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.