But Zbyszko contracted his brow and in his face was depicted that

determination so characteristic of the looks of the men of Bogdaniec, for

at that moment he looked as if he were Macko's own son.

"What I should also like," he said, in low tones, "is to have that bloody

dog Zygfried crushed under Jurand's feet! May God grant it!"

"Grant it, God! grant it!" immediately repeated Macko.

Whilst conversing, they covered a considerable stretch of the road until

nightfall. It was a starry night, but there was no moon. They were

obliged to halt the horses, breathe, and refresh the men with food and

sleep. Zbyszko informed Sanderus before resting that he was to proceed in

front in the morning. Sanderus willingly assented; but reserved to

himself, in case of an attack by wolves or people, the right to run back

to Zbyszko. He also asked him for permission to make four stations

instead of three, because in solitude fear always took hold of him, even

in pious countries. How much more so in such an abominable wilderness as

the one where they found themselves now?

When they had refreshed themselves with food, they lay down to sleep upon

skins near a small camp-fire, which they built about half a furlong from

the road. The servants alternately guarded the horses, which, after they

were fed, rolled upon the ground and then slept, resting their heads upon

each other's necks. But no sooner did the first ray illuminate the woods

with a silvery hue, than Zbyszko arose and awoke the others, and at dawn

they continued their march. The tracks of the hoofs of Arnold's immense

stallion were easily recovered, because the usual muddy ground had dried

up from drought. Sanderus went on ahead and soon disappeared.

Nevertheless, they found him about half way between sunrise and noon, at

the waiting place. He told them that he had not seen any living soul,

only one large aurochs, but was not scared and did not run away, because

the animal got out of his way. But he declared that shortly before, he

had seen a peasant bee-keeper, but had not detained him, for fear that in

the depths of the forest there might be more of them. He had attempted to

question him, but they had not been able to make themselves understood.

As time went by, Zbyszko became somewhat troubled.

"What will happen," he said, "if I arrive in the higher and drier region,

where, owing to the hard, dry road, the traces of the fugitives will be

lost? or, if the pursuit shall last too long and lead to an inhabited

region where the people have long since accustomed themselves to the

servitude of the Knights of the Cross; an attack and capture of Danusia

by them is more than probable, because, although Arnold and Zygfried did

not erect forts, or fortify their towns, the inhabitants would surely

take their part."

Happily that fear turned out to be groundless, because they did not find

Sanderus at the appointed second post, but found instead an incision in

the form of a cross, apparently newly cut into the bark of an adjacent

pine tree. They looked at each other and their hearts began to beat

faster. Macko and Zbyszko immediately dismounted, in order to discover

the tracks upon the ground; they examined carefully, but it did not last

long, because they were plainly discernible.

Sanderus had apparently deviated from the road into the forest, and

followed the prints of the huge horse-hoofs, which, owing to the dry

condition of the turfy soil, were not so deeply impressed, but

sufficiently visible. The heavy horse disturbed at every step the pine

needles which were blackened at the margins of the impressions.

Other marks did not escape Zbyszko's keen sight. Then he and Macko

mounted their horses, and, together with the Bohemian, silently began

taking counsel as though the enemy were quite near them.

The Bohemian's advice was that they should advance on foot at once, but

they did not agree to that, because they did not know the distance they

would have to traverse in the woods. The footmen, however, had to proceed

carefully in advance, and signal in case something occurred, so that they

might be in readiness.

They moved onward among the woods in some trepidation, and another

incision upon a pine tree assured them that they had not lost Sanderus'

tracks. Very soon they also discovered a path, showing that people

frequently passed that way, and they were convinced that they were in the

neighborhood of some forest habitation, and within it was the object of

their search.

The sun was getting low, and shed a golden hue upon the trees of the

forest. The evening promised to be serene; silence reigned in the woods

because beast and birds had retired to rest, only here and there, among

the little top branches of the trees, squirrels moved to and fro looking

quite red in the last beams of the sun. Zbyszko, Macko, the Bohemian and

the attendants, closely followed each other, knowing that their men were

considerably in advance and would warn them in proper time; the old

knight spoke to his nephew in not very subdued tones.

"Let us calculate from the sun," he said. "From the last station to the

place where we found the first incision, we covered a great distance.

According to Krakow time it would be about three hours.... Then Sanderus

must be by this time among them, and has had time enough to tell them his

adventure, provided he has not betrayed us."

"He has not betrayed us," replied Zbyszko.

"Provided they believe him," continued Macko; "if they do not, then it

will be bad for him."

"But why should they not believe him? Do they know of us? Him they know.

It often happens that prisoners escape from captivity."

"But what concerns me is this: if he told them that he ran away they

might fear he would be pursued, and they would move on at once."

"No, he will succeed in casting dust in their eyes by telling them that

such a long pursuit would not be undertaken."

They were silent for a while, then it seemed to Macko that Zbyszko was

whispering to him; he turned and asked:

"What do you say?"

But Zbyszko had said nothing to Macko, but looking upward, said:

"Only if God would favor Danuska and the courageous enterprise in her

behalf."

Macko also began to cross himself; but he had scarcely made the first

sign of the cross, when from the hazelnut thickets one of the scouts

approached him suddenly and said:

"A pitch-burning cabin! They are there!"

"Stop!" whispered Zbyszko, and dismounted at once. Macko, the Bohemian,

and the attendants, also dismounted; three of the latter received orders

to hold the horses in readiness and take care that they, God forbid, did

not neigh. "I left five men," said Macko. "There will be the two

attendants and Sanderus, whom we shall bind in a moment, and, should any

one show fight, then, at his head!"

Then they advanced, and, as they moved on, Zbyszko said to his uncle:

"You take the old man, Zygfried; and I, Arnold."

"Only take care!" replied Macko. Then he beckoned to the Bohemian,

reminding him to be ready at a moment's notice to be on hand to assist

his master.

The Bohemian nodded assent. Then he breathed deeply and felt for his

sword to see whether it could be easily unsheathed.

But Zbyszko observed it and said:

"No! I command you to hasten at once to the litter and not move from it

for a single moment whilst the fight is going on."

They went quickly but silently through the hazelnut thickets. But they

had not gone far, when at a distance of not quite two furlongs, the

growth ceased suddenly, revealing a small field upon which were

extinguished pitch-burning heaps, and two earthen shanties, or huts,

where the pitch-burners had dwelt before the war. The setting sun

brightly illuminated the lawn, the pitch-burning heaps, and the two

detached shanties--in front of one of which the two knights were sitting

upon the ground; and in front of the other were Sanderus and a bearded,

red-headed fellow. These two were occupied in polishing the coats of mail

with rags. Besides this, the two swords were lying at Sanderus' feet

ready to be cleaned afterward.

"Look," said Macko, forcibly grasping Zbyszko's arm to detain him if

possible for another moment, "he has taken the coats of mail and swords

purposely. Well, that one with the grey head must be...."

"Forward!" suddenly shouted Zbyszko.

And like a whirlwind he rushed into the clearing; the others did the

same, but they only succeeded in reaching Sanderus. The terrible Macko

caught hold of old Zygfried by the breast, bent him backward and in a

moment held him under him. Zbyszko and Arnold grasped each other like two

hawks, with their arms intertwined and began to struggle fiercely with

each other. The bearded German, who was with Sanderus, sprang toward the

sword, but he did not use it. Wit, Macko's servant, struck him with the

back of his axe, and stretched him upon the ground. Then they began to

bind Sanderus, according to Macko's order, but he, although he well knew

that it was so arranged beforehand, began to bellow as terribly as a

yearling calf whose throat is being cut by the butcher's knife.

But Zbyszko, though so strong that he could squeeze a branch of a tree

and cause the sap to run out, felt that he was not grasped by human

hands, but was in the hug of a bear. He also felt that if it were not for

the cost of mail which he had on, in case of having to fight with the

sword, the German giant would have crushed his ribs and perhaps the

spinal column too. The young knight lifted him a little from the ground,

but Arnold lifted him up higher still, and gathering all his strength he

tried to throw him to the ground so that he might not be able to rise

again.

But Zbyszko also clutched him with such terrible force that blood issued

from the German's eyes. Then he crooked his leg between Arnold's knees,

bent him sideways and struck him in the hollow of the knee, which threw

him to the ground. In reality both fell to the ground, the young knight

underneath; but at the same moment, Macko, who was observing all this,

threw the half doubled-up Zygfried into the hands of an attendant, and

rushed toward the prostrate fighters, and in the twinkling of an eye he

had bound the feet of Arnold with a belt; then he jumped, and sat down

upon him as upon a wild boar, took the _misericordia_ from his side, and

plunged it deep into his throat.

Arnold screamed horribly, and his hands involuntarily withdrew from

Zbyszko's sides. Then he began to moan not only with the pain of the

wound, but he also felt an indescribable pain in his back: where he had

received a blow from a club in his previous fight with Skirwoilla.

Macko grasped him with both hands and dragged him off Zbyszko, and

Zbyszko got up from the ground and sat down; he tried to stand up but

could not; he sat thus without being able to rise, for some time. His

face was pale and covered with perspiration. His eyes were bloodshot and

his lips were blue; and he looked in front of him as though half dazed.

"What is the matter?" asked Macko, in alarm.

"Nothing, but I am very tired. Help me to get up."

Macko put his hands under Zbyszko's arms and lifted him up at once.

"Can you stand?"

"I can."

"Do you feel pain?"

"Nothing, but I am short of breath."

Meanwhile the Bohemian, seeing apparently that the struggle in the farm

yard was all over, appeared in front of the hut, dragging the woman

servant of the Order by the neck. At that sight, Zbyszko forgot his

fatigue, his strength returned to him at once, and he rushed to the hut

as though he had never struggled with the terrible Arnold.

"Danuska! Danuska!" cried Zbyszko; but no answer came.

"Danuska! Danuska!" he repeated; then he remained silent. It was dark

within, for that reason he could see nothing at first. But instead, he

heard, proceeding from behind the stones which were heaped up behind the

fireplace, a quick and audible panting, like that of a little animal

hiding.

"Danuska! For God's sake. It is I! Zbyszko!"

Then he observed in the darkness, her eyes, wide open, terrified and

bewildered.

He rushed toward her and pressed her in his arms, but she did not

entirely recognize him, and tore herself away from his embrace, and began

to repeat in a subdued whisper:

"I am afraid! I am afraid! I am afraid!"

END OF PART SEVENTH.

PART EIGHTH.

CHAPTER I.

Neither loving words nor tender persuasion availed. Danusia recognized

nobody and did not regain consciousness. The only feeling which pervaded

her whole being was fear, a kind of fear shown by captured birds. When

food was brought to her she refused to eat it in the presence of others.

In the glances of rejection which she cast upon the food one could detect

habitual hunger. Left alone, she sprang upon the eatables like a ravenous

little wild beast. But when Zbyszko entered she rushed into the corner

and hid herself under a bundle of dry hops. Zbyszko opened his arms in

vain, he stretched out his hands in vain, with tears he begged her, but

unavailingly. She refused to issue from her hiding-place even when the

light was so arranged that she could recognize the outlines of Zbyszko's

face. It seemed as though she had lost her memory along with her senses.

He therefore gazed upon her emaciated pale face in which was depicted an

expression of dismay, her hollow eyes, her tattered dress, and his heart

cried out within him from pain at the thought in whose hands she had been

and how she had been treated. He was finally seized with such a terrible

rage that he grasped his sword and rushed toward Zygfried, and he would

have certainly killed him, had not Macko grasped him by the arm.

Then like enemies they struggled with each other. But the young man was

so much fatigued from his previous fight with the gigantic Arnold, that

the old knight prevailed. Twisting Zbyszko's wrist, he exclaimed:

"Are you mad?"

"Let me go!" he begged, gnashing his teeth, "for my heart bursts within

me."

"Let it burst! I will not let you go. It is better to dash your head to

pieces than disgrace yourself and the whole family."

And, clutching Zbyszko's hand, as with iron tongs, he said threateningly:

"See, revenge will not escape you; and you are a belted knight. How then

dare you kill a prisoner in bonds? You cannot help Danusia. What will be

the result? Nothing but disgrace. You say that kings and princes think it

proper to destroy their prisoners. Bah! That is not the case with us; and

what is feasible with them is not so with you. They have a kingdom,

cities, castles. But what have you? Knightly honor. Those who find no

fault with them will spit in your face. Consider, for God's sake!"

There was silence for a moment.

"Let me go!" Zbyszko repeated gloomily. "I will not kill him."

"Come to the fire, let us consult."

Macko led him by the hand to the fire which the servant stirred up near

the tar-ovens. There they sat down and Macko reflected for a moment, and

then said:

"You must also remember that you have promised this old dog to Jurand,

who will avenge his own and his daughter's tortures. He is the one who

will pay him, and do not you fear! In this you must please Jurand. It is

his affair and not yours. Jurand may do it, but you must not; he did not

capture him but will receive him as a present from you; he can even flay

him alive and none will blame him for it. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," replied Zbyszko. "You are right."

"You are evidently coming to your senses again. Should you again be

tempted by the devil, bear this also in your mind, that you have also

challenged Lichtenstein and other Knights of the Cross, and if you should

kill a defenceless captive and the men should publish your action, no

knight would accept your challenge, and he would be justified. God

forbid! We have enough misfortunes, but spare us shame. Let us rather

talk about what concerns our present doings and movements."

"Give your advice," said the young man.

"My advice is this: that serpent who was with Danusia ought to be killed;

but it does not become a knight to kill a woman. We shall therefore

deliver her into the hands of Prince Janusz. She plotted treason whilst

at the forest court of the prince and princess. Let the Mazovian courts

judge her. If they do not crush her upon the wheel for her crimes, then

they will offend God's justice. As long as we find no other woman to wait

upon Danusia, as long as she is wanted to serve her we must keep her

until some other old woman be found; then we will tie her to a horse's

tail. But now we must push on toward the Mazovian wilderness as soon as

possible.

"It cannot be done at once, it is dark already. By to-morrow, if God

will, Danusia may come to her senses."

"Let the horses rest well, and at daybreak we will start."

Further conversation was interrupted by Arnold von Baden, who was

stretched on his back at a distance, trussed by his own sword; he said

something in German. Old Macko got up and went to him, but as he did not

understand him he called the Bohemian.

But Hlawa could not come at once because he was busy about something

else. During the conversation, near the fire, he went directly to the

servant of the Order, put his hands around her neck, shook her like a

pear-tree, and said:

"Listen, you slut! Go into the shanty and prepare the fur bedding for the

young lady. But before you do that, dress her in your good apparel,

whilst you put upon your carcass the tattered rags which you have given

her.... May your mother suffer perdition!"

He was so angry that he could not control himself, and shook her so

savagely that her eyes bulged out. He would have twisted her neck, but he

thought better of it since she was still of some use; finally he let her

go, saying:

"After that I will hang you to a branch."

She embraced his knees in terror, but he kicked her. She rushed into the

shanty, threw herself at Danusia's feet and began to scream:

"Protect me. Do not permit!"

But Danusia closed her eyes, and uttered her customary suppressed

whisper: "I am afraid, I am afraid, I am afraid."

Then she lapsed into perfect silence, because that was the effect

whenever the woman approached her. She permitted the woman to undress,

wash and dress her in the new clothes. The woman prepared the bedding and

laid upon it Danusia, who had the appearance of a wooden or wax figure;

after which she sat down near the fireplace fearing to go out.

But the Bohemian entered after awhile. First he turned toward Danusia and

said:

"You are among friends, lady, so in the name of the Father, Son and Holy

Ghost, sleep peacefully!"

Then he made the sign of the cross. Then not wishing to disturb her he

said to the servant in a low voice:

"You shall lie bound at the threshold; you must keep quiet and do not

frighten her; if not, I will break your neck. Get up, and come."

He led her out and bound her tightly, then he went to Zbyszko.

"I have ordered that lizard to dress the lady in her own garments, to

make her a soft bed, and the lady is asleep; better leave her alone

because she is scared. God grant that by to-morrow, after repose, she may

regain her presence of mind. You too must think of refreshment and rest."

"I shall sleep at her threshold," replied Zbyszko.

"Then I shall withdraw the slut from the threshold and place her near

that corpse with curled locks. But you must take refreshment now, because

there is a long road and no little fatigue before you."

Then he went and got some smoked meat and dried turnips which they had

procured in the Lithuanian camp; but he had scarcely put the meal in

front of Zbyszko when Macko called him to come to Arnold.

"Notice carefully, what this mass wishes, although I know a few German

words, I am unable to understand him."

"Bring him to the fire, sir, and have your conversation there," replied

the Bohemian.

Then he unbelted himself and placed the belt under Arnold's arms and

lifted him upon his shoulders; he bent much under the heavy weight of the

giant, but as the Bohemian was a powerful man, he carried him near the

fireplace and threw him down, as one throws a sack of peas, at the side

of Zbyszko.

"Take off the fetters from me," said Arnold.

"That might be done if you swore on knightly honor, that you would

consider yourself a prisoner. Nevertheless, I will order the sword to be

taken from under your knees, the bonds of your hands to be loosened, so

as to enable you to sit with us, but the rope binding your feet shall

remain until we have discussed the affair." And he nodded to the

Bohemian, who cut the bonds away from Arnold's hands and assisted him to

sit down. Arnold looked haughtily at Macko and Zbyszko and asked:

"Who are you?"

"How do you dare to ask? It is not your business. Go and inform

yourself."

"It concerns me, because to swear upon the honor of a knight can only be

done to knights."

"Then look!"

And Macko opened his cloak and showed his knightly belt upon his loins.

Seeing that, the Knight of the Cross was greatly amazed, and after awhile

said:

"How is it? and you prowl in the wilderness for prey and assist the

pagans against the Christians?"

"You lie!" exclaimed Macko.

Then the conversation began in an unfriendly and arrogant manner, which

seemed like quarreling. But when Macko vehemently shouted that the very

Order prevented Lithuania from embracing Christianity, and when all

proofs were adduced, Arnold was again amazed and became silent, because

the truth was so obvious that it was impossible not to see it, or to

dispute it. What specially struck him was Macko's words which he uttered

whilst making the sign of the cross: "Who knows whom ye actually serve,

if not all at least some among you." It specially struck him because

there were certain _comthurs_ in the very Order who were suspected of

having given themselves over to Satan. Steps were not taken against them

for fear of public reproach of the whole Order. But Arnold knew it well

because these things were whispered among the brethren of the Order and

happenings of such a character reached his ears. Therefore, Macko's

narrative which he had heard from Sanderus, concerning the inconceivable

conduct of Zygfried, greatly disturbed the mind of the candid giant.

"Oh, that very Zygfried, with whom you marched to war," he said. "Does he

serve Christ? Have you never heard how he communicates with evil spirits,

how he whispers to them, smiles and gnashes his teeth at them?"

"It is true!" murmured Arnold.

But Zbyszko, whose heart was filled with new waves of grief and anger,

suddenly exclaimed:

"And you, who speak of knightly honor? Shame upon you, because you help a

hangman, a devilish man. Shame upon you, because you quietly looked upon

the torture of a defenceless woman, and a knight's daughter. Maybe you

also outraged her. Shame upon you!"

Arnold closed his eyes, and making the sign of the cross, said:

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.... How is

that?... That fettered girl in whose head dwell twenty-seven devils?

I?..."

"Oh, horrible! horrible!" interrupted Zbyszko, groaning.

And, grasping the handle of his _misericordia_ he again looked savagely

toward the dark corner where Zygfried lay on his back.

Macko placed his hand quietly upon Zbyszko's arm, which he pressed with

his whole strength, so as to bring him back to his senses; whilst he

himself, turning toward Arnold, said:

"That woman is the daughter of Jurand of Spychow, and wife of this young

knight. Do you understand now, why we followed you up, and why we have

captured you?"

"For God's sake!" said Arnold. "Whence? How? she is insane...."

"Because the Knights of the Cross kidnapped that innocent lamb and

subjected her to torture."

When Zbyszko heard these words: "Innocent lamb," he put his fist to his

mouth, gnashed his teeth, and was not able to restrain his tears.

Arnold sat absorbed in thought; but the Bohemian told him in a few words

of Danveld's treachery, the kidnapping of Danusia, the torture of Jurand,

and the duel with Rotgier. Silence reigned when he concluded. It was only

disturbed by the rustling of the trees of the forest and the crackling of

the brands in the fireplace.

In that manner they sat for a while. Finally Arnold lifted up his head

and said:

"I swear to you not only upon my knightly honor, but also upon the

crucifix, that I have not seen that woman, that I did not know who she

was, and that I have not taken the least part in her tortures and never

laid my hand upon her."

"Then swear also that you will go with us willingly and that you will

make no attempt to escape, then I will order your bonds to be entirely

unloosed," said Macko.

"Let it be as you say. I swear! Whither are you going to take me?"

"To Mazovia, to Jurand of Spychow."

Then Macko himself cut the rope from Arnold's feet, and ordered meat and

turnips to be brought. After a while Zbyszko went out and sat upon the

threshold of the hut to rest, where he no longer found the servant, for

the hostler boys had carried her off and put her among the horses.

Zbyszko lay down upon the fur which Hlawa brought. He resolved to keep

awake and wait until daybreak; peradventure then some happy change might

take place in Danusia!

But the Bohemian returned to the fireplace where he wished to converse

with the old knight of Bogdaniec about a certain affair and take off the

burden which pressed so heavily upon his heart. He found him also

absorbed in troubled thought, and not noticing the snoring of Arnold who,

after having consumed an immense quantity of baked turnips and meat, was

much fatigued and slept the sleep of a stone. "And why do you not take a

rest?" inquired the Bohemian.

"Sleep has fled from my eyelids," replied Macko. "May God grant a good

morning."

Then he looked at the stars and said:

"The Wagoner is already visible in the sky, and I am continually thinking

about how all these things shall be arranged. And I shall not go to sleep

either because the young lady of Zgorzelice occupies my mind."

"Ah! that is true. More trouble. But she, at least, is at Spychow."

"But we brought her to Spychow from Zgorzelice, not knowing why."

"It was at her own request," replied Macko, impatiently, because he knew

in his heart that he was wrong and he hated to talk about it.

"Yes! But what now?"

"Ha! Well? I shall carry her back to her home; then let God's will be

done!"

But after a moment he added:

"Yes! God's will be done, that at least Danuska be restored to health,

one might then know what to do. But as it is now, the deuce knows! What

will it be if she neither recovers nor dies? The Devil knows."

But the Bohemian was thinking all the time of Jagienka.

"Your honor should understand that when I left Spychow and bade her

good-bye, she told me this: 'If anything should happen, come and inform

me before Zbyszko and Macko arrive. And as they will be obliged to send

information by somebody, let them send it by you, then you will take me

to Zgorzelice.'"

"Hey!" replied Macko. "Surely, it would be improper for her to stay at

Spychow when Danusia arrives. Surely she ought now to be taken back to

Zgorzelice. I pity the little orphan, I sincerely regret it. But God's

will must be done. But now how shall I arrange the matter? Let me see.

Did you say that she commanded you to come ahead of us with the news, and

then take her to Zgorzelice?"

"She did. I repeated to you her words exactly."

"Now, you may move ahead of us. Old Jurand must also be informed that his

daughter has been found, but it must be done carefully so that the sudden

joy may not kill him. As I love God, I declare that it is the most

practical thing to do."

"Return! Tell them that we have rescued Danusia, and that we shall bring

her home without delay. Then take that other poor girl to Zgorzelice!"

Then the old knight sighed, because he was really sorry for Jagienka,

whom he had fostered.

After a while he asked again:

"I know that you are a valiant and powerful man, but see that you keep

her out of harm's way or accident. Things of that character are often met

with on the road."

"I shall do my best, even if I lose my head! I shall take with me a few

good men, whom the lord of Spychow will not grudge, and I shall bring her

safely even to the end of the world."

"Well, do not have too much confidence in yourself. Bear also in mind

that even there, at Zgorzelice, it will be necessary to watch Wilk of

Brzozowa and Cztan of Rogow. But, I confess, in speaking of Wilk and

Cztan, I am out of order; for, it was necessary to watch them when there

was nothing else to think of. But now, things have changed and there is

no more hope, and that which is going to happen must happen."

"Nevertheless, I shall protect the young lady from those knights, seeing

Danusia is very weak and consumptive. What if she should die?"

"As God is dear to me you are right. The emaciated lady is scarcely

alive. If she should die?"

"We must leave that with God. But we must now think only of the young

lady of Zgorzelice."

"By rights, I ought to convey her myself to her fatherland. But it is a

difficult task. I cannot now leave Zbyszko for many potent reasons. You

saw how he gnashed his teeth, how he strove to get at the old _comthur_

to kill him, and my wrangling with him. Should that girl die on the road,

even I should be unable to restrain him. And if I shall not be able to

prevent him, nobody else could, and everlasting shame would fall upon him

and upon our clan, which God forbid. Amen!"

Then the Bohemian replied:

"Bah! There is, I am sure, a simple means. Give me the hangman and I will

keep him and bring him to Jurand at Spychow and shake him out of the

sack."

"How clever you are! May God grant you health," exclaimed Macko,

joyfully. "It is a very simple thing, quite simple. Should you succeed in

bringing him to Spychow alive then do with him as you please."

"Then let me also have that Szczytno bitch, and if she is not troublesome

on the road, I will bring her too to Spychow, if she is, then I shall

hang her on a tree."

"The removal of the pair, whose presence causes much fear to Danusia, may

contribute to her speedy recovery. But if you take the female servant

with you, who is going to nurse Danusia?"

"You may find some old woman in the wilderness, or one of the fugitive

peasant women; take hold of the first one you meet, for any one will be

better than this. Meanwhile, you must take care of lady Zbyszko."

"You speak to-day somewhat more prudently than usually. Seeing that

Zbyszko is constantly with her, he will also succeed in filling the

double position, that of father and mother, for her. Very well, then.

When do you intend to start?"

"I shall not wait for the dawn; now I must lie down for a while, it is

scarcely midnight yet."

"The Wagoner[117] is already in the sky, but the chickens[117] had not

yet made their appearance."

"Thank God that we have taken some counsel together, for I was very much

troubled."

Then the Bohemian stretched himself near the expiring fire, covered

himself over with the long furred robe and in a moment he fell asleep.

However, the sky had not yet paled and it was still deep, dark night when

he awoke, crept from under the skin, looked at the stars, and stretching

his somewhat benumbed limbs, he awoke Macko.

"It is time for me to move," he said.

"Whither?" asked the semi-conscious Macko, rubbing his eyes with his

fists.

"To Spychow."

"True, I quite forgot. Who is there snoring so loud as to awake the

dead?"

"The knight Arnold. Let me throw a few branches upon the embers, then I

will go to the men."

Then he left, and hastily returned in a little while, and from a distance

he called in a low voice:

"Sir, there is news, bad news!"

"What has happened?" Macko exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"The servant has escaped. The men took her among the horses. May thunder

strike them, and when they fell asleep, she sneaked like a serpent from

among them and escaped. Come, sir!"

Macko, in alarm, moved quickly with the Bohemian toward the horses, where

they found only one man, the others had scattered in pursuit of the

fugitive. But, considering the darkness of the night and the thickets of

the forest, the search was a foolish undertaking, and after a while they

returned with hanging heads. Macko began to belabor them quietly with his

fists. Then he returned to the fireplace, for there was nothing to be

done.

Zbyszko, who was watching in the hut and did not sleep, came in, hearing

the movements, to ascertain the reason. Macko told him all about his

consultation with the Bohemian, then he also informed him of the woman's

escape.

"It is not a great misfortune," he said. "Because she will either die of

starvation, or fall into the hands of the peasants who will flay her;

that is, if she succeeds first in escaping the wolves. It is only to be

regretted that she escaped the punishment at Spychow."

Zbyszko also regretted her escaping punishment at Spychow; otherwise he

received the news quietly. He did not oppose the departure of the

Bohemian with Zygfried, because he was indifferent to anything which did

not directly concern Danusia. He began to talk about her at once.

"I shall take her in front of me on horseback to-morrow, then we shall

proceed."

"How is it there? Is she asleep?" inquired Macko.

"At times she moans, but I do not know whether she does it in sleep or

whilst she is awake, but I don't want to disturb her, lest I frighten

her."

Further conversation was interrupted by the Bohemian, who observing

Zbyszko, exclaimed:

"O! your honor, also here! It is now time for me to start. The horses are

ready and the old devil is fastened to the saddle. It will soon begin to

dawn because now the nights are short. Good-bye, your grace!"

"God be with you, and health!"

But Hlawa pulled Macko aside again and said:

"I wish also to ask you kindly, that in case anything should happen....

You know, sir ... some misfortune or another ... you would dispatch a

courier posthaste to Spychow. If we have left Spychow, let him overtake

us."

"Well," said Macko, "I have also forgotten to tell you to take Jagienka

to Plock. Do you understand? Go there to the bishop, and tell him who she

is, that she is the goddaughter of the abbot, for whom there is a will in

the bishop's possession; then ask his guardianship for her, as that is

also mentioned in the abbot's will."

"But if the bishop orders us to remain in Plock?"

"Then obey him in everything and follow his counsel."

"It shall be so, sir! Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"

CHAPTER II.

Sir Arnold was informed in the morning of the flight of the servant of

the Order; he chuckled at the news, on the other hand he held the same

opinion as Macko, viz, that she might fall a prey to the wolves, or be

slain by the Lithuanians. The latter was not at all improbable, since the

inhabitants of that locality who were descendants of the Lithuanians

abhorred the Order and all those who came in contact with it. Some of the

male population had joined Skirwoillo, others had risen in arms and

slaughtered the Germans here and there; they, their families and their

cattle hid themselves in the inaccessible fastnesses of the forest. They

searched the following day for the servant, but without success, because

Macko and Zbyszko were occupied with more important matters; hence the

lack of indispensable ardor in the searchers.

They were obliged to push on toward Mazowsze; they wished to start at

once, at the rising of the sun, but they were unable to do so because

Danuska was in a profound sleep, and Zbyszko would not permit her to be

disturbed.

He listened to her moanings during the night-time and thought that she

was not asleep. He, therefore, promised himself good results. Twice he

stealthily went into the hut; twice he saw by the light falling through

crevices of the logs her closed eyes, open mouth and glowing face, as

little children are wont to have when asleep. His tears melted his heart

at that sight, and he said to her:

"May God grant you health my most beloved little flower." Then he

continued: "Your troubles are ended, your tears are ended. May the most

merciful Lord Jesus grant that your happiness may be as inexhaustible as

the flowing river."

Then, lifting up his simple and upright heart heavenward, he asked

himself: "With what can I thank Thee? What shall I render to Thee for Thy

favors? Shall I offer to the Church some of my wealth, grain, herds, wax,

or something of the same nature acceptable to God?" He was even about to

vow and name accurately his offerings, but he wished to wait and see the

result when Danusia awoke, whether she had recovered her senses so that

there might be reason for thanksgiving.

Although Macko knew well that there would be perfect safety when once in

the domains of Prince Janusz, nevertheless he was also of the opinion

that it was better not to disturb Danusia's rest. He therefore kept his

horses and servants in readiness but waited.

Nevertheless when it was past noon and Danusia continued to sleep, they

were somewhat alarmed. Zbyszko, who was incessantly watching, looking

through the crevices and door, entered suddenly for the third time into

the hut and sat down upon the block where the servant had dressed Danusia

yesterday.

He sat and gazed at her, but she had her eyes closed. But after the lapse

of a short time, not more than it takes to say one "Pater" and "Ave

Maria," her lips began to twitch a little, and she whispered as though

she saw through her closed eyelids:

"Zbyszko...."

In an instant be threw himself upon his knees in front of her, grasped

her emaciated hands, which he kissed in ecstasy. Then he addressed her in

a broken voice:

"Thank God! Danuska! You recognize me."

His voice awoke her completely. Then she sat up in the bed and with open

eyes she repeated:

"Zbyszko!"

Then she began to blink and look around her in amazement.

"You are no more in captivity," said Zbyszko. "I have rescued you from

their hands and I am taking you to Spychow."

But she withdrew her hands from Zbyszko's and said:

"All this came to pass because there was no permission from dear papa.

Where is the princess?"

"Awake, then, dear little berry! The princess is far away and we have

rescued you from the Germans."

Then she appeared not to notice his words but seemed to try to recollect

something.

"They have also taken away my little lute and have broken it against the

wall. Hey!"

"O God!" exclaimed Zbyszko.

He then observed that she was absent-minded and her eyes were glassy and

her cheeks were glowing, and it struck him that she must be very ill, and

the mention of his name twice was due to feverish hallucinations.

This caused his heart to tremble within him with despair and a cold sweat

covered his brow.

"Danuska!" he said. "Do you see and understand me?"

But she replied in a low voice:

"Drink! Water!"

"Gracious Lord!"

And he rushed out, and at the door encountered Macko, who was coming to

ascertain her condition. Zbyszko could only tell him hurriedly, "Water;"

and then hastened to the stream which ran among neighboring bushes.

He returned after a moment with a full pitcher of water and handed it to

Danusia who drank it with much avidity. Macko entered the hut before

Zbyszko and seeing the patient he became gloomy.

"She is feverish?" he said.

"Yes!" groaned Zbyszko.

"Does she understand what you say?"

"No."

The old knight furrowed his brow, then he began to rub his neck and nape

with his hands.

"What is to be done?"

"I do not know."

"There is only one thing to be done," said Macko.

But Danusia, who finished drinking, interrupted him at that moment; she

fixed her dilated pupils on him, and said:

"You too I have not offended, have mercy upon me!"

"We have pitied you already, child. We only desire your welfare," replied

the old knight, somewhat agitated.

Then he turned to Zbyszko:

"Listen, there is no use to leave her here. The wafting of the wind and

the rays of the sun will probably benefit her. Do not lose your head,

boy, but take her to the same cradle wherein she was when they brought

her here--or upon the saddle and let us move on! Do you understand?"

Then he left the hut to give the last orders, but he had scarcely looked

in front of him, when he suddenly stood still--as if nailed to the spot.

A numerous host of infantry armed with pikes and spears was surrounding

the huts, ovens and clearing, on all sides like a wall.

"Germans!" thought Macko.

He was greatly terrified, but in a moment he grasped the hilt of his

sword, clenched his teeth, and had the appearance of a wild beast at bay,

ready to defend himself desperately.

Then the giant-like Arnold, and another knight, advanced toward them from

the shanty, and when he approached Macko, Arnold said:

"Fortune's wheel turns rapidly. I was your prisoner yesterday; you are

mine to-day."

Then he looked haughtily at the old knight as one looks upon an inferior

person. He was neither a very bad man, nor a very cruel one, but he had

the defect common to all Knights of the Cross, who in spite of their

being well-bred and even humane, looked with contempt upon those whom

they conquered, neither could they suppress their great pride when they

felt themselves the stronger.

"You are prisoners," he repeated, haughtily.

The old knight looked around gloomily; he was very serious but audacious

in his heart.

Were he armored, upon his charger, and with Zbyszko at his side;--if both

had swords in their hands and were armed with axes, or the terrible

"woods," which the Polish noblemen knew how to wield dexterously, he

would then have probably attempted to break through, that wall of lances

and spears. Not without reason did the foreign knights, quoting it as an

objection, exclaim to the Polish in the fight near Wilno: "You scorn

death too much."

But Macko was on foot facing Arnold, alone, without his coat of mail. He

therefore looked around and observed that his men had already thrown down

their arms, and he thought that Zbyszko too was with Danusia in the hut,

entirely unarmed. As an experienced man, and much accustomed to war, he

knew that there was no chance whatever.

Therefore he slowly drew the short sword from its sheath and threw it at

the feet of the knight who stood at Arnold's side, who without the least

of Arnold's haughtiness, but at the same time with benevolence, replied

in excellent Polish:

"Your name, sir? I shall not put you in bonds but shall parole you,

because I see you are a belted knight, and you treated my brother well."

"My word!" replied Macko.

Having informed him who he was, Macko inquired whether he would be

permitted to go to the hut and warn his nephew against any mad action.

His request was granted. He entered and remained there for a while and

emerged with the _misericordia_ in his hands.

"My nephew is even without a sword, and he begs you to permit him to

remain with his wife as long as you intend to stay here."

"Let him remain," said Arnold's brother. "I shall send him food and

drink; we shall not move soon, because the people are tired out and we

too are in need of refreshment and rest. Sir, we also invite you to

accompany us."

Then they turned and went to the same fireplace near which Macko had

spent the night. But either from pride, or from ignorance they permitted

him to walk behind them. But he, being a great warrior, knowing how it

ought to be, and adhering strictly to custom, inquired:

"Pray, sir, am I your guest or a prisoner?"

Arnold's brother was shamed at first; he halted and said:

"Proceed, sir."

The old knight went in front, not wishing to hurt the self-respect of the

very man from whom he expected much.

"It is evident, sir, that you are not only acquainted with courteous

speech, but your behavior is also courtly."

Then, Arnold, who only understood a few words, asked:

"Wolfgang, what are you talking about?"

"I am doing the right thing," said Wolfgang, who was evidently flattered

by Macko's words.

They sat down at the fireside, and began to eat and drink. The lesson

which Macko had given to the German was not in vain. Wolfgang regaled

Macko first at the repast.

The old knight learned, from the conversation which followed, how they

were caught in the trap. Wolfgang, the younger brother of Arnold, led

also the Czluch infantry to Gotteswerder, against the rebellious

Zmudzians. Those, however, proceeding from distant counties could not

arrive in time to assist Arnold. The latter did not think it necessary to

wait for them because he expected to meet on the road other bodies of

infantry proceeding from the towns and castles situated on the adjacent

Lithuanian frontier. This was the reason that his younger brother delayed

his march several days, and thus it happened that he found himself on the

road in the neighborhood of the tar-burners, where the fugitive

woman-servant of the Order informed him of the ill-luck which had

happened to his older brother. Arnold, whilst listening to the narrative

which was told him in German, smiled with satisfaction; finally he

affirmed that he expected such a result.

But the crafty Macko, who, in whatever situation he was, always tried to

find some remedy, thought that it would be of advantage to him to make

friends with the Germans, therefore he said after a while:

"It is always hard to fall into captivity. Nevertheless, thank God, I am

fortunate to have been delivered into nobody else's hands but yours,

because, I believe, that you are real knights and mindful of its honor."

Then Wolfgang closed his eyes and nodded his head somewhat stiffly but

evidently with a feeling of satisfaction.

The old knight continued:

"That you speak our language well. God has given you understanding in

everything."

"I know your language, because the Czluchs speak Polish, and my brother

and I served for seven years in those counties."

"You will in time take office after him. It cannot be otherwise, because

your brother does not speak our language."

"He understands it a little, but cannot speak it. My brother is more

powerful, although I am not a weakling either, but of duller wit."

"Hey! He does not seem to me dull."

"Wolfgang, what does he say?" asked Arnold again.

"He praises you," replied Wolfgang.

"True, I praised him," added Macko, "because he is a true knight, and

that is the reason. I tell you frankly that I intended to let him go

entirely free to-day on parole, so that he might go wherever he wished

to, even if he were to present himself in a year's time. Such treatment

is customary among belted knights."

Then he looked attentively into Wolfgang's face, but it was wrinkled, and

he said:

"Were it not for the assistance you have given to the pagan dogs against

us, I also might have let you go on parole."

"This is not true," replied Macko.

Then the same asperity of discussion as in yesterday's dispute between

Arnold and himself was repeated. However, although right was on the old

knight's side, it went on with more difficulty, because Wolfgang was of a

more severe disposition than his older brother. Nevertheless, one good

thing resulted from the dispute, that Wolfgang learned of all the

abominable practices of the Order at Szczytno, their crooked actions and

treachery--at the same time he learned of Danusia's misfortunes and

tortures. To those very iniquities which Macko had thrown in his teeth he

had no reply. He was obliged to acknowledge that the revenge was

justifiable, and that the Polish knights were right in their acts, and

finally said:

"Upon the glorified bones of St. Liborus! I swear, that I also will not

pity Danveld. They said of him that he practiced black magic, but God's

power and justice is mightier than black magic. As to Zygfried, I am not

sure whether he also served the devil or not. But I shall not hunt for

him, because first, I have no horses, and on the other hand, if what you

said is true that he outraged that girl, then let him also never return

from Hades!"

Here he stretched himself and continued:

"God! Help me till the hour of my death."

"But how will it be with that unfortunate martyr?" inquired Macko. "Are

you not going to permit us to take her home? Has she to suffer agony in

your underground prisons? Remember, I beseech you, God's wrath!..."

"I have nothing against the woman," replied Wolfgang, roughly. "Let one

of you take her home to her father, on condition that he present himself

afterward, but the other must remain here."

"Bah! But what if he swears upon his knightly honor and upon the lance of

St. Jerzey?"

Wolfgang hesitated a little because it was a great oath; but at that

moment Arnold asked a third time:

"What does he say?"

When he informed himself of the matter he opposed it vehemently and

rudely. He had his private reasons for it. First, he was conquered by

Skirwoillo, then in single combat, by the Polish knight. He also knew

that owing to the destruction of the army at the previous engagement it

would be impossible for his brother to advance with his infantry to

Gotteswerder and he would be obliged to return to Malborg. Moreover he

knew that he would be obliged to give an account to the Master and

marshal for the defeat, and that it would be to his advantage if he were

able to show even one important prisoner. To produce one knight alive is

of more value than to explain that two such were captured....

When Macko heard the loud protestations and oaths of Arnold, he resolved,

since nothing else could be obtained, to take what was previously

offered. Turning to Wolfgang he said:

"Then, I beg one more favor--permit me to acquaint my nephew; I am sure

he will see the wisdom of remaining with his wife, while I go with you.

At all events, permit me to let him know that he has nothing to say

against it, for it is your will."

"Well, it is all the same to me," replied Wolfgang. "But let us talk

about the ransom which your nephew must bring for himself and you.

Because all depends on that."

"About ransom?" inquired Macko, who would have preferred to postpone that

conversation to a later period. "Have we not time enough to talk about

it? Where a belted knight is concerned his word is of equal value with

ready money, and as to the sum it can be left to conscience. There, near

Gotteswerder, we captured one of your important knights, a certain de

Lorche. And my nephew (it was he who captured him) paroled him. No

allusion whatever was made to the amount of ransom."

"Have you captured de Lorche?" inquired Wolfgang, sharply. "I know him.

He is a powerful knight. But why did we not meet him on the road?"

"He, evidently, did not go this way, but went to Gotteswerder, or to

Ragniec," replied Macko.

"That knight comes from a powerful and renowned family," repeated

Wolfgang. "You have made a splendid capture! It is well then, that you

mentioned it. But I cannot let you go for nothing."

Macko chewed his mustache; nevertheless he lifted up his head haughtily,

and said:

"Apart from that, we know our value."

"So much the better," said the younger von Baden, and immediately added:

"So much the better. It is not for us, for we are humble monks, who have

vowed poverty, but for the Order that will enjoy your money, to God's

praise."

Macko did not reply to that but only looked at Wolfgang, with such an

expression as to say: "Tell that to somebody else." After awhile they

began to bargain. It was a difficult and irritable task for the old

knight. On the one hand he was very sensitive to any loss, and on the

other hand, he understood that he would not succeed in naming a too small

sum for Zbyszko and himself. He therefore wriggled like an eel,

especially when Wolfgang, in spite of his polished words and manners, had

shown himself excessively grasping and as hard hearted as a stone. Only

one thought comforted Macko and that was, that de Lorche would have pay

for all, but even that, the loss of de Lorche's ransom, worried him.

Zygfried's ransom he did not count in the affair because he thought that

Jurand, and even Zbyszko, would not renounce his head for any price.

After long haggling they finally compromised upon the sum in _grzywiens_

and the time of payment, and stipulated upon the number of horses and men

Zbyszko should take with him. Macko went to inform Zbyszko, and advised

him not to tarry but depart at once, for something else might meanwhile

come into the German's head.

"So it is with knightly conditions," said Macko, sighing. "Yesterday you

held them by the head, to-day they hold you. Well, it is a hard lot. God

grant that our turn may come. But now, it is necessary not to lose time.

If you hasten on, you may yet overtake Hlawa and you will be safer

together, and once out of the wilderness and in the inhabited region of

Mazowsze you will find hospitality and assistance in every nobleman's or

_wlodyka's_ house. In our country they do not refuse those things even to

a foreigner, how much more to one of their own people! The condition of

the poor woman might also be improved thereby."

Then he looked at Danusia, who was in feverish half-sleep, breathing

quickly and loudly, with her transparent hands stretched upon the black

bearskin, trembling with fever.

Macko made the sign of the cross at her and said:

"Hey, take her and go! May God restore her, for it appears to me that her

thread of life is being spun very thin."

"Do not say that!" exclaimed Zbyszko, in a distressed tone.

"God's power! I will order your horses to be brought here--and you must

leave at once!"

He went out and arranged everything for the journey. The Turks, whom

Zawisza had presented to them, led the horses and the litter, filled with

mosses and fur, and they were headed by Zbyszko's man, Wit. Zbyszko left

the hut in a moment, carrying Danusia in his arms. There was something

touching in that, so that even the brothers von Baden, whose curiosity

had drawn them to the hut, looked curiously into the childlike face of

Danuska. Her face was like that of the holy images in the churches of Our

Lady, and her sickness was so great that she could not hold up her head

which lay heavily on the young knight's arm. They looked at each other

with astonishment, and in their hearts arose a feeling against the

authors of her woes.

"Zygfried has the heart of a hangman, and not that of a knight,"

whispered Wolfgang to Arnold, "and that serpent, although she is the

cause of your liberty, I will order to be beaten with rods."

They were also touched when they saw Zbyszko carrying her in his arms, as

a mother is wont to carry her child. They comprehended how great was his

love for her, for youthful blood coursed in the veins of them both.

He hesitated for awhile whether to keep the patient on horseback near his

breast on the road or to lay her in the litter. Finally he resolved upon

the latter course, thinking that she might feel more comfortable in a

recumbent posture. Then he approached his uncle and bowed to kiss his

hand and bid him good-bye. But Macko, who, as a matter of fact, loved

Zbyszko as the apple of his eye, was somewhat disinclined to show his

agitation in the presence of the Germans; nevertheless he could not

restrain himself, and embracing him strongly, pressed his lips to his

abundant golden hair.

"May God guide you," he said. "But remember the old man, for it is always

a hardship to be in captivity."

"I shall not forget," replied Zbyszko. "May the most Holy Mother comfort

you."

"God will recompense you for this and for all your kindness."

Zbyszko mounted his horse immediately, but Macko recollected something

and hastened to his side, and placing his hand upon Zbyszko's knee, he

said:

"Listen, if you should overtake Hlawa, remember not to molest Zygfried,

otherwise you will bring down reproach upon yourself and upon my gray

head. Leave him to Jurand, but do nothing to him yourself. Swear to me

upon your sword and honor."

"As long as you do not return," replied Zbyszko, "I shall even prevent

Jurand from harming him in order to prevent the Germans from injuring you

on Zygfried's account."

"So, and you seem to care for me?"

And the young knight smiled sadly. "You well know that, I am sure."

"Move on and good-bye."

The horses moved on, and in a little while disappeared in the hazelnut

thickets. Macko felt suddenly very much troubled and lonely and his heart

was torn for that beloved boy in whom rested the entire hope of the

family. But he soon got rid of his sorrow, for he was a man of valor and

could master his emotions.

"Thank God that I am a prisoner and not he."

Then he turned toward the Germans and said:

"And you, gentlemen, when will you start and whither are you going?"

"When it is agreeable to us," replied Wolfgang, "but we go to Malborg,

where, sir, you must first appear before the Master."

"Hey! I shall yet have to forfeit my head there, for the help I have

given to the Zmudzians," said Macko to himself.

Nevertheless his mind was at rest when he thought that de Lorche was in

reserve; the Baden knights themselves would protect his head even if it

were only for the ransom.

"Otherwise," he said to himself, "Zbyszko will neither be obliged to

present himself nor lessen his fortune."

That thought caused him a certain relief.

CHAPTER III.

Zbyszko was unable to overtake Hlawa, because the latter traveled day and

night, and only rested as much as was absolutely necessary to avoid the

breaking down of the horses, which only subsisted on grass, and were

consequently faint and unable to withstand such long marches as they

could in regions where oats could be easily procured. Hlawa neither

spared himself, nor took into consideration the advanced age and weakness

of Zygfried. The old knight suffered terribly, especially because the

sinewy Macko had previously wrenched his bones. But still worse were the

mosquitoes which swarmed in the humid wilderness, and as his hands were

bound and his legs fastened beneath the horse's belly, he was unable to

drive them away. Hlawa did not directly torture him in the least, but he

had no compassion for him, and only unfastened his right hand to enable

him to eat when he stopped for refreshment.

"Eat, ravening wolf, so that I may bring you alive to the lord of

Spychow." Such were the words of inducement to stimulate Zygfried's

appetite. At first Zygfried resolved to starve himself to death; but when

he heard the announcement that in such case Hlawa would forcibly open his

teeth with a knife and stuff the food down his throat, he gave up his

intention in order to avoid such a degradation of the Order and knightly

honor.

But the Bohemian was particularly anxious to arrive at Spychow before his

master, so that he might spare his adored young lady from shame. Simple,

but courageous and fearless, he was not void of knightly noble sentiment,

and he well understood that Jagienka would be humiliated if she were at

Spychow together with Danusia. "It will be possible to tell the bishop,

in Plock (he thought) that the old knight of Bogdaniec, owing to his

guardianship, thought it necessary to take her with him, and then, as

soon as it was known that she was the bishop's ward, and besides

Zgorzelice she was also entitled to the abbot's estate, then even the

_wojewoda's_ son would not be too great for her." That thought

contributed to soothe his troubled mind. The very reason of his conveying

good news to Spychow troubled his mind, as it would be the source of

misfortune to Jagienka.

The beautiful face of Sieciechowna, as red as an apple, often appeared

before his eyes. On such occasions, he would, if the road permitted,

tickle the horse's sides with his spurs, because he wanted to reach

Spychow as soon as possible.

They traveled along intricate roads, or rather no roads at all, through

the woods, going straight ahead as the reaper does. The Bohemian knew

that by pushing on a little toward the west and constantly in a southerly

direction, he would reach Mazowsze and then all would go well. During the

daytime he followed the sun, and at night he marched by the stars. The

wilderness in front of him appeared endless. Days and nights passed by.

More than once he thought that Zbyszko would not succeed in bringing the

woman through the terrible wilderness alive, where there was no food to

be procured, and where the horses must be guarded by night from wolves

and bears. During the daytime they had to get out of the way of herds of

bison and aurochs; where the terrible wild-boar sharpens his crooked

tusks against the roots of the pine-trees, and very often it happened

that those who made no use of the crossbow, or did not strike with the

pike into the sides of a deer or young boar, such passed whole days

without food.

"How will it be here," thought Hlawa, "with a maiden who is already

almost tortured to death!"

Now and then, it happened that they had to cross swamps and deep ravines,

which continuous spring rains filled for days with rushing streams.

Lakes, too, were not wanting in the wilderness, in which they saw at

sunset whole flocks of deer and elk disporting in the red transparent

waters.

Often they also perceived smoke which showed the presence of people. On

several occasions Hlawa approached such forest settlements, whence wild

people would issue, clothed with skins upon their naked bodies, armed

with clubs and bows, and looking from under their shaggy-tangled hair;

the men took them to be werewolves. It was necessary to take advantage of

their first astonishment whilst they were looking at the knights, and

leave them in the greatest haste.

Arrows whistled twice near the Bohemian's ears, and he heard the shouts

of "Wokili" (Germans!) But he preferred to run away rather than to make

himself known. Finally, after a few days he began to think that perhaps

he had already crossed the frontier, but there was nobody from whom he

could ascertain. Only when he met some colonists who spoke the Polish

language did he get the information, that he finally stood upon

Mazowszian soil.

There it was better, although the whole eastern part of Mazowsze was also

one wilderness. But it did not terminate uninhabitated as the other did.

When the Bohemian arrived at a colony they were less shy--perhaps because

they were not so much brought up in constant hatred, or that the Bohemian

could converse with them in Polish. The only trouble with them was the

boundless curiosity of the people who surrounded the travelers, and

overwhelmed them with questions. When they were informed that he carried

a prisoner, a Knight of the Cross, they said:

"Give him to us, sir, we will take care of him!"

They importuned the Bohemian so much, that he often became very angry

with them, but at the same time, he explained, that he could not grant

their request because the prisoner belonged to the prince. Then only they

relented. Later on when he arrived in the inhabited places among the

nobles and land-owners, he did not get off so easily. The hatred against

the Order was raging, because everywhere they still remembered vividly

the wrongs which the prince had suffered at its hands when, in time of

peace, the Knights of the Cross had kidnapped the prince near Zlotorja

and imprisoned him. They did not wish to dispatch Zygfried at once. But

here and there, one of the doughty Polish nobles would say: "Unbind him

and we will give him arms, and then challenge him to deadly combat." To

such the Bohemian would give a potent reason: that the right to vengeance

belonged to the unfortunate lord of Spychow, and one must not deprive him

of that privilege.

The journey through the inhabited region was easy; because there were

good roads and there was plenty of provender for the horses. The Bohemian

continued his uninterrupted march until after ten days' travel he arrived

before Corpus Christi day at Spychow.

He arrived in the evening, at the same time as when he had brought the

news from Macko, that he had left Szczytno for the Zmudz country. It also

happened now as before, that Jagienka, observing him through the window,

rushed toward him, and he fell at her feet. He was speechless for a

while. But she soon lifted him up and took him aside, as she did not wish

to interrogate him in the presence of others.

"What news?" she asked, trembling with impatience, and scarcely able to

catch her breath. "Is she alive? Well?"

"Alive! Well!"

"Has she been found?"

"She has. They rescued her."

"Praised be Jesus Christ!"

But whilst she spoke these words her face assumed a deathly pallor,

because all her hopes crumbled into dust.

However, her strength did not forsake her, neither did she lose

consciousness. After a moment she mastered herself entirely and enquired

again:

"When will she be here?"

"Within a few days! She is sick and the road is very bad."

"Is she sick?"

"Martyred. Her reason is confused with her tortures."

"Merciful Jesus!"

Silence reigned for a moment. Jagienka's lips became pale and they moved

as though in prayer.

"Did she recognize Zbyszko?" she asked again.

"She may have done so, but I am not sure, because I left at once, in

order to inform you, lady, of the news. That is the reason why I am

standing here."

"God reward you. Tell me how it happened!"

The Bohemian related briefly how they rescued Danusia, how they captured

the giant Arnold together with Zygfried. He also informed them that he

had brought Zygfried with him, because the young knight wished to present

him to Jurand so that the latter might avenge himself.

"I must now go to Jurand," said Jagienka, when he had finished.

Then she left, but Hlawa had not been long alone when Sieciechowna rushed

toward him from the next apartment; but either because not entirely

conscious, owing to the fatigue and exceeding great troubles he had

passed through, or owing to his yearning for her, he entirely forgot

himself when he saw her; suffice it to say he caught her by the waist,

pressed her to his breast and kissed her eyes, cheeks and mouth in such a

manner as though he had previously informed her of everything that was

necessary for her to know before the kissing began.

Perhaps he had already told her everything in spirit, when upon the road,

therefore he kissed her and kept on kissing endlessly. He embraced her so

strongly that she lost her breath. Yet she did not defend herself, at

first from surprise and then, from faintness, so that were it not for

Hlawa's powerful grasp she would have fallen to the ground.

Fortunately this did not last too long because distant steps were heard

on the stairs, and after a moment, Father Kaleb rushed into the room.

They then quickly separated, and the priest began to overwhelm him with

questions. But Hlawa was unable to catch his breath and replied with

difficulty. The priest thought that his condition was owing to fatigue.

But when the news of the finding of Danusia, her rescue and the presence

of her torturer in Spychow was confirmed by Hlawa, he fell upon his knees

to thank God for it. Meanwhile Hlawa quieted down a little, and when the

priest got up, he was able to repeat his story in a more intelligent and

quiet manner in what way Danusia had been found and how they had rescued

her.

"God did not deliver her," the priest said, whilst listening to his

narrative, "in order that her reason and soul should be restored whilst

she was in the darkness and in the power of the unclean. Let Jurand only

lay his saintly hand upon her, and offer only one of his prayers, and he

will restore her reason and health."

"Knight Jurand?" asked the Bohemian, with astonishment. "Does he possess

so much power? Can he become a saint whilst he is alive?"

"Before God he is considered a saint even whilst he is alive. But when he

dies the people will have one more patron saint in heaven;--a martyr."

"But you said, reverend father,'that if he were only to lay his saintly

hands upon the head of his daughter.' Has his right hand grown again? for

I know you prayed for it."

"I said: 'the hands,' as it is customary to say," replied the priest.

"But one hand is enough, if God will."

"Surely," answered Hlawa.

But in his voice there was something discouraging when he thought that it

appeared like a miracle. Jagienka's entrance interrupted further

conversation.

"Now I have informed him carefully of the news," she said. "To avoid the

death, which sudden joy might cause, but he fell with the cross in his

hands and prayed."

"I am sure that he will be in such a condition till morning, as he is

accustomed to lie prostrate in prayer whole nights," said Father Kaleb.

And so it happened; they called to see him several times and each time

they found him stretched on the ground, not asleep but in such a fervent

prayer that it bordered on perfect ecstasy. Now the watchman, whose duty

it was to watch according to custom over Spychow from the top of the

tower, said afterward that he observed that night an extraordinary

brightness in the house of the "Old lord."

Very early on the following morning when Jagienka called again to see

him, he showed his desire to see Hlawa and the prisoner. The prisoner was

brought before him immediately from the dungeon. He was tightly bound

with his hands crossed upon his chest. All, including Tolima, advanced

toward the old man.

But owing to a dark, cloudy day and the insufficient light of a

threatening tempest, which penetrated the bladder panes, the Bohemian was

unable to see Jurand well. But as soon as his keen eyes grew accustomed

to the darkness and looked upon him, he scarcely recognized him. The

gigantic man had dwindled to a giant skeleton. His face was so white that

it did not much differ from his snow-white hair, and when he bowed on the

arm of his chair, with his eyelids closed, he appeared to Hlawa like a

real corpse.

In front of the chair stood a table; upon it were a crucifix, a pitcher

of water, and a loaf of black bread in which stuck the _misericordia_,

that terrible knife which the knights made use of in dispatching the

wounded. Besides bread and water, Jurand enjoyed no other nourishment.

His only garment consisted of coarse sackcloth upon his naked body

fastened with a straw girdle. Such was the manner of living of that once

powerful and terrible knight of Spychow, since his return from his

captivity in Szczytno.

Now, when he heard them arrive, he kicked aside the tame she-wolf which

gnawed at his bare feet, It was then that Jurand appeared to the Bohemian

like a real corpse. There was suspense for a moment, because they

expected some sign from him ordering them to talk: but he sat motionless,

pale, and peaceful; his mouth, a little opened, had the real appearance

of one who is plunged in the everlasting sleep of death.

Jagienka finally announced that Hlawa was there, and gently enquired:

"Do you wish to hear him?"

Old Jurand nodded his head affirmatively, and the Bohemian began, for the

third time, to narrate briefly the story of the battles with the Germans

near Gotteswerder. He told him of the fight with Arnold von Baden and how

they had rescued Danusia. Not wishing to add new pains to the sufferings

of the old martyr and destroy the effect produced by the good news of

Danusia's rescue, he purposely avoided relating that her mind suffered

for a long time on account of terrible distress. But, on the other hand,

as his heart was filled with rancor against the Knights of the Cross, and

thirsting to see Zygfried receive his deserved terrible chastisement, he

purposely mentioned the fact that when they found her she was terrified,

emaciated and sick, and it was evident that they must have treated her as

executioners do, and had she remained longer in their terrible hands she

would have withered and perished as a little flower withers and perishes

when trodden under foot.

Whilst Hlawa recited the news, the sky was overcast and the clouds grew

darker, which showed the approach of a storm. The copper-colored masses

of clouds which hung over Spychow rolled more heavily upon one another.

Jurand was motionless and listened to the recital without any trembling,

so that he appeared to be in deep sleep. Nevertheless, he heard and

understood everything, for when Hlawa told the story of Danusia's woes,

two large drops of tears rolled down his cheeks from the hollows of his

eyes. Only one earthly feeling still remained in his breast, and that was

love for his child.

Then his blue lips began to move in prayer. The first distant

thunderclaps were heard outside. Now and then lightning illuminated the

windows. He prayed long, and again the tears trickled down upon his white

beard. When he finally ceased to pray, long silence reigned, which was so

much prolonged as to cause uneasiness to those present because they did

not know what to do.

Finally, old Tolima, who was Jurand's right hand, his companion in all

battles, and the chief guard of Spychow, said:

"That man of Hades, that werewolf Knight of the Cross who tortured you

and your child stands now before you. Give a sign what shall be done to

him, and in what manner we shall chastise him!"

Upon hearing these words, rays of light crossed Jurand's face and he

nodded to them to bring the prisoner near him. And in the twinkling of an

eye, two men grasped him by the shoulders and placed him in front of the

old man, who stretched out his hand to Zygfried's face, which he touched

as though to feel the outlines and recognize it for the last time. Then

he lowered his hand to Zygfried's chest upon which he felt his bound

hands, touched the fastening ropes, again closed his eyelids and bowed

his head.

They thought that he was absorbed in thought, but whether that was so or

not, it was not of long duration, because after a while he started out of

his reverie and pointed with his hand in the direction of the loaf of

bread, in which the ill-omened _misericordia_ stuck.

Then, Jagienka, the Bohemian, even old Tolima and all present held their

breath. It was a hundredfold well-deserved punishment, a righteous

revenge. Yet their hearts palpitated at the thought that the half-alive

old man should be groping to slash the bound prisoner.

But Jurand, seizing the knife in the middle, ran his finger along its

sharp edge, so that he might feel the thing he was cutting, and began to

sever the bonds upon Zygfried's arms.

At that sight, all were seized with amazement, because they understood

his desire and could scarcely believe it. However, that was too much for

them. Hlawa was the first to murmur; he was followed by Tolima and the

other men. Only the priest Kaleb began to ask, in a voice broken with

unrestrained weeping:

"Brother Jurand, what are your wishes? Do you intend to give the prisoner

his liberty?"

"It is so!" replied Jurand, nodding his head affirmatively.

"No punishment for him, nor vengeance? Is that your desire?"

"It is!" and he nodded again.

Open discontent was shown in the murmurs and anger of the men, but the

priest did not wish to belittle such an unheard-of deed of mercy. He

turned to the murmurers and exclaimed:

"Now who dares to oppose the saint? Down upon your knees!"

Then he knelt down himself and began to say:

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom

come...."

And he repeated the Lord's Prayer to the end. At the words: "And forgive

us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," he

directed his eyes involuntarily toward Jurand, whose face actually

assumed an unearthly radiance.

That sight, and that expressive prayer crushed the hearts of all present;

even old Tolima, the confirmed, hardened warrior, made the sign of the

Holy Cross, and immediately embraced Jurand's feet and said:

"Lord, if you want your wishes to be accomplished, then the prisoner

should be led to the frontier."

"Yes!" nodded Jurand.

The storm approached nearer and nearer and the lightning more frequently

illuminated the windows.

CHAPTER IV.

Two horsemen, in the midst of the storm and pouring rain, reached the

frontier of Spychow. They were Zygfried and Tolima. The last mentioned

accompanied the German to protect him from the waylaying peasants and the

servants of Spychow, who burned with hatred and revenge toward him.

Zygfried was unarmed, but he was not fettered. The rainstorm, driven by

the tempest, had already overtaken them. Now and then, when it suddenly

thundered, the horses reared. They traveled in deep silence in a ravine.

Owing to the narrowness of the road, they were at times so near that they

struck each other's stirrups. Tolima, who had been accustomed to guard

prisoners for many years, frequently looked at Zygfried watchfully, as

though he were guarding against his escaping suddenly, and an involuntary

shudder seized him every time he looked at Zygfried, because his eyes

appeared to him to be shining in the darkness like the eyes of an evil

spirit, or of a vampire. It struck Tolima that it would be advisable to

make the sign of the cross over Zygfried, but he refrained from doing so,

because, he thought, that under the sign of the cross, he would hear

unearthly voices, and Zygfried would be transformed into a hideous being.

His teeth chattered and his fear increased. The old soldier who could

fight singly against a whole band of Germans and fall fearlessly upon

them, as a hawk swoops upon a flock of partridges, was nevertheless

afraid of unclean spirits, and wanted to have nothing to do with them. He

would have preferred simply to point out to the German the road and

return; but he was ashamed of himself, therefore he led him as far as the

frontier.

It was then, when they had drawn near the border of the Spychow forest,

that the rain ceased, and the clouds were lit up with a strange yellowish

light, that Zygfried's eyes lost that above-mentioned unnatural glare.

But Tolima was seized with another temptation: "They ordered me," he said

to himself, "to lead this mad dog safely as far as the frontier. I have

done that; but must the torturer of my master and his daughter leave

without revenge and punishment? Would it not be a proper and God-pleasing

deed to kill him? Ay! I should like to challenge him to deadly combat,

but he is not armed. Very soon at _Pan_ Warcimow's farm, about a mile

from here, they will supply him with some weapon, and then I will

challenge him. With God's help I shall overthrow him, then kill him, and

fitly, cut off his head and bury it in the dung!" These were the words

which Tolima said to himself. Then looking greedily at the German he

began to dilate his nostrils as if he already smelt fresh blood. He

fought hard in his mind with that desire; it was hard wrestling with

himself, until he reflected that Jurand had not only granted to the

prisoner his life and freedom as far as the frontier, but also beyond it,

otherwise Jurand's holy deed would have no merit and the heavenly reward

for him would thereby be lessened. He finally prevailed over himself, and

reining in his horse, said;

"Here is our border; your side is not far from here; proceed, you are

free; and if the qualms of conscience do not take you off, or God's

thunder does not strike you, then you need not fear man."

Then Tolima returned; and Zygfried proceeded. His face looked as if

petrified and a savage expression was depicted upon it. He did not reply

a single word, as though he heard nothing that was said to him. He

continued his journey now upon a wider road and had the appearance of one

who is fast asleep.

The break in the storm and the brightening of the sky only lasted a short

time. It darkened again; so much so that it looked like the darkness of

night. The clouds traveled so low that they quite enveloped the forest

and from the hills came down an ill-boding obscurity, a kind of hissing

and growling of impatient vampires, who were kept back by the angel of

the storm. Blinding lightning illuminated the threatening sky every

moment and terrified the land. Then one could see the broad highway

extending between the two black walls of forest, and upon it a lonely

horseman. Zygfried moved on in a semi-conscious condition, consumed by

fever. Despair had lacerated his heart since Rotgier's death and filled

it with crimes of revenge. Remorse, awful visions, soul stirrings had

already tortured his mind in the past to such a degree that with great

effort he had to fight madness; there were even moments when he could

fight no longer and he surrendered. But the new troubles, fatigue upon

the road under the strong hand of the Bohemian, the night he had passed

in the dungeon of Spychow, the uncertainty of his fate, and above all,

that unheard-of and almost superhuman deed, had quite terrified him. All

this had brought him to a climax. There were moments when his mind became

so stupefied that he entirely lost his judgment and he did not know what

he was doing. Then the fever awoke him and, at the same time awoke within

him a certain dull feeling of despair, destruction, and perdition,--a

feeling that all hope was already gone, extinguished and ended. He felt

that about him was only night, night and darkness, a horrible abyss into

which he must plunge.

Suddenly a voice whispered in his ear:

"Go! Go!"

And he looked around him and saw the very image of death, a skeleton

mounted upon a skeleton horse, pressing closely beside him, with his

white rattling bones.

"Is it you?" asked Zygfried.

"Yes it is. Go! Go!"

But at that moment he glanced to the other side and observed that he had

another companion there. Stirrup to stirrup rode a form, appearing

somewhat like a human being but for his face and head. It had the head of

an animal, with raised long pointed ears, covered with black shaggy hair.

"Who are you?" asked Zygfried.

But the being, instead of replying, showed its teeth and growled.

Zygfried closed his eyes, but in a moment he heard a louder clattering of

bones and the voice speaking to him in the same ear:

"Time! Time! Hurry on, go!"

"I go!" he replied.

But that last reply came from his breast and seemed to have been uttered

by somebody else. Then, impelled as it were by an external unconquerable

power, he dismounted and took off his high knight's saddle, and then the

bridle. His companions also dismounted, and did not leave him for a

moment. They left the middle of the road and went toward the margin of

the wood. There, the black being bent down a branch of a tree and

assisted him in fastening to it the strap of the bridle.

"Hurry!" whispered Death.

"Hurry!" whistled some voices from the tops of the trees.

Zygfried, who was like one plunged in deep sleep, drew through the buckle

the other end of the strap so as to form a noose. Then he stepped upon

the saddle which he had placed in front of the tree, and adjusted the

noose upon his neck.

"Push back the saddle! ... Already! Ah!"

The saddle, which he pushed with his feet, rolled away several paces and

the body of the unfortunate Knight of the Cross hung heavily. It seemed

to him, only for a short moment, that he heard a kind of smothering,

snorting and roaring, and that abominable vampire threw itself upon him,

shook him and then began to tear his breast with its teeth to rend his

heart. Then, as the light of his eyes was about extinguished he yet saw

something else; for lo, death dissolved into a whitish cloud, which

slowly approached him, embraced him, and finally surrounded and covered

all with a dismal and impenetrable veil.

At that moment the storm broke with great fury. Thunder roared in the

middle of the road with such a terrible crash that it seemed as though

the earth was shaken to its very foundations. The whole forest bent under

the tempest. The noise of whistling, hissing, howling, creaking of the

trunks, and cracking of the broken branches, filled the depths of the

woods. The tempest-driven sheets of rain hid the world from sight. Only

at short intervals, when lit up by blood-colored lightning, could be seen

the wild dangling body of Zygfried by the roadside.

* * * * *

The following morning, advancing upon the same road, a numerous train

might be seen. In front was Jagienkna, with Sieciechowna and the

Bohemian. Behind them moved the wagons, surrounded by four servants,

armed with bows and swords. Every driver had also a spear and an axe near

him, not counting forged hayforks and other cutting arms suitable upon

the road. Those arms were necessary for protection against wild beasts,

as well as robbers, who always swarmed upon the border of the Knights of

the Cross. This caused Jagiello to complain in his letters to the Grand

Master of the Order, and when they met at Racionza.

But being provided with skilful men and good arms, the retinue traveled

without fear.

The stormy day was succeeded by a wonderful one; cheerful, silent and so

bright that the eyes of the travelers were blinded when not in the shade.

Not a single leaf stirred; from each of them hung large drops of rain

which the sun changed into a rainbow. Among the pine-needles they had the

appearance of large glistening diamonds. The rainfall produced small

streams upon the road, which ran with glad sound toward the lower places,

where they formed shallow little lakes. The whole neighborhood was wet

and bedewed, but smiling in the morning brightness. On such mornings,

also, the human heart is filled with gladness. Therefore the ostlers and

servants began to sing; they marveled at the silence which reigned among

those riding in front of them.

But they were quiet because a heavy burden oppressed Jagienka's heart.

There was something which had ended in her life, something broken.

Although she was not experienced in meditation and could not determine

distinctly the cause and what was going on in her mind, yet she felt that

all that had lived hitherto had vanished, that all her hopes had

dissipated as the morning mist upon the fields is dissipated. She felt

that she must now renounce and give up everything and forget, and begin

almost a new life. She also thought that although, with God's will, her

present position was not of the worst, yet it could not be otherwise than

sad, and in no way could the new life turn out to be as good as that

which had just terminated. And an immense sorrow had taken hold of her

heart, so that, at the thought that every past hope was gone forever,

tears came to her eyes. But not wishing to add shame to her other

troubles, she restrained herself from weeping. She wished that she had

never left Zgorzelice; in that case she would not now have to return

thither. Then, she thought, it was not only to remove the cause for

attacks upon Zgorzelice by Cztan and Wilk that Macko brought her to

Spychow. That she could not believe. "No," she said, "Macko also knew

that that was not the only cause for taking me away. Perhaps Zbyszko will

also know it." At that thought, her cheeks became crimson and bitterness

filled her heart.

"I was too daring," she said to herself, "and now I have what I deserved.

Trouble and uncertainty to-morrow, suffering and deep sorrow in the

future and with it humiliation."

But the train of oppressing thoughts was interrupted by a man coming

hastily from the opposite direction. The Bohemian, whose eyes nothing

escaped, rushed toward the man, who with crossbow upon his shoulder and

badger-skin pouch at his side, and with a feather of a black woodcock in

his cap, was recognized as a forester.

"Hey! Who are you? Stop!" exclaimed the Bohemian.

The man approached quickly, his face was agitated, and had the expression

of those who have something extraordinary to communicate. He cried:

"There upon the road ahead of you is a man hanging on a tree!"

The Bohemian was alarmed, thinking that it might be a murder, and he

asked the man quickly:

"How far from here is it?"

"A bowshot distance, and upon this road."

"Is there nobody with him?"

"Nobody; I frightened away a wolf that was smelling around him."

The mention of a wolf quieted Hlawa, for it told him that there were

neither people nor farms in the neighborhood.

Then Jagienka said:

"Look there, what is that?"

Hlawa rushed ahead, and soon returned hurriedly.

"Zygfried is hanging there!" he exclaimed while reining in his horse in

front of Jagienka.

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost! You do not mean Zygfried,

the Knight of the Cross?"

"Yes, it is he. He hung himself with the bridle."

"Did you say by himself?"

"It seems so, because the saddle lies alongside him, and if there were

robbers they would have killed him outright and made off with the saddle,

because it is valuable."

"Shall we proceed?"

"Let us not go that way! No!" cried Anula Sieciechowna, afraid.

"Something evil might happen to us!"

Jagienka was also somewhat afraid, because she believed that the body of

a suicide is surrounded by crowds of evil spirits. But Hlawa, who was

fearless and bold, said:

"Bah! I was near him, and even pushed him with the lance, and do not feel

any devil upon my neck."

"Do not blaspheme!" cried Jagienka.

"I am not blaspheming," replied the Bohemian, "I only trust in God's

power. Nevertheless, if you are afraid we will go around it."

Sieciechowna begged him to do so; but Jagienka, having reflected for a

moment, said:

"It is not proper to leave the dead unburied. It is a Christian act

commanded by the Lord. Anyhow it is the body of a man."

"Yes, but it is the body of a Knight of the Cross, a hangman and

executioner! Let the crows and wolves occupy themselves with his body."

"It was not specified. God will judge for his sins, but we must do our

duty; and if we fulfil God's commandment nothing evil will befall us."

"Well, then, let it be done according to your wishes," replied the

Bohemian.

Accordingly he gave the order to the servants, who were reluctant. But

they feared Hlawa, to oppose whom was a dangerous thing. Not having the

necessary spades to dig a hole in the ground, they therefore gathered

pitchforks and axes for that purpose and left. The Bohemian also went

with them and to give them an example, he crossed himself and cut with

his own hands the leather strap upon which the body was hanging.

Zygfried's face had become blue whilst hanging; he had an awful

appearance, because his eyes were open and terror-stricken, his mouth was

also open as though in the act of trying to catch his last breath. They

quickly dug a pit near by and pushed therein the corpse of Zygfried with

the handles of their pitchforks; they laid him with his face downward and

covered it first with dust, then they gathered stones and placed them

upon it, because it was an immemorial custom to cover the graves of

suicides with stones; otherwise they would come out during the night and

frighten the passers-by.

As there were many stones upon the road and under the mosses, the grave

was soon covered with a considerable mound. Then Hlawa cut a cross with

his axe upon the trunk of the pine-tree near. He did that, not for

Zygfried, but to prevent evil spirits from gathering at that place. Then

he returned to the retinue.

"His soul is in hell and his body is already in the ground," he said to

Jagienka. "We can travel now."

They started; but Jagienka, whilst passing along, took a small branch of

pine-tree and pressed it upon the stones. Then everybody of the train

followed the example of the lady. That, too, had been an old custom.

They traveled for a long while absorbed in thought, thinking of that

wicked monk and knight. Finally Jagienka said:

"God's justice cannot be escaped. It does not even permit the prayer,

'Everlasting rest'[118] to be offered up because there is no mercy for

him."

"You have shown by your order to bury him that you possess a

compassionate soul," replied the Bohemian.

Then he spoke hesitatingly: "People talk. Bah! maybe they are not people,

but witches and wizards--that a halter or a strap taken from the hanging

body secures to the possessor certain luck in everything. But I did not

take the strap from Zygfried, because I wish that your luck should

proceed from the Lord Jesus and not from necromancers."

Jagienka did not reply to that at once, but after awhile she sighed

several times and said as it were to herself:

"Hey! My happiness is behind, not in front of me."

CHAPTER V.

It was not until the end of the ninth day after Jagienka's departure that

Zbyszko reached the frontier of Spychow, but Danusia was already so near

death that he entirely lost all hope of bringing her alive to her father.

On the following day, when she began to be incoherent in her replies, he

observed that not only her mind was out of order, but that she was also

suffering from a certain malady against which that childlike frame,

exhausted by so much suffering, prison, torture and continuous fright,

could not fight. Perhaps the noise of the fight of Macko and Zbyszko with

the Germans contributed to fill her cup of terror, and it was just about

that time that she was taken ill with that malady. Suffice it to say that

the fever never left her from that moment until they reached the end of

the journey. So far it was successfully accomplished, because throughout

the terrible wilderness, in the midst of great troubles, Zbyszko carried

her as though she were dead. When they left the wilderness and reached

inhabited regions, among farmers and nobles, trouble and danger ceased.

When the people were informed that he carried one of their own daughters

whom he had rescued from the Knights of the Cross, especially when they

knew that she was the daughter of the famous Jurand, of whose exploits

the minstrels sang in the villages, hamlets, and huts, they vied with

each other in rendering help and service. They procured proper horses and

supplies. All doors stood open for them. It was no more necessary for

Zbyszko to carry her in a cradle when the strong young men carried her

from one village to another in a litter. They carried her as carefully as

though she were a saint. The women surrounded her with the most tender

care. The men, upon hearing the account of her wrongs, gnashed their

teeth, and not a few put on the steel cuirass, grasped the sword, axe, or

lance and went along with Zbyszko, in order to take revenge with

interest. Because, the valiant race considered even retribution, wrong

for wrong, insufficient.

But revenge did not then occupy Zbyszko's mind; his only thought was for

Danusia. He lived between flashes of hope when there were momentary signs

of improvement, and gloomy despair when she got worse, and as far as her

latter condition was concerned, he could not deceive himself. A

superstitious thought struck him more than once at the beginning of the

journey, that there was, somewhere in the pathless regions they were

passing, death, riding along with them, step by step, lying in wait for

the moment when he might fall upon Danusia and wring from her the last

breath of life. That vision or feeling became especially pronounced at

dark midnight, so much so, that more than once he was seized with a

despairing desire to return and challenge death to a combat to a finish,

in the same fashion as knights are wont to do toward each other. But at

the end of the journey it became worse, because he felt that death was

not following them, but was in the very midst of the retinue; invisible

truly, but so near that its cold breath could be felt. Then he understood

that against such an enemy, courage, strength and arms are counted as

nothing and that he would be obliged to surrender the most precious head

as a prey without even a struggle.

And that was a most terrible feeling, because it roused within him a

tempestuous, irresistible sorrow, a sorrow, bottomless as the sea. Could

therefore Zbyszko restrain himself from groaning, could his heart remain

unbroken by pain, when he looked at his most beloved? He spoke to her as

in terms of involuntary reproach: "Was it for this that I loved you? Was

it for this that I searched and rescued you in order that you should be

put under ground to-morrow and I should never see you again?" Then he

would look at her cheeks which glowed with fever, at her expressionless

and dull eyes, and ask her again:

"Are you going to leave me? Are you not sorry for it? You prefer going to

staying with me." Then he thought that something was happening in his own

head, and his breast swelled with immense sadness which seared it, but he

could not give vent to his feeling with tears, because of a certain

feeling of anger and hatred against that compassionless power which was

consuming the innocent, blind, and cold child. If that wicked enemy, the

Knight of the Cross, were present, he would have fallen upon him and torn

him to pieces like a wild beast.

When they arrived at the forest court, he wished to halt, but as it was

the spring season the court was deserted. There he was informed by the

keepers that the princely pair had gone to their brother, Prince

Ziemowita, at Plock. He therefore resolved, instead of going to Warsaw

where the court physician might have given her some relief, to go to

Spychow. That plan was terrible, because it seemed to him that all was

over with her and that he would not be able to bring her alive to Jurand.

But just as they were only a few hours distant from Spychow the brightest

ray of hope shone again in his heart. Danuska's cheeks became paler, her

eyes were less troubled, her breathing not so loud and quick. Zbyszko had

observed it immediately, and had given orders to stop, so that she might

rest and breathe undisturbed.

It was only about three miles from the inhabited part of Spychow, upon a

narrow road winding between fields and meadows. They stopped near a wild

pear-tree whose branches served to the sick as a protection from the rays

of the sun. The men dismounted and unbridled their horses so as to

facilitate their grazing. Two women, who were hired to attend Danusia and

the youths who carried her, fatigued with the road and heat, lay down in

the shade and slept. Only Zbyszko remained watching near the litter and

sat close by upon the roots of the pear-tree, not taking his eyes off her

even for a moment.

She lay in the midst of the afternoon silence, her eyelids closed. It

seemed to Zbyszko that she was not asleep,--when at the other end of the

meadow a man who was mowing hay stopped and began to sharpen his scythe

loudly upon the hone. Then she trembled a little and opened her eyelids

for a moment, but immediately closed them again. Her breast heaved as

though she was deeply inspiring, and in a hardly audible voice she

whispered:

"Flowers smell sweetly...."

These were the first words, clear and free from fever, spoken since they

had left, because the breeze really wafted from the sun-warmed meadow a

strong, redolent hay and honey perfume, fragrant with the scent of herbs.

This caused Zbyszko to think that reason had returned to her. His heart

trembled within him for joy. He wished to throw himself at her feet at

the first impulse. But fearing lest that might frighten her, he desisted.

He only knelt in front of the litter, and bending over her, said in a

whisper:

"Dear Danusia! Danusia!"

She opened her eyes again, and looked at him for a while. Then a smile

brightened up her face, the same as when she was in the tar-burner's

shanty, but far from consciousness, but she pronounced his name:

"Zbyszko!..."

She attempted to stretch her hands toward him, but owing to her great

weakness she was unable to do it. But he embraced her, his heart was so

full that it seemed as if he were thanking her for some great favor he

had received.

"I praise the Lord," he said, "you have awoke ... O God...." Now his

voice failed him, and they looked at each other for some time in silence.

That silence was only interrupted by the gentle wind which moved the

leaves of the pear-tree, the chirping of the grasshoppers among the grass

and the distant indistinct song of the mower.

It seemed as though her consciousness was gradually increasing, for she

continued to smile and had the appearance of a sleeping child seeing

angels in its dream. Little by little her face assumed an air of

astonishment.

"Oh! where am I?" she cried. He was so much overcome with joy that he

uttered numerous short and abrupt questions.

"Near Spychow. You are with me, and we are going to see dear papa. Your

sorrow is ended. Oh! my darling Danusia, I searched for you and rescued

you. You are no more in the power of the Germans. Be not afraid. We shall

soon be at Spychow. You were ill, but the Lord Jesus had mercy upon you.

There was so much sorrow, so many tears! Dear Danusia. Now, everything is

well. There is nothing but happiness for you. Ah I how much did I search

for you!... How far did I wander!... Oh! Mighty God!... Oh!..."

He sighed deeply and groaned as though he had thrown off the last heavy

burden of suffering from his breast.

Danusia lay quiet trying to recall something to her mind and reflecting

upon something. Then finally she asked:

"So, you cared for me?"

Two tears which were gathering in her eyes slowly rolled down her cheeks

upon the pillow.

"I, not care for you?" cried Zbyszko.

There was something more powerful in that smothered exclamation than in

the most vehement protestations and oaths, because he had always loved

her with his whole soul. And from the moment when he had recovered her

she had become more dear to him than the whole world.

Silence reigned again. The distant singing of the mowing peasant ceased

and he began to whet his scythe again.

Danusia's lips moved again, but with such a low whisper that Zbyszko

could not hear it. He therefore bent over her and asked:

"What do you say, darling?"

But she repeated:

"Sweet smelling blossoms."

"Because we are near the meadows," he replied. "But we shall soon proceed

and go to dear papa, whom we have also rescued from captivity, and you

shall be mine even unto death. Do you hear me well? Do you understand

me?"

Then he suddenly became alarmed, for he observed that her face was

gradually paling and was thickly covered with perspiration.

"What ails you?" he asked in great alarm.

And he felt his hair bristling and frost creeping through his bones.

"What ails you, tell me," he repeated.

"It darkens," she whispered.

"It darkens? Why, the sun shines and you say: 'it darkens'?" he said with

a suppressed voice. "Up to this time you have spoken rationally. In God's

name I beseech you, speak, even if it is only one word."

She still moved her lips, but she was unable even to whisper. Zbyszko

guessed that she tried to pronounce his name and that she called him.

Immediately afterward, her emaciated hands began to twitch and flutter

upon the rug covering her. That lasted only for a moment. No doubt was

left now that she had expired.

Horrified and in despair, Zbyszko began to beg her, as though his

entreaties could avail:

"Danuska! Oh, merciful Jesus!... Only wait till we come to Spychow! Wait!

Wait, I beseech you! Oh, Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

The appeal awoke the sleeping women, and the men who were stretched with

the horses upon the lawn came running. They guessed at a glance what had

happened; they knelt down and began loudly to recite the litany.

The breeze ceased, even the leaves upon the pear-tree did not rustle.

Only the voices reciting the litany sounded throughout that profound

silence.

Danusia opened her eyes once more at the very end of the litany, as

though she wished to look upon Zbyszko and upon the sunlit world for the

last time. Then she lapsed into an everlasting sleep.

* * * * *

The women closed her eyelids; then they went to the meadow to gather

flowers. The men followed them in file. Thus they walked in the sunshine

among the luxuriant grass and had the appearance of field spirits bowing

now and then, and weeping, for their hearts were filled with pity and

sorrow. Zbyszko was kneeling in the shade beside the litter, with his

head upon Danusia's knees, speechless and motionless, as if he too were

dead. But the gatherers kept on plucking here and there, marigolds,

buttercups, bellflowers and plenty of red and white sweet-smelling little

blossoms. They also found in the small moist hollows in the meadow,

lilies of the valley, and upon the margin near the fallow ground, they

got St. John's wort until they had gathered their arms full. Then they

sadly surrounded the litter and began to adorn it, until they had covered

the dead with flowers and herbs; they only left the face uncovered, which

in the midst of the bellflowers and lilies looked white, peaceful, calm,

as in eternal sleep, serene, and quite angelic.

The distance to Spychow was less than three miles. Then, when they had

shed copious tears of sorrow and pain, they carried the litter toward the

forest where Jurand's domains began.

The men led the horses in front of the retinue. Zbyszko himself carried

the litter upon his head, and the women loaded with the surplus of the

bunches of flowers and herbs, sang hymns. They moved very slowly along

the herb-covered meadows and the grey fallow fields and had the

appearance of a funeral procession. Not a cloudlet marred the blue clear

sky, and the region warmed itself in the golden rays of the sun.

The further adventures of Zbyszko will be found in a subsequent volume.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The Benedictine Abbey at Tyniec was in Poland as important

and rich, relatively, as the Abbey of Saint-Germain des Près in France.

In those times the order organized by Saint Benoit (Benedictus) was the

most important factor in the civilization and material prosperity of the

country. The older contained 17,000 abbeys. From it came 24 Popes; 200

Cardinals; 1,600 Archbishops; 4,000 Bishops; 15,000 Writers; 1,500

Saints; 5,000 Beatified; 43 Emperors, and 44 Kings. These figures are

material facts showing the importance of the order. About its influence

on art, literature and culture one could write a volume.]

[Footnote 2: Two powerful families.]

[Footnote 3: Lithuania.]

[Footnote 4: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 5: Prince.]

[Footnote 6: Lithuanian.]

[Footnote 7: Money--it is difficult to tell the value exactly.]

[Footnote 8: Bishop.]

[Footnote 9: Priests.]

[Footnote 10: An exclamation of trifling.]

[Footnote 11: Prince Kiejstut's daughter.]

[Footnote 12: Slave minstrels.]

[Footnote 13: A kind of guitar.]

[Footnote 14: The names of the noblemen of every country are derived from

the estates which they possess--hence the particles before the name of a

true nobleman: _de_ in France, for instance, de Nevers, means that the

name comes from the place called Nevers; _of_ in England, for instance,

Duke of Manchester; _von_ in Germany has the same signification; in

Poland z, for instance Macko z Bogdanca--means that the estate Bogdaniec

belonged to his family and to him;--in the following centuries the z was

changed to _ski_, put on the end of the name and instead of writing z

Bogdanca, a man of the same family was called Bogdanski; but it does not

follow that every Pole, whose name ends in _ski_ is a nobleman. Therefore

the translation of that particular z into English _of_ is only strictly

correct, although in other cases z should be translated into English

_from_: to write: Baron de Rothschild is absurd and ridiculous, because

the sign "red shield" was not an estate, and one cannot put _de_ before

it.]

[Footnote 15: A wealthy possessor of land--they were freemen and had

serfs working for them--some of them were noblemen, and had the right to

use coats of arms.]

[Footnote 16: Pan--Lord]

[Footnote 17: A man coming from Mazowsze--the part of Poland round

Warsaw.]

[Footnote 18: Count.]

[Footnote 19: Back side of the axe.]

[Footnote 20: A town surrounded with walls and having a peculiar

jurisdiction or a kind of a castle.]

[Footnote 21: Inhabitants of Rus'--part of Poland round Lwow--Leopol

(Latin), Lemberg (German).]

[Footnote 22: Money;--marks.]

[Footnote 23: Hail--the war-cry of the family, either because it was

numerous like hail or struck sharply like hail.]

[Footnote 24: Count.]

[Footnote 25: Wdaly--in old Polish--handsome.]

[Footnote 26: Beautiful.]

[Footnote 27: Abbot of a hundred villages.]

[Footnote 28: Ordinary German soldiers.]

[Footnote 29: A nobleman holding an estate of the Crown, with or without

jurisdiction.]

[Footnote 30: Knight of the Cross in Polish.]

[Footnote 31: Vocative from Zbyszko.]

[Footnote 32: Pater-noster--the Lord's prayer.]

[Footnote 33: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 34: A military title with jurisdiction--corresponding to

general.]

[Footnote 35: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 36: Bonebreaker.]

[Footnote 37: Historical fact.]

[Footnote 38: A large building which served for different purposes, but

especially, as a depot of broadcloth; in Polish _sukno_, hence its name:

_sukiennice_.]

[Footnote 39: Noblemen in Lithuania and Russia.]

[Footnote 40: The Tartars were divided into Ords--it was a fancy

division, without any precise number.]

[Footnote 41: Anjou in French.]

[Footnote 42: Piasts is family name--the first kings of Poland were

Piasts.]

[Footnote 43: Mountains in Poland--sometimes improperly called Carpathian

Mountains.]

[Footnote 44: Priest--or prince in the old Slav language.]

[Footnote 45: In Poland they use in the churches a sprinkling brush made

of thin shavings of a certain wood--such a brush is called, "kropidlo."]

[Footnote 46: The Province of Dobrzyn was seized by the Knights of the

Cross on the ground of an unlawful agreement with Wladyslaw Opolczyk.]

[Footnote 47: Allusion to beehives on the trees; to take honey from them,

the keeper was obliged to climb a rope.]

[Footnote 48: Famous battle in which the Germans were defeated by King

Wladyslaw Lokietek.]

[Footnote 49: Ksiondz--priest.]

[Footnote 50: We will go to dissipate.]

[Footnote 51: Marienburg in German.]

[Footnote 52: King.]

[Footnote 53: Friend.]

[Footnote 54: Diminutive of _kniaz_--prince.]

[Footnote 55: Diminutive from _bojar_--Lord.]

[Footnote 56: Marienburg in German.]

[Footnote 57: A sort of coat.]

[Footnote 58: The bison of Pliny; the urus of Caesar. The bison,

destroyed in all other countries of Europe, is only to be found in Poland

in the forest of Bialowieza, where a special body of guards takes care of

this rare animal.]

[Footnote 59: It means here a fort, a stronghold, a castle.]

[Footnote 60: Grzywna or mark was equal to half pound of silver.]

[Footnote 61: High sharp pointed hat.]

[Footnote 62: Crooked.]

[Footnote 63: Polish _tata_ = papa; hence the diminutive and endearing

terms _tatus, tatutu_ and _tatulku_ = "dear papa," "dear little papa,"

etc.]

[Footnote 64: Another form of diminutive from _tata_--father.]

[Footnote 65: Church with certain special privileges. It is a popular

expression for the church called _collegiata_, in Latin.]

[Footnote 66: Silesia.]

[Footnote 67: A popular exclamation of joy--sometimes of distress if it

is put with another word.]

[Footnote 68: An exclamation of mirth, especially in songs; and while

dancing, they exclaim in Poland: hoc! hoc!]

[Footnote 69: Wooden beehive excavated in a tree.]

[Footnote 70: Kind of fur jacket--bolero.]

[Footnote 71: Both words are diminutives of _tata_--father.]

[Footnote 72: Diminutive of mother.]

[Footnote 73: In 1331.]

[Footnote 74: Stronghold--castle.]

[Footnote 75: Miss.]

[Footnote 76: Breslau in German.]

[Footnote 77: Diminutive of _tata_ father.]

[Footnote 78: Abbreviation of Przeclaw.]

[Footnote 79: Podhale is part of the mountains of Karpaty.]

[Footnote 80: Nickname given to bears.]

[Footnote 81: Popular name for bear.]

[Footnote 82: Wolf.]

[Footnote 83: Seminarists students.]

[Footnote 84: Diminutive of _wlodyka_.]

[Footnote 85: Piece of money; it is twenty-fourth part of _grzywna_ or

mark, which was worth half pound of silver; one _skojeg_ was worth about

one-third of an ounce.]

[Footnote 86: "Bold Mountain"--a place in Poland, where one of the first

three Benedictine monasteries was built by the king, Boleslaw Chrobry

(the Valiant) 1125. In this monastery is a part of our Saviour's

cross--hence pilgrimages to that place.]

[Footnote 87: Diminutive of _wlodyka_.]

[Footnote 88: Another form of _pan_--lord; when one speaks in

commiseration or in sympathy, any noun can take this form.]

[Footnote 89: A short prayer for the dead.]

[Footnote 90: The famous victory over the Knights of the Cross by the

king Wladyslaw Lokietek.]

[Footnote 91: Lokiec means an ell in Polish. King Wladyslaw was of the

family Piasts, but he was called Lokietek on account of his short

stature.]

[Footnote 92: Marks.]

[Footnote 93: Here it means a commandant.]

[Footnote 94: A part of Poland. The people were called Kurpie, on account

of their shoes made of the bark of trees. They were all famous marksmen.]

[Footnote 95: Krystyn.]

[Footnote 96: A woolen material, made by Polish peasants. In some

provinces _kilimeks_ are very artistic on account of the odd designs and

the harmony of the colors.]

[Footnote 97: Szczytno in Polish.]

[Footnote 98: Cymbaska who married Ernest Iron Habsburg.]

[Footnote 99: The knight Uter, being in love with the virtuous Igerna,

wife of Prince Gorlas, with Merlin's help assumed the form of Gorlas, and

with Igerna begot the king Arthur.]

[Footnote 100: Kind of horn.]

[Footnote 101: Wigand of Marburg mentions such cases.]

[Footnote 102: There is a custom in Poland, Hungary, Bohemia and some

other countries, to break wafers at receptions and parties, on Christmas

eve and the following two days, expressing in the meantime good wishes

for all manner of prosperity and happiness. The wafers are distributed by

the parish that is to say by the priest or sexton. The author refers to

that custom.]

[Footnote 103: Siebenkirchen in German, a province which now belongs to

Hungary, it was then an independent principality.]

[Footnote 104: Diminutive of mother; it is a charming expression. The

Polish language, like the Italian, has a great variety of diminutives.]

[Footnote 105: _Glowacz_ the Polish for the Bohemian _Hlawa_, the latter

means "head," but the former means also "big" or "thick head."--(S.A.B.)]

[Footnote 106: Lotarynczyk means the man from Lotaringen.]

[Footnote 107: _Byway_ means, in this instance, "here we are".]

[Footnote 108: _Pontnik_, "Pardoner," one who dispenses

indulgences.--(S.A.B.)]

[Footnote 109: Called: _Misericordia_.]

[Footnote 110: February is called in Polish "Luty," meaning also

dreadful, awful, etc.]

[Footnote 111: The diminutive of Anna.]

[Footnote 112: Lit., She was walking on live coals.]

[Footnote 113: Meaning never.]

[Footnote 114: Relics of the gallows were preserved down to the year

1818.]

[Footnote 115: One Polish mile is about three American miles.]

[Footnote 116: _Setnik_, captain over one hundred.]

[Footnote 117: The Greater Bear, or Charleswain ... other names are hen

and chickens, dipper, etc. Arabic, _Dhiba_.]

[Footnote 118: _Wieczny odpoczynek racz mu daj Panie_. "God rest his

soul."]

End of Project Gutenberg's The Knights of the Cross, by Henryk Sienkiewicz