brought Zych here and buried him."

"Such a hard master!..." sorrowfully said the Bohemian. "Under Boleslaw I
was comfortably situated when he took me into captivity. But such was the
captivity that I would not have exchanged it for freedom.... He was a
good and worthy master! May God grant him eternal glory. Ah, I am very
sorry! But I must grieve for the helpless young lady."

"Because the poor thing is a good girl, she loved her father more than a
man loves his mother. Then too she is not safe in Zgorzelice. After the
funeral, scarcely had the snow covered Zych's grave, when Cztan and Wilk
stepped into the mansion of Zgorzelice. My people were informed of it
beforehand. Then I, with the farm hands went to the rescue; we arrived in
good time and with God's help we gave them a good thrashing. Immediately
after the fight, the girl fell on her knees and begged me to save her.
'If I cannot belong to Zbyszko,' she said, 'I will belong to nobody else;
only save me from those torturers, I prefer death to them....' I tell you
that I made a real castle out of Zgorzelice. After that, they appeared
twice on the premises, but believe me, they could not succeed. Now there
will be peace for some time, for as I told you: they hurt each other
badly, so much so, that neither is able to move head or foot."

Glowacz made no observation upon this, but when he heard of the conduct
of Cztan and Wilk, he began to gnash his teeth so loudly, that it sounded
like the creaking caused by the opening and closing of a door, then he
began to rub his strong hands upon his thighs as though they were
itching. Finally, he uttered with difficulty only one word:

"Villains!"

But at that moment, a voice was heard in the entrance-hall, the door
suddenly opened and Jagienka rushed into the house, and with her was
Jasko, her oldest brother, who was fourteen years old and looked as like
her, as though they were twins.

She had heard from some peasants at Zgorzelice, that they had seen the
Bohemian Hlawa, at the head of some people, journeying to Bogdaniec, and
like Macko, she also was terrified, and when they informed her that
Zbyszko was not among them she was almost sure that some misfortune had
happened. She therefore lost no time and hastened to Bogdaniec to
ascertain the truth.

"What has happened?... For God's sake tell me," she shouted, when yet
upon the threshold.

"What should happen?" replied Macko. "Zbyszko is alive and well."

The Bohemian hastened toward the young lady, knelt upon one knee and
kissed the hem of her dress, but she paid no attention to it; only when
she heard the reply of the old knight she turned her head from the
fireplace to the darker side of the room, and only after a while, as if
having forgotten that it was necessary to salute the Bohemian, she said:

"The name of Jesus Christ be praised!"

"Forever and ever," replied Macko.

Then she observed the kneeling Bohemian at her feet and bent toward him.

"From my soul I am glad to see you, Hlawa, but why did you leave your
master behind?"

"He sent me away, most gracious lady."

"What were his orders?"

"He ordered me to go to Bogdaniec."

"To Bogdaniec?... What else?"

"He sent me to get counsel.... He also sends his compliments and good
wishes."

"To Bogdaniec? Very well, then. But where is he himself?"

"He left for Malborg, and is now among the Knights of the Cross."

Jagienka's face again assumed an expression of alarm.

"Why, is he tired of life?"

"He is in quest, gracious lady, of that which he will not be able to
find."

"I believe he will not find it," interrupted Macko. "Just as one cannot
drive a nail without a hammer, so are man's wishes without the will of
God."

"What are you talking about?" cried Jagienka. But Macko replied with
another query.

"Did he say to you that Zbyszko went for Jurandowna? It seems to me that
he did."

Jagienka at first did not reply, and only after awhile, catching her
breath, she replied:

"Ay! He said! But what hindered him telling?"

"Well, then, now I can talk freely."

And he began to tell to her all that he had heard from the Bohemian. He
wondered at himself why his words came haltingly and with difficulty, but
being a clever man, he tried to avoid any expression that might irritate
Jagienka, and he dwelt strongly upon what he himself believed, that
Zbyszko was never the husband of Danusia in reality and that she was
already lost to him forever.

The Bohemian confirmed Macko's words now and then, sometimes by nodding
his head in approval, sometimes repeating "By God, true, as I live," or:
"It is so, not otherwise!" The young lady listened, with eyelashes
lowered till they touched her cheeks; she asked no more questions, and
was so quiet that her silence alarmed Macko.

"Now, what do you say to that?" he enquired when he had ended.

But she did not reply, only two tears glistened between her eyelids and
rolled down her cheeks.

After a while she approached Macko, and kissing his hand, said:

"The Lord be praised."

"Forever and ever," replied Macko. "Are you so much needed at home?
Better stay with us."

But she refused to remain, giving as a reason that she had not given out
the provisions for supper. But Macko, although he knew that there was the
old lady, Sieciechowa, at Zgorzelice, who could easily fulfil Jagienka's
duties, did not persuade her to remain, for he knew that sorrow does not
like the light on human tears, and that a man is like a fish, when it
feels the penetrating harpoon in its body it sinks to the depths.

Then he only regarded her as a girl, so he led her and the Bohemian into
the courtyard.

But the Bohemian brought the horse from the stable, harnessed him, and
departed with the young lady.

But Macko returned to the house, shook his head, and murmured:

"What a fool that Zbyszko is?... Why, her presence seems to have filled
the whole house with perfume."

The old man lamented to himself. "Had Zbyszko taken her immediately after
he returned, by this time there might have been joy and delight! But what
of it now? If they should speak of him her eyes would immediately be
filled with tears of longing, and the fellow is roaming about the world
and may break the head of some of the knights at Malborg, provided they
do not break his; and now the house is empty, only the arms on the wall
glitter. There is some benefit in husbandry. Running about is nothing,
Spychow and Bogdaniec are nothing. Very soon none will remain to whom
they might be left."

Here Macko became angry.

"Wait, you tramp," he exclaimed, "I will not go with you, you may do as
you like!"

But at that very moment he was seized with an exceeding yearning after
Zbyszko.

"Bah! shall I not go," he thought. "Shall I remain at home? God
forbid!... I wish to see that rascal once more. It must be so. He will
again fight one of those dog-brothers--and take spoil. Others grow old
before they receive the belt of knighthood, but he already has received
the belt from the prince.... And rightly so. There are many valorous
youths among the nobility; but not another like him."

His tender feelings entirely subdued him. First he began to look at the
arms, swords and axes which had become blackened by the smoke, as though
considering which to take with him, and which to leave behind; then he
left the house; first, because he could not stay there; secondly, to give
orders to prepare the carriage and give the horses double provender.

In the courtyard where it was already beginning to grow dark, he
remembered Jagienka, who only a moment ago sat here on horseback, and he
again became uneasy.

"I must go," he said to himself, "but who is going to protect the girl
against Cztan and Wilk. May thunder strike them."

But Jagienka was on the road with her little brother, Jasko, crossing the
woods leading to Zgorzelice, and the Bohemian accompanied them in
silence, with love and grief in his heart. A moment since he saw her
tears, now he looked at her dark form, scarcely visible in the darkness
of the forest, and he guessed her sorrow and pain. It also seemed to him
that at any moment Wilk or Cztan's rapacious hands might dart from the
dark thicket and grasp her, and at that thought, he was carried away by
wild anger and longed for a fight. At times the desire for fight was so
intense that he wanted to grasp his axe or sword and cut down a pine tree
on the road. He felt that a good fight would comfort him. Lastly he would
be glad, even if he could let the horse go at a gallop. But he could not
do it, they rode silently in front of him, and at a very slow gait, foot
by foot, and little Jasko, who was of a talkative disposition, after
several attempts to engage his sister in conversation, seeing that she
was unwilling to speak, desisted, and also sank into deep silence.

But when they were approaching Zgorzelice, the sorrow in the Bohemian's
heart turned to anger against Cztan and Wilk: "I would not spare even my
blood in your behalf," he said to himself, "provided it comforted you.
But what can I, unfortunate, do? What can I tell you? Unless I tell you
that he ordered me to kneel before you. And, God grant that that might be
of some comfort to you."

Thinking thus, he urged his horse close to Jagienka's.

"Gracious lady...."

"Are you riding with us?" enquired Jagienka, as though awaking from
sleep. "What do you say?"

"I forgot to tell you what my master commanded me to say to you. When I
was about to depart from Spychow, he called me and said 'I bow at the
feet of the young lady of Zgorzelice, for whether in good or bad fortune,
I shall never forget her; and for what she did for my uncle and myself,
may God recompense her, and keep her in good health.'"

"May God also recompense him for his good words," replied Jagienka.

Then she added, in such a wonderful tone, that it caused the Bohemian's
heart to melt:

"And you, Hlawa."

The conversation ceased for a while. But the armor-bearer was glad for
himself and for her words. For he said to himself: "At least it shall not
be said that she has been fed with ingratitude." He also began to rack
his brains for something more of the same nature to tell her; and after a
moment he said:

"Lady."

"What?"

"This ... as it were ... I want to say, as the old _pan_ of Bogdaniec
also said: 'That the lady there is lost forever, and that he will never
find her, even if the grand master himself assist him.'"

"Then she is his wife...."

The Bohemian nodded his head.

"Yes, she is his wife."

Jagienka made no reply to this, but at home, after supper, when Jasko and
the younger brother were put to bed, she ordered a pitcher of mead. Then
she turned to the Bohemian and asked:

"Perhaps you want to retire. I wish to continue our conversation."

The Bohemian, although tired, was ready to chatter even till morning. So
they began to talk, and he again related in general terms all that had
happened to Zbyszko, Jurand, Danusia and himself.




CHAPTER II.

Macko prepared for his journey, and Jagienka did not show herself at
Bogdaniec for two days after her consultation with the Bohemian. It was
only on the third day that the old knight met her on his way to church.
She was riding with her brother Jasiek to church at Krzesnia, and with
her was a considerable number of armed servants in order to protect her
from Cztan and Wilk, because she was not sure whether Cztan and Wilk were
still sick or were planning to harm her.

"Any way, I intended to call upon our own people at Bogdaniec," she said,
greeting Macko, "because I have to consult you about a very important
affair, but since you are here we can talk about it now."

Then she advanced in front of the retinue, obviously to prevent the
servants overhearing their conversation. When Macko was near her she
inquired:

"Are you surely going?"

"If God will, not later than to-morrow."

"Are you going to Malborg?"

"To Malborg, or any other place, according to circumstances."

"Now then listen to me. I have thought a long time about what I ought to
do. I want to ask your advice, too. You well know that as long as papa
was alive, and the abbot was powerful, it was quite different. Cztan and
Wilk also thought that I should choose one of them, so they kept their
temper. But now I stand alone without a protector; then either I shall
remain at Zgorzelice in a fortress, like a prisoner, or they will do us
some harm without fail. Is it not so?"

"Yes," said Macko, "I thought of it myself."

"And what did you devise?"

"I devised nothing, but I must tell you one thing, that we are in Poland
and the law of this country punishes severely those who are guilty of
acts of violence."

"Very well, but the transgressors have no difficulty in crossing the
frontier. Indeed, I know that Szlonsk is also in Poland, yet there the
princes themselves quarrel and attack each other. If it were not so, my
beloved father would still be alive. There are already Germans there and
the times are stormy; they are mischievous, so that if any one of them
wishes to conceal himself, he does. It would be easy for me to avoid
Cztan and Wilk, but it concerns my little brother. If I should be absent
there would be peace, but if I remained in Zgorzelice, God only knows
what ill luck might happen. There would be outrages and fights; and
Jasiek is already fourteen years old, and nobody, not even myself, can
detain him. Upon the last occasion when you came to our assistance he
flew to the front, and when Cztan used his club upon the crowd he nearly
hit him on the head. 'O,' Jasko said to the servants, 'those two I will
prosecute to the very end.' I tell you that there will not be a single
peaceful day and some evil might befall the youngster."

"Faith. Cztan and Wilk are dog-brothers," said Macko, "although they
would not dare lift up their hands against children. Bah! only a Knight
of the Cross would do that."

"They will not lift up their hands against children, but in case of
tumult, or, God forbid, in an incendiary fire, there will be no lack of
accidents. Why talk! I love the brother of old Sieciechowa as my own
parents, and protection for them from the dear old woman is not wanting,
yet, without me ... would they be safer without me?"

"May be," replied Macko.

Then he looked slyly at the girl.

"Then, what do you want?"

And she replied in a low tone:

"Take me with you."

Then Macko, although he easily understood the drift of the conversation,
was much surprised. He checked his horse, and exclaimed:

"Fear God, Jagienka."

But she dropped her head and replied bashfully and sadly:

"You may think so, but as far as myself is concerned, I would rather
speak out than be silent. Hlawa and yourself said that Zbyszko will never
find Danusia, and the Bohemian's hope of finding her is even less. God is
my witness that I do not wish her evil in the least. Let the mother of
God watch over that poor girl and keep her. Zbyszko loved her more than
myself. Well, I cannot help it. Such is my lot. But observe this, so long
as Zbyszko does not find her, or as you believe, he will never find her,
then, then ..."

"What then?" asked Macko, seeing that the girl was getting more and more
confused and stammering.

"Then I do not wish to be Madame Cztan, nor Madame Wilk, nor madame
anybody."

Macko breathed freely.

"I thought that you had already forgiven him."

But she, still in a sad tone, replied: "Ah!..."

"Then what are your wishes? How can we take you among the Knights of the
Cross?"

"Not exactly among the Knights of the Cross, I should like to be now with
the abbot who is confined in the hospital at Sieradz. He has not a single
friendly soul with him. The servants care more for the pitcher than they
do for him. Moreover, he is my godfather and benefactor. If he were well
I would have sought his protection all the same because the people fear
him."

"I shall not dispute that," said Macko, who as a matter of fact, would be
glad that Jagienka should not go with him, for he well knew the Knights
of the Cross, and he was thoroughly convinced that Danuska would never
come out alive from their hands. "But only this I tell you, that to
travel with a girl is very troublesome."

"May be with others, but not with me. Nothing has occurred to me so far,
but I am accustomed to go about with the bow and can endure hardship in
the chase. When it is necessary, it is necessary. Don't be afraid. I
shall take Jasiek's clothing and a net for my hair and I shall go.
Jasiek, although younger than I am, with the exception of his hair looks
exactly like myself, so much so that when we disguised ourselves last
carnival our departed father could not tell one from the other. Observe,
neither the abbot nor anybody else recognized me."

"Neither Zbyszko?"

"If I shall see him...."

Macko thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled and said:

"But Wilk of Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogow would be furious."

"Let them! It might be worse if they came after us."

"Well! Fear not. I am an old man, but let them beware of my fist. All the
Gradys are of the same mettle!... However, they have already tested
Zbyszko...."

Meanwhile they arrived at Krzesnia. Old Wilk of Brzozowa, who also
happened to be at church, from time to time cast gloomy glances at Macko,
but he did not mind it, and with a light heart he returned with Jagienka
immediately after mass.... Then they took leave of each other and parted.
When Macko was by himself at Bogdaniec, less happy thoughts passed
through his mind. He understood that neither the people at Zgorzelice nor
the relatives of Jagienka would really object to her departure. "But as
to the girl's admirers," he said to himself, "that is quite another
affair, but against the orphans and their property they would not dare to
lift up their hand, because they would cover themselves with excessive
infamy. Everybody would be against them as one is against a wolf. But
Bogdaniec is left to God's favor!... The quarries will be filled up, the
flocks will be seized, the peasants will be enticed away!... If God
permit me to return, then I will fight them. I shall send out bans, and
fight them not with the fist but with the law!... Only let me return, and
if I do?... They will combine against me, because I have spoiled their
love affair, and if she goes with me they will yet be more rancorous."

He was much grieved about his estate at Bogdaniec which he had improved.
Now he felt sure that on his return he would find it desolate and in
ruins.

"Now then, it is necessary to take counsel," he thought.

Accordingly, after dinner, he ordered his horse to be saddled and left
directly for Brzozowa.

It was already dark when he arrived. Old Wilk was sitting in the front
room drinking mead from a pitcher. Young Wilk, who was wounded by Cztan,
was lying on a skin-covered bench, and was also drinking mead. Macko
entered unexpectedly and remained standing upon the threshold with a
stern look on his face; tall, bony, armed only with a big sabre at his
side. They recognized him at once, because his face was lit up by the
bright flame of the fireplace, and at the first moment, both the father
and son jumped up, lightning-like, and running toward the wall seized the
first arms that were at hand.

But the old experienced Macko, well knowing the people and their customs,
did not interfere in the least, he did not even reach his hand to his
sword. He only put his hands on his hips, and said quietly in a somewhat
sarcastic voice:

"How is it? Is this the kind of hospitality which the nobles in Brzozowa
practice?"

These words had the desired effect; their hands fell, and in a moment the
old man let fall the sword with a clash, the young man dropped his pike,
and they stood with their necks craned toward Macko, their faces still
expressing hatred, but already amazed and ashamed of themselves.

Macko smiled and said:

"May the name of Christ be praised!"

"Forever and ever."

"And Saint Jerzy."

"We serve him."

"I come to visit my neighbors with good will."

"With good will we greet you, the guest of his holy person."

Then old Wilk rushed toward Macko, and with his son, both of them pressed
his right hand, they made him sit at a comfortable place at the table; in
a second they threw another log on the fireplace, spread the table and
put upon it a dish full of food, a jug of beer, a pitcher of mead, and
began to eat and drink. Young Wilk glanced now and then at Macko, which,
happily for the guest, contributed to lessen his hatred against him. But
he served him, however, so diligently that he became pale from fatigue,
because he was wounded and deprived of his wonted strength. The father
and son burned with curiosity to know the object of Macko's call. None,
however, asked him why, but waited for him to speak.

But Macko, as a man of manners, praised the meat, drink and hospitality.
Only when he had filled himself well, he looked up and spoke with
dignity:

"People often quarrel. But neighborly peace above all."

"There is not a better thing than peace," replied old Wilk, with equal
composure.

"It also often happens," said Macko, "when one wants to undertake a long
journey, he wants to make up and bid good-bye even to his adversaries."

"God reward you for your candid words."

"Not mere words, but deeds, for I actually came to wish you good-bye."

"From our soul we wish you might visit us daily."

"I wish I could feast you in Bogdaniec in a manner suitable to people who
are acquainted with knightly honor. But I am in a hurry to go."

"Is it to war, or to some holy place?"

"I should like to go to one of the two, but the place I am going to is
worse, for I am going among the Knights of the Cross."

"Among the Knights of the Cross," exclaimed both father and son.

"Yes!" replied Macko. "And one who is their enemy is going to them. It is
well for him to be reconciled with God and men, so that he may not
forfeit, not only his life, but everlasting salvation."

"It is wonderful," said old Wilk. "I have never yet seen any man who has
not suffered from their wrongs and oppression."

"So it is in the whole fatherland," added Macko. "Neither Lithuania
before its conversion to Christianity, nor even the Tartars were such a
burden to the Polish kingdom as those devilish monks."

"Quite true, but this you also know, they gathered and gathered. It is
time now to finish with them."

Then the old man spat in his hands, and young Wilk added:

"It cannot be otherwise now."

"It will come to pass, surely, but when? We cannot do it, it is the
king's affair. It may be soon or not ... God only knows. But meanwhile I
must go to them."

"Is it not with ransom for Zbyszko?"

As his father mentioned Zbyszko's name young Wilk's face became pale with
hatred.

But Macko replied quietly:

"May be with ransom but not for Zbyszko."

These words intensified the curiosity of both lords of Brzozowa. Old
Wilk, who could no more contain himself, said:

"Can you tell us, or not, the reason for your going there?"

"I will tell you! I will!" he said, nodding assent, "but first let me
tell you something else. Take notice then. After my departure Bogdaniec
will be under God's care.... When Zbyszko and myself were fighting under
Prince Witold, the abbot, also Zych of Zgorzelice, looked somewhat after
our small property. Now we shall miss even that little. It pains me
terribly to think that my endeavor and labor will be in vain.... You can
well form an idea how much this troubles me. They will entice away my
people, plough up the boundaries; they will take away my herds. Even
should God permit me to return, I shall find my property ruined.... There
is only one remedy, only one help ... good neighbor. For this reason I
came to ask you as a neighbor that you would take Bogdaniec under your
protection and see that no harm is done."

Listening to Macko's request, old Wilk and his son exchanged looks; both
of them were amazed beyond measure. They were silent for a moment, and
neither could muster courage enough to reply. But Macko lifted another
cup of mead to his mouth, drank it, then continued his conversation in as
quiet and confiding a manner as though the two had been his most intimate
friends for years.

"I have told you candidly from whom most damage is expected. It is from
no other quarter but from Cztan of Rogow. Although we were hostile to
each other, I fear nothing from you because you are noble people who
would face your adversaries, yet would not revenge yourselves by acting
meanly. You are quite different. A knight is always a knight. But Cztan
is a _prestak_ (churl). From such a fellow anything might be expected, as
you know. He is very bitter against me because I spoiled his game with
Jagienka."

"Whom you reserve for your nephew," burst out young Wilk.

Macko looked at him and held him under his cold gaze for a moment, then
he turned to the old man and said quietly:

"You know, my nephew married a rich Mazovian proprietress and took
considerable dower." Silence more profound than before again reigned for
a while. Both father and son gazed at Macko with their mouths wide open,
for some time.

Finally the old man said:

"O! how is that? Tell us...."

Macko appeared not to notice the question and continued:

"This is the very reason why I must go, and why I also ask you, as worthy
and upright neighbors, to take care of Bogdaniec when I go, and see to it
that nobody damages my property. Have your eye especially upon Cztan and
protect me against him."

During that time young Wilk, who was quick to understand, reflected that
since Zbyszko had got married it would be better to be in friendship with
Macko, because Jagienka confided in him, and did nothing without asking
his advice. Thus new prospects suddenly presented themselves before his
eyes. "It is not enough, we must not only not oppose Macko, but endeavor
to be reconciled with him," he said to himself. Therefore, although he
was somewhat under the influence of drink, he quickly stretched his hand
under the table and grasped his father's knee and pressed it vigorously
as a sign for his father to be careful in his speech, but said himself:

"Ay! we do not fear Cztan! Let him only try. He wounded me with the
platter, true, but I too have given him such a sound drubbing that his
own mother could not recognize him. Fear nothing! Be at your ease. Not
even one crow shall be lost at Bogdaniec!"

"I see you are upright people. Do you promise me?"

"We promise!" both exclaimed.

"Upon your knightly honor?"

"Upon knightly honor."

"And upon your escutcheon?"

"Upon the escutcheon; yea, upon the cross too. So help us God!"

Macko smiled with satisfaction, and said:

"Well, this is now with you, and I am confident you will do it. If so,
let me tell you something more. Zych, as you know, appointed me guardian
of his children. I have, therefore, spoiled both Cztan's incursions and
your young man at Zgorzelice. But now when I arrive at Malborg, or, God
knows where, what then will become of my guardianship?... It is true,
that God is a father of the fatherless; and woe to him who shall attempt
to harm her; not only will I chop off his head with an axe, but also
proclaim him an infamous scoundrel. Nevertheless I feel very sorry to
part, sorry indeed. Then promise me I pray, that you will not only
yourself not do any harm to Zych's orphans, but see too that others do
not harm them."

"We swear! We swear!"

"Upon your knightly honor and your escutcheon?"

"Upon knightly honor and escutcheon."

"Also upon the cross?"

"Upon the cross too."

"God hears it. Amen," concluded Macko, and he breathed deeply, because he
was sure that they would not break such an oath. Even if they were
provoked they would rather gnaw their fists with anger than perjure
themselves.

Then he began to take leave, but they insisted upon his remaining. He was
obliged to drink and fraternize with old Wilk. But young Wilk, contrary
to his custom to look for quarrels when drunk, this time limited his
anger to threats against Cztan, and ran around Macko so assiduously as
though he were to obtain Jagienka from Macko the following morning.
Toward midnight he fainted from over-exertion, and after they revived
him, he fell asleep like a log. Old Wilk followed the example of his son,
so that when Macko left them they were lying under the table like
corpses. Yet Macko himself had an extraordinary head and was not so much
affected by the drink, but was cheerful. When he returned home he
reflected with joy upon what he had accomplished.

"Well!" he said to himself, "Bogdaniec is safe and so is Zgorzelice. They
will be raging when they hear of Jagienka's departure. But she and my
property are safe. The Lord Jesus has endowed men with skill, so that
when one cannot make use of his fist, he uses his mind. The old man will
surely challenge me when I return home, but it is not worth while to
think about it.... Would to God that I might entrap the Knights of the
Cross in such manner.... But it will be a difficult task with them. With
us, even when one has an affair with a 'dog brother,' nevertheless if he
takes an oath on his knightly honor and escutcheon he will keep it. But
with them an oath has no value; it is like spitting upon the water. But
may the mother of Jesus assist me, that I may be as serviceable to
Zbyszko as I have been to Zychow's children, and Bogdaniec...."

Here, it crossed his mind, that perhaps it might be advisable not to take
Jagienka, because the two Wilks would care for her as the apple of their
eye. But the next moment he rejected that plan. "The Wilks might care for
her, true, but Cztan will persist in his attempts, and God knows who will
prevail. But it is a sure thing that there will be a succession of fights
and outrages from which Zgorzelice, Zych's orphans, and even the girl
might suffer. It will be an easy matter for Wilk to guard Bogdaniec. But
by all means it will be better for the girl to be as far away from the
two murderers as possible, and at the same time to be as near the rich
abbot as possible. Macko firmly believed that Danusia would never be
rescued from the Knights of the Cross, alive. And the hope that Zbyszko
would return home as a widower and most likely take to Jagienka, never
left him."

"Ah! Mighty God!" he said to himself. "In such a case he will be the
owner of Spychow, then he will get Jagienka and Moczydoly, and in
addition to it he will acquire that which the abbot will bequeath. I
would not even spare him wax for candles."

Occupied with such thoughts, the road from Brzozowa seemed to be
shortened, yet he arrived at Bogdaniec after nightfall, and was surprised
to see his windows brightly illuminated. The servants, too, were awake,
for he had scarcely entered the courtyard when the stable boy came
rushing to him.

"Are there some guests?" asked Macko, dismounting.

"There is the young gentleman of Zgorzelice with the Bohemian," replied
the stable boy.

This information astonished Macko, for Jagienka had promised to arrive
next day, very early, when they were to start immediately. Then, why had
Jasko come and that so late? It struck the old knight that something must
have occurred at Zgorzelice, and he entered his house with a certain
amount of anxiety. But within he found a bright fire burning in the large
clay oven in the centre of the room. And upon the table were two iron
cradles and two torches in them, by which light Macko observed Jasko, the
Bohemian, Hlawa, and another young servant with a face as red as an
apple.

"How are you, Jasko? and what is the matter with Jagienka?" asked the old
nobleman.

"Jagienka ordered me to tell you," he said, whilst kissing Macko's hand,
"that she has reconsidered the matter and she prefers to stay at home."

"For God's sake! What do you say? How? What has happened to her?"

But the boy looked at him with his beautiful blue eyes and smiled.

"What are you prating about?"

But at this moment, the Bohemian and the other boy also burst out
laughing.

"You see!" exclaimed the disguised boy. "Who could recognize me. You even
have failed to recognize me!"

Then Macko looked at the lovely figure carefully and exclaimed:

"In the name of the Father and Son! It is a true carnival! You also here,
croaking thing. Why?"

"Yes! Why? Those who are on the road have no time to lose."

"Is it not to-morrow at dawn, that you were to leave?"

"Certainly! to-morrow at dawn, so that all may know. To-morrow they will
think at Zgorzelice that I am your guest, and they will not notice it
till the day after to-morrow. Sieciechowa and Jasiek know it. But Jasko
promised, upon knightly honor, that he will tell only then, when the
people begin to be restless. How is it you did not recognize me?"

Now it was Macko's turn to laugh.

"Let me have a good look at you; you are an excessively fine boy!... and
singularly so. From such one might expect to raise a good breed.... I
justly declare, if this fellow were, (pointing at himself) were not
old,--well! But, even thus I tell you, keep off, girl, from creeping
under my eyes, stand back!..."

And he began to threaten her with his finger, but looked at her with much
pleasure. Because such a girl he never saw before. Upon her head she had
a silken red net, and a yellow jacket upon her body and the breeches
ample round her hips and tighter above them, of which one little leg was
of the same color as the cap (net) upon her head, the other had longwise
stripes, with a richly covered little sword at her side, smiling and
bright like the dawn. Her face was so exquisite that he could not take
his eyes off her.

"My God!" said the overjoyed Macko. "She looks like some marvelous young
lady or like a flower, or something else!"

"And this one here--I am sure it must also be somebody in disguise?"

"This is Sieciechowa," answered Jagienka. "It would be improper for me to
be alone among you. How could I? Therefore I have taken Anulka[111] with
me so that two courageous women will be of help and service. Her also,
nobody can recognize."

"There, old woman, you have a marriage feast. One is bad enough, now
there will be two."

"Don't tease."

"I am not teasing, but everybody will recognize you and her, in the
daytime."

"Pray, and why?"

"In order to go on their knees to you and to her also."

"O, give us peace!..."

"You shall have it, I am not in a hurry. But will Cztan or Wilk let you
have peace? God knows. Do you know, birdie, where I have just been? Why,
at Brzozowa."

"For God's sake! What are you saying?"

"It is true as truth itself that the Wilks protect Bogdaniec and
Zgorzelice against Cztan. Well, it is an easy matter to challenge an
enemy and fight him. But to make your enemy into a protector of your own
property is a very difficult task."

Then Macko related his adventures with the Wilks, how they had become
reconciled to each other. How he had got advantage over them; to this she
listened with the greatest wonder, and when he concluded she said:

"The Lord Jesus did not stint you in craftiness, and I observe that you
will always be successful in your undertakings."

But Macko shook his head, as though he felt sorry.

"Ay, daughter! If that were so, you would have long ago become the lady
of Bogdaniec!"

Upon hearing that, Jagienka looked at him with her lovely blue eyes for a
moment, then she approached him, and kissed his hand.

"Why do you kiss me?" inquired the old knight.

"Nothing.... I only wish to bid you goodnight, because it is getting late
and to-morrow we must get up early for our journey."

She then embraced Sieciechowa and left, and Macko led the Bohemian to his
room, where they stretched themselves upon aurochs' skins and both fell
sound asleep.




CHAPTER III.

After the destruction, conflagration and slaughter which the Knights of
the Cross had committed in 1331, at Sieradz, Casimir the Great rebuilt
the razed town. The place, however, was not exceedingly splendid and
could not keep pace with the other towns of the realm. But Jagienka, who
hitherto had spent her time among the people of Zgorzelice and Krzesnia,
was beside herself with admiration and astonishment at the sight of the
houses, towers, town hall, and especially the churches; the wooden
structure at Krzesnia could not be compared with them. At first she lost
her wonted resolution, so much so that she dared not talk aloud, and only
inquired of Macko in a whisper about those wonderful things which dazzled
her eyes. But when the old knight assured her that there was as much
difference between Sieradz and Krakow as there is between a firebrand and
the sun, she would not believe her own ears, because it appeared to her
an impossibility that another city could be found in the world which
could be equal to Sieradz.

They were received in the cloister by the same shriveled old prior, who
still remembered in his childhood the butchery by the Knights of the
Cross, and who had previously received Zbyszko. The news of the abbot
occasioned them sorrow and trouble; he lived in the cloister for a long
while, but he left a fortnight before their arrival to visit his friend,
the bishop of Plock. He was constantly ill. He was generally conscious in
the morning; but toward the evening he lost his head, he stormed and he
asked to put on a coat of mail, and challenged Prince John of Racibor.
The clergy were obliged to apply force to keep him in bed; that was not
accomplished without considerable trouble and even much risk. About a
fortnight ago he had entirely lost his reason, and in spite of his
serious illness, he had given orders to be taken to Plock immediately.

"He said that he confided in nobody so much as in the bishop of Plock,
and that he wished to receive the sacrament from him alone and leave his
testament with him. We opposed his journey as much as we could, for he
was very faint, and we feared that he would not survive even one mile's
journey. But to oppose him was not an easy task. So the attendants
prepared a wagon and carried him away. May God direct it to a happy
issue."

"If he had died somewhere near Sieradz you would have heard of it," said
Macko.

"We would have surely heard of it," replied the little old prior. "We
therefore are of opinion that he did not die, and we think that he had
not yet when he reached Lenczyca. What may have happened beyond that
place, we are unable to tell. You will get information on the road if you
go after him."

Macko felt uneasy when he received the tidings, and he went to take
counsel with Jagienka, who had already got information from the Bohemian
whither the abbot had gone.

"What is to be done?" he asked her; "and what are you going to do with
yourself?"

"Come to Plock, and I will go with you."

"To Plock!" repeated Sieciechowa, in a piping voice.

"Look how things go! Is it as easy for you to go to Flock as to handle
the sickle?"

"How can I and Sieciechowa return by ourselves? If I cannot continue my
journey with you, it would have been preferable to have remained at home.
Do you not think that Wilk and Cztan will be more obstinate in their
intrigues against me?"

"Wilk will protect you against Cztan."

"I fear Wilk's protection as much as Cztan's open violence. I see that
you too are opposing me; if it were only simple opposition I should not
mind it, but not when it is in earnest."

Indeed Macko's opposition was not in earnest; on the contrary he
preferred that Jagienka should accompany him, than return, so when he
heard her words, he smiled and said:

"She has got rid of her petticoats, and now she wants reason too."

"Reason is only to be found in the head."

"But Plock is out of the way."

"The Bohemian said that it is not out of the way, but it is nearer to
Malborg."

"Then you have already consulted the Bohemian?"

"Surely; moreover, he said: 'If the young lord got into trouble at
Malborg, then we could get much help from Princess Alexandra, for she is
a relative of the king; besides that, being a personal friend of the
Knights of the Cross, she has great influence among them.'"

"It is true, as God is dear to me!" exclaimed Macko. "It is a fact well
known to all, that if she wished to give us a letter to the master we
could travel with perfect safety in all lands of the Knights of the
Cross. They love her because she loves them. That Bohemian boy is not a
fool, his advice is good."

"And how much so!" Sieciechowa exclaimed with warmth, lifting up her
little eyes.

Macko suddenly turned toward her and said:

"What do you want here?"

The girl became much confused, lowered her eyelashes and blushed like a
rose.

However, Macko saw that there was no other remedy but to continue his
journey and take both girls with him. This he much desired. The following
morning he took leave of the little old prior and then they continued
their journey. Owing to the thawing of the snow and inundations they
progressed with greater difficulty than before. On the road they inquired
after the abbot, and they found many courts, and parsonages, where there
were none of the former, even inns, where he had remained for a night's
lodging. It was quite easy to follow in his track, because he had
lavishly distributed alms, bought missals, contributed to church bells
and subscribed to funds for the repair of churches. Therefore every
beggar, sexton, yea even every priest they met remembered him with
gratitude. They generally said: "He traveled like an angel," and prayed
for his recovery, although here and there were heard more expressions of
apprehension that his everlasting rest was drawing nigh, than hopes of
temporary recovery. In some places he had taken supplies enough for two
or three days. It seemed to Macko that most likely he would be able to
overtake him.

Yet Macko was mistaken in his calculations. The overflow of the rivers
Ner and Bzur prevented them from arriving at Lenczyca. They were obliged
to take up their quarters for four days at a deserted inn, whose owner
apparently had fled on account of the threatening floods. The road
leading from the inn to the town which to a certain extent was repaired
with stumps of trees was submerged for a considerable stretch in the
muddy flood. Macko's servant, Wit, a native of that locality, had some
knowledge of the road leading through the woods, but he refused to act as
guide, because he knew that the marshes of Lenczyca were the rendezvous
of unclean spirits, especially the powerful Borut who delighted in
leading people to bottomless swamps, whence escape was only possible by
forfeiture of the soul. Even the inn itself was held in bad repute, so
that travelers used to provision themselves with victuals to avoid
hunger. Even old Macko was scared of this place. During the night they
heard skirmishing upon the roof of the inn; at times there were also
rappings at the door. Jagienka and Sieciechowa, who slept in the alcove
near the large room, also heard the sound of little footsteps upon the
ceiling and walls during the night-time. They were apparently not afraid
of it, because at Zgorzelice they were accustomed to croaking birds. Old
Zych, in his time, fed them, according to the then prevailing custom
there were not wanting those who would provide them with crusts, and they
were not mischievous. But on a certain night, from the neighboring
thickets resounded a dull ominous bellowing, and the following morning
they discovered huge cloven-foot traces upon the mud. They might have
been of aurochs or bison, but Wit was of opinion that the traces were
those of Borut, and although his outward appearance is that of a man,
even of a nobleman, he has cloven instead of human feet. But owing to
parsimony he takes off his boots when crossing the swamps. Macko was
informed that one could appease him with drink; he considered during the
whole day whether it would be sinful to gain the friendship of the evil
spirit. He even took counsel with Jagienka on the same subject.

"I should like to suspend upon the fence a bull's bladder full of wine or
mead," he said, "and if it were found that something of the drink were
missing, then it would be conclusive proof that the evil spirit was
present."

"But that might displease the heavenly powers," replied Jagienka, "of
whose blessing we stand in need to assist us in succoring Zbyszko
successfully."

"I, too, am afraid, but I think that a little mead is not the soul. I
shall not give him my soul. One bladder full of wine or mead, I think, is
of little significance in the eyes of the heavenly powers!"

Then he lowered his voice and added:

"One nobleman entertains another even if he is a useless fellow, and they
say he is a nobleman."

"Who?" asked Jagienka.

"I do not want to mention the name of the unclean spirit."

Nevertheless, Macko, with his own hands suspended the same evening a
large bull's bladder in which drink is usually carried, and it was found
empty the following morning.

When that was related to the Bohemian, he laughed heartily, but nobody
paid attention to it. Macko, however, was filled with joy, because he
expected that when he should attempt to cross the swamp no mishap would
occur on that account.

"Unless they told an untruth when they said that he knows honor," he said
to himself.

Above all things it was necessary to investigate if there was a passage
through the woods. It might have been so, because where the soil was made
firm by the roots of the trees and other growths, it did not easily
soften by the rains; although Wit, who belonged in the locality, could
best perform that service, he refused to go, and when his name was
suggested, he shouted: "Better kill me. I shall not go."

Then they explained to him that the unclean spirits are powerless during
the daytime. Macko himself was willing to go, but it was finally arranged
that Hlawa should venture, because he was a bold fellow, agreeable to
all, specially to the ladies. He put an axe in his belt, and in his hand
a scythe, and left.

He left early in the morning and was expected to return about noon, but
he did not, and they began to be alarmed. Later on, the servants were
watching at the edge of the forest, and in the afternoon Wit waved his
hand as a sign that Hlawa had not returned, and should he return the
danger is greater for us, for God knows whether, owing to a wolf's bite,
he is not transformed into a werewolf. Hearing this, all were frightened;
even Macko was not himself. Jagienka turned toward the forest and made
the sign of the cross. But Anulka searched in vain in her skirt and apron
for something with which to cover her eyes, but finding nothing she
covered them with her fingers, from between which tears began to trickle
in big drops.

However, toward evening time, just at the spot where the sun was about to
set, the Bohemian appeared, and that, not by himself, but accompanied by
a human figure whom he drove in front of him on a rope. All rushed out
toward him with shouts of joy. But at the sight of the figure they became
silent; it was dwarfed, monkey-like, hairy, black and dressed in wolf
skin.

"In the name of the Father and Son tell me; what is this figure you have
brought," shouted Macko.

"How do I know?" replied the Bohemian. "He said that he was a man and a
pitch-burner, but I don't know whether he told me the truth."

"Oh, he is not a man, no," said Wit.

But Macko ordered him to be quiet; then he looked carefully around him
and suddenly said:

"Cross yourself. We are accustomed to cross ourselves when with the
spirits...."

"Praised be Jesus Christ!" exclaimed the prisoner, and crossed himself as
fast as he could. He breathed deeply, looked with great confidence at the
group and said:

"Praised be Jesus Christ. I too, O Jesus, was uncertain whether I was in
Christian or in the devil's power."

"Fear not, you are among Christians, who attend the holy Mass. What are
you then?"

"I am a pitch-burner, sir, dwelling in a tent. There are seven of us who
dwell in tents with our families."

"How far are you from here?"

"Not quite ten furlongs."

"How do you get to town?"

"We have our private road along the 'Devil's Hollow.'"

"Along what? The Devil's?... then cross yourself again."

"In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"Very well. Is that road practicable for vehicles?"

"Now there is quagmire everywhere, although there is less near the Hollow
than upon the regular road; owing to the access of the wind the mud is
quickly dried up. But farther on to Buda the road is bad. But those who
know the track push through it slowly."

"Will you lead us for a florin or two?"

The pitch-burner accepted the offer willingly, but begged for half a loaf
of bread, which he said is very scarce in the woods and he had seen none
for some time past. It was arranged that they should start very early the
next morning, because it was "not good to travel in the evening," he
said. "There at Boruca ghosts storm terribly, but they do no harm. But
being jealous for the Lenczyca principality they chase away other devils
into the bushes. It is only bad to meet them during the night, especially
when a man is drunk, but the sober need not be afraid."

"You were afraid nevertheless," said Macko.

"Because that knight unexpectedly grasped me with such strength that I
took him for another being."

Then Jagienka smiled that all of them took the pitch-burner to be the
devil, and he thought them to be the same. Anulka and Sieciechowa laughed
at Macko's words, when he said:

"Your eyes are not yet dry from weeping for Hlawa; now you are laughing?"

The Bohemian looked at the girl, he observed her eyelids which were still
moist, then he asked:

"Did you cry for me?"

"Of course not," replied the girl. "I was only scared."

"You ought to be ashamed. Are you not a noblewoman, and a noblewoman like
your mistress is not afraid. Nothing evil could happen to you in the
middle of the day, and among people."

"Nothing to me, but to you."

"Yet you said that you did not cry for me."

"I insist, not for you."

"Then why did you cry?"

"From fear."

"You are not afraid now?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you have returned."

Then the Bohemian looked at her with gratitude, smiled, and said:

"Bah! If we kept on talking in that manner we might have continued till
morning. What a smart woman you are!"

"Make no fun of me," quietly replied Sieciechowa. In fact she was as
smart as any woman; and Hlawa who was himself a cunning fellow understood
it well. He knew that the girl's attachment to him was daily increasing.
He loved Jagienka, but the love was that of a subject for his king's
daughter, and with great humility and reverence, and without any other
motive. Meanwhile the journey brought him in closer contact with
Sieciechowa. When on the march old Macko and Jagienka usually rode side
by side in front, while Hlawa and Sieciechowa were together in the rear.
He was as strong as a urus and hot-blooded, so that when looking straight
into her lovely bright eyes, at her flaxen locks which escaped from under
her bonnet, upon her whole slender and well-shaped figure, especially at
her admirably shaped limbs gripping the black pony, his whole frame
trembled. He could restrain himself no longer. The more he looked upon
those charms the more intense and longing his gaze became. He
involuntarily thought that if the devil were to assume the form of that
girl he would have no difficulty in leading one into temptation. She was
moreover of a sweet temperament, very obedient, and lively, like a
sparrow upon the roof. Sometimes strange thoughts crossed the Bohemian's
mind; once when he and Anulka remained somewhat in the rear near the
packhorses, he suddenly turned toward her and said:

"Do you know I shall devour you here as a wolf devours a lamb."

She heartily laughed, and showed her pretty little white teeth.

"Do you want to eat me?" she asked.

"Yes I even with the little bones."

And he cast such a look at her that she melted under his glances. Then
they lapsed into silence, only their hearts were beating intensely, his
with desire, and hers with pleasurable intoxication tinged with fear.

But the Bohemian's passion at first entirely prevailed over his
tenderness, and when he said that he looked at Anulka like a wolf at a
lamb, he told the truth. Only on that evening when he observed her
eyelids and cheeks moistened with tears, his heart became softened She
seemed to him as good, as though near to him and as though she were
already his own, and as he himself was upright by nature, and at the same
time a knight, he not only was elated with pride, and not hardened at the
sight of the sweet tears, but he courageously continued gazing at her.
His wonted gaiety of conversation left him, and although he continued to
jest in the evening with the timid girl, yet it was of a different
nature. He treated her as a knightly armor-bearer ought to treat a
noblewoman.

Old Macko was chiefly occupied in thinking of the journey, and the
crossing of the swamps, and he only praised him for his noble manners
which, as he observed, he must have learned when he was with Zbyszko at
the Mazovian court.

Then he turned to Jagienka and added:

"Hey! Zbyszko!... His deportment befits even a king's presence."

But his work was over in the evening, when it was time to retire. Hlawa,
after having kissed the hand of Jagienka, lifted in turn the hand of
Sieciechowa to his lips and said:

"Not only need you not fear me, but whilst you are with me you need fear
nothing, for I shall not give you to anybody."

Then the men went into the front room whilst Jagienka and Anulka retired
to the alcove and slept together in a wide and comfortable bed. Neither
fell asleep readily, especially Sieciechowa, who was restless and turned
from side to side. At length Jagienka moved her head toward Anulka and
whispered:

"Anulka?"

"What is it?"

"It seems to me that you are much taken with that Bohemian.... Is it so?"

Her question remained unanswered.

But Jagienka whispered again:

"I understand it all.... Tell me."

Sieciechowa did not reply, but instead, pressed her lips to the cheeks of
her mistress and showered kisses upon them.

At Anulka's kisses, poor Jagienka's breast heaved.

"Oh, I understand, I understand," she whispered, so low that Anulka's ear
scarcely caught her words.




CHAPTER IV.

After a mild and foggy night, a windy and gloomy day came. At times the
sky was bright, at others it was covered with broken clouds which were
driven before the wind like flocks of sheep. Macko ordered the train to
move by daybreak. The pitch-burner, who was hired as guide to Buda,
affirmed that the horses could pass everywhere, but as to the wagons,
provisions and baggage, it would be necessary in some places to take them
apart and carry them piecemeal, and that could not be done without
tedious work. But people accustomed to hard labor preferred hardship to
lounging in the deserted inn. Therefore they moved on willingly. Even the
timid Wit was not scared by the words and presence of the pitch-burner.

They left the inn and entered at once between high-trunked forest trees,
free from undergrowth. They led their horses, and could pass along
without taking the wagons to pieces. Occasionally a storm arose, and at
times it increased to such extraordinary force that it struck the
branches of the bending pines as with gigantic wings, bending, twisting
and shaking and breaking them as it were with the fans of a windmill. The
forest bent under the unchained elements. Even in the intervals between
the gusts it did not cease to howl and thunder, as if angry with their
rest at the inn, and the forced march they had undertaken. Now and then
the clouds entirely obscured the daylight. Drenching rain mingled with
hail came down in torrents, and it became as dark as nightfall. Wit was
short of breath, and shouted that "evil was bent to do harm and is doing
it." But nobody paid attention to it, even the timid Anulka did not take
his words to heart because the Bohemian was so near that her stirrup
touched his, and he looked ahead with such a brave air that he seemed to
want to challenge the very devil.

Behind the tall pine trees where the undergrowth began, the thickets were
impassable. There they were obliged to take the wagons in sections; they
did it dexterously and quickly. The strong servants transported the
wheels, axle-tree, front of the wagon, packages and stores, upon their
shoulders. The bad road continued about three furlongs. However they
arrived at Buda about nightfall; there the pitch-burner received them as
his guests, and they were assured by him that along the Devil's Hollow,
correctly speaking, they could reach the town. These people, inhabitants
of the pathless forest seldom saw bread or flour, yet they were not
starving. Because all kinds of smoked meat, especially eels, which
abounded in all swamps and mud holes, they had in plenty. They treated
them liberally, in exchange, holding out greedy hands for the biscuits.
There were among them women and children, all blackened from the smoke.
There was also a peasant, more than one hundred years old, who remembered
the massacre of Lenczyca, which happened in 1331, and the complete
destruction of the town by the "Knights of the Cross." Although Macko,
the Bohemian, and the two girls, had already heard the narrative from the
prior of Sieradz, nevertheless they listened with much interest to the
tale of the old man who was sitting at the fireside scraping in the
cinders. It seemed as if he discovered among them the events of his
earlier days. At Lenczyca, as well as at Sieradz, they spared not even
the churches and clergy, and the knives of the conquerors were covered
with the blood of old men, women and children. Always the Knights of the
Cross, the everlasting Knights of the Cross! The thoughts of Macko and
Jagienka were constantly directed toward Zbyszko, who was living in the
very jaws of the wolves, in the midst of a hardened clan who knew neither
pity nor the laws of hospitality. Sieciechowa was faint at heart, because
she feared that their hunt after the abbot might lead them among those
terrible Knights of the Cross.

But the old man, to counteract the unfavorable impression which the
stories made upon the women, told them of the battle near Plowce, which
put an end to the incursions of the Knights of the Cross, and in which he
took part as a soldier in the infantry raised by the peasants, and armed
with an iron flail. In that battle perished almost the whole clan of the
Gradys; Macko knew all the particulars of it, nevertheless he listened
now as though it were a recital of a new terrible calamity caused by the
Germans, when like cornfields before the storm they were mowed down by
the sword in the hands of the Polish knighthood and the forces of King
Lokietek....

"Ha! I just recollect," said the old man, "when they invaded this
country, they burned the town and castles. Yes, they even massacred the
infants in the cradles, but their terrible end came. Hey! It was a fine
fight. I can see the battle now with my eyes closed...."

He closed his eyes and was silent, gently moving the ashes until
Jagienka, who could wait no longer, asked:

"How was it?"

"How was it?..." repeated the old man. "I remember the battlefield, it
seems that I am now looking at it; there were bushes, and patches of
stubble to the right. But after the battle nothing was visible but
swords, axes, pikes and fine armor, one upon another, as though the whole
blessed land was covered with them.... I have never seen so many slain in
one heap, and so much human blood shed...."

Macko's heart was strengthened anew by the recollection of these events,
then he said:

"True. Merciful Lord Jesus! They had then encompassed the kingdom like a
conflagration or like a plague. Not only Sieradz and Lenczyca, but they
destroyed many other towns. What now? Are not our people mighty and
indestructible? And although those dog-brothers, the Knights of the
Cross, were severely chastised, yet if you cannot crush them they will
attack you and break your teeth.... Only see, King Kazimierz rebuilt
Sieradz and Lenczyca so that they are better now than ever before, yet
the incursions occur there as of old, and the Knights of the Cross are
laid low and rot there as they were at the battle of Plowce. May God
always grant them such an end!"

When the old peasant heard these words he nodded assent; finally he said:

"Perhaps they don't lie and rot. We of the infantry were ordered by the
king, after the battle was over, to dig ditches; the peasants from the
neighborhood came to assist us in our labor. We worked industriously, so
that the spades groaned. Then we laid the Germans in trenches and covered
them well, to avoid pestilence. But they did not remain there."

"What happened? Why did they not remain there?"

"I did not see it, but the people said afterward that after the battle
there came a fierce storm which lasted about twelve weeks, but only at
night-time. The sun shone during the daytime, but at night the wind was
so fierce that it almost tore the hair from off the head. The devils,
like thick clouds, came down in great numbers, whirling like a hurricane;
every one of them held a pitchfork, and as soon as one of them reached
the earth he thrust the pitchfork into the ground and carried off one
Knight of the Cross to hell. At Plowce they heard a hurly-burly of human
voices which sounded like the howling of whole packs of dogs, but they
did not know what it all meant, whether it were the noise of the Germans,
who were howling with terror and pain, or the devils with joy. That
continued as long as the trenches were not consecrated by the priest, and
the ground was not frozen, so that there was no need even for
pitchforks."

Silence followed for a moment, then the old man added:

"But God grant, Sir Knight, such an end to them as you said, and although
I shall not live to see it, but such young lasses as these two will live,
but they shall not see what mine eyes have seen."

Then he turned his head, now looking at Jagienka, now at Sieciechowa,
wondering at their marvelous faces and shaking his head.

"Like poppies in corn," he said. "Such beautiful faces I have never
seen."

Thus they chattered during a part of the night. Then they went to sleep
in the shanties and lay down upon mosses as soft as down and covered
themselves with warm fur; then after a refreshing sleep, they arose early
in the morning and continued their journey. The road along the hollow was
not an easy passage, but it was not a very bad road. So that before
sunset they descried the castle of Lenczyca. The city had arisen from its
ashes, it was rebuilt; part of it was built of brick and part of stone,
its walls were high, the towers armed. The churches were even larger than
those of Sieradz. There they had no difficulty in getting information
from the Dominican friars concerning the abbot. He was there, he said
that he felt better, and he hoped to recover his health entirely; and
only a few days ago he left for his onward journey. Macko was not bent on
overtaking him on the road, so he had already procured conveyance for
both girls to Plock, where the abbot himself would have taken them. But
Macko was much concerned about Zbyszko, and other news distressed him.
The rivers had arisen after the departure of the abbot, and it was
impossible to continue the journey. Seeing that the knight was
accompanied by a considerable retinue and was proceeding to the court of
Prince Ziemowit, the Dominicans offered him their hospitality; they had
even provided him with an olive-wood tablet upon which there was
inscribed a Latin prayer to the angel Raphael, the patron of travelers.

Their compulsory sojourn at Lenczyca lasted a fortnight, during which
time a servant of the castle discovered that the two young pages
accompanying the knight were females in disguise, and at once fell deeply
in love with Jagienka. The Bohemian was about to challenge him at once,
but as it happened on the eve of their departure Macko dissuaded him from
taking such a step.

When they moved on toward Plock, the wind had already somewhat dried the
road, and although it rained often, yet the rainfall, as is usual in the
spring, consisted of larger drops, but warm, and of short duration. The
furrows upon the fields glistened with water. The moist, sweet smell from
the cultivated fields was wafted by the strong wind. The marshes were
covered with buttercups and the violets blossomed in the woods, and the
grasshoppers joyfully chirped among the branches. The hearts of the
travelers were also filled with new hope and longing, especially as they
were now progressing well. After sixteen days' travel they were at the
gates of Plock.

But they arrived at night, when the gates of the city were closed. They
were obliged to pass the night with a weaver outside the wall.

The girls retired late, and after the fatigue of the long journey they
fell sound asleep, but Macko, who was not troubled by fatigue, got up
early; he did not wish to wake them and he entered the town by himself at
the opening of the gates. He found the cathedral and the bishop's
residence without difficulty. There he was informed that the abbot had
died a week ago, but according to the prevailing custom they had
celebrated mass before the coffin from the sixth day, and the funeral was
to take place on the day of Macko's arrival, after which would be
obsequies and last honors in memory of the defunct.

Owing to intense grief, Macko did not even look about the town, but he
knew something already from that time when he had passed through that
city with a letter from the princess Alexandra to the grand master. He
returned to the weaver's place as fast as he could, and on his way home
he said to himself:

"Ha! He is dead. Eternal repose to him. There is nothing in the world to
remedy it. But now what shall I do with the girls?"

Then he reflected whether it were not better to leave them with the
princess Alexandra, or with the princess Anna Danuta, or to take them to
Spychow. It struck him more than once, that if Danuska were dead, it
would be advisable to have Jagienka close to Zbyszko at Spychow, since
Zbyszko, who loved Danuska above all other things would greatly mourn
after his beloved. He was also sure that Jagienka's presence at Zbyszko's
side would have the desired effect. He also remembered that Zbyszko in
his boyhood, although his heart was after the woods in Mazowsze, was
constantly longing for Jagienka. For these reasons, and fully believing
that Danusia was lost, he often thought that in case of the abbot's
demise, he would not send Jagienka to any other place; but as he was
greedy to acquire landed property, he was therefore concerned about the
property of the abbot. Surely, the abbot was displeased with them and
promised to bequeath nothing to them; but after that he must have felt
sorry and, before he died left something for Jagienka. He was sure that
the abbot had bequeathed something to her, because he frequently spoke
about it at Zgorzelice, and he would not overlook Zbyszko on account of
Jagienka. Macko was also thinking of remaining for sometime at Plock, so
as to investigate the will and attend to the matter, but other thoughts
crossed his mind, and he said: "Should I longer be here looking after
property, whilst my boy yonder is stretching out his hand and waiting for
my help from some Knight of the Cross dungeon?"

In truth, there was only one course, and that was: to leave Jagienka
under the care of the princess and the bishop, and beg them to look after
her interest. But that plan did not please Macko. The girl has already
considerable property of her own, and when her estate is increased by
that which the abbot has bequeathed her, then as sure as there is a God
some Mazur will take her, for she cannot hold out any longer. Zych, her
defunct father, used to say of her, that she was in danger[112] even
then. In such case, the old knight thought that both Danusia and Jagienka
might fail Zbyszko. That of course was not to be thought of.

He will take one of the two, whichever God had decreed. Finally that plan
to rescue Zbyszko he preferred to the others; and as to Jagienka, he
resolved either to leave her in the care of Princess Danuta, or at
Spychow, but not at the court at Plock where there was much glitter, and
which was filled with handsome knights.

Overwhelmed with these thoughts, he proceeded quickly to the dwelling of
the weaver, to inform Jagienka of the abbot's death. He was determined
not to break the news to her suddenly, as it might greatly endanger her
health. When he reached home both ladies were properly dressed and
appeared as gay as birds; he sat down and ordered the servants to bring
him a jug of brown beer; then he assumed a doleful air, and said:

"Do you hear the bells ringing in town? Guess, why are they ringing,
since to-day is not Sunday, and you slept during matins. Would you like
to see the abbot?"

"Surely! What a question?" answered Jagienka.

"Well, you shall see him as the king sees Cwiék."[113]

"Has he left the city?"

"He has left, but do you not hear the bells ringing?"

"Is he dead?" exclaimed Jagienka.

"Yes! say 'God rest his soul.' ..."

Both ladies knelt down and began to chant: "God rest his soul," in a
bell-like voice. Then tears streamed down Jagienka's cheeks, for she was
very fond of the abbot, who, though of a violent temper, never harmed
anybody, but did much good; he specially loved Jagienka, for he was her
godfather, he loved her as one loves his own daughter. Macko remembered
that the abbot was related to him and Zbyszko; he was also moved to tears
and even cried. After his grief had subsided a little, he took the ladies
and the Bohemian with him and went to the funeral services in the church.

It was a magnificent funeral. The bishop himself, Jacob of Kurdwanow,
conducted it. There were present all the priests and monks of the diocese
of Plock, all the bells were ringing, and prayers were said which none
else but the clergy understood, for they were said in the Latin. Then the
clergy and the laity went to the banquet at the bishop's palace.

Macko and his two girls (disguised as boys) also went to the banquet; he,
as a relative of the deceased, and known to the bishop, was fully
entitled to be present. The bishop also willingly received him as such,
but immediately after the invitation he said to Macko:

"There is here a bequest of some forests for the Gradys of Bogdaniec. The
rest he did not bequeath to the abbey and the cloister, but to his
goddaughter, a certain Jagienka of Zgorzelice."

Macko, who did not expect much, was glad for the woodlands. The bishop
did not observe that one of the youths accompanying the old knight at the
mentioning of the name of Jagienka of Zgorzelice lifted up her tearful
eyes, and said:

"May God recompense him, but I wish he were alive."

Macko turned and said angrily:

"Be silent, otherwise you will shame yourself."

But he suddenly stopped, his eyes glistened with amazement, then his face
assumed wolfish fierceness, when at a distance from him opposite the
door, through which the princess Alexandra had just entered, he observed
the figure, dressed in court uniform, of Kuno of Lichtenstein, the very
man by whom Zbyszko had nearly lost his life in Krakow.

Jagienka had never seen Macko in such a condition. His face was
contracted like the jaws of a fierce dog, his teeth glistened beneath his
moustache, and in a moment he tightened his belt and moved toward the
hateful Knight of the Cross.

But when about midway he checked himself and began to pass his broad
hands through his hair; he reflected in time, that Lichtenstein might
only be a guest in the court of Plock, or an envoy, therefore, if he were
to strike him without apparent reason, the very thing which happened to
Zbyszko on his way from Tyniec to Krakow might be repeated here.

Thus possessing more reason than Zbyszko, he restrained himself, adjusted
the belt to its previous place, relaxed the muscles of his face and
waited, and when the princess, after greeting Lichtenstein, entered into
a conversation with the bishop, Macko approached her and bowed deeply. He
reminded her who he was, and that he had been once engaged in the service
of his benefactress as the carrier of letters.

The princess did not recognize him at first, but she remembered the
letters and the whole affair. She also was acquainted with the
occurrences in the neighboring Mazovian court. She had heard of Jurand,
of the imprisonment of his daughter, of Zbyszko's marriage, and of his
deadly fight with Rotgier. These things interested her greatly, so much
so that it seemed to her one of those knight-errant stories or one of the
minstrel songs in Germany, and the _rybalt_ songs in Mazowsze. Indeed,
the Knights of the Cross were not inimical to her, as they were to
princess Anna Danuta, the wife of Prince Janusz, more especially because
they wished to get her on their side, they strove to outvie each other in
rendering her homage and adulation, and overwhelmed her with munificent
gifts, but in the present case her heart beat for her favorite, whom she
was ready to help; above all, she was glad that she had before her a man
who could give her an accurate account of the events.

But Macko, who had already resolved to obtain, by whatever means
possible, the protection and the princely influence, seeing that she was
listening attentively, told her Zbyszko's and Danusia's ill luck. The
narrative brought tears to her eyes, specially when she felt more than
anybody the misfortune of her niece, and from her very soul she pitied
her.

"I have never heard a more woeful story," said the princess, at last,
"the greatest sorrow to my mind is, that he has married her, that she was
already his, yet he knew no happiness. However, are you sure that he knew
her not."

"Hey! Almighty God!" exclaimed Macko. "If he only knew her, he was
bed-ridden when he married her in the evening, and the following morning
she was carried off."

"And, do you think that the Knights of the Cross did it? It was said
here, that those who actually did it were robbers, and the Knights of the
Cross recaptured her, but it turned out to be another girl. They also
spoke of a letter which Jurand had written...."

"Human justice did not decide it, but divine. That was a great thing,
that knight Rotgier, who conquered the strongest, fell by the hand of a
comparative child."

"Well, a fine child he is," said the princess, with a smile, "his valor
is a safeguard in his travels. It is a grievance, true, and your
complaints are just, but three out of those four opponents are dead, and
the remaining old one has also, according to the information I have
received, been nearly killed."

"And Danuska? And Jurand?" replied Macko. "Where are they? God only knows
whether something ill has happened to Zbyszko, who was on the road to
Malborg."

"I know, but the Knights of the Cross are not such out-and-out
dog-brothers as you think them to be. In Malborg nothing evil can happen
to your nephew, whilst he is at the side of the grand master and his
brother Ulrych, who is an honorable knight. Your nephew undoubtedly is
provided with letters from Prince Janusz. Unless whilst there he
challenged one of the knights and succumbed. At Malborg there are always
present a great number of the most valorous knights from all parts of the
world."

"Ay! My nephew does not fear them much," said the old knight. "If they
only did not cast him in prison, or kill him treacherously, as long as he
has an iron weapon in his hand he is not afraid of them. Only once he
found himself facing one stronger than himself, but he stretched him in
the lists, and that was the Mazovian Prince Henryk who was bishop here
and who was enamored of the handsome Ryngalla. But Zbyszko was then a
mere youth. For this reason he would be the only one, as sure as amen in
prayer, to challenge this one whom I also have vowed to challenge and who
is present here."

Saying this, he glanced in the direction of Lichtenstein, who was
conversing with the governor (Waywode) of Plock.

But the princess wrinkled her brow and said in stern and dry tones, as
she always did when in an angry mood:

"Whether you vowed or not, you must remember that he is our guest and
whosoever wishes to be our guest must observe decorum."

"I know, most gracious lady," replied Macko. "For that reason when I
adjusted my belt and went to meet him, I restrained myself and thought of
obedience."

"He will obey. He is important among his own people, even the master
builds upon his counsel and nothing is denied to him. May God grant that
your nephew does not meet him at Malborg, especially as Lichtenstein is a
determined and revengeful person."

"He could not well recognize me because he did not see me often. We had
helmets on when we were at Tyniec, after that I went only once to see him
in the Zbyszko affair and that was in the evening. I observed just now
that he looked at me, but seeing that I was engaged in a lengthy
conversation with Your Grace, he turned his eyes in an opposite
direction. He would have recognized Zbyszko, but he only looked at me and
very likely he did not hear of my vow, and has to think of more important
challenges."

"How so?"

"Because it may be that other powerful knights challenged him, such as
Zawisza of Garbow, Powala of Taczew, Marcin of Wrocimowice, Paszko
Zlodziej, and Lis of Targowisko. Every one of those, gracious lady, and
ten like them. So much the more so if they are numerous. It would be
better for him not to have been born, than to have one of those swords
over his head. I shall not only try to forget the challenge, but I have
resolved to endeavor to go with him."

"Why?"

Macko's face assumed a cunning expression like that of a fox.

"That he might give me a safe conduct to travel through the country
belonging to the Knights of the Cross, that will enable me to render
assistance to Zbyszko in case of need."

"Does such proceeding deserve praise?" inquired the princess with a
smile.

"Yes! It does," replied Macko. "If for instance in time of war I were to
attack him from the rear without warning him to face me I should disgrace
myself; but in time of peace if one hangs the enemy upon a hook no knight
need be reproached for such an act."

"Then I will introduce you," replied the princess. She beckoned to
Lichtenstein and introduced Macko; she was of opinion that even if
Lichtenstein should recognize Macko nothing serious would result.

But Lichtenstein did not recognize him, because when he had seen him at
Tyniec he had his helmet on, and after that he had spoken to Macko only
once, and that in the evening, when Macko had begged him to forgive
Zbyszko.

However he bowed proudly, the more so because when he saw the two
exquisitely dressed youths, he thought that they were not Macko's, his
face brightened up a little and he assumed a haughty demeanor as he
always did when he spoke to inferiors.

Then the princess pointing at Macko, said: "This knight is going to
Malborg. I have given him a recommendation to the grand master, but he
heard of your great influence in the Order; he would also like to have a
note from you."

Then she went to the bishop, but Lichtenstein fixed his cold, steely eyes
upon Macko, and asked:

"What motive induces you, sir, to visit our religious and sober capital?"

"An upright and pious motive," replied Macko, looking at Lichtenstein.
"If it were otherwise the gracious princess would not have vouched for
me. But apart from pious vows, I wish also to know your grand master, who
causes peace in the land and who is the most celebrated knight in the
world."

"Those whom your gracious and beneficent princess recommends will not
complain of our poor hospitality. Nevertheless, as far as your wishes to
know the master is concerned, it is not an easy matter. About a mouth
ago, he left for Danzig, thence he was to go to Königsberg, and from that
place proceed to the frontier, where, although a lover of peace, he is
obliged to defend the property of the Order against the violence of the
treacherous Witold."

Hearing this, Macko was apparently so much grieved, that Lichtenstein,
who noticed it, said:

"I see that you were quite as anxious to see the grand master as to
fulfil your religious vows."

"Yes! I am, I am," replied Macko. "Is war against Witold a sure thing?"

"He, himself, began it; he has sworn to help the rebels."

There was silence for a moment.

"Ha! May God help the Order as it deserves!" said Macko. "I see I cannot
make the grand master's acquaintance; let me at least fulfil my vow."

But in spite of these words, he did not know what to do, and with deep
grief he asked himself:

"Where shall I look for Zbyszko, and where shall I find him?"

It was easy to foresee that if the grand master had left Malborg and gone
to war, it was useless to look for Zbyszko there. In any case it was
necessary to get the most accurate information of his whereabouts. Old
Macko was very anxious about it, but he was a man of ready resource, and
he resolved to lose no time, but continue his march next morning. Having
obtained a letter from Lichtenstein with the aid of Princess Alexandra in
whom the _comthur_ had boundless confidence, it was not a difficult task
to obtain. He therefore received a recommendation to the _starosta_ of
Brodnic, and to the Grand Szpitalnik of Malborg, for which he presented a
silver goblet to Lichtenstein, a treasure procured in Breslau, like that
which the knights were accustomed to have near their beds filled with
wine, so that in case of sleeplessness they might have at hand a remedy
for sleep and at the same time pleasure. This act of Macko's liberality
somewhat astonished the Bohemian, who knew that the old knight was not
too eager to lavish presents on anybody, especially on Germans, but Macko
said:

"I did it because I have vowed, and must fight him, and by no means could
I do it to one who has done me some service. To recompense good with evil
is not our custom."

"But such a magnificent goblet! It is a pity," replied the Bohemian,
apparently vexed.

"Don't fear. I do nothing without premeditation," said Macko; "for if the
Lord enables me to overthrow (kill) that German, I shall get back not
only the goblet, but a great many good things I shall acquire with it."

Then they, including Jagienka, began to take counsel among themselves
concerning further action. Macko thought of leaving Jagienka and
Sieciechowa with Princess Alexandra at Plock, owing to the abbot's will,
which was in the possession of the bishop. But Jagienka was entirely
opposed to it; she was even determined to travel by herself; there was no
necessity to have a separate room for night quarters, neither to observe
politeness, nor safety, and various other causes. "Surely I did not leave
Zgorzelice to rusticate at Plock. The will is at the bishop's and cannot
be lost, and as far as they are concerned, when it will be shown that
there is need to remain on the road, it will be of greater advantage to
be left in the care of Princess Anna, than with Princess Alexandra,
because at the former court the Knights of the Cross are not frequent
visitors, and Zbyszko is more appreciated there." Upon that Macko truly
observed that reason does not belong to women, and that it is unbecoming
for a girl "to command" as though she possessed reason. Nevertheless he
did not persist in his opposition, and relented entirely when Jagienka
had taken him aside and, with tears in her eyes, said:

"You know!... God sees my heart, that every morning and evening I pray
for that young lady, Danuska, and for Zbyszko's welfare. God in heaven
knows it best. But you and Hlawa said that she had perished already, that
she would never escape the hands of the Knights of the Cross alive.
Therefore if this has to be so, then I...."

Here she somewhat hesitated and tears streamed down her cheeks and she
became silent.

"Then I want to be near Zbyszko...."

Macko was moved by the tears and words, yet he replied:

"If Danusia is lost, Zbyszko will be so much grieved, that he will care
for none else."

"I don't wish that he should care for me, but I would like to be near
him."

"You know well that I should like to be myself near him as well as you
do, but he would in the first instance be unmindful of you."

"Let him be unmindful. But he will not be," she replied, with a smile,
"for he will not know that it was myself."

"He will recognize you."

"He will not know me. You did not recognize me. You will tell him too
that it was not I but Jasko, and Jasko is exactly like myself. You will
tell him that I have grown up and it will never occur to him that it is
anybody else but Jasko...."

Then the old knight remembered somebody upon his knees before him and
that kneeling one had the appearance of a boy; then there was no harm in
it, specially that Jasko really had exactly the same face, and his hair
after the last cutting had again grown up and he carried it in a net just
as other noble young knights. For this reason Macko gave way, and the
conversation turned to matters concerning the journey. They were to start
on the following day. Macko decided to enter into the country of the
Knights of the Cross, to draw near to Brodnic to get information there,
and if the grand master was still, in spite of Lichtenstein's opinion, at
Malborg, to proceed there, and if not there, to push on along the
frontiers of the country of the Knights of the Cross in the direction of
Spychow, inquiring along the road about the Polish knight and his suit.
The old knight even expected that he would easily get more information of
Zbyszko at Spychow, or at the court of Prince Janusz of Warsaw, than
elsewhere.

Accordingly, they moved on the following day. Spring was fully ushered
in, so that the floods of the Skrwy and Drwency obstructed the way, so
much so that it took them ten days to travel from Plock to Brodnic. The
little town was orderly and clean. But one could see at a glance the
German barbarity by the enormously constructed gallows,[114] which was
erected out of town on the road to Gorczenice, and which was occupied by
the hanging corpses of the executed, one of which was the body of a
woman. Upon the watch-tower and upon the castle floated the flag with the
red hand on a white field. The travelers did not find the count at home,
because he was at the head of the garrison which was drafted of the
neighboring noblemen, at Malborg. That information Macko got from a blind
old Knight of the Cross, who was formerly the count of Brodnic, but later
on he attached himself to the place and castle, and he was the last of
his line. When the chaplain of the place read Lichtenstein's letter to
the count, he invited Macko as his guest; he was very familiar with the
Polish language, because he lived in the midst of a Polish population,
and they easily carried on their conversation in that language. In the
course of their conversation Macko was informed that the count had left
for Malborg six weeks before, being summoned as an experienced knight to
a council of war. Moreover he knew what happened in the capital. When he
was asked about the young Polish knight, he had heard of such a one, he
said, who at first had roused admiration because, in spite of his
youthful appearance, he already appeared as a belted knight. Then he was
successful at a tourney which, according to custom, the grand master
ordained, for foreign guests, before his departure for the war. Little by
little he even remembered that the manly and noble, yet violent brother
of the master, Ulrych von Jungingen, had become very fond of the young
knight and had taken him under his care, provided him with "iron
letters," after which the young knight apparently departed toward the
east. Macko was overjoyed at the news, because he had not the slightest
doubt that the young knight was Zbyszko. It was therefore useless to go
to Malborg, for although the grand master, as well as other officials of
the Order, and knights who remained at Malborg might furnish more
accurate information, they could by no means tell where Zbyszko actually
was. On the other hand Macko himself knew better where Zbyszko might be
found, and it was not difficult to suppose that he was at that moment
somewhere in the neighborhood of Szczytno; or in case he had not found
Danusia there, he was making research in distant eastern castles and
county seats.

Without losing any more time, they also moved toward the east and
Szczytno. They progressed well on the road, the towns and villages were
connected by highways which the Knights of the Cross, or rather the
merchants of the towns, kept in good condition, and which were as good as
the Polish roads, which were under the care of the thrifty and energetic
King Kazimierz. The weather was excellent, the nights were serene, the
days bright, and about noon a dry and warm zephyr-like wind blew which
filled the human breast with health-giving air. The cornfields assumed a
green hue, the meadows were covered with abundant flowers, and the pine
forests began to emit a smell of rosin. Throughout the whole journey to
Lidzbark, thence to Dzialdowa, and further on to Niedzborz, they did not
see a single cloud. But at Niedzborz they encountered a thunderstorm at
night, which was the first one of the spring, but it lasted only a short
time, and in the morning it cleared up and the horizon was brightened
with rosy golden hues. It was so brilliant that the land, as far as the
eye could reach, appeared like one carpet brocaded with jewels. It seemed
as though the whole country smiled back to the sky and rejoiced because
of abundant life.

In such a pleasant morning they wended their course from Niedzborz to
Szczytno. It was not far from the Mazovian frontier. It was an easy
matter to return to Spychow. There was a moment when Macko wanted to do
it, but considering the whole matter he desired to push onward toward the
terrible nest of the Knights of the Cross, in which Zbyszko's loss was
terribly guarded. He then engaged a guide and ordered him to lead them
directly to Szczytno; although there was no need of a guide, because the
road from Niedzborz was a straight one, marked with white milestones.

The guide was a few steps in advance. Behind him were Macko and Jagienka
on horseback; some distance behind them were the Bohemian and
Sieciechowa, and farther back were the wagons surrounded by armed men. It
was an exquisite morning. The rosy glow had not yet disappeared from the
horizon, although the sun had already risen and changed into opals the
dewdrops upon the trees and grasses.

"Are you not afraid to go to Szczytno?" asked Macko.

"I am not afraid," replied Jagienka, "God is with me, because I am an
orphan."

"There is no faith there. The worst dog was Danveld whom Jurand killed
together with Godfried.... The Bohemian told me so. The second after
Danveld, was Rotgier, who succumbed by Zbyszko's axe, but the old man is
a ruthless tyrant, and is sold to the devil.... They know not kindness.
However, I am of opinion that if Danuska has perished she did so by his
own hands. They also say that something happened to her. But the princess
said in Plock that she extricated herself. It is with him that we shall
have to contend at Szczytno.... It is well that we have a letter from
Lichtenstein, and as it appears they, the dog-brothers, are afraid of him
more than they are of the master himself.... They say that he has great
authority and is particularly strict, and is very revengeful, he never
forgives even the slightest offence.... Without this safe conduct I would
not travel so peacefully to Szczytno...."

"What is his name?"

"Zygfried von Löve."

"God grant that we may manage him too."

"God grant it!"

Macko smiled for a moment and then said:

"The princess also told me in Plock: 'Ye grieve and complain like lambs
against wolves, but in this instance three of the wolves are dead,
because the innocent lambs strangled them.' She spoke the truth; it is
actually so."

"What about Danuska and her father?"

"I told the princess the very same thing. But I am really glad, since it
is demonstrated that it is not safe to harm us. We know already how to
handle the helve of an axe, and fight with it. As to Danuska and Jurand,
it is true, I think, and so does the Bohemian, that they are no more in
this world, but in reality nobody can tell. I am very sorry for Jurand,
for he grieved very much for his daughter, and if he perished, it was a
hard death."

"If such a thing is mentioned to me," said Jagienka, "I always think of
papa, who also is no more."

Then she lifted up her eyes and Macko nodded his head and said:

"He rests with God in everlasting bliss, for there is not a better man
than he was in our whole kingdom...."

"Oh there was none like him, none!" sighed Jagienka.

Further conversation was interrupted by the guide, who suddenly checked
his stallion, turned and galloped toward Macko and shouted in a strange
and frightened voice:

"O, for God's sake! Look there, Sir Knight; who is there on the hillside
advancing toward us?"

"Who? Where?" asked Macko.

"Look there! A giant or something of that kind...."

Macko and Jagienka reined in their horses, looked in the direction
indicated by the guide, and they indeed descried, about the middle of the
hill, a figure, which appeared to be of more than human proportions.

"To tell the truth the man seems to be huge," murmured Macko.

Then he frowned, and suddenly spat and said:

"Let the evil charm be upon the dog."

"Why are you conjuring?" asked Jagienka.

"Because I remember that it was on just such a fine morning when Zbyszko
and I were on the road from Tyniec to Krakow we saw such a giant. They
said then that it was Walgierz Wdaly. Bah! It was shown afterward that it
was the lord of Taczew. Still, nothing good resulted from it. Let the
evil charm be upon the dog."

"This one is not a knight, because he is not on horseback," said
Jagienka, straining her eyes. "I even see that he is not armed, but holds
a staff in his left hand...."

"And he is groping in front of him, as though it were night."

"And can hardly move; surely he must be blind?"

"As sure as I live, he is blind--blind!"

They urged their horses forward, and in a little while they halted in
front of the beggar who was slowly coming down the hill and feeling his
way with his staff. He was indeed an immense old man, and appeared to
them, even when they were near him, a giant. They were convinced that he
was stone blind. Instead of eyes he had two red hollows. His right hand
was wanting; instead of it he carried a bandage of dirty rags. His hair
was white and falling down upon his shoulders, and his beard reached his
belt.

"He has neither food, nor companion, not even a dog, but is feeling the
way by himself," exclaimed Jagienka. "For God's sake, we cannot leave him
here without assistance. I do not know whether he will understand me, but
I shall try to talk to him in Polish."

Then she jumped from her horse and approached the beggar, and began to
look for some money in her leather pouch which was suspended from her
belt.

The beggar, when he heard the noise and tramping of the horses, stretched
his staff in front of him and lifted up his head as blind men do.

"Praised be Jesus Christ," said the girl. "Do you understand, little
grandfather, in the Christian fashion?"

But on hearing her sweet, young voice, he trembled; a strange flush
appeared on his face as though from tender emotion; he covered his hollow
orbits with his eyebrows, and suddenly threw down his staff and fell on
his knees, with outstretched arms, in front of her.

"Get up! I will assist you. What ails you?" asked Jagienka in
astonishment.

But he did not reply, but tears rolled down his cheeks, and he groaned:

"A!--a!--a!..."

"For the love of God--Can you not say something?"

"A!--a!"

Then he lifted up his hand, with which he made first the sign of the
cross, then passed his left hand over his mouth.

Jagienka understood it not, and she looked at Macko, who said:

"He seems to indicate that his tongue has been torn out."

"Did they tear out your tongue?" asked the girl.

"A! a! a! a!" repeated the beggar several times, nodding his head.

Then he pointed with his fingers to his eyes; then he moved his left hand
across his maimed right, showing that it was cut off.

Then both understood him.

"Who did it?" inquired Jagienka.

The beggar again made signs of the cross repeatedly in the air.

"The Knights of the Cross," shouted Macko.

As a sign of affirmation the old man let his head drop upon his chest
again.

There was silence for a moment. Macko and Jagienka looked at each other
with alarm, because they had now before them sufficient proof of their
cruelty and the lack of means to chastise those knights who style
themselves "the Knights of the Cross."

"Cruel justice!" said Macko, finally. "They punished him grievously, and
God knows whether deservedly. If I only knew where he belongs, I would
lead him there, for surely he must be from this neighborhood. He
understands our language, for the common people here are the same as in
Mazowsze."

"Did you understand what we said?" asked Jagienka.

The beggar nodded his head.

"Are you of this neighborhood?"

"No!" The beggar shook his head.

"Perhaps he comes from Mazowsze?"

"Yes!" he nodded.

"Under Prince Janusz?"

"Yes!"

"But what were you doing among the Knights of the Cross?"

The old man could give no answer, but his face assumed an air of intense
suffering, so much so that Jagienka's heart beat with greater force out
of sympathy. Even Macko who was not subject to emotion, said:

"I am sure the dog-brothers have wronged him. May be he is innocent."

Jagienka meanwhile put some small change in the beggar's hand.

"Listen," she said, "we will not abandon you. Come with us to Mazowsze,
and in every village we will ask you whether it is yours. May be we shall
guess it. Meanwhile, get up, for we are no saints."

But he did not get up, nay, he even bowed lower and embraced her feet as
much as to place himself under her protection and show his gratitude. Yet
there were marks of certain astonishment, yea even disappointment on his
face. May be that from the voice he thought he was in the presence of a
young woman; but his hand happened to touch the cowskin gaiters which the
knights and armor-bearers were accustomed to wear.

But she said:

"It shall be so; our wagons will soon be here, then you will rest and
refresh yourself. But we are not going to take you now to Mazowsze
because we must first go to Szczytno."

When the old man heard this, he jumped straight up, terror and amazement
were depicted on his face. He opened his arms as though desiring to
obstruct their way, and strange, wild ejaculations proceeded from his
throat, full of terror and dismay.

"What is the matter with you?" exclaimed Jagienka, much frightened.

But the Bohemian, who had already arrived with Sieciechowa, and for some
time had his eyes riveted upon the old beggar, suddenly turned to Macko,
and with a countenance changed, and in a strange voice, said:

"For God's sake, permit me, sir, to speak to him, for you do not know who
he may be."

After this he begged for no further permission, but rushed toward the old
man, placed his hands upon his shoulders, and asked him:

"Do you come from Szczytno?"

The old man appeared to be struck by the sound of his voice, quieted
himself and nodded affirmatively.

"Did you not look there for your child? ..."

A deep groan was the only reply to this question.

Then the Bohemian's face paled a little, he looked sharply for a moment
at the outlines of the old man's face, then he said slowly and
composedly:

"Then you are Jurand of Spychow."

"Jurand!" shouted Macko.

But Jurand was overcome at that moment and fainted. Protracted torture,
want of nourishment, fatigue of the road, swept him from his feet. The
tenth day had now passed since he left, groping his way, erring and
feeling his way with his stick, hungry, fatigued and not knowing where he
was going, unable to ask the way, during the daytime he turned toward the
warm rays of the sun, the night he passed in the ditches along the road.
When he happened to pass through a village, or hamlet, or accidentally
encountered people on the road, he only could beg with his hand and
voice, but seldom a compassionate hand helped him, because as a rule he
was taken for a criminal whom law and justice had chastised. For two days
he had lived on bark and leaves of trees; he was already giving up all
hope of reaching Mazowsze, when suddenly compassionate voices and hearts
of his own countrymen surrounded him; one of whom reminded him of the
sweet voice of his own daughter; and, when at last his own name was
mentioned, he was greatly agitated and unable to bear it any longer; his
heart broke. His thoughts whirled through his head; and, were it not for
the strong arms of the Bohemian which supported him, he would have fallen
with his face in the dust of the road.

Macko dismounted, then both took hold of him, and carried him to the
wagons and laid him upon the soft hay. There, Jagienka and Sieciechowa
nursed him. Jagienka observed that he could not carry the cup of wine to
his lips by himself so she helped him. Immediately after this he fell
into a profound sleep, from which he did not awake till the third day.

Meanwhile they sat down to deliberate.

"To be brief," said Jagienka, "we must go now to Spychow instead of
Szczytno, so that by all means we place him in security among his own
people."

"Look, how can that be carried out," replied Macko. "It is true that we
must send him to Spychow, but there is no necessity for all of us to
accompany him, one wagon is enough to carry him there."

"I do not order it, I only think so, because there we might get much
information from him about Zbyszko, and Danusia."

"But how can you procure information from one who has no tongue?"

"But the very information that he has no tongue, we got from himself. Do
you not see that even without speech we got all that information
necessary. How much more shall we derive when we communicate with him by
motions of the head and hands? Ask him, for instance, whether Zbyszko has
returned from Malborg to Szczytno. You will then see that he will either
nod assent, or deny it."

"It is true," said the Bohemian.

"I too do not dispute it," said Macko. "I know it myself, but I am
accustomed to think first and then talk."

Then he ordered the train to return to the Mazovian frontier. On the way
Jagienka visited now and then the wagon where Jurand slept, fearing that
death might ensue.

"I did not recognize him," said Macko, "but it is no wonder. He was as
strong as an auroch! They said of him that he was among those who could
fight with Zawisza, and now he is reduced to a skeleton."

"We are accustomed to hear all sorts of things," said the Bohemian, "but
nobody would believe it if they were told that Christians had acted thus
with a belted knight, whose patron is also Saint Jerzy."

"God grant that Zbyszko may at least avenge part of his wrongs. Now, look
what a difference there is between them and us. It is true, that three
out of those four dog-brothers are dead, but they died in fight, and none
of them had his tongue or his eyes plucked out in captivity."

"God will punish them," said Jagienka.

But Macko turned to the Bohemian and said:

"How did you recognize him?"

"I did not recognize him at first, although I saw him later than you did.
But it struck me, and the more I looked at him the more so.... Though
when I first saw him he had neither beard nor white hair; he was then a
very powerful lord. How then could I recognize him in the old beggar. But
when the young lady said that we were going to Szczytno, and he began to
howl my eyes were opened at once."

Macko was absorbed in thought, then he said:

"From Spychow, it is necessary to take him to the prince, who will not
leave the wrong perpetrated on such an important person, unpunished."

"They will excuse themselves. They treacherously abducted his child and
they defended themselves. And as to the lord of Spychow they will say
that he lost his tongue, eyes and hand in the fight."

"You are right," said Macko. "They once carried off the prince himself.
He cannot fight them, because he is no match for them; perhaps our king
will assist him. The people talk and talk of a great war, but here we
don't even have a little one."

"He is with Prince Witold."

"Thank God, that at least he thinks that they are worthless. Hey! Prince
Witold is my prince! In craftiness he is unsurpassable. He is more crafty
than all of them together. Those dog-brothers had him cornered once, the
sword was over his head and he was about to perish, but, like a serpent,
he slipped from their hands and bit them.... Be on your guard when he
strikes, but be exceedingly careful when he is patting you."

"Is he so with everybody?"

"He is only so with the Knights of the Cross, but he is a kind and
liberal prince with everybody else."

At this Macko pondered, as though making an effort to recall Prince
Witold.

"He is an entirely different man to the prince here," he said, suddenly.
"Zbyszko ought to have joined him, for under him and through him, one
might achieve the most against the Knights of the Cross."

Then he added:

"Both of us might be found there. Who can tell? For it is there where we
can revenge ourselves most properly."

Then he spoke of Jurand, of his misfortunes and of the unheard of
injuries, inflicted upon him by the Knights of the Cross, who first,
without any cause, murdered his beloved wife, then, revenge for revenge,
they carried off his child, and then mangled him in such a cruel manner,
that even the Tartars could not invent worse torture. Macko and the
Bohemian gnashed their teeth at the thought that even when they set him
free it was with malicious intent of inflicting additional cruelty in
order to frustrate the old knight's intention, who most likely promised
himself that when he was free he would take proper steps to make an
inquest and get information of the whole affair, and then pay them out
with interest.

On the journey to Spychow they passed their time in such dialogues and
thoughts. The clear fine day was succeeded by a quiet starry night; they
therefore did not halt for night quarters, but stopped thrice to feed the
horses. It was yet dark when they passed the frontier, and in the
morning, led by the hired guide, they arrived upon the land of Spychow.

There Tolima apparently held everything with an iron hand, for no sooner
did they enter the forest of Spychow, than two armed men advanced against
them. These, seeing that the newcomers were not soldiers, but a simple
train, not only let them pass without questioning, but placed themselves
in front to show the way, which was inaccessible to those unacquainted
with the moats and marshes.

Tolima and the priest Kaleb received the guests when they arrived in
town. The news that the lord had arrived, and was brought back by pious
people spread like lightning through the garrison. But when they saw him
in the condition as he looked when he left the Knights of the Cross,
there was such an outburst of raging and wild threatening that if there
had yet been any Knights of the Cross confined in the prison of Spychow,
no human power would have been able to save them from a terrible death.

The retainers wished to mount their horses at once and start to the
frontier to capture any Germans and cut off their heads and throw them
under the feet of the master. But Macko restrained them because he knew
that the Germans lived in the towns and cities, whilst the country people
were of the same blood, but lived against their own will under foreign
superior force. But neither the din and noise nor the creaking of the
well-sweeps could awake Jurand, who was carried upon a bearskin into his
own house and put to bed. Father Kaleb was Jurand's intimate friend; they
grew up together and loved each other like brothers; he remained with
him, and prayed that the Redeemer of the world might restore to the
unfortunate Jurand, his eyes, tongue, and hand.

The fatigued travelers went to bed also. Macko who awoke about noon,
ordered Tolima to be called.

He knew from the Bohemian that Jurand, before his departure, had ordered
all his servants to obey their young master, Zbyszko, and that the priest
had informed him of his ownership of Spychow. Macko therefore spoke to
the old man with the voice of a superior:

"I am the uncle of your young master, and as long as he is away, I am the
commander here."

Tolima bowed his grey head, which had something wolfish, and surrounding
his ear with his hand, asked:

"Then you are, sir, the noble knight from Bogdaniec?"

"Yes!" replied Macko. "How do you know it?"

"Because the young master Zbyszko expected and inquired after you here."

Hearing this, Macko stood up straight, and forgetting his dignified
manner, he exclaimed:

"What, Zbyszko in Spychow?"

"Yes, he was here, sir; only two days ago since he left."

"For the love of God! Whence did he come and where did he go?"

"He came from Malborg, and on the road he was at Szczytno. He did not say
where he was going."

"He did not say, eh?"

"May be he told the priest Kaleb."

"Hey! Mighty God, then we crossed each other on the road," he said,
putting his hands on his ribs.

But Tolima put his hand to the other ear:

"What did you say, sir?"

"Where is Father Kaleb?"

"He is at the bedside of the old master."

"Call him, but stop ... I will go myself to see him."

"I will call him," said Tolima, and he left. But before he brought the
priest, Jagienka entered.

"Come here," said Macko. "Do you know the news? Zbyszko was here only two
days ago."

Her face changed in a moment and she almost tottered.

"He was, and left?" she asked, with quickly beating heart. "Where to?"

"It is only two days since he left, but where to I do not know. May be
the priest knows."

"We must go after him," she said, peremptorily.

After a while Father Kaleb entered. Thinking that Macko wanted him for
information concerning Jurand, he anticipated his question by saying:

"He is still asleep."

"I heard that Zbyszko was here?" said Macko.

"He was, but he left two days ago."

"Where to?"

"He did not know himself.... Searching.... He left for the frontier of
Zmudz, where there is war now."

"For the love of God, tell us, father, what you know about him!"

"I only know what I heard from himself. He was at Malborg. May be he
obtained protection there. Because with the order of the master's
brother, who is the first among the knights, Zbyszko could search in all
castles."

"For Jurand and Danuska?"

"Yes; but he does not search for Jurand, because he was told that he was
dead."

"Tell us from the beginning."

"Immediately, but let me first catch breath and regain presence of mind,
for I come from another world."

"How so?"

"From that world which cannot be reached on horseback, but through
prayer.... I prayed at the feet of the Lord Jesus that He may have mercy
upon Jurand."

"You have asked for a miracle. Have you that power?" asked Macko, with
great curiosity.

"I have no power whatever, but I have a Saviour, who, if He wished, could
restore to Jurand his eyes, tongue and hand...."

"If He only wanted to do so He could," replied Macko. "Nevertheless you
asked for an impossible thing."

Father Kaleb did not reply; possibly because he did not hear it; his eyes
were still closed, as if absent-minded, and in reality it was obvious
that he was meditating on his prayer.

Then he covered his eyes with his hands and remained so for a while in
silence. Finally he shook himself, rubbed his eyes with his hands, and
said:

"Now, ask."

"In what manner did Zbyszko attack the Justice of Sambinsk?"

"He is no more the Justice of Sambinsk...."

"Never mind that.... You understand what I am asking; tell me what you
know about it."

"He fought at a tourney. Ulrych liked to fight in the arena. There were
many knights, guests at Malborg, and the master ordered public games.
Whilst Ulrych was on horseback the strap of the saddle broke and it would
have been an easy matter for Zbyszko to throw him from his horse; but he
lowered his spear to the ground and even assisted him."

"Hey! You see!" exclaimed Macko, turning toward Jagienka. "Is this why
Ulrych likes him?"

"This is the reason of his love for Zbyszko. He refused to tilt against
him with sharp weapons, neither with the lance, and has taken a liking to
him. Zbyszko related his trouble to him, and he, being zealous of his
knightly honor, fell into a great passion and led Zbyszko to his brother,
the master, to lodge a complaint. May God grant him redemption for this
deed, for there are not many among them who love justice. Zbyszko also
told me that de Lorche, owing to his position and wealth, was of much
help to him, and testified for him in everything."

"What was the result of that testimony?"

"It resulted in the vigorous order of the grand master to the _comthur_
of Szczytno, to send at once to Malborg all the prisoners who were
confined in Szczytno, including even Jurand. Concerning Jurand, the
_comthur_ replied that he had died from his wounds and was buried there
in the church-yard. He sent the other prisoners, including a milkmaid,
but our Danusia was not among them."

"I know from the armor-bearer Hlawa," said Macko, "that Rotgier, whom
Zbyszko killed whilst at the court of Prince Janusz, also spoke in the
same manner about a certain milkmaid whom they captured whom they took
for Jurand's daughter, but when the princess asked: 'How could they
mistake Danusia for a common girl, since they knew and had seen the true
one, Danusia?'" "You are right," he replied, "but I thought they had
forgotten the real Danusia." "This same thing the _comthur_ had written
to the master that that girl was not a prisoner but she was under their
care, that they had at first rescued her from the robbers, who had sworn
that she was Jurand's daughter, but transformed."

"Did the master believe it?"

"He did not know whether to believe or not, but Ulrych was more incensed
than ever, and influenced his brother to send an official of the Order
with Zbyszko to Szczytno, which was done. When they arrived at Szczytno,
they did not find the old _comthur_, because he had departed to the
eastern strongholds against Witold, to the war; but a subordinate, whom
the magistrate ordered to open all prisons and underground dungeons. They
searched and searched, but found nothing. They even detained people for
information. One of them told Zbyszko that he could get much information
from the chaplain, because the chaplain understood the dumb executioner.
But the old _comthur_ had taken the executioner with him, and the
chaplain left for Königsberg to attend a religious gathering.... They met
there often in order to lodge complaints against the Knights of the Cross
to the pope, because even the poor priests were oppressed by them...."

"I am only surprised that they did not find Jurand," observed Macko.

"It is obvious that the old _comthur_ let him go. There was more
wickedness in that than if they had cut his throat. They wished that he
should suffer excruciatingly more than a man of his standing could
endure.--Blind, dumb and maimed.--For God's sake!... He could neither
find his home, nor the road, not even ask for a morsel of bread.... They
thought that he would die somewhere behind a fence from hunger, or be
drowned in some river.... What did they leave him? Nothing, but the means
of discerning the different degrees of misery. And this meant torture
upon torture.... He might have been sitting somewhere near the church, or
along the road, and Zbyszko passed by without recognizing him. May be he
even heard Zbyszko's voice, but he could not hail him.... Hey!... I
cannot keep myself from weeping!... God wrought a miracle, and that is
the reason why I think that He will do a great deal more, although this
prayer proceeds from my sinful lips."

"What else did Zbyszko say? Where did he go to?" asked Macko.

"He said: 'I know that Danuska was at Szczytno, but they have carried her
off, or starved her. Old von Löve did it, and so help me God, I will not
rest until I get him.'"

"Did he say so? Then it is sure that the _comthur_ left for the east, but
now there is war."

"He knew that there was a war, and that is the cause why he left for the
camp of Prince Witold. He also said, he would succeed sooner in scoring a
point against the Knights of the Cross through him, than through the
king."

"So, to Prince Witold!" exclaimed Macko.

Then he turned to Jagienka.

"Did I not tell you the very same thing. As I live, I said: 'that we
should also have to go to Witold.' ..."

"Zbyszko hoped," said Father Kaleb, "that Prince Witold would make an
inroad into Prussia and take some of the castles there."

"If time were given to him, he would not delay," replied Macko. "Praise
God now, we know at least where to look for Zbyszko."

"We must press on at once," said Jagienka.

"Silence!" said Macko. "It is not becoming for a boy to interrupt the
council."

Then he stared at her, as though to remind her that she was a boy; she
remembered and was silent.

Macko thought for awhile, and said:

"Now we shall surely find Zbyszko, for he is not moving aimlessly; he is
at the side of Prince Witold. But it is necessary to know whether he is
still searching for something in this world, besides the heads of the
Knights of the Cross which he vowed to get."

"How can that be ascertained?" asked Father Kaleb.

"If we knew that the priest of Szczytno had already returned from the
synod. I should like to see him," said Macko. "I have letters from
Lichtenstein to Szczytno and I can go there without fear."

"It was not a synod gathering, but a congress," replied Father Kaleb,
"and the chaplain must have returned long ago."

"Very well. Everything is upon my own shoulders. I shall take Hlawa with
me, and two servants, with proper horses and go."

"Then to Zbyszko?" asked Jagienka.

"Then to Zbyszko," replied Macko. "But you must wait for me here until I
return. I also think that I shall not be detained there for more than
three or four days. I am accustomed to mosquitoes and fatigue. Therefore,
I ask you, Father Kaleb, to give me a letter to the chaplain of Szczytno.
He will believe me without hesitation if I show your letter, for there is
always great confidence among the clergy."

"The people speak well of that priest," said Father Kaleb, "and if there
is one who knows something, it is he."

He prepared a letter in the evening, and in the morning, before sunrise,
old Macko left Spychow.




CHAPTER V.

Jurand awoke from his long sleep in the presence of the priest; he forgot
what had happened to him and where he was; he began to feel around in bed
and at the wall. The priest caught him in his arms and wept, tenderly
kissing him, and said:

"It is I! You are at Spychow! Brother Jurand!... God tried you.... But
you are now among your own.... Good people brought you here. Brother,
dear brother, Jurand."

Then he repeatedly pressed him to his breast, kissed his brow and his
hollow eyes; but Jurand appeared to be stupefied and unconscious. At last
he moved his left hand toward his head and brow as though wishing to
dispel the cloud of sleep and stupor from his mind.

"Do you hear and understand me?" asked Father Kaleb.

Jurand moved his head affirmatively. Then he stretched his hand toward
the silver crucifix on the wall which he had once taken from the neck of
a powerful German knight, pressed it to his lips and heart and then gave
it to Father Kaleb.

"I understand you, brother!" said the priest. "He remained with you. He
is able to restore to you all you lost, just as He delivered you from
captivity."

Jurand pointed with his hand heavenward, a sign that all will there be
returned to him. Then his hollow eyes were filled with tears, and an
indescribable pain was depicted upon his tortured face.

Father Kaleb having observed his painful emotion concluded that Danuska
was dead. He therefore knelt at the bedside and said:

"O Lord! Grant her eternal rest in peace, and everlasting bliss be hers.
Amen."

Then Jurand lifted himself up and began to twist his head and move his
hand as though wishing to check the priest, but the priest did not
understand. At that moment old Tolima entered, and with him were the
garrison of the town, the former and present elders of the peasants of
Spychow, foresters, fishermen, etc., because the news of Jurand's return
had rapidly spread throughout Spychow. They embraced his feet, kissed his
hand and bitterly wept when they saw the old and maimed cripple who
looked like another being, not in the least the once invincible knight,
the terror of the Knights of the Cross. But some of them, especially
those who used to accompany him on his expeditions, were enraged; their
faces grew pale and determined. After a while they crowded together and
whispered, pulled, and pushed each other. Finally, a certain Sucharz, a
member of the garrison and village blacksmith, approached Jurand, clasped
his feet and said:

"We intended to go to Szczytno, as soon as they brought you here, but
that knight, who brought you, hindered us. Permit us, sir, now. We cannot
leave them unpunished. Let it be now as it was long ago. They shall not
disgrace us and remain scathless. We used to fight them under your
command. Now we will march under Tolima, or without him. We must conquer
Szczytno and shed the dog-blood. So help us God!"

"So help us God!" repeated several voices.

"To Szczytno!"

"We must have blood!"

Forthwith a burning fire took hold of the inflammable Mazur hearts, their
brows began to wrinkle, their eyes to glisten. Here and there was heard
the sound of gnashing teeth. But in a moment the noise ceased, and all
eyes were turned toward Jurand, whose cheeks reddened and he assumed his
wonted warlike appearance. He rose and again felt for the crucifix upon
the wall. The people thought that he was looking for a sword. He found it
and took it down. His face paled, he turned toward the people, lifted his
hollow eyes heavenward and moved the crucifix in front of him.

Silence reigned. It was beginning to get dark; the twittering of birds
retiring upon the roofs and trees of the village, penetrated through the
open windows. The last red rays of the setting sun penetrated into the
room and fell upon the raised cross and upon Jurand's white hair.

Sucharz, the blacksmith, looked at Jurand, glanced at his comrades and
looked again at Jurand. Finally, he bid them good-bye and left the room
on tiptoe. The others followed suit. When they reached the courtyard they
halted, and the following whispered conversation ensued:

"What now?"

"We are not going. How then?"

"He did not permit."

"Leave vengeance with God. It is obvious that even his soul has undergone
a change."

It was so indeed.

Those who remained were Father Kaleb and old Tolima. Jagienka with
Sieciechowa, who were attracted by the armed crowd in the courtyard, came
to learn what was the matter.

Jagienka, who was more daring and sure of herself than her companion,
approached Jurand.

"God help you, Knight Jurand," she said. "We are those who brought you
here from Prussia."

His face brightened at the sound of her young voice. It was obvious that
it brought back to his mind in proper order all the events which had
happened upon the road from Szczytno, because he showed his thankfulness
by inclining his head and placing his hand upon his chest several times.
Then she related to him how they first met him, how Hlawa, the Bohemian,
who was Zbyszko's armor-bearer, recognized him, and finally how they
brought him to Spychow. She also told him about herself, that she and her
companion bore a sword, helmet and shield for the knight Macko of
Bogdaniec, the uncle of Zbyszko, who left Bogdaniec to find his nephew,
and now he had left for Szczytno and would return to Spychow within three
or four days.

At the mention of Szczytno, Jurand did not fall down nor was he overcome
as he was when upon the road to that place, but great trouble was
depicted upon his face. But Jagienka assured him that Macko was as clever
as he was manly, and would not let himself be fooled by anybody. Besides
that, he possessed letters from Lichtenstein, which enabled him to travel
in safety everywhere.

These words quieted him considerably. It was obvious that he wished to
get information about many other things. But as he was unable to do it,
he suffered in his soul. This the clever girl at once observed and said;

"We shall often, talk about things. Then everything will be told."

Then he smiled and stretched out his hand and placed it upon her head for
a while; it seemed he was blessing her. He thanked her indeed very much,
but as a matter of fact he was touched by the youthful voice like the
warbling of a bird.

When he was not engaged in prayer, as he was almost all day, or asleep,
he wished to have her near him, and when she was not there, he yearned to
hear her speak, and endeavored by all means in his power to call the
attention of the priest and Tolima that he wished to have that delightful
boy near him.

She came often, because her tender heart sincerely pitied him. Besides
that, she passed the time in waiting for Macko, whose stay at Szcytno
seemed to her uncommonly long.

He was to return within three days, and now the fourth and fifth have
passed by and it is already the evening of the sixth, and he has not yet
returned. The alarmed girl was ready to ask Tolima to send a searching
party, when suddenly the guard upon the watch-oak signalled the approach
of some horsemen, and in a few moments was heard the tramp of the horses
upon the drawbridge, and Hlawa accompanied by a courier appeared in the
courtyard. Jagienka who had left her room, to watch in the courtyard
before their arrival, rushed toward Hlawa before he dismounted.

"Where is Macko?" she asked, with beating heart and alarmed.

"He went to Prince Witold, and he ordered you to stay here."




CHAPTER VI.

When Jagienka realized the import of Macko's message, that she was to
remain at Spychow, she was almost stunned. Grief and anger rendered her
speechless for a while, and with wide opened eyes she stared at the
Bohemian, which told him how unwelcome was the information he brought
her. He therefore said:

"I should also like to inform you, what we heard at Szczytno. There is
much and important news."

"Is it from Zbyszko?"

"No, from Szczytno. You know...."

"Let the servant unsaddle the horses, and you come with me."

The order was executed and they went into her room.

"Why does Macko leave us here? Why must we remain at Spychow, and why did
you return here?" she asked in one breath.

"I returned," replied Hlawa, "because the knight Macko ordered me. I
wished to go to the war, but an order is an order. Knight Macko told me
thus: 'Return, take care of the lady of Zgorzelice, and wait for news
from me. You may have to escort her to Zgorzelice, since she cannot go
there by herself.'"

"For the love of God, tell me what happened! Did they find Jurand's
daughter? Has Macko gone there to search for Zbyszko? Did you see her?
Have you spoken to her? Why have you not brought her with you? Where is
she now?"

Hearing such an avalanche of questions, the Bohemian bowed to the girl's
feet and said:

"Let it not displease your grace if I do not reply to all questions at
once, for it is impossible for me to do so, but, I shall if nothing
hinders, endeavor to answer them one by one in the order according as
they were put."

"Well, did they find her?"

"No, but there is sure information that she was at Szczytno, and that she
was probably removed to a distant castle in the east."

"But why must we remain at Spychow?"

"Bah! If she were found?... It is true, as your grace is aware.... There
would be no reason for remaining here...."

Jagienka was silent, only her cheeks reddened. But the Bohemian said;

"I thought and am still of the opinion, that we shall not be able to
rescue her alive from the talons of those dog-brothers. But everything is
in God's hands. I must relate to you from the beginning. We arrived at
Szczytno. Well. Knight Macko showed Lichtenstein's letter to the bailiff,
who kissed the seal in our presence, and received us as guests. He did
not suspect us in the least and had full confidence in us, so that if we
had had a few of our men in the neighborhood we could easily have taken
possession of the castle. There was no hindrance to our interview with
the priest. We conversed for two nights; we informed ourselves of strange
things which the priest got from the executioner."

"But the executioner is dumb."

"He is, but the priest speaks to him by signs, and he understands him
perfectly well. They are strange things. It must have been the finger of
God. That executioner cut off Jurand's hand, tore out his tongue, and put
out his eyes. That executioner is such that where men are concerned he
would not shrink from inflicting any torture, even if he were ordered to
pull the teeth of the victim; but, where girls are concerned, he would
not lift up his hand to kill them, or to assist in torturing them. The
reason for this determination is, because he too had an only daughter
whom he loved dearly, and whom the Knights of the Cross have...."

Here Hlawa stopped; he knew not how to continue his narrative. This
Jagienka observed, and she said:

"What do I care about the executioner?"

"Because this is in order," he replied. "When our young master quartered
the knight Rotgier the old _comthur_ Zygfried almost raved. They said at
Szczytno that Rotgier was the _comthur's_ son. The priest confirmed the
story, that no father ever loved his son as much as Zygfried loved
Rotgier; for his thirst for vengeance he sold his soul to the devil. All
this the executioner saw. The _comthur_ talked with the slain Rotgier, as
I am talking to you, and the corpse smiled; then he gnashed his teeth,
and for joy he licked his livid lips with his black tongue when the old
_comthur_ promised him Zbyszko's head. But as he could not then get
Zbyszko, he ordered Jurand to be tortured in the meanwhile and then
placed Jurand's tongue and hand in Rotgier's coffin, who began to devour
it...."

"It is terrible to hear. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
amen," said Jagienka. Then she got up and threw a log of wood on the fire
because it was night already.

"How," continued Hlawa, "how will it be in the day of judgment? Because
then everything belonging to Jurand must be restored to him. But that
surpasses human understanding. The executioner then saw everything.
Gorged with human flesh, the old _comthur_ went to take Jurand's
daughter, because the other, it seems, whispered to him that he wanted to
drink innocent human blood, after his meal. But the executioner, as I
have already told you, who did everything, but would not hurt or kill a
girl, placed himself upon the staircase.... The priest said that
otherwise the executioner is stupid and half a brute, but in that matter
he was wide awake, and when necessary he has no equal in cunning. He sat
on the stairs and waited, until the _comthur_ arrived and heard the
breathing of the executioner. He saw something shining and started back
for he thought it was the devil. The executioner struck him in the neck
with his fist, so that he thought the bones were completely shattered. He
did not die, but fainted, and became sick with fright. When he recovered,
he was afraid to repeat this attempt upon Jurandowna."

"But they have carried her off."

They have, but they have taken the executioner with her. The _comthur_
did not know that it was he who defended Jurandowna. He thought that some
supernatural power, good or evil, did it. He had taken the executioner
with him and would not leave him at Szczytno. He was afraid of his
testimony, for although dumb, he could in case of a trial testify by
signs that which he told the priest. Moreover, the priest finally told
Macko that old Zygfried no more threatens Jurandowna, because he is
afraid; and although he ordered somebody else to harm her, nothing will
happen to her as long as Diedrich lives; he will not permit it,
especially as he has already protected her once."

"But does the priest know where they have taken her?"

"Not exactly, but he heard them talk of a certain place called Ragniec,
which castle is situated not far from the Lithuanian or Zmudz frontiers."

"What did Macko say concerning that?"

"Pan Macko told me the following day: 'If it is so, then I can and will
find her, but I must hasten to Zbyszko, to see that he is not entrapped
by them through Jurandowna as they did with Jurand. They have only to
tell him that if he comes by himself they will give her up to him and he
would not hesitate to go; then old Zygfried would wreak his vengeance
upon him, for the death of Rotgier, in unheard-of tortures.'"

"True! It is true!" exclaimed Jagienka, alarmed. "If that is the reason
of his hurried departure, then he is right."

But after a moment she turned to Hlawa and said:

"Nevertheless he made a mistake in sending you here. There is no need to
guard us here. Old Tolima can do it as well. You, being strong and
intrepid, could be of much help to Zbyszko there."

"But who would guard you in case you were to go to Zgorzelice?"

"In such a case they would have to convey the news by somebody; they will
do it through you. You will precede them and take us home."

The Bohemian kissed her hand, and asked, with emotion:

"But during the time of your sojourn here?"

"God watches over orphans! I shall remain here."

"Will you not find it tedious? What will you do here?"

"I shall ask the Lord Jesus to restore happiness to Zbyszko and keep all
of you in good health."

Then she burst out weeping, and the armor-bearer bowed again at her feet,
and said:

"You are indeed like an angel in heaven."




CHAPTER VII.

But she wiped away her tears, took the armor-bearer with her and went to
Jurand to tell him the news. She found him in a bright room, the tame
she-wolf at his feet, sitting with Father Kaleb, old Tolima and
Sieciechowa. Supporting their heads with their hands, absorbed in
thought, and sorrowful, they were listening to a poem which the village
beadle, who was also the _rybalt_, accompanied by his lute, sang of
Jurand's former exploits against the "abominable Knights of the Cross."
The room was lit up by the moon. A very warm and quiet night followed a
scorching day. The windows were open, and beetles from the linden in the
courtyard, were seen crawling upon the floor. In front of the fireplace,
where there were yet glimmering a few embers, sat the servant sipping a
mixture of hot mead, wine and spices.

The _rybalt_, or beadle, and servant of Father Kaleb, was about to begin
another song, entitled "The Happy Encounter." "Jurand is riding, riding,
upon a chestnut-colored horse," when Jagienka entered and said:

"The Lord Jesus be praised!"

"Forever and ever," replied Father Kaleb. Jurand sat in an armchair, with
his elbows upon the arms, but when he heard her voice he immediately
turned toward her, and began to greet her, nodding his milk white head.

"Zbyszko's armor-bearer has arrived from Szczytno," said the girl, "and
has brought news from the priest. Macko will not return to this place. He
went to Prince Witold."

"Why will he not return here?" asked Father Kaleb.

Then she told all she had heard from the Bohemian. She related how
Zygfried avenged himself for Rotgier's death; how the old _comthur_
intended to destroy Danusia for Rotgier to drink her innocent blood; and
how the executioner defended her. She even told them of Macko's hopes to
find Danusia, with Zbyszko's assistance, rescue her, bring her to
Spychow; and for that very reason he had gone to Zbyszko and ordered her
to remain here.

Be it from grief or sorrow her voice trembled at the end. When she
finished, silence prevailed for a while in the room and only the chirping
of the crickets, from the linden in the courtyard, penetrated through the
open windows and sounded like a heavy rainfall. All eyes were directed
toward Jurand, who with closed eyelids and head bent backward, showed no
sign of life.

"Do you hear?" finally asked the priest.

But Jurand kept on bending his head, lifted up his left hand and pointed
toward the sky. The light of the moon fell directly upon his face, upon
the white hair, upon the blind eyes; and there was depicted in that face
such indescribable suffering, together with complete hope and resignation
in God's will, that it appeared to all present that he only saw with his
soul which was freed from the fetters of the body, and had renounced once
for all earthly life, in which nothing was left for him.

Silence again reigned and the noise of the crickets was still audible.

But almost with filial love, Jagienka was suddenly overcome with great
pity for the unhappy old man. At the first impulse she rushed to his
side, grasped his hand and covered it with kisses and tears.

"And I too am an orphan!" she exclaimed, with swelling heart. "I am not a
boy, but am Jagienka of Zgorzelice. Macko took me in order to protect me
from bad people. Now I shall remain with you until God restores Danusia
to you."

Jurand was not at all surprised; he seemed to know it already; he only
took hold of her and pressed her to his breast, and she continued to kiss
his hand and spoke in a broken and sobbing voice:

"I will remain with you. Danuska will return.... Then I shall return to
Zgorzelice. God protects the orphans! The Germans have also killed my
father. But your beloved one is alive and will return. Grant this, O most
merciful God! Grant this, O most holy and compassionate Mother!..." Then
Father Kaleb suddenly knelt and with a solemn voice began to pray:

"Lord have mercy upon us!"

"Christ have mercy upon us!" immediately responded the Bohemian and
Tolima. Then all knelt down, because it was the Litany, which is not only
said at the moment of death, but also for the delivery of dear and near
persons from the danger of death. Jagienka knelt; Jurand slipped down
from his seat and knelt, and all began to pray in chorus:

"Lord have mercy upon us!"

"Christ have mercy upon us!"

"O God the Father in Heaven, have mercy upon us!"

"Son of God, Redeemer of the world, have mercy upon us!"

Their praying voices, "Have mercy upon us!" were mingled with the
chirping of the crickets.

The tame she-wolf suddenly got up from the bearskin upon which she was
crouching, in front of Jurand, approached the open window, supported
herself upon the sill, turned her triangular jaws toward the moon and
howled in a low and plaintive voice.


END OF PART SIXTH.




PART SEVENTH




CHAPTER I.

To a certain extent the Bohemian adored Jagienka, but his love for the
charming Sieciechowna was on the increase, nevertheless his young and
brave heart caused him to be eager above all for war. He returned to
Spychow with Macko's message, in obedience to his master, and therefore
he felt a certain satisfaction that he would be protected by both
masters, but when Jagienka herself told him what was the truth, that
there was none to oppose him in Spychow and that his duty was to be with
Zbyszko, he gladly assented. Macko was not his immediate authority. It
was therefore an easy matter to justify himself before him, that he had
left Spychow at the command of his mistress to go to Zbyszko.

But Jagienka did it purposely, that the valiant and clever armor-bearer
might always be of assistance to Zbyszko and save him in many dangerous
situations. He had already shown his ability at the prince's hunting
party in which Zbyszko nearly perished from the attack of a urus; much
more so would he be useful in war, specially such as the present one on
the Zmudz frontier. Glowacz was so eager for the field, that when he left
Jurand with Jagienka he embraced her feet and said:

"I desire to kneel before you at once and beg you for a good word for my
journey."

"How is that?" asked Jagienka. "Do you want to go to-day?"

"Early to-morrow, so that the horses may rest during the night, for the
expedition to Zmudz is very far."

"Then go so that you may easily overtake Macko."

"It will be a hard task. The old gentleman is hardy in all kinds of toil,
and he is several days ahead of me. In order to shorten my way I shall
have to travel through Prussia, through pathless forests. Pan Macko has
letters from Lichtenstein which he can show when necessary; but I have
nothing to show, I shall therefore be obliged to make a free road for
myself."

Then he placed his hand upon his sword. At that Jagienka exclaimed:

"Be careful! It is necessary to travel as fast as possible, but on the
other hand you must be careful to avoid being caught and imprisoned by
the Knights of the Cross. Also be careful whilst you are in the wild
forests, for there are just now all kinds of gods whom the people of that
land who have not been converted to Christianity worship. I remember what
Macko and Zbyszko said about them in Zgorzelice."

"I too remember what they said about those gods, but I am not afraid of
them; they are puny things and no gods, and they have no power whatever.
I shall manage them as well as the Germans whom I shall meet in the field
and make it hot for them."

"But you can't kill gods! Tell me, what did you hear of them among the
Germans?"

Then the discreet Bohemian wrinkled his brow, stopped for a moment, and
said:

"Killing or no killing, we informed ourselves of everything, specially
Pan Macko, who is cunning and able to circumvent every German. He asks
for one thing or another, or pretends to salute, and says nothing that
might betray him, and whatever he says is to the point and draws his
information as the angler draws out the fish. If your grace will listen
patiently I will tell you: Some years ago, Prince Witold planned an
expedition against the Tartars, but wished to be at peace with the
Germans; he therefore ceded to them the province of Zmudz. Then there was
great friendship and peace. He allowed them to build castles. Bah, he
even assisted them. They, including the master, met at an island, where
they ate, drank and showed each other much friendship. They were even
permitted to hunt in those wild forests. When the poor people of Zmudz
rose in arms against the rule of the Order, Prince Witold helped the
Germans with his own soldiers. The people throughout Lithuania murmured
that the prince was against his own blood. All this the under-bailiff of
Szczytno related to us; he praised the courts of the Knights of the Cross
in Zmudz because they sent priests to that country to convert the people
to Christianity and feed them in time of dearth. Something of that kind
was done, for the grand master, who fears God more than the others,
ordered it. But instead of it, they gathered together the children and
sent them to Prussia, and they outraged the women in the presence of
their husbands and brothers; whoever dared to oppose it was hanged. This,
lady, is the cause of the present war."

"And Prince Witold?"

"The prince had his eyes shut for a long time to the wrongs of the
oppressed people of Zmudz, and he loved the Knights of the Cross. It is
not long since the princess, his wife, went to Prussia to visit Malborg.
They received her with great pomp, as though she were the queen of
Poland. That happened quite recently! They showered gifts upon her, and
gave numerous tourneys, feasts, and all kinds of fètes wherever she went.
The people thought that it would result in everlasting friendship between
the Knights of the Cross and Prince Witold. But suddenly his heart was
changed...."

"This confirms what I heard from my lamented father and Macko more than
once, that the prince often changed his heart."

"Not often toward the upright, but frequently toward the Knights of the
Cross, owing to the very reason that they themselves keep no faith, and
are unreliable in everything. They asked him to give up deserters to
them. His reply was that he would give up only those of ill repute, but
free men he would not, because, as such, they were entitled to live
wherever they chose. Just now they are soured and engaged in writing
letters, complaining against each other. The people of Zmudz, now in
Germany, heard of it; they left the garrisons, stirred up the people in
the small castles, and now they make raids in Prussia itself and Prince
Witold not only does not hinder them any longer, but he also laughs at
the German trouble, and assists the Zmudzians secretly."

"I understand," said Jagienka. "But if he assists them secretly, open war
is not yet declared."

"There is open war with the Zmudz people, but as a matter of fact there
is also war against Prince Witold. Germans are coming from all parts of
the country to defend their strongholds on the frontier and are
contemplating a great expedition to invade Zmudz. But they cannot execute
it before the winter season arrives, because it is a swampy country and
impossible for them to fight in, and where a Zmudz warrior could pass, a
German knight would stick fast. Winter, therefore, would be favorable to
the Germans. As soon as it begins to freeze, the whole German forces will
move, but Prince Witold will come to the aid of the Zmudz people. He will
come with the permission of the king of Poland, since the king is the
head of all great princes and, above all, Lithuania."

"Then there will be war against the king?"

"The people here, as well as in Germany, say that there will be war. The
Knights of the Cross are probably now collecting forces in all courts,
with cowls upon their heads like thieves. For every Knight of the Cross
knows that the king's army is no joke, and, most likely, the Polish
knights would easily vanquish them."

Jagienka sighed, and said:

"A boy is always more happy than a girl is. Here is proof of what I say.
You will go to the war, as Zbyszko and Macko went, and we shall remain
here, in Spychow."

"How can it be otherwise, lady? It is true that you remain here, but
perfectly secure. The name of Jurand I have learned in Szczytno, is still
a terror to the Germans, and if they learn that he is now at Spychow they
will be terrified at once."

"We know that they will not dare to come here, because the swamps and old
Tolima defend this place, but it will be hard to sit here without news."

"I will let you know if anything occurs. Even before we departed for
Szczytno, two good young noblemen volunteered to start for the war.
Tolima was unable to prevent it, because they are noblemen and come from
Lenkawice. We shall now depart together and if anything occurs, one of
them will be sent to you with the news."

"May God reward you. I have always known that you are wise in any
adventure, but for your willingness and good heart toward me I shall
thank you as long as I live."

Then the Bohemian knelt upon one knee and said:

"I have had nothing but kindness from you. Pan Zych captured me near
Boleslawce, when I was a mere boy, and set me free without any ransom.
But I preferred captivity under you to freedom. God grant that I might
shed my blood for you, my lady."

"God lead you and bring you back!" replied Jagienka, holding out her hand
to him.

But he preferred to bow to her knees and kiss her feet to honor her the
more. Then he lifted up his head and said submissively and humbly:

"I am a simple boy, but I am a nobleman and your faithful servant. Give
me therefore some token of remembrance for my journey. Do not refuse me
this request; war time is approaching and I take Saint Jerzy to witness
that I shall always try to be one of those in front, but never in the
rear."

"What kind of souvenir do you ask for?"

"Girdle me with a strip of cloth for the road, so that if I fall in the
field my pain may be lessened in having, when dying, the belt you
fastened round my body."

Then he bowed again at her feet, folded his arms and gazed into her eyes
imploringly.

But Jagienka's face assumed a troubled look, and after a while she
replied as if with involuntary bitterness:

"O, my dear! Ask me not for that, my girdling will be of no use to you.
Whoever is happy can impart happiness to you. Only such an one can bring
you fortune. But I, surely, have nothing but sorrow! Alas! I can give
happiness neither to you nor others; for that which I do not possess
myself I cannot impart to others. I feel so, Hlawa. There is nothing,
now, for me in the world, so, so that...."

Then she suddenly ceased, because she knew that if she said another word
it would cause her to burst into tears, even so her eyes became clouded.
But the Bohemian was greatly moved, because he understood that it would
be equally bad for her, in case she had to return to Zgorzelice and be in
the neighborhood of the rapacious villains Cztan and Wilk: or to remain
in Spychow, where sooner or later Zbyszko might come with Danusia. Hlawa
seemed to understand Jagienka's troubles, but he had no remedy for them.
He therefore embraced her knees again and repeated.

"Oh! I will die for you! I will die!"

"Get up!" she said. "Let Sieciechowna gird you for the war, or let her
give you some other keepsake, because you have been friends for some time
past."

Then she began to call her, and Sieciechowna entered from the neighboring
room immediately. She had heard before she entered, but she dared not
enter although she burned with desire to take leave of the handsome
armor-bearer. She therefore was frightened and confused, and her heart
was beating violently when she entered; her eyes were glistening with
tears, and with lowered eyelashes she stood before him; she looked like
an apple blossom, and could not utter a single word.

Hlawa worshipped Jagienka, but with deepest respect, and he dared not
reach her even in mind. He often thought familiarly about Sieciechowna
because the blood in his veins coursed rapidly at the very sight of her
and he could not withstand the presence of her charms. But now his heart
was taken by her beauty, especially when he beheld her confusion and
tears, through which he saw affection as one sees the golden bed of a
crystal stream.

He therefore turned toward her and said:

"Do you know that I am going to war. Perchance I shall perish. Will you
be sorry for me?"

"I shall feel very sorry for you!" replied the girl, in soft tones. Then
she shed copious tears as she was always ready to do. The Bohemian was
moved and began to kiss her hands, smothering his desire for more
familiar kisses in the presence of Jagienka.

"Gird him or give him something else as a memento for the road, so that
he may fight under your colors and in your name."

But Sieciechowna had nothing to give him, because she was attired in
boy's clothes. She searched for something but found neither ribbon, nor
anything that could be fastened, because her women's dresses were still
packed up in the baskets, which had not been touched since they left
Zgorzelice. She was therefore greatly perplexed until Jagienka came to
her rescue by advising her to give him the little net upon her head.

"My God!" Hlawa joyously exclaimed, "let it be the net, attach it to the
helmet, and woe betide that German who attempts to reach it."

Then Sieciechowna took it down with both hands and immediately her bright
golden hair fell upon her shoulders and arms. At the sight of her
beautiful disheveled hair, Hlawa's face changed, his cheeks flamed and
then paled. He took the net, kissed it, and hid it in his breast. Then he
embraced Jagienka's feet once more, and did the same, though a little
more strongly than was necessary, to Sieciechowna. Then with the words:
"Let it be so," he left the house without another word.

Although he was about to travel and in want of rest, he did not go to
sleep. With his two companions who were to accompany him to Zmudz, he
drank throughout the whole night. But he was not intoxicated, and at the
first ray of light he was already in the courtyard where the horses were
ready for the journey.

From the membrane window above the carriage house two blue eyes were
looking upon the courtyard. When the Bohemian observed them, he wished to
approach and show the net which he had attached to his helmet, then wish
her good-bye once more, but Father Kaleb and old Tolima, who came to give
him advice for his journey, interrupted him.

"Go first to the court of Prince Janusz," said the priest. "Perhaps Pan
Macko stopped there. At all events, you will get there proper
information; you will find there numerous acquaintances. Also the road
there to Lithuania is known, and it is not difficult there to procure
guides for the wilderness. If you are indeed bent on seeing Pan Zbyszko,
then do not go directly to Zmudz, for there is the Prussian reservation,
but go via Lithuania. Remember that the Zmudzians themselves might kill
you even before you could shout to them who you were. But it is quite a
different matter in Lithuania in the direction where Prince Witold is.
Finally, may God bless you, and those two knights. May you return in good
health and bring the child with you. I shall daily lie prostrate before
the cross from vespers to the rising of the first star in prayer for this
cause."

"I thank you, father, for your blessing," replied Hlawa. "It is not an
easy task to rescue one alive from their devilish hands. But since
everything is in God's hands, it is better to hope than to sorrow."

"It is better to hope, for this reason I do not despair. Hope lives,
although the heart is full of anxiety.... The worst is, that Jurand
himself, when his daughter's name is mentioned, immediately points with
his finger toward heaven as though he already sees her there."

"How could he see her without eyes?"

The priest then replied, partly to himself and partly to Hlawa:

"Perchance he who has lost his bodily vision sees more with his spiritual
eyes.... It may be so. It may be! But this, that God should permit so
much wrong to be done to such an innocent lamb I do not understand
clearly. Why should she suffer so much, even if she had offended the
Knights of the Cross. But there was nothing against her and she was as
pure as the divine lily, loving to others and lovely as yonder little
free singing bird. God loves children, and is compassionate. Bah! If they
were to kill her, He is able to resuscitate her as He did Piotrowina, who
after having risen from the grave lived for many long years.... Depart in
peace, and may God's hand protect you all!"

Then he returned to the chapel to say early Mass. The Bohemian mounted
his horse, for it was already broad daylight, and bowed once more toward
the window and departed.




CHAPTER II.

Prince and Princess Janusz had left with part of the court for the spring
fishing at Czerska, of which sport he was extremely fond, and loved it
above all others. The Bohemian got much important information from
Mikolaj of Dlugolas, treating of private affairs as well as of the war.
First he learned that Macko had apparently given up his intended route to
Zmudz, the "Prussian enclosure," that a few days ago he had left for
Warsaw where he found the princely pair. As to the war, old Mikolaj
informed him all that he had already heard in Szczytno. All Zmudz, as one
man, had risen in arms against the Germans, and Prince Witold not only
had refused to help the Order against the unhappy Zmudzians, but had not
yet declared war against them, and was negotiating with them; but
meanwhile he supplied the Zmudzians with money, men, horses and corn.
Meanwhile, he, as well as the Knights of the Cross, sent ambassadors to
the pope, to the emperor, and to other Christian lords, accusing each
other of breach of faith, and treachery. The ambassador carrying the
letters of the prince was the clever Mikolaj of Rzeniewa, a man of great
ability who could unravel the thread which was woven by the artifice of
the Knights of the Cross, convincingly demonstrating the great wrongs
done to the lands of Lithuania and Zmudz.

Meantime when at the diet in Wilno the ties between the Poles and
Lithuanians were strengthened, it acted like poison in the hearts of the
Knights of the Cross. It was easy to foresee that Jagiello as the supreme
lord of all the lands under the command of Prince Witold, would stand at
his side in time of war. Count Jan Sayn, the _comthur_ of Grudzia, and
Count Schwartzburg of Danzig, went, at the request of the grand master,
to see the king and asked him what might be expected from him. Although
they brought him falcons and costly presents, he told them nothing. Then
they threatened him with war, without really intending it, because they
well knew that the grand master and the chapter were terribly afraid of
Jagiello's forces, and were anxious to avert the day of wrath and
calamity.

All their schemes were broken like cobwebs, especially with Prince
Witold. The evening after Hlawa's arrival, fresh news reached Warsaw.
Bronisz of Ciasnoc, courtier of Prince Janusz, whom the prince had
previously sent for information from Lithuania, arrived, and with him
were two important Lithuanian princes. They brought letters from Witold
and the Zmudzians. It was terrible news. The Order was preparing for war.
The fortresses were being strengthened, ammunition manufactured,
soldiers, (knechts) and knights were gathering at the frontier, and the
lighter bodies of cavalry and infantry had already crossed the frontier
near Ragnety, Gotteswerder and other border strongholds. The din of war
was already heard in the forests, fields and villages, and during the
night the woods were seen on fire along the dark sea. Witold finally
received Zmudz under his overt protection. He sent his governors, and
wagons with armed people he placed under the most famous warrior
Skirwoillo. He broke into Prussia, burned, destroyed and devastated. The
prince himself approached with his army toward Zmudz. Some fortresses he
provisioned; others, Kowno, for instance, he destroyed, so that the
Knights of the Cross might find no support. It was no more a secret, that
at the advent of winter, when the swamps should be frozen, or even
earlier than that, if the season was dry, a great war would break out,
which would embrace all the lands of Lithuania, Zmudz, and Prussia. But
should the king rush to the assistance of Witold then a day must follow
in which the flood would inundate the German or the other half of the
world, or would be forced back for long ages into its original river-bed.

But that was not to happen yet. Meanwhile, the sighs of the Zmudzians,
their despairing complaints of the wrongs done to them, and their appeals
for justice were heard everywhere. They also read letters concerning the
unfortunate people in Krakow, Prague, in the pope's court and in other
western countries. The nobleman brought an open letter to Prince Janusz,
from Bronisz of Ciasnoc. Many a Mazovian involuntarily laid his hand on
his sword at his side and considered seriously whether voluntarily to
enroll under the standard of Witold. It was known that the great prince
would be glad to have with him the valiant Polish nobles, who were as
valorous in battle as the Lithuanian and Zmudzian nobility, and better
disciplined and equipped than they. Others were also impelled by their
hatred toward the old enemies of the Polish race, whilst others wanted to
go out of compassion.

"Listen! Oh listen!" They appealed to the kings, princes and to the whole
Zmudzian nation. "We are people of noble blood and free, but the Order
wants to enslave us! They do not care for our souls, but they covet our
lands and wealth. Our need is already such that nothing remains for us
but to gather together, or kill ourselves! How can they wash us with
Christian water when they themselves have unclean hands. We wish to be
baptized, but not with blood and the sword. We want religion, but only
such as upright monarchs shall teach,--Jagiello and Witold.

"Listen to us and help us, for we perish! The Order does not wish to
christen us for our enlightenment. They do not send us priests, but
executioners. Our beehives, our flocks, and all the products of our land
they have already carried away. We are not even allowed to fish or hunt
in the wilds.

"We pray you: Listen to us! They are just bending our necks under the
yoke and force us to work during the night in the castles. They have
carried off our children as hostages; our wives and daughters they ravish
in our presence. It behooves us to groan, but not to speak. Our fathers
they have burned at the stake; our lords have been carried off to
Prussia. Our great men, Korkucia, Wasigina, Swolka and Songajle, they
have destroyed."

"Oh listen! for we are not wild beasts but human beings. We earnestly
call upon the Holy Father to send us Polish bishops to baptize us, for we
thirst for baptism from the very depth of our heart. But baptism is
performed with water and not with shedding of human living blood."

This was the kind of complaint the Zmudzians made against the Knights of
the Cross, so that when they were heard by the Mazovian court, several
knights and courtiers immediately presented themselves ready to go and
help them; they understood that it was not even necessary to ask for
permission from Prince Janusz, even if only for the reason that the
princess was the sister of Prince Witold. They were specially enraged
when they learned from Bronisz and the noblemen, that many noble Zmudzian
young ladies, who were hostages in Prussia, but could not endure dishonor
and cruelty, had taken their own lives when the Knights of the Cross were
about to attack their honor.

Hlawa was very glad to learn of the desire of the Mazovian knights,
because he thought that the more men from Poland that joined Prince
Witold, the more intense would be the war, and the affair against the
Knights of the Cross would be more potent. He was also glad of his
chances of meeting Zbyszko, and the old knight Macko, to whom he was much
attached and whom, he believed, he was worthy to meet, and together see
new wild countries, hitherto unknown cities, and see knights and soldiers
never seen before, and, finally, that Prince Witold whose great fame
resounded then throughout the world.

Those thoughts decided him to undertake the long and hurried journey--not
stopping upon the road more than was necessary for the horses to rest.

The noblemen who arrived with Bronisz of Ciasnoc and other Lithuanians
who were present at the prince's court, and who were acquainted with the
roads and all passes, were to guide him and the Mazovian knights, from
hamlet to hamlet, from city to city and through the silent, immense, deep
wilderness which covered the greater part of Mazovia, Lithuania and
Zmudz.




CHAPTER III.

In the woods, about a mile to the east of Kowno, which Witold had
destroyed, were stationed the principal forces of Skirwoillo, extending
in time of need from point to point in the neighborhood. They made quick
expeditions sometimes to the Prussian frontier, and at others against the
castles and smaller fortified places which were still in the hands of the
Knights of the Cross, and filled the country with flame of war. There the
faithful armor-bearer found Zbyszko and Macko only two days after the
latter arrived. After greetings, the Bohemian slept like a rock the whole
night, only on the following evening he went out to greet the old knight
who looked fatigued and ill-humored and received him angrily, and asked
him why he had not remained at Spychow as ordered. Hlawa restrained
himself till Zbyszko had left the tent, when he justified his conduct,
which was owing to Jagienka's command.

He also said that apart from her order, and his natural inclination for
war, he was urged by the desire, in case of emergency, to carry the news
to Spychow at once. "The young lady," he said, "who has a soul like an
angel, is praying against her own interest for Jurandowna. But there must
be an end to everything. If Danusia is not alive, then let God give her
eternal glory, because she was an innocent lamb. But should she be found,
then it will be necessary to let Jagienka know it immediately, so that
she may at once leave Spychow, and not wait until the actual return of
Jurandowna, which would seem as though she were driven away in shame and
dishonor."

Macko listened unwillingly, repeating from time to time: "It is not your
business." But Hlawa had resolved to speak openly; he did not entirely
agree in this with Macko; at last he said:

"It would have been better if the young lady had been left at Zgorzelice.
This journey is in vain. We told the poor lady that Jurandowna was dead
and that something else might turn up."

"Nobody but you said that she was dead," exclaimed the knight, with
anger. "You ought to have held your tongue. I took her with me because I
was afraid of Cztan and Wilk."

"That was only a pretext," replied the armor-bearer. "She might have
safely remained at Zgorzelice, and those fellows would have hurt each
other. But, you feared, sir, that, in case of Jurandowna's death Jagienka
might escape Zbyszko. That is the reason why you took her with you."

"How dare you speak so? Are you a belted knight and not a servant?"

"I am a servant, but I serve my lady; that is the reason why I am
watching that no evil betide her."

Macko reflected gloomily, because he was not satisfied with himself. More
than once he had blamed himself for taking Jagienka with him, because he
felt that in any case, under such circumstances, it would be, to a
certain extent, to her disadvantage. He also felt that there was truth in
the Bohemian's bold words, that he had taken the girl with him in order
to preserve her for Zbyszko.

"It never entered my head," he said, nevertheless, to deceive the
Bohemian. "She was anxious to go herself."

"She persisted because we said that the other was no more in this world,
and that her brother would be safer without than with her; it was then
that she left."

"You persuaded her," shouted Macko.

"I did, and I confess my guilt. But now, sir, it is necessary to do
something; otherwise we shall perish."

"What can one do here?" said Macko, impatiently, "with such soldiers, in
such a war?... It will be somewhat better, but that cannot be before
July, because the Germans have two favorable seasons for war, viz: winter
when everything is frozen, and the dry season. Now it is only
smouldering, but does not burn. It seems that Prince Witold went to
Krakow to interview the king and ask his permission and help."

"But in the neighborhood are the fortresses of the Knights of the Cross.
If only two could be taken, we might find there Jurandowna, or hear of
her death."

"Or nothing."

"But Zygfried brought her to this part of the country. They told us so at
Szczytno, and everywhere, and we ourselves were of the same opinion."

"But did you observe these soldiers; go into the tents and look for
yourself. Some of them are armed with clubs, whilst others with
antiquated swords made of copper."

"Bah! As far as I have heard they are good fighters."

"But they cannot conquer castles with naked bodies, especially those of
the Knights of the Cross."

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Zbyszko and
Skirwoillo, who was the leader of the Zmudzians. He was a small man and
looked like a boy, but broad shouldered and strong, his chest protuded so
much that it looked like a deformity, his hands were long, they almost
reached his knees. In general he resembled Zyndram of Maszkow, a famous
knight, whom Macko and Zbyszko had formerly known in Krakow, because he
also had a tremendous head and bowed legs. They said that he too
understood the art of war very well. He had spent a lifetime in fighting
the Tartars in Russia, and the Germans, whom he hated like the plague. In
those wars he had learned the Russian language, and later on, at the
court of Witold, he had learned some Polish. He knew German, at least he
repeated only the three words: "Fire, blood and death." His big head was
always filled with ideas and stratagems of war, which the Knights of the
Cross could neither foresee nor prevent. He was therefore banished from
the lands on the other side of the frontier.

"We were talking of an expedition," said Zbyszko to Macko, with unusual
animation, "and that is the reason why we came here so that we too might
learn your opinion."

Macko sat down with Skirwoilla upon a pine stump covered with a bear
skin. Then he ordered the servants to bring little tubs full of mead from
which the knights drew with tin cups and drank. Then after they had taken
refreshment, Macko asked:

"Do you want to undertake an expedition?"

"Burn the German castles...."

"Which?"

"Ragnety, or Nowe (new) Kowno."

"Ragnety," said Zbyszko. "We were three days in the neighborhood of Nowe
Kowno, and they beat us."

"Just so," said Skirwoilla.

"How so?"

"Well."

"Wait," said Macko, "I am a stranger here, and do not know where Nowe
Kowno and Ragnety are."

"From this place to Old Kowno is less then a mile,"[115] replied Zbyszko,
"and from that place to Nowe Kowno, is the same distance. The castle is
situated upon an island. We wanted to cross over yesterday, but we were
beaten in the attempt; they pursued us half the day, then we hid
ourselves in the woods. The soldiers scattered and only this morning some
of them returned."

"And Ragnety?"

Skirwoilla stretched his long arms, pointed toward the north, and said:

"Far! Far...."

"Just for the reason that it is distant," replied Zbyszko, "there is
quiet in the neighborhood, because all the soldiers were withdrawn from
there and sent to this place. The Germans there expect no attack; we
shall therefore fall upon those who think themselves secure."

"He speaks reasonably," said Skirwoilla.

Then Macko asked:

"Do you think that it will also be possible to storm the castle?"

Skirwoillo shook his head and Zbyszko replied:

"The castle is strong, therefore it can only be taken by storm. But we
shall devastate the country, burn the towns and villages, destroy
provisions, and above all take prisoners, among whom we may find
important personages, for whom the Knights of the Cross will eagerly give
ransom or exchange...."

Then he turned toward Skirwoillo and said:

"You yourself, prince, acknowledged that I am right, but now consider
that Nowe Kowno is upon an island, there we shall neither stir up the
people in the villages, drive off the herds of cattle, nor take
prisoners, the more so because they have repulsed us here. Ay! Let us
rather go where they do not expect us."

"Conquerors are those who least expect an attack," murmured Skirwoillo.

Here Macko interrupted and began to support Zbyszko's plans, because he
understood that the young man had more hope to hear something near
Ragnety than near Old Kowno, and that there were more chances to take
important hostages at Ragnety who might serve for exchange. He also
thought that it was better to go yonder at all events and attack an
unguarded land, than an island, which was a natural stronghold and in
addition was guarded by a strong castle and the customary garrison.

He spoke as a man experienced in war, he spoke in a clear manner, he
adduced such excellent reasons that convinced everybody. They listened to
him attentively. Skirwoillo raised his brows now and then as an
affirmative sign; at times he murmured: "Well spoken." Finally he moved
his big head between his broad shoulders so that he looked like a
hunchback, and was absorbed in thought.

Then he rose, said nothing, and began to take leave.

"How then will it be, prince?" inquired Macko. "Whither shall we move?"

But he replied briefly:

"To Nowe Kowno."

Then he left the tent.

Macko and the Bohemian looked at each other for some time in surprise;
then the old knight placed his hands upon his thighs and exclaimed:

"Phew! What a hard stump!... He listens, listens and yet keeps his mouth
shut."

"I heard before that he is such a man," replied Zbyszko. "To tell the
truth all people here are obstinate; like the little fellow, they listen
to the reasoning of others, then ... it is like blowing in the air."

"Then why does he consult us?"

"Because we are belted knights and he wants to hear the thing argued on
both sides. But he is not a fool."

"Also near Nowe Kowno we are least expected," observed the Bohemian, "for
the very reason that they have beaten you. In that he is right."

"Come, let us see the people whom I lead," said Zbyszko, "because the air
in the tent is too close. I want to tell them to be ready."

They went out. A cloudy and dark night had set in, the scene was only lit
up by the fire around which the Zmudzians were sitting.




CHAPTER IV.

Macko and Zbyszko had seen enough of Lithuanian and Zmudz warriors when
serving under Prince Witold. The sights of the encampment were nothing
new to them. But the Bohemian looked at them with curiosity. He pondered
both upon the possibility of their fighting qualities and compared them
with the Polish and German knights. The camp was situated on a plain
surrounded by forests and swamps, which rendered it impregnable, because
none could wade through that treacherous marsh land. Even the place where
the booths were situated was quaggy and muddy, but the soldiers had
covered it with a thick layer of chips and branches of fir and
pine-trees, which enabled them to camp upon it as upon perfectly dry
ground. For Prince Skirwoillo they had hastily constructed a Lithuanian
_numy_, constructed of earth and logs, and for the most important
personages scores of booths of twisted branches. But the common soldiers
were squatting in the open around the camp-fires, and for shelter against
bad weather they only had goatskin coats, and skins upon their naked
bodies. None had gone to sleep yet; they had nothing to do, after
yesterday's defeat, and had thrown up earthworks during the day. Some of
them were sitting or lying around the bright fire which they fed with dry
juniper branches. Others were scraping in the ashes and cinders from
which proceeded a smell of baked turnips, which form the ordinary food of
the Lithuanians, and the strong odor of burned meat. Between the
camp-fires were piles of arms; they were close at hand so that in case of
need it would be an easy matter for everybody to reach his own weapon.
Hlawa looked with curiosity upon the lances with narrow and long heads
made of tempered iron, and the handles of oak saplings, studded with
flint or nails, hatchets with short handles like the Polish axes used by
travelers, and others with handles almost as long as those of the
battle-axes used by the foot-soldiers. There were also among them some
bronze weapons from ancient times when iron was not yet employed in that
low country. Some swords were entirely made of bronze, but most of them
were of good steel of Novgorod. The Bohemian handled the spears, swords,
hatchets, axes and tarred bows, examining them closely by the light of
the camp-fires. There were a few horses near the fires, whilst the cattle
grazed at a distance in the forests and meadows, under the care of
vigilant ostlers; but the great nobles liked to have their chargers close
at hand, hence there were about twoscore horses within the camp, fed by
hand by the slaves of the noblemen in a space enclosed by stacked arms.
Hlawa was amazed at the sight of the extraordinarily small shaggy
chargers, with powerful necks, such strange brutes that the western
knights took them to be quite another species of wild beast, more like a
unicorn than a horse.

"Big battle horses are of no use here," said the experienced Macko,
recollecting his former service under Witold, "because large horses would
at once stick in the mire, but the native nag goes everywhere, like the
men."

"But in the field," replied the Bohemian, "the native horse could not
withstand that of the German."

"True, he may not be able to withstand, but, on the other hand, the
German could not run away from the Zmudzian, neither could he catch him;
they are very swift, swifter than those of the Tartars."

"Nevertheless I wonder; because when I saw the Tartar captives whom Lord
Zych brought to Zgorzelice, they were small and matched their horses; but
these are big men."

The men were tall indeed; their broad chests and strong arms could be
seen under their goatskin coats; they were not stout, but bony and
sinewy, and as a rule they excelled the inhabitants of other parts of
Lithuania, because they lived in better and more productive lands, and
were seldom subject to the dearth which often afflicted Lithuania. On the
other hand they were wilder than the other Lithuanians. The court of the
chief prince was at Wilno, whither the princes from the east and west,
and ambassadors and foreign merchants came, and that contributed somewhat
to lessen the roughness of the inhabitants of the city and neighborhood.
There the stranger only appeared in the form of a Knight of the Cross or
a sworded cavalier, carrying to the settlements in the deep forests fire,
slavery and baptism of blood. That was the reason that the people in that
part of the country were very coarse and rude, more like those of ancient
times, and very much opposed to everything new, the oldest custom and the
oldest warrior clan were theirs, and the reason that paganism was
supported was that the worship of the cross did not bring the
announcement of good tidings with apostolic love, but armed German monks
instead, possessing souls of executioners.

Skirwoilla and the most notable princes and nobles were already
Christians, because they followed the example of Jagiello and Witold.
Others even among the common and uncivilized warriors felt in their
hearts that the death-knell of the old world and religion had sounded.
They were ready to bend their heads to the cross, but not to that cross
which the Germans carried, not to the hand of the enemy. "We ask
baptism," they proclaimed to all princes and nations, "but bear in mind
that we are human beings, not beasts, that can be given away, bought or
sold." Meanwhile, when their old faith was extinguished, as a fire goes
out for lack of fuel, their hearts were again turned away simply because
the religion was forced upon them by the Germans, and there was a general
sense of deep sorrow for the future.

The Bohemian, who had been accustomed from his infancy to hear the jovial
noise of the soldiers, and had grown up among songs and music, observed
for the first time the unusual quiet and gloom in the Lithuanian camp.
Here and there, far away from the camp-fires of Skirwoilla, the sound of
a whistle or fife was heard, or the suppressed notes of the song of the
_burtenikas_, to which the soldiers listened with bent heads and eyes
fixed on the glowing fire. Some crouched around the fire with their
elbows upon their knees and their faces hidden in their hands, and
covered with skins, which made them look like wild beasts of the forest.
But when they turned their heads toward the approaching knights, one saw
from their mild expression and blue pupils that they were not at all
savage or austere, but looked more like sorrowful and wronged children.
At the outskirts of the camp the wounded of the last battle lay upon
moss. _Labdarysi_ and _Sextonowi,_ conjurers and soothsayers, muttered
exorcisms over them or attended to their wounds, to which they applied
certain healing herbs; the wounded lay quietly, patiently suffering pain
and torture. From the depth of the forest, across the marshes and lakes,
came the whistling of the ostlers; now and then the wind arose, driving
the smoke of the camp-fires and making the dark forest resound. The night
was already far advanced and the camp-fires began to burn down and
extinguish, which increased the dominating silence and intensified the
impression of sadness, almost to a crushing extent.

Zbyszko gave orders to the people he led, who easily understood him
because there were a few Poles among them. Then he turned to his
armor-bearer and said:

"You have seen enough, now it is time to return to the tent."

"I have seen," replied Hlawa, "but I am not satisfied with what I have
observed, for it is obvious that they are a defeated people."

"Twice,--four days in front of the castle, and the day before yesterday
at the crossing. Now Skirwoilla wants to go a third time to experience
another rout."

"How is it that he does not see that he cannot fight the Germans with
such soldiers? Pan Macko told me the same thing, and now I observe myself
that they are a poor lot, and that they must be boys in battle."

"You are mistaken in that, because they are a brave people and have few
equals, but they fight in disordered crowds, whilst the Germans fight in
battle array. If the Zmudzians succeed in breaking the German ranks, then
the Germans suffer more than themselves. Bah, but the latter know this
and close their ranks in such a manner that they stand like a wall."

"We must not even think about capturing the castles," said Hlawa.

"Because there are no engines of war whatever to attempt it," replied
Zbyszko. "Prince Witold has them, but as long as he does not arrive I am
unable to capture them, unless by accident or treachery."

Then they reached the tent, in front of which burned a huge fire, and
within they found smoking dishes of meat, which the servants had prepared
for them. It was cold and damp in the tent, therefore the knights and
Hlawa lay down upon skins in front of the fire.

When they had fortified themselves, they tried to sleep, but they could
not; Macko turned from side to side, and when he observed Zbyszko sitting
near the fire covering his knees with twigs, he asked:

"Listen! Why did you give advice to go as far as Ragnety against
Gotteswerder, and not near here? What do you profit by it?"

"Because there is a voice within me which tells me that Danuska is at
Ragnety, and they are guarded less than they are here."

"There was no time to continue the conversation then, for I too was
fatigued and the people after the defeat gathered in the woods. But now,
tell me, how is it? Do you mean to search for the girl forever?"

"I say that she is not a girl, but my wife," replied Zbyszko.

There was silence, for Macko well understood that there was no answer to
that. If Danuska were still Jurandowna (Miss Jurand) Macko might have
advised his nephew to abandon her: but in the presence of the Holy
Sacrament, his search for her was his simple duty. Macko would not have
put the question to him if he had been present.

Not having been there he always spoke of her at the betrothal or marriage
as a girl.

"Very well," he said, after a while. "But to all my questions during the
last two days, you replied that you knew nothing."

"Because I do know nothing, except that the wrath of God is probably upon
me."

Then Hlawa lifted up his head from the bearskin, sat up and listened with
curiosity and attention.

And Macko said:

"As long as sleep does not overpower you, tell me what have you seen,
what have you done, and what success have you had at Malborg?"

Zbyszko stroked his long, untrimmed hair from his brow, remained silent
for a moment, and then said:

"Would to God that I knew as much of Danuska as I do of Malborg. You ask
me what I have seen there? I have seen the immense power of the Knights
of the Cross; it is supported by all kings and nations, and I do not know
any one who could measure himself with it. I have seen their castles,
which even Caesar of Rome does not possess. I have seen inexhaustible
treasures, I have seen arms, I have seen swarms of armed monks, knights,
and common soldiers,--and as many relics as one sees with the Holy Father
in Rome, and I tell you that my soul trembled within me at the thought of
the possibility of fighting them. Who can prevail against them? Who can
oppose them and break their power?"

"We must destroy them," exclaimed the Bohemian, who could restrain
himself no longer.

Zbyszko's words appeared strange also to Macko, and although he was
anxious to hear all the adventures of the young man, nevertheless, he
interrupted him and said:

"Have you forgotten Wilno? How many times we threw ourselves against
them, shield against shield, head against head! You have also seen that,
how slow they were against us; and, at our hardiness, they exclaimed that
it was not enough to let the horses sweat and break the lances, but it
was necessary to take the strangers by the throat or offer their own.
Surely there were also guests who challenged us. But all of them went
away with shame. What has caused you to change?"

"I am not changed, for I fought at Malborg where also they tilted with
sharp weapons. But you don't know their whole strength."

But the old knight got angry and said:

"Do you know the whole strength of Poland? Did you see all the regiments
together? Well, you did not. But their strength consists in the people's
wrongs and treachery; there, they do not even possess one span of land.
They received our princes there in the same manner as a beggar receives
in his house, and they presented gifts, but they have grown powerful,
they have bitten the hand which fed them, like abominable mad dogs. They
seized the lands and treacherously captured the city; that is their
strength. The day of judgment and vengeance is at hand."

"You requested me to tell you what I have seen, and now you get angry; I
prefer to tell no more," said Zbyszko.

But Macko breathed angrily for a while, then he quieted down and said:

"But this time, thus it will be: You see a tremendous tower-like
pine-tree in the forest; it seems as it will stand there forever; but
strike it fairly with your axe and it will reveal hollowness and punk
will come out. So is it with the strength of the Knights of the Cross.
But I commanded you to tell me what you have done and what you have
accomplished there. Let me see, you said you fought there with weapons,
did you not?"

"I did. They received me at first in an ungrateful and arrogant manner;
they knew of my fight with Rotgier. Perhaps they had planned some evil
against me. But I came provided with letters from the prince; and de
Lorche, whom they honor, protected me from their evil designs. Then came
feasts and tourneys in which the Lord Jesus helped me. You have already
heard how Ulrych, the brother of the grand master, loved me, and obtained
an order from the master himself to surrender Danuska to me."

"We were told," said Macko, "that when his saddle-girdle broke, you would
not attack him."

"I helped him up with my lance, and from that moment he became fond of
me. Hey! Good God! They furnished me with such strong letters, that
enabled me to travel from castle to castle and search. I thought then
that my sufferings were at an end, but now I am sitting here, in a wild
country, without any help, in sorrow and perplexity, and it is getting
worse daily."

He remained silent for a moment, then he forcibly threw a chip into the
fire which scattered sparks among the burning brands, and said:

"If that poor child is suffering in a castle, somewhere in this
neighborhood, and thinks that I don't care for her, then let sudden death
overtake me!"

His heart was evidently so full of pain and impatience that he began
again to throw chips into the fire, as though carried away by a sudden
and blind pain; but they were greatly astonished because they had not
realized that he loved Danusia so much.

"Restrain yourself," exclaimed Macko. "How did you fare with those
letters of safe conduct. Did the _comthurs_ pay no attention to the
master's command?"

"Restrain yourself, sir," said Hlawa. "God will comfort you; perhaps very
soon."

Tears glistened in Zbyszko's eyes, but he controlled himself, and said:

"They opened different castles and prisons. I have been everywhere; I
searched up to the breaking out of this war. At Gierdaw I was told by the
magistrate, von Heideck, that the laws of war differ from those in time
of peace, and that my safe conduct was of no avail. I challenged him at
once, but he did not accept, and he ordered me to quit the castle."

"What happened in other places?" inquired Macko.

"It was the same everywhere. The Count Könizsberg, who is the chief
magistrate of Gierdaw, even refused to read the letter of the master,
saying that 'war is war,' and told me to carry my head--while it was
intact--out of the place. It was everywhere the same."

"Now I understand," said the old knight, "seeing that you got nothing,
you came here at least to avenge yourself."

"Exactly so," replied Zbyszko. "I also thought that we should take
prisoners, and also invest some castles. But those fellows could not
conquer castles."

"Hey! It will be otherwise when Prince Witold himself comes."

"May God grant it!"

"He will come; I heard at the Mazovian court that he will come, and
perhaps the king and all the forces of Poland will come with him."

Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Skirwoilla who
unexpectedly appeared from the shadow, and said:

"We must be on the march."

Hearing that, the knights got up with alacrity. Skirwoilla approached his
tremendous head to their faces, and said in low tones:

"There is news: A relief train is moving toward New Kowno. Two knights
are at the head of the soldiers, cattle and provisions. Let us capture
them."

"Shall we cross the Niemen," inquired Zbyszko.

"Yes! I know a ford."

"Do they know at the castle of the relief train?"

"They know and will come to meet them, but we shall pounce upon them
too."

Then he instructed them where they were to lie in ambush, so as to
attack, unexpectedly, those hurrying from the castle. His intentions were
to engage the enemy in two battles at the same time, and avenge himself
for the last defeat, which could easily be effected, considering that
owing to their last victory the enemy considered himself perfectly safe
from an attack. Therefore Skirwoilla appointed the place and time where
they should meet; as for the rest, he left it with them, for he relied
upon their courage and resource. They were very glad at heart because
they appreciated the fact that an experienced and skilful warrior was
speaking to them. Then he ordered them to start, and he went to his
_numy_ where the princes and captains were already waiting. There he
repeated his orders, gave new ones, and finally put to his lips a pipe,
carved out of a wolf's bone, and whistled shrilly, which was heard from
one end of the camp to the other.

At the sound of the whistle they gathered around the extinguished
camp-fires; here and there sparks shot up, then little flames which
increased momentarily, and wild figures of warriors were visible
gathering around the stands of arms. The forest throbbed and moved. In a
moment there were heard the voices of the ostlers chasing the herd toward
the camp.




CHAPTER V.

They arrived very early at Niewiazy where they crossed the river, some on
horseback, some upon bundles of osier. Everything went with such dispatch
that Macko, Zbyszko, Hlawa and the Mazovian volunteers were astonished at
the skilfulness of the people; only then they understood why neither
woods, nor swamps, nor rivers could prevent Lithuanian expeditions. When
they emerged from the river none had taken off his wet clothing, not even
the sheep and wolfskin coats, but exposed themselves to the rays of the
sun until they steamed like pitch-burners, and after a short rest they
marched hastily toward the north. At nightfall they arrived at the
Niemen.

The crossing of the great river at that place, swollen in the spring, was
not an easy matter. The ford, which was known to Skuwoilla, changed in
places into deep water, so that the horses had to swim more than a
quarter of a furlong. Two men were carried away quite near Zbyszko, and
Hlawa tried to rescue them, but in vain; owing to the darkness and the
rushing water they lost sight of them. The drowning men did not dare to
shout for help, because the leader had previously ordered that the
crossing should be effected in the most quiet manner possible.
Nevertheless all the others fortunately succeeded in reaching the other
side of the river, where they remained without fires till the morning.

At dawn, the whole army was divided into two divisions. Skirwoilla at the
head of one went toward the interior to encounter the knights at the head
of the relief train for Gotteswerder. The second division was led back by
Zbyszko, toward the island, in order to attack the people coming from the
castle to meet the expedition, upon the elevated ground.

It was a mild and bright morning, but down in the woods the marshes and
bushes were covered with a thick white steam which entirely obscured the
distance. That was just a desirable condition for Zbyszko, because the
Germans coming from the castle would not be able to see them in time to
retreat. The young knight was exceedingly glad of it, and said to Macko:

"Let us get to our position instead of contemplating the mist yonder. God
grant that it is not dissipated before noon."

Then he hurried to the front to give orders to the _setniks_,[116] and
immediately returned and said:

"We shall soon meet them upon the road coming from the ferry of the
island toward the interior. There we shall hide ourselves in the thicket
and watch for them."

"How do you know about that road?" asked Macko.

"We got the information from the local peasants, of whom we have quite a
number among our people who will guide us everywhere."

"At what distance from the castle do you intend to attack?"

"About one mile from it."

"Very well; because if it were nearer, the soldiers from the castle might
hurry to the rescue, but now they will not only not be able to arrive in
time, but will be beyond hearing distance."

"You see I thought about that."

"You thought about one thing, think also about another: if they are
reliable peasants, send two or three of them in front, so as to signal
when they descry the Germans coming."

"Bah! That also has been attended to."

"Then, I have yet something else to tell you; order one or two hundred
men, as soon as the battle begins, not to take part in the fight, but
hasten to the rear and cut off their retreat to the island."

"That is the first thing," replied Zbyszko. "Those orders have been
given. The Germans will fall into a trap and be snared."

Hearing this, Macko looked approvingly at his nephew; he was pleased that
in spite of his youth, he understood much of warfare; therefore he smiled
and murmured:

"Our true blood!"

But Hlawa, the shield-bearer, was more glad than Macko, because there was
nothing he loved more than war.

"I don't know the fighting capacity of our people," he said, "but they
march quietly, they are dexterous, and they seem to be eager. And if
Skirwoilla yonder has well devised his plans, then not a single foot
shall escape."

"God grant that only a few may escape," replied Zbyszko. "But I have
given orders to capture as many prisoners as possible; and if there
should happen to be a knight or a religious brother among them, he must
absolutely not be killed."

"Why not, sir?" inquired the Bohemian.

"You also take care," Zbyszko replied, "that it be so. If there be a
knight among them, he must possess much information, owing to his
wanderings in many cities and castles, seeing, and hearing much; much
more so if he is a religious member of the Order. Therefore I owe to God
my coming to this place so that I might learn something about Danusia,
and exchange prisoners. If there be any, this is the only measure left
for me."

Then he urged his horse and galloped again to the front to give his final
orders and at the same time to get rid of his sad thoughts; there was no
time to be lost, because the spot where they were to lie in ambush was
very near.

"Why does the young lord think that his little wife is alive, and that
she is somewhere in this neighborhood?" asked the Bohemian.

"Because if Zygfried, at the first impulse, did not kill her at
Szczytno," replied Macko, "then one may rightly conclude that she is
still alive. The priest of Szczytno would not have told us what he did,
in the presence of Zbyszko, if she had been killed. It is a very
difficult matter; even the most cruel man would not lift up his hand
against a defenceless woman. Bah! Against an innocent child."

"It is a hard thing, but not with the Knights of the Cross. And the
children of Prince Witold?"

"It is quite true, they have wolfish hearts. Nevertheless, it is true
that they did not kill her at Szczytno, and Zygfried himself left for
this part of the country; it is therefore possible that he had hid her in
some castle."

"Hey! If it turns out so, then I shall take this island and the castle."

"Only look at this people," said Macko.

"Surely, surely; but I have an idea that I will communicate to the young
lord."

"Even if you have ten ideas, I do not care. You cannot overthrow the
walls with pikes."

Macko pointed toward the lines of pikes, with which most of the warriors
were provided; then he asked:

"Did you ever see such soldiers?"

As a matter of fact, the Bohemian had never seen the like. There was a
dense crowd in front of them marching irregularly. Cavalry and infantry
were mixed up and could not keep proper steps while marching through the
undergrowth in the woods. In order to keep pace with the cavalry the
infantry held on to the horses' manes, saddles and tails. The warriors'
shoulders were covered with wolf, lynx and bearskins; some had attached
to their heads boars' tusks, others antlers of deer, and others still had
shaggy ears attached, so that, were it not for the protruding weapons
above their heads, and the dingy bows and arrows at their backs, they
would have looked from the rear and specially in the mist like a moving
body of wild beasts proceeding from the depths of the forest, driven by
the desire for blood or hunger, in search of prey. There was something
terrible and at the same time extraordinary in it: it had the appearance
of that wonder called _gnomon_, when, according to popular belief, wild
beasts and even stones and bushes were moving in front of them.

It was at that sight that one of the young nobles from Lenkawice, who
accompanied the Bohemian, approached him, crossed himself, and said:

"In the name of the Father and Son! I say I am marching with a pack of
wolves, and not with men."

But Hlawa, although he had never before seen such a sight, replied like
an experienced man who knows all about it and is not surprised at
anything.

"Wolves roam in packs during the winter season, but the dog-blood of the
Knights of the Cross they also taste in the spring."

It was spring indeed, the month of May; the hazel-trees which filled the
woods were covered with a bright green. Among the moss, upon which the
soldiers stepped noiselessly, appeared white and blue anemones as well as
young berries and dentillated ferns. Softened by abundant rains, the bark
of the trees produced an agreeable odor, and from the forest under foot,
consisting of pine-needles and punk, proceeded a pungent smell. The sun
displayed a rainbow in the drops upon the leaves and branches of the
trees, and above it the birds sang joyfully.

They accelerated their pace, because Zbyszko urged them on. At times
Zbyszko rode again in the rear of the division with Macko, the Bohemian
and the Mazovian volunteers. The prospect of a good battle apparently
elated him considerably, for his customary sad expression had
disappeared, and his eyes had regained their wonted brightness.

"Cheer up!" he exclaimed. "We must now place ourselves in the front--not
behind the line."

He led them to the front of the division.

"Listen," he added. "It may be that we shall catch the Germans
unexpectedly, but should they make a stand and succeed in falling in
line, then we must be the first to attack them, because our armor is
superior, and our swords are better."

"Let it be so," said Macko.

The others settled themselves in their saddles, as if they were to attack
at once. They took a long breath, and felt for their swords to see
whether they could be unsheathed with ease.

Zbyszko repeated his orders once more, that if they found among the
infantry any knights with white mantles over the armor, they were not to
kill but capture them alive; then he galloped to the guides, and halted
the division for a while.

They arrived at the highway which from the landing opposite the island
extended to the interior. Strictly speaking, there was no proper road
yet, but in reality the edge of the wood had been recently sawed through
and leveled only at the rear so much as to enable soldiers or wagons to
pass over them. On both sides of the road rose the high trunked trees,
and the old pines cut for the widening of the road. The hazelnut growths
were so thick in some places that they overran the whole forest. Zbyszko
had therefore chosen a place at the turning, so that the advancing party
would neither be able to see far, nor retreat, nor have time enough to
form themselves in battle array. It was there that he occupied both sides
of the lane and gave commands to await the enemy.

Accustomed to forest life and war, the Zmudzians took advantage of the
logs, cuts and clumps of young hazelnut growths, and fir saplings--so
that it seemed as if the earth had swallowed them up. No one spoke,
neither did the horses snort. Now and then, big and little forest animals
passed those lying in wait and came upon them before seeing them and were
frightened and rushed wildly away. At times the wind arose and filled the
forest with a solemn, rushing sound, and then again silence fell and only
the distant notes of the cuckoo and the woodpecker were audible.

The Zmudzians were glad to hear those sounds, because the woodpecker was
a special harbinger of good fortune. There were many of those birds in
that forest, and the pecking sound was heard on all sides persistent and
rapid, like human labor. One would be inclined to say, that each of those
birds had its own blacksmith's forge where it went to active labor very
early. It appeared to Macko and the Mazovians that they heard the noise
of carpenters fixing roofs upon new houses, and it reminded them of home.

But the time passed and grew tedious; nothing was heard but the noise of
the trees and the voice of birds. The mist hovering upon the plain was
lifting. The sun was quite high and it was getting hot, but they still
lay in wait. Finally Hlawa who was impatient at the silence and delay,
bent toward Zbyszko's ear and whispered:

"Sir, if God will grant, none of the dog-brothers shall escape alive. May
we not be able to reach the castle and capture it by surprise?"

"Do you suppose that the boats there are not watching, and have no
watchwords?"

"They have watchmen," replied the Bohemian, in a whisper, "but prisoners
when threatened with the knife will give up the watchword. Bah! they will
even reply in the German language. If we reach the island, then the
castle itself...."

Here he stopped, because Zbyszko put his hand upon his mouth, because
from the roadside came the croak of a raven.

"Hush!" he said. "That is a signal."

About two "paters" later, there appeared at the border a Zmudzian, riding
upon a little shaggy pony, whose hoofs were enveloped in sheepskin to
avoid the clatter and traces of horses' hoofs in the mud. The rider
looked sharply from side to side and, suddenly hearing from the thicket
an answer to the croaking, dived into the forest, and in a moment he was
near Zbyszko.

"They are coming!" ... he said.




CHAPTER VI.

Zbyszko inquired hurriedly, how many horsemen and infantry were among
them, in what manner they were advancing, and above all the exact
distance; and he learned from the Zmudzian that their number did not
exceed one hundred and fifty warriors and that about fifty of that number
were horsemen led by a Knight of the Cross, who appears to be of the
secular knights; that they were marching in ranks and had empty wagons
with a supply of wheels upon them; and that at a distance in front of the
detachment were bodies of archers composed of eight men who frequently
left the road and searched the woods and thickets, and finally that the
detachment was about one quarter of a mile distant.

Zbyszko was not particularly pleased with the information of the manner
of their advancing in battle array. He knew by experience how difficult
it was to break the ordered German ranks, and how such a crowd could
retreat and fight in the same manner as a wild-boar that defends itself
when brought to bay by dogs. On the other hand, he was glad of the news
that they were only a quarter of a mile distant, because he calculated
that the people who were detached to cut off their retreat had already
done so,--and, in case of the Germans being routed, not a single soul
could escape. As to the outpost at the head of the detachment he did not
care much, because he knew from the first that such would be the case and
was prepared for them; he had given orders to his men to allow them to
advance, and if they were engaged in searching the thickets to capture
them quietly one by one.

But the last order seemed unnecessary; the scouts advanced without delay.
The Zmudzians who were hidden in the growths near the highway had a
perfect view of the advancing party when they halted at the turning and
took counsel. The chief, a powerful red-bearded German, who signalled to
them to keep silence, began to listen. It was visible for a moment that
he hesitated whether to penetrate the forest or not. At last, as there
was only audible the hammering of the woodpeckers, and he apparently
thought that the birds would not be working so freely if people were
hidden among the trees. Therefore he waved his hand for the detachment to
go forward.

Zbyszko waited until they were near the second turning, then he
approached the road, at the head of his well-armed men, including Macko,
the Bohemian, and the two noble volunteers from Lenkawice, and three
young knights from Ciechanow, and a dozen of the better armed Zmudzian
nobles. Further concealment was not necessary. Nothing remained for
Zbyszko but to station himself in the middle of the road and, as soon as
the Germans appeared, to fall upon them, and break their ranks. If that
might be accomplished, he was sure that his Zmudzians would take care of
the Germans.

There was silence for a little while, which was only disturbed by the
usual forest noises, but soon there were heard the voices of people
proceeding from the east side; they were yet a considerable distance away
but the voices grew little by little more distinct as they approached.

Without losing a moment's time, Zbyszko and his men placed themselves in
the form of a wedge in the middle of the road. Zbyszko himself formed the
sharp end and directly behind him were Macko and the Bohemian, in the row
behind them were three men, behind those were four; all of them were well
armed. Nothing was wanting but the "wooden" lances of the knights which
could greatly impede the advance of the enemy in forest marches, instead
of those long handled lances; theirs were shorter and lighter. Zmudzian
weapons were well adapted for the first attack, and the swords and axes
at their saddles were handy for combat at close quarters.

Hlawa was wide awake and listening; then he whispered to Macko:

"They are singing, they shall be destroyed."

"But what surprises me is that the woods obscure them from our sight,"
replied Macko.

Then Zbyszko, who considered further hiding and silence unnecessary,
replied:

"Because the road leads along the stream; that is the reason for its
frequent windings."

"But how merrily they are singing!" repeated the Bohemian.

One could judge from the melody that the Germans were singing profane
songs indeed. It could also be distinguished that the singers were not
more than about a dozen, and that they all repeated only one burden which
resounded far and wide in the forest, like a thunderstorm.

Thus they went to death, rejoicing and lusty.

"We shall soon see them," said Macko.

Then his face suddenly darkened and assumed a wolf-like and savage
expression. He had a grudge against the knights for the shots which he
had received at the time when he went to Zbyszko's rescue, on that
occasion when he was the carrier of letters from Prince Witold's sister
to the grand master. Therefore his blood began to boil, and a desire for
vengeance overflowed his soul.

The fellow who first attacks will not fare well, thought Hlawa, as he
looked at the old knight.

Meanwhile the wind carried the sound of the phrase which the singers
repeated:

"Tandaradei! Tandaradei!" The Bohemian at once recognized the song known
to him:

  "Bi den rôsen er wol mac
      Tandaradei!
  Merken wa mir'z houlet lac...."

Then the song was interrupted, because upon both sides of the road was
heard such a croaking noise that it seemed as if the crows were holding
parliament in that corner of the forest. The Germans were wondering
whence so many crows came, and why they proceeded from the ground and not
from the tops of the trees. In fact the first line of the soldiers
appeared at the turning and halted as though nailed to the spot, when
they observed unknown horsemen facing them.

At the same moment Zbyszko sat down in his saddle, spurred his horse, and
rushed forward, crying:

"At them!"

The others galloped with him. The terrible shouting of the Zmudzian
warriors was heard from the woods. Only a space of about two hundred feet
separated Zbyszko from the enemy, who, in the twinkling of an eye,
lowered a forest of lances toward Zbyszko's horsemen; the remaining lines
placed themselves with the utmost dispatch on both sides to protect
themselves against an attack from the direction of the forest. The Polish
knights might have admired the dexterity of the German tactics, but there
was no time for contemplation, owing to the great speed and impetus of
their horses in their charge upon the close phalanx of the Germans.

Happily for Zbyszko, the German cavalry were in the rear of the division
near the wagon train; in fact, they hastened at once to their assistance,
but they could neither reach them in time nor pass beyond them so as to
be of any assistance at the first attack. The Zmudzians, pouring from the
thickets, surrounded them like a swarm of poisonous wasps upon whose nest
a careless traveler had trod. Meanwhile Zbyszko and his men threw
themselves upon the infantry.

The attack was without effect. The Germans planted the ends of their
heavy lances and battle-axes in the ground, held them fast and even so
that the Zmudzian light horses could not break the wall. Macko's horse,
which received a blow from a battle-axe in the shin, reared and stood up
on his hind legs, then fell forward burying his nostrils in the ground.
For a while death was hovering above the old knight; but he was
experienced and had seen many battles, and was full of resources in
accidents. So he freed his legs from the stirrups, and grasped with his
powerful hand the sharp end of the pike which was ready to strike him,
and instead of penetrating his chest it served him as a support. Then he
freed himself, and, springing among the horsemen, he obtained a sword and
fell upon the pikes and battle-axes with such fury as an eagle swoops
upon a flock of long-beaked cranes.

At the moment of attack Zbyszko sat back on his horse, charged with his
spear--and broke it; then he also got a sword. The Bohemian, who, above
all, believed in the efficacy of an axe, threw it in the midst of the
Germans. For a while he remained without arms. One of two _wlodykas_ who
accompanied him was slain in the onset; at the sight of that, the other
lost his reason and raved so that he began to howl like a wolf, stood up
upon his blood-covered horse and charged blindly into the midst of the
throng. The Zmudzian noblemen cut with their sharp blades the spearheads
and wooden handles, behind which they observed the faces of the _knechts_
(common soldiers) upon which was depicted alarm, and at the same time
they were frowning with determination and stubbornness. But the ranks
remained unbroken. Also the Zmudzians, who made a flank attack, quickly
retreated from before the Germans, as one runs away from a venomous
snake. Indeed they returned immediately with yet greater impetuosity, but
they did not succeed. Some of them climbed up the trees in the twinkling
of an eye and directed their arrows into the midst of the _knechts_, but
when their leader saw this he ordered the soldiers to retreat toward the
cavalry. The German ranks also began to shoot, and from time to time a
Zmudzian would fall down and tear the moss in agony, or wriggle like a
fish drawn from the water. The Germans, indeed, could not count upon a
victory, but they knew the efficacy of defending themselves, so that, if
possible, a small number, at least, might manage to escape disaster and
reach the shore.

Nobody thought of surrendering, because they did not spare prisoners,
they knew that they could not count upon mercy from people who were
driven to despair and rebellion. They therefore retreated in silence, in
close rank, shoulder to shoulder, now raising, now lowering their
javelins and broad axes, hewing, shooting with their crossbows as much as
the confusion of the fighting permitted them, and continuing to retreat
slowly toward their horsemen, who were engaged in life and death battle
with another section of the enemy.

Meanwhile something strange occurred which decided the fortune of the
stubborn fight. It was caused by the young _wlodyka_ of Lenkawice, who
became mad at the death of his companion; he did not dismount, but bent
down and lifted up the body of his companion with the object of
depositing it in a safe place to save it from mutilation, and so that he
might find it after the battle was over. But at that very moment a fresh
wave of madness came over him and he entirely lost his mind, so that
instead of leaving the road, he rushed toward the German soldiers and
threw the body upon the points of their pikes, which penetrated the
corpse in various parts, and the weight caused them to bend, and before
the Germans were able to withdraw their weapons, the raving man fell in,
breaking the ranks and overturning the men like a tempest.

In the twinkling of an eye, half a score of hands were extended toward
him and as many pikes penetrated the flanks of his horse, but the ranks
were thrown into disorder, and one Zmudz noble who was near, rushed
through and immediately after him came Zbyszko, then the Bohemian, and
the terrible confusion increased every moment. Other _bojars_ followed
the example, seized corpses and thrust them against the enemies' arms,
whilst the Zmudzians again attacked the flanks. The order which had
hitherto reigned in the German ranks wavered; it began to shake like a
house whose walls are cracked; it was cleft like a log by a wedge, and
finally it burst open.

In a moment the fighting turned to slaughter, the long German pikes and
broad axes were of no use at close quarters. Instead of it the swords of
the horsemen fell upon helmet and neck. The horses pressed into the midst
of the throng, upsetting and trampling the unfortunate Germans. It was
easy for the horsemen to strike from above and they took advantage of the
opportunity and ceaselessly cut the enemy. From the woods on both sides
continually arrived wild warriors, clothed in wolves' skins, and with a
wolfish desire for blood in their hearts. Their howling drowned the
voices praying for mercy and those of the dying. The conquered threw away
their arms; some tried to escape into the forest, others feigned death
and fell to the earth, others stood erect, their faces white as snow, and
bloodshot eyes, whilst others prayed. One of them, apparently demented,
began to play the pipe, then looked upward and smiled, until a Zmudzian
crushed his head with a club. The forest ceased to rustle and death
dominated it.

Finally the small army of the Knights of the Cross melted away; only at
times there were heard voices of small bands fighting in the woods, or a
terrible cry of despair. Zbyszko, Macko and all their horsemen now
galloped toward the cavalry. They were still defending themselves,
placing themselves in the form of a wedge. The Germans were always
accustomed to adopt that manoeuvre when surrounded by an overwhelming
force of the enemy. The cavalry were mounted upon good horses and were
better armed than the infantry; they fought manfully and obstinately and
deserved admiration. There was none with a white mantle among them, but
they were of the middle classes and small nobility of the Germans who
were obliged to go to war when called upon by the Order. Most of their
horses were also armed, some had body armor; but all had iron head covers
with a spike of steel protruding from the centre. Their leader was a
tall, sturdy knight; he wore a dark blue coat of mail and a helmet of the
same color, with a lowered steel visor.

A rain of arrows was showered upon them from the depths of the forest.
But they did but little harm. The Zmudzian infantry and cavalry came
nearer and surrounded them like a wall, but they defended themselves,
cutting and thrusting with their long swords so furiously that in front
of the horses' hoofs lay a ring of corpses. The first lines of the
attackers wanted to retire, but they were unable to do so. There was a
press and confusion all around. The eyes became dazzled by the glint of
the spears and the flash of the swords. The horses began to neigh, bite,
rear and kick. Then the Zmudz noblemen charged down; Zbyszko, Hlawa and
the Mazovians fell upon them. By dint of the press, the German throng
began to waver, and swayed like trees before a storm, but they hewed like
choppers of firewood in the forest thickets, and advanced slowly amidst
fatigue and excessive heat.

But Macko ordered his men to gather together the long-handled German
battle-axes from the battlefield, and armed with them thirty of his wild
warriors pressed on eagerly toward the Germans. "Strike the horses'
legs!" he shouted. A terrible effect was soon apparent. The German
knights were unable to reach the Zmudzians with their swords, at the same
time the battle-axes were crushing the horses' legs. It was then that the
blue knight recognized that the end of the battle was at hand, and that
he had only two resources left--either to fight his way through the army
and retreat, or to remain and perish.

He chose the first plan, and in a moment his knights turned their faces
in the direction whence they came. The Zmudzians fell upon their rear.
Nevertheless the Germans threw their shields upon their shoulders and cut
in front and to the sides, and broke through the ranks of the attacking
party, and hurricane-like, fled toward the east. But that division which
had been despatched for that purpose, rushed to meet them; but by dint of
superior fighting and the greater weight of the horses, they fell in a
moment like flax before a storm. The road to the castle was open, but
escape thither was insecure and too far away, because the Zmudzian horses
were fleeter than those of the Germans. The blue knight was quite aware
of it.

"Woe!" he said to himself. "Here none will escape; perhaps I may purchase
their salvation with my own blood."

Then he shouted to his men to halt, and himself turned around toward the
foe, not caring whether any one overheard his command.

Zbyszko galloped up to him first, the German struck him upon the visor,
but without breaking it or harming Zbyszko. At the same time, Zbyszko,
instead of giving stroke for stroke, grasped the knight by the middle,
but, in the attempt to take him alive, engaged in a close struggle,
during which the girth of his horse gave way from the intense strain of
the contest, and both fell to the ground. For a while they wrestled; but
the extraordinary strength of the young man soon prevailed against his
antagonist; he pressed his knees against his stomach, holding him down as
a wolf does a dog who dares to oppose him in the woods.

But there was no need to hold him, because the German fainted. Meanwhile
Macko and the Bohemian arrived at a gallop. Zbyszko shouted: "Quick,
here! A rope!"

The Bohemian dismounted, but seeing the helplessness of the German, he
did not bind him, but disarmed him and unbuckled his armlets and his
belt, and with the attached "_misericordia_," (dagger of mercy) cut the
gorget, and lastly he unscrewed the helmet.

But he had scarcely glanced in the face of the knight, when he started
back and exclaimed:

"Master! master! please only look here!"

"De Lorche!" shouted Zbyszko.

And there lay de Lorche pale and motionless as a corpse, with closed eyes
and face covered with perspiration.




CHAPTER VII.

Zbyszko gave orders for him to be laid upon one of the captured wagons
which were laden with spare wheels and axles for the expedition coming to
relieve the castle. He mounted another horse, and with Macko they
continued the pursuit of the fleeing Germans. It was not a difficult
pursuit, because the German horses were not speedy enough, particularly
upon the ground softened by the spring rains, more especially for Macko,
who had with him a light and fleet mare which belonged to the deceased
_wlodyka_ of Lenkawice. After a distance of several furlongs he passed
almost all the Zmudzians. He soon reached the first German trooper, whom
he at once challenged according to the then prevailing custom among the
knights, to surrender or fight. But the German feigned deafness. He even
threw away his shield to relieve the horse, and bent in the saddle and
spurred his horse. The old knight struck him with his broad axe between
the shoulder-blades, and he fell to the ground.

Thus Macko avenged himself upon the fleeing Germans for the treacherous
shot he had once received. They ran before him like a herd of frightened
deer. They had no thought of continuing the fight or defending
themselves, but of fleeing before that terrible man. Some dashed into the
forest, but one stuck fast near the stream: him the Zmudzians strangled
with a halter. Then a hunt as if after wild beasts began after the crowd
of fugitives which sprang into the woods.

The depths of the forests rang with the shouts of the hunters and the
shrieks of the hunted until the latter were exterminated. Then the old
knight, accompanied by Zbyszko and the Bohemian, returned to the
battlefield upon which lay the hacked bodies of the German infantry. They
were already stripped naked. Some were mutilated by the revengeful
Zmudzians. It was an important victory, and the soldiers were drunk with
joy. After the last defeat suffered by Skirwoilla near Gotteswerder, a
sort of apathy had seized the Zmudzians, more especially because the
promised relief from Prince Witold had not yet arrived as quickly as
expected. However, now hope revived and the fire was kindled anew as when
wood is thrown upon glowing embers. The number of slain Germans, as well
as Zmudzians to be buried, was very great, but Zbyszko ordered a special
grave to be dug for the _wlodykas_ of Lenkawice, who contributed so much
toward the victory. They were buried there among the pine-trees, and
Zbyszko cut a cross with his sword upon the bark. Then he ordered the
Bohemian to keep watch over de Lorche who was still unconscious; he
stirred up the people and hurried on along the road toward Skirwoilla to
lend him affective assistance in case of emergency.

But after a long march he came across a deserted battlefield that
resembled the former, being covered with German and Zmudzian corpses. It
was easy for Zbyszko to conclude that the terrible Skirwoilla had also
gained an equally important victory over the enemy, because if he had
been defeated, Zbyszko would have met the victorious Germans marching to
the castle. But the victory must have been a bloody one, because for some
distance a great number of dead were met with. The experienced Macko was
able to deduce from this that some Germans had even succeeded in
retreating from the defeat.

It was difficult to tell whether Skirwoilla was pursuing them or not,
because the tracks were mingled and confused. He also concluded that the
battle had taken place quite early, perhaps earlier than Zbyszko's fight,
for the corpses were livid and swollen, and some of them torn by wolves,
that scattered in the thickets at the approach of armed men.

In face of these circumstances Zbyszko resolved not to wait for
Skirwoilla, but to return to the original safe camp. He arrived there
late at night and found the leader of the Zmudzians who had arrived
somewhat early. His face, which usually wore a sullen expression, was now
lighted with fiendish joy. He asked at once about the result of the
fight, and when he was told of the victory he said in tones that sounded
like the croaking of a crow:

"I am glad of your victory, and I am glad of mine. They will send no more
relief expeditions for some time, and when the great prince arrives there
will be more joy, for the castle will be ours."

"Have you taken any prisoners?" inquired Zbyszko.

"Only small fry, no pike. There was one, there were two but they got
away. They were pikes with sharp teeth! They cut the people and escaped."

"God granted me one." replied the young knight. "He is a powerful and
renowned knight, although a Swede--a guest!"

The terrible Zmudzian raised his hands to his neck and with the right
hand made a gesture like the up-jerk of a halter:

"This shall happen to him," he said, "to him as well as to the other
prisoners ... this!"

Then Zbyszko's brow furrowed.

"Listen, Skirwoilla," he said. "Nothing will happen to him, neither
_this_ nor _that_ because he is my prisoner and my friend. Prince Janusz
knighted both of us. I will not even permit you to cut off one finger
from his hand."

"You will not permit?"

"No, I will not."

Then they glared fiercely into each other's eyes. Skirwoilla's face was
so much wrinkled that it had the appearance of a bird of prey. It
appeared as if both were about to burst out. But Zbyszko did not want any
trouble with the old leader, whom he prized and respected; moreover his
heart was greatly agitated with the events of the day. He fell suddenly
upon his neck, pressed him to his breast and exclaimed:

"Do you really desire to tear him from me, and with him my last hope? Why
do you wrong me?"

Skirwoilla did not repel the embrace. Finally, withdrawing his head from
Zbyszko's arm, he looked at him benignantly, breathing heavily.

"Well," he said, after a moment's silence. "Well, to-morrow I will give
orders for the prisoners to be hanged, but if you want any one of them, I
will give him to you."

Then they embraced each other again and parted on good terms--to the
great satisfaction of Macko, who said:

"It is obvious that you will never be able to do anything with him by
anger, but with kindness you can knead him like wax."

"Such is the whole nation," replied Zbyszko; "but the Germans do not know
it."

Then he gave orders for de Lorche, who had taken rest in the booth, to be
brought to the camp-fire. A moment later the Bohemian brought him in; he
was unarmed and without a helmet, having only his leather jacket upon
which the marks of the coat of mail were visible. He had a red cap on his
head. De Lorche had already been informed by Hlawa that he was a prisoner
and therefore he came in looking cool and haughty, and the light of the
flames revealed defiance and contempt in his countenance.

"Thank God," Zbyszko said, "that He delivered you in my hands, because
nothing evil shall happen to you by me."

Then he extended a friendly hand; but de Lorche did not even move.

"I decline to give my hand to knights who outrage knightly honor, by
joining pagans in fighting Christian knights."

One of the Mazovians present, who could not restrain himself, owing to
Zbyszko's importance, on hearing this became excited and his blood
boiled.

"Fool!" he shouted and involuntarily grasped the handle of his
"_misericordia_."

But de Lorche lifted up his head.

"Kill me," he said. "I know that you do not spare prisoners."

"But, do you spare prisoners?" the Mazur who could not restrain himself,
exclaimed: "Did you not hang on the shore of the island all the prisoners
you took in the last fight? That is the reason why Skirwoilla will hang
all his prisoners."

"Yes! they did hang them, but they were pagans."

There was a certain sense of shame in his reply; it could easily be seen
that he did not entirely approve of such deeds.

Meanwhile, Zbyszko controlled himself, and in a quiet and dignified
manner said:

"De Lorche, you and I received our belts and spurs from the same hand,
you also know well that knightly honor is dearer to me than life and
fortune. Listen, therefore, to my words which I say under oath to Saint
Jerzy: There are many among this people whose Christianity does not date
from yesterday, and those who have not yet been converted stretch out
their hands toward the Cross for salvation. But, do you know who hinder
them and prevent their salvation and baptism?"

The Mazur translated all Zbyszko's words to de Lorche, who looked into
the young knight's face questioningly.

"The Germans!" said Zbyszko.

"Impossible," shouted de Lorche.

"By the spear and spurs of Saint Jerzy, the Germans! Because if the
religion of the Cross were to be propagated here, they would lose a
pretext for incursions, and domination and oppression of this unhappy
people. You are well acquainted with these facts, de Lorche! You are best
informed whether their dealings are upright or not."

"But I think that in fighting with the pagans they are only banishing
them to prepare them for baptism."

"They are baptizing them with the sword and blood, not with water that
saves. Read this letter, I pray, and you will be convinced that you
yourself are the wrongdoer, plunderer and the hell-_starosta_ of those
who fight religion and Christian love."

Then he handed him the letter which the Zmudzians had written to the
kings and princes, which was distributed everywhere; de Lorche took it
and perused it rapidly by the light of the fire. He was greatly
surprised, and said;

"Can all that be true?"

"May God, who sees best, so help you and me that I am not only speaking
the truth but I also serve justice."

De Lorche was silent for a moment and then said:

"I am your prisoner."

"Give me your hand," replied Zbyszko. "You are my brother, not my
prisoner."

Then they clasped hands and sat down in company to supper, which the
Bohemian ordered the servant to prepare.

De Lorche was greatly surprised when he was informed on the road that
Zbyszko, in spite of his letters, had not got Danusia, and that the
_comthurs_ had refused important and safe conduct on account of the
outbreak of the war.

"Now I understand why you are here," he said to Zbyszko, "and I thank God
that He delivered me into your hands, because I think that through me the
Knights of the Order will surrender to you what you wish. Otherwise there
will be a great outcry in the West, because I am a knight of importance
and come from a powerful family...."

Then he suddenly threw down his cap and exclaimed:

"By all the relics of Akwizgran! Then those who were at the head of the
relief train to Gotteswerder, were Arnold von Baden and old Zygfried von
Löve. That we learned from the letters which were sent to the castle.
Were they taken prisoners?"

"No!" said Zbyszko, excitedly. "None of the most important! But, by God!
The news you tell me is important. For God's sake, tell me, are there
other prisoners from whom I can learn whether there were any women with
Zygfried?"

Then he called the men to bring him lit resinous chips and he hastened to
where the prisoners were gathered by order of Skirwoilla. De Lorche,
Macko and the Bohemian ran with him.

"Listen," said de Lorche to Zbyszko, on the way. "If you will let me free
on parole I will run and seek her throughout the whole of Prussia, and
when I find her, I will return to you and you will exchange me for her."

"If she lives! If she lives!" replied Zbyszko.

Meanwhile they reached the place where Skirwoilla's prisoners were. Some
were lying upon their backs, others stood near the stumps of trees to
which they were cruelly fastened with fibre. The bright flame of the
chips illuminated Zbyszko's face. Therefore all the prisoners' looks were
directed toward him.

Then from the depths of the road there was heard a loud and terrible
voice:

"My lord and protector! Oh, save me!"

Zbyszko snatched from the hands of the servant a couple of burning chips
and ran into the forest toward the direction whence the voice proceeded,
holding aloft the burning chips, and cried:

"Sanderus!"

"Sanderus!" repeated the Bohemian, in astonishment.

But Sanderus, whose hands were bound to the tree, stretched his neck and
began to shout again.

"Mercy!... I know where Jurand's daughter is!... Save me."




CHAPTER VIII.

The soldiers unbound him at once, but his limbs were benumbed and he
fell; when they lifted him up he was seized with successive fainting
fits. In spite of Zbyszko's orders for him to be taken to the fire and
given food and drink, and rubbed over with fat and then covered with
warmed skins, Sanderus did not recover consciousness, but lapsed into a
very deep sleep, which continued until noon of the following day when the
Bohemian succeeded in awakening him.

Zbyszko, who was burning with fiery impatience, immediately went to him,
but at first he could get no information from him, because either from
his terrible experiences or from the relaxation which usually overpowers
weak natures when the threatening danger has passed, Sanderus burst into
long and uncontrollable weeping, so that for some time he could give no
answer to the questions put to him. He was choked with sobs, his lips
trembled, and tears flowed down his cheeks so copiously that it seemed as
though his very life was flowing out with them.

Finally he succeeded to some extent in controlling himself, and he
strengthened himself a little with mares' milk, which mode of refreshing
themselves the Lithunians learned from the Tartars. He began to complain
that the "sons of Belial" had thrust him with their pikes against a wild
apple-tree; that they had taken away his horse which was laden with
relics of priceless virtue; and finally when they had bound him to the
tree, the ants had attacked his feet and body so that he expected to die
from it, if not to-day, to-morrow.

Zbyszko's anger overcame him and he could restrain himself no longer, and
he interrupted Sanderus and said:

"You vagabond, answer the questions I am going to put to you and take
care that you tell the truth, or you will fare worse."

"There are red ants yonder," said the Bohemian, "order them to be pat
upon him, and he will soon find a tongue in his mouth."

Hlawa did not say this seriously; he even smiled as he spoke, for his
heart was well inclined toward Sanderus. The latter, however, was
terror-stricken, and shouted.

"Mercy! Mercy! Give me some more of that pagan drink and I will tell you
all that I have and that I have not seen."

"If you tell lies, even one word that is not true, I will drive a wedge
between your teeth," said the Bohemian.

They brought him another skin full of mares' milk; he grasped it and
fastened his lips to it with the avidity that a child does to its
mother's breast, and began to gulp it down, alternatively opening and
closing his eyes. When he had drank from it about half a gallon or more,
he shook himself, placed the skin upon his knees, and as if submitting
himself to the inevitable, he said:

"Vile stuff!..." Then he turned toward Zbyszko. "Now, deliverer! ask."

"Was my wife in that division with you?"

Sanderus' face assumed a certain air of surprise. In fact he had heard
that Danusia was Zbyszko's wife, but it had been a secret marriage, and
immediately afterward she had been abducted, and he had always thought of
her as Jurandowna, (Miss Jurand).

He replied quickly:

"Yes, _voyevode!_ She was! But Zygfried von Löve and Arnold von Baden
broke through the enemy's ranks and escaped."

"Did you see her?" asked Zbyszko, with beating heart.

"I did not see her face, sir, but I saw a closed litter made of
brushwood, suspended between two horses, in which there was somebody, led
by that very lizard, the same servant of the Order who came from Danveld
to the Forest Court. I also heard sad singing proceeding from the
litter...."

Zbyszko grew pale with emotion; he sat down on the stump and was unable
to ask another question for a while. Macko and the Bohemian were also
much moved at this great and important news. The latter, probably,
thought about his beloved lady who remained at Spychow, and upon whom
this news would fall like a doom.

There was silence for a moment. Finally, the shrewd Macko who did not
know Sanderus, and who had scarcely heard of him previously, looked at
him with suspicion, and asked:

"Who are you and what were you doing among the Knights of the Cross?"

"Who am I, powerful knight?" replied Sanderus. "Let this valiant prince
answer for me," (here he pointed toward Zbyszko), "and this manly
Bohemian noble who has known me long."

The effect of the kumys (mares' milk) upon Sanderus apparently began to
show itself, for he grew lively, and turning to Zbyszko he spoke in a
loud voice and showed no trace of his previous feeble condition.

"Sir, you have saved my life twice. If it were not for you, the wolves
would have devoured me, or the punishment of the bishops who were
misguided by my enemies. (Oh, what a wicked world this is!) They issued
an order to hunt me for selling relics which they thought were not
genuine, simply because they took me for one of your people. But you, O
lord, protected me, and thanks to you I was not destroyed by the wolves,
nor shall their persecution harm me. Food and drink was never lacking
whilst I was with you--better than the mares' milk here which makes me
sick, but I drink it in order to show how a poor but pious pilgrim can
stand all kinds of privations."

"Speak, you bear-trainer; tell us quickly what you know, and do not play
the fool," exclaimed Macko.

But he lifted the skin to his mouth again and entirely emptied it;
apparently not hearing Macko's words, he turned again to Zbyszko: "This
is another reason why I love you. The saints, as it is written in the
Scriptures, sinned nine times an hour, consequently, sometimes also
Sanderus transgresses, but Sanderus never was nor shall be ungrateful.
Therefore, when misfortune came upon you, you remember, sir, what I told
you; I said, 'I will go from castle to castle, and, instructing the
people along the road, I will search for your lost one.' Whom did I not
ask? Where did I not go?--It would take me a long time to tell you.--But,
suffice it to say, I found her; and from that moment on, burrs do not
cling as tenaciously to the cloak as I attached myself to old Zygfried. I
became his servant, and from castle to castle, from one _comthur_ to
another, from town to town I went with him without intermission until
this last battle."

Zybszko meanwhile mastered his emotion and said:

"I am very thankful to you and I shall surely reward you. But now, answer
my questions. Will you swear, by the salvation of your soul, that she is
alive?"

"I swear by the salvation of my soul that she is alive," replied
Sanderus, with a serious air.

"Why did Zygfried leave Szczytno?"

"I do not know, sir. But I surmise that as he was never the _starosta_ of
Szczytno, he left it; perhaps he feared the grand master's orders, which
were, they say, to give up the little lamb to the Mazovian court. Perhaps
that very letter was the cause of his flight, because his soul burned
within him with pain and vengeance for Rotgier who, they say now, was
Zygfried's own son. I cannot tell what happened there, but this I do
know, that something turned his head and he raved, and determined not to
surrender Jurand's daughter--I meant to say, the young lady--as long as
he lives."

"All this seems to me very strange," suddenly interrupted Macko. "If that
old dog thirsts so much for the blood of all who belong to Jurand, he
would have killed Danuska."

"He wanted to do so," replied Sanderus, "but something happened to him
and he became very sick, and was at the point of death. His people
whisper much over that affair. Some say that upon a certain night when he
went to the tower intending to kill the young lady he met the Evil
Spirit--some say it was an angel whom he met--well--they found him lying
upon the snow in front of the tower wholly lifeless. Now, when he thinks
about it, his hair stands up upon his head like oak-trees; this is the
reason why he does not himself dare to lift up his hand against her, he
even fears to order others to do it. He has with him the dumb executioner
of Szczytno, but it is not known why, because the executioner as well as
others, are equally afraid to harm her."

These words made a great impression. Zbyszko, Macko and the Bohemian came
near Sanderus, who crossed himself and then continued:

"It was not well to be among them. More than once I heard and saw things
that made my flesh creep. I have told your lordship already that
something was wrong with the old _comthur's_ head. Bah! How could it be
otherwise, when spirits from the other world visit him. He would have
remained there, but some presence is always near him which sounds like
one who is breathless. And that is that very Danveld, whom the terrible
lord of Spychow killed. Then Zygfried says to him: 'What shall I do? I
cannot avenge you on anything; what profit will you get?' But the other
(the ghost) gnashes his teeth and then pants again. Very often Rotgier
appears, and the odor of sulphur is noticeable, and the _comthur_ has a
lengthy conversation with him. 'I cannot,' he says to him. 'I cannot.
When I come myself then I will do it, but now I cannot.' I also heard the
old man asking: 'Will that comfort you, dear son,' and other expressions
of the same character. When this happens, the old _comthur_ speaks to
nobody for two or three days in succession, and his face seems as if he
is suffering intense pain. He and the woman servant of the Order watch
the litter carefully, so that the young lady is always unable to see
anybody."

"Do they not torture her?" asked Zbyszko, in hollow tones.

"I will tell your lordship the candid truth, that I did not hear any
beating or crying; the only thing I heard proceeding from the litter was
sad melodies; sometimes it seemed to me like sweet, sad warblings of a
bird...."

"That is terrible," exclaimed Zbyszko, his voice hissing between his set
teeth.

But Macko interrupted further questioning.

"That is enough," he said. "Speak now of the battle. Did you see how they
departed and what became of them?"

"I saw and will give a faithful account. At first they fought terribly.
But when they saw that they were surrounded on all sides, then only they
thought of escape. Sir Arnold, who is quite a giant, was the first to
break the ring, and opened such a road, that he, the old _comthur_ and
some people with the horse-litter succeeded in passing through it."

"How is it that they were not pursued?"

"They were pursued, but nothing could be done, because when they came too
near them, then Sir Arnold faced the pursuers and fought them all. God
protect those who meet him, because he possesses such extraordinary
strength; he considers it a trifle to fight against a hundred. Thrice he
thus turned, thrice he kept the pursuers in check. All the people who
were with him perished. It seems to me that he too was wounded, and so
was his horse, but he escaped, and meanwhile the old _comthur_ succeeded
in making good his escape."

When Macko heard the story he thought that Sanderus was telling the
truth, for he recollected that when he entered the field where Skirwoilla
had given battle, the whole stretch of the road on the line of the
Germans' retreat, was covered with dead Zmudzians, so terribly hacked as
though it had been done by giant hands.

"Nevertheless, how could you observe all that?" he asked Sanderus.

"I saw it," replied the vagabond, "because I grasped the tail of one of
the horses which carried the litter, and held on until I received a kick
in my stomach. Then I fainted, and that was the reason that you captured
me."

"That might happen," said Hlawa, "but take care, if anything you say
turns out to be false; in such case you shall fare badly."

"There is another proof," replied Sanderus; "let one who wishes take a
note of it; yet it is better to believe a man's word than to condemn him
as one who does not tell the truth."

"Although you sometimes unwillingly tell the truth, you will howl for
simony."

And they began to tease each other as they formerly did, but Zbyszko
interrupted their chatter.

"You have passed through that region, then you must be acquainted with
the localities in the neighborhood of the castles; where do you suppose
Zygfried and Arnold hide themselves?"

"There are no strongholds whatever in that neighborhood; all is one
wilderness, through which a road was recently cut. There are neither
villages nor farms. The Germans burned those that were there, for the
reason that the inhabitants of those places who are also Zmudzians, had
also risen in arms against the Knights of the Cross with their brethren
here. I think, sir, that Zygfried and Arnold are now wandering about the
woods; either they are trying to return to the place whence they came, or
attempting furtively to reach that fortress whither we were going to
before that unfortunate battle."

"I am sure that it is so," said Zbyszko. He became absorbed in thought so
that he contracted his brows; he was obviously trying to find some plan,
but it did not last long. After a while he lifted up his head and said:

"Hlawa! See that the horses and men get ready; we must move at once."

The Bohemian, whose custom was never to ask for reasons when commanded,
without saying a single word, got up and ran toward the horses; then
Macko opened wide his eyes at his nephew and said with surprise:

"And ... Zbyszko? Hey! Where are you going? What?... How?..."

But he answered his questions with another:

"And what do you think? Is it not my duty?"

The old knight had nothing to say. His looks of astonishment disappeared
little by little from his face; he shook his head once or twice and
finally drew a deep breath and said as though replying to himself:

"Well! there you are.... There is no other remedy!"

And he also went to the horses, but Zbyszko returned to de Lorche, and by
means of a Mazovian interpreter spoke to him thus:

"I cannot ask you to go with me against the people with whom you served.
You are therefore free and you may go wherever you please."

"I cannot serve you now with my sword against my knightly honor," replied
de Lorche; "but as to your granting me my freedom, I cannot accept that
either. I remain your prisoner on parole and shall be at your command
whithersoever you send me. And in case you want to exchange prisoners,
remember that the Order will exchange for me any prisoner, because I am
not only a powerful knight, but I am a descendant of a line of Knights of
the Cross of great merit."

Then they embraced each other according to custom, placing their hands on
each other's arms and kissing each other on the cheeks, and de Lorche
said:

"I will go to Malborg or to the Mazovian court, so that you may know if I
am not in one place you can find me in the other. Thy messenger need only
tell me the two words, '_Lotaryngia-Geldria_'"

"Well," said Zbyszko, "still I will go to Skirwoilla to obtain a pass for
you which the Zmudzians will respect."

Then he called upon Skirwoilla; the old leader gave the pass for his
departure without any difficulty, for he knew all about the affair and
loved Zbyszko; he was grateful to him for his bravery in the last battle,
and for this very reason he made no objection whatever to the departure
of the knight who belonged to another country and came on his own
account. Then, thanking Zbyszko for the great services which he had
rendered, he looked at him in surprise at his courage in undertaking a
journey in the wild lands; he bid him good-bye, expressing his wishes to
meet him again in some greater and more conclusive affair against the
Knights of the Cross.

But Zbyszko was in a great hurry, for he was consumed as with a fever.
When he arrived at the post he found everybody ready, and his uncle,
Macko, on horseback, among them; he was armed and had on his coat of mail
and his helmet upon his head. Zbyszko approached him and said:

"Then you too go with me!"

"But what else could I do?" replied Macko, a little testily.

Zbyszko did not reply, but kissed the right hand of his uncle, then
mounted his horse and proceeded.

Sanderus went with them. They knew the road as far as the battlefield
very well, but beyond that he was to guide them. They also counted upon
the local inhabitants whom they might meet in the woods; who, out of
hatred of their masters, the Knights of the Cross, would aid them in
tracking the old _comthur_ and the knight, Arnold von Baden, to whom
Sanderus attributed such superhuman strength and bravery.




CHAPTER IX.

The road to the battlefield where Skirwoilla had routed the Germans was
easy, because they knew it, and so they soon reached it. Owing to the
insufferable stench arising from the unburied dead, they crossed it in a
hurry. As they did so, they drove away wolves, and large flights of
crows, ravens and jackdaws. Then they began to look for traces along the
road. Although a whole division had passed over it on the previous day,
nevertheless, the experienced Macko found upon the trampled road without
trouble, the imprint of gigantic hoofs leading in an opposite direction.
Then he explained to the younger and less experienced companions-in-arms:

"It is fortunate that there has been no rainfall since the battle. Only
look here. Arnold's horse carrying an unusually big man must also be
exceedingly large; this too is easily observed, that the imprint of the
horse's feet on this side of the road is much deeper, owing to the
galloping in his flight; whilst the tracks marking the previous march on
the other side of the road are not so deep, because the horse walked
slowly. Let those who have eyes look how the marks of the horseshoes are
visible. God grant that we may track those dog-brothers successfully,
provided they have not already found shelter somewhere behind walls!"

"Sanderus said," replied Zbyszko, "that there are no forts in this
neighborhood, and it is actually so; because the Knights of the Cross
have only recently taken possession of this region and have not had
enough time to build in it. Then where can they hide themselves? All the
peasants who dwelt in these lands joined Skirwoilla, because they belong
to the same stock as the Zmudzians.... The villages, Sanderus said, these
same Germans destroyed by fire and the women and children are hidden in
the thick forest. Provided we do not spare our horses we shall yet
overtake them."

"We must spare the horses, for even if we overtake them our safety
afterward depends upon our horses," said Macko.

"Sir Arnold," interrupted Sanderus, "received a blow between his
shoulder-blades in battle. He took no notice of it at first, but kept on
fighting and slaying, but they were obliged to dress it afterward; as is
always the case, at first one does not feel the blows but they pain later
on. For this reason he cannot exert himself too much to run fast and it
may be that he is even obliged to rest himself."

"You said that there are no other people with them?" inquired Macko.

"There are two who lead the litter, the _comthur_ and Sir Arnold. There
were quite a number of men with them, but the Zmudzians killed them."

"Let our men lay hold of the two fellows who are with the litter," said
Zbyszko. "You, uncle, manage old Zygfried, and I will pounce upon
Arnold."

"Well," replied Macko, "I shall be able to manage Zygfried, because,
thank God, there is still strength in these bones. But as far as your
task is concerned, I should say, do not be so self-confident, for that
knight seems to be a giant."

"O well! We shall see," replied Zbyszko.

"You are strong, that I don't dispute, but there are stronger men than
you are. Did you observe our own knights whom we met at Krakow? Could you
conquer Pan Powala of Taczew, Paszko Zlodziej of Biskupice, and Zawisza
Czarny, eh? Don't be too rash, but consider the facts."

"Rotgier also was a strong man," murmured Zbyszko.

"Will there be any work for myself?" asked the Bohemian. But he received
no reply, because Macko was thinking about something else.

"If God blesses us we shall be able to reach the Mazowiecki wilderness.
We shall be safe there, and all trouble will be at an end."

But after a while he sighed when he reflected that even there affairs
would not be entirely ended, there would yet be something to attend to
for the unfortunate Jagienka.

"Hey!" he murmured, "God's decrees are wonderful. I had often thought
about it. Why did it not occur to you to get married quietly, and let me
live with you peacefully. That would have been the most happy course. But
now we are the only ones among the noblemen of the kingdom, who are
wandering in various regions and wilds, instead of attending to our homes
as God commands."

"Well, that is true, but it is God's will," replied Zbyszko.

Then they proceeded on their journey for a while in silence. The old
knight turned again to his nephew:

"Do you rely on that vagabond? Who is he?"

"He is a fickle man and perhaps he is a rogue, but he wishes me well, and
I am not afraid of treachery from him."

"If so let him ride in front, for if he overtakes them he will not be
scared. Let him tell them that he is fleeing from captivity, and they
will easily believe him. This is the best way, because if they chanced to
see us they might evade us and hide themselves, or have time enough to
prepare for defence."

"He is afraid and will not travel by himself at night," replied Zbyszko.
"But during the daytime I am sure that that plan is the best one to
adopt. I will tell him to stop and wait for us three times during the
day. If we do not find him at the appointed places then it will be a sign
that he is already with them, and following up his tracks we will fall
upon them unexpectedly."

"But will he not warn them?"

"No. He is more friendly to me than to them. I will also tell him that
when we surprise them we will also bind him, so that he may escape their
revenge later on. Let him not recognize us at all...."

"Do you intend to preserve those fellows alive?"

"How else should it be?" replied Zbyszko, somewhat anxiously. "You
see.... If it were in our country, at home in Mazowsze, we would
challenge them, as I challenged Rotgier, to mortal combat; but this
cannot be here in their own country.... What concerns us here is Danuska
and speed. In order to avoid trouble all must be done quietly afterward
we will do as you said and push on as fast as our horses can go, to the
wilds of Mazowsze. But attacking them unexpectedly we might find them
unarmed, yes, even without their swords. Then how could we kill them? I
am afraid of reproach. We are now both of us, belted knights, so are
they...."

"It is so," said Macko. "Yet it may lead to an encounter."

But Zbyszko contracted his brow and in his face was depicted that
determination so characteristic of the looks of the men of Bogdaniec, for
at that moment he looked as if he were Macko's own son.

"What I should also like," he said, in low tones, "is to have that bloody
dog Zygfried crushed under Jurand's feet! May God grant it!"

"Grant it, God! grant it!" immediately repeated Macko.

Whilst conversing, they covered a considerable stretch of the road until
nightfall. It was a starry night, but there was no moon. They were
obliged to halt the horses, breathe, and refresh the men with food and
sleep. Zbyszko informed Sanderus before resting that he was to proceed in
front in the morning. Sanderus willingly assented; but reserved to
himself, in case of an attack by wolves or people, the right to run back
to Zbyszko. He also asked him for permission to make four stations
instead of three, because in solitude fear always took hold of him, even
in pious countries. How much more so in such an abominable wilderness as
the one where they found themselves now?

When they had refreshed themselves with food, they lay down to sleep upon
skins near a small camp-fire, which they built about half a furlong from
the road. The servants alternately guarded the horses, which, after they
were fed, rolled upon the ground and then slept, resting their heads upon
each other's necks. But no sooner did the first ray illuminate the woods
with a silvery hue, than Zbyszko arose and awoke the others, and at dawn
they continued their march. The tracks of the hoofs of Arnold's immense
stallion were easily recovered, because the usual muddy ground had dried
up from drought. Sanderus went on ahead and soon disappeared.
Nevertheless, they found him about half way between sunrise and noon, at
the waiting place. He told them that he had not seen any living soul,
only one large aurochs, but was not scared and did not run away, because
the animal got out of his way. But he declared that shortly before, he
had seen a peasant bee-keeper, but had not detained him, for fear that in
the depths of the forest there might be more of them. He had attempted to
question him, but they had not been able to make themselves understood.

As time went by, Zbyszko became somewhat troubled.

"What will happen," he said, "if I arrive in the higher and drier region,
where, owing to the hard, dry road, the traces of the fugitives will be
lost? or, if the pursuit shall last too long and lead to an inhabited
region where the people have long since accustomed themselves to the
servitude of the Knights of the Cross; an attack and capture of Danusia
by them is more than probable, because, although Arnold and Zygfried did
not erect forts, or fortify their towns, the inhabitants would surely
take their part."

Happily that fear turned out to be groundless, because they did not find
Sanderus at the appointed second post, but found instead an incision in
the form of a cross, apparently newly cut into the bark of an adjacent
pine tree. They looked at each other and their hearts began to beat
faster. Macko and Zbyszko immediately dismounted, in order to discover
the tracks upon the ground; they examined carefully, but it did not last
long, because they were plainly discernible.

Sanderus had apparently deviated from the road into the forest, and
followed the prints of the huge horse-hoofs, which, owing to the dry
condition of the turfy soil, were not so deeply impressed, but
sufficiently visible. The heavy horse disturbed at every step the pine
needles which were blackened at the margins of the impressions.

Other marks did not escape Zbyszko's keen sight. Then he and Macko
mounted their horses, and, together with the Bohemian, silently began
taking counsel as though the enemy were quite near them.

The Bohemian's advice was that they should advance on foot at once, but
they did not agree to that, because they did not know the distance they
would have to traverse in the woods. The footmen, however, had to proceed
carefully in advance, and signal in case something occurred, so that they
might be in readiness.

They moved onward among the woods in some trepidation, and another
incision upon a pine tree assured them that they had not lost Sanderus'
tracks. Very soon they also discovered a path, showing that people
frequently passed that way, and they were convinced that they were in the
neighborhood of some forest habitation, and within it was the object of
their search.

The sun was getting low, and shed a golden hue upon the trees of the
forest. The evening promised to be serene; silence reigned in the woods
because beast and birds had retired to rest, only here and there, among
the little top branches of the trees, squirrels moved to and fro looking
quite red in the last beams of the sun. Zbyszko, Macko, the Bohemian and
the attendants, closely followed each other, knowing that their men were
considerably in advance and would warn them in proper time; the old
knight spoke to his nephew in not very subdued tones.

"Let us calculate from the sun," he said. "From the last station to the
place where we found the first incision, we covered a great distance.
According to Krakow time it would be about three hours.... Then Sanderus
must be by this time among them, and has had time enough to tell them his
adventure, provided he has not betrayed us."

"He has not betrayed us," replied Zbyszko.

"Provided they believe him," continued Macko; "if they do not, then it
will be bad for him."

"But why should they not believe him? Do they know of us? Him they know.
It often happens that prisoners escape from captivity."

"But what concerns me is this: if he told them that he ran away they
might fear he would be pursued, and they would move on at once."

"No, he will succeed in casting dust in their eyes by telling them that
such a long pursuit would not be undertaken."

They were silent for a while, then it seemed to Macko that Zbyszko was
whispering to him; he turned and asked:

"What do you say?"

But Zbyszko had said nothing to Macko, but looking upward, said:

"Only if God would favor Danuska and the courageous enterprise in her
behalf."

Macko also began to cross himself; but he had scarcely made the first
sign of the cross, when from the hazelnut thickets one of the scouts
approached him suddenly and said:

"A pitch-burning cabin! They are there!"

"Stop!" whispered Zbyszko, and dismounted at once. Macko, the Bohemian,
and the attendants, also dismounted; three of the latter received orders
to hold the horses in readiness and take care that they, God forbid, did
not neigh. "I left five men," said Macko. "There will be the two
attendants and Sanderus, whom we shall bind in a moment, and, should any
one show fight, then, at his head!"

Then they advanced, and, as they moved on, Zbyszko said to his uncle:

"You take the old man, Zygfried; and I, Arnold."

"Only take care!" replied Macko. Then he beckoned to the Bohemian,
reminding him to be ready at a moment's notice to be on hand to assist
his master.

The Bohemian nodded assent. Then he breathed deeply and felt for his
sword to see whether it could be easily unsheathed.

But Zbyszko observed it and said:

"No! I command you to hasten at once to the litter and not move from it
for a single moment whilst the fight is going on."

They went quickly but silently through the hazelnut thickets. But they
had not gone far, when at a distance of not quite two furlongs, the
growth ceased suddenly, revealing a small field upon which were
extinguished pitch-burning heaps, and two earthen shanties, or huts,
where the pitch-burners had dwelt before the war. The setting sun
brightly illuminated the lawn, the pitch-burning heaps, and the two
detached shanties--in front of one of which the two knights were sitting
upon the ground; and in front of the other were Sanderus and a bearded,
red-headed fellow. These two were occupied in polishing the coats of mail
with rags. Besides this, the two swords were lying at Sanderus' feet
ready to be cleaned afterward.

"Look," said Macko, forcibly grasping Zbyszko's arm to detain him if
possible for another moment, "he has taken the coats of mail and swords
purposely. Well, that one with the grey head must be...."

"Forward!" suddenly shouted Zbyszko.

And like a whirlwind he rushed into the clearing; the others did the
same, but they only succeeded in reaching Sanderus. The terrible Macko
caught hold of old Zygfried by the breast, bent him backward and in a
moment held him under him. Zbyszko and Arnold grasped each other like two
hawks, with their arms intertwined and began to struggle fiercely with
each other. The bearded German, who was with Sanderus, sprang toward the
sword, but he did not use it. Wit, Macko's servant, struck him with the
back of his axe, and stretched him upon the ground. Then they began to
bind Sanderus, according to Macko's order, but he, although he well knew
that it was so arranged beforehand, began to bellow as terribly as a
yearling calf whose throat is being cut by the butcher's knife.

But Zbyszko, though so strong that he could squeeze a branch of a tree
and cause the sap to run out, felt that he was not grasped by human
hands, but was in the hug of a bear. He also felt that if it were not for
the cost of mail which he had on, in case of having to fight with the
sword, the German giant would have crushed his ribs and perhaps the
spinal column too. The young knight lifted him a little from the ground,
but Arnold lifted him up higher still, and gathering all his strength he
tried to throw him to the ground so that he might not be able to rise
again.

But Zbyszko also clutched him with such terrible force that blood issued
from the German's eyes. Then he crooked his leg between Arnold's knees,
bent him sideways and struck him in the hollow of the knee, which threw
him to the ground. In reality both fell to the ground, the young knight
underneath; but at the same moment, Macko, who was observing all this,
threw the half doubled-up Zygfried into the hands of an attendant, and
rushed toward the prostrate fighters, and in the twinkling of an eye he
had bound the feet of Arnold with a belt; then he jumped, and sat down
upon him as upon a wild boar, took the _misericordia_ from his side, and
plunged it deep into his throat.

Arnold screamed horribly, and his hands involuntarily withdrew from
Zbyszko's sides. Then he began to moan not only with the pain of the
wound, but he also felt an indescribable pain in his back: where he had
received a blow from a club in his previous fight with Skirwoilla.

Macko grasped him with both hands and dragged him off Zbyszko, and
Zbyszko got up from the ground and sat down; he tried to stand up but
could not; he sat thus without being able to rise, for some time. His
face was pale and covered with perspiration. His eyes were bloodshot and
his lips were blue; and he looked in front of him as though half dazed.

"What is the matter?" asked Macko, in alarm.

"Nothing, but I am very tired. Help me to get up."

Macko put his hands under Zbyszko's arms and lifted him up at once.

"Can you stand?"

"I can."

"Do you feel pain?"

"Nothing, but I am short of breath."

Meanwhile the Bohemian, seeing apparently that the struggle in the farm
yard was all over, appeared in front of the hut, dragging the woman
servant of the Order by the neck. At that sight, Zbyszko forgot his
fatigue, his strength returned to him at once, and he rushed to the hut
as though he had never struggled with the terrible Arnold.

"Danuska! Danuska!" cried Zbyszko; but no answer came.

"Danuska! Danuska!" he repeated; then he remained silent. It was dark
within, for that reason he could see nothing at first. But instead, he
heard, proceeding from behind the stones which were heaped up behind the
fireplace, a quick and audible panting, like that of a little animal
hiding.

"Danuska! For God's sake. It is I! Zbyszko!"

Then he observed in the darkness, her eyes, wide open, terrified and
bewildered.

He rushed toward her and pressed her in his arms, but she did not
entirely recognize him, and tore herself away from his embrace, and began
to repeat in a subdued whisper:

"I am afraid! I am afraid! I am afraid!"


END OF PART SEVENTH.




PART EIGHTH.




CHAPTER I.

Neither loving words nor tender persuasion availed. Danusia recognized
nobody and did not regain consciousness. The only feeling which pervaded
her whole being was fear, a kind of fear shown by captured birds. When
food was brought to her she refused to eat it in the presence of others.
In the glances of rejection which she cast upon the food one could detect
habitual hunger. Left alone, she sprang upon the eatables like a ravenous
little wild beast. But when Zbyszko entered she rushed into the corner
and hid herself under a bundle of dry hops. Zbyszko opened his arms in
vain, he stretched out his hands in vain, with tears he begged her, but
unavailingly. She refused to issue from her hiding-place even when the
light was so arranged that she could recognize the outlines of Zbyszko's
face. It seemed as though she had lost her memory along with her senses.
He therefore gazed upon her emaciated pale face in which was depicted an
expression of dismay, her hollow eyes, her tattered dress, and his heart
cried out within him from pain at the thought in whose hands she had been
and how she had been treated. He was finally seized with such a terrible
rage that he grasped his sword and rushed toward Zygfried, and he would
have certainly killed him, had not Macko grasped him by the arm.

Then like enemies they struggled with each other. But the young man was
so much fatigued from his previous fight with the gigantic Arnold, that
the old knight prevailed. Twisting Zbyszko's wrist, he exclaimed:

"Are you mad?"

"Let me go!" he begged, gnashing his teeth, "for my heart bursts within
me."

"Let it burst! I will not let you go. It is better to dash your head to
pieces than disgrace yourself and the whole family."

And, clutching Zbyszko's hand, as with iron tongs, he said threateningly:

"See, revenge will not escape you; and you are a belted knight. How then
dare you kill a prisoner in bonds? You cannot help Danusia. What will be
the result? Nothing but disgrace. You say that kings and princes think it
proper to destroy their prisoners. Bah! That is not the case with us; and
what is feasible with them is not so with you. They have a kingdom,
cities, castles. But what have you? Knightly honor. Those who find no
fault with them will spit in your face. Consider, for God's sake!"

There was silence for a moment.

"Let me go!" Zbyszko repeated gloomily. "I will not kill him."

"Come to the fire, let us consult."

Macko led him by the hand to the fire which the servant stirred up near
the tar-ovens. There they sat down and Macko reflected for a moment, and
then said:

"You must also remember that you have promised this old dog to Jurand,
who will avenge his own and his daughter's tortures. He is the one who
will pay him, and do not you fear! In this you must please Jurand. It is
his affair and not yours. Jurand may do it, but you must not; he did not
capture him but will receive him as a present from you; he can even flay
him alive and none will blame him for it. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," replied Zbyszko. "You are right."

"You are evidently coming to your senses again. Should you again be
tempted by the devil, bear this also in your mind, that you have also
challenged Lichtenstein and other Knights of the Cross, and if you should
kill a defenceless captive and the men should publish your action, no
knight would accept your challenge, and he would be justified. God
forbid! We have enough misfortunes, but spare us shame. Let us rather
talk about what concerns our present doings and movements."

"Give your advice," said the young man.

"My advice is this: that serpent who was with Danusia ought to be killed;
but it does not become a knight to kill a woman. We shall therefore
deliver her into the hands of Prince Janusz. She plotted treason whilst
at the forest court of the prince and princess. Let the Mazovian courts
judge her. If they do not crush her upon the wheel for her crimes, then
they will offend God's justice. As long as we find no other woman to wait
upon Danusia, as long as she is wanted to serve her we must keep her
until some other old woman be found; then we will tie her to a horse's
tail. But now we must push on toward the Mazovian wilderness as soon as
possible.

"It cannot be done at once, it is dark already. By to-morrow, if God
will, Danusia may come to her senses."

"Let the horses rest well, and at daybreak we will start."

Further conversation was interrupted by Arnold von Baden, who was
stretched on his back at a distance, trussed by his own sword; he said
something in German. Old Macko got up and went to him, but as he did not
understand him he called the Bohemian.

But Hlawa could not come at once because he was busy about something
else. During the conversation, near the fire, he went directly to the
servant of the Order, put his hands around her neck, shook her like a
pear-tree, and said:

"Listen, you slut! Go into the shanty and prepare the fur bedding for the
young lady. But before you do that, dress her in your good apparel,
whilst you put upon your carcass the tattered rags which you have given
her.... May your mother suffer perdition!"

He was so angry that he could not control himself, and shook her so
savagely that her eyes bulged out. He would have twisted her neck, but he
thought better of it since she was still of some use; finally he let her
go, saying:

"After that I will hang you to a branch."

She embraced his knees in terror, but he kicked her. She rushed into the
shanty, threw herself at Danusia's feet and began to scream:

"Protect me. Do not permit!"

But Danusia closed her eyes, and uttered her customary suppressed
whisper: "I am afraid, I am afraid, I am afraid."

Then she lapsed into perfect silence, because that was the effect
whenever the woman approached her. She permitted the woman to undress,
wash and dress her in the new clothes. The woman prepared the bedding and
laid upon it Danusia, who had the appearance of a wooden or wax figure;
after which she sat down near the fireplace fearing to go out.

But the Bohemian entered after awhile. First he turned toward Danusia and
said:

"You are among friends, lady, so in the name of the Father, Son and Holy
Ghost, sleep peacefully!"

Then he made the sign of the cross. Then not wishing to disturb her he
said to the servant in a low voice:

"You shall lie bound at the threshold; you must keep quiet and do not
frighten her; if not, I will break your neck. Get up, and come."

He led her out and bound her tightly, then he went to Zbyszko.

"I have ordered that lizard to dress the lady in her own garments, to
make her a soft bed, and the lady is asleep; better leave her alone
because she is scared. God grant that by to-morrow, after repose, she may
regain her presence of mind. You too must think of refreshment and rest."

"I shall sleep at her threshold," replied Zbyszko.

"Then I shall withdraw the slut from the threshold and place her near
that corpse with curled locks. But you must take refreshment now, because
there is a long road and no little fatigue before you."

Then he went and got some smoked meat and dried turnips which they had
procured in the Lithuanian camp; but he had scarcely put the meal in
front of Zbyszko when Macko called him to come to Arnold.

"Notice carefully, what this mass wishes, although I know a few German
words, I am unable to understand him."

"Bring him to the fire, sir, and have your conversation there," replied
the Bohemian.

Then he unbelted himself and placed the belt under Arnold's arms and
lifted him upon his shoulders; he bent much under the heavy weight of the
giant, but as the Bohemian was a powerful man, he carried him near the
fireplace and threw him down, as one throws a sack of peas, at the side
of Zbyszko.

"Take off the fetters from me," said Arnold.

"That might be done if you swore on knightly honor, that you would
consider yourself a prisoner. Nevertheless, I will order the sword to be
taken from under your knees, the bonds of your hands to be loosened, so
as to enable you to sit with us, but the rope binding your feet shall
remain until we have discussed the affair." And he nodded to the
Bohemian, who cut the bonds away from Arnold's hands and assisted him to
sit down. Arnold looked haughtily at Macko and Zbyszko and asked:

"Who are you?"

"How do you dare to ask? It is not your business. Go and inform
yourself."

"It concerns me, because to swear upon the honor of a knight can only be
done to knights."

"Then look!"

And Macko opened his cloak and showed his knightly belt upon his loins.

Seeing that, the Knight of the Cross was greatly amazed, and after awhile
said:

"How is it? and you prowl in the wilderness for prey and assist the
pagans against the Christians?"

"You lie!" exclaimed Macko.

Then the conversation began in an unfriendly and arrogant manner, which
seemed like quarreling. But when Macko vehemently shouted that the very
Order prevented Lithuania from embracing Christianity, and when all
proofs were adduced, Arnold was again amazed and became silent, because
the truth was so obvious that it was impossible not to see it, or to
dispute it. What specially struck him was Macko's words which he uttered
whilst making the sign of the cross: "Who knows whom ye actually serve,
if not all at least some among you." It specially struck him because
there were certain _comthurs_ in the very Order who were suspected of
having given themselves over to Satan. Steps were not taken against them
for fear of public reproach of the whole Order. But Arnold knew it well
because these things were whispered among the brethren of the Order and
happenings of such a character reached his ears. Therefore, Macko's
narrative which he had heard from Sanderus, concerning the inconceivable
conduct of Zygfried, greatly disturbed the mind of the candid giant.

"Oh, that very Zygfried, with whom you marched to war," he said. "Does he
serve Christ? Have you never heard how he communicates with evil spirits,
how he whispers to them, smiles and gnashes his teeth at them?"

"It is true!" murmured Arnold.

But Zbyszko, whose heart was filled with new waves of grief and anger,
suddenly exclaimed:

"And you, who speak of knightly honor? Shame upon you, because you help a
hangman, a devilish man. Shame upon you, because you quietly looked upon
the torture of a defenceless woman, and a knight's daughter. Maybe you
also outraged her. Shame upon you!"

Arnold closed his eyes, and making the sign of the cross, said:

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.... How is
that?... That fettered girl in whose head dwell twenty-seven devils?
I?..."

"Oh, horrible! horrible!" interrupted Zbyszko, groaning.

And, grasping the handle of his _misericordia_ he again looked savagely
toward the dark corner where Zygfried lay on his back.

Macko placed his hand quietly upon Zbyszko's arm, which he pressed with
his whole strength, so as to bring him back to his senses; whilst he
himself, turning toward Arnold, said:

"That woman is the daughter of Jurand of Spychow, and wife of this young
knight. Do you understand now, why we followed you up, and why we have
captured you?"

"For God's sake!" said Arnold. "Whence? How? she is insane...."

"Because the Knights of the Cross kidnapped that innocent lamb and
subjected her to torture."

When Zbyszko heard these words: "Innocent lamb," he put his fist to his
mouth, gnashed his teeth, and was not able to restrain his tears.

Arnold sat absorbed in thought; but the Bohemian told him in a few words
of Danveld's treachery, the kidnapping of Danusia, the torture of Jurand,
and the duel with Rotgier. Silence reigned when he concluded. It was only
disturbed by the rustling of the trees of the forest and the crackling of
the brands in the fireplace.

In that manner they sat for a while. Finally Arnold lifted up his head
and said:

"I swear to you not only upon my knightly honor, but also upon the
crucifix, that I have not seen that woman, that I did not know who she
was, and that I have not taken the least part in her tortures and never
laid my hand upon her."

"Then swear also that you will go with us willingly and that you will
make no attempt to escape, then I will order your bonds to be entirely
unloosed," said Macko.

"Let it be as you say. I swear! Whither are you going to take me?"

"To Mazovia, to Jurand of Spychow."

Then Macko himself cut the rope from Arnold's feet, and ordered meat and
turnips to be brought. After a while Zbyszko went out and sat upon the
threshold of the hut to rest, where he no longer found the servant, for
the hostler boys had carried her off and put her among the horses.
Zbyszko lay down upon the fur which Hlawa brought. He resolved to keep
awake and wait until daybreak; peradventure then some happy change might
take place in Danusia!

But the Bohemian returned to the fireplace where he wished to converse
with the old knight of Bogdaniec about a certain affair and take off the
burden which pressed so heavily upon his heart. He found him also
absorbed in troubled thought, and not noticing the snoring of Arnold who,
after having consumed an immense quantity of baked turnips and meat, was
much fatigued and slept the sleep of a stone. "And why do you not take a
rest?" inquired the Bohemian.

"Sleep has fled from my eyelids," replied Macko. "May God grant a good
morning."

Then he looked at the stars and said:

"The Wagoner is already visible in the sky, and I am continually thinking
about how all these things shall be arranged. And I shall not go to sleep
either because the young lady of Zgorzelice occupies my mind."

"Ah! that is true. More trouble. But she, at least, is at Spychow."

"But we brought her to Spychow from Zgorzelice, not knowing why."

"It was at her own request," replied Macko, impatiently, because he knew
in his heart that he was wrong and he hated to talk about it.

"Yes! But what now?"

"Ha! Well? I shall carry her back to her home; then let God's will be
done!"

But after a moment he added:

"Yes! God's will be done, that at least Danuska be restored to health,
one might then know what to do. But as it is now, the deuce knows! What
will it be if she neither recovers nor dies? The Devil knows."

But the Bohemian was thinking all the time of Jagienka.

"Your honor should understand that when I left Spychow and bade her
good-bye, she told me this: 'If anything should happen, come and inform
me before Zbyszko and Macko arrive. And as they will be obliged to send
information by somebody, let them send it by you, then you will take me
to Zgorzelice.'"

"Hey!" replied Macko. "Surely, it would be improper for her to stay at
Spychow when Danusia arrives. Surely she ought now to be taken back to
Zgorzelice. I pity the little orphan, I sincerely regret it. But God's
will must be done. But now how shall I arrange the matter? Let me see.
Did you say that she commanded you to come ahead of us with the news, and
then take her to Zgorzelice?"

"She did. I repeated to you her words exactly."

"Now, you may move ahead of us. Old Jurand must also be informed that his
daughter has been found, but it must be done carefully so that the sudden
joy may not kill him. As I love God, I declare that it is the most
practical thing to do."

"Return! Tell them that we have rescued Danusia, and that we shall bring
her home without delay. Then take that other poor girl to Zgorzelice!"

Then the old knight sighed, because he was really sorry for Jagienka,
whom he had fostered.

After a while he asked again:

"I know that you are a valiant and powerful man, but see that you keep
her out of harm's way or accident. Things of that character are often met
with on the road."

"I shall do my best, even if I lose my head! I shall take with me a few
good men, whom the lord of Spychow will not grudge, and I shall bring her
safely even to the end of the world."

"Well, do not have too much confidence in yourself. Bear also in mind
that even there, at Zgorzelice, it will be necessary to watch Wilk of
Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogow. But, I confess, in speaking of Wilk and
Cztan, I am out of order; for, it was necessary to watch them when there
was nothing else to think of. But now, things have changed and there is
no more hope, and that which is going to happen must happen."

"Nevertheless, I shall protect the young lady from those knights, seeing
Danusia is very weak and consumptive. What if she should die?"

"As God is dear to me you are right. The emaciated lady is scarcely
alive. If she should die?"

"We must leave that with God. But we must now think only of the young
lady of Zgorzelice."

"By rights, I ought to convey her myself to her fatherland. But it is a
difficult task. I cannot now leave Zbyszko for many potent reasons. You
saw how he gnashed his teeth, how he strove to get at the old _comthur_
to kill him, and my wrangling with him. Should that girl die on the road,
even I should be unable to restrain him. And if I shall not be able to
prevent him, nobody else could, and everlasting shame would fall upon him
and upon our clan, which God forbid. Amen!"

Then the Bohemian replied:

"Bah! There is, I am sure, a simple means. Give me the hangman and I will
keep him and bring him to Jurand at Spychow and shake him out of the
sack."

"How clever you are! May God grant you health," exclaimed Macko,
joyfully. "It is a very simple thing, quite simple. Should you succeed in
bringing him to Spychow alive then do with him as you please."

"Then let me also have that Szczytno bitch, and if she is not troublesome
on the road, I will bring her too to Spychow, if she is, then I shall
hang her on a tree."

"The removal of the pair, whose presence causes much fear to Danusia, may
contribute to her speedy recovery. But if you take the female servant
with you, who is going to nurse Danusia?"

"You may find some old woman in the wilderness, or one of the fugitive
peasant women; take hold of the first one you meet, for any one will be
better than this. Meanwhile, you must take care of lady Zbyszko."

"You speak to-day somewhat more prudently than usually. Seeing that
Zbyszko is constantly with her, he will also succeed in filling the
double position, that of father and mother, for her. Very well, then.
When do you intend to start?"

"I shall not wait for the dawn; now I must lie down for a while, it is
scarcely midnight yet."

"The Wagoner[117] is already in the sky, but the chickens[117] had not
yet made their appearance."

"Thank God that we have taken some counsel together, for I was very much
troubled."

Then the Bohemian stretched himself near the expiring fire, covered
himself over with the long furred robe and in a moment he fell asleep.
However, the sky had not yet paled and it was still deep, dark night when
he awoke, crept from under the skin, looked at the stars, and stretching
his somewhat benumbed limbs, he awoke Macko.

"It is time for me to move," he said.

"Whither?" asked the semi-conscious Macko, rubbing his eyes with his
fists.

"To Spychow."

"True, I quite forgot. Who is there snoring so loud as to awake the
dead?"

"The knight Arnold. Let me throw a few branches upon the embers, then I
will go to the men."

Then he left, and hastily returned in a little while, and from a distance
he called in a low voice:

"Sir, there is news, bad news!"

"What has happened?" Macko exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"The servant has escaped. The men took her among the horses. May thunder
strike them, and when they fell asleep, she sneaked like a serpent from
among them and escaped. Come, sir!"

Macko, in alarm, moved quickly with the Bohemian toward the horses, where
they found only one man, the others had scattered in pursuit of the
fugitive. But, considering the darkness of the night and the thickets of
the forest, the search was a foolish undertaking, and after a while they
returned with hanging heads. Macko began to belabor them quietly with his
fists. Then he returned to the fireplace, for there was nothing to be
done.

Zbyszko, who was watching in the hut and did not sleep, came in, hearing
the movements, to ascertain the reason. Macko told him all about his
consultation with the Bohemian, then he also informed him of the woman's
escape.

"It is not a great misfortune," he said. "Because she will either die of
starvation, or fall into the hands of the peasants who will flay her;
that is, if she succeeds first in escaping the wolves. It is only to be
regretted that she escaped the punishment at Spychow."

Zbyszko also regretted her escaping punishment at Spychow; otherwise he
received the news quietly. He did not oppose the departure of the
Bohemian with Zygfried, because he was indifferent to anything which did
not directly concern Danusia. He began to talk about her at once.

"I shall take her in front of me on horseback to-morrow, then we shall
proceed."

"How is it there? Is she asleep?" inquired Macko.

"At times she moans, but I do not know whether she does it in sleep or
whilst she is awake, but I don't want to disturb her, lest I frighten
her."

Further conversation was interrupted by the Bohemian, who observing
Zbyszko, exclaimed:

"O! your honor, also here! It is now time for me to start. The horses are
ready and the old devil is fastened to the saddle. It will soon begin to
dawn because now the nights are short. Good-bye, your grace!"

"God be with you, and health!"

But Hlawa pulled Macko aside again and said:

"I wish also to ask you kindly, that in case anything should happen....
You know, sir ... some misfortune or another ... you would dispatch a
courier posthaste to Spychow. If we have left Spychow, let him overtake
us."

"Well," said Macko, "I have also forgotten to tell you to take Jagienka
to Plock. Do you understand? Go there to the bishop, and tell him who she
is, that she is the goddaughter of the abbot, for whom there is a will in
the bishop's possession; then ask his guardianship for her, as that is
also mentioned in the abbot's will."

"But if the bishop orders us to remain in Plock?"

"Then obey him in everything and follow his counsel."

"It shall be so, sir! Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"




CHAPTER II.

Sir Arnold was informed in the morning of the flight of the servant of
the Order; he chuckled at the news, on the other hand he held the same
opinion as Macko, viz, that she might fall a prey to the wolves, or be
slain by the Lithuanians. The latter was not at all improbable, since the
inhabitants of that locality who were descendants of the Lithuanians
abhorred the Order and all those who came in contact with it. Some of the
male population had joined Skirwoillo, others had risen in arms and
slaughtered the Germans here and there; they, their families and their
cattle hid themselves in the inaccessible fastnesses of the forest. They
searched the following day for the servant, but without success, because
Macko and Zbyszko were occupied with more important matters; hence the
lack of indispensable ardor in the searchers.

They were obliged to push on toward Mazowsze; they wished to start at
once, at the rising of the sun, but they were unable to do so because
Danuska was in a profound sleep, and Zbyszko would not permit her to be
disturbed.

He listened to her moanings during the night-time and thought that she
was not asleep. He, therefore, promised himself good results. Twice he
stealthily went into the hut; twice he saw by the light falling through
crevices of the logs her closed eyes, open mouth and glowing face, as
little children are wont to have when asleep. His tears melted his heart
at that sight, and he said to her:

"May God grant you health my most beloved little flower." Then he
continued: "Your troubles are ended, your tears are ended. May the most
merciful Lord Jesus grant that your happiness may be as inexhaustible as
the flowing river."

Then, lifting up his simple and upright heart heavenward, he asked
himself: "With what can I thank Thee? What shall I render to Thee for Thy
favors? Shall I offer to the Church some of my wealth, grain, herds, wax,
or something of the same nature acceptable to God?" He was even about to
vow and name accurately his offerings, but he wished to wait and see the
result when Danusia awoke, whether she had recovered her senses so that
there might be reason for thanksgiving.

Although Macko knew well that there would be perfect safety when once in
the domains of Prince Janusz, nevertheless he was also of the opinion
that it was better not to disturb Danusia's rest. He therefore kept his
horses and servants in readiness but waited.

Nevertheless when it was past noon and Danusia continued to sleep, they
were somewhat alarmed. Zbyszko, who was incessantly watching, looking
through the crevices and door, entered suddenly for the third time into
the hut and sat down upon the block where the servant had dressed Danusia
yesterday.

He sat and gazed at her, but she had her eyes closed. But after the lapse
of a short time, not more than it takes to say one "Pater" and "Ave
Maria," her lips began to twitch a little, and she whispered as though
she saw through her closed eyelids:

"Zbyszko...."

In an instant be threw himself upon his knees in front of her, grasped
her emaciated hands, which he kissed in ecstasy. Then he addressed her in
a broken voice:

"Thank God! Danuska! You recognize me."

His voice awoke her completely. Then she sat up in the bed and with open
eyes she repeated:

"Zbyszko!"

Then she began to blink and look around her in amazement.

"You are no more in captivity," said Zbyszko. "I have rescued you from
their hands and I am taking you to Spychow."

But she withdrew her hands from Zbyszko's and said:

"All this came to pass because there was no permission from dear papa.
Where is the princess?"

"Awake, then, dear little berry! The princess is far away and we have
rescued you from the Germans."

Then she appeared not to notice his words but seemed to try to recollect
something.

"They have also taken away my little lute and have broken it against the
wall. Hey!"

"O God!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

He then observed that she was absent-minded and her eyes were glassy and
her cheeks were glowing, and it struck him that she must be very ill, and
the mention of his name twice was due to feverish hallucinations.

This caused his heart to tremble within him with despair and a cold sweat
covered his brow.

"Danuska!" he said. "Do you see and understand me?"

But she replied in a low voice:

"Drink! Water!"

"Gracious Lord!"

And he rushed out, and at the door encountered Macko, who was coming to
ascertain her condition. Zbyszko could only tell him hurriedly, "Water;"
and then hastened to the stream which ran among neighboring bushes.

He returned after a moment with a full pitcher of water and handed it to
Danusia who drank it with much avidity. Macko entered the hut before
Zbyszko and seeing the patient he became gloomy.

"She is feverish?" he said.

"Yes!" groaned Zbyszko.

"Does she understand what you say?"

"No."

The old knight furrowed his brow, then he began to rub his neck and nape
with his hands.

"What is to be done?"

"I do not know."

"There is only one thing to be done," said Macko.

But Danusia, who finished drinking, interrupted him at that moment; she
fixed her dilated pupils on him, and said:

"You too I have not offended, have mercy upon me!"

"We have pitied you already, child. We only desire your welfare," replied
the old knight, somewhat agitated.

Then he turned to Zbyszko:

"Listen, there is no use to leave her here. The wafting of the wind and
the rays of the sun will probably benefit her. Do not lose your head,
boy, but take her to the same cradle wherein she was when they brought
her here--or upon the saddle and let us move on! Do you understand?"

Then he left the hut to give the last orders, but he had scarcely looked
in front of him, when he suddenly stood still--as if nailed to the spot.

A numerous host of infantry armed with pikes and spears was surrounding
the huts, ovens and clearing, on all sides like a wall.

"Germans!" thought Macko.

He was greatly terrified, but in a moment he grasped the hilt of his
sword, clenched his teeth, and had the appearance of a wild beast at bay,
ready to defend himself desperately.

Then the giant-like Arnold, and another knight, advanced toward them from
the shanty, and when he approached Macko, Arnold said:

"Fortune's wheel turns rapidly. I was your prisoner yesterday; you are
mine to-day."

Then he looked haughtily at the old knight as one looks upon an inferior
person. He was neither a very bad man, nor a very cruel one, but he had
the defect common to all Knights of the Cross, who in spite of their
being well-bred and even humane, looked with contempt upon those whom
they conquered, neither could they suppress their great pride when they
felt themselves the stronger.

"You are prisoners," he repeated, haughtily.

The old knight looked around gloomily; he was very serious but audacious
in his heart.

Were he armored, upon his charger, and with Zbyszko at his side;--if both
had swords in their hands and were armed with axes, or the terrible
"woods," which the Polish noblemen knew how to wield dexterously, he
would then have probably attempted to break through, that wall of lances
and spears. Not without reason did the foreign knights, quoting it as an
objection, exclaim to the Polish in the fight near Wilno: "You scorn
death too much."

But Macko was on foot facing Arnold, alone, without his coat of mail. He
therefore looked around and observed that his men had already thrown down
their arms, and he thought that Zbyszko too was with Danusia in the hut,
entirely unarmed. As an experienced man, and much accustomed to war, he
knew that there was no chance whatever.

Therefore he slowly drew the short sword from its sheath and threw it at
the feet of the knight who stood at Arnold's side, who without the least
of Arnold's haughtiness, but at the same time with benevolence, replied
in excellent Polish:

"Your name, sir? I shall not put you in bonds but shall parole you,
because I see you are a belted knight, and you treated my brother well."

"My word!" replied Macko.

Having informed him who he was, Macko inquired whether he would be
permitted to go to the hut and warn his nephew against any mad action.
His request was granted. He entered and remained there for a while and
emerged with the _misericordia_ in his hands.

"My nephew is even without a sword, and he begs you to permit him to
remain with his wife as long as you intend to stay here."

"Let him remain," said Arnold's brother. "I shall send him food and
drink; we shall not move soon, because the people are tired out and we
too are in need of refreshment and rest. Sir, we also invite you to
accompany us."

Then they turned and went to the same fireplace near which Macko had
spent the night. But either from pride, or from ignorance they permitted
him to walk behind them. But he, being a great warrior, knowing how it
ought to be, and adhering strictly to custom, inquired:

"Pray, sir, am I your guest or a prisoner?"

Arnold's brother was shamed at first; he halted and said:

"Proceed, sir."

The old knight went in front, not wishing to hurt the self-respect of the
very man from whom he expected much.

"It is evident, sir, that you are not only acquainted with courteous
speech, but your behavior is also courtly."

Then, Arnold, who only understood a few words, asked:

"Wolfgang, what are you talking about?"

"I am doing the right thing," said Wolfgang, who was evidently flattered
by Macko's words.

They sat down at the fireside, and began to eat and drink. The lesson
which Macko had given to the German was not in vain. Wolfgang regaled
Macko first at the repast.

The old knight learned, from the conversation which followed, how they
were caught in the trap. Wolfgang, the younger brother of Arnold, led
also the Czluch infantry to Gotteswerder, against the rebellious
Zmudzians. Those, however, proceeding from distant counties could not
arrive in time to assist Arnold. The latter did not think it necessary to
wait for them because he expected to meet on the road other bodies of
infantry proceeding from the towns and castles situated on the adjacent
Lithuanian frontier. This was the reason that his younger brother delayed
his march several days, and thus it happened that he found himself on the
road in the neighborhood of the tar-burners, where the fugitive
woman-servant of the Order informed him of the ill-luck which had
happened to his older brother. Arnold, whilst listening to the narrative
which was told him in German, smiled with satisfaction; finally he
affirmed that he expected such a result.

But the crafty Macko, who, in whatever situation he was, always tried to
find some remedy, thought that it would be of advantage to him to make
friends with the Germans, therefore he said after a while:

"It is always hard to fall into captivity. Nevertheless, thank God, I am
fortunate to have been delivered into nobody else's hands but yours,
because, I believe, that you are real knights and mindful of its honor."

Then Wolfgang closed his eyes and nodded his head somewhat stiffly but
evidently with a feeling of satisfaction.

The old knight continued:

"That you speak our language well. God has given you understanding in
everything."

"I know your language, because the Czluchs speak Polish, and my brother
and I served for seven years in those counties."

"You will in time take office after him. It cannot be otherwise, because
your brother does not speak our language."

"He understands it a little, but cannot speak it. My brother is more
powerful, although I am not a weakling either, but of duller wit."

"Hey! He does not seem to me dull."

"Wolfgang, what does he say?" asked Arnold again.

"He praises you," replied Wolfgang.

"True, I praised him," added Macko, "because he is a true knight, and
that is the reason. I tell you frankly that I intended to let him go
entirely free to-day on parole, so that he might go wherever he wished
to, even if he were to present himself in a year's time. Such treatment
is customary among belted knights."

Then he looked attentively into Wolfgang's face, but it was wrinkled, and
he said:

"Were it not for the assistance you have given to the pagan dogs against
us, I also might have let you go on parole."

"This is not true," replied Macko.

Then the same asperity of discussion as in yesterday's dispute between
Arnold and himself was repeated. However, although right was on the old
knight's side, it went on with more difficulty, because Wolfgang was of a
more severe disposition than his older brother. Nevertheless, one good
thing resulted from the dispute, that Wolfgang learned of all the
abominable practices of the Order at Szczytno, their crooked actions and
treachery--at the same time he learned of Danusia's misfortunes and
tortures. To those very iniquities which Macko had thrown in his teeth he
had no reply. He was obliged to acknowledge that the revenge was
justifiable, and that the Polish knights were right in their acts, and
finally said:

"Upon the glorified bones of St. Liborus! I swear, that I also will not
pity Danveld. They said of him that he practiced black magic, but God's
power and justice is mightier than black magic. As to Zygfried, I am not
sure whether he also served the devil or not. But I shall not hunt for
him, because first, I have no horses, and on the other hand, if what you
said is true that he outraged that girl, then let him also never return
from Hades!"

Here he stretched himself and continued:

"God! Help me till the hour of my death."

"But how will it be with that unfortunate martyr?" inquired Macko. "Are
you not going to permit us to take her home? Has she to suffer agony in
your underground prisons? Remember, I beseech you, God's wrath!..."

"I have nothing against the woman," replied Wolfgang, roughly. "Let one
of you take her home to her father, on condition that he present himself
afterward, but the other must remain here."

"Bah! But what if he swears upon his knightly honor and upon the lance of
St. Jerzey?"

Wolfgang hesitated a little because it was a great oath; but at that
moment Arnold asked a third time:

"What does he say?"

When he informed himself of the matter he opposed it vehemently and
rudely. He had his private reasons for it. First, he was conquered by
Skirwoillo, then in single combat, by the Polish knight. He also knew
that owing to the destruction of the army at the previous engagement it
would be impossible for his brother to advance with his infantry to
Gotteswerder and he would be obliged to return to Malborg. Moreover he
knew that he would be obliged to give an account to the Master and
marshal for the defeat, and that it would be to his advantage if he were
able to show even one important prisoner. To produce one knight alive is
of more value than to explain that two such were captured....

When Macko heard the loud protestations and oaths of Arnold, he resolved,
since nothing else could be obtained, to take what was previously
offered. Turning to Wolfgang he said:

"Then, I beg one more favor--permit me to acquaint my nephew; I am sure
he will see the wisdom of remaining with his wife, while I go with you.
At all events, permit me to let him know that he has nothing to say
against it, for it is your will."

"Well, it is all the same to me," replied Wolfgang. "But let us talk
about the ransom which your nephew must bring for himself and you.
Because all depends on that."

"About ransom?" inquired Macko, who would have preferred to postpone that
conversation to a later period. "Have we not time enough to talk about
it? Where a belted knight is concerned his word is of equal value with
ready money, and as to the sum it can be left to conscience. There, near
Gotteswerder, we captured one of your important knights, a certain de
Lorche. And my nephew (it was he who captured him) paroled him. No
allusion whatever was made to the amount of ransom."

"Have you captured de Lorche?" inquired Wolfgang, sharply. "I know him.
He is a powerful knight. But why did we not meet him on the road?"

"He, evidently, did not go this way, but went to Gotteswerder, or to
Ragniec," replied Macko.

"That knight comes from a powerful and renowned family," repeated
Wolfgang. "You have made a splendid capture! It is well then, that you
mentioned it. But I cannot let you go for nothing."

Macko chewed his mustache; nevertheless he lifted up his head haughtily,
and said:

"Apart from that, we know our value."

"So much the better," said the younger von Baden, and immediately added:

"So much the better. It is not for us, for we are humble monks, who have
vowed poverty, but for the Order that will enjoy your money, to God's
praise."

Macko did not reply to that but only looked at Wolfgang, with such an
expression as to say: "Tell that to somebody else." After awhile they
began to bargain. It was a difficult and irritable task for the old
knight. On the one hand he was very sensitive to any loss, and on the
other hand, he understood that he would not succeed in naming a too small
sum for Zbyszko and himself. He therefore wriggled like an eel,
especially when Wolfgang, in spite of his polished words and manners, had
shown himself excessively grasping and as hard hearted as a stone. Only
one thought comforted Macko and that was, that de Lorche would have pay
for all, but even that, the loss of de Lorche's ransom, worried him.
Zygfried's ransom he did not count in the affair because he thought that
Jurand, and even Zbyszko, would not renounce his head for any price.

After long haggling they finally compromised upon the sum in _grzywiens_
and the time of payment, and stipulated upon the number of horses and men
Zbyszko should take with him. Macko went to inform Zbyszko, and advised
him not to tarry but depart at once, for something else might meanwhile
come into the German's head.

"So it is with knightly conditions," said Macko, sighing. "Yesterday you
held them by the head, to-day they hold you. Well, it is a hard lot. God
grant that our turn may come. But now, it is necessary not to lose time.
If you hasten on, you may yet overtake Hlawa and you will be safer
together, and once out of the wilderness and in the inhabited region of
Mazowsze you will find hospitality and assistance in every nobleman's or
_wlodyka's_ house. In our country they do not refuse those things even to
a foreigner, how much more to one of their own people! The condition of
the poor woman might also be improved thereby."

Then he looked at Danusia, who was in feverish half-sleep, breathing
quickly and loudly, with her transparent hands stretched upon the black
bearskin, trembling with fever.

Macko made the sign of the cross at her and said:

"Hey, take her and go! May God restore her, for it appears to me that her
thread of life is being spun very thin."

"Do not say that!" exclaimed Zbyszko, in a distressed tone.

"God's power! I will order your horses to be brought here--and you must
leave at once!"

He went out and arranged everything for the journey. The Turks, whom
Zawisza had presented to them, led the horses and the litter, filled with
mosses and fur, and they were headed by Zbyszko's man, Wit. Zbyszko left
the hut in a moment, carrying Danusia in his arms. There was something
touching in that, so that even the brothers von Baden, whose curiosity
had drawn them to the hut, looked curiously into the childlike face of
Danuska. Her face was like that of the holy images in the churches of Our
Lady, and her sickness was so great that she could not hold up her head
which lay heavily on the young knight's arm. They looked at each other
with astonishment, and in their hearts arose a feeling against the
authors of her woes.

"Zygfried has the heart of a hangman, and not that of a knight,"
whispered Wolfgang to Arnold, "and that serpent, although she is the
cause of your liberty, I will order to be beaten with rods."

They were also touched when they saw Zbyszko carrying her in his arms, as
a mother is wont to carry her child. They comprehended how great was his
love for her, for youthful blood coursed in the veins of them both.

He hesitated for awhile whether to keep the patient on horseback near his
breast on the road or to lay her in the litter. Finally he resolved upon
the latter course, thinking that she might feel more comfortable in a
recumbent posture. Then he approached his uncle and bowed to kiss his
hand and bid him good-bye. But Macko, who, as a matter of fact, loved
Zbyszko as the apple of his eye, was somewhat disinclined to show his
agitation in the presence of the Germans; nevertheless he could not
restrain himself, and embracing him strongly, pressed his lips to his
abundant golden hair.

"May God guide you," he said. "But remember the old man, for it is always
a hardship to be in captivity."

"I shall not forget," replied Zbyszko. "May the most Holy Mother comfort
you."

"God will recompense you for this and for all your kindness."

Zbyszko mounted his horse immediately, but Macko recollected something
and hastened to his side, and placing his hand upon Zbyszko's knee, he
said:

"Listen, if you should overtake Hlawa, remember not to molest Zygfried,
otherwise you will bring down reproach upon yourself and upon my gray
head. Leave him to Jurand, but do nothing to him yourself. Swear to me
upon your sword and honor."

"As long as you do not return," replied Zbyszko, "I shall even prevent
Jurand from harming him in order to prevent the Germans from injuring you
on Zygfried's account."

"So, and you seem to care for me?"

And the young knight smiled sadly. "You well know that, I am sure."

"Move on and good-bye."

The horses moved on, and in a little while disappeared in the hazelnut
thickets. Macko felt suddenly very much troubled and lonely and his heart
was torn for that beloved boy in whom rested the entire hope of the
family. But he soon got rid of his sorrow, for he was a man of valor and
could master his emotions.

"Thank God that I am a prisoner and not he."

Then he turned toward the Germans and said:

"And you, gentlemen, when will you start and whither are you going?"

"When it is agreeable to us," replied Wolfgang, "but we go to Malborg,
where, sir, you must first appear before the Master."

"Hey! I shall yet have to forfeit my head there, for the help I have
given to the Zmudzians," said Macko to himself.

Nevertheless his mind was at rest when he thought that de Lorche was in
reserve; the Baden knights themselves would protect his head even if it
were only for the ransom.

"Otherwise," he said to himself, "Zbyszko will neither be obliged to
present himself nor lessen his fortune."

That thought caused him a certain relief.




CHAPTER III.

Zbyszko was unable to overtake Hlawa, because the latter traveled day and
night, and only rested as much as was absolutely necessary to avoid the
breaking down of the horses, which only subsisted on grass, and were
consequently faint and unable to withstand such long marches as they
could in regions where oats could be easily procured. Hlawa neither
spared himself, nor took into consideration the advanced age and weakness
of Zygfried. The old knight suffered terribly, especially because the
sinewy Macko had previously wrenched his bones. But still worse were the
mosquitoes which swarmed in the humid wilderness, and as his hands were
bound and his legs fastened beneath the horse's belly, he was unable to
drive them away. Hlawa did not directly torture him in the least, but he
had no compassion for him, and only unfastened his right hand to enable
him to eat when he stopped for refreshment.

"Eat, ravening wolf, so that I may bring you alive to the lord of
Spychow." Such were the words of inducement to stimulate Zygfried's
appetite. At first Zygfried resolved to starve himself to death; but when
he heard the announcement that in such case Hlawa would forcibly open his
teeth with a knife and stuff the food down his throat, he gave up his
intention in order to avoid such a degradation of the Order and knightly
honor.

But the Bohemian was particularly anxious to arrive at Spychow before his
master, so that he might spare his adored young lady from shame. Simple,
but courageous and fearless, he was not void of knightly noble sentiment,
and he well understood that Jagienka would be humiliated if she were at
Spychow together with Danusia. "It will be possible to tell the bishop,
in Plock (he thought) that the old knight of Bogdaniec, owing to his
guardianship, thought it necessary to take her with him, and then, as
soon as it was known that she was the bishop's ward, and besides
Zgorzelice she was also entitled to the abbot's estate, then even the
_wojewoda's_ son would not be too great for her." That thought
contributed to soothe his troubled mind. The very reason of his conveying
good news to Spychow troubled his mind, as it would be the source of
misfortune to Jagienka.

The beautiful face of Sieciechowna, as red as an apple, often appeared
before his eyes. On such occasions, he would, if the road permitted,
tickle the horse's sides with his spurs, because he wanted to reach
Spychow as soon as possible.

They traveled along intricate roads, or rather no roads at all, through
the woods, going straight ahead as the reaper does. The Bohemian knew
that by pushing on a little toward the west and constantly in a southerly
direction, he would reach Mazowsze and then all would go well. During the
daytime he followed the sun, and at night he marched by the stars. The
wilderness in front of him appeared endless. Days and nights passed by.
More than once he thought that Zbyszko would not succeed in bringing the
woman through the terrible wilderness alive, where there was no food to
be procured, and where the horses must be guarded by night from wolves
and bears. During the daytime they had to get out of the way of herds of
bison and aurochs; where the terrible wild-boar sharpens his crooked
tusks against the roots of the pine-trees, and very often it happened
that those who made no use of the crossbow, or did not strike with the
pike into the sides of a deer or young boar, such passed whole days
without food.

"How will it be here," thought Hlawa, "with a maiden who is already
almost tortured to death!"

Now and then, it happened that they had to cross swamps and deep ravines,
which continuous spring rains filled for days with rushing streams.
Lakes, too, were not wanting in the wilderness, in which they saw at
sunset whole flocks of deer and elk disporting in the red transparent
waters.

Often they also perceived smoke which showed the presence of people. On
several occasions Hlawa approached such forest settlements, whence wild
people would issue, clothed with skins upon their naked bodies, armed
with clubs and bows, and looking from under their shaggy-tangled hair;
the men took them to be werewolves. It was necessary to take advantage of
their first astonishment whilst they were looking at the knights, and
leave them in the greatest haste.

Arrows whistled twice near the Bohemian's ears, and he heard the shouts
of "Wokili" (Germans!) But he preferred to run away rather than to make
himself known. Finally, after a few days he began to think that perhaps
he had already crossed the frontier, but there was nobody from whom he
could ascertain. Only when he met some colonists who spoke the Polish
language did he get the information, that he finally stood upon
Mazowszian soil.

There it was better, although the whole eastern part of Mazowsze was also
one wilderness. But it did not terminate uninhabitated as the other did.
When the Bohemian arrived at a colony they were less shy--perhaps because
they were not so much brought up in constant hatred, or that the Bohemian
could converse with them in Polish. The only trouble with them was the
boundless curiosity of the people who surrounded the travelers, and
overwhelmed them with questions. When they were informed that he carried
a prisoner, a Knight of the Cross, they said:

"Give him to us, sir, we will take care of him!"

They importuned the Bohemian so much, that he often became very angry
with them, but at the same time, he explained, that he could not grant
their request because the prisoner belonged to the prince. Then only they
relented. Later on when he arrived in the inhabited places among the
nobles and land-owners, he did not get off so easily. The hatred against
the Order was raging, because everywhere they still remembered vividly
the wrongs which the prince had suffered at its hands when, in time of
peace, the Knights of the Cross had kidnapped the prince near Zlotorja
and imprisoned him. They did not wish to dispatch Zygfried at once. But
here and there, one of the doughty Polish nobles would say: "Unbind him
and we will give him arms, and then challenge him to deadly combat." To
such the Bohemian would give a potent reason: that the right to vengeance
belonged to the unfortunate lord of Spychow, and one must not deprive him
of that privilege.

The journey through the inhabited region was easy; because there were
good roads and there was plenty of provender for the horses. The Bohemian
continued his uninterrupted march until after ten days' travel he arrived
before Corpus Christi day at Spychow.

He arrived in the evening, at the same time as when he had brought the
news from Macko, that he had left Szczytno for the Zmudz country. It also
happened now as before, that Jagienka, observing him through the window,
rushed toward him, and he fell at her feet. He was speechless for a
while. But she soon lifted him up and took him aside, as she did not wish
to interrogate him in the presence of others.

"What news?" she asked, trembling with impatience, and scarcely able to
catch her breath. "Is she alive? Well?"

"Alive! Well!"

"Has she been found?"

"She has. They rescued her."

"Praised be Jesus Christ!"

But whilst she spoke these words her face assumed a deathly pallor,
because all her hopes crumbled into dust.

However, her strength did not forsake her, neither did she lose
consciousness. After a moment she mastered herself entirely and enquired
again:

"When will she be here?"

"Within a few days! She is sick and the road is very bad."

"Is she sick?"

"Martyred. Her reason is confused with her tortures."

"Merciful Jesus!"

Silence reigned for a moment. Jagienka's lips became pale and they moved
as though in prayer.

"Did she recognize Zbyszko?" she asked again.

"She may have done so, but I am not sure, because I left at once, in
order to inform you, lady, of the news. That is the reason why I am
standing here."

"God reward you. Tell me how it happened!"

The Bohemian related briefly how they rescued Danusia, how they captured
the giant Arnold together with Zygfried. He also informed them that he
had brought Zygfried with him, because the young knight wished to present
him to Jurand so that the latter might avenge himself.

"I must now go to Jurand," said Jagienka, when he had finished.

Then she left, but Hlawa had not been long alone when Sieciechowna rushed
toward him from the next apartment; but either because not entirely
conscious, owing to the fatigue and exceeding great troubles he had
passed through, or owing to his yearning for her, he entirely forgot
himself when he saw her; suffice it to say he caught her by the waist,
pressed her to his breast and kissed her eyes, cheeks and mouth in such a
manner as though he had previously informed her of everything that was
necessary for her to know before the kissing began.

Perhaps he had already told her everything in spirit, when upon the road,
therefore he kissed her and kept on kissing endlessly. He embraced her so
strongly that she lost her breath. Yet she did not defend herself, at
first from surprise and then, from faintness, so that were it not for
Hlawa's powerful grasp she would have fallen to the ground.

Fortunately this did not last too long because distant steps were heard
on the stairs, and after a moment, Father Kaleb rushed into the room.

They then quickly separated, and the priest began to overwhelm him with
questions. But Hlawa was unable to catch his breath and replied with
difficulty. The priest thought that his condition was owing to fatigue.
But when the news of the finding of Danusia, her rescue and the presence
of her torturer in Spychow was confirmed by Hlawa, he fell upon his knees
to thank God for it. Meanwhile Hlawa quieted down a little, and when the
priest got up, he was able to repeat his story in a more intelligent and
quiet manner in what way Danusia had been found and how they had rescued
her.

"God did not deliver her," the priest said, whilst listening to his
narrative, "in order that her reason and soul should be restored whilst
she was in the darkness and in the power of the unclean. Let Jurand only
lay his saintly hand upon her, and offer only one of his prayers, and he
will restore her reason and health."

"Knight Jurand?" asked the Bohemian, with astonishment. "Does he possess
so much power? Can he become a saint whilst he is alive?"

"Before God he is considered a saint even whilst he is alive. But when he
dies the people will have one more patron saint in heaven;--a martyr."

"But you said, reverend father,'that if he were only to lay his saintly
hands upon the head of his daughter.' Has his right hand grown again? for
I know you prayed for it."

"I said: 'the hands,' as it is customary to say," replied the priest.
"But one hand is enough, if God will."

"Surely," answered Hlawa.

But in his voice there was something discouraging when he thought that it
appeared like a miracle. Jagienka's entrance interrupted further
conversation.

"Now I have informed him carefully of the news," she said. "To avoid the
death, which sudden joy might cause, but he fell with the cross in his
hands and prayed."

"I am sure that he will be in such a condition till morning, as he is
accustomed to lie prostrate in prayer whole nights," said Father Kaleb.

And so it happened; they called to see him several times and each time
they found him stretched on the ground, not asleep but in such a fervent
prayer that it bordered on perfect ecstasy. Now the watchman, whose duty
it was to watch according to custom over Spychow from the top of the
tower, said afterward that he observed that night an extraordinary
brightness in the house of the "Old lord."

Very early on the following morning when Jagienka called again to see
him, he showed his desire to see Hlawa and the prisoner. The prisoner was
brought before him immediately from the dungeon. He was tightly bound
with his hands crossed upon his chest. All, including Tolima, advanced
toward the old man.

But owing to a dark, cloudy day and the insufficient light of a
threatening tempest, which penetrated the bladder panes, the Bohemian was
unable to see Jurand well. But as soon as his keen eyes grew accustomed
to the darkness and looked upon him, he scarcely recognized him. The
gigantic man had dwindled to a giant skeleton. His face was so white that
it did not much differ from his snow-white hair, and when he bowed on the
arm of his chair, with his eyelids closed, he appeared to Hlawa like a
real corpse.

In front of the chair stood a table; upon it were a crucifix, a pitcher
of water, and a loaf of black bread in which stuck the _misericordia_,
that terrible knife which the knights made use of in dispatching the
wounded. Besides bread and water, Jurand enjoyed no other nourishment.
His only garment consisted of coarse sackcloth upon his naked body
fastened with a straw girdle. Such was the manner of living of that once
powerful and terrible knight of Spychow, since his return from his
captivity in Szczytno.

Now, when he heard them arrive, he kicked aside the tame she-wolf which
gnawed at his bare feet, It was then that Jurand appeared to the Bohemian
like a real corpse. There was suspense for a moment, because they
expected some sign from him ordering them to talk: but he sat motionless,
pale, and peaceful; his mouth, a little opened, had the real appearance
of one who is plunged in the everlasting sleep of death.

Jagienka finally announced that Hlawa was there, and gently enquired:

"Do you wish to hear him?"

Old Jurand nodded his head affirmatively, and the Bohemian began, for the
third time, to narrate briefly the story of the battles with the Germans
near Gotteswerder. He told him of the fight with Arnold von Baden and how
they had rescued Danusia. Not wishing to add new pains to the sufferings
of the old martyr and destroy the effect produced by the good news of
Danusia's rescue, he purposely avoided relating that her mind suffered
for a long time on account of terrible distress. But, on the other hand,
as his heart was filled with rancor against the Knights of the Cross, and
thirsting to see Zygfried receive his deserved terrible chastisement, he
purposely mentioned the fact that when they found her she was terrified,
emaciated and sick, and it was evident that they must have treated her as
executioners do, and had she remained longer in their terrible hands she
would have withered and perished as a little flower withers and perishes
when trodden under foot.

Whilst Hlawa recited the news, the sky was overcast and the clouds grew
darker, which showed the approach of a storm. The copper-colored masses
of clouds which hung over Spychow rolled more heavily upon one another.

Jurand was motionless and listened to the recital without any trembling,
so that he appeared to be in deep sleep. Nevertheless, he heard and
understood everything, for when Hlawa told the story of Danusia's woes,
two large drops of tears rolled down his cheeks from the hollows of his
eyes. Only one earthly feeling still remained in his breast, and that was
love for his child.

Then his blue lips began to move in prayer. The first distant
thunderclaps were heard outside. Now and then lightning illuminated the
windows. He prayed long, and again the tears trickled down upon his white
beard. When he finally ceased to pray, long silence reigned, which was so
much prolonged as to cause uneasiness to those present because they did
not know what to do.

Finally, old Tolima, who was Jurand's right hand, his companion in all
battles, and the chief guard of Spychow, said:

"That man of Hades, that werewolf Knight of the Cross who tortured you
and your child stands now before you. Give a sign what shall be done to
him, and in what manner we shall chastise him!"

Upon hearing these words, rays of light crossed Jurand's face and he
nodded to them to bring the prisoner near him. And in the twinkling of an
eye, two men grasped him by the shoulders and placed him in front of the
old man, who stretched out his hand to Zygfried's face, which he touched
as though to feel the outlines and recognize it for the last time. Then
he lowered his hand to Zygfried's chest upon which he felt his bound
hands, touched the fastening ropes, again closed his eyelids and bowed
his head.

They thought that he was absorbed in thought, but whether that was so or
not, it was not of long duration, because after a while he started out of
his reverie and pointed with his hand in the direction of the loaf of
bread, in which the ill-omened _misericordia_ stuck.

Then, Jagienka, the Bohemian, even old Tolima and all present held their
breath. It was a hundredfold well-deserved punishment, a righteous
revenge. Yet their hearts palpitated at the thought that the half-alive
old man should be groping to slash the bound prisoner.

But Jurand, seizing the knife in the middle, ran his finger along its
sharp edge, so that he might feel the thing he was cutting, and began to
sever the bonds upon Zygfried's arms.

At that sight, all were seized with amazement, because they understood
his desire and could scarcely believe it. However, that was too much for
them. Hlawa was the first to murmur; he was followed by Tolima and the
other men. Only the priest Kaleb began to ask, in a voice broken with
unrestrained weeping:

"Brother Jurand, what are your wishes? Do you intend to give the prisoner
his liberty?"

"It is so!" replied Jurand, nodding his head affirmatively.

"No punishment for him, nor vengeance? Is that your desire?"

"It is!" and he nodded again.

Open discontent was shown in the murmurs and anger of the men, but the
priest did not wish to belittle such an unheard-of deed of mercy. He
turned to the murmurers and exclaimed:

"Now who dares to oppose the saint? Down upon your knees!"

Then he knelt down himself and began to say:

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom
come...."

And he repeated the Lord's Prayer to the end. At the words: "And forgive
us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," he
directed his eyes involuntarily toward Jurand, whose face actually
assumed an unearthly radiance.

That sight, and that expressive prayer crushed the hearts of all present;
even old Tolima, the confirmed, hardened warrior, made the sign of the
Holy Cross, and immediately embraced Jurand's feet and said:

"Lord, if you want your wishes to be accomplished, then the prisoner
should be led to the frontier."

"Yes!" nodded Jurand.

The storm approached nearer and nearer and the lightning more frequently
illuminated the windows.




CHAPTER IV.

Two horsemen, in the midst of the storm and pouring rain, reached the
frontier of Spychow. They were Zygfried and Tolima. The last mentioned
accompanied the German to protect him from the waylaying peasants and the
servants of Spychow, who burned with hatred and revenge toward him.
Zygfried was unarmed, but he was not fettered. The rainstorm, driven by
the tempest, had already overtaken them. Now and then, when it suddenly
thundered, the horses reared. They traveled in deep silence in a ravine.
Owing to the narrowness of the road, they were at times so near that they
struck each other's stirrups. Tolima, who had been accustomed to guard
prisoners for many years, frequently looked at Zygfried watchfully, as
though he were guarding against his escaping suddenly, and an involuntary
shudder seized him every time he looked at Zygfried, because his eyes
appeared to him to be shining in the darkness like the eyes of an evil
spirit, or of a vampire. It struck Tolima that it would be advisable to
make the sign of the cross over Zygfried, but he refrained from doing so,
because, he thought, that under the sign of the cross, he would hear
unearthly voices, and Zygfried would be transformed into a hideous being.
His teeth chattered and his fear increased. The old soldier who could
fight singly against a whole band of Germans and fall fearlessly upon
them, as a hawk swoops upon a flock of partridges, was nevertheless
afraid of unclean spirits, and wanted to have nothing to do with them. He
would have preferred simply to point out to the German the road and
return; but he was ashamed of himself, therefore he led him as far as the
frontier.

It was then, when they had drawn near the border of the Spychow forest,
that the rain ceased, and the clouds were lit up with a strange yellowish
light, that Zygfried's eyes lost that above-mentioned unnatural glare.
But Tolima was seized with another temptation: "They ordered me," he said
to himself, "to lead this mad dog safely as far as the frontier. I have
done that; but must the torturer of my master and his daughter leave
without revenge and punishment? Would it not be a proper and God-pleasing
deed to kill him? Ay! I should like to challenge him to deadly combat,
but he is not armed. Very soon at _Pan_ Warcimow's farm, about a mile
from here, they will supply him with some weapon, and then I will
challenge him. With God's help I shall overthrow him, then kill him, and
fitly, cut off his head and bury it in the dung!" These were the words
which Tolima said to himself. Then looking greedily at the German he
began to dilate his nostrils as if he already smelt fresh blood. He
fought hard in his mind with that desire; it was hard wrestling with
himself, until he reflected that Jurand had not only granted to the
prisoner his life and freedom as far as the frontier, but also beyond it,
otherwise Jurand's holy deed would have no merit and the heavenly reward
for him would thereby be lessened. He finally prevailed over himself, and
reining in his horse, said;

"Here is our border; your side is not far from here; proceed, you are
free; and if the qualms of conscience do not take you off, or God's
thunder does not strike you, then you need not fear man."

Then Tolima returned; and Zygfried proceeded. His face looked as if
petrified and a savage expression was depicted upon it. He did not reply
a single word, as though he heard nothing that was said to him. He
continued his journey now upon a wider road and had the appearance of one
who is fast asleep.

The break in the storm and the brightening of the sky only lasted a short
time. It darkened again; so much so that it looked like the darkness of
night. The clouds traveled so low that they quite enveloped the forest
and from the hills came down an ill-boding obscurity, a kind of hissing
and growling of impatient vampires, who were kept back by the angel of
the storm. Blinding lightning illuminated the threatening sky every
moment and terrified the land. Then one could see the broad highway
extending between the two black walls of forest, and upon it a lonely
horseman. Zygfried moved on in a semi-conscious condition, consumed by
fever. Despair had lacerated his heart since Rotgier's death and filled
it with crimes of revenge. Remorse, awful visions, soul stirrings had
already tortured his mind in the past to such a degree that with great
effort he had to fight madness; there were even moments when he could
fight no longer and he surrendered. But the new troubles, fatigue upon
the road under the strong hand of the Bohemian, the night he had passed
in the dungeon of Spychow, the uncertainty of his fate, and above all,
that unheard-of and almost superhuman deed, had quite terrified him. All
this had brought him to a climax. There were moments when his mind became
so stupefied that he entirely lost his judgment and he did not know what
he was doing. Then the fever awoke him and, at the same time awoke within
him a certain dull feeling of despair, destruction, and perdition,--a
feeling that all hope was already gone, extinguished and ended. He felt
that about him was only night, night and darkness, a horrible abyss into
which he must plunge.

Suddenly a voice whispered in his ear:

"Go! Go!"

And he looked around him and saw the very image of death, a skeleton
mounted upon a skeleton horse, pressing closely beside him, with his
white rattling bones.

"Is it you?" asked Zygfried.

"Yes it is. Go! Go!"

But at that moment he glanced to the other side and observed that he had
another companion there. Stirrup to stirrup rode a form, appearing
somewhat like a human being but for his face and head. It had the head of
an animal, with raised long pointed ears, covered with black shaggy hair.

"Who are you?" asked Zygfried.

But the being, instead of replying, showed its teeth and growled.

Zygfried closed his eyes, but in a moment he heard a louder clattering of
bones and the voice speaking to him in the same ear:

"Time! Time! Hurry on, go!"

"I go!" he replied.

But that last reply came from his breast and seemed to have been uttered
by somebody else. Then, impelled as it were by an external unconquerable
power, he dismounted and took off his high knight's saddle, and then the
bridle. His companions also dismounted, and did not leave him for a
moment. They left the middle of the road and went toward the margin of
the wood. There, the black being bent down a branch of a tree and
assisted him in fastening to it the strap of the bridle.

"Hurry!" whispered Death.

"Hurry!" whistled some voices from the tops of the trees.

Zygfried, who was like one plunged in deep sleep, drew through the buckle
the other end of the strap so as to form a noose. Then he stepped upon
the saddle which he had placed in front of the tree, and adjusted the
noose upon his neck.

"Push back the saddle! ... Already! Ah!"

The saddle, which he pushed with his feet, rolled away several paces and
the body of the unfortunate Knight of the Cross hung heavily. It seemed
to him, only for a short moment, that he heard a kind of smothering,
snorting and roaring, and that abominable vampire threw itself upon him,
shook him and then began to tear his breast with its teeth to rend his
heart. Then, as the light of his eyes was about extinguished he yet saw
something else; for lo, death dissolved into a whitish cloud, which
slowly approached him, embraced him, and finally surrounded and covered
all with a dismal and impenetrable veil.

At that moment the storm broke with great fury. Thunder roared in the
middle of the road with such a terrible crash that it seemed as though
the earth was shaken to its very foundations. The whole forest bent under
the tempest. The noise of whistling, hissing, howling, creaking of the
trunks, and cracking of the broken branches, filled the depths of the
woods. The tempest-driven sheets of rain hid the world from sight. Only
at short intervals, when lit up by blood-colored lightning, could be seen
the wild dangling body of Zygfried by the roadside.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following morning, advancing upon the same road, a numerous train
might be seen. In front was Jagienkna, with Sieciechowna and the
Bohemian. Behind them moved the wagons, surrounded by four servants,
armed with bows and swords. Every driver had also a spear and an axe near
him, not counting forged hayforks and other cutting arms suitable upon
the road. Those arms were necessary for protection against wild beasts,
as well as robbers, who always swarmed upon the border of the Knights of
the Cross. This caused Jagiello to complain in his letters to the Grand
Master of the Order, and when they met at Racionza.

But being provided with skilful men and good arms, the retinue traveled
without fear.

The stormy day was succeeded by a wonderful one; cheerful, silent and so
bright that the eyes of the travelers were blinded when not in the shade.
Not a single leaf stirred; from each of them hung large drops of rain
which the sun changed into a rainbow. Among the pine-needles they had the
appearance of large glistening diamonds. The rainfall produced small
streams upon the road, which ran with glad sound toward the lower places,
where they formed shallow little lakes. The whole neighborhood was wet
and bedewed, but smiling in the morning brightness. On such mornings,
also, the human heart is filled with gladness. Therefore the ostlers and
servants began to sing; they marveled at the silence which reigned among
those riding in front of them.

But they were quiet because a heavy burden oppressed Jagienka's heart.
There was something which had ended in her life, something broken.
Although she was not experienced in meditation and could not determine
distinctly the cause and what was going on in her mind, yet she felt that
all that had lived hitherto had vanished, that all her hopes had
dissipated as the morning mist upon the fields is dissipated. She felt
that she must now renounce and give up everything and forget, and begin
almost a new life. She also thought that although, with God's will, her
present position was not of the worst, yet it could not be otherwise than
sad, and in no way could the new life turn out to be as good as that
which had just terminated. And an immense sorrow had taken hold of her
heart, so that, at the thought that every past hope was gone forever,
tears came to her eyes. But not wishing to add shame to her other
troubles, she restrained herself from weeping. She wished that she had
never left Zgorzelice; in that case she would not now have to return
thither. Then, she thought, it was not only to remove the cause for
attacks upon Zgorzelice by Cztan and Wilk that Macko brought her to
Spychow. That she could not believe. "No," she said, "Macko also knew
that that was not the only cause for taking me away. Perhaps Zbyszko will
also know it." At that thought, her cheeks became crimson and bitterness
filled her heart.

"I was too daring," she said to herself, "and now I have what I deserved.
Trouble and uncertainty to-morrow, suffering and deep sorrow in the
future and with it humiliation."

But the train of oppressing thoughts was interrupted by a man coming
hastily from the opposite direction. The Bohemian, whose eyes nothing
escaped, rushed toward the man, who with crossbow upon his shoulder and
badger-skin pouch at his side, and with a feather of a black woodcock in
his cap, was recognized as a forester.

"Hey! Who are you? Stop!" exclaimed the Bohemian.

The man approached quickly, his face was agitated, and had the expression
of those who have something extraordinary to communicate. He cried:

"There upon the road ahead of you is a man hanging on a tree!"

The Bohemian was alarmed, thinking that it might be a murder, and he
asked the man quickly:

"How far from here is it?"

"A bowshot distance, and upon this road."

"Is there nobody with him?"

"Nobody; I frightened away a wolf that was smelling around him."

The mention of a wolf quieted Hlawa, for it told him that there were
neither people nor farms in the neighborhood.

Then Jagienka said:

"Look there, what is that?"

Hlawa rushed ahead, and soon returned hurriedly.

"Zygfried is hanging there!" he exclaimed while reining in his horse in
front of Jagienka.

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost! You do not mean Zygfried,
the Knight of the Cross?"

"Yes, it is he. He hung himself with the bridle."

"Did you say by himself?"

"It seems so, because the saddle lies alongside him, and if there were
robbers they would have killed him outright and made off with the saddle,
because it is valuable."

"Shall we proceed?"

"Let us not go that way! No!" cried Anula Sieciechowna, afraid.
"Something evil might happen to us!"

Jagienka was also somewhat afraid, because she believed that the body of
a suicide is surrounded by crowds of evil spirits. But Hlawa, who was
fearless and bold, said:

"Bah! I was near him, and even pushed him with the lance, and do not feel
any devil upon my neck."

"Do not blaspheme!" cried Jagienka.

"I am not blaspheming," replied the Bohemian, "I only trust in God's
power. Nevertheless, if you are afraid we will go around it."

Sieciechowna begged him to do so; but Jagienka, having reflected for a
moment, said:

"It is not proper to leave the dead unburied. It is a Christian act
commanded by the Lord. Anyhow it is the body of a man."

"Yes, but it is the body of a Knight of the Cross, a hangman and
executioner! Let the crows and wolves occupy themselves with his body."

"It was not specified. God will judge for his sins, but we must do our
duty; and if we fulfil God's commandment nothing evil will befall us."

"Well, then, let it be done according to your wishes," replied the
Bohemian.

Accordingly he gave the order to the servants, who were reluctant. But
they feared Hlawa, to oppose whom was a dangerous thing. Not having the
necessary spades to dig a hole in the ground, they therefore gathered
pitchforks and axes for that purpose and left. The Bohemian also went
with them and to give them an example, he crossed himself and cut with
his own hands the leather strap upon which the body was hanging.

Zygfried's face had become blue whilst hanging; he had an awful
appearance, because his eyes were open and terror-stricken, his mouth was
also open as though in the act of trying to catch his last breath. They
quickly dug a pit near by and pushed therein the corpse of Zygfried with
the handles of their pitchforks; they laid him with his face downward and
covered it first with dust, then they gathered stones and placed them
upon it, because it was an immemorial custom to cover the graves of
suicides with stones; otherwise they would come out during the night and
frighten the passers-by.

As there were many stones upon the road and under the mosses, the grave
was soon covered with a considerable mound. Then Hlawa cut a cross with
his axe upon the trunk of the pine-tree near. He did that, not for
Zygfried, but to prevent evil spirits from gathering at that place. Then
he returned to the retinue.

"His soul is in hell and his body is already in the ground," he said to
Jagienka. "We can travel now."

They started; but Jagienka, whilst passing along, took a small branch of
pine-tree and pressed it upon the stones. Then everybody of the train
followed the example of the lady. That, too, had been an old custom.

They traveled for a long while absorbed in thought, thinking of that
wicked monk and knight. Finally Jagienka said:

"God's justice cannot be escaped. It does not even permit the prayer,
'Everlasting rest'[118] to be offered up because there is no mercy for
him."

"You have shown by your order to bury him that you possess a
compassionate soul," replied the Bohemian.

Then he spoke hesitatingly: "People talk. Bah! maybe they are not people,
but witches and wizards--that a halter or a strap taken from the hanging
body secures to the possessor certain luck in everything. But I did not
take the strap from Zygfried, because I wish that your luck should
proceed from the Lord Jesus and not from necromancers."

Jagienka did not reply to that at once, but after awhile she sighed
several times and said as it were to herself:

"Hey! My happiness is behind, not in front of me."




CHAPTER V.

It was not until the end of the ninth day after Jagienka's departure that
Zbyszko reached the frontier of Spychow, but Danusia was already so near
death that he entirely lost all hope of bringing her alive to her father.

On the following day, when she began to be incoherent in her replies, he
observed that not only her mind was out of order, but that she was also
suffering from a certain malady against which that childlike frame,
exhausted by so much suffering, prison, torture and continuous fright,
could not fight. Perhaps the noise of the fight of Macko and Zbyszko with
the Germans contributed to fill her cup of terror, and it was just about
that time that she was taken ill with that malady. Suffice it to say that
the fever never left her from that moment until they reached the end of
the journey. So far it was successfully accomplished, because throughout
the terrible wilderness, in the midst of great troubles, Zbyszko carried
her as though she were dead. When they left the wilderness and reached
inhabited regions, among farmers and nobles, trouble and danger ceased.
When the people were informed that he carried one of their own daughters
whom he had rescued from the Knights of the Cross, especially when they
knew that she was the daughter of the famous Jurand, of whose exploits
the minstrels sang in the villages, hamlets, and huts, they vied with
each other in rendering help and service. They procured proper horses and
supplies. All doors stood open for them. It was no more necessary for
Zbyszko to carry her in a cradle when the strong young men carried her
from one village to another in a litter. They carried her as carefully as
though she were a saint. The women surrounded her with the most tender
care. The men, upon hearing the account of her wrongs, gnashed their
teeth, and not a few put on the steel cuirass, grasped the sword, axe, or
lance and went along with Zbyszko, in order to take revenge with
interest. Because, the valiant race considered even retribution, wrong
for wrong, insufficient.

But revenge did not then occupy Zbyszko's mind; his only thought was for
Danusia. He lived between flashes of hope when there were momentary signs
of improvement, and gloomy despair when she got worse, and as far as her
latter condition was concerned, he could not deceive himself. A
superstitious thought struck him more than once at the beginning of the
journey, that there was, somewhere in the pathless regions they were
passing, death, riding along with them, step by step, lying in wait for
the moment when he might fall upon Danusia and wring from her the last
breath of life. That vision or feeling became especially pronounced at
dark midnight, so much so, that more than once he was seized with a
despairing desire to return and challenge death to a combat to a finish,
in the same fashion as knights are wont to do toward each other. But at
the end of the journey it became worse, because he felt that death was
not following them, but was in the very midst of the retinue; invisible
truly, but so near that its cold breath could be felt. Then he understood
that against such an enemy, courage, strength and arms are counted as
nothing and that he would be obliged to surrender the most precious head
as a prey without even a struggle.

And that was a most terrible feeling, because it roused within him a
tempestuous, irresistible sorrow, a sorrow, bottomless as the sea. Could
therefore Zbyszko restrain himself from groaning, could his heart remain
unbroken by pain, when he looked at his most beloved? He spoke to her as
in terms of involuntary reproach: "Was it for this that I loved you? Was
it for this that I searched and rescued you in order that you should be
put under ground to-morrow and I should never see you again?" Then he
would look at her cheeks which glowed with fever, at her expressionless
and dull eyes, and ask her again:

"Are you going to leave me? Are you not sorry for it? You prefer going to
staying with me." Then he thought that something was happening in his own
head, and his breast swelled with immense sadness which seared it, but he
could not give vent to his feeling with tears, because of a certain
feeling of anger and hatred against that compassionless power which was
consuming the innocent, blind, and cold child. If that wicked enemy, the
Knight of the Cross, were present, he would have fallen upon him and torn
him to pieces like a wild beast.

When they arrived at the forest court, he wished to halt, but as it was
the spring season the court was deserted. There he was informed by the
keepers that the princely pair had gone to their brother, Prince
Ziemowita, at Plock. He therefore resolved, instead of going to Warsaw
where the court physician might have given her some relief, to go to
Spychow. That plan was terrible, because it seemed to him that all was
over with her and that he would not be able to bring her alive to Jurand.

But just as they were only a few hours distant from Spychow the brightest
ray of hope shone again in his heart. Danuska's cheeks became paler, her
eyes were less troubled, her breathing not so loud and quick. Zbyszko had
observed it immediately, and had given orders to stop, so that she might
rest and breathe undisturbed.

It was only about three miles from the inhabited part of Spychow, upon a
narrow road winding between fields and meadows. They stopped near a wild
pear-tree whose branches served to the sick as a protection from the rays
of the sun. The men dismounted and unbridled their horses so as to
facilitate their grazing. Two women, who were hired to attend Danusia and
the youths who carried her, fatigued with the road and heat, lay down in
the shade and slept. Only Zbyszko remained watching near the litter and
sat close by upon the roots of the pear-tree, not taking his eyes off her
even for a moment.

She lay in the midst of the afternoon silence, her eyelids closed. It
seemed to Zbyszko that she was not asleep,--when at the other end of the
meadow a man who was mowing hay stopped and began to sharpen his scythe
loudly upon the hone. Then she trembled a little and opened her eyelids
for a moment, but immediately closed them again. Her breast heaved as
though she was deeply inspiring, and in a hardly audible voice she
whispered:

"Flowers smell sweetly...."

These were the first words, clear and free from fever, spoken since they
had left, because the breeze really wafted from the sun-warmed meadow a
strong, redolent hay and honey perfume, fragrant with the scent of herbs.
This caused Zbyszko to think that reason had returned to her. His heart
trembled within him for joy. He wished to throw himself at her feet at
the first impulse. But fearing lest that might frighten her, he desisted.
He only knelt in front of the litter, and bending over her, said in a
whisper:

"Dear Danusia! Danusia!"

She opened her eyes again, and looked at him for a while. Then a smile
brightened up her face, the same as when she was in the tar-burner's
shanty, but far from consciousness, but she pronounced his name:

"Zbyszko!..."

She attempted to stretch her hands toward him, but owing to her great
weakness she was unable to do it. But he embraced her, his heart was so
full that it seemed as if he were thanking her for some great favor he
had received.

"I praise the Lord," he said, "you have awoke ... O God...." Now his
voice failed him, and they looked at each other for some time in silence.
That silence was only interrupted by the gentle wind which moved the
leaves of the pear-tree, the chirping of the grasshoppers among the grass
and the distant indistinct song of the mower.

It seemed as though her consciousness was gradually increasing, for she
continued to smile and had the appearance of a sleeping child seeing
angels in its dream. Little by little her face assumed an air of
astonishment.

"Oh! where am I?" she cried. He was so much overcome with joy that he
uttered numerous short and abrupt questions.

"Near Spychow. You are with me, and we are going to see dear papa. Your
sorrow is ended. Oh! my darling Danusia, I searched for you and rescued
you. You are no more in the power of the Germans. Be not afraid. We shall
soon be at Spychow. You were ill, but the Lord Jesus had mercy upon you.
There was so much sorrow, so many tears! Dear Danusia. Now, everything is
well. There is nothing but happiness for you. Ah I how much did I search
for you!... How far did I wander!... Oh! Mighty God!... Oh!..."

He sighed deeply and groaned as though he had thrown off the last heavy
burden of suffering from his breast.

Danusia lay quiet trying to recall something to her mind and reflecting
upon something. Then finally she asked:

"So, you cared for me?"

Two tears which were gathering in her eyes slowly rolled down her cheeks
upon the pillow.

"I, not care for you?" cried Zbyszko.

There was something more powerful in that smothered exclamation than in
the most vehement protestations and oaths, because he had always loved
her with his whole soul. And from the moment when he had recovered her
she had become more dear to him than the whole world.

Silence reigned again. The distant singing of the mowing peasant ceased
and he began to whet his scythe again.

Danusia's lips moved again, but with such a low whisper that Zbyszko
could not hear it. He therefore bent over her and asked:

"What do you say, darling?"

But she repeated:

"Sweet smelling blossoms."

"Because we are near the meadows," he replied. "But we shall soon proceed
and go to dear papa, whom we have also rescued from captivity, and you
shall be mine even unto death. Do you hear me well? Do you understand
me?"

Then he suddenly became alarmed, for he observed that her face was
gradually paling and was thickly covered with perspiration.

"What ails you?" he asked in great alarm.

And he felt his hair bristling and frost creeping through his bones.

"What ails you, tell me," he repeated.

"It darkens," she whispered.

"It darkens? Why, the sun shines and you say: 'it darkens'?" he said with
a suppressed voice. "Up to this time you have spoken rationally. In God's
name I beseech you, speak, even if it is only one word."

She still moved her lips, but she was unable even to whisper. Zbyszko
guessed that she tried to pronounce his name and that she called him.
Immediately afterward, her emaciated hands began to twitch and flutter
upon the rug covering her. That lasted only for a moment. No doubt was
left now that she had expired.

Horrified and in despair, Zbyszko began to beg her, as though his
entreaties could avail:

"Danuska! Oh, merciful Jesus!... Only wait till we come to Spychow! Wait!
Wait, I beseech you! Oh, Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

The appeal awoke the sleeping women, and the men who were stretched with
the horses upon the lawn came running. They guessed at a glance what had
happened; they knelt down and began loudly to recite the litany.

The breeze ceased, even the leaves upon the pear-tree did not rustle.
Only the voices reciting the litany sounded throughout that profound
silence.

Danusia opened her eyes once more at the very end of the litany, as
though she wished to look upon Zbyszko and upon the sunlit world for the
last time. Then she lapsed into an everlasting sleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

The women closed her eyelids; then they went to the meadow to gather
flowers. The men followed them in file. Thus they walked in the sunshine
among the luxuriant grass and had the appearance of field spirits bowing
now and then, and weeping, for their hearts were filled with pity and
sorrow. Zbyszko was kneeling in the shade beside the litter, with his
head upon Danusia's knees, speechless and motionless, as if he too were
dead. But the gatherers kept on plucking here and there, marigolds,
buttercups, bellflowers and plenty of red and white sweet-smelling little
blossoms. They also found in the small moist hollows in the meadow,
lilies of the valley, and upon the margin near the fallow ground, they
got St. John's wort until they had gathered their arms full. Then they
sadly surrounded the litter and began to adorn it, until they had covered
the dead with flowers and herbs; they only left the face uncovered, which
in the midst of the bellflowers and lilies looked white, peaceful, calm,
as in eternal sleep, serene, and quite angelic.

The distance to Spychow was less than three miles. Then, when they had
shed copious tears of sorrow and pain, they carried the litter toward the
forest where Jurand's domains began.

The men led the horses in front of the retinue. Zbyszko himself carried
the litter upon his head, and the women loaded with the surplus of the
bunches of flowers and herbs, sang hymns. They moved very slowly along
the herb-covered meadows and the grey fallow fields and had the
appearance of a funeral procession. Not a cloudlet marred the blue clear
sky, and the region warmed itself in the golden rays of the sun.

The further adventures of Zbyszko will be found in a subsequent volume.




FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The Benedictine Abbey at Tyniec was in Poland as important
and rich, relatively, as the Abbey of Saint-Germain des Près in France.
In those times the order organized by Saint Benoit (Benedictus) was the
most important factor in the civilization and material prosperity of the
country. The older contained 17,000 abbeys. From it came 24 Popes; 200
Cardinals; 1,600 Archbishops; 4,000 Bishops; 15,000 Writers; 1,500
Saints; 5,000 Beatified; 43 Emperors, and 44 Kings. These figures are
material facts showing the importance of the order. About its influence
on art, literature and culture one could write a volume.]

[Footnote 2: Two powerful families.]

[Footnote 3: Lithuania.]

[Footnote 4: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 5: Prince.]

[Footnote 6: Lithuanian.]

[Footnote 7: Money--it is difficult to tell the value exactly.]

[Footnote 8: Bishop.]

[Footnote 9: Priests.]

[Footnote 10: An exclamation of trifling.]

[Footnote 11: Prince Kiejstut's daughter.]

[Footnote 12: Slave minstrels.]

[Footnote 13: A kind of guitar.]

[Footnote 14: The names of the noblemen of every country are derived from
the estates which they possess--hence the particles before the name of a
true nobleman: _de_ in France, for instance, de Nevers, means that the
name comes from the place called Nevers; _of_ in England, for instance,
Duke of Manchester; _von_ in Germany has the same signification; in
Poland z, for instance Macko z Bogdanca--means that the estate Bogdaniec
belonged to his family and to him;--in the following centuries the z was
changed to _ski_, put on the end of the name and instead of writing z
Bogdanca, a man of the same family was called Bogdanski; but it does not
follow that every Pole, whose name ends in _ski_ is a nobleman. Therefore
the translation of that particular z into English _of_ is only strictly
correct, although in other cases z should be translated into English
_from_: to write: Baron de Rothschild is absurd and ridiculous, because
the sign "red shield" was not an estate, and one cannot put _de_ before
it.]

[Footnote 15: A wealthy possessor of land--they were freemen and had
serfs working for them--some of them were noblemen, and had the right to
use coats of arms.]

[Footnote 16: Pan--Lord]

[Footnote 17: A man coming from Mazowsze--the part of Poland round
Warsaw.]

[Footnote 18: Count.]

[Footnote 19: Back side of the axe.]

[Footnote 20: A town surrounded with walls and having a peculiar
jurisdiction or a kind of a castle.]

[Footnote 21: Inhabitants of Rus'--part of Poland round Lwow--Leopol
(Latin), Lemberg (German).]

[Footnote 22: Money;--marks.]

[Footnote 23: Hail--the war-cry of the family, either because it was
numerous like hail or struck sharply like hail.]

[Footnote 24: Count.]

[Footnote 25: Wdaly--in old Polish--handsome.]

[Footnote 26: Beautiful.]

[Footnote 27: Abbot of a hundred villages.]

[Footnote 28: Ordinary German soldiers.]

[Footnote 29: A nobleman holding an estate of the Crown, with or without
jurisdiction.]

[Footnote 30: Knight of the Cross in Polish.]

[Footnote 31: Vocative from Zbyszko.]

[Footnote 32: Pater-noster--the Lord's prayer.]

[Footnote 33: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 34: A military title with jurisdiction--corresponding to
general.]

[Footnote 35: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 36: Bonebreaker.]

[Footnote 37: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 38: A large building which served for different purposes, but
especially, as a depot of broadcloth; in Polish _sukno_, hence its name:
_sukiennice_.]

[Footnote 39: Noblemen in Lithuania and Russia.]

[Footnote 40: The Tartars were divided into Ords--it was a fancy
division, without any precise number.]

[Footnote 41: Anjou in French.]

[Footnote 42: Piasts is family name--the first kings of Poland were
Piasts.]

[Footnote 43: Mountains in Poland--sometimes improperly called Carpathian
Mountains.]

[Footnote 44: Priest--or prince in the old Slav language.]

[Footnote 45: In Poland they use in the churches a sprinkling brush made
of thin shavings of a certain wood--such a brush is called, "kropidlo."]

[Footnote 46: The Province of Dobrzyn was seized by the Knights of the
Cross on the ground of an unlawful agreement with Wladyslaw Opolczyk.]

[Footnote 47: Allusion to beehives on the trees; to take honey from them,
the keeper was obliged to climb a rope.]

[Footnote 48: Famous battle in which the Germans were defeated by King
Wladyslaw Lokietek.]

[Footnote 49: Ksiondz--priest.]

[Footnote 50: We will go to dissipate.]

[Footnote 51: Marienburg in German.]

[Footnote 52: King.]

[Footnote 53: Friend.]

[Footnote 54: Diminutive of _kniaz_--prince.]

[Footnote 55: Diminutive from _bojar_--Lord.]

[Footnote 56: Marienburg in German.]

[Footnote 57: A sort of coat.]

[Footnote 58: The bison of Pliny; the urus of Caesar. The bison,
destroyed in all other countries of Europe, is only to be found in Poland
in the forest of Bialowieza, where a special body of guards takes care of
this rare animal.]

[Footnote 59: It means here a fort, a stronghold, a castle.]

[Footnote 60: Grzywna or mark was equal to half pound of silver.]

[Footnote 61: High sharp pointed hat.]

[Footnote 62: Crooked.]

[Footnote 63: Polish _tata_ = papa; hence the diminutive and endearing
terms _tatus, tatutu_ and _tatulku_ = "dear papa," "dear little papa,"
etc.]

[Footnote 64: Another form of diminutive from _tata_--father.]

[Footnote 65: Church with certain special privileges. It is a popular
expression for the church called _collegiata_, in Latin.]

[Footnote 66: Silesia.]

[Footnote 67: A popular exclamation of joy--sometimes of distress if it
is put with another word.]

[Footnote 68: An exclamation of mirth, especially in songs; and while
dancing, they exclaim in Poland: hoc! hoc!]

[Footnote 69: Wooden beehive excavated in a tree.]

[Footnote 70: Kind of fur jacket--bolero.]

[Footnote 71: Both words are diminutives of _tata_--father.]

[Footnote 72: Diminutive of mother.]

[Footnote 73: In 1331.]

[Footnote 74: Stronghold--castle.]

[Footnote 75: Miss.]

[Footnote 76: Breslau in German.]

[Footnote 77: Diminutive of _tata_ father.]

[Footnote 78: Abbreviation of Przeclaw.]

[Footnote 79: Podhale is part of the mountains of Karpaty.]

[Footnote 80: Nickname given to bears.]

[Footnote 81: Popular name for bear.]

[Footnote 82: Wolf.]

[Footnote 83: Seminarists students.]

[Footnote 84: Diminutive of _wlodyka_.]

[Footnote 85: Piece of money; it is twenty-fourth part of _grzywna_ or
mark, which was worth half pound of silver; one _skojeg_ was worth about
one-third of an ounce.]

[Footnote 86: "Bold Mountain"--a place in Poland, where one of the first
three Benedictine monasteries was built by the king, Boleslaw Chrobry
(the Valiant) 1125. In this monastery is a part of our Saviour's
cross--hence pilgrimages to that place.]

[Footnote 87: Diminutive of _wlodyka_.]

[Footnote 88: Another form of _pan_--lord; when one speaks in
commiseration or in sympathy, any noun can take this form.]

[Footnote 89: A short prayer for the dead.]

[Footnote 90: The famous victory over the Knights of the Cross by the
king Wladyslaw Lokietek.]

[Footnote 91: Lokiec means an ell in Polish. King Wladyslaw was of the
family Piasts, but he was called Lokietek on account of his short
stature.]

[Footnote 92: Marks.]

[Footnote 93: Here it means a commandant.]

[Footnote 94: A part of Poland. The people were called Kurpie, on account
of their shoes made of the bark of trees. They were all famous marksmen.]

[Footnote 95: Krystyn.]

[Footnote 96: A woolen material, made by Polish peasants. In some
provinces _kilimeks_ are very artistic on account of the odd designs and
the harmony of the colors.]

[Footnote 97: Szczytno in Polish.]

[Footnote 98: Cymbaska who married Ernest Iron Habsburg.]

[Footnote 99: The knight Uter, being in love with the virtuous Igerna,
wife of Prince Gorlas, with Merlin's help assumed the form of Gorlas, and
with Igerna begot the king Arthur.]

[Footnote 100: Kind of horn.]

[Footnote 101: Wigand of Marburg mentions such cases.]

[Footnote 102: There is a custom in Poland, Hungary, Bohemia and some
other countries, to break wafers at receptions and parties, on Christmas
eve and the following two days, expressing in the meantime good wishes
for all manner of prosperity and happiness. The wafers are distributed by
the parish that is to say by the priest or sexton. The author refers to
that custom.]

[Footnote 103: Siebenkirchen in German, a province which now belongs to
Hungary, it was then an independent principality.]

[Footnote 104: Diminutive of mother; it is a charming expression. The
Polish language, like the Italian, has a great variety of diminutives.]

[Footnote 105: _Glowacz_ the Polish for the Bohemian _Hlawa_, the latter
means "head," but the former means also "big" or "thick head."--(S.A.B.)]

[Footnote 106: Lotarynczyk means the man from Lotaringen.]

[Footnote 107: _Byway_ means, in this instance, "here we are".]

[Footnote 108: _Pontnik_, "Pardoner," one who dispenses
indulgences.--(S.A.B.)]

[Footnote 109: Called: _Misericordia_.]

[Footnote 110: February is called in Polish "Luty," meaning also
dreadful, awful, etc.]

[Footnote 111: The diminutive of Anna.]

[Footnote 112: Lit., She was walking on live coals.]

[Footnote 113: Meaning never.]

[Footnote 114: Relics of the gallows were preserved down to the year
1818.]

[Footnote 115: One Polish mile is about three American miles.]

[Footnote 116: _Setnik_, captain over one hundred.]

[Footnote 117: The Greater Bear, or Charleswain ... other names are hen
and chickens, dipper, etc. Arabic, _Dhiba_.]

[Footnote 118: _Wieczny odpoczynek racz mu daj Panie_. "God rest his
soul."]









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